#i haven't read past book 4 even

[werewolfpurfect]

I'm on the last Emily Windsnap book! It got me thinking back to how Mary and Millie each adjusted differently to Allpoints Island. Mary hated it while Millie loved it. Do you think it's because Millie's partner was more supportive? Or because Mary is more adventurous? (I also got the vibe Mary's a bit tomboyish, given her love of sailing and her complaints about the mermaid beauty lessons)

I do agree with all of these, and I also think that Millie was generally a dreamier, more fairytale-like character, while Mary had the clashing forces of her fears and her desire to explore!

[flawseer]

On the False Dragonets of Destiny

Recycled art... Forgive me, I can't physically draw more than I currently am.

Just a little while ago I was looking at some replies to my recent work, and I noticed a nice comment from someone who expressed they enjoyed my comics featuring the false dragonets of destiny, but couldn't really get into them in the books. I am thankful for that comment, but even more thankful for the opportunity to ramble at length about something I kind of wanted to talk about, but couldn't find a plausible excuse for. Until now.

All of this is just my reading of the material, of course. You don't need to agree with me on this.

Content Warning: Some discussion of abuse, trauma, violence. I don't know if it's severe enough to warrant a warning, but better be safe.

General discussion

The false dragonets of destiny, the alternates, or whatever one wants to call them. They enter the story proper in book 4, after having made a few minor cameo appearances before, and serve as a kind of hybrid antagonistic force and pseudo-allies for Starflight during his stay on the Nightwing Isle. During that time, they are very abrasive, stand-offish, uncooperative, and a bit annoying, and I guess that doesn't make them come off very well. But like, in spite of that or maybe partially because of it, I am really fond of these guys, and I'd like to take some time talking them up to you.

One can examine how these guys act and conclude that they are a bunch of dysfunctional screw-ups. And they absolutely are that, don't get me wrong. But one should keep in mind: the majority of the time they are in the spotlight, they are in an extreme, tense, and frighteningly uncertain situation. It's easy to forget how stressful these situations are because the books as a whole really like to gloss over the more frightening kind of subjects on account of being written for young readers. You can't really go deep into themes of abuse, trauma, and depression in a story like that without tripping over some kind of censor on the way, but the implications are there, between the lines for you to find.

Understanding the group

Who are the false dragonets of destiny? They are posited as a mirror image of the true dragonets of destiny, who have all been extensively schooled in matters of education and martial prowess. The first thing we see THIS group do on page is brawl, so one may think they must be trained and capable fighters. Viper and Flame constantly throw around death threats and aggressive quips, so one may think they are hyper-violent and dangerous. They are neither. Nautilus admits the Talons haven't bothered training them at all, they haven't seen real combat, they've likely been deliberately kept away from the war as a whole. Flame doesn't even know how to use his fire breath correctly. Starflight, who is by far the least physically adept of the arc 1 protagonists, is able to outpace them even as four of them team up against him.

They are neither killers nor a crack team of badasses, rather they are a bunch of play-fighting, posing delinquents who talk a big game with little in terms of actual skill to back it up. Realizing this is key to understanding just how out of their depth and ill-equipped they are to handle anything that gets thrown at them on the Nightwing homeland, especially past the negotiations at the Skywing outpost.

Abduction and imprisonment

When Starflight first finds them, they have been on the Nightwing Isle for a good while, and they are suitably bristly because of it.

Look at this situation from their perspective. These guys have known nothing other than their semi-peaceful life in the Talon camp. Then the leader of that camp, Nautilus--a figure they all know and trust, essentially sells them to a frightening stranger, who looms over them and is so physically large he could crush each of them easily. This stranger pulls them away from their home without even giving them a chance to say goodbye to their relatives (I'm convinced Avalanche would not have let Morrowseer take her son if there was a chance to intervene, so Flame must have already been gone when she found out).

A contingent of Nightwing awaits them, blindfolds them so they don't know where the entrance to the Nightwing home is. They pass through a kind of eldritch tunnel that pulls at their souls. When they are finally allowed to see again, they find themselves trapped on an island where there is no sunlight and every breath hurts as the air is thick with ash.

The Nightwings won't let them leave, in fact they don't know if they will ever be able to leave again. Nobody tells them what's going on, what they are meant to do, or what the plan is. They are left confined in some room with nothing to do, and they (sans Fatespeaker) can't go outside without being arrested. Food is brought very infrequently, and usually inedible, so they haven't eaten since they were forced to leave home. They don't know where they are, nor where their parents are, nor if their parents know where THEY are. They are completely cut off from anywhere, isolated, trapped in this little slice of hell with no means to escape and little hope to acquire any soon.

I think if I was in a situation like that, I would be pretty cranky too. More than that, I would be scared out of my wits, and I believe that they are as well. If you look at their actions through a lens of them being frightened, their irritating quirks suddenly become very relatable. Viper is coping by throwing out threats and making herself seem bigger and scarier than the thing trapping her. Flame makes offensive jokes about killing Fatespeaker because making light of the situation helps him keep his wits together. Ochre is hard to read, but I think he's just tuning everything out. Squid is convinced that his father--who is the most important and smart dragon in all of Pyrrhia--has made the correct choice and knows what's best for all of them. And Fatespeaker is in complete denial, choosing to trust an inaccurate vision of the future while ignoring all the red flags that don't fit into it.

I think it's interesting that you can read this as all of them having a different strategy to cope with the uncertain and frightening situation they're trapped in. That's part of why I like them; they're very flawed and make interesting decisions.

Trauma and Empathy

You can look at someone like Squid and see his surface traits: He is annoying, he whines and complains constantly, he brags about who his father is, and he seems completely incapable of doing anything useful. If this guy was in any other story, I would probably dislike him. But Squid has the benefit of being a whiny dweeb in a situation where it is very appropriate to whine and be scared. He has a scene where he makes a somewhat goofy speech at Morrowseer where he calls him stupid and wants to go home, and is subsequently exiled. It's a bit silly in execution, but for me it did succeed in making me feel bad for Squid as he desperately and pathetically pleads for Morrowseer not to send him to his death.

But then you can read beyond the lines a little and view the scene in the full context that isn't really dwelt on. Here, you've got Squid, who is inept even among his peers, sheltered and doted on by his father, whom he has never been away from for any real amount of time until now. This guy, who probably can't even feed himself (otherwise he might have been able to catch fish in the waters around the island), keeps telling himself that his father has a plan, that all of this, even the questionable stuff, is happening for a reason. He hasn't eaten in weeks and he's been the punching bag for everyone else's frustrations (because Fatespeaker is not around enough, hanging out with Starflight). Now he has been chased halfway across the world, forced to cross the ocean while tired and starving, to be told he has to talk to a bunch of violent strangers who hate his kind and want to kill him. He tries to hide but is grabbed by the throat and held in the air by a soldier twice his size. This is likely the first time his life has ever been threatened that directly and with genuine intent.

The strange new Nightwing who was sent with them somehow manages to deescalate the situation enough to save him, but then, without warning, more dragons burst into the room. Suddenly everything is on fire, including the soldiers who just a moment ago threatened him. He is close enough to them to watch their forms twist and writhe in agony as they slowly burn to death.

As he is made to watch this horrifying spectacle, all the feelings he repressed by reminding himself of the faith he has in his father come flooding back in at once. It becomes too much for him to bear, and he breaks. He starts crying and verbally lashes out at their abuser for the horrid conditions they have been placed in and demands--half asserting and half pleading--to be allowed to go home. This isn't really whining anymore, this is a full-scale mental breakdown, rendered to be simple and digestible to a young audience. Imagine how harrowing this scene could have been if it wasn't filtered through a child-friendly narrative.

Closing thoughts

There is a scene some time after that I found kind of poignant. At one point, Starflight looks out and he sees Flame just standing out there, silently staring into the distance. There's maybe one line dedicated to it, and when you read the book normally, you don't really dwell on it since it's so nondescript. But this scene happens shortly after the visit to the remote outpost. The soldiers that burned to death in there were all Skywings. Skywings like himself, and like his mother, who also was a soldier before she joined the Talons. Whenever I picture him standing there, I imagine he is reliving that moment, hearing the dying screams of his kinsmen. I think he will be hearing them forever.

So in conclusion: The reason why I like the alternate dragonets so much is because of the enormous, untapped potential they possess as characters, and how deep some of them run if you take some time to look at them. I feel like all of them have a story to tell, and it's a bit of a shame that Sutherland likely won't come around to telling any of them. If I had infinite time, money, and energy, I would love to make many more comics about them, as they are an interesting lot.

Especially Flame's story I feel is such a heartbreaking tragedy, and thinking about the way it ended saddens me. He's one of my six all-time favorite characters in the series, I wish he could have gone out in a happier, healthier way.

[verareids]

nights like these - spencer reid x gn!reader

spencer gets back from a rough case and reader comforts him. tags/cws: hurt/comfort, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluffy angst, mention of case involving kids but no details wc: 1008 a/n: Definitely not my favourite fic I've ever written and I haven't written anything in a while but it is my first Spencer fic so yay! Also, I was picturing late season 3/ season 4 Reid but it doesn't really matter. also posted on ao3

When the jet lands in Quantico at 12:47am Spencer is exhausted. After a truly grueling case he couldn’t even bring himself to read on the flight home. He’d just sat staring out the window. Kids. It’s always the cases involving kids that will fuck you up the most. JJ and Morgan have both tried their hand at comforting him and received a concerning lack of response. The rest of the team had been able to get some rest. Spencer hadn’t been so lucky. Every time he’d close his eyes he’d see their faces, hear their screams. Morgan stands up on the other side of the booth and the sudden motion pulls Spencer out of deep thought. He grabs his bag and prepares to get up when Emily shuffles past him, squeezing his shoulder on the way. The team clambers out of the jet and ends up in the bullpen, getting their things in order before they’re able to go home. Spencer walks out though the doors, heading for the elevator when the sound of JJ’s voice brings him to a halt.

“Reid…” JJ steps in front of him. “You heading home?” Spencer stops and stares at her incredulously.

“Yeah?” His tone showing only a hint of irritation. JJ looks back up at him, choosing to brush past his attitude.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Her concerned stare feels as though it’s piercing right through him and suddenly he can’t quite meet her eyes.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, JJ.” He walks past her towards the elevator, pressing the button when her voice stops him in his tracks again.

“Spencer, just…” JJ’s voice trails off as he turns to look back at her, she tilts her head sympathetically. “I know you don’t want to talk right now but… try to talk to (y/n) at least, don’t bottle it all up.” He forms a tight-lipped smile and nods.

“I will, thanks.” He replies slightly dismissively and turns to step into the elevator as the doors open and shut behind him. 

Spencer walks through the parking lot faster than usual, wanting nothing more than to just get home. Maybe he’d find you waiting for him there, sitting on the couch with a book, or maybe watching a movie. He’d sit down next to you and let you run your fingers through his hair, scratch his scalp, kiss his face, make all of the horrible images fade away. However, when he does get home, there is only silence. The lights are off, save for one lamp you had left on so that it wouldn’t be too dark for him. Spencer hangs his bag on a hook and removes his converse, placing them neatly by the front door. He tries to keep the sound of his footsteps light as he moves to turn off the lamp. 

Once he finally enters the bedroom he finds you there, sleeping ever so peacefully. He lets out a long, shaky sigh, looking over at the digital alarm on the bedside table, 1:40am, of course you’re not still awake. Quiet as he can, he removes his work clothes and gets ready for bed. When he lays down beside you he rolls onto his side to look at your face. All of the emotions he’s worked so hard to hold back over the last few days come flooding back with stinging eyes and a lump in his throat that he can’t force away. He studies your face, your quiet, relaxed form and decides he shouldn’t wake you. You have work in the morning – you both do – and it wouldn’t be wise to disturb your sleep to burden you with his work problems, although he knew it to be much deeper than that. Spencer exhales a shaky breath and resigns to closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. He’s moments away from slipping into unconsciousness when a soft hand delicately brushes the side of his face.

“Spence?” He allows his eyes to flutter open at the sound of your voice and meets your drowsy, half shut eyes – his breath catching in his throat at the sight. When your lips stretch into an adoring smile he notices the stinging feeling in his eyes come back full force. “When did you get back?” You ask while your thumb runs a gentle line under his bottom lip causing him to bite it softly.

“Only five minutes ago.” Spencer replies with a shakiness he doesn’t bother to hope you won’t notice. Nothing ever gets past you. As expected, he watches as a subtle frown takes over your features.

“Bad?” You ask. A simple question, yet his eyes still well up when he nods in response. You don’t ask if he wants to talk about it, you know he doesn’t. “What do you need?’ Your hand moves again, this time to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen over his sullen face.

“You.” The way his voice cracks breaks your heart. You pull him into your chest and he rests his head there. When you run your fingers through his hair you feel his strong hands clutching the back of your shirt, pressing your body against his as close as possible. Tears stain your clothing as he breathes shakily against you.

This is the hardest part of Spencer’s job. Over the years he has developed an incredible ability to compartmentalize. He is generally pretty skilled at separating work from personal life. With a job like his you can’t afford to bring it home with you, but even with that mindset, there’s no way to stop it from getting to you occasionally. Nights like these are inevitable. You continue to thread your fingers through his curls as you feel him getting heavier against you as he slowly drifts to sleep. Staring straight up at the ceiling you can only hope that your presence will help keep the nightmares at bay. You whisper comforting words into his ear while you lay silently praying that tomorrow will be kinder to him.

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

ix. i'm so sick of running as fast as i can

— the one where they painted you out to be bad (so it's okay that you're mad).

warnings: fair warning you're going to be pissed, foul language, this one has more media between text and it's a little long. 2.3k words (+articles and a very long youtube thing!!)

currently playing: it's time to go by taylor swift!

masterlist ✢ next

By Alana Blake

YOU read it here first, friends. #YNCHARLES is still going strong even after the mess y/n found herself in during the Spanish Grand Prix weekend.

Rumor had it that after y/n's declarations where she said 'it was not serious' and 'she was just having fun', the Monegasque heartthrob dumped her immediately. This was fueled by the fact that we didn't see any pictures of them together during such weekend.

But sources have come to the rescue, letting us all know they're not broken up! "They talk every day for hours," our source said, "Both are still trying to keep it fun but more lowkey after everyone found out about the cheating."

RELATED: Victoria Presley's top five beauty hacks.

You would think that after a partner refers to you as a 'toy', dumping them is the best course of action, but apparently that doesn't apply to Mr. Leclerc who has "nothing but good things to say about y/n".

"He's excited to see her in New York before the Canada Grand Prix, they have it all planned out since she has her apartment back." The source added.

One thing is for sure, if we see y/n at the next Grand Prix, that's the big confirmation that they are together, since they blew their Elix cover by forcing them to end the contract.

SEE ALSO:

→ Victoria Presley's inauguration after party at the Grand Havana Room, you just had to be there.

→ Taylor Swift defends y/n y/ln: ''All of you have learned nothing!"

→ Aidan Kim on Charles Leclerc: "Never heard of him until my girlfriend cheated on me"

𝙂𝙊𝙏 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 ��𝙊 𝙎𝘼𝙔? 𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝘼 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙊𝙒!

You're seeing the top comments.

Anonymous – 4 hr ago

They're both so shameless! and charles was liking tweets saying they were friends like he could really trick us.

kollhha – 3 hr ago

I hate her, Charles dump her ass for the love of god.

adriennewells – 40 min ago

no but seriously what is it about y/n that has men brainwashed?

Anonymous – 10 min ago

They WOULD be cute together, i don't think they're dating though.

June 10th, Los Angeles, California

You fit your life for the past months into two suitcases, and a carry on. Your room at Vic's house is messy and it feels strangely empty without your discarded shoes and dirty laundry on the floor. But it's time to go, you cannot impose your presence in this enormous house anymore. You have felt like an intruder since you started traveling to Formula 1 and coming back every week like this is your hotel and not your best friend's home.

"Are you really going back to New York?" Vic asks from behind you, voice low with sadness.

"Yes, Vic, I have to." you sigh, turning to meet her. She's dressed up in her fucsia workout gear, holding a light ring in her left hand and her phone in the right. Your flight leaves in the evening and you were hoping to have a meal with Vic before parting to the airport, but it looks like she's all booked.

"No you don't," she argues, entering the room. "Hollywood is here, y/n why do you need to go back to New York? You're an actress!"

You feel like a lot of things, except for an actress right now.

"I don't think Hollywood wants me right now, Vic," you say, going back to the unmade bed to lie down. You asked the cleaning lady if she could leave your room for last so you could finish picking your stuff up, and she agreed gently. "Plus, I really miss New York."

"y/n you haven't even visited my store, you can't go!" Vic's tone changes in octave, and it's not her whiny 'please don't do this' tone you're so used to. "I asked you for ONE favor and you're running to New York and you can't do even just that?"

"Woah, Vic, what the fuck?" you use your elbows as support to lean up and look at her. "Calm down. It's okay." you know her tantrum comes from the fact that she truly believes you could boost her beauty line sales and make her store a 'hot spot'. And it would work, for the wrong reasons. You don't want Vic being dragged down into this mess too. Mati and Charles are enough casualties.

"NO IT'S NOT!" Victoria is full-on yelling now, the light ring has been tossed aside. "I have given everything you've asked from me in the past months since your life started falling apart. I think I deserve something in return."

You ignore the bite of her words. She's angry, which is understandable to some level. She doesn't mean it, right? That she always expected something in return.

"Vic, listen, I know how important your store is to you. But I promise you, you don't want the attention I'm bringing to anyone close to me right now."

"Oh, so you're doing this for my own good now?" she scoffs, ponytail flying in the air as she turns around. "Are you fucking Charles Leclerc for his own good too? Or do men's reputations don't matter?" she spits.

You halt completely, halfway out of the mattress. "What did you say?"

"Oh, please y/n. You really want me to believe you don't want to be seen with me to 'protect me'" she throws the quotations in the air, "And yet you went on your pretty vacation with that bitch Matilde, and you talk to fucking Charles Leclerc every day!"

"Victoria, stop," your brain is a mix of anger, sadness and confusion. You’re having trouble catching up to the where the conversation is going. "That was different, Vic. In case you haven't noticed, things can't stop getting worse. My life is not good right now." You choke on the last words, because it's the first time you say such things out loud. You have never been more miserable.

Victoria scoffs yet again, and it’s a tear in your heart. She's really not backing off. "Of course your life isn't good y/n wah, wah. You have money and beauty and a pilot boyfriend, it sucks so much to be you!"

"Why are you so bothered about it? Why is Charles the main problem here?" you wipe the tears from your cheeks, scratching the skin with one of your rings. "Why the fuck are you acting like this?"

Everything was alright this morning at breakfast, when you reminded her you were leaving and your luggage was almost done. When you thanked her for taking you in and told her you could never really repay her support.

"Because you get everything you want all the time!" Victoria stomps to you, her face inches away when she stops. "You always get what you want no matter what. It didn't even matter that I said you view him as a fucking piece of meat! He still went after you."

The world moves in slow-motion as her words cascade on you. Your lungs close and your throat tightens again, and you want to fight the panic attack because you just know Victoria is not going to help you. How could she? If she's the one who betrayed you.

"How–Why–" you stutter, the hem of your shirt on your fist. You can fight this. "How could you do this to me?"

Victoria finally comes to the realization of what she let out, and covers her mouth. "y/n no– look–"

"Who told you about the ring?" your jaw is locked and you're trying not to lose focus. "How could you tell them about the ring?!"

"How could you not tell ME?! I'm your fucking best friend, you bitch!" she's raising her voice again, her surprise pushed aside because you're still fighting. "I had to find out through Aidan, months later."

The Cannes party. Of course.

You thought about asking her about it. Telling her it hurt you that she hung out so happily with Aidan when he was the reason you arrived at her house one night in February, frightened, sad, and confused. But you didn't because you trusted her. You would have trusted Victoria with your life at some point.

"It really is you, then," tears are streaming down your face again.

You feel stupid because only yesterday, in another rage-scroll through Twitter, you noticed people were already making theories about how it was Victoria who was selling information about you. And you felt so offended, how could they think your best friend would do that to you?

"How could you, Victoria? How could you make all that shit up?"

You talked to Victoria about the articles. You cried and told her you were sorry you didn’t let her in on the failed proposal, it was something you were still processing and couldn’t bring yourself to talk about, still wondering if it had been a mistake every now and then. You told her how sorry you felt to Charles because he just wanted to hang out with you—to be friends with you—and people marked him down as a home wrecker when he had nothing to do with it.

“It was definitely Mia though, wasn’t it?” She said as she rubbed your back and passed the box of tissues to you. “She always hated you, so weird. It was like she loved Aidan in a fucked up way.” Victoria even shuddered exaggeratedly, trying to make you laugh.

“Yeah I’m sure it was Mia, Aidan just won’t admit it.” You let her wipe your tears and smooth your hair down. Nobody could convince you that your ex-sister-in-law didn’t run to People and spewed shit. It was the most logical conclusion that Aidan was protecting his little sister.

This had been three days ago, she lied and made fun of you, to your face.

"So now I'm a liar? You are fucking Charles Leclerc! Or what, you expect me to believe all you do is hold hands and peck each other's cheeks?"

Again with Charles, it infuriates you.

"You told the press I'm a cheater! And I am NOT with Charles, God you're so stupid!"

"How would I know whether it's true or not? You never tell me anything anymore, do you? You don't care about me! I'm your best friend. I deserve to be your priority!"

"You deserve to rot in hell, you lying bitch." you don't even raise your voice anymore, "How could I ever love you?"

Victoria laughs, and your heart finally shatters. "I would do it again, y/n, because it's what you forced me to do."

The apartment is a mess, and you know it's on purpose. Your clothes are everywhere, the dirt from the plants you kept on the balcony is all over the floor, the coffee table is broken and your room looks like a hurricane passed through. Your coffee maker and your Specialty coffee both lie on the floor of the kitchen, and there is a horrible smell coming from the fridge. Aidan hasn't been gone long enough for things to rot to that extent, especially because every appliance is plugged in.

You don't want to look at the rest of the house, or your belongings. All you do is lean down to pick up your Moka pot, and make time to think, but you're unable to stand straight again. It's like the pain is pulling you down. How did your life become this?

A ruined apartment, a rejected engagement and a backstabbing best friend are things that happen in the movies. You would know. This wasn't supposed to happen to you.

Crying in that ruined kitchen, holding a Moka pot like it's your greatest treasure and not some piece of trash that you will never be able to use anymore, you get angry, furious. Because this is not your life and it was never supposed to be. And it's about time you start doing something about it.

You are sick of running. Of having people question you for not 'defending' yourself when you have no reason to be attacked in the first place. Relationships die, and yours had been past its time to be buried. Saying no is not a crime. And it never will be.

Victoria had burned her own thread with you in the worst way possible because you didn't make her the only person in your life. And you had overlooked every time you felt used by her, unloved, and tossed aside. Friends can break your heart too, and Victoria had ripped yours out of your chest.

Nobody has to tell you who you are, because you know. And you are nothing of what you've let tabloids, netizens and reporters say. You cannot keep running and you cannot keep hiding, and though you wish you had understood that earlier. It's never too late to pick yourself up.

