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cuubism · 24 hours ago

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Do It Scared

While he's in the middle of being overstimulated and miserable at a wedding, Dream's meager attempt at finding peace is disturbed by the intrusion of a drunk man from the party across the way. But what first seems like a curse might actually be a blessing, as his new companion is inordinately charmed by Dream, anxiety and all. [Explicit]

Dream cradles his glass of wine between his knees, scrunched up as small as possible on the bench outside the venue door. He should have brought his coat. He is freezing. But he can’t go back in. It’s too loud.

He takes another sip of wine. It doesn’t help him feel less fried. It doesn’t help him feel like less of a drag, less of a burden, any less than the worst company in the entire world.

He takes another sip.

It’s very cold. The music at the reception pounds through the doors behind him. He grimaces.

Sometimes, Dream wishes he could be the person who could enjoy it. And not the person he is.

He takes another sip.

The doors across the way crash open. There is another wedding going on this same night, Dream remembers. A man stumbles through the doors, jacket and tie askew, trips, spilling half his glass of wine, but rights himself just before falling.

Dream watches warily. He came out here to avoid interacting with others.

The man shakes himself, straightening his tie. He must be very drunk. Dream wishes he were, too.

Then the man catches sight of Dream moping on his bench. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry. Didn’t realize someone was already sobering up in this courtyard.” He tries to go back inside, but the door’s locked automatically behind him. “Fuck.”

Despite himself, Dream laughs. At least he is not the only one who feels an utter mess.

“Well, was a shit party anyway,” the man says to himself, before slumping down onto the bench across from Dream. “Can I share your courtyard?”

“If you don’t mind me ignoring you,” Dream says.

The man laughs. “Fair enough.”

He sips his wine, what’s left of it. Closer, now, Dream takes in the dishevelment of his hair, and the red tinge to his eyes that suggests he might have been crying. Dream is curious, but doesn’t ask.

“Feels like weddings are supposed to be happy,” the man muses, more to himself than to Dream. He wipes at his eyes. “But.”

“I primarily find them overstimulating,” Dream says. He really should be better company at his own brother’s wedding. But he’s never been very good at it.

“That why you’re outside?”

“When I’m overstimulated, I begin ‘behaving like a cunt’,” Dream says, and the other man laughs, startled. “So, yes.”

Dream can barely manage his social graces at the best of times. And the best of times these are not. The mask has been filed away.

“Alright,” says the other man. “Fair enough. I can’t judge. When I’m sad I start behaving like a narcissistic dickhead. Look, I’m even making someone else’s wedding about myself.”

“Why are you sad?” Dream asks. Weddings make him feel sad, too, but he thinks not for the same reasons.

“Was supposed to get married,” the man says. “Last year. She died. Sorry, don’t think I have the story in me tonight.”

Probably for the best, as Dream would hardly know how to go about responding to it. “I can see why weddings could be traumatic,” he says sagely.

The man smiles, though it’s sad. “Yup.”

He finishes his wine, then says, “It’s Hob, by the way.”

“Oh. Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob muses. “You don’t like weddings either?”

“My complaining will be far less justified than yours,” Dream warns.

“Let’s hear it, I could use any distraction.”

“It is not just weddings,” Dream says. “Social events. They remind me. Of all the ways I am deficient.” Conversation. Interaction. Posture. Occupying a physical space. Coping with stimuli. Relaxing enough to be normal. He cannot do any of it. “I ought to dance, and. Celebrate? Should I not? But. I cannot. I. I cannot do any of it.”

How many times has he been told that he should, and now it is like a one hundred foot wall that he cannot surmount, the years of compounded expectations too great to tackle.

“Do you want to?” Hob asks.

“I don’t know.” Dream can no longer disentangle who he is from who he was told to be. From who he should be. He is trying. But. “I want to… be a person who wants to. Who can. I wish that… I was a person who could dance freely but I. I cannot. I do not know why.”

He waits for Hob to tell him he should just do it. It doesn’t come. Instead he says, “Well, if you don’t dance, at least you can sleep easy knowing your Great Aunt Ethel didn’t watch you shaking it to ‘WAP’.”

Dream bursts out laughing, clutching his wine as the liquid sloshes in his glass.

“I’m just saying,” Hob says, grinning. “I mean, I’m shameless, but I don’t blame you for wanting to keep the twerking away from family eyes.”

“There has not been any TWERKING.”

“Maybe not from you, didn’t see what I was up to.”

“I see,” Dream says, trying to regain his dignity. “You are projecting on me.”

“Would feel better if it wasn’t just me who’s a slut, but oh well.” He takes a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and a lighter. “Fag?”

“Sometimes.”

Hob stares at him. Dream stares back. Hob holds out a cigarette to him.

Dream looks down at it. “Oh.”

Hob snorts. “I like you.” He lights his own cigarette, sticking it between his teeth, then lights Dream’s.

“I’m poor company,” Dream says stiffly, embarrassed.

Hob shrugs. “Good company’s boring as fuck.”

Dream doesn’t smoke, so he just watches Hob. His hands tucking the lighter away, then taking the cigarette from between his teeth, blowing a stream of smoke away into the night.

“Why do you smoke?” he asks.

Hob shrugs again. “Get restless. Settles my hands.”

“You ought to try fidget toys instead to avoid the risk of lung cancer,” Dream says, and Hob laughs so loud that he doubles over coughing after inhaling too much smoke.

Dream takes a tangle toy out of his bag and hands it to him. Hob stares at it incredulously. Then takes it.

He immediately starts fidgeting with it, though, so Dream considers it a win.

“What else you got in there?” Hob asks, gesturing to Dream’s bag.

Altogether too much, according to everyone he has spoken to. “Medication. Headphones. A book, though I’ve felt it might be considered rude to read it.”

Hob laughs. “Maybe. But who cares. Go on and read it if you want, I won’t judge.”

“I—“ Dream realizes abruptly that he had been about to say he was enjoying talking to Hob instead. When did that happen? That is not like him, normally he is so paralyzed by fear and confusion that every social interaction is draining in the extreme.

“I. I like. Talking to you,” he admits, grateful that the darkness hides his blush.

Hob smiles. “Me, too. Hey. Will you be missed if we get the fuck out of here?”

“So you know how long you have to dispose of my corpse?”

“My young life is too promising to be spent in prison,” Hob says, winking. “Got to make sure there’s no witnesses.”

“I doubt my absence would be noted while the bar remains open,” Dream says wearily.

Hob stands, swaying slightly, leaving his empty wine glass aside. He holds out a gallant hand to Dream.

“Come along, darling.”

So often when Dream has been called things like Darling, Sweetheart by others it has felt patronizing. But with Hob it’s… nice. Somehow. Then again, he feels Hob may be quite drunk still and may very well regret his choice of company later.

Still, Dream takes his hand.

“I do hope you don’t simply plan to take us to another bar,” he says as they make their way through the venue, retrieving Dream’s coat. “I do not think my stomach could take it.”

“Nah. Drinking doesn’t help with the sadness,” says Hob with a wan smile, helping Dream into his coat. “No. You said you were overstimulated, so a bar doesn’t really feel like the atmosphere anyway, does it?”

Dream stares at him, speechless. Hob had… actually listened to that. And not simply discounted it as nonsense.

“Am I wrong?” Hob says, when Dream is silent.

Dream clears his throat, feeling overcome. “No,” he says, at length. “Not at all.”

Hob smiles and takes his arm. And they leave the noise and merriment behind them.

They end up just walking along the riverside in the dark. Hob lights another cigarette—Dream will have to keep trying with the fidget toys—and Dream watches the embers flare in the dark.

“I didn’t dance much at that wedding either,” Hob says, looping back around to their previous conversation topic. “Eleanor—that’s my fiancee who died—used to love it. Just makes me sad now.”

“Would you have had a big wedding?” Dream asks.

“Small one. She wanted to use the money to go on an extravagant honeymoon instead. Said she wasn’t spending thousands of pounds feeding distant relatives mediocre steak when we could be in the Maldives instead.” He laughs.

Dream dislikes parties, and thinks this is an eminently reasonable position. “I can’t help but agree.”

Hob bumps their shoulders together, but says, “Never did get to go.”

Dream does not ask what happened, though he is curious. He does not think Hob wishes to discuss it.

“Guessing your reasons are different,” Hob says.

Dream thinks it through. “Dancing feels. Emotionally exposing. I don’t wish... to show so much of myself.” He feels tight and uncomfortable thinking about it, and wraps his arms around himself. “I know that may be foolish. And that no one cares as much as I do. I have heard it all before.”

The arguments, the convincing, the pressure, even well-meaning, serves only to make him feel more self-conscious.

He has thought, many times during their conversation, that Hob might do the same.

Hob shrugs. “Don’t have to convince me of your own feelings.”

Dream so often does have to that it has become an automatic impulse.

“I wish that it were easier,” he says, quieter. Every day, the same wish. I wish it was all easier. I wish I could just do it all normally. I wish I could. Exist. Without it being a constant trial. “That it was not all. So uncomfortable.”

“You’re not uncomfortable now, are you?”

“I am always uncomfortable,” Dream says. “But not because of you, specifically.”

“I can pretend you’re not here if it helps,” Hob says. “I don’t even see you.”

“Hob.”

Hob whirls around. “Who said that?”

Dream doubles over laughing. Hob is truly ridiculous. Dream still feels uncomfortable in his skin. But less so than he did at the reception, and that’s a start.

“Tell me honestly,” he says, when he’s straightened up. “Did you bring me out on this walk because you wanted to take me home and have sex with me?”

“Um. Would you be into it if I did?”

Dream thinks about it. It is extremely out of character for him to go home with a veritable stranger. But he likes Hob, and that is equally rare. “Maybe.”

Hob raises his hands in victory. “Not kicked to the curb yet! Thank God, I’m too emotionally fragile to be brutally rejected by you.”

“I do not think you are fragile.” In fact, he is quite charmed by Hob.

“You’d be surprised.” He seems content now, though. “Didn’t actually go to the wedding intending to pick up a cute boy. Just so you know. But I’m happy I have.”

Dream is finding himself happy about it, too, strangely enough. “Where do you live?”

“Oh, not too far. We’re heading that way. There’s a bus stop there, too, if you change your mind.”

Dream huffs a laugh, hands shoved in his coat pockets. He feels nervous at the prospect of going up to Hob’s flat. But excited, too. “You’re very considerate.”

“Just hedging my bets, really.”

Dream decides then that he will go home with Hob. He doesn’t know what will happen, if anything. But he wants to try. To be open to possibility, which he so often fails to be.

“I would like to see it,” he says.

“The bus stop?”

“Your home, Hob.”

“Oh.” Hob grins. “Good. Great. Um. Just around here.”

They eventually do make it to Hob’s building, and up the stairs to his third floor flat. Nerves ping and spin all through Dream’s body as Hob unlocks the door and lets them in. He has never been in this position before. He feels like he might be in a scene from a film, a stereotypical moment, except Dream has never been very good at knowing what comes next in the script. It’s hard to know what he is supposed to do.

He follows Hob into his flat. Lets Hob take his coat and hang it by the door, slips off his shoes. He’s wearing more formal clothes than he normally likes to, in deference to the dress code of the wedding, and feels uncomfortable, but to take anything else off would likely convey something he isn’t certain he’d like to convey. Or. Doesn’t know how to convey?

Hob takes off his own shoes, too, and leads him into the kitchen. Dream takes in everything about his flat, lived in and cozy, soft warm lighting that Dream appreciates. He never feels quite comfortable in other people’s spaces, but he likes it, he thinks.

“Do you want some tea or something?” Hob asks. Now, for the first time, he looks uncertain. He has the fidget toy in his hands again—he must have had it in his coat pocket—and is fiddling with it unconsciously.

“I—” Dream starts. Swallows hard, his throat dry. He takes a hesitant step closer to Hob. Heart pounding.

He doesn’t know why it is always so hard. It is not as though he is afraid of Hob. But he is afraid of… this moment. Of sharing it. Of Hob’s touch reminding him that he is here.

He tries so, so hard, every moment of his life, to forget that he is here, that he is part of things, tries to melt into the shadows, tries not to feel anything lest it all swallow him. People always try to draw him out and it only makes Dream want to cling to the shadows tighter to avoid being seen.

Hob didn’t try to pull him out. He just sat with him there, in the dark courtyard. He hasn’t even turned the lights on in the kitchen yet. There is only the pale yellow one on over the stove. There are still shadows. It feels safer.

“I. I don’t want. Tea,” Dream manages. He steps in closer to Hob, and Hob lets him come, doesn’t lure him in, but lets him lure himself. Dream gets close enough that he can make out the rich brown of Hob’s eyes, the stubble starting to come in on his cheeks, his hair, messed and fallen from its low bun. He wonders what Hob sees in return, and then tries not to focus on it too much lest he get overwhelmed.

Hob’s hand comes to rest on his cheek, just above his pulse racing in his throat. “Are you afraid?” he asks, brow pinching in concern.

“Always,” Dream says, and rides the wave of it into a kiss.

If he’s going to feel like he’s shaking apart from adrenaline either way, then he might as well do so while kissing Hob. Hob makes a surprised sound against his mouth, but then takes Dream’s face between his hands and starts kissing him back.

