#i like my kins unable to read the room

[crustyfloor]

Ivan is so kind

[reidmoony-toast]

Angel. pt.2 - sr x reader

Reader was shot and Spencer is there when she wakes up

content: fem reader, angst w comfort/ fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n

cw: canon compliant violence, blood, guns, hospitals, talk of death

wc: 2.6k

an: Part 1 is so much better than this but just pretend this doesn't suck! Anyways ily thanks for reading and all the support for pt 2 <33

Part 1

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

“Pacing isn't going to help.” JJ reminded Spencer, as he crossed the waiting room in front of her once again. He halted for a moment, shooting her a dirty look.

She held up her hands in surrender, and he shook his head, continuing his relentless pacing. JJ really wasn't to blame for anything, and he would've felt bad if he had even a single neuron that could think about anything other than her.

The artificial lights glared down at him, and the smell of ammonia radiated from every surface, making him dizzy and giving him a painful headache. He hadn't had one this bad since... Since Maeve had helped him.

Bone-chilling dread washed over him. This couldn't end like Maeve. He refused that repeating narrative. He needed this time to be better, he needed her to be okay. The other option—he couldn't accept it. Not again.

A nurse walked in, and Spencer straightened, while JJ shot from her chair. “Is she okay?” JJ blurted.

Spencer said nothing. He hadn't said a word since he held her hand in the ambulance, whispering the words ‘stay with me’ over and over again. He hadn't spoken again since her hand went limp in his own.

“She's still undergoing surgery, so I can't say for sure, but she's a fighter.” The nurse replied politely. Spencer wondered how many times she's had to say a version of those words today. How many of those others didn't pull through.

“I will make sure to update you when I have more information.” She paused, staring straight at Spencer. “I need some paperwork filled out. Are you the husband?”

“Boyfriend.” His voice cracked as he used it for the first time in two hours. “She's, uh– my girlfriend.”

The nurse nodded in understanding. “I'm guessing you're still the next of kin, so I'll get you to fill out this, if that's okay?” The nurse asked softly, holding out a clipboard and pen.

He wanted to answer with ‘no’. That he didn't want to fill out a stupid form while his girlfriend was dying in the next room, but he nodded anyway, taking the clipboard in his tired grasp.

‘Girlfriend’ was never a strong enough word. She was his life force. His everything. The soul perfectly intertwined with his own. There was no word in the English language that could ever properly describe what she was to him.

The velvet box tucked into the back of his sock drawer would have made her Spencer's fiancé—which was by far a better word—but he supposed it was too late for that. The whole future they had planned for themselves was very likely to not come to fruition.

That thought alone made his heart ache, and his lungs feel like they were on fire—an agony like no other he had ever experienced.

He finally sat down, and began the futile attempt to fill out the pages of forms in front of him. It was almost impossible to focus, and he'd only written her first and last name before he laid the pen down, unable to continue.

Spencer's breath was still uneven and rattly, and his hands started to shake.

The past two and a half gruelling hours had been a tailspin into the depths of hell, and he felt as if he couldn't catch his breath, no matter what he did. He wasn't surprised, though.

He felt the breath from his lungs completely leave him when he saw her, lying in that car park, and it never returned again—as if her not being near sucked all the oxygen from the air around him. He was now living on borrowed air, and that air would run out if he never saw her again.

Spencer swore he could already feel his organs beginning to shut down, decaying from the inside out. Like they knew—they knew he would never survive if she didn't make it.

It just wasn't in his nature to live without her.

Spencer glanced up, and came face to face with his own reflection in the glass windows lining the sterile waiting room. A pale, gaunt face stared out at him, a man he could almost not recognise—if not for the fact it resembled his past self. The one on drugs. The one in prison.

A dried and flakey red substance lightly dotted his lower cheek—a bit of her blood he must have missed when he hastily wiped his face with his jacket sleeve.

Spencer looked down at his hands, properly, and saw that they too, still had blood on them—caked around his knuckles, between his fingers, under his fingernails. Places where JJ's gentle cleaning with a hospital rag had not reached.

It was fitting, really. He had blood on his hands. Literally and figuratively. If they had stayed together instead of splitting up to cover more ground, if he had noticed her absence sooner, if he was the one who went into that carpark, she would still be right here. Happy. Healthy. Breathing.

He knew JJ would scold him, say it wasn't his fault, but the guilt consumed him, washing over him in great waves—but, unlike the tide, the feeling didn't recede. Instead, it grew, like toxic mould on a dingy bathroom wall. Festering and rotten.

He couldn't help but feel that he was partly to blame. Everything he touched usually broke, so this didn't feel like an unrelated incident. It was always his fault.

A hand was placed gently on his shoulder, and he glanced up from where his head was hung to see JJ, sympathetic look on face, twisted with grief of her own.

He didn't reject the comfort, instead he brought his own hand to hers, squeezing it where it rested on his shoulder. He might not have shown it, but he was glad she was here. He probably wouldn't have been able to keep it together this well if he was alone.

Her company brought him a sense of comfort—knowing someone else cared for her, and for him, as well, made it substantially more bearable.

After a millennia, footsteps echoed eerily in the empty hall towards the waiting room, and they both snapped their gazes towards the door. The nurse hurried into the room, and they both sat, with bated breath, for the news that would either heal or break their whole world.

At least, Spencer's whole world. JJ had Will, Henry and Michael, and the rest of the team had their own families. They would be upset, but they would have a shoulder to cry on when they ventured home. He wouldn't. If he lost her, he had nothing left. Nowhere to call home—because she was his only home.

“It was touch-and-go for a while there, but she's out of surgery and in recovery. I can take you to see her, if you would like.” The nurse gave them a warm smile.

Spencer's heart felt like it finally started beating again after three hours, eight minutes and forty one seconds, like he wasn't fully alive in that time when her life was on the line. His entire body warmed, from head to toe, with all-encompassing relief. She was okay. She was alive.

It all felt too good to be true, like his brain was wired to always assume the absolute worst outcome possible. He had been living like she was already dead.

A breath escaped him, but his lungs still couldn't take in air properly. They wouldn't, not until he saw her with his own eyes.

“Yes. Please.” Spencer quickly added on the end, finally remembering the meaning of the word ‘manners’. The nurse nodded, turning on her heel to lead them to her.

“She's stable, but she'll be unconscious for at least a few hours.” She informed, stopping in front of a frosted glass sliding door that led to a private room. To her.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, and the nurse nodded in acknowledgement, setting off down the quiet corridor. Spencer’s heart raced, and he carefully peeled open the door, stepping into the room.

It was small, walls painted white, linoleum floor worn from foot traffic. A continuous beeping sounded around the room from the many machines monitoring the motionless figure laying on the hospital bed, covered by paper-thin sheets.

It was her. She was really here. Really alive.

He fell heavily into the rickety chair beside her bed, gaze not leaving her peaceful face. Even on the brink of death, she was the most gorgeous being he’d ever laid his eyes on.

He sucked in a deep breath, filling his lungs completely. They were working fine now, because hers were. He could see the slow rising and falling of her chest, and it brought him the most comfort of anything in the entire world.

Spencer reached up, cradling her hand in his own, brushing his thumb over her cold skin. That made him disproportionately heartbroken—her hands were usually like little hot water bottles, and Spencer often remarked about how inhumanly warm they were. Now, his hands warmed hers instead, and it felt wrong.

“I'm going to go and debrief with the rest of the team.” JJ spoke up from her position near the door. He had almost forgotten about her presence, and he nodded in acknowledgement, thankful for her obvious move to give him some time alone.

“Thanks, JJ.” Spencer said simply. She gave him a small smile, and left quickly. He didn't need to explain himself, because she knew what he meant. Thank you for staying with me, thank you for caring, thank you for giving me space, thank you for everything. She understood it all.

The door slid shut, and his attention was back on her. All that was important. His whole life was lying, unconscious, on the bed in front of him. But she was there, and that was more than he could ever ask for.

He brought her limp hand to his lips, kissing the smooth skin softly, eyes closing, as the first lone tear made a path down his cheek—the first of many. He cried for the first time today, silently, her hand still clutched tightly in his own.

~☆~

The first thing I felt when I faded into consciousness was pain. A deep throbbing sounded from my side, albeit less than my last memory.

The approaching sirens, and disjointed flashes from inside the ambulance. And in all of it, there was Spencer. Every moment I could remember, he was there. Always. Never leaving my side.

I cracked my eyes open, taking in the bare walls and bright lights of the hospital room. My vision swam in and out of focus, eyelids heavy.

I felt a weight on my arm, and looked down to see a mop of brown curls splayed over the scratchy linen sheets, head bowed and my hand clasped in both of his. Spencer was here. By my side. Forever and always.

He was bent over awkwardly in the little plastic chair beside my bed, and I couldn't help but think how uncomfortable he must be.

“Spencer.” I rasped out, limbs too heavy to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, like I so desperately wanted to do.

His head shot up quickly, seemingly not as inert as I thought he was. He squeezed my hand gently, lips lifting in a tiny smile of relief, expression unbelievably soft.

“Angel.” He breathed in awe, like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. “You're awake.”

“Hi.” I whisper, gazes never untangling from the snare they both found themselves trapped in.

“Hi.” Spencer echoed, taking one of his hands from mine to reach up and oh so gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He moved it to carefully cradle my jaw and cheek, breathing my name like it was divine. I melted into his touch.

“My girl.” He murmured with reverence, studying my face intently, like I was something to be treasured. Like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. I could disagree completely—I almost died, so I was most definitely not looking my best. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got shot.” I said dryly, voice hoarse. “I must look it, too.”

“You look perfect.”

“Liar.” I rasped, snorting. He narrowed his eyes, like he was about to fight me on the issue, but I interrupted.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked quietly, vocal cords upset from disuse. Or from the blood in my throat. I could still feel myself choking, airways blocked with my own blood.

I remembered the light-headedness from losing too much blood from my body. I remembered the warm blood pooling around me, soaking my clothes. I remembered, as clear as day, what dying felt like.

Spencer’s answer snapped me out of my dark thoughts.

“From when you exited the ambulance, it's been five hours and fifty-four minutes.” He recited immediately. I was impressed, but not surprised. It was Spencer, after all.

I hummed in acknowledgement, before silence fell. Spencer's bottom lip quivered slightly, and I wouldn't have noticed, if not for my constant staring. I frowned deeply, chest tightening. Seeing Spencer upset was incredibly hard.

He was a stoic man, rarely showing his sadness. When he did, it was only in the worst of situations. And now, seeing his palpable misery was beyond heartbreaking.

“I thought I'd lost you.” The almost unintelligible confession sounded after a beat. I wouldn't have heard if I hadn't been anticipating his response.

Spencer ducked his head, avoiding eye contact, and no doubt hiding his emotion. His whole body shuddered when I laid my free hand in his hair, smoothing his curls soothingly.

“Spence, hey.” I tried to coax him into looking back up at me, not wanting him to repress his emotions. I knew why. He was most definitely thinking that he was the one supposed to be comforting me, not the other way around. Which, was completely false.

“I'm here. I'm okay.” I reassured. He finally lifted his head again, and a pang was sent straight to my heart when I saw tears pooling in his eyes.

“You don't have to hide, okay?” I brushed away a tear that broke from his lashes and rolled down his cheek. “It's understandable that you're a mess.” He let out a huff, and I gave him a knowing smile.

“I've been asleep the whole time, and you've been here for five hours and fifty-four minutes.” I repeated back his numbers, and it pulled a tiny smile from his lips.

“Don’t downplay it, you were the one dying.” Spencer scolded, but without any heat.

“I would be a puddle on the floor by now, if it had been you.” Instead of giving him comfort, my words made his face fall again.

He screwed his eyes up, like he was in physical pain, hanging his head once again.

“It should have been me.”

“No.” I answered immediately, tone sharp. I grasp his face in both hands, ignoring the burning in my side. “Don’t say that.”

He didn't reply.

“It was not your fault, you hear me?” I voiced firmly, gaze flicking over his face. “Don’t.” A trembling breath followed.

After a long pause, he finally conceded.

“Okay.” He said shakily, eyes not leaving mine. My stare softened, satisfied with his answer.

“Good.” I pushed back the hair that had flopped into his eyes, moving my hands further into his curls. He sighed at the movement, lids fluttering shut as I dragged my fingers across his scalp. I hummed contentedly.

Bringing his face to mine, I kissed him gingerly. He lifted his hands up to cradle my own cheeks, pulling away only to press his lips to my forehead in a prolonged kiss, seeming to just breathe me in.

“I love you.” I whispered into the air between us.

“I love you too, angel girl.”

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @reidmania @navs-bhat - comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

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

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

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

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

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

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.��� “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

[yourfavepookiebear]

This is my first time making a request so sorry if this makes no sense.

Self aware Twisted Wonderland with a player who randomly gets transported into their world. For Characters I was thinking about Azul, Malleus, Leona, and Riddle.

If this is too much you can ignore it.

A/n : This request has been sitting in my inbox for 2 months so I decided to finally answer it 😭 also sorry anon, for the extremely late reply 😅 for some reason I feel like I'm writing a fairytale for kids or sum lmao, also I wrote this while simultaneously doing my homework jsyk , it took me a lit to write this if you can tell, but can you tell I wrote this in 2 different days ?

Cw: Leona being lazy and a bit unhinged, bad writing, short asf, not proofread, Riddle kinning pomeranians and chihuahas, Malleus just being Malleus, ooc, inaccurate character depiction

It's the day after Yuu appeared in twisted wonderland, the second day of school. (It's been a long time since I last played or read twisted wonderland so bear with me) for plot purposes and diversity, each character will have slightly different plot, like time and place.

◇ Leona Kingscholar

It was just another irritating day for Leona, as he was sleeping in the botanical gardens, skipping class as usual. His tail swished left to right, as he tried to fall asleep. For some reason though, much to his annoyance, he couldn't fall asleep. Normally he had no problem dozing off, but today was different. He grits his teeth and glares at air particles, then he sits upright and stares at a random direction. Suddenly he hears footsteps, and the familiar voice of Ruggie approaching his location.

Leona rolls his eyes just as Ruggie emerges, not even sparing him a glance. Ruggie sighs and walks towards Leona

"Hey Leona, I got your sandwich"

Ruggie then hands him a sandwich and glances at him

"What's wrong ? You seem pretty down-in-the-dumps today. Not that you're usually a ray of sunshine, but still."

Leona just huffs and plucks some grass from the ground, then answers

"I can't sleep."

Ruggie blinks owlishly, then tilts his head to the side

"Woah, THE Leona Kingscholar, unable to sleep ? That's a new one.."

"Tsk, whatever."

Is all Leona says, as he rolls his eyes and lays down on the grass once again, closing his eyes. Ruggie takes the hint and walks away, going back to wherever he came from.

About an hour later, Leona wakes up to the sound of footsteps, yet this time they're not Ruggie's. In fact, they're not familiar at all..

Leona opens his eyes but stays still, a bit curious to know who this mysterious person is. On one side he doesn't give a shit, but on another side he's curious because, just what could a stranger be possibly doing at NRC ?

Suddenly someone jumps on top of him, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs. He jolts awake, bewildered and shocked.

"What the-"

His eyes widen as he recognizes the person who's crushing him with their weight..holy shit, what the hell is the player doing here ???

"Player ?"

He says, baffled, he genuinely doesn't know how to react. One minute he was peacefully sleeping, the other he wakes up to the player suddenly spawning on top of him ?? His thought process is cut off as his ears are flooded with high-pitched screaming and shrieking

"OH MY LORD, LEONA ????? AM I DREAMING ?? HES SO MUCH HOTTER IN PERSON OMFG"

He blinks, once, twice, thrice, his mouth open and his eyes wide, his ears twitching

"Player ?? What..."