Mildred and Walter are going to be pissed, but their advice was that you remained lowkey for however long it took Hollywood to get their next big scandal. Weeks, months, years.

And you're not about to scurry away into darkness like a rat.

FROM “JUST WATCH THIS” POSTED IN Y/N Y/LN'S YOUTUBE CHANNEL POSTED JUNE 12TH

[y/n,minute 01:30]: ❝...So I've finally decided to come here and tell you everything that has been happening for the past months. It's the truth, but whether you believe it is a personal choice.❞

[y/n,minute 05:56]: ❝It was a three-year dead-end relationship. You cannot, and should not, have a future with someone who laughs at your dreams, and tells you how you should behave and how to look to exalt him.❞

[y/n, minute 07:15]: ❝I said no. And I have not regret it for one second. I didn't tell anyone because I respect Aidan, although I don't think that is reciprocal by now.❞

[y/n, minute 10:01]: ❝I never cheated on him, and I know the source of those rumors. It breaks my heart to know that someone I trusted made up stuff about myself, and a part of my life that was so important to me. I am not telling you who it was, however, I will take legal action against them if the defamation continues.❞

[y/n, minute 14:54]: ❝Aidan decided to tell this person about our failed engagement, and I do not know if his intention was that this all became public. But I wish he'd been mature enough to handle it privately, like the adults we both are.❞

[y/n, minute 16:59]: ❝I started attending Formula 1 races because of an Ambassador contract I held with Elix until three days ago, when they decided to rescind it.❞

[y/n, minute 18:07]: ❝That's where I met both Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz, back in April. Since they are the drivers for Ferrari, we spent a lot of time in the same place, which led to us becoming friends.❞

[y/n, minute 19:04]: ❝Charles Leclerc is my friend and we are not romantically involved, I urge you to stop making stuff up about him too. He never messed with my past relationship, we did not know each other.❞

[y/n, minute 21:55]: ❝When all of this started, I believed—naively— that it could just die down on its own. I am an actress. I was not only 'Aidan Kim's girlfiend' and I am not only his ex-girlfriend now. I am y/n y/ln.❞

[y/n, minute 23:31]: ❝I should have spoken sooner. I should have shut everything down the moment I started feel miserable and out of control. But I also know, I was being crucified so badly because I am a woman.❞

[y/n, minute 26:00]: ❝You have made me feel miserable and anxious, I have suffered from panic attacks and sleepless nights. And I'm not saying this to make you all feel bad and regretful, because the one thing you lack the most is empathy.❞

[y/n, minute 28:45]: ❝But I want you all to think that, if it had been the other way around and Aidan hadn't wanted to marry me, you would have said 'he wasn't ready' and you would have let him move on and find "The One" in peace.❞

[y/n, minute 31:35]: ❝If it was Timothee Chalamet—whom I also have a deep appreciation for—doing RomComs and nothing more, you would call it 'his specialty' and never question his talent.❞

[y/n, minute 33:17]: ❝If I was a man, this wouldn't have killed my reputation.❞

[y/n, minute 36:21]: ❝I will not remain quiet anymore while you step on me and diminish my work. I do not owe anything to Aidan Kim except for the drama the past months have brought me.❞

[y/n, minute 38:11]: ❝I'm going to focus on the future. And I am well aware this will be continue to be a topic of conversation, but I am not scared anymore. Because I know who I am and who I can count on.❞

[y/n, minute 40:12]: ❝If it weren't for my fans, who have been fighting my battles so hard, I wouldn't be here either. They're here for me, and I can never repay such pure love.❞

[y/n, minute 42:22]: ❝If you watched up to here, I'm sure you're wondering whether you should believe all of this, and like I said, it's all up to you❞

[y/n, minute 44:50]: ❝I will not be speaking about Aidan Kim again, so I ask you to refrain from asking about him. It's all been said and done, and I'm eager to move on.❞

[END]

You are looking at the all the comments.

aidanbabes WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BITCH EVEN ON

flowerbedkim Oh so now Aidan forced her to be with him? Bullshit. You are never saving your lying ass y/n, fuck you!!!!!

thatbitch123 You are absolutely right y/n if you were a man this wouldn’t have happened it's so sad

ynbabes2 my queen i waited for you to speak for so long!!! WE HAVE TO MOVE ON FROM THIS

leclercstar you all have made this girl's life absolute hell, i hope you never find peace!! I'm glad she's friends with Charles and Carlos.

presleyvibes wait and you thank people but not Vic who let you stay at her house? you're an ungrateful bitch

albstappen I saw her pic with Lily Muni and I just knew she was one of the good ones

ynmybeloved EVERY TONGUE THAT RISES AGAINST YN SHALL FALL

kim41d4an IT'S YOUR WORD AGAINST AIDAN'S YOU CHEATING WHORE

June 12th, SoHo, New York.

You are trying to clean the mess around you as best you can. And although you could call someone to help you, sweeping and scrubbing keeps you busy and distracted. The first message you received after posting the video was from Mati a 'proud of you xx, tell me all about it later please!' text that made you take your first deep breath of the afternoon. You made an appointment with a doctor first thing in the morning, you want the panic to go away, you need it to.

Thoughts of how they're destroying you again, calling you a liar and a whore, swarm your brain and you try to toss them in the trash along with your ruined Dolce & Gabbana coat, mysteriously cut up with scissors. You told the truth, and not even the whole of it.

The video is being shown everywhere, you're sure you'll see it tomorrow in Good Morning America where they'll dissect every single move you make and every word that comes out of your mouth.

It's almost 9 pm when you finally stop wiping the apartment down, trying to get rid of every sign that Aidan Kim was ever inside it. It's not true that he paid for the apartment, you picked it yourself and made it a home and then he chose to come and live here, paying the rent once every three to five months. This is your home and you are reclaiming it.

Your phone rings and you take another deep breath before picking it up. Mildred and Walter have resorted to communicate with you through email, so you wonder who it is. Victoria called a few times during the weekend, left voicemails and text messages until you blocked her. Each of them with a new excuse and a more creative way to pin all of what she had done, on you.

It's a FaceTime call from Charles.

"Charlie!" you greet with a smile, before the image of him loads completely. "It's 3 am in Monaco, what the hell are you doing awake?"

Charles shrugs and you notice his bare shoulders, he's shirtless. You're suddenly self-conscious about the way you look. With your hair sticking up from the sweat, your greasy face and ragged shirt. It's a silly worry.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, and you know he's tired. "I saw your video earlier, but I was doing something else."

"Oh, you saw that."

"I'm proud of you y/n, you are brave for speaking your mind like that. I know it must have taken some effort." Charles moves again and you see his chest, he's already in bed.

"Charles, go to sleep, we can talk about this later," you chuckle, heat is rising to your face.

"I wanted to see you y/n, it doesn't matter what time it is. And I really wanted to tell you I'm glad you posted that video."

"Thank you, Charlie. I should have done it sooner."

"The only one who knows what timing is right for you, is yourself."

"Yeah, I guess so." you sigh, you're exhausted too and you blame it more on the rollercoaster of emotions you've been through than deep cleaning your apartment.

"Are you tired?" he asks, suppressing a yawn.

"No more than you," you retort, but can't help yawning as well. It's a scientific fact that yawns are contagious. "Go to sleep, we can talk tomorrow."

You talked yesterday too, and the day before, and you cried so much on the phone again you thought he would eventually hang up until you calmed down. But Charles soothed you through the phone at 1 am Monaco time and told you to let it all out, and listened without interrupting you once how you called Aidan and Victoria every name in the book.

"Fine," Charles says, rubbing his left eye carelessly. "Will you give me a tour of your apartment tomorrow, then?"

"Yes! I finished cleaning it today!"

Charles laughs softly at your excitement. “We’ll talk tomorrow then, just because you need to sleep.”

“Sure I am the sleepy one,” you roll your eyes and Charles smiles, both dimples showing. “Goodnight Charlie, sweet dreams.” The last part you say it in a slightly mocking tone but Charles doesn’t take it as such, smile widening.

“Goodnight soleil,” he says and waits a few seconds for you to react to your newly given nickname before hanging up, anxious but satisfied.

─── team principal radio: ❝thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are liking the story so far. We're slowly getting to the y/n redemption. Once again, i really appreciate all of your interactions they mean the world to me. Also check out the series playlist if you haven't♡❞

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[marchsfreakshow]

Red Nail Polish [Stan Bowes]

Smut / tiny bit of angst

Your boss never really spoke to you that much. Not really. So, you weren't particularly expecting a call from him at 12am asking you to come over.

This request is from AGESSS ago but I finally found some inspiration. Anon who requested it, if you're still here this is for you<3

Fair warning I haven't seen Pose for a bit so it might sound a bit ooc sorry.

Warnings: once again too much plot for a smut fic lol, brief 'sir' kink, Stan being kinda pathetic, oral (m), reader is a little mean occasionally.

18+! MINORS DNI READ MY SFW WORKS

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Stan never spoke to you. Tell a lie, he did. Occasionally. Brief hellos while he walked to a meeting maybe. Small talk maybe going over whatever he asked you to do.

There was never more than that. No lingering glances in your direction, no knowing smiles. Seemed like nothing. That's all your relationship was.

You worked like this for a few months.

Never speaking much together. Maybe you gave him lunch if he asked. You always found him cute though. The way his hair just sat the same every day, the way his eyes always gave you the same soft look when he walked past you. It was, slightly perfect. Too perfect.

Men have their secrets, you assumed he probably had his. That's probably why you liked his eyes. Too much of a past to stare at, too much to get into with your own boss who you barely spoke more than... 4 words to. You couldn't really casually go up to Stan and ask him, "Hey sir how's your home life? It's going good? Yea, your eyes say otherwise." You weren't insane!

The hours were long.

The weeks were tedious.

Eventually getting a few more words into Stan. Small conversations over lunch that didn't amount to much. The man found himself enjoying your company. "You do anything over the weekend?" He asked, adjusting himself in his chair a bit. Did he look uncomfortable? Probably.

The silence was nice, so you were slightly taken aback by his out of nowhere question. "Uh, went to see a production of Two Gentlemen Of Verona. That was nice."

"Oh, nice. On your own?"

On my own? What was that meant to mean?

"Yeah."

"Right."

The rest of lunch continued. Stan seemed off. On the edge of his seat, literally. He was uncomfortably perched on his chair, attempting to attain something just out of grasp. You noticed his fidgeting; flicking of his nails, slight playing with his food, eyes flickering around to avoid your own eyes. You wanted to pry but also figured you didn't talk enough to ask if he was okay. Stan would probably say that he's fine and you'd get right back to the slightest bit of uncomfortable silence.

Back to work.

Back to small smiles, little questions, and writing notes to yourself. For the next couple of hours. Boring and repetitive until 5:30pm. Everyone caught themselves up and left immediately. You found yourself a face in the crowd, heading towards your car before Stan got a moment to say 'Have a good evening' to you.

It was a lonely evening. He was used to hearing the TV play some children's shows for a while, hearing the little ones talk excitedly about what they did at school. Just being excited for no reason. But, no, he was greeted with silence this night. It was deafening. He had to be alone with his thoughts. It was another quick meal in the microwave. He had to face the rare few dishes still lingering in the sink. Mouldy food starting to stick to the porcelain. Only served as a reminder of the reality Stan currently lived in.

A lonely movie, lying on the couch in whatever clothes he could find. Staring up at the ceiling, blank-minded, thinking nothing. The movie waved past his ears. "Can I talk to you?"

Stan's phone call at 12am wasn't what you were expecting. You were half lying in bed, reading still. Very close to finishing the book, and that was what you were focused on. "Sir... Stan, it's 12am."

"sir...hey, call me that again," he murmured under his breath, closing his eyes. Lost in his thoughts of your voice. Maybe you shouldn't've been giving in to his desires. Stan had mentioned his wife, and his kids multiple times. He told you plenty of stories, but he seemed slightly out of it tonight.

Despite your lingering thoughts, you said 'fuck it' and responded quietly, your book closed on your lap. "Why sir? Something happened?"

"Yeah, actually. I, um, I was wondering if you could... come over."

A chuckle. "Stan.. it's midnight."

"I know. I know...just, please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." Stan eventually told you his address, and you made a quick mental note. Agreeing eventually, and you hung up. Maybe you should pack an overnight bag. Yeah, maybe you should.

The drive took more time than you expected. You didn't properly change out of your home clothes either, just slipping on some underwear and trousers that weren't so... messy. Knocking quickly with the overnight bag still in the backseat of your car. "Ah, hi." Stan looked a mess, more than you felt right now and it almost broke your heart.

"Hey...why did you want me to come over?"

Stan took your hand, led you inside, and closed the door once you stood in the living room. It was certainly more messy than you would have expected. A bit of trash, a messed up couch, a random movie still playing dully on the TV. This... certainly wasn't what you were expecting. "Stan?" You asked, peeking out to the hallway.

"Sorry...sorry." The man sniffled. He quickly ran a hand over his face then took a few steps back into the living room. "Uh, come sit down. I'll, get you a drink." The words, the steps and his look only added to your confusion. Sure he was certainly...alone now, but the mess, and his clothes.

You took a few steps towards Stan and immediately held onto his arms. "Stan. What's going on?" Cutting him off of any words he was about to say. Stan looked at you, then at your hands on his arms. Then back into your eyes.

"She's gone."

Eyes wide. "Oh." How do you comfort people again? More specifically, how do you comfort your suddenly divorced boss who definitely hasn't been invading your thoughts recently? His eyes found the floor, like it was the most interesting thing in the room and said nothing for a moment.

People like hugs right? That should work. Enveloping Stan in a hug, your arms around his neck. Holding him close for a moment as he reluctantly wrapped his arms around your back. Awkward, but somehow comforting. It went on for a little bit too long, and once you pulled yourself away, his eyes found the floor again.

He wasn't really thinking much. You blinked and he kissed you. Wait what? His hands on your cheeks. This was not happening. Before he continued to kiss you, you took a step away. "Stan-"

"Fuck. Sorry." The man uttered, sitting on the couch instead. He looked quite sorry for himself. A bit of a pathetic sight really. It tugged at whatever empathetic heartstrings you had left. Stan clearly did something, and you probably should've left right then and there. I mean, were you really thinking about this? There are multiple reasons for his wife leaving, presumably with the two little kiddies. "Look, I just.." He trailed off once he saw you settle between his legs.

"um.."

"You're obviously feeling upset, and I know you did something but I don't really know any other way to comfort you." You muttered, taking a loop in the sweatpants and pulling it so the waistband became looser. Stan brought his hips up for a moment so you could pull the fabric from his hips and let it settle around his ankles.

"you really don't have to.." He protested. Stan's protests were weak. He clearly hadn't been touched for a while. Or he was incredibly attracted to you. While yes technically, you didn't have to, you felt some semblance of upset for Stan and his situation. And you figured this would be the best way to temporarily help him out. Fuck it, you might get a raise out of this tomorrow once the man came to his senses, you didn't know.

Stan's lack of pleasure for a while was obvious. He was achingly hard already, and you had barely slipped your hand into his boxers. Bit sad really. But you digressed. Slowly touching him under the fabric for a few moments, hearing his breathing get heavier, and occasional little moans escaping him. Eventually, though, Stan pulled your hand away just to tug his boxers down his legs to join his sweats.

Ah, you knew what to do now. You muttered nothing to yourself, as you rested your fingers around Stan's cock again. Taking a breath, leaning in. Your tongue resting on the underside for a moment. "Ha.."

"You okay?" You asked, pulling yourself away for a moment, looking up at Stan.

"It's uh, it's been a while.."

"Figured." Ouch. That stung in Stan's heart for a moment. The feeling immediately replaced once your lips were wrapped around his dick once again. He couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to watch you or let his head fall back against the couch. So, he eventually decided to let his head fall against the couch as you started to take more of him down your throat. One hand resting next to him on the couch and the other hesitant to rest on your head. He didn't know what type of person you were, so he could've tried to push you down and you would've hated that.

But, you just continued without a care in the world. Eyes screwed shut as your cheeks hollowed with every movement. You pulled away from time to time to breathe, revelling in the sound of Stan's small groans, whimpers and gasps. They were the sweet sounds and made it all the better. The sounds of a lonely boss who you honestly, were still decently interested in.

Yea. You were definitely going to get a raise out of this.

Stan let out another groan, keeping his fingers taut against your hair. As soon as you felt the telltale sign in your mouth, you pulled yourself away, heavily breathing still. Starting instead to jerk Stan off quickly, keeping the same pace for another few moments, until he came in your hand. Dripping down his cock and your fingers as Stan bucked up to ride himself through his orgasm since you didn't seem to help him.

"a-ah shit. I'm sorry.." He muttered once he realised he made a mess of your hand. Coincidentally, a tissue box was by the TV stand, so you stood up, cum over your hand and grabbed the box, bringing it over to Stan. Not as satisfying as Stan had hoped, but it was something and it made him feel a little better.

Silently, you cleaned your hand up, throwing the stained tissues in the bin quickly. Stan followed, slowly cleaning himself up and dressing himself back up. Cue awkward silence for a few moments. "Thanks."

"Yeah. Course."

Another few moments of silence between the two of you, ads playing in the background on the TV. Looking around the living room as you just sat there for a moment. Stan finally said something, just your name. Looking over to you with a hopeful look. "Can we...can I..take you somewh-"

"No." Stan blinked and then looked over at the wall, feeling slight whiplash at you saying no immediately. "Whatever the fuck happened... whatever the fuck you did... It clearly only just happened. And I don't think that's a good idea."

"You just-"

"Yeah, I'm fully aware of what I just did Stan."

A beat of silence. Both of you felt like at least one of you said something wrong. You figured it was Stan. Who goes and suggests a date to their secretary right after their wife left them? "...a few weeks?"

"Try a few months sir." You knew exactly what you were doing with that word. Stan knew too. There was no need for you to call him that right now. Glancing at each other.

But you got up silently and walked out to your car, leaving Stan in confusion for a couple of minutes. Once you came back in, overnight bag in hand, Stan got the idea. Well, he hoped it was the right idea. Being led through the house until you were in his room.

You were sure this was going to result in way more than a raise by this point.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @american-horror-whore /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @t8-ak47 / @lemoniiiiiii / @xrag-dollx

[mumms-the-word]

guys

GUYS

you’ll never believe what nonsense I came across while I was brainrot doomscrolling through all the books and notes on the BG3 wiki trying to find stuff I might have missed in act 2

druid self-insert romantic fanfiction about the first battle against Moonrise and Ketheric

fanfic that Halsin read and criticized!!

Okay if you played early access you shouldn’t be surprised because these books existed in EA. I’ve tried to find them in my game post patch 6 but all I can find is volume 3, which is disappointing because I was hoping to find volume 4

But as a treat, if you’re like me and completely didn’t know about this, buckle up and please enjoy the self-insert adventures of a certain “Roa” who totally isn’t Roan Featherway, a druid of Silvanus and colleague(??) of Halsin himself

———

Book Draft - Volume I

The name on the inside of this faded journal suggests it belonged to a 'Roan Featherway', a druid of Silvanus.

[Neatly written chapters fill this journal. A list of what appears to be book publishers in Baldur's Gate are on the first page. The cover has a multitude of titles, all crossed out: 'The Unforeseen Alliance, volume 1', 'Druids and Harpers, a fight for good!', 'The Shadowed Evil: who dares to stand against it?'] Our hero, the [brave? mighty?] druid Roa arrives in the grove. When he received the summons from the Emerald Enclave, he knew something was afoot. Filled with druids and rangers alike, members of the Enclave are scattered across the realm. They fight to preserve the natural order, keep the elemental forces of the world in check, and do battle with those who would upset this delicate balance. They are fierce warriors, though none as fierce as Roa. Built like [an ox? A bear?], he stands head and shoulders above the crowd. The grove is buzzing with activity. Roa spots a beautiful woman with ebony hair flowing past her shoulders, her eyes as blue as a [summer's day? bluebird?]. His smile turns to a frown as he notices the crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. By Silvanus, what was a Harper doing here?

———

Book Draft - Volume II

Formed from several journals, paper scraps and, in one case, the back of an envelope, this book has been carefully glued together to form the second in a series of romance novels.

[This seems to be the second volume in a series written by an amateur novelist. The title on the cover, 'Love in Shadowed Lands', is crossed out.] The ebony-haired woman notices Roa's gaze and crosses the grove, [winking? smiling?] as she stands by the druid's side. 'I don't usually wear it out in the open,' she says, tapping the brooch on her cloak, a crescent moon and harp pinned to her chest. 'Except for special occasions.' 'What's a Harper doing in a grove of Silvanus?' Roa asks. 'Not just one.' She gestures to a group by the sacred pool. 'We're generally more cloak and dagger,' she continues, 'thwarting tyrants and [guarding? protecting?] the realm is best done in secret. But you lot have a fight on your hands. We're here to help.' 'Since when do the Emerald Enclave need a bunch of Harpers?' Roa says. 'You haven't heard?' She laughs, her laugh tinkling like a bell. 'Strap in, sweetie. We're about to take on Dark Justiciars, their demented leader Ketheric Thorm and, if we're very lucky, Shar herself.'

———

Book Draft - Volume III

The third book in a series of romance novels, this once beautifully bound book has had pages ripped out, glued back in and even tied to the book's spine using a piece of twine.

['Volume Three' is written in bold on the front. The title 'The Cost of Sorrow' is followed by a number of question marks.] 'But why?' Roa screams, the beast within barely contained. 'Why follow Shar? Why destroy Moonhaven?' Ketheric stares down [haughtily? cruelly?] at Roa as he steps over the bodies of Harpers and druids alike. 'Shar knows all.' He smiles [maliciously?]. 'She gave me a holy mission. I'm merely fulfilling it.' 'The people of Moonhaven trusted you!' Roa cries, his anger rising. 'How could you turn your Dark Justiciars on them?' Ketheric smiles, 'They needed the target practice. Can't have Shar's elite getting rusty, now can we? As for you...' a crescent blade appears in his [cruel?] hands. 'You are but one lone druid, Roa. Who are you to stand against me?' Roa forces himself to his feet, Silvanus' fury coursing through him. 'I'm your downfall. Today you die, Ketheric!'

———

And for the pièce de résistance 😮‍💨🤌

Book Draft - Volume IV

The fourth volume and final novel, this book has had almost every single page ripped out, except for the last twenty or so pages.