His kiss is. Desperate. Hungry. Dream does not know how to be wanted like that. It’s terrifying. But his heart leaps. He wants. It’s so scary how much he wants. He doesn’t know how to be the one who wants.

He grabs hold of Hob’s wrists. Grounds himself, braces himself on Hob. Gasps for breath against Hob’s mouth. Leans into the burning touch of Hob’s hands. It’s all so much. It’s so much.

“I need to—” he gasps, pulling back, lips brushing Hob’s, “I need to. Relax.” A constant refrain for himself. Relax. Relax. You need to relax.

“Why?” says Hob. Dream is utterly overwhelmed and still Hob’s look upon him is all want. “I can handle a live wire.”

Is that what he is? Dream always thinks he is nothing. A ghost. A whisper. A thing consuming itself. But to Hob, he is light and danger and wild unpredictable energy. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. But he likes it better than being a ghost.

Hob’s hands fall to his hips. His thumbs stroke under Dream’s waistband, tug his shirt free, press warm to his skin. Dream shudders, heat rushing through him, starting to grow hard in his trousers, which do very little to conceal his arousal. Hob draws him close, presses their bodies together, and now he can feel Hob’s own erection against his hip.

It’s too much. Hob’s touch. Hob’s body. The air that crackles hot between them. How much he wants. Dream is actually physically shaking. His hands are trembling. The world is spinning. He actually might pass out, and he hates his mind so much.

Normally Dream would stop whatever he’s doing when he gets like this. But now the thought of having to stop is making him angry. And maybe he just needs to have it out with himself. If he needs to have a panic attack, if he needs to have a dizzy spell and faint, so be it, he’s tired of it.

“Easy,” Hob says, pulling back, taking his hands and squeezing. “God, you’re actually shaking.”

“I know.” He tries to calm the surge of anger. He knows better than to try to muscle himself into submission. He knows that fighting that electricity isn’t going to end well.

He tries to breathe. Imagines himself composed of frightened sparks. They aren’t going to go away, not tonight. But Dream knows how to survive them. He’s constructed his whole life into an elaborate grid to keep them from bursting. To keep from blowing the fragile circuit.

Just don’t be anxious. But they are a part of him. They are him. One can’t just switch off a bulb and still have its light. Just don’t be anxious. Just stop it. Just do it.

He thinks of Hob instead. I can handle a live wire.

Dream feels so tense he might start fracturing out of his body. He squeezes Hob’s hands to remind himself that he’s here.

“Can we. Take this somewhere,” he says, words measured, “that doesn’t require standing?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Hob asks. It is, Dream thinks, the first time tonight that Hob has questioned him on his feelings. Normally he gets pushback on everything he says, but from Hob, only this.

“I am just. Very anxious,” Dream admits. Hob looks as though he might say something concerned, so Dream says, “Can you trust when I say that none of this is your doing? This is simply how I am.”

“Okay,” Hob says, and Dream sighs at the easy acceptance. Hob runs his hand through Dream’s hair, down his neck and back to land low again on his waist. Dream’s skin prickles in an entirely different way. “I believe you.”

It is so easy for him. To not try to fix Dream before allowing him to want this. Hob doesn’t try to bring Dream down from his anxious peak, something that wouldn’t work anyway. He lets the current run through him.

It’s so easy Dream almost feels he doesn’t have to fix himself.

Hob brings him over to the couch, sits down and draws Dream into his lap. Dream straddles his thighs, breath shaking. He’s still trembling, but he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to get up. He wants this, this singular, terrifying moment.

Hob unbuttons his shirt with steady hands. Helps him out of it. Dream undoes Hob’s tie, setting it aside, then unbuttons his dress shirt, gradually revealing the shape of his body, strong shoulders, broad chest, coarse hair. He presses his hands to Hob’s skin, mesmerized.

When he gets nervous, he starts to disappear, starts to distance himself from everything around him, but this time he tries very, very hard to stay present. “Touch me?” he asks.

Hob does, hands stroking up and down his sides; kisses the side of Dream’s neck, and his shoulder, and Dream tips his head back, shivering. He is still shaking, god damn him, but Hob seems to trust him, and doesn’t stop.

His hands go to Dream’s trousers, undo the button and zipper, and Dream freezes. It’s so much, to be seen, to be touched, all his senses flying around him in a whirlwind.

He’s hidden his face in Hob’s shoulder. Hob draws him back, kisses him lightly, says, “Try something?” and Dream nods, yes, yes anything, if anyone could direct the chaos of him, he thinks it would be Hob.

Hob takes his tie from where they’d left it aside on the couch, wraps it over Dream’s eyes, tying it at the back of his head. Dream ought to feel more nervous at having his senses blocked but instead everything goes quieter. He lets out a long breath of relief.

“Better?” Hob asks.

“Yes.” Somehow. Someway. It makes him feel less seen. Even though logically, he knows this does nothing to Hob’s ability to see him. Nevertheless. The panic of his body is quieter.

Perhaps when he trusts Hob more, if Hob even wants to see him again after this, he might ask Hob to block his hearing, too, let him forget about all of it and zero in on just the sensation of Hob touching him. For now, he hovers in the middling dark of being temporarily blinded, and listens to Hob’s voice in his ear.

Hob kisses his jaw, up along his neck, biting kisses that will leave marks. Dream clutches to him. He feels he can do little but hang on. Hob’s hands to go his trousers again, and he takes Dream out, holding him carefully. Dream’s breath catches. Hob’s hand is warm and sure as he starts to stroke him, just easy and slow, letting him warm up to the feeling of being touched.

It’s so much easier with his vision gone. It’s like he’s imagining all of this in his own mind, freed of the terrifying, brilliant knowledge of its reality. He can lean into Hob’s touch, gasp against Hob’s cheek as Hob strokes him. He may be starting to dissociate but it doesn’t feel scary, this time. It feels floaty and peaceful.

Hob doesn’t seem to mind taking the lead. He brings Dream’s body higher and higher. Dream hangs on, in the pleasant darkness, overwhelmed. Eventually he hears Hob undoing his own zipper, and his breath catches. Hob takes his hand, brings it down, wraps Dream’s fingers around his length.

Dream holds him gently, cheek pressed against Hob’s, breathing shallowly. Everything is heightened without his sight, every detail of Hob’s body, the precise weight of him in Dream’s hand, the heat of him, the slickness of pre-come at the tip. His heart thunders in his throat as he strokes Hob, as Hob’s hand wraps around his, shows him the rhythm at which he likes to be touched.

“You are so beautiful,” Hob says in his ear.

“I would say the same, but,” Dream says, and Hob laughs, delighted.

“Don’t have to say anything at all.”

He presses Dream closer by the small of his back, arching Dream’s spine, so Dream’s cock is rubbing against him. Wraps his hand around them both at once. Dream moans at the touch, the slide of his body against Hob’s stoking fire within him, so much more vivid than when he touches himself. He’d thought Hob would want… more of him, but this is good, this is comfortable, and safe.

Hob slips his hand under the waistband of Dream’s trousers, palming his ass, bringing him closer, closer. His grip is sure and possessive. Dream falls into his touch, his knowledge, his acceptance.

He’s getting close. He tucks his face into Hob’s shoulder, breathing hard. Hob must sense it, he strokes them harder, faster, crushing their bodies together.

Dream bites down hard on Hob’s shoulder as heat rushes through him, hips jerking into Hob’s hand, utterly overcome as his orgasm races through him. Hob yelps at the press of his teeth, but then laughs. He laughs so easily.

Dream is still floating but feels when Hob’s hips stutter and he comes, spend spilling over their hands. His chest heaves under Dream. Dream takes peace in the rhythm of his body. The strength, sweat, surety of him.

Dream comes back to himself, slowly. And immediate is the rush of embarrassment. How could he—

He kisses Hob’s shoulder where he’d pressed his teeth. “Sorry.”

Hob’s chest rumbles with laughter. He pets Dream’s hair. It feels delightful. Dream wants to lay his head down in his lap and have it never stop. “Don’t worry about it. Just surprised me, is all.” He whispers in Dream’s ear. “I’m more into it than you know.”

“Oh?” Dream is… intrigued.

“Mmhmm.” He nuzzles Dream’s cheek. “You liked the blindfold.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

Dream wonders what’s going through his mind, though he expects, if he sticks around long enough, he will find out.

“Feel better?” Hob asks.

Dream is not so shivery now. Not so utterly keyed up. Electricity spent. “Yes.”

“Good.” He touches Dream’s belly, where his come had landed. “This is going to get uncomfortable quick. Come on.”

He helps Dream up. Unties the tie from around his eyes. Dream almost wishes he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to walk into a wall, so he allows it.

When it’s gone he’s met with Hob’s gaze on him, and it’s so indulgent and adoring that he immediately wants to hide away again, take back the blindfold, put on his shirt, before his heart races itself into a early grave. But Hob takes his face between his hands before he can turn away.

Words tumble from Dream’s lips before he can think them through. “Have you... been with anyone since your fiancee passed away?”

Hob’s expression turns sad, and Dream feels bad for asking. “Few one night stands here and there. Nothing that really mattered. But this.” He leans his forehead against Dream’s. “I don’t know, Dream. It feels like it matters.”

The words are like pure restoration washing through him. “I feel the same,” Dream says, with a breath of relief. Of course, he does not have one night stands to compare it to. This is not a thing he has historically done. But still, it feels significant. That he even wanted to feels significant. The way Hob handles him feels significant.

Hob smiles, and kisses him, soft, shallow, but sweet. Far too adoring, Dream thinks, for what he understands a one night stand to be. It utterly terrifies him. He leans into it anyway.

“Come on,” Hob says when they part. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dream follows him, hand in hand, messy, exposed, ever-nervous, but strangely, at peace.

#this one's personal guys 😳 uhh. dont mind it #dreamling #my writing #anxiety #started writing this when - can you guess? - i was overstimulated at a wedding reception 😂

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two-white-butterflies · 2 days ago

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gave you all my best me's (ii)

Description: Aemond tries to figure out if his feelings are real. A revelation sends this house of cards crumbling down.

Pairing: (past! jacaerys velaryon/reader), aemond targaryen/reader

PART ONE ||

Aemond takes a nervous bite of his mini-Oreos. It's been a week since he introduced you to his family, and all his relatives have been sending him kind messages. However, his father has refused to return all of his calls. Nothing new, he muses.

"Are you okay, hun?" You sit beside him, and the sofa slightly shifts to accommodate your shared weight. "Yeah," he responds reluctantly. He doesn't exactly know how to feel. He sometimes looks at you and thinks about turning this relationship into a real thing, but then, he remembers your conversation with Jacaerys on the balcony...

Everything has been so blurry and difficult lately.

What if Jacaerys suddenly calls, and you pick up, and everything returns to where you left it off?

"It's just been a tough couple of weeks," he reasons.

But he knows that the feelings that thump inside of his ribcage are far too complex to explain. "Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, and he shakes his head.

nameofficial posted to her story!

caption: with mr lover lover 😎 song: Boombastic by Shaggy

YOU are you aight you been pushing me away lately :((

AEMOND TARGARYEN I'm a little busy with work We're releasing a new phone this month

YOU does this have something to do with the jacaerys thing?

AEMOND TARGARYEN Ofc not xx I respect you It's not like we have a 'real' relationship

seen.

Your eyebrows merged together in fury.

It's not like we have a 'real' relationship.

You continued to stare at his message. Actually, you were glaring at your phone - until it suddenly fell on your face.

"Shit," you cursed. "Fuck," you continued.

The fact that Aemond wasn't entirely lying pierced your heart. Your feelings for him have blossomed these past few months, you didn't need a verbal reminder that this was all contractual. That he only chose to be pretend married to you because it meant inheriting his father's fortune. You are not important to him.

Thanks for the reminder, Aemond.

You were pleasantly surprised when Alicent invited you for a cup of tea. Aemond told you that his mother kept to herself, she only talked to people inside her small circle. You remember that the only thing that she acknowledged you with were small smiles and nods, but it's good that she's finally warming up to you.

I mean...you are going to be her pretend daughter-in-law.

"I am sure that you are not unfamiliar with the way our family conducts our business," Alicent begins the conversation, taking a leisurely sip of her tea. "- it's a new age, but some of our members are still stuck in the past." She gives you a thin-lipped smile.

What was she going to say next? She voted for Hillary Clinton in the last election. "- especially my husband. He is a traditional man. Before we got married, I was in my third year of medical school. I wanted to be a pediatrician, but he gave me an ultimatum, told me it was either him or being a pedia, and I chose him." She speaks with regret.

"Pardon?" You raised an eyebrow, unaware of where this conversation was leading. "My husband knows there are charges against you by the Spanish Government, which is easy to fix, but there is a stain on your reputation. You are not the kind of woman that he finds worthy of being a member of our family. He will not allow your wedding to pull through, and if it happens, Aemond stands to inherit nothing." Alicent explains with a deep breath.

You wanted to tell her that you were no longer here for the money, but Aemond would want the inheritance, right?

Alicent reaches for her handbag, dropping an envelope of cash to cover the bill for this tea party. She reaches for your hand, holding it with both of hers. "Please stay away from my son," she begs. "- you can find another husband, but I cannot find another him." Alicent pleads, not wanting her son to fall in his ranks in society.

Reputation means everything to people like them.