(I'm gonna end it here becuz Im lazy asf and I have to go sleep soon, the rest is up to you and your imagination sorry pookies)

◇ Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is in the mostro lounge, he finishes making a deal with some random student, he bids them goodbye with that shady smile plastered on his face, and as soon as they leave he looks over to the clock. 7pm, it's still early yet it's already dark outside. He sighs and grabs his stuff, preparing to go back to his dorm room. Suddenly, he feels something brushing against his leg. He frowns and looks around, confused as to what it may be.

He hopes its not a prank from the twins, as he shrugs it off and continues what he was doing, until he feels it again.

He gets up from his office chair and looks under his desk, only to find...

What ? There's someone asleep under his desk ?? He pulls them out from under his desk, and immediately recognizes that face. It's the player !

He is absolutely baffled. How did the player randomly spawn under his office desk, asleep and in pajamas ?? This is very confusing..

◇ Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle was in his room, studying whatever the hell subjects they have in nrc.

He gets up to go drink a cup of natural mineral water with a 100% recycled bottle, then somehow trips on something.

He looks down and jumps 10 meters back, eyes blown wide as saucers and lets out the loudest and longest scream on earth, so loud that even I am put to shame.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-"

Somehow though, for plot purposes, no one hears him. Tatatatata, he looks over at the thing that was on the floor and is shocked to see you, the player, asleep on his floor, snoring like, so hard every single one of the prehistoric cavemen (Leona included) would lower their heads in respect.

(Anyways skip I'm lazy)

◇ Malleus Draconia

As we all know, Malleus loves walking around at night, and that makes a lot of people think he's some insane psychopath who's gonna stalk them then impale them with his horns.

After his nightly walk he came back to Diasomnia dorm just to find, you, aka the player and the one he thinks of so religiously every single day. He takes a step towards you, which isn't a lot since he's at the start of a hallway and you're at the end but whatever.

And that was his first mistake. Lo and behold there were you, at the end of the dark ass hallway, staring at him like you just witnessed some middle aged guy take off his pants and wip out his d*ck, then smack you across the face with it, oh and as if it was so long Drake would be put to shame.

You screamed like a banshee and ran away as if you were being chased by Drake's pipe.

Then you yelled out louder than Leona's snoring "MAMA MIA WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING WILLY WONKA AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY FUCK IS HAPPENING HERE" -Player's last words, may they rest in peace and remain forever remembered.

Jkjk you just ran into the wall and passed out. And Lilia was just watching the whole time and laughing his ass off. But you made Malleus sad tho :(

You woke up in Malleus's bedroom after having a nightmare about Drake's elevator.

[sapphire-writes]

Playing with Fire (part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

summary: Deep feelings awaken within you as you continue to explore your relationships with the princes. A betrothal is announced.

warnings: some sensual themes, drinking

word count: 3.4k

A/N: the love for this series is unmatched! thank you for all your support so far hope you enjoy this part 💚

masterlist

“I do believe the dressmaker has outdone themselves this time,” your mother praises, smoothing the fabric of your evening gown. You gaze at your reflection in the mirror, unable to tear your eyes away from the soft pink color of your lips, still tingling from Aegon’s kiss. 

Aegon’s kiss.

The Targaryen prince had kissed you. Taken you to his chambers and kissed you, as he had done probably thousands of times before. Your stomach filled with butterflies at the memory. Could your mother see it? Could she read the blush on your cheeks, know that it was caused by a dragon prince? More than one dragon prince. 

Aemond sent those same feelings swirling in your belly, and he hadn’t even kissed you. You tried not to let your mind linger on that thought. It was Aegon’s hand everyone desired, after all. Aemond was not currently available for a match. 

“You look lovely, my darling,” your mother crooned, moving a loose piece of hair from your face. The dress she had chosen for the occasion was truly grander than your previous pieces. The fabric was a shimmering silver, with Myrish lace patterns swirling throughout the skirts like silver flames. 

A silver lady for a silver prince. 

You bite your lip nervously as you look at yourself in the mirror, and your mother makes a face at you. 

“None of that,” she scolds and you release your lip from between your teeth, “and no playing with your rings, nor your necklace.”

She is referring to the rather large heirloom that hangs in the hollow of your throat. You squeeze your fingers into your palms as though they have a mind of their own and will fly toward your throat at a moment’s notice.

You frown at her. 

“Shall I remain still for the entirety of the evening?” you ask as your mother fixes your hair. 

“I expect you to dance,” your mother says, “for the majority of the evening. But pace yourself with wine, you know how it goes to your head.”

You nod in agreement and release a short laugh. 

“And do not engage much with the other ladies, tonight is no night for gossip,” your mother says, fixing her own hair, “if you must speak with a lady, engage with Princess Helaena or Queen Alicent. They shall be your kin soon enough.”

You snort at your mother’s confidence. The woman is relentless. 

“Planning the wedding already?”

Your mother takes your hands in hers, bringing you to sit on a nearby chaise. 

“What happened during your time with Prince Aegon?” she asks, her curiosity evident in her expression and voice. 

“Which time?” you clarify.

“(Y/N),” she warns, “do not be clever with me.” 

“We simply conversed, tis all,” you tell her, “nothing indecent occurred I assure you.”

And he kissed me, you think to yourself. He kissed me and I wished it never stopped. I want him to keep kissing me again and again and -

“I told you he is a man of substance,” your mother says, face relaxing, “nothing like those gossips of court say.”

Perhaps I am famished, you remember him saying, his gluttonous eyes nearly devouring you whole in the hall. You wet your lips at the memory, cheeks flushing.  

A knock from the door makes your mother’s face light up.

“That must be Prince Aegon,” she says, nearly in a whisper as though Aegon can hear from across the room and through the door.

You rise from your seat and go to open the door. To your surprise, Aemond is the silver prince at your door. His seeing eye widens slightly at the sight of you, his pupil enlarging until it nearly encompasses the violet entirely. 

“My lady,” he says, nodding slightly, “I have come to escort you to the festivities, my brother sends his deepest apologies.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest. Is Aegon with someone else? It seems entirely possible, and entirely in character. Surely, another lady must have captured his attention. It was only a matter of time. A man with such a voracious appetite would hardly be satiated with a maiden such as yourself. You try to ignore the bitter taste this thought leaves in your mouth. 

“Oh,” you say, giving Aemond a soft smile. 

He looks towards the ground as though embarrassed under your gaze. You remember your conversation in the garden, how strange he thought it was for you to be on his arm. You wished you could take away some of the shame he felt. You turn towards your mother who stands with an incredulous expression on her face. 

“I shall go on ahead with Prince Aemond, mother,” you tell her. She nods with approval, a hesitant expression on her face. 

“Shall we?” you tell him, offering your arm to the one-eyed prince. Aemond meets your eyes, and drinks in the soft expression on your face, before taking your arm. 

“Darling,” your mother calls and you turn. She moves towards you, holding your masquerade mask out. A beautiful silver mask, seemingly conjured from only silver lace. You take it from her hands before taking your leave with Aemond. 

The halls are quiet on the side of the castle, and you assume everyone has made their way to the great hall. Your steps echo as you walk down the corridor. Aemond’s arm is warm against you, keeping you comfortable in the cool evening air. 

“One moment, my prince,” you tell him, before turning down the serpentine steps. You stop, holding the mask up to your face. Moonlight peaks through a window, bathing you in a silver glow. 

“Do you have a mask for the feast?” you ask and Aemond shakes his head, still not truly looking at you. His gaze dances around you, as though trying to stare. 

“I prefer the mask I normally wear,” he says, referring to his eye patch. You nod, attempting to tie the silk straps around your head. Aemond glances at you. 

“Allow me, my lady,” he offers and you smile graciously at him before turning. You can feel his long, dexterous fingers moving on the back of your head as he ties the mask to your face. You chew your lip since he cannot see, feeling your skin blossom with gooseflesh. 

“Nothing happened,” you find yourself saying, feeling his fingers still on the back of your head. 

Aemond is very gentle with you as he ties the ribbon of the mask, as though you may shatter from his touch. 

You do not know what compelled you to speak, something inside of you could not stop the words from bubbling out through your lips. 

“The previous night, when I happened upon Prince Aegon,” you continue, feeling your cheeks heat up at the confession.

“It does not matter if anything did,” Aemond answers, “you are here to vie for his hand.” 

“He did kiss me this afternoon,” you admit, for the first time out loud. Aemond lets out an unbothered hum. 

You inhale a deep breath, your back still towards him. You desperately wish to know what he is thinking. Is he disappointed? Jealous? Does he even care at all?

“I just wanted you to know,” you tell him, feeling his hands slip from you. You turn to face him, tilting your chin so you can look upon his face. 

“Why?” he asks, a curious expression on his face, pouty lips parted. 

“I do not know,” you admit, “I just wanted you to know.”

Aemond reaches out to you, fingers dancing across the fabric of your skirt. You watch his gaze fall before he drags it up toward your face, slowly as if he is reading the pages of a book. 

“You are very kind, Lady (Y/N),” he says, rubbing the fabric of your skirts between the pads of his fingers. 

“Thank you, my prince,” you tell him, feeling your heart race. 

“My brother does not always appreciate kindness,” he tells you. You wet your lips, bringing his attention to them.

“I do not wish you to get hurt,” Aemond continues, bringing his hand up to caress your cheek. You are sure he must feel the heat that gathers there. Your lips part at his touch. 

“I shall be alright,” you tell him, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. His presence wafts over you and covers you like a blanket. He smells woodsy, with a certain saltiness as though he was recently flying over Blackwater Bay. It is deliciously tempting to lean into his touch. 

“I shall make sure of it,” Aemond promises, bringing his other hand to cup both of your cheeks. 

Your eyes widen at his words, at the way he gently holds your face in the palms of his hands. With every stroke of his fingers against your cheeks a shiver of need rolls through you.

“Would you like that?” he murmurs. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

Aemond leans forward and you close your eyes, feeling the sharp tip of his nose press against your face before his lips connect with yours. The kiss is soft and purposeful, a sweet promise. He turns his head, deepening the kiss, slipping his hot tongue into your mouth. You whimper against his mouth, and the prince pulls away.

The effects of the kiss are similar to that of Aegon’s kiss. A craving remains, settled deep within your bones and you want more. 

Aemond smiles at your reaction, your wide eyes, and puckered lips. 

“Let us continue to the feast, my lady,” Aemond says, taking your arm once more and escorting you down the steps. You swallow hard, bringing a hand up to your lips. 

You’ve now kissed two princes. Two brothers. Seven hells. 

The hall is alive with merriment when you arrive. Masked faces and flowing skirts flood the room, and music pours throughout, vibrating the very walls of the room. 

As you gaze upon the Iron Throne toward the back of the room you watch as the melded-down swords shiver with vibrations. You see your mother from across the room; somehow she has beaten you here. 

“I should go check in with her,” you tell Aemond, who releases your arm. 

“Of course, my lady,” he says, kissing the back of your hand, “I shall be watching.”

A shiver rolls through you at the thought. You make your way to your mother, who is lost in conversation with Lady Redwyne. 

“Mother,” you call, announcing your arrival. She gives you a disapproving look as you grab a cup from a serving tray. You drink the amber liquid greedily, you hadn’t realized how thirsty you had been. 

“What did I say?” she tells you, as Lady Redwyne glances over to acknowledge you. 

“To watch my wine?” you tell her, brows furrowed, motioning towards the empty glass. 

“To dance, my daughter,” she says, shooing you away, “go on now, be young!”

Be young? Does that include kissing princes? 

You shake your head at her but continue to the dance floor as a group dance is soon to begin. As you stand next to a lady whose name you cannot remember, someone pushes into you. You turn and meet the glare of Cassandra Baratheon. 

“How lovely you look, Lady (Y/N),” she says, unable to hide the snarkiness from her voice. 

She wears a beautiful mask, in the shape of golden antlers as a nod to her namesake. Her blue eyes are icy as she looks you up and down, lips curled into a snarl.

“You as well, Lady Cassandra,” you tell her, smiling politely. 

The dance begins and you stay beside her. 

“I would highly advise you to calm your efforts of appealing to Prince Aegon,” Cassandra hisses when she is spun close to you and out of earshot of other lords and ladies. 

“Feeling threatened, Cass?” you tease, meaning it half-heartedly until seeing the furious expression on her face. Then your smile falters. 

“Seven hells, Cassandra,” you whisper as she’s pulled into the opposite direction as the dance demands a partner change. The pounding of the drums echoes in your chest, the wine making your thoughts fuzzy. Your mother was right, unfortunately, you truly should take it slow. 

The dance continues, switching partners, and you arrive in Aemond’s arms. 

He smiles slightly at you, that smile says there is a secret between you. 

“My lady,” he murmurs, delighting in the blush that gathers on your cheeks. 

“Aemond,” you say, not attempting to hide your smile. One hand lays firmly on your waist, the other holds your other hand above your head while you spin. 

“You are a delightful dancer, Lady (Y/N),” Aemond praises, sending a shiver down your spine, “what a shame we have been deprived of your dancing until now.”

You release a giggle as the crowd separates. The guests clap, before changing partners again. A hand snakes around your waist and you turn to face your newest partner. 

You meet the face of Aegon, his face covered with a gold mask. He smiles at you, he always wears that damn smile, so effortlessly beautiful across his face. 

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs, hands tightening around your waist. 

“Aegon,” you breathe, causing his smile to grow. 

“I apologize for my rude behavior,” he tells you, leading you into the dance, “I needed to speak to my mother before the feast began.”

He spins you again, and you are lost to another partner. The room itself feels like it is spinning, the air seems to suffocate you. Your eyes cannot track either of the princes, everyone is disguised so beautifully that you feel as though you will be driven mad by it.

Partners switch once more, and you are back in Aemond’s arms. He gazes down at you with a concerned look on his face as the dance continues. Your heart thumps wildly against your ribs, and the effects of the wine cause your skin to tingle. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, placing a hand on your cheek, so like when he kissed you. You lean into his touch. 

“Yes, it’s just-” 

You’re pulled from him again, a stranger before you. You groan, then smile at the new lord apologetically, continuing to dance. The partners switch and Aegon loops a hand around your waist. 

“This is madness,” you tell him, nearly falling against him, earning a chuckle from the prince. 

“I am enjoying the chase,” he teases, grip tightening around you, “perhaps this time I shan’t let you go.”

You giggle at that, face flushed from the dancing. It feels oddly sensual, being spun between the Targaryen princes, and you are enjoying it far more than you care to admit. 

“There is something I need to share with you,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. Your flesh erupts with goosebumps at the brushing of his lips against you. 

You never understood the desire that ladies often spoke of before your trip to the capital. But the dragons had awoken something that lay asleep deep inside of you, that now was trying to claw its way out. 

The dance ends with you still in Aegon’s arms as the crowd applauds. A new song begins, and the crowd separates into pairs. You sigh, relieved as the gentle music washes over you, a relief from the uproar of the previous song. 

Aegon traces a finger down your neck, following a bead of sweat that travels below the neckline of your dress. He stops before his finger does the same, looking up at you with a smile. Your breathing has turned to pants, your chest heaving against his. You want him.

“I quite like you in this color,” he murmurs, his grin lopsided. Now that you’re closer to him, you can tell he has been indulging himself at the feast. His breath smells of sweet wine, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. The site is quite enticing if you’re being completely honest, he looks so ruggedly handsome. 