['Shadow's Kiss' is written in bold on the front. Pages of crossed out lines have notes in the margin reading 'finale!', 'more exciting!'. The final entry reads:] 'Get out of here.' Roa whispers, clutching his side. Blood pours from his fingers, a final gift from Ketheric's blade. 'I'm not leaving you,' Selene sobs, blue eyes filling with tears. Roa cups her face. 'I won't make it out in time. But you can.' Selene presses her forehead against his. Her ebony hair falls forward, forming a curtain that envelops them both. Roa closes his eyes, a smile lifting his lips as her scent, wild roses, washes over him. 'That grappling hook. You still have it?' He asks. 'Of course. Why do you -' With the last of his strength, Roa pushes her from the balcony. He watches her fall, watches her pull the hook from her pack and expertly throw it, swinging gracefully to the ground. A mighty crack splits the floor beneath him as the tower crumbles. He smiles contentedly. Selene was safe. That's all that mattered. Epilogue: 'Selfish bastard.' Selene says, kicking the base of the grave. Balsin places a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'He was the greatest of us all,' Balsin says, a towering behemoth of a druid, although not as tall as Roa. 'We will forever honour him, for he single-handedly broke Shar's hold on the land, and helped -' [A different hand appears beneath the final entry.] Roan, you had one job. This is not a historical record of what occurred, it is poorly written romance with no basis in fact. And if I ever see the name 'Balsin' again, I will personally feed you to Ormn.

Halsin you’re such a critic

we were robbed

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 3

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language, drug use and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Law

Zoro-ya…

Zoro

DON'T.

Law

We've passed by the same block thrice.

Zoro growls. His fists clench as he continues to stubbornly walk ahead of the other man.

Law

Are you seriously this hopeless at directions?

Zoro

Shut up!! We're here.

Law cautiously looks around. His assumption was correct–the green-head is an idiot.

Law

We're in a damp back alley that smells like piss, in the middle of the night, behind some–

Just as Law is about to take another step, a couple of drunken men get roughly thrown out from a tavern and onto the stone footpath in front of him. The bouncer yells unruly curses their way and slams the door behind him. Law sighs, exasperated, and proceeds to follow Zoro, stepping over the writhing drunkards without a care.

Law

Lovely. Look, just tell me where you want to go and I'll take us there. We've wasted enough time already. Are you even sure that we’re on the right island?

Zoro

Shut up. This is the right place. I’m sure of it…this time.

Oh good, they haven't cleared it out yet.

Zoro confidently walks towards a large metal rubbish bin behind yet another shoddy tavern. He readjusts the swords around his waist, and jumps up onto the container. The top half of his body hangs over the opening and the bottom half flails his legs to offset his balance to make sure he doesn't fall all the way in.

Disgusted, Law covers his face with his arm, glaring at Zoro's behind.

Law

You said you can get us in touch with the Pirate King.

Zoro ignores the man and proceeds to dig through the trash, arms deep. Some of the contents spill over the edge, and some he chucks in random directions by hand.

Law

Ugh… Is digging through the trash really how we get to him? It took us two whole days to travel just to get here for this?

Zoro

FOUND YOU!

With a couple of kicks in the air, Zoro's feet fall on the ground. He has his hands cupped together close to his chest. He quickly shuffles past Law, avoiding eye contact, and begins to whisper into his hands as he finds a quiet dark corner while his back is turned towards the other man.

Zoro

I need you working for me now. Come on.

…

I'm sorry I threw you away. I was afraid that you were tapped. Or that you'll explode.

…

C'mon. Just…I'll feed you extra or something. What do you guys like again?

Law's patience is wearing very thin. He approaches Zoro, tapping him on the shoulder with the handle of his own sword.

Law

Zoro-ya, what's going on?

Zoro jolts. He turns his head to look at Law over his shoulder. His ears have turned red. In the palm of his hand, two tiny curious orbs peek over at the doctor.

Law blinks in surprise, looking at the transponder snail with two curly brows above its eyes.

—

At the other end of the line, a den-den mushi with one eye awakens from its peaceful nap.

Den-den Mushi

Purupurupurupuru

A delicate hand answers the call. He lifts the snail’s handset close to his face.

Sanji

Hello?

My beloved! What can I do for you?

Mhmm… Uh-huh. Huh.

That sounds like fun. Sure, I'll help you.

I'll see you soon, my love.

Den-den Mushi

Click

The call put Sanji in a pleasant mood. He is on his bed, reading a book on his stomach while smoking a joint. The one-eyed transponder snail readjusts its shell happily before hiding inside itself comfortably for another long snooze. Sanji thinks that's a great idea, and snuggles himself further in the overly large pink feather coat that draped over him like a blanket, bumping the wavy red sunglasses that sat on his forehead.

Doflamingo shifts in reaction. He is splayed naked next to him with his hands behind his head, resting comfortably against an especially large pillow that looks proportional to his massive figure.

Doflamingo

“My beloved,” hmm? Who was it?

Sanji

None of your god damn business, you ugly fuck.

Doflamingo lets out a deep sinister chuckle.

Doflamingo

This your new toy?

Sanji

He used to be.

Doflamingo

The swordsman, eh? I'm glad to hear that you're making progress.

Sanji

Thanks, cunt.

Doflamingo turns his head slightly, nodding at Sanji's hand with the stick.

Doflamingo

Pass it here.

Sanji stretches his hand and gently places the joint between Doflamingo's lips, giving him a chance to take a long deep drag.

As thanks, Doflamingo holds the air in his lungs, leans over and captures Sanji's lips onto his to breathe the smoke directly into his mouth, making the other man moan deliciously. He takes the hint and pushes further in, shoving his long pointed tongue further down his throat.

Sanji lets him flip him onto his back, welcoming his full weight by spreading his legs wide so the large man can fit between his figure. He opens his mouth, giving him further access.

After a few moments of exchanging deep penetrating kisses, Sanji exhales the smoke out through his nose. He pulls back slightly to look Doflamingo in the eyes.

Sanji

Don't touch him, okay?

Doflamingo

You're no fun.

Sanji

I'm serious.

At this point, Doflamingo knows when he can push his luck and when he can't, especially with that tone in his voice. He raises a hand, telling the other man that he won't bother him further about it. Shifting back onto his pillow, he returns his gaze to the blue and the green-haired commanders standing guard by the doorway. They'd been assigned to make sure that he behaves himself which is the usual routine, but nevertheless he finds it entertaining that they always refuse to watch the show directly in front of them or make any eye contact at all.

Doflamingo 

Think the blue one will actually let me have a go at him this time?

Sanji

Only if you want your dick bitten off, darling.

----------

A little drink to quench the thirst. Doffy is a big boy.

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man Part 6

Fic Summary: Steve 'the Hair' Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you'll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie. (1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9)

Chapter Summary: What DID he mean by five? The second meeting.

5.1k words

A/N: How are we feeling in a post-"Flight of Icarus" world, y'all? I knew from the beginning that I'd want to add some of the lore in and let me tell you, I LOVE Ronnie Ecker. For those of you who did not read the book, or haven't had a chance to, Ronnie is Eddie's best friend who ended up with a full scholarship to NYU. They're siblings, your honor.

Also if anyone can show me on this map where the plot is going, I'd really appreciate it.

This late at night, the only sounds in the trailer park came from the occasional dog barking and the echoes of Eddie’s tapes blasting as he pulled up to Wayne’s trailer. His uncle was working tonight as usual, which would normally allow Eddie time to hog the tv before passing out for a few precious hours before he had to get up for school. 

Tonight however, his mind was buzzing with what had just happened less than an hour ago. He liked you, he wasn’t sure how much yet but he did. You were sharp and knew your stuff about metal. It helped that you were cute. Really cute. 

He liked seeing you in the passenger seat of his car, matching wits with his friends and ranting about Ozzy. He liked seeing you laughing and the way you watched him play. He really liked the way you had fiddled with the pick he’d thrown at you at the end of the set. 

Eddie had never done that before. He’d wanted to, but never had anyone’s attention like that before- no. That wasn’t true. There had been one other person who’d listened to him play like that, two years ago. 

Was he always gonna fold to the site of a pretty girl actually paying attention to his music? 

“Of course you are.” Ronnie’s voice echoed on the phone. “And I’m gonna laugh every time you do.” 

Eddie groaned, holding the receiver to his ear as his forehead pressed against the front of the fridge. He hadn’t planned on running to her with this, but he was nowhere near able to wind down. He hadn’t even expected Ronnie to pick up the phone this late at night with the time zone difference and the fact that it was a school night. He’d have to push his stash a bit harder to pay Wayne back for the long distance call. 

The past two years had been a slow crawl of building back trust up with Veronica Ecker. The two had gone almost a whole summer without talking before Eddie had basically groveled for forgiveness outside of Granny Ecker’s trailer before Ronnie left for New York. She had forgiven him enough to let him give her a ride to the airport. 

“Last time?” He’d asked. 

“Last time.” She’d repeated. 

“So why didn’t you shack up with her tonight?” Ronnie asked. “You got her into your van, and you dropped her off like a gentleman.” 

“I don’t know, I panicked.” Eddie sighed, bonking his head against the fridge a few times. “She was right there, and she was leaning in and all I saw was Paige leaning in-”

“You know not every girl who shares your taste in music is Paige, right?” Eddie could practically see Ronnie rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. 

“Any girl that shares my taste in music ends up fucking off to the opposite end of the country.” 

This made Ronnie laugh. “You’re an idiot. Paige fucked off back to her job and I fucked off to college.”

“Fucking off is fucking off.”

“Maybe you need to fuck off.”

“I tried, remember?” 

She remembered. Both of them remembered. 

“Look, stop being a dipshit.” Ronnie said after a moment of awkward silence. “You’re graduating this year, right?”

“Uhhh...”

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m working on it. I just need those last stupid two classes and then I’m home free.” Eddie confirmed. 

“You can’t stay in high school forever.” Ronnie said. “And you’re gonna realize that there’s life outside of Hawkins. Have you even talked to Paige since then?”

He hadn’t, and they both knew it. Eddie gave up two months after she’d bailed him out of jail. Two months of dead air silence. He got the hint. 

“No.”

“Then stop worrying about one girl from over two years ago!” Eddie could feel the phantom pain of Ronnie punching him in the arm like she always used to. “Get laid and graduate, Munson. You earned it.”

Eddie snorted, sliding down the fridge to sit on the cool floor. “Is that the only advice you got for me, Ecker?”

“It’s the only advice you need. Did you pass that test last week?” Ronnie asked. 

“By the skin of my teeth.” Eddie sighed, leaning his head back against the fridge. 

“Your new girl graduated, maybe she can help you study.”

“She’s not my girl. She’s a girl that I’ve met a handful of times-”

“That’s turning your brain to mush.” 

“She doesn’t even know who I am, Ronnie.” He fiddled with the chord in his hand, watching the spiral wind and unwind around his fingers. It was already stretched out pretty bad, with a few spirals already tangled beyond repair like his old slinky from when he was a kid. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ronnie asked. “She doesn’t know you, that means she doesn’t feed into the bullshit of the rumor mill.” 

Ronnie had a point and he hated it, but that’s why he called her to begin with. Ronnie was the only person who could cut through his Munson bullshit and give it to him straight. He missed it. As much as he enjoyed the power he had to protect his little lost sheepies, they were all too intimidated to actually stand up to him and call him out the way that Ronnie would.

“Yeah, you’re right. As usual.” Eddie could hear her snort and he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “So why the hell are you even awake right now? Up til 2 am on a school night, Ecker?”

“It’s barely past midnight, the time zone isn’t that off. I was studying for a test, but hearing you complain about your love life is a far more productive use of my time.” 

“You’re using me to slack off, aren’t you?” 

“If I have to look at my flashcards one more time tonight my eyes are gonna go square. How’s Granny doing?”

“She’s an empty nester and is determined to turn me into her replacement grandson until you visit again.” Eddie shook his head. “She threatened to give me a haircut the last time she dropped off a plate for Wayne.”

Ronnie had come back to visit a grand total of five times since she’d left, returning for holidays and summers to visit Granny Ecker and by extension Eddie. Each time she’d come back with stories of law school and how different New York is. 

It seemed impossible, everything that Ronnie had told him about going to college and about life outside their small town. She was playing Dungeons and Dragons still, having found a group that would play with her. According to her, being a rules lawyer for the game at a law school hit way different than it had their small Hellfire group in high school. No one even cared that they played outside of a few students who had better things to do than enact violence against a few nerds. 

Then again, in law school everyone was some sort of nerd. Eddie wondered if even a freak would be accepted there. Well, socially at least. He wasn’t delusional enough to think he’d be able to be accepted into law school with his grades. Ronnie had invited him up to visit a few times, but there was never time or money to do it. 

The two continued talking for another hour, catching up until Ronnie was scolding him for staying up so late on a school night. 

“Yeah? And what’s your excuse?” Eddie said. “It’s almost 4:20 am there.” 

“Ha. Ha. Again, ha.” Ronnie said. “Still not how timezones work. And my first class doesn’t start until noon.”

Right. In college you didn’t have to wake up at the ass crack of dawn every day. 

“Night, Ecker.”

“Night, Munson. Graduate and get laid.” 

“Does it matter the order?”

“Good night, Eddie.”

Talking to Ronnie had eased his nerves, but there was still something inside that wouldn’t let him lay down and go to sleep. It was late now, way later than he intended to stay up tonight. The night he played at the Hideout always had him up late, and his teacher already considered him more useless than usual on Wednesdays. It’s not like anyone would care if he slept in class, unless they were in a particularly foul mood. 

He made his way to a stack of books in his room rummaging through a pile or two until he found what he was looking for. Eddie’s copy of Lord of the RIngs was well loved at best, and completely trashed at worst. The cover of the paperback was nearly torn off, taped back together haphazardly over the years. Pages were dogeared, the spine was cracked, notes were scribbled in the margins, and his name was scribbled in messy cursive on the front page declaring that this book belonged to Eddie Munson and that he was in third grade.

Eddie stripped out of most of his clothes, tossing his jewelry on his nightstand, and hopped into bed. He turned on a small lamp and opened the book. He could probably recite the first chapter from memory if he tried, the words on the page a comfortable lullabye for his wound up mind. But tonight he flipped to a page near the end where his bookmark was. The flower made out of blue construction paper wasn’t nearly as old as the book, and only in better shape because it never left the safe pages of Tolkein’s writing. 

His eyes glanced at his arm again, your phone number a temporary tattoo on his skin until it washed off. Shit, it was going to wash off eventually. Eddie grabbed a pen from under his bed and added another scribble to the inside of the book before copying your number carefully onto the paper flower. At least this way he’d always know where it was. 

With that aside, Eddie didn’t make it through three pages of his book before he passed out with the light still on. 

Fall Semester, 1984

The PrinciPAL’s office was just as interesting and inviting as it always was, which is to say not at all. Eddie was slumped back on a chair, watching as Janice sorted through paperwork, pretending to look busy so that she could avoid any small talk with ‘that Munson boy’. He had been waiting for Higgin’s to show up for almost fifteen minutes now, because why shouldn’t he waste Eddie’s time at this point? The worst that was going to happen today is that they’d do their little song and dance, Eddie would plead his case that the flyers were absolutely serious and that Chris Morrison had every intent to run for student council, and that it was all of the club that had made the posters, Higgins would shake his head and not believe Eddie for a second (which to be fair, this would be the first time that Eddie would admit privately that it was his fault), they’d go back and forth until Eddie got some form of detention or Saturday school. 

Honestly, the worst part would be rescheduling Hellfire if he wound up in detention. 

Eddie had counted out 13 paper clips that Janice had used in her papershifting before the door to the front office opened up again. He looked up, expecting to see Higgins walk in, ignore him for another five minutes, before Janice would let Eddie go in. 

He didn’t expect to see you, pale and shaken, clutching a teacher’s note in your hand. Eddie watched as you handed the note over to Janice who read it, shook her head, and pointed at the chair next to himself. Your eyes never left the floor as you sat next to him, staring at the cheap carpet as if you could somehow burn a hole in it and disappear. 

Trouble was no stranger to Eddie, and Eddie was no stranger to trouble. In Hawkins the name ‘Munson’ might as well be in the thesaurus next to the word. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and it would be far from his last as long as Higgins stayed the princiPAL. He’d walk away with a lecture and a sigh and then it would be business as normal. 

The look on your face though, that was far from the mild annoyance he felt. You look downright traumatized at the idea of having been sent here. Eddie glanced up at Janice who deigned to make eye contact with him now. Her eyes flicked between the two of you, a disapproving look behind her purple frames as if this was somehow Eddie’s fault that you had ended up here as well. But then, as far as any of the faculty from the office was concerned, even him being enrolled at this school was a death sentence to the rest of the poor student body. Eddie was a disease that they would try to contain until they had the cure to remove him. 

The shaking of your knee made your chair (and his chair by proxy) rattle slightly. The quiet of the office and the mundane shuffling of Janice’s papers only added to the tension that was radiating off you. 

“Janice, is Higgin’s gonna be long?” Eddie finally asked, and your bouncing knee stopped for just a moment before going back to its nervous movement. 

“He’s in a very important meeting.” Came the reply over a stack of papers, still not looking at Eddie. 

He sighed again and looked over at you, trying to place where he knew your face. Your eyes were a bit red, and you looked like you were on the verge of crying. Shit, he needed to do something before he had to ask Janice for the tissue box. 

“First time?” Eddie asked, and when you didn’t respond he nudged your knee with his. 

You jumped slightly, head snapping up. It was a wonder you didn’t give yourself whiplash and it would have been almost funny to Eddie had you not looked like a deer in the headlights looking at him. 

“I... Huh?” your voice cracked slightly. 

“What are ya in for?” Eddie did his best to give you a smile which he was sure made him look more like a serial killer than a comfort. It was rare he wished that he had his dad’s smile, but in cases like this he’d make an exception. 

You looked at the paper in your hand and swallowed. “Uh... skipped.” 

“Skipped school or just class?” Eddie prompted, trying to get you to talk more. If you were talking, then you weren’t crying. That’s what he hoped at least. 

“Class.” He didn’t think you’d say anymore but you surprised him. “US History.” Eddie caught the way your eyes darted to Janice again as if to make sure she wasn’t listening in, but Janice had better things to do than to eavesdrop on two delinquents. “I wasn’t... I had a bad day. I'm having a bad day. I felt like I was going to explode and I went to the library.” 

Eddie nodded, wondering what had happened today that made you need to duck out. It wasn’t his business, and frankly Higgin’s was going to grill you enough as it was. 

“Rookie mistake.” He said instead. 

“Rookie...?” 

Eddie kept his voice low and leaned in closer to you as if telling you a secret. “If you’re gonna skip, you can’t go to the library. You might as well have walked into the teacher’s lounge and announced that you were cutting class.”

You let out a sharp breath that he swore counted for a laugh. “Thanks for the heads up, can you tell me that a few hours ago?”

There was color returning to your face now and Eddie kept going. His brown eyes scanned your face, trying to place where he knew you from. Hawkins was a small town, and there was nothing about you that screamed ‘I’m new!’. 

He liked your sarcasm though, and his ‘comforting’ grin shifted into a genuine smile. “If you’re gonna ditch, you need to go to the bathroom or go outside.” He said. “Especially for last period. Go hide outside in the woods and you can slip into the parking lot seamlessly without anyone noticing. By the end of the day the teachers are barely taking attendance anyway.”

“Have you been in the girls rooms here?” you asked, shaking your head. “I think I’d rather take my chances here than stay in there longer than I’d have to.” Eddie wasn’t sure if you were trying to make a joke or if you were serious.

“Would you rather hide in the boys room?” he asked. “I swear it only smells like piss almost all of the time and you’d end up in the splash zone even if you were in a stall.”

That got a laugh out of you, a genuine one. Your shoulders were relaxing and you looked down at the paper again and took a deep breath that you exhaled with a sigh. 

“I’ve never been in trouble before.” you said, your hands starting to bend and fold the paper on your lap absently. “I’m not good at being in trouble.”

“Well, lucky for you I’m here.” Eddie nudged your knee again with his. “Being in trouble is kind of my job here at Hawkin’s High. I’m a professional, you know. If I wasn’t here taking up all of Principal Higgin’s time he might have to actually do his job.” 

That last part was louder, as he directed it to Janice who refused to take the bait and only reached for her lilac stapler instead. 

A small smack on his arm drew his attention back to you, you were smiling at him looking astonished. “You’re gonna get us in trouble!” you whispered at him. 

“We’re already in trouble.” Eddie reminded you, his smile never fading. “Look, you’ve never been in trouble before, right? You’re gonna be fine. Just give him a good sob story about being overwhelmed with school, or about a sick pet. If you can squeeze out some tears that’s even better. The worst that he’s gonna do is give you a slap on the wrist and maybe detention if he’s in a shit mood”

You take in his words, listening to him carefully and taking in every word he was saying as if this was life or death. Eddie admittedly, had purposefully slipped into his Dungeon Master voice. It was a skill that normally only worked on his little sheepies in his club, and that was after semesters of training his players to listen and pay attention to his words or else it would be life or death for their characters. 

Having someone else listen to him like that? It felt really good. 

Your mouth started to open to say something but then the office door opened again and Higgin’s stepped in, nodding to Janice and then looking at the two of you. There was an accusatory look in his eyes as he made eye contact with Eddie again, and it was clear what that look said. Leave her alone, don’t make things worse for her than they already are. 

“Munson.” Higgins said and it took everything in him to stay still and not flinch at his last name. He was used to the weight that came with his name, but he hadn’t wanted you to know who he was. Not after he just remembered where he knew you from, glancing down at the note that you had folded into a flower in a fit of nerves. 

“I heard you missed me, Sir.” Eddie forced his eyes to meet Higgin’s. “You really should just start saying hi in the hallways instead of inviting me to these little chats every week. You’re taking away valuable learning time from me, you know.” 

If the two of them had been alone, Higgins would have snapped back at Eddie about being a smartass. But you were there, and the color had drained from your face again, and there was a shine to your eyes that was threatening to spill over your waterline. Higgins looked at you and motioned for you to follow him into his office. 

Eddie wished that you would turn and look at him before disappearing into the PrincePAL’s office. He could imagine you turning to look at him for comfort, he’d give you a smile that would put you at ease and a thumbs up. You’d give him another smile and walk in feeling brave. 

Instead it was like you forgot he was there as your figure disappeared behind the heavy wood door that shut with a heavy click. 

Of course Higgins had you come in first, even though Eddie had already been sitting here since the beginning of the period when he’d been called in. 

He was tempted to go over to the door and press his ear up against it to listen in on what he was saying to you but even Janice would scold him for that. So there Eddie sat for another ten minutes as he waited for you to step out again. 

Higgin’s was the one to open the door and let you out of the office, as if he were some gentleman instead of Eddie’s own personal warden five days a week. You walked out and to Eddie’s surprise you gave him a nod and mouthed thank you as you slipped back out the door and into the hallway. 

Eddie’s eyes followed you until he couldn’t see you anymore and it took Higgin’s standing in front of him with folded arms and saying his full government name for Eddie to snap back to reality. 

“Munson. A word about your little flyers?”

“Well, I’d say a picture is worth a thousand words-”

“In my office.”

Eddie didn’t remember much else about that talk, only remembering the white paper flower that had been carelessly tossed into the trash next to Higgin’s desk. 

“He still hasn’t called you?” Steve asked as you, him, and Robin continued your closing routine. The day had been busy, with almost everyone in Hawkins coming to rent a movie for the weekend. Robin was stocking the candy while you wiped down the sticky counter where children had been touching all day. Who’s idea was it to leave out free suckers on the counter anyway?

Oh right, that was your idea because you loved Halloween. 