"Yes, of course." You forced yourself to agree.

It's what Aemond wants.

"Please don't mention this to him. I love him, but he doesn't love me enough to abandon you." You took a deep breath. She reaches for her handbag again, writing you a check for millions of dollars but you shake your head.

"- he'll have kids in the future with a woman that isn't me, but someone that you think is proper enough for him. You won't even remember my name by then. I don't need money, Mrs. Targaryen. I'm happy to have been here." You removed your engagement ring, placing it on the table.

"Thank you," she looks up with a sad smile.

"Thank you too," you answered, leaving without looking back.

AEMOND TARGARYEN Where are you? I bought some pad thai

AEMOND TARGARYEN Are you still there?

AEMOND TARGARYEN My mom told me I'm sorry Let's talk

YOU MISSED A CALL FROM AEMOND TARGARYEN. (39)

(ONE YEAR LATER)

WHY DID Y/N L/N DISAPPEAR?

It has been one year since singer Y/N L/N was last seen wandering around New York City. Thirteen months ago, MTV announced that her engagement with tech-CEO Aemond Targaryen had broken off. A close friend alleges that their breakup was amicable, and the couple were just heading towards different paths in life.

A year ago, Y/N L/N deactivated her social media accounts.

Six months ago, all charges by the Spanish government against her were dropped, citing that it was a third-party accounting firm that caused the mismanagement of funds. L/N was let go with a minor fine. It has been radio silence for quite some time now, but according to a few insiders, the singer is seen roaming NYC once more...

Why did she disappear? And why is she back?

nameofficial: i stayed there.... THANK YOU FOR INVITING ME AND @luciechurchill!! @taylorswift. i love you so much ❤️

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>comments

taylorswift: I'm so glad you enjoyed the era's tour 💙💙💙💙💙 - nameofficial: twas absolute cinema 🤯

Y/NSUPPORT: SHE'S BACK !!! and she's paid her taxes 🇪🇸

BigBlueEyes6: Y/N stays the queen of the revolution 🇪🇸 bella ciao bella ciao bella ciao ciao ciao 👺

replies:

sexybaliye: I HAVE BEEF WITH HIM BECAUSE HE TOOK HER THIRD ALBUM AWAY FROM US 😭 MY ASS WILL FOREVER MOURN LOVER - applepie59: BYE...Karma by TS is Lover in a diff font - sexybaliye: Albums that will never be released LOL

hauntedasshome8: I'm not heartbroken....also me: Y/N L/N

nameofficial: I love the crowd in Nashville. I'm so happy to be opening the ERA'S TOUR by @taylorswift. ❤️

liked by 1,329,921 others

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"How long are you going to keep attending the concerts?" Aegon sits on one of the ottomans. He gives his brother a lazy smile before callously lighting his cigarette - knowing that he wouldn't get into trouble because his grandfather owned the hotel. "Why are you so curious about it?" Aemond rolls his eyes.

"I find it kind of weird that you leave after the opener," Aegon comments. "- don't you want to talk to her?" Aegon inquires.

"She looks fine," Aemond breathes. He doesn't want to ruin your quit life just because he dreams of being in your arms again. If you've moved on, then he has no choice but to follow in your footsteps.

"I've been analyzing her note changes," Aegon puffs.

"You pay attention to that?" Aemond raises an eyebrow.

Aegon chuckles annoyingly, as if he was your biggest fan. "When she says lay on the horn, there's a slight change in her voice, which probably means that it haunts her." He quotes your lyrics. "- in one of the surprise songs, she looked really sad when singing about the snow globe spinning round and round." Aegon continues his analysis.

He looks at Aemond again, who is looking at him with a strange stare. "Men are so stupid," Aegon stands up - he rolls his eyes before leaving the room and slamming the door loudly.

Aemond continues to watch you from the front row, he's already memorized your routine by now. He takes a sip of the beer that Aegon smuggled inside, and everyone cheers around him - seeing your faint figure begin to march towards the front stage.

"This song is going to be a part of my third studio album, I figured that I should share it with all of you first." You smile, strumming your guitar. "The apartment we won't share. I wonder what sad wife lives there." You begin your song. "Have the windows deciphered her stares? Do the bricks in the walls know to hide the affairs?" You walked around.

Freezing once you see him.

Aemond Targaryen in the flesh.

"The dog we won't have is now one I would not choose. The daughter we won't raise still waits for you." You walked past him. You could attend a million interviews after this and swear to god that you're not over him, but you'd be lying. Because you still love him. You still love all the ways that he'd massage your scalp.

"The girl I won't be is the one that's yours. I hope you shortly find what you long for." You glanced at him again. Seeing him feels like getting electrocuted. It makes you happy but at the same time really, really sad because you know that he doesn't feel the same way. "A year and some change. Isn't it strange?" You looked at him.

One word and you'll come running back to him.

"I'm sure she's beautiful and sweet." You continued strumming your guitar. "But you're the only thing I need," you change the lyrics, your voice beginning to fade in the background.

Aemond nervously bounces his legs, and a few security guards escort him backstage - and now he's waiting for you to finish your last song. He fidgets with the engagement ring inside his palms. It's a family heirloom, a ring that Alicent gave him that came from his grandmother, Alerie.

"Aemond," you say with a reluctant voice. "Y/N," He breathes, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned, taking in the sight of him. "Let's get back together, please," he begged, offering you the ring that was inside of his palms. "What are you talking about? I thought that wasn't part of the deal, your dad won't leave you anything." You stared deep into his eyes.

"I love you," he confesses.

"The day that you left, I wanted to tell you." He adds.

"I only left because I thought that you didn't feel the same way," your frown deepened.

A chuckle escapes your mouth, truly in disbelief at how the tides shifted in your favor.

He drops on one knee.

"Marry me," he says.

"Of course," you agree.

Meeting his lips with fiery passion.

nameofficial: I take this magnetic force of a man to be my LOVER.

liked by 3,812,923 others

>comments

bananalols: ok what happened to hello, how are you?

helaenatargaryen: Congratulations sis and bro!! 🧡

Nour192: UMM THIS IS SO UNEXPECTED...

aemondtargaryensapphires: Happy wedding.

liked by 123,182 others

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comments have been disabled.

nameofficial: I'm so happy to make it with you ❤️

liked by 3,239,192 others

>comments

imthatbitch2: Congrats, we didn't even know that u were engaged lols

HundredBoys82: What ever makes u happy...boo?

ColossalTitan: MRS LOVER LOVER

@glame @xcinnamonmalfoyx @winxchesters @yentroucnagol @mxxny-lupin @mxtantrights @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kravitzwhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @introverbatim @flrboyd @sumsumcooluser @rebstrg @bladestark @ninihrtss @julczimozart @narahwolfqueen16

REQUESTS FOR THE BONUS FLUFF PARTS ARE AVAILABLE just send them on my inbox!!

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ironsoftie · 2 days ago

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Penelope’s love is as deeply rooted in Odysseus as their bed is in the olive tree. When asked if she’d ‘be able to fall in love with him again’, she really looked him in the eyes and said:

I have been right here fighting and doing all I can for us while you have been away. Suffering hardships, and battles, and losses of my own right here on our island- in our own home.

And while I cannot begin to fathom all of what you have had to endure and done, I have been right here waiting for you.

Loving, trusting, missing, aching, raging, longing, yearning, scheming, waiting- waiting- WAITING. Knowing one day you will find your way back home to me. To us. To our family.

My love, I cannot wait to spend the rest of my days with you because that is all I have ever wanted.

You’re home.

I missed you.

I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

#epic the musical spoilers #epic the musical #epic the ithaca saga #the Ithaca saga #epic the musical the Ithaca saga #epic penelope #epic odysseus #odypen #epic odypen #I love Them™️

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saraannereads · 2 days ago

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WIP Fanfic Friday

“Elain will accept the bond and her place by Lucien’s side as his mate and bride. They will reside in Spring to help restore the strength in that court, and Tamlin has agreed to name Lucien as his heir. In exchange, Beron will ally with the Night Court. Those are his terms.”

Azriel felt as though his world was cleaving in two and as if he was going to slip into the void. Rhys had made the consequences clear — if Elain did not accept the bond, Beron would ally with Koshchei and together, they would invade Spring and set about a sequence of events that would force the entirety of Prythian into war. Lives would be lost and entire cities decimated.

“Rhys, you cannot ask that of her.”

“It’s done. She agreed and has already written to Lucien to confirm their betrothal. He’ll be in Velaris by morning, and planning for their mating ceremony will officially begin. Beron will want to make a show of it.”

Shadows swirled around Azriel as he gritted his teeth in an attempt to keep from shouting how wrong this was. Elain loved him. They loved each other. This could not be how their story ended, and yet he could not mistake the finality in Rhys’s words. Elain had agreed, not only that — she’d written to Lucien. So many raging, panicked thoughts roared within his mind, and the sharpness with which this fell upon him stole his breath.

“Az,” Rhys said perhaps a bit more softly than Azriel expected, “It’s the only way I can keep them safe.” He reached out for Azriel’s shoulder but held back as if he thought the better of it. In that moment, there wasn’t anything in the world that could comfort Azriel, and Rhys knew that.

Azriel understood the lengths Rhysand would go to ensure his family’s safety, but he hadn’t expected Rhys to simply give into Beron’s demands. When had they ever simply given into a tyrant without a fight? But the Rhys he knew was gone, the Rhys who made choices for a court was replaced by the Rhys who was a mate and a father. as well as a high lord.

Before he could think the better of it, Azriel found himself looking his brother directly in the eyes as he squared his shoulders and said, “I need to see her, Rhys.”

Rhys stiffened, the mask of the cool high lord firmly in place as he commanded, “you will do no such thing. She’s made her choice, and -“

“Choice?! She’s made her choice?! What choice did she have when you’ve put the entirety of our peace on her shoulders? What choice did she have in saying no when you’ve made it clear that should she reject Lucien, all of Prythian and the mortal lands would be in danger?! You never gave her a choice, Rhys, and you know it.”

Rhys’s wings flared and the windows rattled as he crossed the threshold towards Azriel. Azriel braced himself for the blow, readied himself to fight his High Lord. But nothing. Rhys just stood there within inches of Azriel’s face, pain and understanding flickering in his eyes for a moment before he sighed and simply repeated, “it’s the only way, Az.”

“I love her,” Azriel breathed with a hint of silver gleaming in his eyes, an uncharacteristic show of emotion from the Night Court’s spymaster. He’d never even confessed his feelings about Mor to his brother, and here he was ready to beg on his knees for Rhys to reverse this, to keep the female he loved in Velaris. Rhys stilled and closed his eyes before sighing heavily as he walked back toward his desk.

“Azriel,” Rhys spoke as he sat down, “Feyre said Elain asked to be alone this evening. She’s at the townhouse.”

To be continued. Maybe?? Idk. What do y’all think? Tagging some Elriel fic writers whose work I love @lunaatthezoo, @tswaney17, @nikachansstuff, @jasmineandcedar, @shedoessoshedoes and @violetasteracademic

#pro elriel #elriel #elriel endgame #elain archeron #elrielfanfic #elriel fic writers #elriel fic #elriel fanfiction #elriel fanfic

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candyswirls · 2 days ago

Note

For the requests - can I please ask for any Gadriel fluff/smut/comfort (any of these) with fem reader? Thank you!!!

I actually don’t write smut. I got this fluffy idea almost immediately. There’s not enough old women. This kinda took a path all its own.

He huffed as he paced impatiently within his room. What was the lieutenant hiding? Even now he was resting in his quarters after collapsing when they came in contact with those marks of chaos. It was too strange. Too suspicious. He-

“Gadriel,” rasped an old voice just outside the door.

He paused in his anger.

“I know you’re in there.”

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t bring himself to keep her out.

He opened his door, letting an old ad mech shuffle in with her cane. Blue lenses were dim and any bit of skin was wrinkled and leathery. Her legs squeaked.

He took a knee and assisted her getting up to sit on his bed. She stared forward, hand resting on her cane.

She patted his pauldron, “You’re still such a good boy.”

He didn’t move as she reached out and pinched a cheek.

“And still very handsome,” she added. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“You know I never deny a visit from you,” the Sergeant said.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “How goes the fight?”

“We have achieved victories but we suffer the loss of our brothers,” Gadriel growled. “Lyreo and Elion… they are dead. And I wasn’t even with them.”

“You regret this decision?” She inquired. “Not like you to split up your squad.”

He scoffed, “It was not my decision. The captain has placed a lieutenant over my squad. He has my command.”

“You do not sound pleased,” she commented while rhythmically nodding. “Speak to me.”

Gadriel spoke freely, “He does things in strange ways. He is cut off and will not speak to us. I feel as though he is already disappointed with us. Condemning our actions before they have even happened! He shuts down my suggestions despite I having lead this squad before him!”

“It is always difficult to relay leadership to another,” she said. “You always found that difficult. You’ve always been ambitious. Hmm, but I sense this is not all?”

“His past is shrouded in mystery,” he exasperated. “He refuses to tell us anything. I question his motives and who he really is. He was part of the Deathwatch, a noble honor, but acts as if though it is a shame! He also collapsed upon coming across signs of the archenemy. Even now he rests in his room.”