You once felt fearful of tales of the gluttonous dragon prince of King’s Landing, but standing before him now, feeling his hands on you, you want nothing more than for him to drag you down into sin with him.

Your gaze flickers to the movement behind you. Aemond stands, sipping from his cup and leaning against the wall. His violet eye follows you as you move in your dance. Your silent protector. Your heart thrums faster against the walls of your chest as your thoughts tantalize you.

You want him as well.

“My lady?” Aegon calls and draws your attention back to him. 

“There was something you wished to share with me?” you ask, bringing a hand to the back of his neck. He tilts his head back, leaning into your touch. 

“I spoke with my mother,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded as your fingers comb the hair at the back of his neck. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, the boldness of your actions. Your eyes flicker to Aemond, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. 

“I wish to propose a betrothal,” Aegon states and you meet his eyes. Your hand drops from the back of his neck and you begin to pull away. 

You can only imagine the look of utter joy that must be on Cassandra Baratheon’s face at this moment. She truly must be insufferable to be around, beaming about the throne room speaking only of her conquest. 

“Congratulations, my prince,” you tell him, “she shall be a lucky lady indeed.”

Aegon fists your skirts, pulling you back toward him, your bodies flush against one another. 

“Will she?” he purrs, bringing a hand to your waist. You feel your body grow warm as his hands roam your body. 

“Yes, my prince,” you tell him, attempting to extract yourself from his grip, “though this is hardly appropriate-”

“Do that again,” he ignores your pleas, “with my hair, it felt so lovely.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, still attempting to wiggle away.

“Your lady would not like that, my prince, surely-”

“Oh she won’t mind,” he teases, vice-like grip never relenting. 

You give him a desperate look. You have grown up alongside Cassandra, you understand how she operates. Though you are both grown women, you hardly think she would spare you from some sort of unseemly accident. Cass can be very clever, perhaps a poisoned cup of wine or a fall from your horse. 

“Aegon,” you beg, “please, let me go.”

Aegon shakes his head playfully, his teeth biting into his lower lip. 

“Aegon-”

“For a kiss, I shall,” he finally relents, causing your panic to increase.

“Please, not here Aegon, if Cassandra were to see-”

“Cassandra?” he questions, perfect mouth pouting. He scrunches his nose in confusion. 

“Your bride, Aegon,” you hiss, looking about the room. People are paying you no mind, used to Aegon’s antics you suppose. 

Aegon barks out a laugh, tilting his head back. You wet your lips, furious at how relaxed he is. You suppose he has nothing to worry about, it is you who would be murdered after all. Though you had hoped he enjoyed your company enough so as to not risk your very life. 

“Lady Cassandra is not to be my bride,” he tells you. It is your turn to be confused.

“Then who?”

Aegon tears the mask from his head, and you lose your breath at the full sight of his face. He is truly a beautiful man, as all Targaryens are. The blood of Valyria holds more magic than that of dragons. His smile widens. 

“You, Lady (Y/N),” he says, bringing his lips close to your ear. 

The world around you stops spinning as you feel his lips graze the sensitive spot below your ear causing something in your stomach to tighten with desperate need. You bring your hand to his hair once more, reveling in the way he groans against you as your fingers tangle in the strands. 

Your eyes lift, meeting that of Aemond Targaryen. The one-eyed prince continues to watch you, giving you a slight nod when your eyes meet. Aegon’s lips pepper kisses up to your ear, finishing with a whisper. 

“You shall be my bride.” 

note: oh no!! which 😏 one 🥵 ??

taglist: @afro-hispwriter, @aemondsb1tch, @twobluejeans, @s0urmarvel, @fan-goddess, @the-phantom-of-arda, @cicaspair418, @loxbbg, @arraxthatsonjah, @missbeeentertainment, @maximizedrhythms, @xdeath-soulx , @wrendermeuseless, @hiatuswhore, @sho1407, @minttea07, @arkainea, @elissanatok, @alitaar, @bellaisasleep, @itsleniiilosers, @cassiopeia-black-brenda, @bogwaterswamp, @applepie02, @youngestxhearts, @aurabluestar, @watersquirtpewpewboomm, @w3ird11, @minttea07, @hopebaker, @banana-man0, @m1ndbrand @itsleniiilosers, @for-fuck-sake-im-alive, @duckworthbean, @lunamadhatter99, @mss-nthng, @heavenly1927,

[wholesomefluffdaddy]

Wednesday's new court mandated therapist is having her keep a journal of her thoughts and feelings. Wednesday finds this to be a complete waste of time and decides instead to use it to record her observations of her unusual roommate Enid Sinclair. Wednesday POV.

——————————————

Entry 5

Current Moon Phase: Full Moon / Hunter's Moon 🌕

I am at a loss for words and yet I must record my findings. I… made a mistake.

The day of the full moon was as typical as can be expected. Enid requested to sleep in my bed the night before. I acquiesced. This has become a common occurrence on the evening before the full moon. She says she finds herself too restless to sleep and that a close proximity to me provides her with some sort of comfort. I admit that I find the arrangement to be mutually beneficial. Enid is able to rest and I find that my own slumber is deeper and darker. I get to awaken with the feeling of sharp deadly claws gripping me close, beautiful long fangs inches from my neck, and the melodiously threatening snarls and growls of an apex predator in my ear.

My body's reaction to such tantalizingly imminent danger is rather contradictory. At first I feel heart palpitations, likely from a rush of adrenaline. Second, I feel my whole body's temperature rise, which is unexpected. If it was truly fear then the heat increase should be contained to my head and torso, not the whole body. Third, I feel my mind become hazy. This is quite the opposite of how it has been in the past. I usually find myself to become sharper under life threatening situations, not duller. It is as if my body enters fight or flight but also accepts an inevitable death. Death at the hands of my partner friend roommate a werewolf is most befitting of an Addams. It would be an honorable death.

I seemed to have digressed. It was the evening when things became more eventful, as Enid spent most of the day cooped up in our dorm room. As the moonrise was fast approaching she made a predictable request; that I accompany her to the Lupin Cages. I do not see why she still believes the need to ask, it should be a given that will join her. My backpack was already prepared with the usual things.

We made our way down to the cages and selected the one at the far end as has become customary. As I made to follow Enid into the cage she held out a hand. She said she didn't want me to join her. I was perplexed. She said she didn't know if it was safe. I protested but she held firm. The cage was locked and I begrudgingly sat beside the bars as I pulled out my book and reading light. I made sure to shift my body away to allow Enid privacy as she disrobed. My eyes felt inexplicably drawn to the horizon as the moon rose.

Its progress seemed agonizingly slow. The sound of Enid's labored breathing was incredibly galling. Once the moon had fully arisen I waited for Enid's howl but it did not come. Instead I felt hot breath on the back of my neck. I turned around to see the werewolf panting heavily. I stuck my hand through the bars and Enid brushed up against it in apparent gratitude.

Several howls soon erupted around us, which made Enid raise her hackles. I tried to focus on my book as Enid began pacing. Occasionally I'd feel her fur as she tried to rub up against me through the bars. I was admittedly frustrated that she did not allow me inside the cage with her, as I was most certain I could soothe her disquiet. How wrong I was. The light from the moon was so bright that I eventually had no need for my reading light.

Enid grew increasingly more agitated as the moon rose higher and higher. She started growling, then pawing at the bars, before finally throwing herself at them. I heard similar sounds around me which indicated that Enid's kin were facing much the same affliction. I stashed my book away as I tried to pacify Enid. My words seemed unable to reach her as she tried desperately to free herself from the metal prison. It was deeply distressing to witness. I felt a sense of helplessness that drove me to a foolish and selfish act.

I unlocked the door to the cage. My intention was only so that I could enter to calm her. However, as soon as Enid heard the click of the lock she rammed herself against the door, bowling me over, before sprinting off into the woods. I cursed most vehemently at my own stupidity. I made to follow but it was quite clear, with my short stature, that I would not be able to catch up to a werewolf that had been driven mad by the moon.

This did not mean I was about to give up my pursuit. Enid had entrusted me with her wellbeing while her mind was in such an altered state. I would not fail her. Though it was my failure in the first place that led to such a predicament. As I ran I found that my vision had become blurry. Perhaps it was the low light, pollen, or rush of air as I ran that caused the physical irritation my eyes were experiencing. I had to wipe away the continuous buildup of excess fluid obscuring my vision.

When I could run no more and I lost the trail I began calling out Enid's name. My efforts were for not as Enid was clearly too far gone, whether physically or mentally. My own ineptitude weighed heavily upon me, so much so that it brought me to my knees. I did not give up, for I could not give up. I continued calling Enid's name until my voice was hoarse. I forced myself back to my feet as I searched the ground for the werewolf's trail. I do not know for how long I wandered those accursed woods. My perception of time was no doubt altered by my distressed mental state.

As my voice was almost dead upon my lips as my vocal cords threatened to give out I heard something crashing through the underbrush towards me. My relief and anguish was unbearable as my werewolf returned to me. Her eyes were wide as they landed upon what I'm sure was a most disgraceful sight. I pounded my fists against the solid mass of fur and muscle before me. I cursed and ranted with what little voice I had left. I was silenced as a set of large fluffy arms pulled me into an almost bone crushing embrace.

I made to apologize most profusely for my own foolishness but my voice had finally abandoned me. I buried my face, out of shame, into her fur and clutched it tightly with both hands. I was not going to let the werewolf leave my sight again. I heard her soft whines but they were somewhat muffled. I felt a wet nose press to my cheek as it began sniffing me over. Once she had finished her inspection of my piteous state she began moving, carrying me with in her large arms.

I do not know when we arrived back at our dorm, only that it felt like mere minutes between being in the middle of the woods to being deposited back onto my bed. I rubbed my eyes to clear them and discovered the source of that evening's madness. Enid gently placed a dead squirrel into my hands. I looked at it and then at the seemingly anxious werewolf. My voice was hardly more than a whisper as I thanked her for the gift. Of course she was driven to hunt on the Hunter's Moon. How gormless was I not to realize it? My words had only just escaped my lips when a large tongue enveloped my face.

I tried in vain to push the overgrown mutt away but she was persistent in drenching my face with her slobber. The springs of my bed creaked loudly as the werewolf crawled onto my bed and took me once again in her arms. The wind was squeezed out of my lungs as she proceeded to lay atop me after the onslaught of licks. Being crushed to death by a werewolf was an acceptable punishment for my own witlessness. Either from exhaustion or the lack of oxygen in my lungs, I soon lost consciousness.

[soulsbleedink]

𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙐𝙉𝘼 | 𝘼𝙇𝙃𝘼𝙄𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙈 𝙓 𝙆𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙃

Prompt: Alhaitham spends his time cooped up in his office, but unable to actually finish any work. Kaveh checks in, and notices the scene. Although Alhaitham refuses to rely on anyone; including Kaveh. At the end anyway, the Acting Grand sage comes undone with his thoughts. But Kaveh is there.

Warning[s]: Mentions of inability to fit in, and so forth.

Pairing: Alhaitham x Kaveh

Word count: 2.1k

masterlist

is this what writing on the wall does to a person? i think so. anyways, have fun reading. according to an alhaitham kin, i did good. so i'm showing my face here /j

Alhaitham’s eyes scanned over the words etched on the pages of his book, but none of them made sense for some odd reason. He’d spent the whole week out helping Cyno, although most matters were simply trivial. And required just a sprinkle of common sense, which he found that most of his friends could not acquire, even if they tried. Although, he did suppose they had their own strengths, which were beyond admirable. But at the moment, he deemed himself ready for a break, or maybe his thoughts were buzzing so loudly in his head he could feel his teeth chatter because of it. Which he’d not admit to anyone. Actually, he himself was late to notice it. When his tea spilled a bit as he placed his cup down forcefully, he realised that he could trace the path of blood rushing in his body, and just how sick the realisation felt. The couch beneath him felt too soft, like he could sink into it, or like it could crumble to the floor. The pages felt too rough underneath his fingertips, but he chose to ignore it. The words weren’t dancing, but they meant near nothing. His mind was a rushing mess with thoughts that threatened to crack open his skull and spill over.

Beside him, his pen was lying aimlessly as his eyes darted across the room, and everything felt wrong—He shouldn’t meddle on that, but how could he not when his thoughts were screaming at him? Paperwork sat on a desk across him, and yet he couldn’t find it within himself to look at it. The words in the book didn’t make an ounce of sense, he knew better than to try to just push through. He knew that not many great applications passed for him to read, but at the moment; he couldn’t even muster the energy for one. 

Cyno had offered to lend a hand, and yet he refused. Because how would it be if someone else did his work for him? That didn’t sound right. For so long he struggled with being someone worth recognition, mostly in his own mind but still—now he finally had a role; and somehow still he was struggling to fulfil it. And surely Cyno himself had many matters to attend to. Alhaitham didn’t quite understand why he had offered to help.

He forced the book out of his sight, forcefully placing it beside him. He felt slightly foolish, having told Kaveh only a few days ago that he shouldn’t overwork—Yet, here he was. But was it even considered overworking when he simply couldn’t put his mind to it in the first place? He supposed not. Perhaps he was just incompetent. No. Thoughts like those did no good. Kaveh was his prime example. He would hate it if Kaveh found him in a similar state and had to console him. 

Still, nothing felt right. He couldn’t force his paperwork, he couldn’t force himself to move, he couldn’t do anything. He felt rooted to the spot. He desperately wanted to call out for someone, Kaveh was probably cooped up in his workspace, he could use a break. There was no need for that, Alhaitham’s mind was just making up excuses now. He shook his head, as if that would rid him of these thoughts. Of all these distractions. He tried to stretch his limbs, but it didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, with every second that passed, he just felt like he was wasting time. And some deep part in him wanted to ask for help. He just wanted to finish this. And he wasn’t ever the type to tie his worth to his accomplishments, not all that much at least; but when he couldn’t even finish one single paper, he just felt unaccomplished to a new level. And it all felt just a bit wrong. Like he could lock himself up in here and blame himself for all the wrong he’d ever done. Including letting Kaveh struggle until he was right in his arms, and… breaking down. 

He felt bad for it. Maybe he should’ve done something. He should’ve never let it reach that point. He was trying so hard to rationalise all of his thoughts right now, but they all seemed to be digging him into a hole that would be created from his destructive nature that manifested in moments like these. His eyes darted across the room, settling on the door. And maybe his ears were ringing, but he firmly believed he could hear footsteps growing louder. Someone was walking towards his office, and the only other person in the house was Kaveh. 

He inhaled deeply, hearing the door creak as it was slid open. He looked towards the intruder, willing his expression to remain calm, impassive even.

“You’ve not been out in a few hours,” Kaveh stated. Worry was written all over his face, and Alhaitham couldn’t deny the guilt that was piling in his gut. “Are you trying to copy me? I wouldn’t call myself a role model, you know…” He laughed, but he was the only one.

“No, I’ve just got quite a lot of work.” And can’t seem to finish any of it. Alhaitham didn’t say that. He let his forced unamused expression speak for him, but even the fidelity of that; he was questioning. And how authentic he could act like it was. Kaveh’s eyes landed on the pile of paperwork. He fully entered the room. Alhaitham willed himself to stand up, and put a hand in front of his approaching roommate. “I’ll deal with it.”

“I’ll help,” Kaveh offered. An instant shake of Alhaitham’s head was his reply. “Really, you should let us help. Even Cyno was saying it. He offered to, and you said no, but you’ve not been out of this office in hours.” A soft frown played on Kaveh’s lips. He inched closer anyway. And this time Alhaitham didn’t try to fight back. He actually wanted to see someone, and something that wasn’t his work. 