“Nope.” you said, your voice a little tense. It had been almost two weeks since that night at the Hideout. You hadn’t returned to the dive bar, hoping that Eddie would call you and make the next move. Each passing day you had stayed as close to the phone as possible when you were home and you’d checked your voicemail every day when you got home for any sign that he’d attempted to reach out. 

Nothing. 

You shouldn’t feel this rejected but you did. It was far too early to tell if you had any feelings beyond initial attraction to the guy, but... you’d felt something. An enjoyment of bantering with him and an ease that came as naturally as your friendship with Robin and Steve. 

Plus, you had to admit it, he was really fucking hot. Seeing him play guitar two weeks ago had haunted your dreams and slipped into a few of your fantasies when you were alone. 

You kept that part to yourself though, that was the last thing that Steve or Robin needed to hear. Besides, that was Steve’s job to go far too into detail about his sex life. Steve had tried ribbing you about going home with Eddie but you’d told him that you were a complete gentleman with him. 

That night had left you feeling electrified, almost high as you danced around your room as you got ready for bed. Even as his odd parting rattled around your brain, you couldn’t help but to feel excited at the idea of seeing him again. 

Then a few days went by. Then a week. And now two weeks later you hadn’t heard from him. The kids hadn’t stopped by either so you couldn’t hassle them about Eddie either. Even if they had, you weren’t sure if you could ask about him, you didn’t want to come across as desperate. 

“Did you ever figure out what he meant by ‘five times?’” Robin asked, opening up a squished package of Reese's Cups. “Like, didn’t you say you didn’t know him?”

You threw your hands up before tossing the paper towels you were using to clean in the trash can. 

“I have no idea.” you said. “Either I’m bad at math, he’s bad at math, or maybe we’re both stupid.”

“He did get held back a few times.” Steve muttered to himself. 

“There’s a chance that you two have met before though.” said Robin, “I mean think about it, you’re both weirdos who went to the same school. Shouldn’t you both have bumped into each other before?” 

“You’d think so, but my group kind of kept to ourselves.” you said with a sigh. “We were private weirdos. When I DID try and make other friends-”

“Yeah, yeah, Chris Morrison shot you down.” Steve said, waving his hand. 

“Oh, you heard that story?” you laughed. “I didn’t think I mentioned it to you before.”

Steve gave you a blank stare that only made you laugh more. “I swear you keep talking about that guy more than Eddie. Maybe I should track him down and set you up on a blind date with him instead.” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Hey, that could be fun!” Robin added. “We’ll dress you up super hot, set you up with Chris, and then you can turn him down instead!” 

“Excuse you, Robin. I am always super hot.” you declared, straightening out your unflattering Family Video vest. “Who wouldn’t want a piece of this?”

You hadn’t done laundry in a week, and your hair had seen better days. The green polyester vest was wrinkled and if Keith saw you looking sloppy he’d probably have words about it. Not big words or even intimidating words, but words nonetheless. It was night and day compared to how you’d looked at the Hideout and the arcade earlier in the month. But it wasn’t like you had anyone to impress while you were at work anyway. 

“Hey, nerdy chicks can be hot.” Steve said. “I mean, Nancy’s an academic nerd and I was crazy about her.” 

You hummed thoughtfully and turned to Robin. “How about we get married instead?” you asked. “You, me, a fuck ton of cats, and a tax break. What do you say?”

Robin laughed and shook her head. “You aren’t my type.” Her eyes darted nervously to Steve for a split second and you sighed dramatically. 

“Guess it’s just me and the cats I’ll eventually adopt.” you said. “Not even a tax break.” 

“You know, Keith thinks you’re cute-”

“I am going to pretend that you did not just say that, Harrington.” you said firmly. “Nope, not happening. Uh-uh. Absolutely not.” 

“He’s not... that bad?” Robin said, but you could hear the pain in her voice through the laughter. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.” 

“The lady is trying not to think actually.” you laugh. “We’re closed, I’m actually done thinking. I just wanna finish cleaning up and go home. What’s left?”

“Rewinding the returns,-”

“Ugh.”

“Cleaning up the kids movies,-”

“Ugh.”

“And cleaning the bathroom.”

“UGHHHHHH.” 

“Would you rather clean up the porn room?” asked Robin. 

“Yes actually, I would.” You said. “Whatever they think about doing in that room is what they do end up doing in the bathroom.”

“Gross.”

Steve sighed “Okay, I’ll be the hero and save you ladies from cleaning the bathroom. Robin, you fix the kids section, and you can rewind the tapes.”

“I thought I was in charge here.” You crossed your arms. 

“Okay, did you have a better way to divide and conquer?”

“...No.”

“Then let’s hurry up and-”

Ding!

“Who didn’t lock the door?!” you asked. 

“It was Steve’s job to-” Robin started. 

“Oh, shit. Hi.” Steve was staring at the person who had just walked in. You turned around and your heart jumped in your chest and your stomach dropped. 

“Cursing in front of customers, Harrington?” Eddie said. “Now that’s not very professional of you.”

Robin’s eyes were darting so fast between you and Eddie that you were surprised she wasn’t giving herself vertigo. You tried to give her a pointed glare but your friend either didn’t get the hint or refused to. 

“Well, we’re closed. You can’t be a customer if you can’t pay.” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips. 

Eddie looked away from Steve and made eye contact with you. It had been two weeks since you’d seen him, and you glazed at his arm for a second, trying to see if the faded remains of your phone number were still stamped on his arm. Unfortunately for you he was wearing a heavy leather jacket and you had not yet developed x ray vision. Perhaps in another genre. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” Eddie asked and you, ignoring Steve who looked mildly offended. 

You stood there in shock for a second before Robin nudged you in the rib. 

“I- uh. I have to finish closing.” you said, snapping out of it. 

“Steve and I can handle the rest of closing!” Robin grabbed Steve and shook his shoulder. 

“Guys, I’m literally in charge of you both. I can’t leave before you.” You said, already reaching for your bag under the counter. 

“We can handle it!” Steve said. 

“And I can handle Steve!” Robin added. “We close without you and Keith all the time, remember?”

You could trust Robin, and as long as Steve didn’t knock down any displays then it wouldn’t take them more than another ten minutes to finish up. You were so tempted to turn them down, make Eddie wait as you had waited for him for the past two weeks. 

But you were already stepping behind the counter towards Eddie and tossing the keys to lock up to Robin. Keith would murder you and write you up (in that order) if he knew what you were doing but looking up at the roundest pair of brown eyes you’d ever seen had you in the mood to make questionable choices. 

You shrugged off your vest and tossed it at Steve, in an attempt to make yourself look like you hadn’t spent the whole day dealing with unruly customers and screaming kids. Part of you almost wished that you had agreed to bathroom duty, if only to give you an excuse to look in a mirror and straighten yourself out. 

“Thanks, guys.” you gave them a quick nod, catching sight of Robin’s knowing smirk and Steve shaking his head before walking out the door that Eddie was holding open for you. 

The last thing you heard was the scrambling of the entrance to Family Video being locked. 

Part 7

Dividers by @strangergraphics

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Patient!Gyutaro x Nurse!Reader - CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2

✦ CW: 18+ MDNI, female reader. Mentions of mental illness, suicide, and sexual abuse of a minor. This fic has many dark themes, please do not read unless you are comfortable!

✦ AN: The long awaited nurse au is finally here! Sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to make sure it was perfect. Lots of thought and research went into making this fic. There will also be art included in this chapter!

✦ WC: 2,146

This is what you should have expected from a job in the medical field that didn’t require much qualifications. Working at an asylum wasn’t ideal, but they are incredibly desperate for new nurses. As most of them are unable to handle the physical and mental toll that a place like this puts on someone. 

It’s your first day at your new job. You were excited until you entered the building. The dreary interior mixed with the groans and screams of unruly patients wasn’t the welcome that you had been hoping for.

You’re young, almost too young to be working at a place like this. The other nurses didn’t take you seriously, and they were going to make the transition for you more difficult than it needed to be. You were being assigned to a patient that is notorious for being difficult to work with. The other nurses use him to weed out the weak. Always shifting the new hires to care for him. They usually leave within the first week, so his care returns to one of the veteran nurses known for having a mind of steel. She’s cold hearted, but that helps you deal with a job like this. The complete opposite of you. A warm young woman, eager to treat and rehabilitate.

Currently you are being led to your new patient. Quickly scanning over his records as you follow the nurse through the halls of the sanatorium.

Rashomon Riverbank Asylum

Patient Record

Name: Shabana, Gyutaro

Identification Data: Sex: Male Age: 23 Height: 6’ 3” Weight: 134

Race: Asian Hair: Black Eye: Blue

Special Handling Code: Code Red; Keep medicated Special Handling Instructions: Keep away from sharp objects

Medical History: Multiple suicide attempts, Complications due to sickle cell anemia, Treated for Congenital Syphilis

Diagnoses: Sickle Cell Anemia Hutchinson’s Teeth Borderline Personality Disorder Antisocial Personality Disorder Depression Insomnia

Current Medical Treatment: Special diet for weight gain Medications given AM & PM

Medications: Wellbutrin - 100 mg twice daily Abilify - 10 mg once daily Carbamazepine - 350 mg twice daily Xanax - 2 mg twice daily Trazodone - 150 mg once daily Voxelotor - 500 mg once daily Adakveo - 5 mg IV infusion once every 4 weeks

Gyutaro Shabana, your very first patient at Rashomon Riverbank Asylum. Looking over his record, this is going to be a difficult one. You’ve learned about a majority of these diagnoses in college, so you have a good idea about the kind of treatment he will require. It’s strange though, he seems to have lost the genetic lottery. And you haven't even seen his face yet, you can only imagine what he may look like.

An asian man with sickle cell anemia is almost unheard of, roughly 0.0022%. And on top of that he was born with Congenital Syphilis. It’s quite frankly amazing that he’s lived past 20.

“Just introduce yourself, then I’ll take you to your other patients,” the other nurse says as she stops in front of his door. 

Not wanting to be impolite, you hesitantly knock on his door. There’s no response. You figured that there wouldn’t be, so you open the door anyways.

“Hello, Mr. Shabana?” you say coyly.

When you peek into the room, you are instantly frozen by his icy gaze. He’s sitting on his bed with a book in his lap. His cold blue eyes send shivers down your spine.

“I’m um… I’m your new nurse.” you choke out. He’s feet away from you but you feel as though his hands have a tight grasp around your throat.

“My name is Y/N. Um… If you ever need anything d-don’t hesitate to call for me…”

The expression on his face is unchanging, as he remains silent.

“Well I’ll see you later tonight Mr. Shabana…”

Closing the door, breaking the line of sight that he had on you, instantly you feel a surge of relief.

You go on to visit the rest of your patients, then you come back later that night to give Mr. Shabana his dinner. A high protein meal, specifically for weight gain.

Knocking on the door a few times before you push it open, “Mr. Shabana, I have your dinner.”

He’s in the same spot where you left him, sitting on his bed with a book in his lap. But this time he doesn’t even bother to look at you when you enter the room.

Stepping closer to place the food tray on his table, you inspect his appearance. 

His clothes hang off of his frame, enveloping his skeletal body. You can make out lean muscles on his arms, but his face is sunken and his pants hang low on his hips. There are large black marks scattered across his face, and you can barely see one peeking out from below his sleeve. Were these marks from his Congenital Syphilis? Dark circles sit below his eyes, he looks as though he hasn’t slept in weeks.

He’s wearing the standard issue uniform that all patients wear. A plain t-shirt and pants, made of the same material as scrubs. Though his feet are bare, slippers sitting below the edge of the bed. His hair is long and wavy. Black as midnight, unruly in the way it hangs in front of his face. The top of his hair is half haphazardly tied up.

“Got a problem…?” He rasps, drawing out each word.

The venom of his sour tongue sends a jolt of electricity through your skin. 

“Huh?” you’ve been sitting there staring at him for too long, “O-oh! I’m sorry sir! There’s no problem, please enjoy your dinner,” you quickly rush out of the room.

As you continue on giving food to the rest of your patients, Mr. Shabana’s voice echoes through your skull.

Got a problem…? Got a problem…? Got a problem…?

A few hours later, you go back to retrieve the tray and whatever food may have not been eaten. Stopping yourself before you open the door. It’s ok. He’s just a patient. Then why does he make you so nervous?

*Knock knock*

“Hello Mr. Shabana, I’m just here to collect your tray,” you chime, masking your fear with a smile.

Walking back into the dimly lit room, the fluorescent lights flickering. His eyes staring into you.

His food has been untouched. The only thing that was eaten was a packaged cookie.

“Not hungry today?” your voice shakes as you try to ignore his harsh gaze.

He remains silent. Watching you as you step closer. The buzzing of the fluorescent bulbs filling the room, filling your brain with static.

“Was it not to your liking? I can have the cooks make something else for you if you’d like.”

“...”

Your eyes meet. His thin eyebrows furrow, the rest of his expression remains unchanging. The pressure of his glare makes the air around you feel heavy. Pressing down on you, compressing your spine, you feel so small when he looks at you. You’re desperate to fill the cold aura with some warmth.

“Mr. Shabana you really should eat-”

*CRASH*

He slaps the tray out of your hand, food splattering onto your uniform, dripping onto the floor. 

Silence. You’re stuck staring down at your feet. Watching the pool of meat, vegetables, and milk spread around you. It takes you a few moments to fully process what has just happened, only able to snap out of it when you feel the wetness of the food seeping through your skirt, making you feel cold.

You regret looking up at him. Regret meeting his eyes. Filled with amusement.

“You better clean that up… don’t chu think…?” He smirks. Showing his sharp canines and crooked teeth.

“I-I…” you mumble, looking back down at the mess. He’s right, you should clean it up before it gets everywhere.

Going into the hallway, you grab some towels and return to his room. Not thinking your next actions through as you get down on all fours and start picking up the mess. All you want to do is hurry and clean this up so you can leave. But Mr. Shabana has different plans.

He slowly stands up. Looming over you, looking down on you with a twisted grin. He’s so tall… he makes you feel so small as you look up at him. So pathetic. So worthless.

“You look good down there…” he steps on your hand, “On your knees like a whore…”

His words leave you speechless. Your vision begins to blur and your heart starts to race. He pushes his weight further onto your hand, until you feel a crack.

“I’d like to see you like this more often…” he chuckles, the sound rumbling in his hollow chest.

Every instinct within your body is screaming at you to run. But you feel so trapped. So paralyzed by him. Like a rabbit cornered against a wall by a vicious predator. His eyes. It’s his eyes. No, it's his touch. It’s… everything about him. 

You try to speak up, but your words escape you. Coming out in a pathetic whine that makes his grin widen and his laughter intensify. 

He’s reaching for you. His hand is coming towards your face. Your mind is telling you that if you let him get any closer you will die. He will kill you. And he won’t even care.

Your body is pumped with enough adrenaline for you to break free from the physical and psychological hold he had on you.

Pulling your hand away from under his foot, you push yourself backwards. Stumbling to stand up on your feet. You run out of the room and through the halls, not risking looking back at him. All you hear as you escape is his laughter on repeat. You can’t tell if his laughter is echoing through the halls, or if it has just been ingrained into your mind.

You keep running until you get back to the nurses quarters and to your room. 

Tears running down your cheeks, food staining your clothes, and pain throbbing in your hand. You collapse on the floor and cry.

Why would he be so cruel? You understand that he’s a patient and has a list of mental illnesses, but you were trying to help him! You can’t even remember what you were doing or why you were in his room. All you remember is him and how he made you feel. His stare. His voice. His touch. 

Fuck him and fuck this job.

Clambering over to your desk, you immediately start writing your resignation letter.

You don’t get paid enough for this shit. All you wanted to do is help people, and you get repaid with this? It’s just not worth it. Through your sobs, your tears fall onto the page as you hastily move your pen on the piece of parchment in front of you.

There. It’s done. You’re done.

You won’t have to see this place, see him, ever again once you submit this letter.

Looking around your desk, searching for an envelope. You come across a thick manilla folder. The tab on the side reads, Shabana, Gyutaro.

Something compels you to open it. You already skimmed through his information, but you never looked at everything here.

His psychiatric notes? From his psychiatrist? These shouldn’t be in here… you shouldn’t have access to this confidential information.

But if you’re leaving anyways… then there’s no harm. Right?

Shabana, Gyutaro - Dr. Hantengu

August 14

Childhood trauma starting since birth

Single mother, no father

Raised as a female. Mother would dress patient as a daughter. Would cover up his deformities with makeup. (Feelings of worthlessness, not belonging)

Sister born at age 6 (turning point in patient’s life)

Mother cast aside patient for sister. (When he learned he was actually a boy. Feeling of confusion. Child cannot comprehend)

Sexual abuse started at age 10

Mother was a prostitute, would offer children to adult clients.

 Patient record, “She would bring men into our house… and let them touch us. (long pause) They wanted my sister. They wanted to do bad things to her. So I… (patient gets upset) I would offer myself to them. I would perform sexual acts for them so they would leave Ume (sister) alone.”

Sexual abuse continued until age 15

Mother died of overdose. The children were left in the home for over a week until someone found them.

Children taken to orphanage. 

Patient held in orphanage for 8 months until incident.

Brought to Asylum at age 16

End of first session 

You are left speechless. 

Reading his records reminds you of why you wanted to be a nurse in the first place. To help people that have gone through trauma such as this. He didn’t lash out at you because of something you did. It’s not your fault. And it isn’t his either. He just needs help. 

And you will be the one to help him.

[romanticatheartt]

Do you remember how I said I won't be watching s3? Yes, I'm a lying liar through and through lol my sister said let's watch it and I love watching movies or TV shows with her, and tbh we had a good laugh😭💀

Okay so here are my thoughts:

First of all: KATE AND ANTHONY. Omg they're everything to me!! They were only in one episode but they made that episode theirs. I just love seeing them blissfully happy and living in their own bubble. I'm both sad and glad they were only in one episode. Because I wouldn't put it past the writers to give them some unnecessary drama and conflict. At the same time their screen time was so little... I suppose we can't have it all :')

Francesca. Omg I love her so much. I already loved her from the books but the show? God, she's so cute and beautiful. Hannah played her to perfection and I'm glad she's the new Francesca. Even when you read the books, that's how you imagine Fran's character. Both she and Kate have a special place in my heart.

John... my god John is here. And I'm already too attached to him. I can't- Listen, I know my heart will break when his time comes. The actor was such a good choice for his character and I was on the verge of crying whenever he appeared with Fran. She was always so happy to see him. I never thought two characters/actors could have this much chemistry while sitting in silence. GOD I LOVE THEM and I'm ready for heartbreak :D We still have no Michael but I'll keep hoping for him to appear because my god... Francesca's book is filled with angst I just hope when it's her turn, they do it justice<3

I actually enjoyed Eloise and Cressida. I never thought I'd say this but I did!! I know they made 180 changes about her character in the new season but I don't really care lol I just hope she works it out with Debling so at least she'll be free from her parents.

People keep saying they don't like Eloise this season but she's so much better than me. I would've been so much worse... The first thing I would've done was give Pen's name to the queen but she kept it this whole time and was actually worried about Pen... she was kind enough to a person who ruined her and her family, not once but twice.

There are too many side plots in this season. Like I don't want to be pathetic but we've been saying that since s2 and y'all called us delusional and said to be grateful because it was more than enough. But now that I see even Polin fans have a problem with this season makes me so happy and sad at the same time. Because when this happened to your favs, it's a real issue...

I love LD and QC friendship so much!! And QC & Brimsly. These friendships were more shaped since QC spin-off and I really enjoyed it.

It's obvious to me that they don't know what to do with Ben's plot lol. Because creating these unnecessary original characters is doing a disadvantage to the whole show. I really hope we see Sophie this season. 

Okay I've avoided the inevitable as much as I could lol so let's talk about the main couple:

They have no chemistry. I know some might not agree with me but there's no chemistry for me. It has always been like this since s1. At least I don't feel anything special between them. Nicola is a wonderful actor and is carrying the whole ship on her shoulders and I said what I said. 

Luke wasn't good at portraying Colin at all. He has no charisma and is trying too hard. I'm not talking about his character wanting to be something he's not but talking about the acting in general, so don't come for me with that argument. They really tried to make him like Anthony but failed miserably. Which is sad because even tho I haven't read their book, he in other books was absolutely my favorite side character. Me and my sister were laughing our asses off at some of his actings like sir... pls don't😭 I'm being super mean omg

The pacing of their relationship was weird. When he proposed to her I was so shocked like in episode 4? Already? Then I remembered in s1 we had the same situation but in s1 it felt right. It wasn't weird or felt too soon or too late, it was right. With Polin, everything felt out of order. I think they didn't want to focus much on building it up because they felt they already did in the past 2 seasons but it just felt off in the end. They weren't even together much on screen to feel like it's building up!! There was no arc or if it was, it was too subtle that if you blink you'll miss it.

The other problem with their plot was the similarity between s1 and s3. Simon was trying to help Daphne to find a husband and Colin is doing the same thing. Except s1 main trope was Fake Dating and s3 was Friends to Lover.

Which brings me to another reason why I didn't like s3. Friends to Lovers trope. Honestly, this is a me problem. I've never liked this trope at all. I really tried to change my mind about it, like reading books with this trope but most of the time I'm left unsatisfied or hating the book. Unfortunately, s3 was no different. This trope always comes off as unpassionate for me. Which I think it's the trope. Because it's supposed to be cute and subtle and I'm not sure it's really my thing. So I guess the major reason for my dislike of this season is the trope.

There were 2 fkn scenes of Colin participating in a threesome... That was so fkn bad like I can't believe this just happened. And one of them was after he kissed Penelope... I don't care that he didn't continue but... OUGH it gave the ick so bad, I didn't even watch it,  just fast-forwarded it.

That carriage scene was okay-ish? It didn't leave me breathless like the Kanthony scenes did. Tbh s2 left me in a shamble with how much emotions I felt with those two. But with s3, I had the exact opposite feeling toward the main couple.

Anyway, I think this season, revealing LW's identity was their priority which is why they weren't so focused on the romance (?) idk but I feel like part 2 won't be any different than part 1 and they're gonna throw some sex scenes to make it up for the romance lol

ps: I know I said s4 will be Benedict's and I still think it will be but if they decide to make it Francesca's? Oh, I wouldn't mind at all!! 

[call-sign-shark]

Echo of Shadows || Masterlist

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!OC || Alina Starkov x Heartrender!OC || Malyen Oretsevx HeartRender!OC

Summary: "They called her the White Plague, a saint or a monster—but she was neither, only destruction wrapped in a pretty bow."

In Ravka's frosty heart, the legend of the White Plague spreads—a woman with snow-white hair, frozen-fire eyes, and powers that rival those of Jurda Parem. Once a slave in the Menagerie, the one who calls herself Heaven is now a myth, either leaving towns in ruins or former disease-ridden people crying with gratitude. A Sankta.

General Kirigan's interest soon turns dark and his desire obsessive. Never had he been so captivated and haunted by someone. Someone he could finally share his eternal life with. Caught in a cruel game of power and love, she's torn between Kirigan’s corrupting passion and Alina Starkov’s promise of freedom.