“The captain will not listen to my concerns. He is dismissive. I know he cannot afford internal strife among the ranks and is more concerned with this war. Yet why place the Lieutenant over my squad? I have tried to consider what errors I have made to cause this decision but I am still at a loss!”

She placed a hand on his, signaling to him that it was his turn to listen.

She reached up and smoothed back some of his hair, cold metal brushing his skin.

“My poor Gadriel,” she hummed. “So many questions. So few answers. Perhaps this lieutenant is not here as a punishment to you but as a test. Maybe one from the captain. Maybe from the Omnissiah. Maybe just a simple case of clashing personalities. Do not dismiss your past accomplishments and drive.”

“But-“

“Ah, ah, ah,” she hushed. “You can’t fool me. Astartes pass all the time. Baselines even more. The passing of your squad mates is not your fault. Nor is it your lieutenant. There’s always the case of a better or different choice. We don’t always make them. This is war.”

Gadriel looked like he wanted to protest but chose not to. He wouldn’t dare argue with her solely out of respect.

“As for the suspicion,” she continued. “You are resourceful and academic. You know how to research. If others will not tell you, learn for yourself. There should be records on this Astartes. Reading to gain knowledge and learn of history is the best thing one can do for themselves.”

Gadriel nodded, “I know. You taught me that. I planned to go to the archives soon.”

“Good. I shan’t keep you long. We’ll both be headed the same direction. But I had to come see you though. I always know when one of my boys is upset.”

She cupped his cheek, “You fight hard, you follow your orders, remember the codex and what I taught you. But most of all, remember: you should enjoy fighting for the Omnissiah.”

He nodded and found himself resting his head on her lap.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “You always put me at ease. I am honored to have you as a mentor. I admit, I find physical affection embarrassing but I appreciate you speaking to me in the privacy of my room.”

She chuckled as she stroked his head, “Like I said Gadriel, I know you. Now come, help an old magos back to the archives. My shipment of new legs won’t be here for a bit and these ones are rusty.”

He helped her off the bed and offered his arm as he assisted her out.

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bwat5-blog · 2 days ago

Text

Quick Response To Some Nonsense

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

Hello all, no fancy lead in today just a response to some recent stances taken on Cait/Vi, in particular their breakup. Of course this is simply my interpretation, but I felt strongly enough seeing it that it was worthy of a refutation. As I am keeping this centered on the stances themselves and my responses I won't be doing my usual laying the groundwork, so if you have any questions feel free to ask or check out my other stuff! Let's dive in!

The primary reason Caitlyn shuts down and does what she does is because Vi took the choice away from her after they had agreed on it. And that Caitlyn had lived a life always struggling to be able to make her own choices because of her parents: Okay, on the surface, totally fair. Yes, they had agreed on a plan as to how this had to go down and Vi stopped Caitlyn from carrying it out. However, there is SO MUCH MORE going on here.

First and foremost, Vi's reasons for stopping Caitlyn at this point are irrelevant. Because of Isha. Listen folks, If you have watched these characters all the way to this point, and you honestly feel that either of them would intentionally do something that risks the life of a child, I just cannot agree with you. Caitlyn has only shown herself to be a kind and caring person ever since we meet her. These folks wanted to use two factors to show that Vi would not have cared about Isha being hurt to prove that it was all about Jinx.

A- Vi doesn't have a particular adverse reaction to Renni's son dying

B- Vi doesn't seem to care about hitting Isha and doesn't stop when she does

A: Renni's Son-

This is the boy killed who is working in the Shimmer lab that Jayce and Vi attack. Jayce accidentally kills him with a blast from his hammer. So regarding the allegation that Vi doesn't seem to particularly care. Context, as always, is our friend folks. Jayce is backing out because of the death when they were quite literally starting their attack on Siloc's entire operation. So what does Vi actually say-

"You've always been a part of this, you just never had to look it in the eye. One dead kid? There's hundreds more where he came from, thanks to Silco. And thanks yo people like you, who stuck their heads in the dirt. "

Jayce leaves, Vi very clearly stands over the body and sighs, her eyes wet with tears. And yes she gets back to business. Because as she said. This is about so much more than one dead kid.

B: Hitting Isha-

Okay, I love Isha to. But this is not the first time she jumps in the middle of an adult situation and gets hurt. But anyway, the allegation here is that Vi really had no issue hitting her and didn't stop because of it. Isha quite literally bites Vi on her wraps. You know, the part of her that is probably in constant pain from months of pit fighting and no self care. Also, Jinx and Vi literally stop at the same time when they realize what happened.

Also, lets not forget this handy-dandy little moment where Vi quite literally throws herself in front of Isha to save her from Vander:

Additionally, to allege that the reason Caitlyn reacts to such an extreme agree is simply that Vi robbed her of her choice is to deny the absolutely crushing trauma Caitlyn has been/is dealing with. She is literally face to face with the monster of her nightmares, and is being denied her revenge. Every fight-or-flight, primal, lizard brain part of her is screaming that Jinx is the most dangerous thing in the world, and the woman Caitlyn loves is standing in front of her. I go more into the signs of Caitlyn's traumatic episode in another document but to suffice it to say, it doesn't seem like Caitlyn was really aware of exactly what all was going on in that chamber. Vi called her repeatedly and all Caitlyn could say was "move! she's not getting away again!" never responding to anything else Vi was saying. Caitlyn fired her rifle twice striking Vi's gauntlet once even and was not deterred. She is NOT doing okay

***FYI- I had a lovely conversation with the person who made this first point. I misunderstood them. Their point was through Caitlyn’s perception of the event while factoring her mental state. So I stand by analysis of the scene but calling out this first point was my error***

2. "I thought you were different.. but your not. It's her blood in your veins"- whoo boy. Okay, The users are more or less defending Caitlyn's anger and her saying this as her realizing that ultimately Vi's loyalty is with Jinx because they believe Vi stopped her because of Jinx, and by extension someone who has done A-Z of fucked up things to Caitlyn. Again I am just about the furthest thing from a Jinx apologist but I don't have time for the list at the moment.

I will repeat, did Vi stop it because she saw Powder in Jinx's face, and because her sister told her she was glad it was her killing her? Entirely possible. But ultimately what it comes down it Caitlyn is enraged because Jinx got away, and Caitlyn's solution to that was to take the shot with a hex tech rifle that had been glitching, and could have killed a child.

No as to what Caitlyn actually said, because one of their points was about Vi's comeback. A few points:

A- Caitlyn knows all of Vi and Jinx history by now including Vi's crushing guilt over what happened

B- Caitlyn knows Vi carries the guilt for her mother's death because Vi asked Caitlyn not to shoot

C- Caitlyn knows what it meant for Vi to put on the uniform and come here with her, and still doubts her

D- Caitlyn literally alleges that Vi is no different than Jinx, who has caused all of this pain and suffering, because her blood is the same, tainted in the same way

3. "Than why are you the one acting like her?"- Essentially here they are just saying that Vi was looking to wound, looking for the low blow, and that not enough attention was given to how fucked up this was to say, especially because Caitlyn had tried to do all of this the right way.

Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons, and Living by a couple deadly sins Just to make sure I finish what you began And I ain't afraid to lose a life or ten If it means that I get to win in the end (woo) So I'ma do this on my own, step into the danger zone Pull the pin and watch it blow! (Arcane Hellfire)

I am not saying it wasn't a fucked up thing to say. I am saying Yall are missing the point. Vi was afraid of Caitlyn changing because she saw the violence and darkness in her. Because while yes they are doing everything the right way in the lanes technically, for Caitlyn its all for the wrong reasons. She isn't there to help the undercity, she is on a quest for revenge. And as such is surrendering her morals and values alittle at a time.

4. Caitlyn hit Vi impulsively after Vi realized she overstepped/Cait never learned her strength or how to hold back-

As Caitlyn is walking away and Vi says "why are you the one acting like her?!" she grabs Cait's arm firmly at first then relaxes her grip to a more gentle one. Caitlyn sits and breathes for a solid ten seconds before hitting Vi. That's not exactly a reflexive action. Also, Caitlyn has demonstrated a tremendous proficiency with her rifle and with increasing hand-to-hand combat over the course of the show. She knew what she was doing, and she knew where she hit her. Now was Caitlyn also drowning in the middle of a total emotional overload. Yes indeed. But this was not a shock response strike. She chose to.

Now for a few points outside of the breakup that were mentioned:

Vi was wrong to suggest that Caitlyn did not understand during their conversation about Vi putting on the badge-

Well we can do this simply. Lets compare the two.

A- Vi was standing there in sight of her parents bodies as the people responsible were still there stalking around the smoke. The people responsible all dress the same way and their look is a symbol of their institution. Now she is being asked to dress like them.

B- Caitlyn was however far away and only saw the rocket launched and smash into the building. This of course would still be very traumatic. But for better or worse there is only one Jinx and her look is her look. Unless Vi was asking Cait to put on a half-eaten circus tent, I don't think we are in the same area here.

2. Vi has a tendency to dismiss Caitlyn's trauma when something more viscerally related to her own loss is going on-

The example they provided was the conversation I listed above. Vi has literally stayed there to be there and support Caitlyn even after being yelled at by Tobias. She is supportive of catching jinx and wants to help right up until Cait offers the badge. And even after that blow up, in the wake of the memorial attack Vi shelves her own issues and agrees to be an enforcer anyways.

3. Fandom keeps giving Vi a pass like anyone from Piltover can do no wrong-

The idea of this fandom giving Vi a pass is completely and totally laughable. I'm sorry but it is. There is still a whole legion of us who blame a fifteen year old girl kneeling over her father's body, who just saw her brothers die, who just held off a legion of armed Silco goons and barely survived, for ruining Powder during one bad moment and turning her into jinx. Aside from Caitlyn's commander Arc Vi is probably the least understood character in the entire fandom.

PSSSSSST.. If it helps, they don't do redemption arcs for characters who were never in the wrong in the first place. Have a great day!

#arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 1 #vi arcane #caitvi #jinx arcane #powder #caitlyn kiramman #arcane vi #vi and jinx

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evita-shelby · 2 days ago

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Eternity

Eva Smith x Tommy Shelby

cw: death, ghosts, body possession, ritual, murder, drowning

@thegreatdragonfruta @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @zablife @novashelby @hoodeddreams13 @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @vivianleighwishesshewasme

She dies in his arms and yet the next morning he awakes to find her beside him.

“Did you think a physical death would kill our story, mi vida?” the witch asks as a cold hand cradled his cheek as she used to do when she was alive.

Same nightgown she wore to sleep, dark hair neatly braided and her chest rising and falling with every breath she took.

It is when Tommy reaches out to her thinking everything had been a terrible dream that he knows the woman in bed with him is merely a ghost of her. Blood trickles out of the slowly forming bullet wound that killed her and before he knows it, he is drenched in it.

He cannot move, he can only ask one thing: How?

“I’m a witch, darling, the veil between this world and the next is too weak to keep us apart.” She pins him like she was so fond of doing, kisses him and the mortal man relishes in the familiar taste of the woman he had been married to for four years.

The blood disappears, the wound as well as they give into their longing even if she’s only been dead for less than a week.

Tommy awakes alone, almost strangled by the nightgown she had left on the bed the night she died and with a hangover from hell.

And yet, the moment the whiskey touches his tongue she appears on his desk, sitting cross-legged in her favorite winter outfit as if she’d never left.

“Are you going to be doing this every time I drink?” he asks the ghost who only smiles.

“Did you say something, Tommy?” Lizzie asks from the other side of the library, having come to help put Eva’s affairs in order. They had been good friends, worked well together and now Elizabeth Stark was here to make sure the transition of Eva’s charities and other shit went as smooth as the dead woman haunting him would have demanded.

“Just talking to myself.” He lies because he doesn’t want to end up leaving poor Charlie without a father too.

“Good boy.” The witch whispers as if Lizzie could hear her.

Before he knows it, Shelby is waiting to be alone so he can see what summons his dead wife to stave off the loneliness she left in her wake.

He drinks with the Russians, and she’s there bored out of her mind in a fine black dress he liked ---because of how her tits looked in it--- telling him every dirty secret those sick fucks have as he pretends to give a shit beyond getting the job done. He hunts down a stag with his brothers to say goodbye to their undeserving father and she’s there right beside him complaining about the weather.

He gets drunk enough to fuck the Duchess and it’s his wife possessing the woman whom he fucks that night. Then it happens again when the dead woman convinces him to try and see if it works with Lizzie too.

Tommy doesn’t know what will happen to him if she ever leaves for good. Already he feels the ache for her when he wakes up to find its some other woman in his bed and not her.

Then Hughes leaves him at death’s door on Good Friday. Those hours or days he was under the heavy drugs had him live out a fantasy with her. In that dream world she was alive, the baby they’d only learned about the week before was a beautiful little girl with his blue eye and her brown one, and then they were on the beach they made love in during their honeymoon when the bubble bursts and he’s taken back to the land of the living.

He wakes up with her telling him his time will not come because she won’t ever let him die without keeping his promise.

“I cannot leave until you join me, mi amor. And I won’t let you leave until Charlie is old enough to make his own way in the world.” She plucks the cigarette from his hand and smokes it herself craving a taste of the world she left behind. “He needs you now more than ever.”

“But I need you, love, I can’t go on without you.” He pleads with the ghost as the laudanum bottle shakes in his hand.