“Pay no mind to what he says, there’s just been a lot to do.” Alhaitham turned away, but couldn’t. A warm hand was placed on his shoulder, warranting him rooted to the spot. He didn’t like that his body stilled the moment Kaveh touched him, but it felt right. So he turned back. His roommate smiled. 

He shook his head slowly. “Then let us help you.” He smiled. Alhaitham didn’t feel as cheery. On the contrary, he felt heavier. He appreciated it, but accepting any help when he’d spent his whole life being the helper, being the one that was supporting; it felt so beyond wrong. He didn’t recognise it. And the unfamiliarity of acceptance was tingling on his skin. He willed himself to drink it in, not turn away from it for once. 

“You won’t have to bother yourself with my mundane tasks,” Alhaitham tried to reason, he was really giving it his all, and quite frankly, it was a bit embarrassing that he couldn’t uphold his impassivity. 

“We would like to,” Kaveh said, squeezing his roommate’s shoulder gently, smiling. He steered him away from the desk, to a far corner of the room next to his bookshelves. With a gentle push, Alhaitham’s back hit the couch and a sigh forced its way out of his mouth.

“It’s rotten work.” He looked at Kaveh who was humming. His eyes followed the blond, watching as he hummed, hands collecting a whole array of items. All for Alhaitham’s comfort, apparently.

“Not to us—Not to me, not when it’s you.” His voice had grown much quieter as he got closer, placing the items in front of his roommate. The table creaked a bit, but neither of them paid any mind to it. Alhaitham tensed a bit, and then he inhaled deeply.

“You are wasting your time.” Alhaitham looked away, he couldn’t meet Kaveh’s eyes. And that made shame crawl up his skin in waves, but Kaveh only chuckled.

“You think so, but I most definitely don’t.” He poured Alhaitham a cup of water, and the latter was surprised at how cold the cup was to the touch. He raised an eyebrow at Kaveh, who smiled. “Cold, it’ll help you cool off.” Kaveh shrugged.

Alhaitham hesitated, but took a sip anyway, sighing softly. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. But you do realise that you can always us Cyno, Tighnari or I for help, right?”

Alhaitham nodded wordlessly, he knew. He just didn’t want to. He wondered, did they know of all the walls he’d built to feel better about the fact that he just couldn’t fit into groups. That he was different, but being different had never felt so wrong until he was the victim of it. Did Kaveh ever realise that Alhaitham wished to be more ordinary? That extraordinary wasn’t going well for him?

“Of course I can,” He ended up saying, letting all the other thoughts die in his mind.

“We get that you don’t like relying on others, and that most see you as extraordinary but—”

“Kaveh, it’s nothing great.” Alhaitham sighed. On days when his skin felt worn, and all his thoughts felt incoherent, he’d sit with himself, and he would wonder how everything could’ve gone so wrong. His grandmother always told him that he was unique, and that being so was beautiful. And yet he sat here with himself some days, and he could feel all the doubt crawling up his limbs, anchor into his mind. “I don’t want to be extraordinary, I don’t want to be looked at like I’m inhuman. I don’t want to feel inhuman. I feel out of place. Is that normal?” He looked at Kaveh. 

Kaveh stared at him, sadness written all over his features. It made Alhaitham feel sick. His roommate frowned softly. “You shouldn’t.”

“But I do, just because I shouldn’t, doesn’t mean it ever stops. Kaveh, it’s always there… I thought that maybe if I started relying on people less, it would feel better, but when I see people, when I see how they’re normal, it all goes back to where it started.” He shook his head, laughing sadly. He said he wouldn’t let it get to him. But it did anyway.

“Let me elaborate further, don’t you wish I was more ordinary sometimes?” He asked, fully facing Kaveh now, smiling sardonically at his own idiocy, at the thoughts that formed in his own mind. And his roommate, his poor roommate looked terrified. He felt bad for him.

“I don’t. I’ve always known and loved you for what you’ve been, and that will never change. I swear, Alhaitham—” Kaveh ran out of words, his frown deepening so much Alhaitham thought it could be etched right into his face. 

“You don’t have to justify—” He started.

“I’m not justifying anything.” Kaveh got closer, and somehow his hands found Alhaitham’s shoulders. He turned him around, forcing him to meet eye-to-eye. “That’s how I’ve always thought of you. You don’t have to be any different. And I know you’ve always struggled with fitting in, with trying to be what you think is ‘normal’. I’ve noticed, even at the Akademiya, but I promise; my opinion or views on you have never changed, and I’ve never wanted you to change. Stay annoying, please.” 

Alhaitham inhaled shakily, and he started laughing. He didn’t know how to deal with his emotions, and he just… lost it. Often. He’d laugh sardonically, but his voice would shake. And then he’d stop, and the silence would sink in, sickeningly deep into his conscience and turn everything he ever knew into shame. For being unable to deal with himself. 

“I know you don’t want to and can’t rely on others, but please. Don’t lose yourself in work, in whatever depths of your mind. It’s terrifying. Don’t let those thoughts get to you.” Kaveh squeezed his shoulders. And the desperation in his voice made his roommate want to shrink away.

“I’ll try not to,” Alhaitham said. His hands found Kaveh’s, and gently; he pried them away. “I… promise.” His roommate sighed, in relief. He assumed. And then his body relaxed.

“Thank you.” And he repeated those words. Again, and again. Until Alhaitham had to tell him to stop. Then he laughed, but he did stop.

Alhaitham blinked, feeling lighter. He laughed, really did. And Kaveh stared at him, evidently confused. Though, he didn’t elaborate further. Alhaitham turned to look back at his roommate. He smiled. Kaveh flushed, but smiled anyway. “Thank you.” 

Kaveh blinked, but shrugged. “No worries. Anyway, stay annoying.”

“For you, I might.”

[thebawdybaldurian]

BG3FicFeb Day 18

SFW: Angst with a happy ending

Background: Tav, Astarion, and Halsin are in a poly amorous relationship. Tav and Astarion had planned to remain child-free, but when Tav accidentally becomes pregnant, she decides to carry the child so that her lover, Halsin, can have a child of his own.

NSFW: Illithids/Any Monster

I'm not really into monster fucking, so I'm just going to do a little what if drawing of Illithid Tav and Astarion that I'll post of my Twitter and Tumblr.

Tav was near the end of her pregnancy by the time a bout of severe anxiety hit. She was also constantly exhausted, her belly enormous, which she scowled at Halsin for. She fully expected their child to come out half-grown and nearly as big as he was. She stayed in bed most of the time, waddling around the cottage if she needed to use the toilet, which was frequent, or when both her husbands had gone out to get her things. They were both doting on her with all the care they could muster, trying to alleviate her anxiety, but it usually ended in her screaming at them to get out.

She feared she had made a mistake in keeping the child, that she would either hate it or never be able to let it go and become as controlling and emotionally abusive as her own parents had been. She worried the child would tear her body in two coming out or leave her unable to continue her life as a performer. She stressed about her husbands leaving her, raising a child all alone or if the child became very ill. She had made her husbands promise that her parents could never know about the child, because if they learned they had blood kin, they’d do everything they could to take it from her.

She slept fitfully in bed, Halsin and Astarion out dealing with the final preparations for the baby’s arrival. She’d been restless the entire day, trying to rearrange furniture and organize the kitchen despite her awkward size. The men had just been in the way, so she’d shooed them out with a few choice words. She finally awoke in terrible pain, her lower back aching and radiating around her to hips. She thought at first she’d just strained it pushing the couches around, but when she pulled back the covers, she saw both her chemise and the mattress underneath her was wet. “Great, I’ve pissed myself,” she sighed, rocking herself like an upside-down turtle to get out of bed with her enormous belly.

She groaned loudly as she got to her feet, the pain even worse. She immediately felt the urge to use the bathroom again and wondered if the baby was just squeezing her bladder for fun now. She waddled to the bathroom, pulling at the neck of her chemise so she could take it off and put on something dry. As she sat on the toilet with another loud groan, she could see her thighs tinged with blood-streaked mucus. “Oh…” She looked at it, feeling the anxious knot in her stomach squeeze tighter. “Shit, shit, shit, what does this mean?”

She waddled naked into the living room, in search of one of the midwives guides Halsin and Astarion had gotten her, but had only skimmed over because they were either boring or made her more anxious. Both her husbands had read them cover to cover, but neither of them were here now. She found one and began flipping through it before she became overwhelmed by a terrible cramp that doubled her over in pain. “Ahhh, what are you doing? Are you coming out?” She cried. She flipped through it again as the pain subsided and she found a section about preparing for labor. “Bloody mucus…yes…intense cramping…yes…” she continued down to checklist of signs of impending labor. “Shit! You asshole, your fathers aren’t even here to help!” She swore at her unborn child, looking down at her belly.

The bulk of her weight had shifted further down and she knew the baby would be coming anytime now. “Can I delay it in any way?” She looked through the book again before being overwhelmed by another cramp. “Gods! Please!” She yelled, barely able to stay on her feet. She was tempted to slip off the ring that allowed Astarion to walk in the sun, just for a moment, to alert them that something was wrong, but she worried about breaking the blood bond spell completely. It also meant that she couldn’t go for help, as it was still the middle of the day, and his sun affliction had been transferred to her. Halsin had at least coached her on their birth plan, utilizing her enormous bathtub for a water birth.

She waddled back to the bathroom and turned the faucet on the tub on, overcome by another cramp that brought her to her knees this time. By chance, or perhaps husband’s intuition, Halsin and Astarion returned at that moment, hearing her cries from the bathroom as they entered the cottage. “Clataedre!” Halsin tossed everything in his arms onto the kitchen table and ran to the bathroom. He found her leaned up against the tub sobbing. “My heart, what happened?” He helped her up.

“The baby…is…ahhhh coming…right now!” She moaned as the cramping subsided for a moment. “I thought I was going to have to do it alone.”

“I’m here, my queen, my beauty,” he wiped her tears away and kissed her cheeks.

He adjusted the water and helped her into the tub as Astarion came in. “Is it time?” Astarion looked at them.

“We believe so,” Halsin nodded as Tav groaned from another cramp.

“How far apart have the contractions been?” Astarion asked.

“I don’t know!” She yelled, as this one was the most painful yet. “I can barely think. I hate you both.”

“It sounds like she is very close,” Halsin tried to hide a grin.

He stayed at her side, prepared to assist in the delivery, as he’d done with several others both as First Druid and at the commune. Astarion knelt behind her to offer to moral support and a hand to squeeze. “Breath, Clataedre, it will be time to push soon,” Halsin checked her cervix.

“Fuck you!” She growled. “You both did this to me. I going to…argggggghhh…rip your cocks off!”

She squeezed so tightly on Astarion’s hand that he cried out. “Tav, you are hurting me!”

“You think this doesn’t hurt?!” She screamed. “Why are you smiling!?” She turned her attentions back to Halsin, who was grinning widely at her rage.

“I’ve witnessed she-bears give birth with less fury,” he blushed, gently stroking her stomach. He had to admit he was a little turned on by her ferocity.

“Well, if you don’t get this cub out of me, I’m going to feed you to one,” she scowled, having a brief respite from her contractions.

They came again soon enough and then it was time for her to push. She had let go of Astarion’s hand, for fear of breaking it, and gripped the edges of the tub as she growled. “That’s it, my love, I see the head. One or two big pushes and you will be done,” Halsin trembled with excitement, his first and only child nearly here.

She was exhausted and breathing heavy, her rage sapping all her strength. “It hurts so much, I can’t,” she cried as Astarion rubbed her shoulders.

“I know you can do it, my love,” he nuzzled against her neck, wrapping an arm around her chest. “We’ve gotten through worse, yes?”

“Yes,” she cried, preparing to bear down and push again.

She strained her throat as she pushed, groaning loudly as she felt the baby slip free of her hips, a sharp cry filling the bathroom. “It’s here!” Halsin said with more joy in his voice than could ever be contained. He cradled the baby in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It’s a boy, a beautiful, perfect boy.”

Tav opened her eyes, utterly exhausted and sunk back onto the tub. Halsin was beaming, his cheeks wet from tears, holding an enormous infant with a head of downy silver curls. “His…he has silver hair…just like,” she looked back at Astarion, who was crying as well.

“Silver hair is rare among the Silverboughs,” Halsin smiled. “So we will truly never know who the father is.”

Tav sunk back onto the tub, grasping Astarion’s arm, until she was once again overwhelmed by a terrible contraction. “Agggh, I thought it was over!” She cried, gripping Astarion’s arm tightly.

“It should just be the afterbirth,” Halsin looked her over, handing the boy to Astarion for a moment. He had no idea what to do with his son, having never held an infant before, so he just held him as tightly as Halsin had. Halsin saw movement around her still swollen belly and his heart skipped a beat. He’d listened and sang to her stomach almost nightly for the past few months and once or twice thought he’d heard a second heartbeat, but it had always synced back up to one. “My heart,” he looked in her eyes, his hands still on her stomach. “There is another coming.”

“Another!” Tav and Astarion said at the same time, their son crying out a little as they shouted.

“Another contraction? Another…ahhhhh,” she twisted in pain again, feeling the urge to push.

“I thought I heard a second heartbeat once or twice, but his must have been much louder than this one’s.”

“Twins?” Astarion’s eyes widened.

“They are a little less rare in the Silverboughs. I suppose I should have mentioned that,” Halsin blushed, moving to deliver their second and wholly unexpected child.

“Yes, you should…ahhhh,” Tav panted, barely able to keep her head up.

“This one should be much easier,” Halsin smiled, rubbing her belly. “This child appears much smaller.”

“Than the giant I just squeezed out?” She slumped a little. “I can’t…I’m so tired…”

“I know, my heart. Just a few more pushes…You have now given me the greatest gift in the world twice over…I will carry you everywhere…for the rest of your days.”

“You better,” she scowled, summoning the last of her energy to push.

Her cries were more subdued and she struggled a bit less, finally pushing free their second child, a petite and beautiful girl with the same downy silver curls as her brother. “A girl,” Halsin sobbed, as his daughter looked up at him quietly with the same amethyst eyes as her mother.

“Is she alright?” Tav slumped against the tub again, completely weak and exhausted. “She’s not crying.”

The baby cooed slightly, seemingly content to come into the world with much less bluster than her brother had been. “See for yourself,” he handed her their daughter so he could attend to her afterbirth and heal her. “I think she will be quiet and contemplative like her mother.”

“She has my eyes,” Tav smiled, as the tiny girl cooed softly again.

“He does as well,” Astarion beamed, still holding his son and looking down at his new daughter.

“This won’t be too much for you?” Tav asked sleepily as Halsin healed the tears to her pubic region. “Two infants at once…and all the other children at the commune.”

“I was given two arms for a reason,” his face hurt from smiling so much. He took the child back from Tav and motioned for Astarion to do the same, instructing him to always cradle the boy’s enormous head. “I will get the cubs put in their crib…we will need another at some point. Astarion can get you put into bed to rest,” He leaned in to nuzzle his head against hers and then planted a kiss on Astarion’s cheek. “I love you both more than anything.”

Halsin took the two drowsy infants to the bedroom and got them cleaned up and swaddled, before placing them in their cramped crib. He’d carved it by hand, but he would not have time to make another one. With her brother being much larger, his daughter would need her own as soon as possible. Astarion helped Tav up after kissing her deeply, showering her with affection. He guided her slowly to the bedroom, easing her down into one of the well-stuffed reading chairs they’d brought down from the loft when she’d gotten too big to climb up. He changed the soiled bedding quickly and brought her a clean chemise to wear that tied at the neck so she could nurse.