Amidst the chaos, one question arises: will she become a savior, a monster, or something far more dangerous?

TW: Explicit sexual content, slow burn, borderline consent, heavy pinning, toxic relationship [manipulation, obsession, extreme jealousy, controlling behavior], graphic sexual description, graphic depiction of murder and torture, blood!kink, size!kink, reference to past SA and child SA, dark romance & mad romance trope, ambiguous relationship with Alina. This story is brutal, bloody and rated +18.

ACT I

1. Keep Moving, Little Girl

2. Their Frozen Shackles

3. The Court of Shadows

4. Beneath his Watchful Eyes 🔞

5. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Light

ACT II

6. Gazed into the Abyss...

7. I'm not Ruined -- I'm Ruination

8. After the Storm, the Sun

9. Your Darkness Flayed 🔞

10. It's in Our Veins

11. Safe in the Dark 🔞

12. I'd Rather Burn

13. Your Love is an Open Wound 🔞

ACT III

14. The Mask of the Red Death.

15. Golden Cage for a Dove

16. Paint It Black 🔞

17. Your Heart, My Chains 🔞

18. The Roots of Evil

19. Burn With Me

20. The End of Us

Epilogue: Symphony of Our Ruins

ONE SHOTS

Much Ado About Jam Toasts- fun & fluff

Happiness Therapy - modern AU, fluff

MOODBOARD

Light in the Dark

Notes:

☾ I haven't read the books yet so this work is based on the TV show even though I know it's fairly different from the original Grisha verse. If you're an adorable lore psycho, you might not want to read that! :(

☾ Taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989

☾ The whole work was supposed to be written with the "you" POV but people on tumblr don’t consider it Reader x Canon. So this is will be written as full Original character. However, to make the full story more immersive, I’ll also post the x You version someday.

[sourdoughsourness]

Assignment - Shigaraki x cheerleader!reader

A.N.: I've had this idea in my head for two years now and finally got around to writing it! This is heavily based on the book Nevermore by Kelly Creagh. I read it eight years ago and this scene has lived rent free in my head ever since. I highly recommend reading it if this is at all appealing to you, it's written much better too. I've also never posted on here before so I'm so sorry if the spacing or anything is off.