Mary, the housekeeper, had no idea what she was encouraging by telling him to take his medication. She thinks it calms him because he’s too drugged to be reminded he lives in hell with paradise just within reach.

“I will leave if you take your life, Thomas Shelby.” Eva gives him no choice, takes the bottle in his hand and spills the liquid down the sink for him. “I would never forgive you if you left Charlie without a father.”

And because nothing terrifies him more than her leaving, he agrees to keep on living. Even after his family deserts him thinking he was the one who allowed Section D to imprison and sentence him to death, even after John dies on Christmas Day and death feels more inviting than ever.

He reads all Eva has to offer about magic, every book, scroll, and even her journal of what happened to her that night in the desert. He has a witch’s blood, a lineage stretching as far back as Eva’s and eventually he finds it.

If he cannot join Eva in death, then he will make her join him in life.

He killed her and now he resurrects her.

Thomas Shelby never liked magic, but his mother had the gift to bridge the living with the dead and now her cursed blood allowed him to do something even Eva had believed was impossible.

He just needs a body.

“I want to show you something.” Tommy feels guilt gnaw at him as he convinces Lizzie ---whose only crime was to love him and him not loving her back--- to join him on a walk.

He will pay for this and how he used her to be with Eva, but she would understand if she had ever loved someone like he loves his wife. Love like theirs was made to last eternity.

Lizzie only has vague memories of what happens when they fuck. As far as she knows, Tommy is fucking her and not the ghost of his wife possessing her for a fleeting moment. As far as she knows, those sweet nothings and words of love are to her and not the dead woman grasping at those tiny threads keeping her here.

And now she is the sacrificial lamb he is to sacrifice to his eternal love.

Lizzie will die and Eva will live.

The skin must not be broken, no injuries, no blood lost in the ritual or else their will only be a second death.

“Tommy! Please!” those are the last things Elizabeth Stark said before he drowns her in the same canal his mother killed herself in.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, but I must do this.” Tommy has never killed a woman, and his hands do not stop shaking as he pulled the lifeless body out of the dirty water and into the hex he made exactly as the old scroll he’d paid a fortune for told him to.

The hex was filled with Eva’s most prized possessions, the lock of hair he took for the mourning ring he wore, the photograph of them and Charlie and, most importantly, her wedding ring.

He recites the incantation with shaky hands and tells himself this is for the greater good. Eva needs to live to raise Charlie, to have the three more children in their vision, to keep his family from dying by Luca’s hand.

The gangster and amateur witch isn’t sure it works until the dead woman begins to wake up retching all the canal water she had swallowed as she drowned. Lizzie’s eyes are no longer blue, they are brown, the same shade of brown as Eva’s had been.

After all it is not Elizabeth Stark who inhabits the body, it is Eva Shelby, the Wicked Witch of Warwickshire.

The dead woman is afraid to ask what dark magic he used to transfer her soul into this now empty vessel, but the moment she can gain control of her new limbs she throws herself at him laughing at having a second chance at life.

“You said I was not to join you, but you never said I couldn’t make you join me.” he kissed her forehead, her hands and left her lips for last. “Did you think a physical death would kill our story, my life?”

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #evacore #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic

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widebrimmedhatsblog · 3 days ago

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okay...here goes...

(I wish you would write) a modern short au about Violet as a celebrity or princess or something, and Xaden as her bodyguard🤭🤭🫶

Okay I'm cheating a little on this one because I have something like this in my drafts already!! This was actually one of @skyfallscotland's prompt fics in which Lilith was the US President, and after a failed assassination attempt on the campaign trail, she assigns Xaden to be Violet's body guard. For reasons I hope are obvious, I don't want to finish it anymore. However, the first chapter was done in it's entirety by the time I scrapped it, so you can have 2.3k ish words of body guard Xaden!! (below the cut)

When Violet gets a knock on her door, she is not expecting it to have anything to do with her mother. The entire reason she’d gone to college in California was so that anything having to do with her mother would be a country away. And for the most part, it had worked. Her freshman and sophomore years had gone off without a hitch. In her classes that aren’t 99% poli sci majors, she doesn’t even get recognized, and she couldn’t be happier.

She abandons her spot on the couch, and sets her planner to the side as she stands to answer the door. She doesn’t bother checking the peep hole, because she assumes it’s doordash for Ridoc, or last minute school supplies for Sawyer, or Rhiannon staying very ahead of her Christmas shopping.

What she sees instead is a man. He’s tall, with dark, wavy hair, and dark skin. His arms—very broad, ridiculously so, some might say—are crossed over his chest— which is also notably broad. He’s squinting at her like he’s scrutinizing something, which is uncalled for, in Violet’s opinion. Maybe she isn’t dressed to impress just yet, but the only thing she’d been planning on impressing was her planner, and it didn’t have eyes, so her combo of old sweatpants she’d cut into shorts and a gigantic tie-dye t-shirt with her school’s name on it had been perfectly appropriate.

“You just open the door all the way, without knowing who’s outside?” the man demands. He stares at her as does it, unflinching and unyielding.

Violet, naturally, does both flinch and yield, because she’s entirely confused. She takes a step back, to get a better look at the man, to try and see where on earth he gets his audacity, but she comes up empty.

“Do I know you?” she retorts, indignant.

He matches her indignation, card for card. “Do you not have a chain on your door?”

“Of course I don’t have a chain on my door. This isn’t New York.”

“Do you think crime only happens in New York?” The man demands. “Do you think that none of your mother’s enemies can run a google search and find out where you are?”

He shouldn’t have brought up her mother. He’d been so hot before he opened his mouth, but even still, he could have saved the whole thing and escaped with his hotness intact if he’d avoided bringing up her mother.

“Okay,” Violet says, “This was fun. You can go now.”

She moves to slam the front door shut, but he shoves out an arm, blocking her.

“See?” he says. “This is why you need a door chain. You can’t keep me out. You’re not strong enough, but metal is.”

She stares at him for a second, blinks, then decides.

“Okay. You can leave, and also, fuck you. Who the hell do you think you are?”

He’s still holding her door open, so she cannot make him leave, unless she resorts to something petty like kicking his shins. His arm, outstretched to support the door, looks…enticing. She’ll give him that. He has an enticing arm. Assholes are, technically, allowed to have enticing arms.

“You know who I am,” he replies. His tone betrays no humor, which is ridiculous, because there’s no way he’s serious.

“I don’t, actually, or I wouldn't have asked,” she snaps. “Not that I care. You have one more chance to tell me, then you’re going to need to get the fuck out, or I’m going to scream at the top of my lungs, and my two male MMA fighter roommates are going to come out here and kick your ass.”

Ridoc and Sawyer only took one MMA class as a bonding experience, but Violet knows they’ll at the very least get this man out of the doorway.

The man studies her with that same analytical look he’d donned when she first opened the door. He looks her up and down, then comes to his conclusion.

“She didn’t tell you.”

“Who,” Violet seethes, “is she?”

“Your mother, “ he says, though he’s speaking slowly, thinking as he goes, “She didn’t tell you. She didn’t call you or anything?”

“The last time my mother called me was in the year of our lord two thousand and sixteen, and that was genuinely only because she thought I had been abducted, so no. My mother didn’t call me.”

She pushes against the door with all she has, and still, he doesn’t move. He might have over one hundred pounds on her, though, given his size and his muscle mass. She will definitely have to get creative. There’s a vase on the coffee table Rhiannon won’t miss.

“I’m your new bodyguard,” the man says. He holds the hand that isn’t holding the door out to her, anticipating a handshake. “Xaden Riorson.”

Violet stares at him, at his hand, and at him holding out his hand. She says, “No you’re not.”

“I’m not Xaden Riorson, or I’m not your new bodyguard?” he asks. “Because I'm pretty sure I’m both.”

“No,” she shakes her head furiously, emphatically. “No to both. You’re neither.”

He sighs, shoves his hand into his pocket, and emerges with a badge. It has its own little leather case, but the badge itself is shiny and gold, with an eagle at the top and a silver star in the center.

“Happy now?” he asks, voice dry.

He’s not just a bodyguard. He's from the secret service.

“I’m happy that you found your way into a costume shop, but it is that time of year,” Violet says. And she’s right. With the start of August comes a proliferation of Spirit Halloweens. One on every corner, practically.

“It’s a real badge, Sorrengail.”

She hadn’t told him her last name, and she hates that he already knows it, that he knows her mother. It doesn’t give him any legitimacy, though. He’d said it himself—she’s really only a google search away.

But, if he’s actually Xaden Riorson, so is he.

“Hang on,” she says, brain already speeding down this train of thought. “Stay outside, or I will actually commit a crime.”

She steps back from the door, and he raises his non-braced hand in surrender. He leaves his badge out, and though Violet keeps her eyes on him, he doesn’t move over her line in the sand.

She finds her phone abandoned on the couch. She turns it on quickly, and her eyes scan notifications, but there is, of course, nothing from Lilith. Even though it shouldn’t, her heart still sinks. She should know better than to allow hope to thrive where her mother is concerned, but evidently, she doesn’t.

She opens Safari without checking her other notifications, and types in his supposed name. Xaden Riorson.

The results are inconclusive. No one, it seems, knows what Xaden Riorson is up to.

“Give me your driver’s license,” she demands.

He sighs, irritably, but then he’s digging in his pocket once more, revealing a wallet, and presenting her with his ID. He holds it over the threshold, so she plucks it from his fingers and holds it up in the light.

It looks real, though Violet’s never been big on fake IDs, because she’s never been big on doing anything she thinks might make her mother think she isn’t perfectly capable of caring for herself. Illegal activities fall squarely on her no-no list.

The picture matches, though Violet’s almost certain there’s a way to make that happen with fake IDs, too. She thinks she’s supposed to see a line somewhere in the middle of the ID, if it is real, but she’s also not entirely sure that isn’t actually the procedure for counterfeit money, and the longer she holds his ID up to the light without finding said line, the less sure she is of the line’s existence at all.

Finally, she says, “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” he presses.

“Well, I’m starting to think you’re Xaden Riorson, but that makes the secret service thing even less believable,” Violet says.

“Does it?” His voice is bone-dry, but Violet doesn’t mind. She’ll get to the bottom of this without his help.

“It does, because the Xaden Riorson I knew of was a senator’s son, and the sons of senators don’t just up and join the secret service.”

“They don’t?” he asks, still dry as ever.

“They don’t, because joining the secret service means you’re literally willing to die for the president.”

“And senator’s sons can’t do that?”

Other senator’s sons could, Violet thinks, but not Fen Riorson’s son. Fen Riorson had not been just any senator. Last election, Fen Riorson had been her mother’s main opponent, and when Americans went to the polls, they had not picked him.

He’d died six months after the election, but not before hundreds of articles were written, claiming he wanted to share classified government intelligence with the public, things the people deserved to know, but those in office were too cowardly to tell them.

His secrets died with him.

And Violet knows her mother is a lot of things, but she wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t make the son of her biggest political rival her daughter’s bodyguard. Her daughter doesn’t even have a bodyguard, because her daughter does not need a bodyguard.

“You can’t,” Violet says. “You, specifically.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, Sorrengail, I did. What’s it gonna take for you to believe me? Want to see my work email? Want to meet my team?”

She’s trying and failing to remember how hard it is to fake an email, or a series of emails, but he keeps talking.

“Of course, I could just call your mom.”

Her gaze darts to his. “You could call her?” she asks, but then, her brain catches up to her tongue. “Well, there’s AI now. You could fake her voice.”

“God, okay, you can call her and you can ask her three questions only she knows. How’s that? Do we have a deal? Because believe it or not, I have a job to do.”

She does not believe it, because if she does believe it, she is that job. She cannot be his job.

“Fine!” Violet snaps, “Fine. I’ll call her. Don’t you dare come in.” He sighs that same exasperated sigh, and still, he doesn’t move. Violet moves to her contacts—she hadn’t lied about her mother’s radio silence. She really hasn’t talked to her mother on the phone in eight years. They also don’t text. Most of her communications are through her mother’s Chief of Staff, Colonel Aetos, who still goes by his military title.

Still, her mother is in her phone under “birth giver” which had felt incredibly edgy when she did it at thirteen, but now makes her tilt her phone closer to herself, in case Xaden sees.

Her mother’s personal line is secure, and though she doesn’t always carry her phone on her, she’s heard from Mira—who actually makes calls to their mother, when she’s not underwater—that their mother is good at picking up the phone.

It rings once, and Violet bites her lip. It rings twice, and Violet’s foot begins to tap a thundering beat.

It rings three times, and her mother’s voice sounds in her ear.

“Violet?” Lilith asks.

“Traditionally, “ Violet says, “people answer phone calls with ‘hello’.”

“Traditionally, you don’t call me,” Lilith retorts. “I thought someone stole your phone.”

“Nope. I’ve never had anything stolen from me because I am exceedingly competent.” Xaden huffs at this, which Violet cannot understand. She’s making a valid point. “And because of this exceeding competency, I can’t understand why there is a man at my door claiming to be part of the secret service. Can you comprehend this, mother?”

Violet will not be calling her mom.

“Is the man Xaden Riorson, or a member of his team?” Lilith asks. Violet thinks the world is sinking beneath her. She is slipping through the cracks. “Because if that’s the case, then yes. And he’s not claiming anything. Did he not show you his badge?”