Their daughter finally began to fuss a little, so Halsin brought her over to nurse for a moment. “I think her brother was hiding her as a surprise,” Halsin smiled, helping Tav ensure she got a good latch. He stroked the infant’s head softly, her downy curls now dry and perfect just like Astarion’s.

“Quite a surprise,” Tav smiled, her eyelids fluttering from exhaustion.

Their daughter drifted off to sleep after a brief suckle, Halsin taking her back so Tav could rest. Astarion helped her into bed and tucked her in with another long kiss. Halsin had taken Tav’s chair, staring down at his daughter as she slept. He already knew she would consume his entire world. Astarion peeked at his son, dozing in his crib and then went to Halsin, planting a kiss on his forehead and stroking his daughter’s curls. “Thank you for doing this for me…both of you. I know neither of you ever expected to be parents…but you can have as much influence in their lives as you wish,” Halsin looked up at him.

“I can’t speak for Tav, since she was the one who actually had to carry them, but your smile made it all worth it,” Astarion grinned, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. “And they both have my amazing hair.”

Halsin laughed quietly, hoping not to disturb his sleeping daughter.

“I’ll head back out and look for another crib. We will need double the supplies now,” Astarion beamed, placing a gentle kiss on his daughter’s soft head.

He floated back down to the market like he was on air. How had his life changed so dramatically in only a few years? He was free of Cazador, in love with two people who adored and doted on him, and now he had two beautiful children he could watch grow up under the care of the most kind and gentle man that he’d ever met. He didn’t care how near impossible it was that they were actually of his seed, despite their hair. Whether or not the tadpole had changed it so he could bear children or that they just shared some of his traits by coincidence, he didn’t care. They were the fruit of a love he could never have imagined.

He found his way to one of the nicest furniture shops in the city, passerbys stopping to comment on his warm smile and glow, and he would announce that he’d just had twins. They’d offer congratulations and some of the other elves, who knew how rare such a birth was, offered gifts. By the time Astarion left the shop, a crib to be delivered to their cottage as soon as possible, he already had an armful of gifts for the infants. It was a good thing, as he’d left most of his coin purse for the crib, the fanciest and most beautiful one they had. Nothing would be good enough for his little princess.

He returned to find both Tav and Halsin sleeping in the bed, the girl still in Halsin’s arms and his son nestled against Tav as he’d nursed and fallen back asleep. He climbed in next to Tav, snuggling against her and taking his son in his arms, so he wouldn’t roll away. The five elves had an hour or two of uninterrupted rest, before everything began at once again. The crib was delivered with a loud knock, which woke everyone, two who needed to be changed right away and one that was so tired, she barely even opened her eyes.

Halsin attended to the crying infants’ diapers while Astarion brought the crib in. The bedroom was cramped now with the two cribs and the changing table and wash basin. They bumped into one another and carefully wound their way around all the furniture trying to attend to everything. This would be the chaos of the next month of their lives. Tav peeked an eye open, taking one glance at the extravagant crib Astarion had purchased, smiled, shook her head, and closed her eyes again.

[onthesandsofdreams]

From The Sea [2/4]

Fandom: Rogue One Pairing: Cassian x Jyn Notes: Hi, uh, here's another chapter? @mousedetective: look, I wrote another chapter finally!

On AO3

She stares at the man, Cassian, her brain provides. "I am sorry," her own voice sounds dazzled. "But I most certainly have not. I don't know you."

The man, Cassian, gives her a solemn nod. "You did. But perhaps not in the way you think. You cried your pain into the sea."

Her brain near short circuits. "Excuse me?"

"The answer is simple, ma'am." Cassian says, but does not move. He makes no threatening move or sound towards her and remains firmly planted on his side of her door. "My kin and I, well, we live in the sea and we are honor and duty bound to attend those who need us. And you, Jyn Erso, need me."

She took a fearful step backwards, but still, Cassian did not move. This did not make sense! Did this man thought she was crazy or desperate? She wanted to speak, but the words died in her throat.

Cassian seemed to understand, "We are shifters. Beings created for comfort and aid; my kin and I have since time immemorial, have come to the aid of those who need us."

She rose a shaking hand towards her throat, "And how… how do I need you?"

Cassian gave her a soft smile. "You need a friend. You need comfort. To be reminded that no matter how hard things are, you are not alone."

Her pulse sped up, she could hear her blood rushing in her ears. "And you can do that?"

"Yes." Cassian said it so simply, without a hint of arrogance. Just pure unadultered belief. "Yes, I can help you, Jyn Erso."

"How do you know my name?"

"Your tears spoke it clearly enough." Cassian tilted his head, "I am willing to take an oath, if you wish, to prove that I am not here to harm you."

There was something… innocent in the way Cassian spoke. Oh he was sure of himself, but she could not detect the arrogance that made many men she had met before. Cassian seemed… very very different. There was something about him that spoke of truth, of protection, of a way out of loneliness and her heart ached, not for the first time for the father that she had lost. But still, it wasn't quite the same, Cassian was not fatherly, he was friendly. Like the friend who is with you through thick and thin. That steadfast friend who never abandons you, "I'll take your oath," she spoke before she thought about it.

Cassian nodded solemnly. "I, Cassian, of the Clan Andor, do solemnly swear to Jyn Erso that I mean her no harm. That I am here to simply be what she needs in this desperate time of need. That I will behave with honor, and never assume anything in regards towards her wishes. So I have spoken, my the abyss swallow me whole if I have spoke without honor."

For a moment, she thought her eyes were seeing things, but no. Cassian had glowed softly in front of her. The oath was binding him, she thought breathlessly. It took her a moment to recover, but when she did, she took another step backwards, "Come on in then, Cassian. I am about to have dinner."

~

Dinner, much to her surprise, is a quiet affair. Cassian seems to know how to behave in a human table. At least, he has the manners and eats respectfully and does not complain about her simple food. Since her mother's passing, she has found herself unable to make the elaborate meals she and her mom used to enjoy. Now, she eats to survive, the joy is gone.

~

She leaves Cassian in one of her guest bedrooms. As a test, she leaves her door unlocked, does not sleep thanks to her insomnia.he gives Cassian a guest bedroom and leaves him be. She leaves her door unlocked and does not sle

She reads all night and Cassian never tries to get into her room. Nor does he make a sound.

~

She makes a stronger than usual cup of coffee and when Cassian walks in, he takes one look at her and says, "You did not sleep."

She freezes.

"Your eyes are a bit red and unless you cried - which I would have heard - you did not sleep." Cassian frowns. "You need to rest Jyn, for your sake. I vowed not to harm you, if you must know, my vow would strike me dead if I tried."

When she regains her wits, she blinks and delays answering by taking a deep gulp of coffee, it is bitter and perhaps she should have added milk and sugar and it turns her stomach. Then sets her cup down, "I have insomnia. Can't sleep."

Cassian nods, as if he truly understood. "A grief like yours tends to bring it. But still, you should try and sleep, you will hurt yourself more if you don't."

She looks away. How can she tell him that every time she closes her eyes, the only thing she sees is her mother laying down in hospital bed, gaunt and pale? She swears she can still feel the cold when she touched her mother only to find her gone. "It is hard," she settles. "I have nightmares."

"If you wish, I could keep you company. We do not have to speak, just to remind you that you are not alone."

"Thank you," she says. "Perhaps. Would you care for some eggs?"

Cassian gives her a look like he knows what she's doing. In the end, he nods and she releases the breath she didn't know she was holding.

~

Later that night, she turns to Cassian, "Is the offer still up?"

"About keeping you company? Yes, it is."

They settle in the small office, she lights a fire and grabs a book. "Feel free to read what you'd like," she tells him. "It's only fair."

Cassian nods, settles with a poetry book and lets her be. And for once in a very long while, she feels at peace.

~

She is not exactly thrilled at the thought of needing help. Much less, this man who claims to come from the sea, who claims to have tasted her grief, but she cannot deny the peace she feels around him.

There is something there, something very deep and mysterious that she does not know how to explain that pulls her to him.

She does not want to consider what it may mean.

He will go away again, when she is better. And if she is being honest with herself, she does not know how to handle the fact she does not want him to.

So, she remains silent.

~

One night, one of those rare one in which she falls asleep without Cassian's help, she wakes up sobbing.

The grief she had tried to push away from her, to ignore, she finds that she can't and she now finds herself drowning in it. She is so caught up in her pain, in her sobbing, that she misses when Cassian rushes to her, misses him sitting down next to her, misses him pulling her into his arms and gently rocking her. Misses how soft his voice is when he sings in a language she does not understand.

She misses it all.

But she does not miss it the following morning, when she wakes in his arms. Cassian resting against her bed frame, her small form curled around him.

If she weren't so exhausted, she would pushed herself away. But she does not have the strenght, not with her pain and grief as raw and open as last night.

"I hope you do not mind," comes Cassian's low voice from above her head. "But I could not leave you. You needed me."

A knot forms in her throat. Yeah, she did.

"Thank you," is all she manages.

Cassian rubs her arms comfortingly, "You are most welcome, Jyn. Go back to sleep."

And, as if commanded, her lids turn heavy and she soon knows no more.

~

When she awakens next, she is still in Cassian's arms. Guilt crashes onto her quick, "Oh, Cassian, I am so sorry." She pushes herself out of his arms, and some part of her screams at her for doing so.

Cassian gives her a gentle smile, "There is no need to be sorry, Jyn. This is why I am here. Because you need me."

She clears her throat, "Still…"

Cassian's lips curl gently up, "Jyn, it is a privilege helping you. No one should be alone during such terrible moments."

She stares at him, he is calm and peaceful; undisturbed or annoyed. No, he understands and as much as she wants to deny it, she does feel better. "Would you let me make a special breakfast, as a thank you?"

Cassian's eyes sparkle with warmth, "If you feel like you must, but know that anything is fine by me."

She gives him what she hopes is a relieved smiled, "Alright then, c'mon on. My special breakfast casserole is coming up."

"Lead on, Jyn, lead on."

~

After that, life gets easier and harder.

Easier, because she finally feels like she can properly express her grief and say what's on her mind without being judged, because Cassian does not judge. "People are complicated Jyn, you are allowed to have conflicting feelings."

And she understands.

Oh, she does.

She feels lighter, because Cassian is like a beacon of light and love casting such powerful spell, that she feels like she can properly be again. She feels like she can truly morn and then, move on. Because she knows her mother would not have wanted her to cast herself in doom and gloom for the rest of her life.

No, her mother would have wanted her to dance and sing, and jump in puddles in the rain, to fall in love and form a family (whichever form it took) of her own. Her mother would be cheering her ever on. She owes it to her to honor her that way.

And harder, because with every day she passes, she cannot help but to notice Cassian.

Not Cassian the wondrous being who came to save her.

But Cassian, the man.

The man whose dark brown eyes are always full with kindness and compassion, but she can see the fire there. She knows that if Cassian saw someone being hurt, he would not stand for it. Those eyes that sparkle when he laughs and look at her and make her weak at the knees.

His deep voice, a voice that many times now has lulled her to sleep. There is something there, deep and enthralling about it that much like a siren's song, she cannot help but want to follow and continue hearing him speak.

His lean, strong form. How firm his chest felt on those times she felt asleep in his arms. His arms, that every time he wrapped them around her, she had to pretend to be fine letting go. She wanted to lived encircled in the safety of his arms.

How to forget this? How to ignore this? The answer was simple: There would not forgetting Cassian.

She knew that she was headed for heartbreak, but she did not care. Her mother would have reminded her that it no matter the pain, it was better to love and loose than shielding her heart always afraid of breakage.

And so, one night she arms herself with valor. She hypes herself up and buys flowers for her table, a decent bottle of wine and she whips up a three course meal.

When she calls Cassian over, she does her best to be calm. She did not dress up, she knows she should have; but that would have tipped Cassian that she was planning something, and for this, she would need a bit of the element of surprise.

When Cassian enters the kitchen and sees the table, he gives her a look she can't quite decipher. It feels like an eternity before he smiles at her and sits down, she releases the breath she did not know was holding and she grins. Her heart beats faster at the look in Cassian's eyes. Unless she is imagining it, there is something almost predatory in them. The phrase, 'Hungry like the wolf', comes unbidden.

A wild part of her hopes he will eat her whole.

The dine, under the guise of her thanking him for everything that he has done for her. He gives her a knowing look and says, "I know, and our time together is almost gone."

She bites down the bitterness that comes with his statement, but she will not be deterred. If she will only have even one night with him, the pain of their parting will be worth it. "And I will be sorry to see you go," she says softly. "You have been - dare I say it - almost heaven sent. I would not have been able to mourn and let it go without you."

Cassian shakes his head, "You would have. Eventually, but you are too strong a person to have crumbled, your pain would have diminished on its own; I simply sped up the process."

"Still," she says. "You are the best thing that could have happened to me."

Cassian gives her a look that she can't identify, "And I count myself fortunate, Jyn Erso, in getting to know you."

She does not speak, but holds his eyes instead. She watches as they darken, as they grow deeper and there is that fire. Her heartbeat speeds up, blood rushes in her ears and…

They both stand up as one, Cassin gives two long steps and takes her into his arms. His lips descent on hers, and she responds to his hunger eagerly. Willing to be consume and to devour him. To melt and become one. Cassian's hands slowly go from her waist to her rear, and she shivers as his hands leave trails of fire. A fire that roars when he clutches at her ass, and she, by instinct, leaps into his arms.

They barely part lips enough to draw breath, and then their lips clash again. She clings to him as he takes them to her bed. The clothes come off, nearly being ripped from each other's bodies, strewn all over her floor. She does not care.

All that she care right now, is the passion, the love she feels for this man. All that matter is his hands on her body, his lips on her, the groans she manages to pull from him. All that matters is this mutual pleasure.

And she feels lighter and happier than she has ever been. Cassian draws moans and shivers from her no one ever has, she understands now the French's reason of 'la petit morte'. And she knows that no other man will ever compare to this one, to this kind, gentle, passionate and loving man who fits with her so seamlessly.

Tired, worn, content and more at peace than she has ever being, she falls asleep atop Cassian's naked chest, using his heartbeat as a lullaby.

The pain will come, but right now, all that matters is this moment.

[fruitymations]

TW // serious medical talk This is a really important update about what's going on. I'm copying/pasting the text from my Twitlonger post. Everything is under a read more.

Hey everyone. I've been inactive quite a bit due to family emergencies that have popped up.

I normally don't talk about these things publicly, but it's gotten so bad I've decided to give some sort of an update for my social media.

My father is currently in the hospital. On Tuesday (April 11th) he was found unconscious for up to two hours in the lumber department at a Home Depot store nearby where we live. He has a more severe case of type 2 diabetes and his blood sugar was found to be around 780 during this incident. He refused medical treatment but the Home Depot staff refused to let him drive home on his own as his condition could put himself and others at risk if he were to go behind the wheel.

He seemed a little out of it when I went to go see him the next day on Wednesday (April 12th). I assumed he was tired from the previous day's incident and that his medications might have been taking a while to kick in. I went to see him to pick up the car keys for our other van so I could pick up the van from the Home Depot parking lot. My father lives separate from us at the house that my mom owns. It's the same house she got in early 2021 that I've been trying to renovate from time to time. Me and my mother live in the condo unit we've had since early 2009.