I haven't decided yet if I want to turn this into a full fic or leave it as a one shot (or 2-3 parts because let me tell you, there's more than one scene from this book I can't get out of my head) If I did continue I'd probably base it off the book for the first bit then branch off into its own plot. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm very rusty at writing but I tried!

~~~~~~

Class was so boring. It was no different from any other day really. This class was always boring. As much as you tried you couldn't bring yourself to care about the material. Your teacher had insisted since the beginning of the year that this class was important, but he was just another old man obsessed with the past. If it was a history class you'd understand more, but you couldn't find a reason to care about dusty old books despite them being praised as 'classics'. You shuddered just thinking about what he'd have you guys read next.

The clock ticked painfully slowly. You knew time always seemed to go slower when you watched it so you forced yourself to look away. Twenty more minutes. You could handle that. Just 4 sets of 5 minutes. That didn't sound too bad. 

Mr. Swanson's voice droned on. It was barely background noise to your boredom. Seventeen minutes until lunch. You wanted to be with your friends and boyfriend doing literally anything but this. Mina hadn't finished spilling tea earlier and you were desperate to hear the rest. 

Your thoughts were cut short when you heard the words 'group project'. All your senses came back as you focused on those two words which were pretty much the last things you wanted to hear. No no no no no! None of your friends were in this class! You knew basically anyone would want to work with you, but you work with any of them? Your classmates were about as lame as your dusty old teacher.

"I'm sure you've all heard plenty about this project from the seniors," Mr. Swanson's voice rang out. The whole class groaned. Everyone knew what was coming next but you still tried to deny it. Please no, anything but this, you practically begged the universe. 

"The Swanson Project," he declared. Everything came screeching to a halt. Suddenly reading a dusty old book didn't sound too bad. Everyone knew about the Swanson Project. It was basically the most infamous assignment in the whole school. You couldn't imagine a single person enjoying it. Then again there was probably some freak out there who was looking forward to it, after all, Mr. Swanson existed didn't he?

The project would already be bad enough, but you knew it was a partner project and whether partners were assigned or not you were pretty much fucked. Not a single friend, or even friendly acquaintance, was in the room. It was just your luck. All your friends had plenty of classes together but somehow you ended up with the unluckiest schedule possible. 

Mr. Swanson went around his desk gathering a monster of a syllabus which did not ease your worries at all. You knew this project was huge, but just coming to terms with the sheer amount of time you'd be spending with all these nobodies made you want to bash your head into your desk. You could practically hear your friends laughing already. 

"Now, just in case you aren't aware of what the Swanson Project is, let me explain." Your teacher announced walking back to the front of the class. "This project will consist of both a presentation and a 10 page paper. It must be detailed. You and your partner will choose any famous author. In the spirit of Halloween, the author needs to be dead. No current authors please. You will need to work closely on this project with a partner and it will be completed outside of class." 

Your annoyance was palpable and you were convinced anyone within a 5 mile radius could feel it. Not only did you have to work with some extra - as your boyfriend would call it - but it had to be outside of school? If you didn't need the stupid credit you'd be tempted to drop this class.

You couldn't imagine sitting down and reading through all those papers. Mr. Swanson would love it, you bet. He'd probably enjoy every second. 

Taking the time to finally scan the room and actually see who was around you, you spotted Tenya Iida. He was an obnoxious rule follower, but you knew how smart he was and he seemed like your best shot. Maybe you could slink your way over there, the seat next to him was vacant after all. 

Just as you were ready to get up and head over, Mr. Swanson's voice brought you to a screeching halt. "All partners were selected at random. I will read your names off a list then you will have the last ten minutes of class to brainstorm." 

Random? He chose the pairings randomly?? Now you really wanted to bash your head into the desk. God, why'd you have to take this stupid class anyway. Math and Science you could deal with. They made sense to you. Analyzing the colour of a light in an old novel didn't. Maybe you'd get lucky? That seemed unlikely, you frowned. 

"Tenya Iida and Hanta Sero," Your teacher's voice called out. Well fuck, there goes your luck. You knew you sounded ungrateful but god, group projects sucked. 

Mr. Swanson called out more names causing the students around you to start moving around. Was no one going to protest? Everyone was just accepting how unfair the system was?

"(Y/N) and Tomura Shigaraki."

What?

No.

No no no. No way.

No fucking way. 

This had to be a cruel joke. 

You turned your head slowly to look at your new partner. God even just thinking that screamed all sorts of wrong. Why did it have to be him? You didn't know what you did to deserve this cruelty but it must have been something horrible. 

He sat far in the back corner slumped and staring at the wall. His long blue hair draped around him practically covering his face. He wasn't even looking for you. You had to hold back a scoff. This could not be happening. 

You were on the verge of marching up to Mr. Swanson and asking for a new partner. Literally anybody but him. You had no clue how many of the freaky rumors about him were true, but you definitely didn't want to find out yourself. Unfortunately you knew asking to switch partners would go about as well as asking a pig to sprout wings and fly. 

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad? You bit your lip and grimaced. Even you weren't that delusional. With a sigh you got up to head over to your partner.

Shigaraki was lost in his curtain of white hair and hadn't even acknowledged your presence. What was up with this freak? Like hello? You were supposed to be working on a project. He wasn't even sparing you a glance. 

Your eyes wandered to the clock. Seven more minutes, you could do this.

Did he drink blood like the rumors said? You knew that thought was insane yet seemed totally possible. Did he talk to himself and practice witchcraft like you'd heard people whisper about? Maybe he'd teach you so you could curse Mr. Swanson, you thought bitterly. 

He was slouched in his seat wearing a black t-shirt, black jeans, and ratty old red shoes. His Nintendo switch sat beside him on the table. You didn't know much about Shigaraki, but you did know his father was insanely rich, like stupidly rich. That led to Shigaraki getting away with practically anything - including playing games in class apparently.

You set your notebook down as loudly as you could without fully slamming it to get his attention. He finally looked at you with a bored stare. God, had he never heard of chapstick? Maybe some moisturizer? 

"I'm not doing this project alone," you declared. Because really, what else could you say to him? You refused to be stuck doing all the work. 

His bored stare turned into a glare. "Did I say that?" He snapped. His voice was scratchy and you were pretty sure you'd rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than listen to him right now. 

"No." You wanted to just walk out then and there. Maybe the credit wasn't worth it. Mina would never believe this. Getting paired up with the biggest freak? It was unbelievable. "I just wanted to make that clear because you weren't saying a single thing." You finally slid into the chair next to his, albeit reluctantly. 

Two groups had already gotten up to leave, having chosen their projects. You couldn't help the envy bubbling up. Why couldn't Shigaraki act like a normal person? He apparently wasn't in any hurry to leave. 

Maybe Mr. Swanson's pairings weren't random and this was his idea of a sick joke. This is what you get for turning in your last assignment late, you thought bitterly. 

"I'm not doing it all either I hope you know. I know you little cheerleaders have brains the size of a peanut, but that doesn't mean I'll do it all," he sneered as he finally looked you in the eyes. You hated him already. 

His red eyes were intense making you want to turn away, but you refused to back down. It was like a predator sizing up its prey. You refused to be the prey. 

Your chest was flooded with discomfort. Who even was this guy? Who shit in his cereal? Your gaze moved to the scars on his neck. You'd heard about him scratching himself raw before, but seeing the scars up close still caught you off guard. 

Shigaraki leaned in closer causing you to meet his intense eyes again.

"What are you staring at?" He whispered.

You drew back instantly, face feeling hot. That's it, you were outta here. Your hand shot up in the air as you mentally begged Mr. Swanson to show you mercy just this once. You were not doing this today. 

You heard a slow ominous shuffle behind you. Your whole body went rigid. You slowly lowered your hand and looked up. There he was, towering over you. Tall and so very pale. 

You bit back a protest as he took your hand in his. You gaped as his long slender fingers gripped your hand, his pinky slightly raised. All you could do was stare, unblinking, as a black appeared and began moving against your skin. The tip was as cold and sharp as his eyes. 

What. The. Fuck. Was he writing on you?? 

You couldn't make a sound if you tried. 

His face remained unchanging, just as emotionless as before as he carefully slid the pen over your skin. The pointed tip of the pen slightly tickled creating a knot in your stomach. You couldn't even begin to comprehend what was happening. You were so shocked. All you could do was stare at his pale fingers. 

At last he finished and released your hand. With one final cold piercing look he turned away,  snatching his switch and bag from the desk beside you. "Don't call after nine," he said as he walked right out the door. 

Your face burned and your skin tingled where he had just touched you. Finally snapping out of whatever daze you were in, you scanned the room. You were afraid to see who noticed. What would people say? You let out a small sigh of relief. No one had noticed. Thank god. 

Finally you looked down at your hand. In black ink he had written "S - 555-0710”

[its-actually-minicika]

The Harshest Winters (18+!)

Part 4;;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon Aemond;

Warnings: all of them lmao - dubious consent, canon typical violence, lack of Jacaerys, death, blood and gore, Aemond - who forces the reader into holy matrimony in this one (oh yes it's happening), and of course engages in petty masturbation (it's not THW without him going ham on his own hand ♡)

Word Count: 15k+ (wowza i know)

Author's Note: Low and behold, part 4 is here!! Originally, this was supposed to be a 4 parts series, but that obviously isn't the case anymore. THIS TOOK SO LONG AND I'M SO SORRY - I had major issues with the tag list, and at some point, tumblr wouldn’t let me post this; I unfortunately couldn't solve those problems, no matter how hard I tried, so most of you haven't been properly tagged :") This update is a hot mess, and I haven't actually had the time to read through all the paragraphs that I wrote. I SHALL BE BACK TO EDIT

A huge thank you to everyone who's still following the story, though, and I hope you enjoy!

A war is in its midst.

When everyone else is readying themselves for the following decisive battles, you and Aemond are busy playing house.

Things get heated in Harrenhal, and one must decide when and where to pick their side.

The contact of the hot water upon Aemond’s ivory skin made the man shudder in naught but blinding pain. Achingly slow movements, followed by slow grunts echoed throughout the room – and Lady Tully stilled upon the silken sheets, moving her eyes over the book’s page for the thousandth time since he returned; thus driving all her peace away.

The baths Aemond determinedly took in the raptures of the late-night hours never failed to make her uncomfortable, and keep her on edge. Even so, being forced to hear the pained man move with such little stability and lack of confidence almost teetered the girl to the brink of madness.

Harrenhal had been in shambles since its proud conqueror beckoned his return on dragon back that very eve. Two young maids shouted for maesters, and Alys Rivers nearly caused a scene. As he got off his leather saddle, the Prince all but collapsed from tiredness and blood loss.

'He commanded his features to turn brave and taciturn,' his paramour had told her, 'as to not let a single hint of his condition spread throughout the Keep. My poor Aemond.'

The fool had been reached by an arrow.

An impressive feat, one had to agree – and wonder further on the identity of the courageous shot.

‘Struck right between his shoulder blade and chest,’ she had heard some lost girl utter, ‘It is a miracle he’s still alive.’

… Or the Gods’ cruelest punishment, the Lady compelled within her thoughts.

“Mmhh…” Aemond’s rugged breath deterred the girl to raise her glassy orbs from the confinement of the wilting pages. She schooled her eyes to stay above any level of indiscretion, and gingerly followed the trail of blood mixed with dirt, that seeped into and dirtied the once clear water.

Now that her curiosity was quenched, she could freely look away again.

Half a heartbeat later, she relented and surrendered in the face of his quarrelsome state. The Prince bit the inside of his cheek again, and raised his hand up to allow droplets of liquid to trail past his wounded shoulder… but to no avail.

“You could call in a maid, you know.” Her raspy voice descended upon his struggling body. Sooner than she may have liked, the Bliss of Riverrun closed her eyes, and concentrated on the languid noises that the Prince was making.

Seconds felt like pending minutes, until Aemond One-Eye graced her with a reply.

“I don’t need a maid to help me.”

Then that was that, the young woman soon concluded, returning her attention to the opened book.

'The Philosophies of the Riverlands', however, provided little to no aid to the situation at hand – and her overall station.

For she knew, perhaps far too well, that she had to play a different game than the one they'd engaged in, months prior to her imprisonment in that cursed place.

Insufferable man… she vexed him cruelly inside her head, I hoped by now you would be dead.

She raised one leg from the mattress that embedded her, and shifted it, so as to allow her limbs to hang lowly by the edge of the bed. Her thoughts formed and went as they pleased, but the girl settled on one final reach.

He hadn't even allowed Alys to help him undress. Suggesting her now was a deliberate waste of her time.

Not only that, but she still had to win his trust. Somehow, she promised herself, no matter what it takes, she'd do it.

Forcibly she rose from the bed, and made her way slowly towards his wide basin, fixating her eyes on the stone floor ahead. Her throat closed in on itself, and the girl pursed her lips into a tight line, whilst exhaling through her nose. It took a while for her to calm herself.

"... What about me?" She asked in a leveled tone.

Her gaze met his piercing orb, and the Lady nearly took a small step back. His face long washed the wave of shock from his sharp, Targaryen features – Aemond awaited her next words with a quirked up brow and a slight bite o'r his inner cheek. He seemed more than interested in her meek suggestion.

His wordless approval had left her speechless and, for a while, only her heartbeat emerged in her ears.

The Prince Regent trailed his eye hungrily over her extended arm. He took in a sharp breath as she grasped the rough sponge from his hand, and drained it of the putrid smell. She confidently brought it up to him – and teasingly trailed it over his hard chest, down to his lower abdomen, up again to his slouching shoulder.

"This… will hurt you a little bit." She whispered to him, skillfully averting her face from the man in question.

He gritted his teeth harshly, and almost let out a groan from his parted lips – with his dexterous and long fingers, he gripped the edge of the wooden basin, but dared not to look away from the kneeling Lady – choosing, instead, to focus on singling out her every soft and hard feature.

On her end, (Y/N) dabbed the piece of cloth over his wound gently, chanting inside her head to remain small and taciturn.

He shan't get more of a reaction from me, she promised herself through the span of an agonized huff, as she focused in on the task at hand.

Aemond's white skin revealed itself from the washed patches of dirt, and the Prince sighed a deep breath of contentment, as he felt his body be unintentionally caressed by her. His eye fluttered close, and a slight furrow of his tantalizing brow indicated the uncommon pleasure he took from their sporadic intimacy.

The two remain in awkward silence - the only noise that reached the girl's ears being the rattle of water and the occasional hiss from Aemond.

"... I'm sorry." She strained herself to whisper, whilst her hair fell seemingly out of place. "This looks as if it's painful."

The Prince Protector mirrored her stance, and glanced at her through the thick curtain of long, silver hair – the lilac in his eye complimenting the heatwaves of fire that danced across his marred skin.

"It's not painful." His gruff voice echoed in reply.

"... You –" The Lady began, but stopped on her tracks to level her voice again, by the aid of coughing in the back of her hand.

"You don't have to pretend in my company, you know."

She graced him with a forced smile, one she hoped seemed light enough to fool him. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't make fun of you."

Her eyes trailed over to the harsh stone floor, wrinkling at their sharpened ends – "When I was three and ten," she began, "My youngest brother betted against one of the stable boys: that he could ride faster than anyone on his horse, Middle." Her eyes spasmed close at the memory, and the girl wistfully smiled to herself, "The fool scraped his knees in that dreadful race. Middle threw him right out of his expensive saddle."

As she spoke, she brought the rough cloth over Aemond's shoulder blade, right above his wound, and began scrubbing the dirt that adorned over his skin.

"He didn’t want anyone to know what had happened, so he made me clean it, in the stead of a maester." The Lady let out an airy laugh, as her nose scrunched up with a pang of fondness. "I have never seen a boy get so worked up over a simple scratch before."

Aemond hummed in admission – half relieved by the distraction she was offering, and half worried by the impending pain he would soon feel. He shifted from inside the basin, as if to reach for the sponge in her hand himself, but the girl simply laid her hand away.

Her musings came to an abrupt end. She retreated on her steps lightly, and offered the Crown Prince a quirked-up brow.

"You need to stay put, Prince Aemond. Otherwise, I risk causing you more harm than good." She swallowed thickly, and only shook her head, "Your wound needs thorough cleaning, Your Grace. And it is too far in the back for you to clean it by yourself."

She glanced at his face anew, and let out a tumbling sigh as he nodded his head again, trying his hardest to relax into her touch once more.

Part of him remained put up – the bulk of his chest and shoulders still gloriously hunched over, ready to bolt up at any given moment.

"... I hate to admit it. I thought he was exaggerating then – with the discomfort which he feigned was feeling."

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as she glanced quickly at the laying man, "But how can one make fun of another's state of pain?"

A sympathetic look was shared between them.

Her eyes softened in admission to his furrowed brows and descended features. In that exact light, she couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled her Jace.

"Pain makes us human. And it's a reminder for us: to really cherish our times of incandescent joy."

The break of a cold sweat kissed over Aemond's forehead; droplets of which gathered at the base of his left eye, where his leather eyepatch stayed secured.

The girl pushed down a disdainful puff, as her eyes trailed him over, from the rosy blotch of skin, back to his hawk-like eye.

"Leather retains heat." She murmured before she could catch herself.

The Targaryen Prince expelled a deep breath, and, as her hand came to rest over the buckle that secured his patch into place, he primed his lips into a downturned arch.

"It can't be good for you to always keep it on."

"The sight of it frightens others. I don't want it to frighten you."

"I've seen you without your eyepatch before."

"That was different. This time… is different."

The latter of his words sent a shiver down her bent spine. Nothing is different, she was aching to say. Her lips pressed anxiously together, and the girl offered Aemond a curt nod. Just as she was about to pull her hand away from the nape of his neck, the Prince's wet palm came up to stop her.

His fingers shakily entwined with hers. The deep callouses of his hand scratched the softness of her open palm.

For a while, Time herself froze before them.

(Y/N) came to avert her gaze, but Aemond's eye feverishly searched for the relieving clash of hers. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the Lady of Riverrun nearly choked onto the clogged-up air.

His silver locks curled slightly at their ends – the dampness of the room striking its claim over his perfectly straight strands of hair. In his own right, Aemond could be called beautiful. His striking Targaryen features might have ensured the favor of many young maidens, were it not for his rash and impetuous attitude, the bite that rested in his character – which no doubt spread like a disease over his life at Court.

"Look at me." Against his better judgment, and his innermost turmoil, Aemond allowed her small fingers to trail over the buckle of his blinder again. He drew out a comforting sigh, and, with her hand still in his, gently slid the leather off.

He sucked in a quiet breath, as the coldness of the air enveloped his throbbing eyelids.

The poise in his composure was cracking at the seams, with the passing of each second, during which she settled to remain silent.

Eventually, her hand came to rest over his face again. Her dexterous fingers began to leisurely wipe the sweat from his brow, his eye, by submerging them into the lukewarm water, and bringing them over and over to his clenched face.

"I'm sorry." She settled on to say instead, once the breaching of kind words failed to meet her. "No one deserves to be left without an eye. No one deserves such appalling cruelty."

"You appear to be sorry an awful lot this evening, My Lady." Aemond choked under his breath, taken aback by her gentle movements and sainty utter.

"I spend the better part of my days in the company of my own thoughts." She huskily reminded him, "... It's been increasingly easier for me to reflect on my past mistakes."

Wordless from her hoax admission, and desperate to feel her hands explore him further, the Targaryen Prince rose heavily from the dirtied water – his chest coming directly to her field of vision.

The girl let out a cutting gasp, as she turned swiftly on her heel, refusing to glance at his modesty, not any longer than she'd already had.

Her eyelids fluttered close, and she shifted from one foot to the other, but to no avail. For in spite of her desire to run away, the Lady found herself hammered in place.

The proximity between them laid out to be a problem – Aemond let out a frustrated sigh, and turned her head around with the clasping of his untouched arm. Two of his fingers came to rest at the base of her cheek and chin; the Prince let out a satisfied hum, as her body trembled in slight shock at their change of position.

"Gevie…" He muttered to no one but himself.

His cock stood proudly at attention, kissing over his prominent abdomen, trailing long past his belly button. Every now and then, white pearls pooled to the base of his length, weeping from his angry tip, trailing past his stones in the reach of the water below him.

"Look at me." He breathed again, and his sweet Lady obeyed.

She threw him a dejected look: half harsh and cold, half hardened and scorned. The tips of her ears matched the redness of her pale cheeks. Her eyes cast their curious glow throughout every corner of the room, yet stayed away from the scorn of indiscretion that called out to her, only centimeters below her swollen lips.

Aemond's thumb flicked once over her crimson labium, but the man sighed, seemingly discouraged, and settled upon gripping her dainty wrist instead.

"Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, issa dōna jorrāelagon. Nyke kivio ao naejot sagon gīda."

The gentleness that oozed from his voice could have had anyone fooled. But not her. The translations of the words he muttered against the skin of her wrist were lost on her, but the Lady of Riverrun still singled out a most protruding word.

He had never failed to call her 'his tormenting love'.

The girl's breath rose and fell with each agonizing word that befell over her face.

"Mēre tubis ao jāhor jaelagon issa." Aemond sighed against her wrist.

'I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin. I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin. I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin.'

Her words rang harsh and true inside her head – and, much like it was back then, her heart harbored no honorable intent towards the Trident's Terror.

He burnt your entire homeland, she chastised herself harshly, He killed thousands. Every day, even more find their end by the breath of his dragon. By the way of his wrath.

The ache in her heartbeat rang loudly inside her ears – her every pore aligned with her wish to run away, and her mind was screaming at her to retreat to a corner.

Comparing him to Jacaerys was a laughable feat.

"Let's… just finish getting you cleaned up, Your Grace" She struggled to finally suggest out loud, through the timid inflection of her outwardly calm voice.

She slithered her face away from his grasp, and began draining the sponge of the dark mud again.

Aemond sighed, and lowered himself back into the cold water – his lone eye never leaving the mould of her smaller frame.

"I heard that conversation… sometimes distracts the ill from the discomfort of the cleaning process, Your Grace."

Now turned to his exposed back, the girl's hand wavered over his punctured shoulder. She waited three, perhaps four seconds, before her arm finally breached contact with the wounded flesh.

Aemond took in a sharp breath, but remained otherwise silent, until she prompted him to speak again.

"How… how did such a thing even come to happen?"

Aemond's chest rose and fell with each labored pant. His eye remained tightly closed, his jaw awfully set. Her question registered into his mind, and a reply formed at the former base of his thoughts.

For a while, however, the One-Eyed Prince remained quiet – weighing the option of telling her the truth rather carefully.

"A Frey company was marching South." He hissed as her light hand came over his flesh, applying soft pressure in its wake. "The fog of the morning masked them from me – but Vhagar's shadow still went right above their heads."

The woman brought her free hand to rest over his lower back, and her fingers rubbed soothing circles into the dampness of his skin. "It was… very lucky that you didn't get more hurt."

She scorned herself inwardly, but kept her curiosity at bay. She wouldn’t ask him whether the company had risen victorious, or if he burnt all those men to the ground.

The latter option, in any case, seemed more than likely.

The Crown Prince tensed visibly, but didn’t scoot away from her soothing touch. A deep sigh parted from his cracked lips, and the man revelled at their sudden closeness.

He ached to talk to her, to plead with her to welcome him inside her heart – and into her bed. He could feel his own beat loudly, and his body trembled in unquenched lust and rage.

Still, he knew it was too soon for that.

Not once during their rash acquaintance, did the girl before he talk with so much interest about his day with him.

His thoughts trailed to Alys, and Aemond wondered if half her new admission was owed to her – if indeed the two women secured a friendship within the last two weeks, if his whore became her confidant, if she breathed in her trust in him.

He would have to talk to her later. Thank her, if he was feeling apt and generous.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in the shell of his ear, and the Targaryen Prince nibbled at his lower lip. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down; the coldness of the water gave him the strength to concentrate, by the sliding of small ripples down his exposed chest and abdomen. The ache of his wound was a small price to pay, if only to feel her knuckles working against his back.

"There we are. All done, Your Grace."

She rose up from her kneeling stance, wincing at the sudden change of perspective, and at the throb of her tired knees. She gingerly presented the clean set of clothes and bathing robes to him. Her head remained turned to the side, and her hand instantly let go of the heavy clothes, the moment his palm came into contact with them.

In the stead of returning to sit idly by their resting place, the woman graced him with a final look, and let out a faint mutter. "I'll leave you to it."

She wavered but a moment, and turned her stare to the ruined clothes; the ones that Aemond had so carelessly discarded on the floor, as he prepared for his undeserved nightly soak.

The shadow of a long-laid plan gleamed beneath her silent gaze.

"I can wash them for you tomorrow – after my bath. It might be wiser to keep the nature of your wounds hidden. The maids needn't worry over how much blood you lost."

Aemond's brows furrowed in slight shock, and the Prince remained wordless in the face of her sensible suggestion.

And yet her eyes spoke with so much sincerity, that he gleefully allowed the pang of hope to warm his unforgiving features.

"As you wish." He rumbled out, while forcing himself to move his stare to the folded clothes before him.

His eye trailed back to his hands' agile ministrations, and Aemond soon began to roll over his linen breeches, covering his half-hard cock with the help of the rough material.

A throaty groan etched from deep within his throat, however, as he reached for the pristine shirt.

The girl stopped in her tracks, and a deep scowl settled over her fair features.

The struggle he was undergoing would have been music to her ears – were it not for the solidarity of her position. For the millionth time that night, she reminded herself of her plan and her desperation to escape.

Thus, unbeknownst to her own better judgment, the Lady compelled herself to seek him further.

Although her words failed to assist her, the way she gingerly reached, with her hand wide and outstretched, made Aemond aware of her pending intent.

Their bodies were inches apart. The girl sucked in a hurried breath, and neglected to exhale it as the oxygen hit her lungs.

Aemond was burning up – and whether that was from the lack of fresh air within the confining room, or the first telltale sign of fever, or her – he was lost on saying anymore. His weakened arm slithered into the sleeve of his shirt, though the pain was long forgotten.

And instead of focusing on his poised movements, his glassy eye ran hungrily over her face and hypnotic features.

(Y/N)'s fingertips grazed over the light material. Her tired eyes softened at the familiar feeling. The threat of tears beckoned at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them all away in a hasty movement. Melancholy ate away at her, far more often than she knew was wise to allow.

Still she remembered, if only for a moment, the raptures of Jacaerys' warm embrace. And how, in the heat of summer, that very same cloth felt against her heated cheek.

They must have had the same seamstress, the same tailor. Of course, she thought to herself in a bitter manner, after all, they are both Princes.

… Were.

But if she closed her eyes, she could pretend – No, she chastised herself fully, such a thing just cannot be. And you'd be a fool to attempt to it.

The magnetic pull between them trebly pried the two souls together. And it would be yet another minute, until (Y/N) finally took a step back, opening her mouth to announce the end of her intimate task.

Her eyes fell on the stone hard floor, and she carefully turned her back around him.

The long waves of her hair shifted over her modest nightgown, covering her mounds of flesh with a slight shift to the left.

"I'm going to sleep." She pathetically uttered, as the warmth that emanated from Aemond's form not moments prior, still fell heavily over her slight frame.

Mechanically she gripped the satin sheets and engulfed herself with them – a slight comfort came over her, as the coldness of the unused bedding fanned gently over her scorched limbs.

Aemond remained stuck in place, and a heaved breath rumbled from within his chest. The red in his cheeks would have put both their Houses' seals to shame – For once, he was glad she wasn't looking his way.

***

The rest of the night was spent in washed quietness.

And his Lady might have made it up: the dip at the edge of the bed, the smell of fresh pine and wildfire that caressed her in her sleepy state, and the slight "Thank you" that dabbled from her captor's lips.

“You plan to ride on dragon-back again? So soon?” The echo of Alys' voice carried her worry throughout the silent clearing.

The first rays of sunlight caught flame into her raven hair, lighting her features in such a way, that it accentuated her every perpetual scar and wrinkle. The fire inside her eyes could rival the one of a trueborn Targaryen, were it not for her strong outer appearance.

Aemond moved his body at a leisurely pace, not even bothering to throw the woman one of his usual vexing looks.

"Do you think dear nuncle will put a stop to the siege of the Twins, should the word spread about my condition?"

His cutting words rendered the woman speechless, and the Rivers witch simply clicked her tongue, whilst glancing at the green grass below her.

"War awaits no one, my dear." He asserted definitively, as he gripped onto Vhagar's long bridles.

The mighty beast let out a shaken roar, as Aemond winced once his wounded shoulder made light contact with her dark-green scales.

"Gīda ilagon, Vhagar. Sagon nykeēdrosa... Sȳz hāedar." He instinctively reached for her, and caressed her lower belly with one of his gloved hands.

At their calm exchange, Alys bit over her lower lip, harshly enough to draw her own blood. "You should stay." She managed to draw out, "At least a while – going in search of your uncle today, instead of tomorrow, won't make a difference to your brother's cause."

But her voice of reason reached deafened ears. For Aemond Targaryen was set on paying the debt he owed. The debt he agreed to take on, the moment his dragon clasped onto Lucaerys, swallowing the bastard whole.