Violet swallows. Her throat is very, very dry. “You can get those badges anywhere.”

“No you can’t. I have a country to run and an election to win, Violet, so if that’s all you had to say, I need to go.”

She hasn’t spoken to her mother since her last mandatory Christmas visit. She’d spent the entirety of the summer sweating in California. And still, her mother doesn’t want to talk to her.

“I don’t need a secret service agent, Mom,” Violet snaps. She feels suddenly sixteen again, when her mother was still her mother.

“Correct. You don’t need one, you need four.”

“I do not need four! I have never needed four!”

Xaden Riorson is watching her start a screaming match with her mother, and Violet knows she should be embarrassed, but she’s too angry. She doesn’t have any energy to spare.

“Did you hear that I was shot at recently, Violet?”

“Of course I heard! Not from you, of course, because that would be too much to ask!”

“Then connect the dots. You’re too intelligent to question me on this. Let Mr. Riorson do his job.”

“He’s not Mr. Anything! He’s twenty-two!”

“He is twenty two, which will make his work with you significantly easier on you. He’s also very good at his job. You’ll be safe. I don’t care if you’re angry with me if you’re safe.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Violet seethes. “You’re being unreasonable! I have kept myself perfectly safe-”

She is cut off by a beep. Her mother has hung up. Violet stares at the phone in her hand for a moment, then aggressively redials her mother’s number.

Her mother doesn’t answer.

Xaden Riorson is still in her doorway.

“I didn’t quite realize it was like that between you two,” he says, casually, as if he didn’t just witness a sacred portion of Violet’s life imploding in her hands. Her privacy, destroyed.

#fourth wing fanfic #helena's asks!#rip to this POTUS Lilith fic

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theemporium · 1 day ago

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Hi I love your writing! Could you do Andrei Svechnikov and a grinch reader during the holidays? She’s kinda icy kinda sardonic and everyone is gearing up for cheery holidays. Can be before or after they’re together :)

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

“Smile!”

“No.”

“Well then, that is just rude.”

You lifted your head, showcasing the deadpan expression on your face to the boy so he could see just how uninterested you were in being interrupted whilst you were trying to work.

“Ouch,” Seth frowned. “Tough crowd.”

“If you are here for anything other than a post-practice session or a question related to you playing the game tonight, please leave and take that god awful sweater with you.”

Seth glanced down at the sweater he had been wearing around the rink. It was bright green with a cheesy pun knitted into the front and it had made most people laugh when they saw it.

“You really don’t like Christmas,” Seth commented, not the slightest bit bothered by your grumpy mood as he settled on the massage bed in the room. “I guess that means you’re not coming to the Christmas party tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately, I am contractually obligated to,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. You knew that for as long as Seth was in your office, there was no point even bothering to attempt to get any work done.

Seth grinned. “Not even seeing Svech all dolled up is gonna make you crack a smile?”

You rolled your eyes. “I see him in a suit every game day.”

“And you love it,” Seth sang. “I’ve seen the way your eyes linger on those meaty thighs—”

“Please do not say meaty thighs ever again,” you muttered, your nose scrunched up.

“—like you wanna bite them,” Seth finished it.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I am looking because it’s my job?”

Seth waved you off. “When are you going to admit you want to jump his bones?”

You sighed. “Do you not have something else to do?”

“I am just saying, the Christmas party is the perfect opportunity,” Seth continued, leaning back on his hands. “Have a few drinks, find some mistletoe, let the chemistry do all the talking.”

“You are festively delusional,” you deadpanned.

“Who is what?”

Both of your heads turned around to your door, finding Andrei—hair still wet from his post-practice shower, dressed in shorts and a hoodie—standing in the doorway. He glanced between you both with his brows raised in questioning.

Seth’s grin widened. “Our lil’ grinch here was just talking about how excited she is for the Christmas party tomorrow.”

Andrei’s face lit up as he turned to you. “You coming, yes?”

“I—” You sighed, sinking back into your seat in defeat. “Yes, I am.”

“Good,” Andrei nodded. “I will pick you up. We go together.”

You blinked. “I—yeah, okay.”

“We will have fun,” Andrei stated, like it was a simple fact he knew. “I will make sure of it.”

“Good luck with the grinch,” Seth snorted, ignoring the glare you were sending his way.

“I don’t care about grinch,” Andrei waved him off before he turned to you. “I care about you and having fun.” Seth grinned when he noticed the small grin on your face. “Oh, I cannot wait for tomorrow’s party.”

#cece's stocking stuffers #andrei svechnikov #nhl #carolina hurricanes #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov x you #andrei svechnikov x y/n #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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scribbly-artist · 1 day ago

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Jayvik Tickle Headcanons

Oh lord here we go fellas. I’m writing these to get them out of my system, and also so I can use them in my own fic writing.

I’ll be doing Jayce and Viktor alone and then combined headcanons because it’s more fun that way. I’ll also be referring to them tickling/being tickled by an SO/Reader just because I write Reader fics but anything in here can also just be between both of them as well.

Since I’ve written for them previously, I’m also tossing around the idea to make a headcanon list for Silco and Vander as well. If you’re interested, lemme know and I’ll see what I can make.

I haven’t really proofread these in depth as I feel like that brings more of that headcanon list charm to this (and also I’ve had a massive headache I’ve been trying to will away all day) so hopefully this isn’t too sloppy.

Everything is under the cut for your viewing experience (and sanity). :)

Jayce

Big big BIG on physical touch in general so he loves tickling others and being tickled himself

With Viktor he’s gentle (unless V is being a little shit) but with others he brings a big brother energy to it*

*When I was rewatching S1 I just knew he would use tickling to mess with Cait. And in Act 1 because she’s a lot smaller than he is, she wouldn’t have much of a way to retaliate

HOWEVER IN ACT 2. When Jayce sneaks out of the crowd to flick Cait’s enforcer hat just to mess with her and she locked his arm so quick. Now that she’s older and stronger he would definitely be on the receiving end of her wrath. Just an idea I had to put out there lol

He’s very open to just. Straight up asking for tickles lol. Sometimes he can’t quite get the word out though. But if he’s with someone who knows him well enough, they’ll get the hint

His belly is ticklish, and I think his arms would be weirdly enough. And his back too definitely

Jayce asks for tickles when he’s particularly stressed out. He likes it when his hair is played with or if someone is just caressing his face

He doesn’t try to hide his laughter, just lets it all out. His laugh is quite bright, lights up the room

He can be an absolute menace when he wants to be

He’ll hide something that a person is looking for and plays dumb, “Huh? I don’t know what you’re talking about” all nonchalant. But then he ‘regrets’ it once they retaliate with tickles and he can’t handle what they’re dishing out

He teases whoever he’s tickling, in a “wow, you’re this ticklish? How did I never realise?” kind of way.

Likes to poke and prod and squeeze. He’s very down to chase his target if they happen to start running away

Cannot handle what he dishes out. Any threats will get him sweating

Viktor

Coming from the Undercity, I doubt he grew up with any physical touch so he wasn’t used to it at first. Though being around others (Jayce), he got used to the closeness and started to even like it

At first he thought the act of tickling was undignified and childish (still does if someone he doesn’t like tries to tickle him), but he grows fond of it

Teasing really pushes his buttons. It gets him all flustered, even if it’s just wiggling fingers from across the room. He stumbles on his words at the threat, holding his hands up in defence

He’s not afraid to use his cane as a weapon to dissuade whoever might even think about tickling him

He doesn’t actively seek it out, but is happy if it crosses his path

I feel like he’s generally really ticklish. His ribs and hips especially dodging his brace. His neck and ears are extremely sensitive to feather-light touches

He tries to hold in his laugh. Key word here is tries. His shoulders will shake trying to hold it in, but tickle in juuuust the right spot or place, and the dam will break

I imagine his laughter being quiet and light at first, but once he gets going it’s beautiful and rich. Even further and he gets a little squeaky/hiccupy (just don’t go too far or he’ll start coughing)

He’s done meticulous and careful work with his hands for years, so you know his fingers are quite nimble and dexterous

Will tickle his target until he commits all their ticklish spots to memory. Does it in a scientific research kind of way, “I need to find where you’re the most ticklish. This is for science, after all.” “Is this spot more ticklish than the previous one? Mm, from your reaction, it seems so.”

Since he doesn’t have a lot of mobility, he will use his cane to pull his prey back if they try to run away

Both

Jayce would totally use tickling to get Viktor’s attention when he’s concentrating too hard in the lab

And Viktor would do the same to Jayce. Viktor will be saying “Jayce? Jayce, are you listening? Jaaaaayce…” calling out to him and trying to snap him back to reality. Only getting Jayce’s attention by gently scribbling his neck with a smirk on his face. If Jayce was holding something, it oh so gracefully drops onto the floor as he freezes up in surprise

Both are too stubborn to leave the lab at a proper hour, so both use tickling to drag each other out. More so Jayce using this tactic than Viktor (Viktor is so stubborn/overworked/dedicated). Jayce will be particularly mean with his tickles to persuade Viktor when he’s being extra stubborn

Viktor will prod at Jayce with his cane when Jayce isn’t focusing. In turn, Jayce totally scribbles his fingers into Viktor’s side when Viktor is concentrating too hard

Jayce is very mindful and careful with Vik’s bad leg. Which is both a blessing (Jayce isn’t rough and is very careful) and a curse (gentle touches on his bad leg absolutely fucks Viktor UP)

S2 JAYCE TOTALLY USES THE BEARD FOR NEFARIOUS PURPOSES. Viktor absolutely despises (loves) the beard and how unfairly it tickles. It’s Jayce’s lethal weapon, guaranteed to kill Viktor whenever he kisses his neck/belly/hell his face too lmao

When Jayce is tickling Viktor, Viktor struggles to move away because of his lack of mobility. However, when it’s the other side of the coin, Jayce seems to never shy away from Viktor’s tickling fingers. Wonder why that is…

When V notices that Jayce is stressing out a lot, he’ll prop himself on the work bench or a table, pat his lap with a “Come here, Talis”. Jayce will lay his head on Vik’s lap so that Vik can caress his hair and lightly drag his fingers on his scalp/neck/anywhere his wandering fingers can reach. This makes Jayce absolutely melt and forget what he was even stressing out about

They’re both switchy and get touchy-feely, more so Jayce than Viktor since he’s used to physical touch. Viktor doesn’t mind though

They totally use tickling to teasingly bully each other and to annoy each other every now and again. The lab is filled with laughter

Vik rarely asks for it, but Jayce notices the particular way Vik sighs when he’s struggling, or the look on his face when he knows Vik needs some cheer up tickles

#my writing #my headcanons #jayvik headcanons #arcane #arcane lol #arcane league of legends #arcane tickles #arcane tickling #arcane tickle #jayvik #jayce arcane #jayce talis #viktor #arcane viktor #tickle headcanons #tickle community #tickling #tickles #tickle content

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basket-of-cats-and-witches · 22 hours ago

Text

Codex Entry: A letter stained with tears, carefully preserved

Alternate title: To Emmrich, in Case of Death

-------

Vhenan-

This is a horribly depressing letter to have to think about.

Right now you're in your room, we've just fought, and the only thing I can think of is how broken it would feel if I died after this.

If we never get the chance to reconcile.

So right here, right now-

I love you. Ar lath ma, ma vhenan.

I'd write it down in all the languages I know, all those words I learned to speak to every kind of dead that graces the Necropolis’s halls, but it would take far too much room.

Fourteen years ago, I was a newly minted Watcher, crying in the memorial gardens over the anniversary of the Fifth Blight, when so many of my people died in the alienage.

And you were the kind person who sat down beside me, held my hand, and didn't tell me everything would be alright.

Instead, you confessed your fear of death. A well-respected professor who I'd never met, admitting weakness.

Reminding me that I wasn't alone in my grief, in my terror. That anyone could be afraid and still live despite it.

Of course, the crush I formed on you then was entirely inappropriate - you're my senior by a wealth of years. Don't scoff, my love, you'll add more wrinkles to your face, and I won't be there to kiss them.

Entirely cruel of you.

However, years went by, my attachment remained, and after everything, it was Bellara who brought you back to my side. She is the brightest and best of us, as I'm sure you know.

Make sure to remind her every day.

Our journey together has made that silly little crush bloom into a roaring love, burning so brightly and intensely that I cannot help but feel it consume my breath every time you look my way.

I know you were terrified, you know. “Reviewing your assets” dearest Vhenan of mine, I know you've already triple-checked to make sure everything is in place when you go, and that Myrna and Vorgoth already have a copy.

I may be a meathead, but I'm not quite that oblivious.

It's heartbreaking, this knowledge that you might outlive me. I am always in the front lines. I am a warrior, and at the end of the day, I'm who must go down first before you.

But I would do it gladly, and please do not hate me for it. It is an honor.

In my absence, please have Davrin lead. I know he'll be good at it. He's a phenomenal Warden, and his head is more firmly attached to his shoulders than mine ever was. Guide him, please. I trust your wisdom.

Tell Manfred I love him every day, long past when he learns to say the words himself. I'm so proud of him.

I'm so proud of you.