On Saturday (April 15th) I was headed to my weekend delivery job. I was driving the family van since my regular car is currently in the shop as of writing this. I decided to stop by the house to drop off the other house keys and lockbox keys that my dad had attached to the van's key fob. When he answered the door I immediately knew something was wrong. He was showing signs of what looked like a typical stroke (left side of his body and face was mostly paralyzed, slurred and slowed speech, significant mental confusion). I called an ambulance for him after contacting my mother, my sister, and a close family friend about it.

He was taken to the emergency room and his fasting blood sugar was 465. The medical staff at the hospital tried bringing his blood sugar down and he got sleepy quickly. He's not in a coma, but he's been asleep since then and they haven't been able to get him to fully wake up. He also is unable to wake up on his own. I eventually found out that he hasn't been taking any pill medication for his diabetes and other ailments since November of 2022. He's supposed to take daily insulin injections for his blood sugar, but I found out that his most recent insulin injections he had expired in April of 2022.

I will give a more thorough update on his hospital stay and condition once he is out of the hospital, since things are still in progress with him. I've been going around updating my aunts and uncles on his side of the family (he has about seven or eight siblings; I don't know all of them since he's not great at keeping in touch with others). I've also been scrambling around to keep my mother, my sister, my friends, my partners, and close family friends about his condition as the hours and days go on. I'm his only kid and his next of kin so I've had to go back and forth on updating everyone. Once he's able to wake up on his own and is coherent, I'll have to discuss with him on becoming his power of attorney for healthcare in case anything serious happens in the future where he's unable to make medical decisions for himself.

On top of this, my mother also has her own laundry list of medical issues that require lots of various medications to keep her stable and alive. She also has type 2 diabetes but it's not as severe as my father's. Her other health conditions include interstitial lung disease (and lung scarring caused by this condition), severe sleep apnea, stage 3 pulmonary arterial hypertension, and edema (doctors suspect its caused by the heart struggling to keep up with her conditions). I'm mostly worried about her pulmonary arterial hypertension because there is no cure and it usually is the cause of death for those who are diagnosed with it.

Despite her conditions, she still goes to work since she's the financial stronghold of the household. Good friends of mine, along with my family and both my partners, all know about the debt that we have been dealing with. My mother has accumulated $120,000 USD of credit card debt and still owes about $180,000 USD for the mortgage on the house we got back in 2021. All together it's a total of $300,000 USD.

The things I can do to raise money is limited if it's through me, since I'm on SSI, and being on SSI means there are tight and usually unethical financial restrictions put on people like me. I get my healthcare through SSI via Medicaid. If I lose my SSI, I lose my healthcare. I have some health issues myself (mild GERD, possible PCOS, possible IBS, weight problems, some dental problems that I have to wait to get seen for, and mental health issues).

We are on the verge of bankruptcy and are possibly facing the loss of the little bit of stability that we have left. My mother isn't able to retire without risking financial ruin and she's dealing with an incurable disease that will most likely slowly kill her. I don't know if my father will bounce back from his current condition or not. I don't even know if his insurance will cover any of this.

I've been reluctant to open donations or fundraisers for this because I don't want to just take people's money left and right as I'd just feel bad about it.

I'm terrified. I'm exhausted. I don't know what to do.

[the-story-of-my-forgotten]

Still, despite, after, always

Crying to survive Writing into oblivion Drawing the beginning Perishing over smiles

Once I lived, I always did Since I fell, I left a seed Silent tears rolled and dropped Dreams all faded and broke

Cut and tear my skin and soul Haunted myself like a ghoul Body will cry and suffer Gathered bruises as buffer

For others, alien and far For whom I was never par

Lament and grow so slowly Building up so honestly Cried rivers, oceans and seas Filled my heart with the sky clear

Ideas flooded my room Spilled feelings around my tomb Let my eyes see emotions Fall to a net of connections

For her, my self broke apart For whom I was always part

And others now spent their time They saw me and heard my cry Would not let go and held me Loved my essence and loved me

Survived until tomorrow I fought against my sorrow Witnessed reality peel Discovered what I now feel

For me, somehow still alive For whom I will have a life

So you'll find me Again I'll be

Crying to survive Writing into oblivion Drawing the beginning Perishing over smiles

Let my head turn, let it spin Another note, try a thought Ideas began to shrink Darkness everything it brought

Once again they came forward Part of my soul was taken Theirs forever to safeguard My heart was out and open

Read me, my soul in my board Dark self, twisting to the tune Dither not, take it abroad It aches here, don't keep the gloom

It is safe for me through them Live fantasies that I dread An idea for mayhem They can learn in my stead

I am unable to talk No one taught me the know how My mouth is for ever stuck And my mind is too damn loud

Keep quiet so you can hear Listen at the turmoil grow Keep you eyes shut, you should fear Watch my dreams, see them all burn

Typing the future only Through the exclusive past lens End of all the time coming Present is to fast to sense

Universes created A God is born and then formed My emotions placated Starting vision distorted

One day it will be the end I will stay in the paper A character, play pretend Reason, inside is safer

Dissolve ink in metaphor Fade to pages of silence For mortals is caution for The last line is my sentence

So you'll find me Again I'll be

Crying to survive Writing into oblivion Drawing the beginning Perishing over smiles

Draw a card or two or three, draw them all Reality is your will to contort Paste it over, cover me from the fall Finished prepping a canvas to distort

A line, a dot, dimension of senses Tell me just one story or maybe not Will you interpret my pot of madness? Tangled reading throughout, it is a knot

Does it have the only value of coin? Maybe gold was fabricated Every time the shading must be on point Practice or be replicated

A face peeks, some hands bloom, other shape smudged Lick your fingers in my flavor Perspective is the only path to trudge Sip of my soul and your favor

First see motion, then hear to think Existence questioned over heartless pretension Pull your gaze for my single link A chain so long you'll never reach my intention

A cave of beginnings, figures of ancestors A brush stroke mark of our kin Watch and bask your eyes full of unruly protesters A scar by knife carved in my skin

Meaningful, fulfilling conversation Indulge in affection and sentiment Turned into meaningless confrontation Grudge of fearful and misled excitement

Let me show the origin of power Hidden face, produced personality Observe, I am the late blooming flower Gaze on me, last piece of humanity

So you'll find me Again I'll be

Crying to survive Writing into oblivion Drawing the beginning Perishing over smiles

I beg to your grace Show me your face With similar I have dealt Let me help

Pain, only escape Show me a way Tired of the masquerade Let me sway

Sleep forever Show restless sheep Drift my heart in saltwater Let me sleep

Please love me, I'm sore Show the season Can deal with treason no more Let's reason

Silent attrition Show affection I crave enough to steal Let me feel

Tired to my head Show the limit For anyone but myself Let's forfeit

Looking at my time Show me a smile Did everything correctly Let me be

So you'll find me Again I'll be

Crying to survive Soul on hand, alive

Writing into oblivion My mind disappearing

Drawing the beginning The downfall of the living

Perishing over smiles For us who deserve the time

[creativia10]

Janus doesn't need a Plushy

Summary: Janus understands why he and Remus didn't have plushies. It wasn't personal. He totally doesn't care, he doesn't need them. The other sides were just being annoying about their plushies anyways. Yet Remus surprises him with one anyways for some reason.

Pairing: Janus and Remus

Word count: 1735

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes

Notes: New Episode "Can Plushies Improve Our Health" Spoilers? Leave it to a new episode drop to inspire me to write another cute fic again. Note, I am a Patton Kin and don't mean to imply anything negative about him in this. I just love Janus too. Let me know what you think.

Janus didn’t care that there wasn’t a plushy of himself. No really. It would do numbers on his reputation anyways. It was annoying anyways having to wait on the others as they set up that silly plushy video anyways. Honestly. Of course, Remus had to insert himself in for that split second of messing with Roman.

He was a gremlin like that. Janus sighed to himself. Why did it have to take so long? It’s not like he needed their company or anything. He was a lone snake. But still, it was annoying. Getting so caught up in a video product to promote soft and squishy mini versions of themselves. And they call him selfish. It felt very egotistical to him. Not that he would advocate against that, just that it was hypocrisy for some of them.

So it was a mystery he was still thinking about this of course. He understood why it was the core sides and Thomas for the plushies. It didn’t matter that the others hadn’t said anything. Not that they’d need to, of course, nothing was wrong. And he knew they were caught up in their own things, even if not all of them would even admit to it. Nothing wrong with that. He wouldn’t be silly about this. It didn’t make sense he was still thinking about this. The others had already gone to bed right after filming. He didn’t need soft things, but he wasn’t against the concept of course. Self-care and all that. He wouldn’t be surprised if his self-care routine was like Roman’s unfortunately. Janus just didn’t feel guilty about it.

And if he was reading up more on the psychology concepts addressed in today’s video? Well, he was simply educating himself more out of curiosity. It makes sense to keep up with recently discussed studies in this mindscape after all. He liked to be well informed, no matter what. No real reflection on himself for doing so, of course. Ah, he lost his place. Janus sighed again and squinted his eyes to skim the lines for the last words he read.

A thunk on his door startled Janus. His fingers flinched and wrinkled the pages in the process. Janus wasn’t even given a chance to respond when the door slammed open to reveal a very proud-looking Remus. His arms were behind his back as he sauntered in. The star that he had taken from Roman’s room balanced on his nose in a way that resembled a seal with a ball. He would likely be unable to do that otherwise if he wasn't a side of the imagination. Janus gave him an unimpressed look.

“What have I said about entering my room like that?”

“That it was a very me thing to do and not even surprising anymore?”

“I was more referring to the part where I threatened you were you to do so again?”

Remus shrugged. “Not the deterrent you think it is.”

Janus slumped in exasperation before he willed the door to close. Remus was loud enough without the door open to the rest of the mindscape.

“I’ll get back to that in a moment then. Why are you here?”

Remus bobbed his head up throwing the star into the air. As it fell past his face he blew on it, turning it green. Then he caught it by a point with his fingertip before spinning his finger and making it disappear. His other arm was still behind his back during the whole thing. He must have transported the star somewhere else. After his little demonstration, Remus stepped closer and wiggled his shoulders.

“I got something for you.”

“Oh great.”

There were many things Remus could bring to Janus at this point. Most of which were things Janus did not want to deal with at this hour of the night.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you haven’t considered whether this is something I would even want? Or for that matter, would it inspire another creative threat from me?”

Remus pouted for a moment before he snickered.

“Nah, you’ll like this one.”

“Oh really?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Janus hmmed. He still doubted it, but unfortunately, Remus had piqued his curiosity.

“Very well.” He turned to Remus and waved him on. “What is it?”

Remus giggled before flinging something forward. Janus fumbled to catch it before he got a look at what he was holding. It was plush of himself? Snake scales covered what would be the left side of the plushie’s face. There was some pink/red coloring around the eye that would be his snake eye. It even came with a little bowler hat and a black cape sewn into it. The hands were yellow like it was wearing Janus’s gloves. Janus raised his eyebrow at Remus.

“Since we weren’t part of their plushy package, I thought I’d make some that are better just for us.” Remus was now holding a plushy of himself. The Remus plushy had a similar style to Roman’s, at least in structure. Except of course with Remus’s outfit instead. It even included a white/gray streak in the hair. There was a red around the eyes though. Remus wiggled the plushy in his grasp with his middle finger.

“Ah. While I fear to say this out loud, that is unusually tame for your creations. Why did you think I would want one?”

“Because you’re a petty bitch and would want one at least out of spite among other reasons. You get to see a mini version of yourself too, which you of course deserve as the badass you are.”

Janus’s lips twitched into a smile. “Alright.” And because this was Remus, “Is there anything else you wish to show me about them?” He knew there had to be more to them.

Remus got that mischievous twinkle in his eye again. “Ours make sounds unlike theirs! Much better.” He said as he flung his arms up. “Here, squeeze his squishy middle.”

Janus pursed his lips and squeezed plushy Janus's middle.

“Ssssuck-”

Janus glared at Remus. Remus of course still smiled.

“What? It cuts off there. I leave it up to the imagination. It could be you continuing on to call someone a suck-up, like you said about Patton in the court scene.”

Janus sighed. “I suppose that is the best I could expect from you.”

Remus nodded. “Oh yeah. Do you wanna hear what sounds mine will make?”

Janus held up a hand before Remus could squeeze the Remus plushy. “No thank you.”

Remus snickered again.

“Well, you’ll probably learn eventually.”

Remus twirled a wrist so he was now holding a Janus plush in his other hand. “Because we’re the only ones who get both if we want because I say so.”

A Remus one popped into Janus’s lap too.

“And why would I want a plushy of you as well?” After all, he was the side Janus saw the most.

Remus smirked at him. “Are you saying you wouldn’t want something to cuddle with that reminds you of me?” He asked as he waggled his eyebrows. Janus opened his mouth to respond then paused. That was definitely a trap if he heard one. After a moment of Janus not responding Remus laughed and shrugged.

“We might also want to play with them in some way, cause screw social expectations.” Remus pressed their plushes’ faces against each other, and they made a kiss sound. Janus grimaced.

“Why is that necessary? They are cute plushies.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at Janus and winked. “Cute is overrated. We have to add our own flavor to them since they are ours.”

Janus supposed he and Remus weren’t exactly known for just being cute. Except by some fans of course. And Patton who had “Dad” blinders on.

Remus spun the Remus plush on his finger. “So, I’m taking more creative liberty with other copies of my plushies to prank the other sides. Any suggestions on what I could do with them?”

Janus chuckled at the thought of how Remus could use his plushies to prank the other sides.

“I will leave that up to you. I trust it will be very interesting.”

Janus didn’t want Remus to wake all the sides at this time with his shenanigans, but he doubted he could have really stopped Remus from doing so anyways though.

Remus snickered. “So anyways, what do you think?”

“Hm?”

“Of the plushies.”

Janus looked back down at them.

“Well…I’m certainly not going to play with them the way you just demonstrated.”

“You can do whatever you want with them, Jan. They’re your plushies.”

“I would not have asked for them. But I see nothing wrong with holding onto them though. Even for the mere sake of being special and having something not everyone has.”

Remus smiled and gave Janus a knowing look. “Sure Jan. Anyways, g’night!” With that, he slunk out.

Janus stepped over the book he had dropped earlier and sat on his bed, looking over the new plushies more. Something felt settled now that he was seeing plushy versions of himself and Remus. He couldn’t quite place it, but he didn’t feel the need to think of it too much at that time. They certainly had better outfits than the other plushies. Even if Janus had a bias towards his and Remus’s aesthetic, he didn’t really care if that was the case though. He also suddenly felt a tiredness he hadn’t mere moments ago. No matter. Janus set the plushies down on either side of his pillow before getting ready for bed.

He slipped into bed in his comfy pajamas, plushy Remus and Janus on either side of him. Maybe eventually Janus can have more Sanders Sides plushies. Once things had settled down. It wouldn’t do any harm if the sides weren’t aware of it. Nobody needed to know.

Yet, a few moments later, two loud sounds and a flashing red light jolted him awake. Janus blinked several times and then looked down at the plushies he hadn’t realized he had grabbed.

Plushy Janus was still hissing. Plushy Remus was screeching demonically with his eyes flashing red lights. They faded at the same time. Janus groaned and threw himself back against his pillow. He would have to discuss a nighttime mode for the plushies with Remus. Even so, the plushies stayed beside him on the bed.