"Everything matters at war, Alys." He hummed impatiently, while snapping his head in her general direction. "What do you think will happen to you, should Daemon reach Harrenhal? Your pretty head will rest near mine, impaled on a sharpened spike."

But if she told you to stay put, you would do just that, wouldn’t you? Her bitter thoughts chewed her conscious away.

Alys spat out a lowly curse, as she shifted uncomfortably in place. "Daemon Targaryen was here once, not long before you. He didn’t kill me then."

"Because you didn't matter back then." The Prince Protector of the Realm hissed through painfully gritted teeth, "You were no one to him. You were a wet nurse who merely spread her legs for him."

The man turned his back to her, as he wordlessly bound Vhagar's bridle over his wrist again and again.

"And last I checked, your cunt failed to inspire him."

Her mouth parted in a silent protest, and her green eyes widened in partial distress. "Still I should remain in luck," She choked out through a breathless laugh, "for it has never failed to inspire you."

"You are perfectly right," Aemond's laughter was humorless and brash, "And it is because of this loose cunt that Aegon nearly lost the support of Storm's End."

The Prince spun around on his heel's end, and trapped the woman in between his hard chest and restless dragon. "Sometimes I think you cost me more than you're worth." He whispered calmly into her ear, while trailing his index finger over the sharp edge of her jaw. "For speaking back to me, I could have you executed."

The finality of his words drew her body closer to the ancient beast, and Vhagar let out a displeased grunt. Amusement pulled at the corners of his downturned mouth.

"Still you should remain in luck," He mocked her with an airy laugh, "I find myself in an exceedingly good mood today."

The back of his hand came to play with a loose lock of her messy braid, and the Prince smiled at her stance and her bewildered look. "But you've been a most useful asset, haven't you, my dear?" He obliged her with a teasing smirk, "Lady Tully responded well to you, hasn't she? Tell me," He paused momentarily, as he trailed his hands to the narrow middle of her waist, and back up again. "Have you kept up your training with her?"

Alys' face fell into a frown, as she staggered a frustrated look. Aemond was toying with her.

"That dull book she pretends to read at night has the maps of three secret passages hidden amongst the latter pages. Two of them lead to that cell into the West Wing – but of course, she doesn't know that. The third one leads to the stables of Harrenhal."

Aemond hummed pleasedly, and the man soon took a wide step back, allowing his paramour enough space for proper breathing. "You did well." He smiled wistfully, "I should reward you well tonight. You may think of something you desire. I will see to it once I return."

"I would very much like you to stay and heal today." She urged him not a heartbeat later, surprising even herself with the intensity of her tone.

Aemond's composure broke with the licks of roaring laughter – one that was empty, and fell devoid of any feelings of fondness or grief.

"Think of something else." He urged her coolly, and dismissively pushed past her, to reach for his dragon's saddle.

"'Tis a good thing you shall never be a wife, Alys. The role of the worried wench doesn't suit you one bit."

"Keep feeding her half-truths and lies." He encouraged the woman with a final reach over her hand. He squeezed once over her balled-up fist – acting as both a promise, and a taciturn warning on what should happen, should she let him down again. "Regarding whatever else she may have to say… you'll report it back immediately."

With that, the Kinslayer of the Trident took off, leaving the promise of bone and ash behind his dragon's menacing ascend.

The Eyrie was, on all accounts, smaller even than Maegor's Holdfast. Inside the stronghold nestled the Arryns, hidden deep beneath the illusion of the smallest stronghold of the main seven Kingdoms. Despite its intermediate size, the Keep of the Giant's Lance deemed itself one of the safest places to be – Hardly a lie, especially now, Cain Waters ineptly hummed, once his wobbly feet carried him over the stoney threshold.

Despite its less-than-imposing size, and lack of sheer volume, (Y/N)'s sworn shield felt himself smaller than ever before.

How would he dare account for his whereabouts? Reason his shortcomings?

How could he hope to explain to his Lord that not only did he return empty-handed, without his beloved granddaughter on horseback – he returned without the notion of a hand at all?

Between the two strange figures with whom he traveled, it was Mira Florent who rested loyally by his side – her strength and stability allowing the Waters bastard to lean into her, if only for a fleeting moment, during the ascend of the narrow stairs.

"Take heart," She whispered, "Your Lord is a kind and understanding one. You won't be facing trial for this."

His mere reply was a solitary grunt, and a quick smile, dejectedly thrown her way.

Between the two strange figures with whom he traveled, Albar had remained behind. The mute man shrugged his head decidedly when Cain gestured towards the waiting castle, and Mira explained to him that the Vale scarcely left him feeling safe and wanted.

And he understood, perhaps far too well – the feeling of dejection a bastard boy felt, as he stepped foot into the land of his birth.

***

He'd been granted the comfort of a Maester and a hot soak, almost immediately after his appearance at the Arryns' Great Door.

The Lady of the Vale proved to be a kindred spirit, capable of great nurture, despite her lack of heirs to her family's ancestral throne. She gasped loudly at the sight of him. Her eyebrows furrowed in grave distraught, and her lower lip trembled as the healers informed her of the state of his right hand.

Her searching eyes reminded him of the ones of his own mother – neither particularly warm nor cold towards him, but fair and just in their own accord.

She almost decided against calling upon him to the Trouts' Black Council, but the young Oscar Tully had entirely different plans.

His eyes, as they were, were socketed by a deep, but elusive brown. They spoke and reminded him of a whole different tale than the one of his fair, poor Lady.

And it was Oscar's eyes, so similar in shape to hers, who bore ghastly holes into the back of Ser Cain's skull. His arm rose up, as if to cut off the man's retelling – his nostrils flared up in disgust, and his face twisted into a painful scowl.

"So what you're telling me… is that you failed to bring her back."

Cain's eyes hardened at her brother's words, and the knight nibbled on his lower lip, in an attempt to calm himself.

Although a brave and honest man, he dared not look in the eyes of Lord Grover Tully – he dared not see what lay beneath his wilted face. Thus, all his attention focused in on the chirping lass.

"Aye, my Lord." He mustered up to tell him, "I lost her to the One-Eyed Prince. We escaped Harrenhal, and managed to get as far as the Saltpans, but –"

The boy scoffed at his attempt to pardon and explain himself. He nodded affirmatively, and scrutinized Cain with his piercing gaze.

"You returned with an empty hand, Ser Cain. You failed: miserably."

His back straightened in an attempt to appear bigger, and the hot-headed lass rose from his chair in a hurling daze.

"Because of you, my sister is in the hands of that cycloptic freak. Because of you, we don't know anything about her whereabouts. She could be tortured, enslaved, sullied – worse!"

Lady Jane Arryn clicked her tongue in disbelief, and beckoned her guard to guide the boy back into a sitting stance.

"That is quite enough, Oscar." She asserted calmly, "We have no evidence of such a feat."

"Of course we don't!" The young Lordling huffed annoyedly, jolting on the brink of madness, "The deranged cripple wouldn't reply to any of our ravens!"

His face contorted animalistically, the freckles on his face being taken by the deep shade of crimson that coloured in his plumper cheeks. "And with you here, Waters, we don't even have the certainty that (Y/N) is still alive!"

"Oscar." Grover's deep voice echoed a warning through the quietness of the tiny Keep.

As if struck in the face, the youngest of the Tully brothers shifted in his seat again. "My sister's fate is breached unknown," He cried out in a collapsing tune, "She's our family, grandfather, my only sister! Pray tell, why does it look as if I'm the only one who gives a damn?"

The graying Lord and the narrow Lady both leaned towards a perplexing look. But before any of them could reply to his laid-out challenge, (Y/N)'s brother urged them further, as he hissed through his gritted teeth. "It would have been better for you not to return at all, Ser Cain. It would have been better for all parties involved to have sent me in his stead, Grandfather!"

His shoulders slouched forward, and the brazen boy fought with Grover's intense stare. "Had I failed, I wouldn’t have even returned at all." Oscar roared over the silent council, proclaiming his intent with a defying raise. "I would sooner have died, than see her be taken by that monster again."

"What would you have had me do, boy?!" Grover Tully raised his voice in turn, "You fool. Would you have had me send you away for her? Do you think your death would have made you a martyr?!"

Cain's lips pursed into a tight line, as the Riverlords before him bickered further. Even Lady Jane Arryn seemed to be left speechless, unsure of when or how to stop their arguing.

Family feuds were neither one's strongest suit.

"Do you think," His Grandfather uttered, "that if you were to die, anyone would remember you fondly?!" The red in his cheeks matched the one on his grandson's face, and the elder Lord broke out into a coughing fit. "Your sacrifice would mean nothing. And when the dust settled over Westeros, and the war was done, you would just be another casualty. Another body to burn in a communal."

Almost immediately, his eyes softened, and their deep creases faltered on his face.

The Lord of Riverrun grunted in fatigue, but still rose himself securely on his two able feet. He marched towards the huffing boy, and placed a wrinkled hand over his sweaty forehead, urging him to quiet down.

"It's not about glory, Grandfather." He spat out lowly, as his ears began to match his fiery locks of curly hair. "It's about family. Our family. It's about ensuring its survival."

The older man gave the lass a curt nod. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, and turned to the knight with a downturned smile.

"There wasn't a knight more fit for the task than Ser Cain." He confirmed his judgment with a tired gesture in his direction. "He was knighted at five and ten. You are over your seven and tenth birthday, boy, and haven’t been even mirthed a squire."

Oscar sucked in a protesting breath, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room fall before him. His brows furrowed in a dangerous quarrel, and his blood ran hot. "Yet even with all the skill in the world, he still failed."

Lord Grover was losing his patience, "Yes, grandson, that he did! He failed, despite all the signs that pointedly told us otherwise – do you think you'd do an equitable job? When you haven't even once crossed swords in a Joust or Tourney?"

Nearby the aching knight, Lady Arryn renowed her position.

She whispered to her waiting guard, and the man took a step ahead, hitting over the chantry with the hilt of his sword.

The noise that erupted grabbed the attention of both grandson and grandfather.

"The turn of events marked by Ser Cain's departure means we need to readjust our plans." She commanded their heed calmly, "It is… unfortunate; that Lady Tully's sworn shield failed to protect her. Yet here we all stand, warming our bottoms on a mine of gold."

Cain should have been grateful for the distraction she was offering. All the displeasure surged upon him evaporated within the click of her tongue, and less conventional language – still, even he had to remain weary on the subject he opened.

"On a mine of gold?" Oscar spat out sharply, feeling his self-control disperse by failing him again. "My Lady, do you think my sister's condition is a situation of great rejoice?"

The Lady's blue eyes cut through the boy deeply, and the young man closed his mouth in embarrassment, before sitting down again.

She reached for the goblet of wine, and wet her lips with it, "Our strategical situation couldn't be better. Not once have we had a spy of Harrenhal successfully return. In truth, we didn’t even think it possible." Her lithe hand pointed towards the bloodied knight, and her eyes glimmered in mischief, "Yet here stands our living proof."

She elegantly rose from her ivory throne, and signaled the man to take a seat at the bent table. As he gingerly followed her lead, the woman spared him with a kind glance, and met his glance with her deep azul gaze.

"From what I gather, you spent the better part of a month undetected in the Strongs' Keep. Is that true?"

Cain nodded stiffly, and rested his bulky hands over his tired knees. "Yes, my lady. That I have."

"And you were knighted at fifteen?" She alluded to what was early spoken.

"Yes, my lady."

"By Lord Hunter Redwyne." She urged him to clarify, through the edge of a quirked-up brow, and the callings of a small smile pulling at her dusted lips.

"Yes, my lady. The very one."

Lady Jane hummed, seemingly satisfied by his short answers. She turned her attention to Lord Grover and his tiresome grandson, and merely asked Ser Cain again.

"And you faced the Kinslayer in combat, cut by a Valyrian blade, and lived to tell the tale?"

"... Aye, my lady."

Oscar's eyes remained unyielding. But Grover Tully glanced at the man before him, and offered him a wordless bow.

"Tell me, Ser, how would you like to command your own battalion?"

"You have to be patient." Alys chastised her deeply, as her luring features turned from flaccid to sharp. "Hardly enough time has passed since your last attempted escape – Aemond is still very much on edge."

The Lady's eyes turned to her. With the bridge of her nose scrunched up, and her fair features molded into a desperate plea, the girl looked more like a lost child, than an able and resourceful Lady.

Alys regarded her as such, and sighed deeply as she grasped onto her shoulders carefully.

"If I wait any longer, it'll be too late. I've already wasted three moon turns in this cursed Keep. I have to return to my family." The Tully spoke decidedly, leaving behind no room for arguing. She took a seat before the tiny mirror, that breached her modest vanity – a recent gift from Aemond, deduced by him to make her feel more like a proper lady.

The image that reflected within it looked at her like a dire stranger. The green silks she was dressed into, the pristine, braided hair that framed her pale cheeks perfectly; She was the vision of a flawless royal, a soft and polite maiden, untouched yet by the spoils of death and war.

'Would this be enough?' She asked herself desperately, whilst gripping the edge of her chair painfully.

Was this what Aemond had always wanted? The proof of her lack of autonomy, finally presented to him on a silver platter, as he returned from war every night?

Was he, perhaps, congratulating himself, every time he glanced at her, thinking himself master of the universe for making her arch and kneel?

Alys shook her head once more, and rested a hand over her bouncing knee.

"Patience is a virtue, Lady Tully. You needn't put yourself through any more unnecessary risks."

The Lady of Riverrun shook her head vigorously, finally snapping herself back to reality; Her actions were defying, and devoid of any capacity. Alys felt herself more confounded by the second. "I'll help you plan this thoroughly." The wood witch adverted. Her head quirked to the side in an encouraging gesture, and the girl nodded feverishly in reply.

Her green eyes widened in fair delight, and Aemond's lover lowered her gaze over the girl's book. "You memorized the passages well enough. Very soon, you shall put your knowledge to practice."

(Y/N) let out a tired sigh, and graced the older woman with a pleasant smile. "I'm lucky to have you, Alys" She played with her rings as she spoke, "Thank you. For everything."

As the elder woman finally left her Quarters in favor of bringing out the order for dinner, (Y/N) let out an aggravated groan.

Her long pretense would surely make her nauseous. But she would be a simpleton indeed, to place all her trust in Alys.

The walls preleened with the doom of silence. A cold breeze dug its way deeply into her spine, and the silent taste of passing and demise left a sour taste in her parted mouth.

***

Aemond began dinner as he wontedly did every day – praying to the Warrior to grant him strength in battle, to the Smith, to mend all that was left broken, to the Father, "to shine his light", and lead their souls out of the brink of darkness.

Each and every time, without fail, the girl would bring the pristine napkin to her mouth, masking the obvious way her lips would quirk into a most unyielding smile. His pious speech, and the way his hands painfully clasped together, begging for the blessing of resolve, made her scoff in blinding wonder.

Was he even aware of the words he mostly muttered? Did he ever stop to assess himself throughout the day, and realize the sin in which he debaucherously bathed in?

As his speech came to an end, the Lady preleened forward, grabbing a hold of the boiled-up stork.

How lovely it was to sit between comfort and chaos.

"You've never been one to speak much during our time spent together." Aemond remarked through the rumble of a solitary hum. "Yet I had hoped this last week softened your resolve, My Lady."

Her eyebrows rose in slight discomfort, as her eyes focused on the leisure movements of his bigger hands.

So he was softening up.

She opened her mouth almost immediately, but her hesitant eyes danced around his blinding stare. Her plump lips pressed into a hard line, and she exhaled loudly through her nose, in an attempt to ground herself.

"Not at all, Your Grace, I assure you." The cluttering of her fork came to a hoisted end, as Lady Tully aligned her head to focus directly on the One-Eyed Prince. "I should love nothing more than to talk to you… Please, do advise me on what you would like most to hear."

She fidgeted nervously with her silver rings – a quirk she developed whilst imprisoned in the Strong's Keep – and gingerly awaited his reply.

Your Grace. Your Grace. Your Grace.

The stillness in her speech and eyes drove the man effectively wild.

"Aemond." He stilled her faction through the reign of a distorted sigh.

She regarded him with a petrified stance. Her hands fell heavy over her legs in the wake of anticipation.

"... I-I beg your pardon?"

"Aemond." He repeated his name again, "We already break bread and sleep in the same bed." His lilac eye rose from his plate, and singled out her reddened cheeks. The man paused a while, as if to weigh his words carefully, and his cold, glassy orb, hungrily ran over her form. "It seems inevitable that we'd call each other by our given names. Yet you never once said mine throughout."

The girl could feel her throat dry up. While still maintaining his awkward stare, she reached for the glass of wine that rested by her left side. She wrapped her hand around its stem, and brought it to her paling lips.

The liquid courage slid down her throat in a quick, though burning manner, and (Y/N) had to swallow down an erratic cough. Her brows furrowed amidst, as she picked her words out slowly.

"I have called your name before, Prince Aemond. Many times throughout the moons, in fact."

He smiled at her perturbed reply, and shook his head in coy distraught.

"Not without the honorifics." The man clarified in a pleading tone, his voice growing hotter now. "... Just say my name." He sighed defeatedly. His hand gripped the edge of the table, silently, as the Targaryen Prince could feel his mind running with a thousand thoughts per passing minute.

The silence ate at him alive. She drowned the wine in a swift swing, and slouched forward to pour herself another glass.

She was too sober for this.

Lucaerys, Jacaerys, Cain.

Part of her wanted to pluck his eye out. Part of her wished nothing more than to make fun of him. Laugh, perhaps, at his desperate indiscretion. Do something – anything – to gauge a reaction out of him.

Any sort of reaction, that would make her pestering feelings for him leave her heavy soul.

Surprising even herself, adamantly going against her own wishes, the woman caught herself breathing out.

"... Aemond."

Unexpectedly he moved, by jumping to his ready feet, fully disregarding the oak chair as it hit the floor in a most perused manner.

The pang of noise alerted her, and seemingly, the guards outside. A while they remained in silence, listening in to the clash of metal that announced their unsure shifting.

But they wouldn’t come inside. The girl was lest aware of that.

As time pressed on, Aemond remained hammered in place, heaving out his weighty breaths and clasping his hands in aching fists.

Her eyes momentarily left his shadow – to turn again towards the poach of wine, and empty another glass in rapid gulps.

The heavy atmosphere inside the room hung lowly over their tired heads. (Y/N) resumed her mellow eating, wincing at the shakiness within her hands. She grabbed another piece of the boiled meat, though Aemond's stare soon made her drop it, and the girl clicked her tongue in disbelief; grabbing it instead with a piece of cloth, and securing it into a tight knot.

This time, it was her actions that had failed her. And perhaps it'd be her ready words that would prevail.

"Aemond." She spoke again, this time more confidently than before. The bitter liquor was burning her throat, her chest, her heart. She felt her limbs heavy – with both anticipation and frustration - borne out of lack of relief. She wanted to slap him, to hit him, to crush him beneath her feet.

She wanted to run away, to stay confined, forever inside this room, forever astute to what was going on in the outside world.

She wanted to feel something.

She wanted…

"Yes." Aemond encouraged her softly, and her attention came back to the raptures of the present tense. "There we go." He worded out, keeping his tone barely above a whisper.

Neither could tell when or how it happened – but Aemond's body was inches away from touching hers. The heat emanating from his beating heart washed over the meek form of the tipsy Lady. His Lady.

She gulped painfully, and the Prince could feel how his hands started spasming with the need to feel her. His nails bit the inside of his calloused palm, leaving deep and angry marks inside them.

His prominent veins shifted with his every faction. His face morphed into hopeful disarray.

"There we go." He repeated gently, "I want to hear your laughter. You never once laughed with me."

Her stare was hard to decipher. And yet confliction danced across her face. Aemond turned serious, and the stammering of his hands came to an untimely end. His eye bared holes into her reddened face; and the Lady humorously thought, if only for a moment, that it was a lucky thing he didn’t still have both his eyes. For such a stare would be embedded in her subconscious, bringing forth her swift undoing.

The corners of her mouth felt painful to bend and break. Shakily she smiled at him, and opened her mouth in shocked reclusion.

A shy laughter erupted from her unquenched throat, and the woman shuddered, surrendering the reins of reason to the drunken thoughts that sieged her.

Her laughter wasn't her own. The languid movements of her hands, that trailed over Aemond's chest, were not her own.

His finger came to caress her cheek. Her nose. Her brow. Her lips. Her mouth. The Crown Prince sucked in a dangerous breath, and secured his left arm loosely around her waist.

"Good girl," He spoke tenderly, his voice going from gruff to rough, "Such a good girl for me." His fingers combed through her messy braids, marking their swift undoing – taking a step back, he could feel the heat leave his head, in the favor of traveling lower, to meet the almost flaccid cock confined in the tightness of his pants. "Say my name again. Laugh again." He commanded in a pleading meowl. His lips twitched in anticipation, and his eyes trailed lower, lower still, from up her face, down to her soaring bosom.

"Aemond."

"(Y/N)."

A solitary look of shame was shared between them. Perhaps pushed forward by the only remaining faction of rationale, the two placed a step in between each other, but even that proved to be too fickle of a barrier to keep them whole apart.

Aemond reached to cup her face with his own trembling hand – on her end, the girl's digits trailed over from his high cheekbones, down to his prominent cupid's bow, in an all but gentle caress.

"Avy jorrāelan." He hissed through painfully gritted teeth, allowing his head to rest in the crook made of her shoulder blade and neck. "Avy jorrāelan." He repeated, the vulnerability in his voice making him lose the hold he had over himself.

"Se Jaes emagon qrimbrōstan issa naejot jorrāelagon ao." His feathered breath came into contact with her dainty neck. (Y/N) gasped lightly, as she felt the first of his many kisses being tenderly placed over her jaw and neck.

Her head was pounding, and her eyes were screwed shut, as the coldness of the wall hit her in perused waves. The impropriety of the soft moans and sighs that filled her ears to the brim left her confused and wanting.

The worst of it was that she didn’t know whether they came from her or him.

She felt as though her head was being harshly held below the water, and the girl clawed at her dress to loosen her tight bodice, which seemed to constrict even her erratic breathing.

Aemond's attention moved from her earlobe back to her lips. He felt how her hands contorted sporadically, and he placed his own palm over hers, to put an end to her hasty movements, and give her a sense of calmness. His fingers suddenly entwined with hers, as his form hovered above her. His throat etched with a lousy moan, and his mouth finally crashed with hers.

(Y/N)'s eyes opened at the shocking scene, and her lips suddenly parted, either to beg or to protest against him, but Aemond's hot tongue found entrance into her warm cave – deciding instead to deepen the kiss, and press himself further against her smaller form.

The outline of his throbbing cock molded against the shape of the woman's thigh, and the Prince Protector of the Realm let out a pleasured hiss, once her insistent writhing ended up brushing up his weeping tip. "Jaes, ao istan vēttan syt issa." He mumbled against her swollen lips, "Sepār jurnegon skorkydoso īlon kostagon fāelor hēnkirī."

She let out a fatigued whimper, and swiftly turned her head around, putting an abrupt end to their meek and vicious pecks.

"What's wrong, hmm? Dōna hāedar… ȳdra daor hakogon qrīdrughagon hen issa sir."

Aemond's lips were soft and tender, leaving behind an almost vivacious bite over her exposed parts. His pace had been filled with an animalistic hunger; the longing inside his eye caught her unprepared, and her lips parted with the desire to feel something – anything – that his palpable mouth would keenly offer.

(Y/N) shuddered with her eyes closed, and grabbed a hold of his long, white hair, leading the man closer yet to her swelling heat.

The way in which he held her should have felt so very wrong. But at that moment, the only thing she could do was extend her arm back up to him, and guide him with an insistent pull over his silky locks: encouraging him to bring forth his descent upon her lips.

She disregarded the way a figment of her psyche screamed at her. To stop her ministrations, to slap his calloused hands away from her. For if she kept her eyes closed, and focused solely on the shape of him, then she could almost pretend that the man before her had nothing to do with her beloved Jace.

She could almost pretend that he was Jace.

Aemond's pupil was left blown wide – so much so, that the lilac of his iris could almost be left neglected. He wrapped his hands around the lady's thighs, and hoisted her up to meet him by his narrow hips. Both moaned into the other's mouth, and the Prince soon found his way into the raptures of the silken bed.

His heated cock kissed the outlines of her soaked cunny. Aemond sighed deeply over the arch of her neck, and pawed away at her untouched bodice.

(Y/N)'s hands rested still upon his eyepatch, and, with a swift and hasty movement, she yanked it off his sculpted face.

"We need to stop…" She moaned, defeated, and felt how Aemond's body stiffened up below her, as the harsh realization finally hit them both.

She had uttered the words aloud.

Half expecting him to blow out fuming, the woman tried to pry herself off his fevered body, but his hands reigned like iron shackles over the inside of her spreading thighs.

"Do we?" He whispered lowly, whilst leaning in to steal another kiss from her again.

"We shouldn’t." She strained herself to say once more, and Aemond nodded, still chasing her lips with his.

She melted into his reluctant touch, and hummed against his beating heart. His hands dug deeply into her resting sides; his fingertips scattered over her translucent spine, leaving their possessive mark. "This isn’t right."

"I know, I know," He gasped, "Seven Hells, I know…"

"Yn nyke istan zarvīzis," He pressed a finger over her swollen lips, "Nyke emagon issare sīr sȳz se… sīr, sīr zarvīzis."

With the last ounce of her strength, she bit over his lower lip, dragging a wanton moan from out of his rosy lips.

"Ao aehron raqagon ao ȳdra daor jaelagon bisa..." He chanted, while latched onto her burning sear, "Yn ao jaelagon issa sepār hae olvie. Ao mazilībagon syt issa – sepār hae qosaevaerī."

His High Valyrian had made her dizzy. And at first, she tried to pay his words her mind, she tried to grapple and understand what he was saying.

A starved meowl left her panting lips.

"You can tell me to stop," The words that poured out of his mouth washed upon her like a rippled tide, "You can tell me to stop… and I will..."

Her body quickly arched against him; her shaky hands came to rest over his hips. She laced her mouth again with his, expecting rough, dominant kisses – but Aemond's hands propped themselves loosely against her cheeks, his thumbs pliantly stroking her with untoward devotion. His single eye drank her in with reverence.

"Please…" He whimpered into her mouth, "Avy jorrāelan." He confessed to her, again and again, trying his hardest not to take her against the cold floor – and not fuck her straight into the messy mattress.

Her limbs felt heavy. Lacking their autonomy. The body she was nestled in still wasn't her own.

"... Why?" She asked him disdainfully, sporadically, as his index finger came to pry open her haughty entrance.

His eye widened in perplexed ruin, but the Prince soon stumbled over his words again.

That bastard Jace must have taught her the gist of that.

"... I wish I knew." Came his sole and sincere reply.

Just like that, her eyes welled with the threat of tears.

His hands, his hold, his voice, his mouth. It was all wrong. In truth none could ever hope to feel right.

Flashes of her old lover, of his baby brother – who was so small the last she'd seen him –, of her sworn shield came into view. All of them, gone as if they never were. All of them, with their memories trampled deep beneath her sprawled-out form.

She wasn't a woman of the Faith. Not after what had happened. Not after the spoils of war that she, herself, felt like angry whips upon her skin. But her eyes fluttered close, and she begged the Mother for forgiveness, whilst a tear rolled off her ticking cheek.

She brought a hand to her wobbly lips, and began to violently rub away any remaining trace of Aemond's presence.

She was disgusted. With him, with herself, with the world, with the image of her Jace – that surged in her mind the second she blinked, the moment that she jolted awake in her misery.

On his end, (Y/N)'s display of pure abhorrence failed to falter Aemond's lustful grief. Why, if she did not desire him, did she fall into his arms again and again?

Love was the death of duty. And longing was the doom of all.

"Fucking cock tease…" The Prince growled, grief-stricken, "How much longer are you going to give into me, just to push me away?"

His patience had been running thin. The ache in his breeches was long forgotten. In its stead, the urgent sting in his heart dragged the man into the pits of madness. "What is it this time?" He groveled over her closed legs again.

Her recuperation had been jovial and quick. Adrenaline replaced the pain and shame, and the woman tried to get off the bed, put as much distance as she knew how in between her and the ravished Prince.

For the first time since he came to be, Aemond would not let her escape his clutches. As she moved backwards, he persisted forward – following her wobbly feet throughout the room with the spare of his predatory eye.

"Y-You said –" She tried ceaselessly to accuse him. "You said you wouldn't –"

"And you're right. I meant every. Single. Thing. I told you." He growled into her frightened ear, as his hands came to cage her, trap her under the seclusion of the hard, stone wall.

"You're mine." He hissed desperately, as he clasped her jaw to face him. "You've always been mine, you fucking harlot. From the moment you stepped foot into Harrenhal, your life belonged to me."

Perhaps Aemond was right, and she was nothing but a harlot. A treacherous swine that hung onto whatever he could give her - so starved and devoid of love and warmth, that she'd dare to stoop so lowly with him.

Aemond descended his unquenched rage over her exposed neck, and began leaving tender love bites all over, in spite of her lackluster pleas.

(Y/N)'s head felt like it was about to explode. She felt sick to her stomach – the wine and the distraught both built up inside of her. All she wanted now was to be left alone. For Aemond's touch felt oddly comforting, and her tired eyes began to close. "You drive me insane." She heard him choke.

She wanted to open her mouth. To urge the Prince to stop; but her word hole was sewn shut, taken over by the grip of feared confusion. While his hand hoisted her up by the waist again, her hand went around him, to grab onto whatever she could find. Finally, she stopped at the dragon-glass dagger, that securely latched onto Aemond's waist. Effectively, she wrapped her fingers around its silver hilt, and sheathed it out of its confinements.

"I swear on whatever God you want me to, I'll slit your throat if you don't stop touching me –" She wailed into Aemond's form, as she felt him stiffen up in tumultation.

His nostrils flared up at her attempt to intimidate him, and yet… his face looked most serene, as the cutting edge of the dagger reached close to his ivory skin. She raised her brows at him in utter surprise; for she expected him to surrender. His arms snaked away from her, and Aemond watched her intensely with his piercing gaze.

She could kill him, consequences be damned. And if she faced trial for this, then at least she'd have taken out a Green and Vhagar.

Her hand was shaking. Her breathing became erratic. She'd held a blade on multiple occasions; she'd fantasized about cutting Aemond's throat more times than she could bring herself to count. And yet…

His lack of movement – of worry – rattled her endlessly. She wanted to scream at him, to push him, to cut him. But for some reason couldn't bring herself to do it.

The realization that she just couldn’t do it made her almost drop the knife from the tight hold she'd kept it under.

"Why aren't you the least bit worried?" She spat out lowly, with her body trembling and her jaw set tight.