And - should my remains be recovered, or whatever is left of me, bury me next to my sister. I spent years picking that plot as per her request, might as well enjoy it with her.

I love you, Emmrich Volkarin. With every breath, with every beat of my heart, with every contraction of my lungs. You've rooted yourself firmly into my flesh, and I would be loath to continue breathing without you.

Cast our argument aside. I do not hate you for it.

Eternally yours, our spirits walking hand in hand,

Ghil'danan Ingellvar.

P.S. -

Hezenkoss hates Scotch Broom. It made her break out in hives. Please place some near her skull when she's being a shit, just for me.

#my writing #ghil'danan for oc tagging #dragon age rook #dragon age veilguard spoilers #dragon age veilguard #veilguard spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #da: the veilguard #datv spoilers #datv #datv rook #emmrich x ingellvar #rook x emmrich #emmrook #emmrich volkarin #rook ingellvar #fake codex entries #hezenkoss was Ghil's mentor and he would've tormented her beyond the grave #love the angst of Emmrich finding this while Ghil is stuck in the Fade

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doodler16 · 2 days ago

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No same Anon about Lilith and Eve.

I agree that at this point, I don't expect anything from Vivzie's female characters. I know I'm going to be disappointed, I'll just take what I like and rewrite them.

Now, the fact that Anon threw out is wrong: Lilith does not belong to the Bible. It belongs to Jewish folklore (Torah) but more as a legend since its origin is Mesopotamian.

Thanks to a medieval satirical text, Lilith was considered the first woman and wife of Adam.

Of course, the second fact that I throw is true: Lilith in her myths is far from the feminist figure with which the image of Lilith is popular. Unlike "Lilith who does not let herself be bent" in the original myths, she is a demonic being who kidnaps babies and rapes men. She does this together with Naamah, Agrat bat Mahlat and Eisheth Zenunim (this is more from the Zohar).

The idea of Lilith as an "empowered figure" is thanks to the creator of Wicca, Gerald Gardner. A very controversial subject, very controversial. I will not go into the debate if the Wiccans are considered a kind of pagans or just imitators of paganism who want to feel special because of the esoteric of the whole thing, but it is due to them that the figure of Lilith was bleached to look like this "rebel" being. And recent popular culture pushed that narrative further.

The same example is HH: Lucifer and Lilith are in love, Adam is evil from minute 1. Lilith did not bow to Heaven and Adam, she rebelled with her love Lucifer and now she is the queen of Hell.

When in reality several myths tell us that the one who did not overcome her ex was Lilith:

In one version we are told that Lilith transforms into Eve and has relations with Adam.

In another we are told that one night she enters Eden and rapes him.

In another we are told that, after Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve separate for 140 years due to the horror of the affair. In this myth there are 2 versions: again, Lilith has relations without Adam's consent (here Naamah, Agrath and Eishet are included). And the other is much calmer where Adam accepts to be with Lilith during those years.

What is made clear is that in all versions they have descendants: the lilims, the succubi, some vampiric beings, and sometimes it is even said that Asmodeus is the son of these two.

(In other versions, Asmodeus is the son of a mortal and Naamah, in other versions he is simply the husband of Lilith).

So for the first time, if Vivziepop puts Lilith as an evil being, a bad mother and so on... well, she would be the only character that is close to the original source.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not against reinvention or looking for a different route to the established (I have Adam x Lilith as the endgame in my rewrite and of course I've had to tweak some things) but Vivzie is criminal to the point that I'd rather she didn't touch Lilith and Eve because they're going to be at the mercy of favoring Lucifer. Do I want to be wrong? Yes, I want the show to tell me "You know what? Actually the conflict of these two doesn't revolve around Lucifer or Adam, neither are they going to become lesbians, nor are they going to have that kind of "I'm better than you because..." fight; no, their conflict is going to make Lilith feel guilty because she realized that she ruined two people's lives by imposing herself before what she thought was right, becoming the very thing that she complained about Adam and Heaven. And that Eve's conflict is that for a long time she felt this complex of being the replacement, that she should imitate Lilith because she was "the original, what a woman should be" as well as sticking to what "a wife should be", even putting that Adam let her be her own person because he was worried about how bad Eve was getting because of her own existential crisis. He as Lilith can ask Eve for forgiveness, but Eve cannot accept it. Thank you for saying so, but Lilith and Lucifer's actions doomed many and in horrible ways."

Am I going to get it? No, but I have accepted that I will live with it. There will always be a fanfic, a video, a new series, something, that really wants to explore all these characters beyond the original versions or the cheap tropes surrounding them.

Sorry for the big text, I needed to get it out of my system.

Yeah, I don’t blame anyone for having super low expectations regarding the Hazbin Hotel women especially with Lilith and Eve. Since in Helluva Boss, the women are demonized, one-note, and super side-lined. The women in Hazbin Hotel so far are mediocre anyway.

You good, Anon. No need to apologize and thanks for the clarification regarding Lilith. The version you mentioned about Lilith transforms into Eve is interesting because Vivziepop is planning some big plot twist with Lilith, Eve, Rosie, and Roo. Something about one being the other.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #anonymous #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism

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salparadiselost · 2 days ago

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Lore anon here! I really enjoyed the latest New Gods chapter! I was wondering, is there any extra stuff you can tell us about Bruce's kids that's not spoilers that you won't have space/time for in the fic itself?

Hi! So glad you're enjoying it! It's really taken over my brain and kinda became the only thing I want to work on lol. I'm not sure how much additional lore there is, because so much is being folded into the actual story, but here's some random bits which I'm not sure will come up but they live in my heart.

The gods can turn into animals, they just don't like to do it because animals are 'gross and weird'. Humans are their favourite little guys and cannot fathom why they wouldn't want to be human-shaped. It's the best shape!

Steph has definitely had Tim turn into all types of animals just because she wanted to know what they feel like.

Speaking of Steph, she loves the Manor. She loves exploring their house and going through all the stuff they have picked up over the centuries. Family dinners can be weird though because everyone has a possibility of looking like literally anything.

Steph has never seen Jason look older than fifteen.

Steph runs a TikTok account called "TheWorstParentInJersey" that's entirely committed to have Jason running around as an eight year old and saying 'fuck', 'shit', 'ass', and 'bitch' and doing extremely dangerous-for-a-child activities while Bruce looks placidly confused in the background.

At first Steph thought Augustus was like a dead name for Dick, but it really isn't. He changed it when the Roman Empire fell out of grief, and now it's been two thousand years since he's used it so it just isn't his name anymore. Bruce will even sometimes call Dick Augustus. When she figures this out, she tries to call him Gussy but laughs too much about it before she can make it catch on.

Dick does learn how to float like Clark! There's about a fifty year period before the fall of the Roman Empire where he doesn't touch the ground once. Bruce is so glad those days are over.

Tim is the only one of the godlings that came to Bruce instead of the other way around. He tried to be 'helpful' by showing Bruce exactly how different humans died and Bruce :) hated :) it :). His godhood isn't even particularly violent or dangerous to humans, Tim's just so weird he almost got killed for it.

Bruce always called them 'his little birds' as a nickname because of how they would follow him like ducklings as they grew. That eventually became how other gods knew them, as 'Bruce's Birds'. The Birds eventually evolved into 'the Butcherbird', the Mourning Dove' and 'the Vulture' due to the Birds' natures and how other gods see them. Bruce hates the Butcherbird, Mourning Dove and Vulture names with a burning passion. He hates that the little loving pet name he gave them turned into something so ugly.

#kay speaks #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #batfam #batman #the new gods #the new gods au #stephanie brown #okay maybe I had more lore tidbits than I thought #gussy is such a terrible name #I’m glad it didn’t catch on

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fanfictilltheend · 2 days ago

Text

"The Bear" Snippet 1

Very First Part of The Bear aka (SerialKiller!Medieval!General!Joel x Whore'sDaughter!reader fic)

Warnings for this snippet: VERY DARK!!! Medieval Au, graphic depictions of violence, serial killer, attempted sexual assault (nothing graphic), mentions of prostitution, probably so historically inaccurate!!!!!

Masterlist of "The Bear"

Masterlist of all my work

The other soldiers call him “The Bear.” Joel cannot say if it is because of his size or the way he kills or maybe it is the hunger for blood they see searing in his eyes through the slits in his helmet.

What they don’t know is that Joel’s killing does not stay on the battlefield. He takes it home with him to the cobblestone streets of his kingdom. He cannot stop it. It is a need inside of him greater than anything he has ever experienced. On the battlefield, there is a distance to killing – the length of a spear or sword or bow, the barrier of heavy metal armor. In the streets, he uses his hands, a knife, his teeth. He feels the ooze of blood against his tongue, the copper taste of it, the heat of a body fighting him back, screaming, begging. His men are more correct about him than they will ever know.

***

Joel is out late one night stalking the streets for prey. Usually, it is a woman he finds attractive, but Joel doesn’t discriminate. Blood is blood. Flesh is flesh. Screams are screams.

He passes the house of the whore he goes to sometimes, Genevieve. He’s gone to her for years. Nothing Joel could ever do to her would ever phase her; she’s seen it all which is probably the only reason he isn’t burnt at the stake or hanged in the public square yet. Next to her domicile is a popular pub.

This time, he sees a small, lonesome-looking girl crouched outside the alley wall of the bar, her face clutched in her hands. She looks like she is crying or freezing or both due to how she is shaking, without even a cloak on. Joel considers her an option, but then two, young, drunk men stumble out onto her side of the street. She starts at the noise and looks up and then Joel can see her face and realizes it is the whore Genevieve’s daughter, Y/N, who can’t be more than 12 or 13. Ridiculously young never did anything for Joel, so he grumbles to himself and mentally crosses her off his potential kill list. He turns to leave, but that stupid little girl, he notices, got into a conversation with those drunken – likely savage – men. He thinks they are newly recruited soldiers, but isn’t sure. He should save her. That’s what a good soldier would do. Joel snickers.

“Quit your crying!” one of those hooligans is chuckling to Y/N and his friend.

“Who said I was crying?” The girl snaps, shivering from the cold.

“Kinda pretty if you smiled,” the other observes, circling her like prey, backing her further against the wall. “And didn’t talk back like that.”

“Hey, open your mouth,” commands the first, reaching to undo his trousers. “You’re that whore’s daughter aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she says, holding up her hands quickly. “I mean, not after what happened to the last guy…”

“What is she on about?” The second man asks the first.

The other shrugs, staggering a bit from the alcohol.

“Well, didn’t someone tell you when you moved here? I’m the town witch,” she says, dead seriously.

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Like curses and that?” One of the grown men asks stupidly.

“Like worse. Like transforming! You know what that is? It’s like shapeshifting. And you know what I can turn into?”

“What?” The first man snickers.

“A bear!” she growls dramatically. “You know, like they have in the circus! With big, sharp teeth, and claws, and the point is I could chop off your prick no trouble if I wanted so I would keep that back in your trousers, I mean, if I was you.”

The first one laughs.

“Is that true?” The second man asks the first skeptically.

“It’s starting!” The girl cries, leaning back against the cold stone wall and shaking every part of her body dramatically. “THE TRANSFORMATION!”

“Shit. Shit. Is this real?” The taller one mumbles in confusion.

“I’m too sloshed, let’s not risk it,” the other whines. “My auntie got cursed by a witch once and she’s never been the same.”

“Yeah, yeah, forget it,” the other nods.

And to Joel’s amazement, the grown men stagger away down in the direction of most of the brothels in town and away from this little girl.

Y/N smiles at the sky and sighs in relief, sits up, and surveys her surroundings as it begins to snow.

And then she sees him.

She sits up straighter, stops smiling.

“Are you alright?” Joel forces himself to ask now that she’s acknowledged his existence.

They only have a business relationship. She opens the front door for him, for all her mother’s clients he supposes, brought him a towel a few times over the years, offered him water. He doesn’t know her. She means nothing to him. Reminds him of no one.

And just because his mother was a whore too doesn’t mean they have anything in common. Not even when Genevieve had had that boyfriend or husband or boss or whoever the fuck it was whose eyes had wandered. Joel had gotten rid of him, but that was a public service. Anyone would have done that. Anyone.

“I…” the girl stammers, so much less confident than when she was playing those boys, looking up into Joel’s face, her breath mist. “I’m fine, Sir Joel.”

Joel steps closer to her and she visibly cowers. He feels strangely sorry about it. Or was it just the cold?

“Take this,” he grunts, pulling off his cloak and awkwardly draping it over her shoulders. “Go home.”

“But she—“

“Please, Y/N, it’s safer than these streets at night. I’m sorry ‘bout whatever she’s done. I’m sure it was awful but it’s better than finding your body out here. Understand?”

“Yeah,” she finally nods, the tears in her eyes turning to ice crystals.

“Don’t let me catch you out here like this again,” he snarls as she turns away to go home, but Joel doesn’t exactly move out of her way either.

She checks her surroundings.

“Y-Y’know, I’ve got a few magic powers and I got some bear teeth on accident,” she half-heartedly tells him, shaking ever so slightly. “Yeah, from I spell I cast because I’m a certified sorceress ‘n all if you didn’t know. Yup, I know, pretty weird, right? But they’re wayyy in the back. And I can even summon the occasional claw which can rip through human flesh if my nails are sharp enough so I wouldn’t try anything you wouldn’t stand by losing a hand for is all I’m trying to say. You know, I mean, just for your sake, I’m just saying…”

Joel smirks and instinctively grabs her roughly by the jaw and pulls her close, the large paw of his hand engulfing her chin. He grips her tightly, his cold fingers digging into her flesh.