[saffronapplemanga]

Untitled Blue - アンタイトル・ブルー

DRAMA, MYSTERY

Untitled Blue by Natsume Yukiko

(2 volumes, ongoing)

JP only - English summary in this post

Links to my other manga posts here

I've started out this year strong by completely ignoring my 2023 Manga Reading Goals post, which is very on-brand for me tbh, with Momo's Medical History, Yume no Shizuku Kin no Torikago, A California Story, and probably other stuff I'm forgetting. I have my reasons so leave me be. I decided to actually consult my list this time and was debating between Untitled Blue and Tenjou Renka. Knew practically nothing about either but went with Untitled Blue after skimming the samples for each. All I DID know beforehand was it had something about art and suicide, that's it. (***Trigger warning for suicide*** because it is indeed in there.)

This one’s for you Colleen *finger guns*

Once again, since this isn't available in English, I'll summarize it like I always do for Japanese-only manga. Spoilers for volumes 1-2 will be labeled and my thoughts will be after that. Twitter reading thread here. Twitter link to this post here.

***SPOILERS FOR VOLUME ONE***

*

*

*

Anyone else get labeled a “gifted/honor student” growing up? Ugh…

Ogihara Akari was called an art prodigy as a child but fizzled out when she got older. On her way home one day, she swings by the ocean to scavenge driftwood for the art prep school she works at. To her surprise, while she's there a young man emerges from the ocean in front of her eyes. Akari offers to call for help but the boy tells her not to. If she does, he'll die right here, right now. Unable to walk away, Akari brings him home where he proceeds to pass out on her couch. She tries to find an ID but instead finds an expensive watch engraved with the name of a big financial conglomerate.

It’s fine! On my second day in Japan way back when, I got in a stranger guy’s car in Ishinomaki who was fixing graves without a second thought because I got lost looking for the ferry. Sweet guy! I’m alive and didn’t get kidnapped! Don’t tell my mom... Don't do what I do guys, be safe. I speak Japanese and knew what I was doing.

The boy wakes up and wanders into a storage room in the house that's full of art supplies. When Akari realized where he went, she finds him painting and having read about her youth. While watching him paint, she sees childlike joy in him and he produces a beautiful piece of the beach where she found him. She asks him if he does Japanese painting but he says it was his first time using that kind of paint. FYI 日本画 nihonga or Japanese painting uses a specific type of paint. More info here. I met a nihonga artist who was getting ready for an exhibition at the art prep school I used to go to in Tokyo and I realized, "Wow, there's a lot about nihonga I don't know." I've seen nihonga materials at art supplies stores like Sekaido Shinjuku and PIGMENT TOKYO in Shinagawa, and I don't even know where to start tbh.

I mean, look at all this. At least there's cool stuff to look at on the long hike to the immigration office - PIGMENT TOKYO (Shinagawa)

The boy suggests that they sell his work under Akari's name because for reasons, he can't put his name out there. She insists that it won't be so simple but he goes, "You're a former prodigy. Let's just list it for like ¥800,000 or whatever."

¥800,000??? Sir??????? At first, I thought he said ¥80,000 which is like, yeah okay. But honestly? Ask for your worth artists!

Akari is envious that he was able to capture the feeling of the beach when she had drawn the same scenery over and over, but failed. Her work wasn't valued, but his painting of the beach actually sold for ¥800,000. Not only that, it was bought by Iwakura, a well-known artist in the nihonga scene. Akari thinks that the boy should come forward as the artist of the piece. Instead, he asks her how much time ¥800,000 would buy him to stay at her place and says, "Let me borrow your name and I'll give you fame and fortune." I am... screaming.

This is making me feral, both in a friendship way and a potential romance way. Porque no los dos?

While he's telling Akari that he thinks she never wanted to give up on art, her little brothers come home. She tells the kids that this stranger is... going to be living with them... Middle schooler Toma is a sweetheart who invites him to dinner, while high schooler Nagisa is also a great kid but more skeptical, pokes and prods, and is against it. We find out the boy's name is Omi and learn that Akari's parents died 8 years ago. Omi convinces Nagisa to let him stay because he'll make them ¥10,000,000. Nagisa agrees because he wants to make sure they can send Toma to college.

Later, Omi and Akari are talking and she asks him if he's somehow related to the financial conglomerate. She also expresses hesitation in letting him crash with them. This seems to hit a sore spot for Omi who feels like a burden and clearly has baggage.

Oof…

They discuss their arrangement and Omi talks about carving themselves into the world and having something to leave behind. One thing leads to another, and Akari ends up getting featured on Iwakura's TV show and a spot in an art gallery. She has a few close calls where she was at risk of getting exposed for not being the artist behind the piece. Akari's sudden success has also led to others feeling animosity toward her. However, Akari starts to show signs of coming into her own, and acknowledging her "sins." It looks like she's going to try and really get back into painting herself. Volume one ends with a “long-time fan” of Akari's coming to the gallery and confronting her, claiming that he knows she's lying.

***SPOILERS FOR VOLUME TWO***

The “fan” seems to know something is up, possibly that Omi is staying with Akari. It seems like he might be some gangster or perhaps works for the big financial group? We’re not told who he is yet.

Akari starts putting her all into art and taking it seriously. Back at the Ogihara household, Toma is showing an interest in art as well. Nagisa however, snaps at his siblings. I think it's from a place of worry for their future as well as discomfort with all the changes since Omi showed up. His outburst reminded me of parents who want their kids to pick “safe” paths that are more likely to lead to a secure future, hence why he’s so worried about sending Toma to college. They’ve all had to grow up quickly after losing their parents.

Nagisa runs off and everyone goes looking for him. During their search, Akari's mind starts spinning, feeling guilty for ever letting art come before her brothers and dropping the ball at home. Since their parents passed, she's had to step up as the eldest. She thought that as long as she could protect her family, she'd be fine, even if that meant giving up on her dreams.

While my life is not beat-for-beat like Akari’s, there are A LOT of similarities and… oh man… this hurts…

Stuck trying to balance sacrificing for the people she loves, part of Akari can't give up on her passions for her own sake. After she finds Nagisa, she tells him to watch her paint. He goes on to say that he's worried she'll get hurt again, so she tells him, "I hope you'll be there to help me so I can come out of it okay." Which, omg, yes. Allowing yourself to ask for help and not shouldering everything alone is good! All these kids are just so precious, honestly.

Meanwhile, Omi gets a letter from the Amasawa financial group which sends him into a mental spiral. We don't get to see what's in the letter exactly, but he starts to think things like, "I'm running out of time." We later find out the letter is threatening to drag the Ogihara family into things if Omi doesn't contact them.

Hello darkness my old friend~

Akari goes to check on him and takes him outside for a change of pace, where they discuss some plans to participate in an art fair. Omi seemingly out of nowhere tells Akari they should have a contest and, "If you win, I'll give you your name back." Of course, Akari is confused as to what he means and turns him down.

In the second half of chapter 7, Toma is skipping school for the first time ever. The "fan" guy, whose name is Hijiri, had run into Toma before and takes him on a ride on the back of his motorcycle. Basically, this grown-ass man is trying to build camaraderie with a literal child so he can use him to get at Omi. He manipulates Toma's insecurities and I hate it. Toma, sweetie, get away from him!!!

I’m gonna throw hands, I swear if he touches a hair on Toma's head (ง’̀-‘́)ง

It turns out Hijiri is Omi's cousin, specifically the son of Omi's younger paternal uncle. Because of this, Omi was set to be the heir of the Amasawa family, leaving Hijiri to live in his shadow. To make matters worse, Hijiri's dad was a hobby artist and started giving Omi more attention when he showed greater artistic talent than his son. To make matters even worse, Omi has everything Hijiri wants, but he doesn't want it himself. Omi tells him that if he wants to be the heir, he can have the position, then immediately threw himself off a balcony and into a lake. Good lord... Hijiri is furious that his cousin doesn't appreciate everything he's been "blessed" with, and he's going to drag him back home to get money and stop the Amasawa group from looking down on him. Get help bro, sheesh.

I'll be brief about the second half of this volume:

We get loads of emotional beats that made me absolutely lose it. So much so, I actually shot up out of my seat and pulled a muscle LOL. The ending of volume 2 just... crushed me. I'm so upset and I need to know what happens next right this instant. I won't say much more as I think it would be best to read those parts for yourself when it's available. I know I keep saying this for a lot of my reads recently, but please license this.

*

*

*

***END OF SPOILERS FOR VOLUMES 1-2***

As I mentioned in my Blue Period post, I'm an art kid. It's a big passion of mine. Having a well-written, realistically portrayed struggling artist/creative is always a plus in my book. I just wanna feel seen guys... This series delivers with a side of the kind of plot that we come to shoujosei for — chef's kiss.

The Ogihara family (including honorary member Omi) are lovable, interesting characters. I adore great sibling dynamics in stories, and this has great sibling dynamics! Akari and Omi are so different, but the same — two sides of the same coin? And Akari realizes this herself. Our main duo understand each other in some respects but don't at all in others. I liked how Akari understandably asks Omi personal questions the first day they met but doesn't pry when he clearly doesn't want to share. She leaves him be for the most part, not pestering him, but not to the point of letting him wallow around too much. But when she does push, it's from a place of caring and concern, and she does it in a way that makes that clear.

"How about a change of pace?"

"... Don't wanna... sounds like a pain."

"Oh, don't be like that! We're not going anywhere far." (Then she dragged him outside lol)

I'm sure some people are thinking, "You idiot, why are you bringing home some stranger and letting him live there? You don't even know who he is." And yeah, I feel that. But when Akari met Omi the way she did, she realized he was in a bad place, he was hurting, and desperately needed a hand to reach out to him. So, she took his hand. How could she leave him there? At the same time, I think Akari needed to meet him as much as he needed to meet her. I love that for them.

And Omi never crosses any lines with her. He doesn't have ulterior motives toward her in that way. There is potential romance, but there's no anime bullshit if you know what I mean. Omi is respectful, aware of the fact he's crashing at this stranger's house, and tries to contribute in his own way, albeit awkwardly. This guy was brought into this family and it warms my heart.

Initially, I was thinking that Akari would simply continue to be the face of the art while Omi produced it. I'm delighted to see that they're actually working together to be two halves of a whole! I think Akari was afraid to put her all into art while Omi might be putting too much of himself into his art. He's escaped a suffocating environment and could be going too hard pursuing the only thing he truly wants to do with his newfound freedom.

The art in Untitled Blue is lovely and does an amazing job of conveying how characters feel and nailing the mood in a scene. I enjoy the pacing as well.

Love it when you can feel a page!

This page feels like a visual representation of a panic attack but after the overwhelming thoughts, instead of the mental clarity she reaches here, your brain goes blank for a whole day. Glad you got the mental clarity route Akari.

These pages are sick, actual chills.

Speaking of art, there are some cool things that come up in the story. There's commentary on what makes art compelling, as well as scenes about art that's more realistic/photorealistic versus more stylized art.

"If you're getting this close to the real thing, why not just take a picture?"

"Is he serious? That's better than my drawing? It looks like something that took 5 seconds to draw." Isn't this basically what people say about Picasso's stuff? There was a line in Blue Period about this too.

I'm not saying photorealistic art is bad or less than. There are various opinions regarding this topic. A lot artists learn a foundation of what things are supposed to look like (still life, figure drawing, etc.) to learn the "rules" so they can break them. Some argue that "art normies" find realistic works more appealing than those with a more decerning eye. And this does come up in the manga.

There's also lots of talk about the value of art in various senses, and where they discuss the monetary value of art that I found interesting.

Yes, art is more than just the money, but artists are professionals that deserve to get paid well for their craft.

Loving the exploration of various ideas!

I'm not sure if this series is going to have romance or not, and whether it'll be more of a sub-genre or a big part of the manga. There are some incredibly tender scenes that could be taken as romantic, but could also be vulnerability and platonic love as well imo. MAL says it's drama/mystery/romance, but Renta! just has it listed under mystery/suspense, no romance, so idk. I'm cool with things being platonic or romantic as long as it's done well. Although, I kind of want more platonic relationships.

I'm reading this on Renta! and romance series like うるわしの宵の月/In the Clear Moonlit Dusk are tagged with 恋愛/romance. Untitled Blue doesn't have the tag though.

I was looking around to see if there was a release date for volume 3, but it turns out that there hasn't been a volume released since September 2021.

Volume 1 was released June 2021, and volume 2 was released September 2021.

But the mangaka tweeted this in November 2022:

"Untitled Blue volumes 1-2 are available 🎶 Volume 3 will release in the near future, so now's a great time to catch up 🎶”

Haven't seen any release dates, but it looks like we can look forward to volume 3 soon! I enjoyed Untitled Blue WAY more than I was expecting to and I can't wait to read more!!! After the end of volume 2, I need to know what happens... It actually made me tear up. I mean, aren't the best reading experiences the ones that make you bounce off the walls and scream at the page?

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

If there's any Japanese-only manga you want me to check out, let me know! No promises, I'll only read what I'm interested in, but I'll take suggestions into consideration. Preferably, shorter manga or newer manga with a few volumes out since I like to take breaks from longer series I'm reading :)

[mas-o-kissed]

(READ MY DNI, NO MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS.

CW: vampires, accident/physical trauma mention, public humiliation, consensual and nonconsensual hypnosis, themes of the submissive being unable to disobey because his purpose is servitude

Newly turned vampire’s submissive nature is revealed in a hypnosis class.)

Eddie looked around the room at the circle of students and he had one thought: he wasn’t cut out to be a vampire.

Most of the others in this class had chosen to walk the path of night, had spent years seeking the opportunity to become vampires, powerful and eternal. But Eddie? Just a week before his accident, the local government had made it legal for next of kin to sign a form allowing a patient to be turned if it was the only thing that would save their life. He didn’t even remember the accident, but he did remember waking up ravenous, strapped down to a hospital bed with a muzzle shielding the nurse from his fangs. He was lucky to be alive. Well, sort of alive. He’d recoiled from his first blood bag, until eventually giving in to the hunger and draining it in seconds. Even then, he didn’t really feel like a vampire.

It had been two months, and he still didn’t know the first thing about being a vampire. They were supposed to be strong, charismatic, and commanding. Eddie just felt out of control, and that frightened him.

But, he supposed, that was exactly why newly turned vampires were required to take classes on how to use their powers. It all seemed a little funny, almost too normal for beings who supposedly held such power. But there they were, sat in a circle in the back of a closed apothecary.

The instructor walked in, a tall, confident presence in the dimly lit room. Beside him, his human partner pulled up a chair.

“Most of you know me,” the instructor began, “but for those who don’t, I am Victor. This is my partner, Isabelle. She has agreed to help me with a demonstration for today’s class. Today, we will be discussing the art of hypnosis.”

A few of the other fledgling vampires cheered or laughed. Eddie stayed silent, stiffening in his chair. He’d heard rumors, but he’d thought vampires’ hypnotic powers had been one of many misconceptions. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of it made him feel strange. He watched closely as Victor sat across from Isabelle. She looked into Victor’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection, some sort of electricity, between them.

“That’s it,” Victor said, his voice low and soothing, “look into my eyes and forget.” Isabelle’s eyelids fluttered, and her jaw went slack. “Forget your name,” he said, “forget everything except the here and now. You are under my control.”

Eddie felt a pop inside his mouth as his fangs suddenly extended, poking down between his lips. He quickly covered his mouth, trying his best to look casual as he hid his face behind his hand.

A vampire could typically retract their fangs, but there were a few situations where they could not control them: when feeding, when they felt intense emotions such as anger, and when they were turned on. Eddie wasn’t sure why, but at the sight of Isabelle’s entranced face, at the sound of Victor’s voice, he felt intensely horny. Though his classmates looked interested in the lesson, none of them appeared to be having the same reaction as Eddie.