Aemond remained quiet and taciturn. His eye fixed her face carefully, and his hand gently wrapped around her quivering wrist. "Come on now…" He whispered to her, and watched how her eyes filled with the endless tears of frustration, how the hot droplets rolled down her reddened cheeks.

It would take another moment for her to drop the blade.

A moment she would forever grow to resent.

"I fucking hate you." She hissed through a breathless sob.

Oh, how she wished to hate him. Hate him as she did when they first clashed swords. Hate him as she did when she heard Jace talk about Lucaerys' death.

"Liar." Aemond rasped in acknowledgment.

And, just like that, the damage had been done. The blade rested back into his hand within an instant, and Aemond hit the wall behind her with murderous intent. "Fucking liar." He whispered again, breathing less and less sporadically, trying to wash his nerves away.

"I have been so good to you. But no matter what I do, it'll never be enough for you. Hmm?" He shook his head adamantly, and dug his fingers into the cold tiles of the cursed stronghold. "I am a patient man. But I will not wait a minute longer."

Her face twisted into a painful scowl, and the girl pushed over his chest roughly, but Aemond was quick to deny her exit. "This is not ideal," He muttered lowly to himself, "Yet you need to be taught a lesson."

"What are you d–"

Her words died upon her lips. Aemond hummed in dissatisfaction, and immediately brought the blade into her view.

She let out a scream of pure horror, but his pliant mouth silenced her with a scorching kiss. Her whole body was shaking, and the Prince Regent let out a frustrated sigh.

"Cease your crying, you hateful woman." He chastised her cruelly, "The fucking Gods sent you to ruin me."

At that moment, she wasn't above pleading. Her knees wobbled in place, and her orbs frantically searched for a way out. For something to grip and swing at the man before her.

Aemond's eye softened at the sight of her. Despite the pang of guilt he felt, a teasing and self-assuring smirk formed at the corners of his upturned lips.

So Jacaerys hadn't told her. He never mentioned their Valyrian way to her.

His triumphant feat soon washed away, as her trembling hands came into contact with his. "Ÿdra daor dīnagon, issa gevie Dāria. Nyke jāhor dōrī jaelagon naejot ōdrikagon." He told her adherently, truthfully, despite the obvious language barrier.

He took a moment to regain his composure. Grab a hold of her balled-up fists and remember the ancient words he'd only ever read about in his history books.

"Hen lantoti ānogar. Va sỹndroti vāedroma."

He ripped the sleeve from his linen shirt, and placed it over their entwined fingers.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti. Elēdroma iārza sĩr. Izuli ampā perzī."

The blade finally pressed down, over the softness of his left palm. Aemond winced at the sudden pain, and made a mental note to only nick the frightened girl with it, when the time came for that.

"Prūmĩ lanti sēteksi. Hen jenỹ māzīlarion. Qēlossa ozündesi."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened to a comical amount. Somewhere along the way, it seemed, she grew aware of Aemond's intent. She refused to show her hand to him, placing them both behind her back, and holding on for her dear life.

He let out a disapproving grunt, and reached his bloodied hands to her, yanking her right hand from underneath her strong grasp.

"No! No –!" She kept on screaming, and the guards outside shifted in place, before they fell under their oath of silence once again.

The cold and slick edge of the dragon glass pressed lightly against her writhing palm. Aemond made a smaller cut, and carried on with his rapid mumbling.

"Sỹndroro öñö jēdo. Rỹ kīvia mazvestraksi."

His very fist came to cut over his lower lip. His gory hand then reached for her jaw, hammering her in her place, and a sharp sting reflected on her weary stance. Aemond profited off the moment, to ease the dagger into her waiting mouth.

The metallic taste flooded her senses – the girl saw red before her eyes, and failed to register how his fingers came upon his and her forehead, painting them over with a ghastly symbol.

The Targaryen Prince reached for her hand again, and pressed her wounded palm cohesively with his.

"Following the tradition of my House from before the Doom of Old Valyria, I, Aemond of House Targaryen, bind myself to (Y/N) of House Tully, by blood, by soul, by life –"

"NO!"

" – And I pledge to her: that we are now one flesh, one heart, one body. Now and forever."

As he finally pried his limbs away from her trapped body, Aemond allowed his lips to feathery trace over her twisted mouth. She glanced at him, with wide-set and teary eyes.

"Fuck your fucking pledge."

Some grand venue she received.

A single question hung loosely into the air.

"Are you going to rape me now?"

She scarcely registered her own words as they left her mouth.

Aemond's eye widened at her query, and the Targaryen bit over his lower lip, as a deep grimace morphed the fairness of his features. He looked almost dumbfounded by her made assumption.

As soon as it came, the look of utter betrayal left his face.

"You would slit my throat with the knife." Was his mere reply.

***

Sometime along the night, he left.

The mighty roars of Vhagar registered themselves in the far-away distance.

That night, and only that night, she allowed herself the sacrilege of prayer. And she did so, again and again, pleading to the Seven for a blind arrow to reach his neck.

On the back of Vhagar, Aemond shuddered away from the impossible waves of heat, that licked deliciously at his stiffened cock; whenever her breathing would reach his ears, he felt tortured, trapped beneath the swell of lust and wanton desire.

Despite his abhorrent decision, he knew what their marriage meant. He knew all too well what his cruel bind had done, and yet… he felt no plausible remorse for the situation at hand.

The support of Storm's End, Floris Baratheon, Alys – mere casualties compared to the brink of having her, to knowing that she was finally his, as he was wholly hers.

Eventually, she'd have to love him. Eventually, she'd learn to do so.

A marriage wasn't a marriage until it was consummated. But he would give her, as he had promised, the illusion of choice, if nothing else.

As the cold night's air whipped his face again and again, and as Vhagar's thundering resounded over the burnt trees of the Riverlands, Aemond sighed, and brought a shaky hand to the strings of his breeches.

Scared as she was, his Lady made for a beautiful bride. It was such a shame that he didn’t get to see her wear the traditional Targaryen gown.

The pad of his thumb trailed over the cut he'd made – the same cut that now rested over her extended palm.

The flesh would scar, he thought, well pleased; whenever he looked at her, he'd get to see how she was undeniably his.

A possessive growl etched from his parted lips. Images of her paling skin, of her laugh. Her smile. The way her eyes bore into him, as if she always knew something he didn’t.

Leisurely, he began to pump his cock. Below him, Vhagar let out an anguished roar.

"Nyke gīmigon, Vhagar. Gīmigon."

Droplets of precum rolled over his clenching digits, coating his knuckles and the base of his shaft in a translucent, but thick ropes.

He groaned desperately, aching to relieve his frustration deep within her, but alas…

His gruff moans filled the air around him; and Aemond could feel his climax building up, as visions of her flooded his thoughts.

How she would feel underneath him. How she would writhe on the edge of bliss, begging, pleading for him to finally take her.

He could feel her legs wrapping around him, and feel himself sliding inside her with ease, praising her for being so good to him.

He wrapped Vhagar's bridle tight over his arm, and secured himself better in his leather saddle. His grip tightened around his dripping cock, but it was just not good enough.

The pace with which he fucked his hand picked up in a wilding speed. Aemond sighed in pleasure, and felt his hips move to their own accord. His breathing became rugged. His very mind was not his own.

He wondered what other scars her body bore. What the story behind them was, and how many of them came by his swift undoing.

Would she lie down and let him take care of everything? Or would she want to stay on top, jumping up and down on him, each time with a harsher thrust?

His hips rose and fell with his less than gentle pace, and the man pushed his length deeper into his steadfast grip.

He knew that if she let him touch her, he wouldn't be leaving her bed for weeks. He would pull countless orgasms from her, time and time again, until she begged for him to stop. He would have her so full of his seed, so the Gods' help him, that she would swell with his child – his trueborn child – before the rise of the first rays of sun.

Feeling his release beckon, the Prince set on a final rhythm, one that left his loins more in need than ever. With a loud hiss, he pushed himself inside his fist one final time, spilling his seed onto the saddle beneath him.

He panted wildly into the night, and suddenly opened his lustful eye, allowing a tear of ecstasy to roll off his scarred cheek.

"Se Jaes daoriot rȳbagon naejot nykeā vala raqagon issa. Yn nyke jāhor jikagon va issa knees se kostilus zirȳla naejot ivestragī issa emagon ao. Ao issi issa rōva botagon se se olvie rivaestra lambraes aohvra."

He couldn't keep up the charade with her. He would tell her all about it, once things finally settled down.

Word in Harrenhal traveled fast.

First it was her brash arrival. Then her impromptu marriage.

No one dared to talk to her. Yet she was never without the indiscreet eyes that followed her about.

Her situation wasn't without its ups and falls: Aemond felt no need to guard her as stiffly anymore – For where would the former Tully go, now that she bared his Targaryen name?

She was allowed to breach into some castle corners, always in the company of hefty guards, of course, and basked herself in some new acquired perks of freedom.

On the same account, whilst Alys remained loyal to her role as her lady-in-waiting, the tension between them couldn't have been more pain-strikingly high.

"I never asked for this. You must believe me."

She gave the younger woman a domineering stare, and only shook her head, obliged.

"And yet here you stand, inside his bed."

Word in Harrenhal spread fast – like a fire left unattended, like the so-called "Targaryen madness".

But a new, particular rumor gobbled the attention of everyone present.

Daemon Targaryen was to return to the Riverlands. And with him and Caraxes, he'd bring forth the formerly wild dragon, Sheepstealer, mounted by none other than Nettles.

The Lady had been acquainted with the bastard girl before – when the Sowing of the Dragon Seeds reveled in their first borne crops.

Another troubling report came forth. King's Landing had been secured by Rhaenyra.

When (Y/N) heard the news be whispered, she almost collapsed on her knees in glee. This must have marked the end of it. Surely, the usurpers would be put through the sword, leaving all to be well, and right again.

The Greens would die. They would face trial.

The Greens.

Indeed, word in Harrenhal spread fast. And she'd just been made the wife of the cruelest of them all.

Dread filled her insides. Her eyes cast their darkened shadow over the walls of the cursed Keep. A single, fundamental truth raised strongly from her anxious wallowing.

If Daemon Targaryen should find out about her marriage to his nephew, and get to her first… naught of the loyalty of the Riverlords would have a single say in her decided fate. And she would meet her end by the way of his blade, Dark Sister.

Now, more so than ever, it was pivotal for her to escape.

The clock was ticking.

And she was running out of time.

***

Her last day in Harrenhal was spent making plans. She'd rubbed her temples a myriad times, and paced about the room in a dizzying trot.

It wasn’t enough for her to disappear – she had to ensure everyone else thought she was gone.

When Aemond returned, she beckoned his call by jumping to her ready feet. The girl took him in, in his devillished state, and merely raised her brows at him. Whenever she saw him, the nick on her palm and lip itched at her relentlessly.

Neither was willing to recognize aloud what had transpired two moons ago, but both knew the inevitable punishment that would come with Aemond's actions.

He took a seat by the edge of their bed, and took his dagger out to play with it.

In vain he had asked Alys to share with him what she could see. She laid in broken, cradling her forming bump – the one she so desperately tried to hide away from him. The one thing that once meant her protection and raise in rank, now could very well heed out her doom.

Her green eyes raised from the floor below them, and Alys merely shook her head.

"There is fire, my Prince. Fire, and blood, and death."

"Going out to face two dragons is a death sentence." His deep voice rumbled through the silent chamber, "I can't afford that risk anymore with you involved."

And there it was. The silent admission of what he had done.

"We'll have to move from Harrenhal. You'll get to meet Daeron in Oldtown."

Was he sorry for what he did?

"It was about time you got acquainted with the rest of the family."

Aegon's cause was lucky that Storm's End was already too involved. They couldn't turn in their banners to the other front. Not now.

"It's a wonderful idea." She uttered in a glacial tone, barely above a whisper. "When will we depart?"

Sharpened orbs came in contact with the loneness of a purple eye.

The man took in a sparring breath, and hummed at her obedient retreat. The Prince's fist clenched over his cutting wound, and he nodded his head firmly.

"Should we be graced with the Gods' favor, issa jorrāelagon, then on the morrow," He explained, "but no sooner than that."

The girl's brows furrowed in discontent, as Aemond faltered in pressing the matter further. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with the aid of two long fingers, and heavily rose from his seat.

"Don't wait for me tonight. I shall return to you in the morning. I have unfinished business to attend to."

Lack of air. And crippling fear.

Her tiny world had been thrown into the arms of chaos. But everything fell so perfectly into place.

As soon as Aemond had mounted Vhagar, as soon as her father of wings died upon the night's first watch, the woman sprung to her feet, and began her soul's ascent into the pits of the Seven Hells.

She started off by breaking in her tiny mirror, placing a goose feather pillow below and over it, to somehow mask the clefty noise.

Her long hair was the first to go. She began cutting it swiftly, using big and brisk movements to chop off as many of her luscious locks as she possibly could.

She ripped the mattress of the bed open with one of the bigger shards, and revealed Aemond's dried-up shirt, that she had tucked well under after washing it, long preparing it for that occasion.

Her stomach churned as her hand went to her chamber pot. Risking her own deniability, she submerged her digits deep within it, letting out a victorious huff as she brushed across a piece of cold felt.

The insides of the sack revealed fermented meat – putrid, more like. She scattered the final remains of it over the stone floor like a mad-woman, and ripped the latter pages of the book Alys had gifted her.

She would take the passage to the stables, and simply hope for the best.

Her eyes searched feverishly about the cluttered room, but the hammering in her heart stilled only as she gaped upon the lower left corner of the wall full of banners.

There it was. Exactly where Alys told her it was going to be.

She tore into the mattress further, spreading the wool around, and grabbed a hold of a piece of wood from the crackling fire.

May she be forgiven for what she was about to do.

Her shaky hands grasped the lumber strongly, and she let it roll in the middle of the room, allowing it to fall with a loud bang.

***

The sound of wailing screams echoed inside her head, scratching at her ears, to the point of making them almost bleed. The heat of the fire she caused fell over her skimpily clothed back, and the disgust she felt with herself was palpable against her tongue.

With every turn she took, she made herself another promise. She would not rest until the war would see its end. She'd never sleep warmly again, and forever remind herself of the sacrifice she had to make – of all the lives that she undoubtedly ended, if only to meet her selfish ends.

For once, this was not just Aemond's doing. This was her fault all alone.

Blinded by rage, and seething with fury, her feet carried her down the crooked set of stairs. The woman brought a hand up to her face, and coughed wildly in the back of it. She'd have to make a bold turn soon. Then the outside world would heed, and she would be free again.

With just a twinge of luck, the guards should think that whatever was left of her room collapsed upon herself inside. Her burnt hair and clothes would create the wanted look – the meat would add the unmistakable smell of rot and death, and the lack of an actual body would take days to figure out.

And she prayed. She prayed, she prayed, she prayed: that no one else knew of the passages that she was threading through below.

Her eyes could barely see in front of her. Smoke rose to unforgiving levels, and the Lady swore it could be cut even by the dullest knife. As she reached the crossroads of the secret tunnel, her hands came to grapple at the breeches' pockets, turning them inside out – trying to find the torn pages of the book she'd just previously carried.

A sigh of relief rumbled from within her throat, as the pads of her shaking digits stroked across the withered, olden pages.

Her relief would be short lived.

Boney hands snaked around her, and the girl nearly screamed – until the familiar scent of mint and wild berries floored her senses.

"Alys?!" Her voice let out in an exasperated high. "Alys, we need to hurry!"

But her able hands still hesitantly clung to the soft material of her shirt, digging so deeply into it, that she could rip it in a downward pull.

"You –" She began to say, but cut herself short as she momentarily closed her eyes.

No matter what, she couldn’t tell the Lady before her that she'd have sent her upon her death.

"You took a wrong turn. This isn't the right way towards the South Gates."

The adrenaline flooded her veins. Her heart was pumping wildly against her ears. Lady Tully only nodded, failing to process that Alys had, in fact, never given her access to such an option on the crudely drawn map.

"This way, (Y/N) – came quickly!"

Two sets of legs descended further into the murky passages of Harrenhal. At one point, the smoke had gotten so very thick, that both women had to feel their way out, by touching the corners of every tunnel that they surpassed.

When all seemed lost, Alys finally spoke, "Over here!" She yelled out to her, and latched onto Aemond's dampened shirt.

They stumble into each other, as the small opening of the stifling cellar reaches the South Gates. The witch stops hastily on her heel, and the young Lady nearly busts their cover.

A raid of soldiers came flocking out, with what then looked like tens of thousands of squealing maids. So frightened by their own demise, they bumped into the oak doors and onto each other – choosing to, instead of unlocking the main Gates, reach and pull at the other's hairs, cursing loud and wildly.

Alys let out a bemused huff at their perused antics, but her reglament was short lived; as one of the smarter lassies reached for the illustrious piece of wood, and opened the doors with the loudest of creak.

"Now's our chance," The Lady of Riverrun whispered to her fellow escapee, grabbing onto her wrist harshly, and dragging her out and into the light. "Mingle in the crowd, Alys –"

"My Lady, do not stray far –"

The older woman let out a staggering breath, as she raised her skirts to follow suit on the trail left by the hot-headed girl.

She is Elmo's daughter alright, she disarmingly told herself, Just as hopeless and reckless as he once was.

Alys almost tackled her to the ground, as Lady Tully succumbed herself deeper into the burnt out forest. She gripped onto her hands with hers, so harshly, that she'd definitely leave her mark. "I thought I had told you not to stray far."

The breathless form of the lost child before her appeared to be enough to soften a tad of her resolve. "When I tell you something, I expect you to do it."

Whilst chastising her deeply for her foolhardy behavior, the woman searched her pockets, and pushed out two quarter silvers into her trembling hands.

"You'll go towards the Rushing Halls and buy yourself a mule from the Half Calf's Inn."

As the younger Lady nodded feverishly at her late advice, Alys clasped her cheeks with her hands, and brought her head further towards her. "You'll keep a straight line to the Green Fork. You won't stop to eat or drink – you won't stop until you reach Hag's Mire. Make sure to cover the cut on your hand with this." As she spoke, Alys pushed a black glove into her resting hands.

The Bliss of Riverrun threw the witch a bewildered look. Her eyes searched adamantly for hers, and the woman panted out in pure wonder. "How did you know I intended on migrating North?

"I've already seen you do it." She shook her shoulders promptly, "I've already seen you succeed."

Her green eyes softened, if only for a blazing moment; but the crackling of the trees behind them snapped her out of her inward trance. "Don't waste anymore time. Your diversion was smart, but he will try to find you."

The girl reached down, to squeeze her hands, perhaps, in a wordless display of gratitude and affection. Her soft fingers interlaced over her boney knuckles, and Alys muttered a faint blessing over the twisted arch of her furrowed brow.

The Lady turned around, but not before pausing and shooting the witch one last fiery look. "Come with me." She offered determinedly, and shook her head strongly as Alys took a step back. "He'll try to punish someone for it. You're his next available girl." She begged her to see to reason.

"My place remains here. By his side."

(Y/N)'s eyes hardened at her thorough admission, but she strained herself to shoot the wet nurse back with a curt nod.

"I shan't forget what you did for me." She promised her elder with a minute smile.

"A heads-up when you next decide to set the whole stronghold on fire would be most appreciated…!" She lightheartedly told her, despite the obvious wabbling of her lower lip.

(Y/N) nodded, but remained hammered in place for another while. Alys' hand reached to cup over her face, but a brisk moment of clarity was quick to change her mind.

"Go, you foolish girl…!" She snapped, "Make good use of that promise you made."

Her feet began moving on their own accord. Her mind was blazing with all of the unfinished tasks at hand.

She would run towards the Rushing Halls. Buy a mule. Retreat towards Green Fork. Reach the Twins.

Her road shall lead to Winterfell. If Forrest Fray remained the same kind fool that he once was, she should have no trouble sending Cregan Stark a raven.

And if she could reason with Jacaerys' friend, take in his testimony of protection, perhaps her life wasn't lost just yet.

The gusts of wind ran through her shortened and unkempt hair. Aemond's clothes hung loosely over her, and the stench of fire and ash filled her nostrils with something else other than hopeless dread.

Never before in her life, did the girl run so fast.

Taglist:

Translations:

Gevie… = Beautiful;

Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, issa dōna jorrāelagon. Nyke kivio ao naejot sagon gīda. = Do not worry, my sweet love. I promised you I would be patient;

Mēre tubis ao jāhor jaelagon issa. = One day you will desire me;

Se Jaes emagon qrimbrōstan issa naejot jorrāelagon ao. = The Gods have cursed me to love you;

Gīda ilagon, Vhagar. Sagon nykeēdrosa... Sȳz hāedar. = Calm down, Vagar. Be still. Good girl;

Jaes, ao istan vēttan syt issa. = Gods, you were made for me;

Sepār jurnegon skorkydoso īlon kostagon fāelor hēnkirī. = Just look how perfectly we fit together;

Dōna hāedar… ȳdra daor hakogon qrīdrughagon hen issa sir = Sweet girl… don't pull away from me now;

Yn nyke istan zarvīzis. Nyke emagon issare sīr sȳz se… sīr, sīr zarvīzis. = But I've been patient. I've been so good and… so, so patient;

Ao aehron raqagon ao ȳdra daor jaelagon bisa... = You act like you don't want this…;

Yn ao jaelagon issa sepār hae olvie. Ao mazilībagon syt issa – sepār hae qosaevaerī. = But you want me just as much. You ache for me – just as badly.

Ÿdra daor dīnagon, issa gevie Dāria. Nyke jāhor dōrī jaelagon naejot ōdrikagon. = Don't cry, my beautiful Princess. I would sooner die than hurt you;

Valyrian Wedding Vows: Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows, two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass – the stars stand witness, of the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light;

Nyke gīmigon, Vhagar. Gīmigon. = I know Vhagar, I know;

Se Jaes daoriot rȳbagon naejot nykeā vala raqagon issa. Yn nyke jāhor jikagon va issa knees se kostilus zirȳla naejot ivestragī issa emagon ao. Ao issi issa rōva botagon se se olvie rivaestra lambraes aohvra. = The Gods don't listen to men like me. But I would go on my knees and beg them to let me keep you. You were once the bane of my existence… and now, you find yourself the center of it.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

July Creator of the Month: Eadanga

Please welcome this month’s Creator of the Month: @eadanga

Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists. The writer or artist is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page. Past COTM's can be found here.

Tumblr Blog Name: Eadanga How do you want to be known on Tumblr? Esang

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog Masterlist

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

I don't remember the year, but I started playing when it was only The Crown & The Flame, The Freshman, and Most Wanted. I thought it was a rip-off of Episode because many apps like that exist. The first book I started playing was The Crown & The Flame, and then I got bored of it, so I tried The Freshman, and I was hooked. Been playing ever since 😃

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I joined about four years ago. I was in a Choices group on Facebook and saw people sharing fanfics. I first thought it was an ad, but when I looked, it was a fanfic, and it was amazing. That's when I joined so I could read more, and then I posted one of my own that I wrote.

3- How did you pick your blog name? 

Literally, it's just my name. I didn't think I'd be here long, not to mention posting. It's the first letter of my name, Esang, and my last name, Adanga. Maybe one day I'll change it 🤣😂

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!  

This was my first post. I saw people making stories in the Choices group and decided to make one of my own. I didn't think it would get much attention, but it did 😁

5- Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both? 

I write fanfiction, but I’m not really good at making art, lol

6- How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?

Let's see, I think I started in 2020. Choices is the only fandom I write for.

7- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?

The Freshman and The Royal Romance will always be my number one favorite books to read and write for 😁

8- Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?

This was my favorite, and I'll never change anything about it. It is so romantic, hehe 😍

9- What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created? 

This one wrote it for @flowerpowell, and even though she doesn't post anymore, it was so much fun to write something for her. 

10- Do you have a fic/art that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?

It's definitely my Deepest Desire series. I didn't expect people to enjoy it, especially @littlegreenmoo, who was having a field day with that series 🤣. Chris's Journal could have been better; a little bit more detail would have made it pop.

11- (WRITERS) If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? 

I hate angst, and I haven't written smut since my Deepest Desire series 🤣 so fluff all the way. I love happy endings 😁

12 - Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

I put some of me in my MCs, like when they're cooking, cause I love to cook 😁

13 - What element of writing/art do you struggle with most?

Keeping up with a schedule. I make one, but then real life gets in the way, and I gotta change it.

14 - Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

Eternal Love, I haven't written for that in a long time. I just got caught up with other fanfics, and then you lose inspiration, but I will get back to it one day.

15 - If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first? 

Yes, I would love to show them, but I've shown my work without people asking. I've shown my best friend my work; she didn't ask. I just showed it to her, and she enjoyed it. I've shown my mom, too. She constantly told me to send it somewhere and get paid even though I only write for fun, not as a job. I stopped showing her after that because she was tired of hearing that.

16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing or art? Are there any artists that influence you?

@maxattackpowell and @drivenbyfantasy are both no longer here, but their fanfics inspired mine. I’m grateful to both of them for that. 

17- (WRITERS)  Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series? 

The Graduate would make a great movie or Choices book, hehe.

18- Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art? 

Choices is my first fandom.

19-  What other hobbies do you have?

I love cooking and baking, watching anime (I'm a total anime nerd 🤣), spending time with my baby @choicesgodfanatic, reading Archie comics, watching cartoons, praise dancing, and writing episode stories. 

20- BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to)

Thanks to everyone who enjoys all my stories, and don't ever worry about me leaving cause I'm here to stay. Choices is why I met my amazing love @choicesgodfanatic. It's part of our love story, and I'll never give up on it.

Plus, I've met some wonderful people here and never want to leave them. So glad you all enjoy my fanfics, and look out for many more cause more is coming your way 😁

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I have almost no hope for arc 4. Arc 3 already kinda sucked.

Tui literally gave us an entire continent, with its own cultures, its own species, its own ideas, which you would think "oh yeah more worldbuilding!! :D", but then Tui decided to absolutely demolish the entire thing before we even had a chance to see majority of the Hives. This is like- one of my biggest issues with that arc.

Not to forget freaking Cottonmouth. I hate Cottonmouth. There was literally almost no foreshadow for him. You don't go to read dragon books to read about humans. It's like going to see a Star Wars movie to see Star Trek aliens in it.

I'm really hoping Arc 4 gives more focus on like- either the dragonet characters or maybe the politics and stuff between the Pantalan tribes and Pyrrhian tribes? Or, alternatively, it's set ten or twenty years into the future so we have a set of entirely new characters with little to no affiliation of the past fifteen or so protags. Perhaps we could follow the characters Moon foresaw near the end of her book idk

I haven't actually read WoF in awhile, so some of this may just be nonsense, but these are just some hopes for the future.

I'm also really sick of seeing Qibli and Moon in almost literally every single freaking book after their arc. Tui clearly had favorites.

I'm just really hoping we just get new characters.

.

[nikethestatue]

What if SJM is enjoying the ship war because the BC is a taste of what’s to come in the book? My biggest fear is that the next book will have too much Gwyn. I find her extremely annoying and my biggest fear is that, even if she’s a lightsinger and/or evil, the book will have too much of her. I understand that she serves no role in Elain’s journey, but since the book could also include Azriel’s pov, she could have a big role in his journey. I don’t know, if she serves a purpose only on Nesta’s journey, then why include her in the BC? Half of the BC is almost entirely about her and Azriel. If that’s what the book is going to be about, it’s a hard pass for me, and I’ll come to Tumblr and “read” the book through your posts. I don’t think I can read a 600 page book where half of it will make my blood boil.

one thing to remember is that SJM often 'preps' things WAY in advance. Like way, way, way in advance.

You heard about Dusk Court in ACOMAF for the first time. A throwaway line when Feysand went to the Prison. Then, in ACOWAR, there was some mention again. But this time, of Fionn and Theia. There was a mention of Gwydion.

The idea that mate bonds aren't perfect was first put out there in ACOMAF. Then in ACOWAR, you have more conversations about it. And we STILL haven't had a story about that.

In ACOMAF, Feyre mentions that Amren and Nesta would be friends.

What I mean to say is that books pass, sometimes MANY books, because certain people and storylines are picked up again. So I wouldn't worry about Gwyn in Elain's book. I don't think she will be featured much, tbh. If at all.

I think Gwyn might be slated for a totally different story. I think it's still a story around that Valkyries. And if the Valks will be the 'witches of TOG' in ACOTAR, that story will be about a female fighting force.

Yes, Gwyn was in the bonus. But so was Rhys. And Clotho, who plays a significant role in not just the bonus, but in the overall ACOTAR story. How do we know that the bonus wasn't more about Clotho, who oversees this enormous mysterious Library, who has the confidence of Rhys and who was horribly mutilated over some secret, not to mention who played a huge part in Nesta's recovery, AND might be a daemati.

Maybe we were conditioned to look at everything through the prism of the shipwar?

What if SJM was pointing HERE, but we are looking THERE.

What if Clotho is a surviving Valkyrie? One of the original ones? What if she is a witch?

That's what I've been doing lately--and been very conscious of it--not to look at the text the way we've been looking at it for 4 years. Because EVERYTHING's been colored by the shipwar, and it was not something SJM intended for. So, what is the text ACTUALLY telling us? Where should we be paying attention?

WHY was Clotho in the bonus at all? If SJM was really gunning for some romantic Gwynriel interlude, then why not structure the chapter very differently?

You have all signs of 'charming irreverence' disappearing from Gwyn the moment Azriel turns his back. Why? Why no longing looks? But instead, Gwyn looks at the ribbon like it's an opponent. Why note that the shadows didn't warn him about her presence?

Then, instead of giving the necklace directly to her--which is kind of normal, if it's a romantic coupling--he has this whole mysterious exchange with Clotho. Gives HER the necklace. And then suddenly feels better for a moment.

The question is--what was SJM REALLY trying to show in the bonus beyond just Elriel? Was it really the Gwynriel mate bond? OR, was it turning our attention to not one, but two people with strange powers, who live in the same place and have a mysterious background.

I think we need to start caring less about Gwyn and Gwynriel, because that's not what SJM was writing. Whatever her story will be, it wont be the one that GAs have been feeding the masses for the past 4 years.