She struggles instantly, her eyes going wide and wild like a caged animal’s, terrified, and Joel takes in her expression, drinks it in deeply. He looks into her eyes and lets out a sigh that sends a rush of visible mist into the freezing air. Finally, though, he comes back to himself when, after a while, she’s able to still as Joel does nothing worse to her. He gets back to business, squeezes her lips open, and examines down her throat into the back of her mouth.

“Don’t see any of them bear teeth,” he sneers. “And one day, lying about magic and monsters and beasts ain’t going to save you,” he spits, more angrily than can explain.

He drops her back to the ground where she lands slumped up against the paved wall.

“Go home.”

And then, after staring up at him for a moment, she has the audacity to roll her eyes.

“Pretty funny,” she says after a while, staring Joel down now unflinchingly, smirking, like she’s seen right through him. Like she has been here a million times before. Joel doesn’t like that at all. She bites her fingernail absentmindedly and spits. “I know what they call you and all too. Call you ‘The Bear’ this and ‘The Bear’ that and then they whisper about who keeps killing all those people in town over the years. But it’s funny. I don’t see bear teeth on you either. Or your claws. Never even heard you roar neither. And I’ve heard a lot in my time. Anyways, just a thought. Thanks for the coat, General Miller. See you ‘round.”

And to Joel’s immense relief, she stands up and heads home.

Dumb, stupid girl is lucky she doesn’t get to see the side of Joel that he barely wraps away in daily life! Maybe she’s seen flickers of it over the years, observing from the shadows of the dimly lit house he fucks her mother in. He can’t say. Joel is a monster, sure, anyone would agree to that, but even he has some limits. Maybe she’s even seen even worse than he. Who knows? But more importantly, he doesn’t care. This is nothing. To him she is meaningless.

But no teeth, no claws, no roar? He can’t help but wonder, the thoughts gnawing and clawing at the back of his mind. What did she mean? What did she even think she was saying? And most importantly: Why had she stopped looking up at him with that intoxicating fear in her eyes?

Well, no matter. Joel has an answer for her.

***

The next morning, two mangled male bodies appear in the little courtyard square that compose the pub and Genevieve’s home. The corpses are mutilated almost beyond recognition: bite marks, teeth marks, claw marks, chunks of missing flesh, blood soaked into the cobblestones all around them.

Joel joins the crowd that forms casually, acting just as surprised.

Women cover their children’s eyes and shuffle them away quickly, a man dry-heaves onto the pavement.

“Saw them at the pub last night!” exclaims the town butcher in surprise. “They were just fine, but definitely wasted. Christ.”

“Weren’t they soldiers in training?” A young woman Joel doesn’t know asks and a few people nod.

“Hope whoever did this gets hanged!” growls another young army recruit.

And then what Joel has really been waiting for occurs: Y/N steps out from her house, dumping out a wash bucket, and then sees the commotion.

She comes closer to get a good look and Joel sees the horror cover her features, the recognition. She looks away, her hands shaking, her face draining of color, and finally sees Joel.

He winks.

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onskepa · 1 day ago

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Stxeli: Trust

Helloooooooo~!! Here is another part of the ongoing series! Hope you all enjoy~!!

Stxeli series

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Trust is one of the main important elements in a person's life and in the overall society. Trust helps gain and benefit from others by mutual trust. Trust creates long lasting relationships, no matter the type. Trust is as strong as a stone, but fragile as glass. One wrong move and the trust is gone, one right move and its stronger.

And sometimes, trust takes a long time to develop. Just as it can quickly grow.

There really is no between.

It has been some time now since Jake has joined the clan. Learning their ways and even speaking better, heavy on his english accent but better. His hunting skills are improving, but much better than his first day. His relationship wih the villagers has also improved greatly. Many have come to like him, sharing their honest words to their leaders.

Even neytiri has come to enjoy his presence. Would often look forward to spending the day with jake.

This leads to mo’at and eytukan having to think very long and hard about what their next move is.

Is jake trustworthy enough to meet their child?

Mo’at can come up with millions of excuses to not have the dream walker see her precious child. But at some point, it has to happen, if jake is to become part of the clan, the seeing stxeli is inevitable.

She just wishes there were other ways.

“And then you add just a pinch of this aaaaaaaaaaand tada~!!” stxeli proudly shows kame how to make instant healing glue should he need to heal an injury fast enough.

“This still needs work, I recommend doing this for small cuts, I plan to make this glue be a replacement to stitches” stxeli explains.

Kame claps his hands in amazement.

“Incredible, it also shouldnt hurt as much right?” he asks. Stxeli looks at the glue then back at him.

“No….?” she says in more of a question.

“No?” he repeats.

“Well, that is the goal. I have seen so many go to my sa’nu and get help. I know she is tsahik, but when I help, I see many get stitches. And those hurt a lot, but it's to help with their wounds. So, to help them without causing anymore pain, I want to make a special glue that can help! Still needs work though”

Kame listens to stxeli, his eyes stare with adoration at her goal. What she wants to do to help with their people is very inspiring. In kame’s eyes, stxeli is kind, very creative, maybe a bit too obsessed with the yovo, but stxeli is just simply amazing.

That is someone kame loves to have around. And being around her lifts his own spirits up.

“I still need to make lots of adjustments but! I like to think I am on the right path” stxeli says happily.

“Are you going to show it to the tsahik?” Kame asks. Stxeli slightly frowned.

“Not so soon. I still need to figure out how I want it to be. I won't show it until it's ready” she answers.

“But if you tell her, maybe she can help you make it better,” kame suggests.

True, her mother is an expert and can look at any plant and instantly know what it is and what it does.

“Yeah, but she has enough to deal with. Im gonna figure this out, so, promise not to tell anyone?” stxeli stares deep into kame’s eyes.

“Yes, I promise. You can trust me”

“He has tamed his ikran today” neytiri informs her parents. She looks over at Jake as he retells his recent victory of having an ikran of his own to the other na’vi. All seemed very interested in his overly exaggerated story.

After a huge success, it called for a huge feast. Everyone gathered to celebrate his accomplishment, now there is only one last step to take.

Well, more like 2 steps in this case.

“He has to meet stxeli before he can complete his iknimaya” eytukan says suddenly.

Mo’at, neytiri, and tsu’tey all turned their heads towards him. Shocked that he said that. “Eytukan, you cannot mean that” mo’at says, fear crawling in.

Jake isn't ready, he will never be ready. One look at her and its over.

“If he is to become one of us, then he must meet our daughter” eytukan affirms.

Neytiri switches places, now sitting to her father’s left side, “sempu, jake sully is growing but this, this is too much to demand. What if he hurts her?”

The olo’eyktan turns to his daughter, “you spent more time with him than any of us combined. As his teacher, you see how he progresses. You shall give the final judgment”.

All eyes were on neytiri.

Mo’at silently pleaded with her daughter to say no, tsu’tey felt the same. But eytukan remained neutral.

Neytiri looked up to see the soft glow imitating from stxeli’s little nook in the tree. If they could, they would keep her baby sister hidden forever. But this is about mutual trust. Jake has given his all, it's only fair they do the same.

“Jake shall meet her”

Kame was making his way back to his home after a playful evening with stxeli in her little nook. Supervised of course. But it was fun nonetheless. She even gifted him some of her better version of the healing glue.

“To heal long scratches,” she said.

He will use it wisely. Kame also promised to take note of how long and how well it heals should he get hurt.

“Little boy” a female voice called to him.

Kame turns to see an elderly woman. Her body and hair are adorned with various beads, unique clothes and a head piece that oddly resembles something a tsahik would wear. Not that kame takes a closer look, this woman has more items decorating her than tsahik mo’at wears.

“Hello child” she speaks again, her smile trying to be soft but kame can sense something is not right.

“Hello…” he responds. The need to leave intensifies.

“Easy child, I bring you no harm. My son teaches you” the lady tells.

Kame tilts his head, “your son?”

“Tsu’tey, he speaks very highly of you”

The lady is tsu’tey’s mother then, still doesnt help in easing his nerves.

“The vile you have, is it to heal?” she asks as she gets closer. Kame wants to back away, but this is his teacher’s mother. Would it be rude and disrespectful if he moves away from her?

Kame gently touched the vial that held stxeli’s healing glue.

“Why?” he asks, a bit defensively.

“If it is to heal, may I have it? My poor son comes home nearly every day with bruises, scratches, even deep cuts from all the training and hunting” the woman explains with some sense of true worry. As a mother should for her child.

“But nearly every day I see him go to the tsahik so she can fix him. Even her youngest daughter helps” he said.

It was quick, despite how dark it is, kame caught a sneer from the woman. Her face back to being a false happy smile.

“Hm, yes. A tsahik’s duty is to help those in need. However, my son comes home still in pain, even after visiting the tsahik….”

Kame was not liking where this was going, he felt a bit of anger rise within. “Are you implying that our tsahik does not do a very good job at healing tsu’tey?” he snaps.

“Oh I know mo’at is not doing very well at healing, much less being a good tsahik”

If stxeli was here, no doubt she would bite the face off of this woman. The audacity! The boldness she dares say!

“If I were the tsahik, I would make sure not only my son, but everyone leaves the tent free of pain. Wouldn't you agree?” she pushed on.

Kame held the vile tighter, ready to head back to stxeli. To tell her what he is hearing. She would believe him.

“And I would make sure your father lives to see your iknimaya complete. Unlike mo’at who let your mother perish. Wouldn't you agree, kame?”

“Are you alright sa’nu? You look like you have a lot on your mind” stxeli observes her mother. Her eyes are heavy with deep thoughts. Usually her parents come with bright smiles and are ready to sleep. Even her father seems hesitant.

Mo’at shakes her head and easily picks up her daughter.

“Nothing worth telling you. Besides, you have a full day tomorrow” mo’at says as she boops her daughter.

Stxeli boops back, but curiosity now takes over.

“I do? I was gonna play with kame” she says.

“No, I believe you had enough from today” eytukan mutters as he guides his mate and daughter to their hammock. Mo’at rolls her eyes but gets comfortable.

“Sempu, kame is my best friend. You have to accept him at some point” stxeli giggles. Seems like eytukan still doesn't like kame no matter how much he proves himself.

“Bah, when he passes his iknimaya, we shall see”

Mo’at decides to change the subject.

“Your big day is coming very soon ma’ite. Are you excited?” she asks.

Stxeli nods enthusiastically.

“Mhm! Neytiri is helping me with my new outfit! I wanna look extra pretty!”

Eytukan and mo’at look at their sweet baby with great love, her big day is coming soon. The day the whole village celebrates Eywa gifting her to them.

“You will always be pretty, my sweet girl. Eywa bestowed you with potential beauty” eytukan proudly comments.

“Enough now, best we rest before stxeli here riles up again” mo’at says as she gently tickles her daughters tummy, making stxeli giggles.

They huddle together, letting sleep take over.

Jake sits on his wheelchair and he makes his way to his bed.

“Good news” he says while mid-munching on some food crap.

“It better be damn good news, fucking lighter won't work” grace grunts impatient as she tries to light up her last cigar for the night.

Jake boldly took the unlit cigar from her mouth, having her full attention while making sure no one else listens.

“I gained their trust just enough to meet someone special” he whispers.

Grace furrows her eyebrow, wondering who.

“That human kid living among them. Neytiri said it's time I meet her little sister”

In that moment, Grace's heart sunk deep inside.

“Here you go sempu” kame gently offers a neon green liquid to his ill father.

“Thank you my son” his father praises as he drinks the herbal liquid. Kame smiled but his does not meet his beloved fathers.

Already guilt is eating him alive.

[forgive me stxeli….I broke my promise to you…]

his hand reaches for his side, where the vial of stxeli’s healing glue should have been. But it's gone now, he given it to artsute. With the promise from her that she will heal his father way faster than mo’at can ever heal.

He is doing it for his dad to get better. If that is the case, why does it feel he made things worse…?

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand that is it for this chapter! How do you guys like it? Whatchu guys think of what will happen next? lemme know your thoughts!

Until next time! see ya!

Liking the story? click HERE to join the taglist!

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Taglist:

@alastorhazbin @spookymomfriendtm @moonchildxoxx @thehoneymushroomhealer @kat-the-kit @galactict3a @my-skeleton-hats @hoodiepandaninja16 @vivangothic @thepotatoislost @ceylon-morphe286 @victoria2054 @tulipatheticee @iwannabeapinkaesthetic @skittlebum @iaoisiwqk @ikeyniofthetayrangi @xx-kaitlyn-trixx-xx @that-of-stars-and-flowers @baybaybear1 @imunkowndepressedandhorny @l-nectarine-l @poteitalouca @ayedomino0 @eternallyvenus @jane-3043 @jamie-rose @angrycoffeebean @that-of-stars-and-flowers @yuuseok-san @solheartz @luchicm04 @freyagallileaevans @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog @alldaysdreamers @flyleaffreak @mysticalcollectionheartme @sparks0918 @cypher999 @hdjfvnd @miramis248 @mimisweetz

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