“What is your name?” Victor asked Isabelle as she appeared to rise from the trance.

“I… I’m not… not sure…” she replied, a hazy and confused look on her face.

“Where are you from?”

“I can’t remember.”

Eddie felt himself blushing. He hadn’t realized that vampires could blush.

Victor smiled, looking around the class. “It’s quite simple to hypnotize a human. Nearly all humans can be hypnotized. The key is eye contact, though with a well-trained subject, you’ll find that even a simple gesture can carry great strength.” With that, he waved a hand, and Isabelle fell back into trance. He whispered a few words into her ear, and in a moment she was back to normal. Victor checked in with her, making sure she was okay, that she remembered who she was, and after gathering herself, she stood, getting herself a cup of water from the cooler as the class continued.

“Typically, vampires cannot be hypnotized,” said Victor. “For example, most of you know Eli, yes?” He motioned toward one of the new vampires, a dark-haired man with golden eyes. Many members of the class gave affirmations, and Eli smirked. “Let’s see if I can hypnotize you.” Victor stood over him for a moment, looking into his eyes. The smirk never left his lips, and after a moment, both he and Victor broke the silence with laughter. Eddie felt relief as his fangs finally retracted. “A very headstrong young vampire,” said Victor, turning back to the class. “Even one skilled in hypnosis would struggle to control his mind.”

“However,” he continued, “there are some vampires who are unable to resist hypnosis. Those who enjoy being controlled. Those who are aroused by it.”

Eddie swallowed. He tried to avoid looking at Victor as he continued. “Some refer to these types of vampires as thralls, others simply call them servants or vampire-slaves. Most of us thrive on control, on freedom, but not all. Some have a deep need to be controlled. It is their purpose to serve other vampires. For instance, you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s stomach sank as the class all looked in his direction, Victor approaching from the other end of the circle. “I know you’ve been trying very hard to hide it,” he said, amusement in his voice, “but your fangs came out the moment I put Isabelle in trance.”

“I-I…” Eddie stammered, at a loss for words, “I wasn’t, I mean… I’m not… that’s not… true…” his voice became quieter and smaller as he spoke. He heard a classmate giggle next to him.

Victor swiftly took a step forward, suddenly grabbing Eddie’s chin with his hands, forcing him to look up. “Oh? You don’t want to be controlled?” That was enough to bring out Eddie’s fangs again, and with his face clasped in Victor’s hand, he couldn’t hide them. He tried not to whimper as he looked up at Victor, who smiled and said, “Everyone can tell just by looking at you how pathetic you are, how weak you are. But you’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Hot, blood-tears of shame stung Eddie’s eyes as he tried to pull out of Victor’s grasp. “I’m not.. any of those things you said. I know I’m not like most of you, but if you’re going to single me out, I’m leaving.” Eddie pulled himself out of his chair and headed toward the door.

“Nonsense,” said Victor. “Take a seat at the center of the class.”

Eddie suddenly froze. He felt compelled, as though his body was out of his control. He felt the eyes of the students all on him, watching him with amusement, pity, and a few with expressions of sadistic pleasure as he walked back to the center of the circle.

“Notice how I didn’t even have to hypnotize him. That is the mark of a very good servant. It is nearly impossible for him to disobey a direct order from another vampire, especially one who is older and more powerful. One like this rarely remains free for long… I wonder which of his lucky classmates will take ownership of him.”

“N-no…” Eddie didn’t even know how to protest. He couldn’t believe what was happening. He felt like he was being auctioned off, like the traits that had embarrassed him as a human— his submissiveness, his eagerness to please, his obedient nature— had been elevated to an extreme now that he was a vampire, and were on display for all to see. He had never felt more humiliated.

But his fangs were still out. As humiliated as he felt, he also felt immense pleasure. He was enjoying this, and everyone could see it.

“When it comes to obedience, it is unlikely that you will need to hypnotize someone like Eddie,” said Victor, looking down at him, “but, of course, it’s so much fun.”

Victor gazed into Eddie’s eyes and Eddie quickly closed them, turning his head away. “No, Eddie,” Victor said softly, his voice gentle and coaxing, “Don’t look away. Be a good boy and look into my eyes.”

Eddie couldn’t help it. He felt his body obey, his eyes locking with Victor’s.

An immediate calm washed over him. The rest of the class, the room, the shame he was feeling, faded away until they were nothing but a blur. There was nothing but him, and Victor’s eyes, and Victor’s voice, and a warm, inviting darkness that closed in around him.

“Very good, Eddie,” Victor put a gentle hand on Eddie’s head. Eddie’s face was locked in a vacant stare, his mouth half-open, revealing his fangs. Victor turned his attention back to the class. “Some people believe that a human cannot take control over a vampire. I am about to prove this theory false.”

Isabelle walked back to the center of the class as Victor spoke to Eddie, “For the moment, Eddie, you belong to Isabelle. She is your master. Your superior. Until I tell you otherwise, all you want in this world is to please her. It is your purpose to serve. You were made for this.”

Eddie’s eyelids fluttered. In the back of his mind, he could hear his own voice protesting. But that voice was so quiet compared to Victor’s, and so much less convincing.

“Repeat what I have told you,” said Victor.

“I belong to Isabelle. She is my master. My superior. Until you tell me otherwise, all I want in this world is to please her. It is my purpose to serve. I was made for this.” Eddie said the words robotically, his mouth obeying without his will behind it.

A blood-tear rolled down his cheek, but it wasn’t because he was afraid. It was because he knew it was true. It was his purpose to serve. Even in trance, it felt so good to say it. Victor wiped the tear from his cheek, and waved a hand over Eddie’s face.

Eddie blinked. Some awareness returned to him, but he was not quite himself. Something was off, different. There was only one thing on his mind: he needed to serve Isabelle.

“Eddie,” she called, and he immediately looked to face her. He was eager, like a puppy. He couldn’t help himself. He was so excited to serve Isabelle. He needed it. Was it strange for a vampire to serve a human? Was it odd that he should do so in front of the class? He couldn’t consider these matters. He could only serve Isabelle.

She motioned him over, and she swiftly pushed him to his knees. “Who am I?” She asked.

“You are Isabelle, my master. My superior.”

“Very good,” she said, patting his head like a dog. She looked to Victor, “He’s so cute! Can we keep him?”

Victor looked amused. “Perhaps, but I think we will have some competition.”

Eddie couldn’t understand any of this. He already belonged to Isabelle. What competition could there be? She looked down at him. “Kiss the tops of my shoes, pet.”

Eddie did. Others in the class snickered behind him, but he could barely hear them.

“Remove your shirt and pants.”

Eddie did, folding them neatly beside him before returning to his kneeling position in front of Isabelle, wearing only his underwear.

“Stick out your tongue,” she said, and he did, eagerly looking up at her.

“Bark for me.”

He did, and more of his classmates reacted around him.

“Alright,” said Victor, “I think that’s enough for today.” He waved a hand in front of Eddie and said, “I release you.”

Awareness came over Eddie’s face. He suddenly realized that he was naked, and he scrambled to cover himself with his clothes. Isabelle helped him to his feet. The moments before, kneeling before her, had passed as though they were a dream. As he pulled his clothes back on, Victor patted him on the shoulder, ushering him back towards his seat.

Eddie sat back down, covering his face in his hands. He was so thoroughly embarrassed, so humiliated. And yet… it somehow felt right. His fangs still refused to retract in his mouth. He realized it would probably be a while before he would calm down enough to retract them.

As the fledgling vampires left the class, Eddie trailed behind, arms hugging his sides. Up ahead of him, Eli turned back, his expression hard to read.

“Eddie,” said Eli with a smile, “Carry my bag.”

“Okay,” Eddie responded automatically, reaching for it. He felt butterflies in his stomach. He knew this would be the first of many times his classmates exploited his obedience, now that it had been revealed to them. That thought, the thought of being unable to disobey them, gave him a thrill.

“And Eddie?” Added Eli, as he walked just a little ahead of Eddie, leading him.

“Yes?”

“When I give you an order, say ‘yes, sir.’”

Eddie blushed, the words escaping his lips, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

[outofangband]

Halloween Prompts: Menagerie

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

This is part of a longer story but I really wanted to have at least one Halloween piece!

It’s technically part of my present!Maitimo verse but it can be easily read as a stand-alone

CW: body horror/body modifications, implied medical abuse and experimentation, dehumanization

I have a headcanon piece that talks about some of the stuff here coming up and as always please feel free to ask more

The room was lit with torches lining the wall next to the door and the opposite one as well as strange, glowing clumps of a fibrous, veined substance that Maitimo could not name but that he had seen before in some of the lower corridors and empty halls.

Like all of the domain of the Lieutenant, this room has a sterile feeling as opposed to the grime Maitimo was used to in his cell. He was reluctant to call it clean. Certainly the surfaces and walls were spotless but there was too a harsh, precise atmosphere that made him feel exposed

And of course there was the actual contents of the room. The reason he had been dragged here.

The sleek, spotless bars that lined the spaces against the wall were more akin to cages than the cells below. Indeed, their occupants were far more akin to beasts than their kin trapped here. They were all elves once. That was plain enough. Many still possessed elven features. But unlike the orcs who wore the distorted, warped skins of the Eldar, the creatures in the cages had features added or modified. One young elleth sported dark brown wings. They did not appear functional, that is, she could not attempt flight. But they twitched and folded around her as Maitimo passed her cage. Another, and Maitimo could not have said what gender they once were, stood upright upon two thin legs, one arm poised against their chest, the other hanging loose at their side. They appeared almost elven but for the bright white patches of mottled skin that cropped up over their naked body, and their uncanny lack of movement

There was a dark haired ellon who struck him as familiar but getting closer was impossible. He was crouched in a dark corner of his cage, hands and feet splayed upon the ground at odd angles and looking very much as though he meant to pounce. A bowl of water had been placed just within the cage. Some had spilled around it.

Many if not most of the residents were positioned away from their barred doors, either curled up with limbs pulled tightly, making use of one or more strange appendages to shield themselves or merely remaining in what shadowed corners they could find within their cages.

Most were silent, unable or unwilling to speak. Eerie rustling, dragging sounds came from some of the cages. Another dark haired ellon made something like a low growl in the back of their throat. It did not strike Maitimo as aggressive however. The sound was more one of faint curiosity, almost a filler noise.

Many moved back into corners when the Lieutenant passed them though he did no more than glance at each one.

“It is an obstacle at times,” the voice of Mairon was deceptive as his fair appearance, conversational, almost friendly, “That all born here seek shelter from the light. Even when they might be aided by navigating it. We can alter fears, expectations of course. But it is one more obstacle.”

“What are these?” Maitimo broke the silence between them, “Why are you telling me this?”

The Lieutenant offered him an indulgent smile.

“Mm I suppose you among your kin have little interest in craftsmanship.” It sounded as though he spoke the second line of a statement but Maitimo could not have said what proceeded it. It was clearly meant to provoke him, to goad him into denying the craft or otherwise insulting Mairon. He felt no real satisfaction or victory in remaining silent, refusing to accept this bait.

If the Lieutenant was disappointed he did not show it. He was brilliant, elegant as always.

“Not up to speaking, Maitimo dear?” He says smoothly, “That is very well. I did not bring you here for conversation after all.” He walks to a table on the far opposite end of the room where another door leads further into his quarters. Maitimo lingers, not that he has much room of a choice, his collar is chained to the wall so he might walk the length of the room but go little further. The chain itself is unbearably cold to the touch. Maitimo supposes this is in an effort to prevent him harming himself with it. He watches dully as the Lieutenant gathers up several items from different drawers. The sounds from the other inhabitants are louder now, easier to distinguish between.

Mairon walks back carrying under one arm an oddly shaped satchel.

“You can watch me feed them!”

(Anyways,,, I hope this is ok. I’ve been feeling bad about my Angband writing lately. If anyone has prompts or feedback or anything I’d love it)

[queenshelby]

The Policeman’s Daughter – Part Two

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mention of Assault, Murder, Fluff, Mild Smut

Words: 2,345

Birmingham, 12 September 1924

It was Saturday night and seven days have passed since your encounter with Thomas Shelby and you have not heard from him. Perhaps he had changed his mind, you thought. You could understand if he did. He was probably still grieving the death of his wife or perhaps you simply weren’t a match for him.

Over the past seven days, you had learned that Thomas Shelby and his family owned most of the factories and industrial buildings in Small Heath as well as several streets of back-to-back housing.

He must have been a wealthy man with no interest in a common woman like you.

That same night, your father was away for work, investigating two recent murders in Small Heath in a pub called the Garrison and he had left you with two men who were employed by the Crown as security guards.

You felt safe with the men around the house and certainly didn’t expect an intrusion to occur on that night. But you were wrong. You weren’t safe at all. At least so it seemed as, at around 8 o’clock, you heard a knock on one of the windows behind where you were sitting, inside the reading room which was facing the forest.

Your heart began to pound as you turned around and peeked through the curtain only to find that it was Thomas.

Surprised and shocked all at the same time, you quickly opened the window while covering up your skin with a large satin robe.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked with slight anger.

‘I said I would find you’ Tommy smirked, whispering as he did. ‘Get your coat’ he then instructed, not really giving you a choice to say no.

‘I am not leaving the house with an armed man who I barely know’ you said reluctantly and Tommy raised his eyebrows for a short moment before giving you a smile.

‘Fair enough’ Tommy said, reaching beneath his coat, taking the gun out of his holster and handing it to you.

‘Now you are an armed woman leaving with an unarmed man’ he then smirked and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

You quickly got your coat and boots from the next room, not bothered by the fact that, beneath all this, you would be wearing only a thin nightgown.

Tommy then held the window open and helped you to climb outside while ensuring that you wouldn’t slip on the wet grass.

‘So where are we going?’ you asked quietly, knowing very well that you shouldn’t be going anywhere with this stranger. You didn’t know why, but for some reason, you trusted him. His deep blue eyes appeared honest and comforting in a way and your attraction towards him clearly had gotten the better of you.

‘Just follow me, eh’ Tommy said somewhat reassuringly before taking your hand.

‘My father is a policeman and will get very angry if something was to happen to me’ you said nervously, wanting to ensure your own safety.

‘A copper, eh?’ Tommy said somewhat unbothered, thinking that your father is probably one of Moss’s men and therefore on his payroll.

You simply nodded and then followed Tommy into the woods, nervously and excited all at the same time.

After about fifteen minutes, you reached a small camp near the river and Tommy was quick to introduce you to some of the men, women and children who were there.

‘I thought you might like to be with kin for a change’ Tommy said after he introduced to the Lee family.

‘Your mother used to travel with us when she was young’ a woman named Esmeralda said to you and it was obvious to you that Tommy had told her your name. It was also clear that Tommy had done his research on you before visiting you that night.

You immediately felt comfortable around the Lee Family and spent several hours at the camp, talking, drinking and eating.

Whilst you appreciated Tommy’s gesture, introducing you to the Lees after what you had told him about your life when you met at the orphanage, you also desperately wanted to be alone with him and get to know him better. He seemed to know so much about you while you knew so little about him.

Eventually, Tommy noticed that you were cold, clearly not dressed for the occasion and he finally suggested that you sit down by the fire with him.

‘Go on Tommy Boy’ Johnny Dogs shouted after you as followed Tommy to the fireplace near the river bank.

In response, Tommy swore using gypsy tongue, before telling you to ignore Johnny Dogs. According to Tommy, he hadn’t been accompanied by a woman since his wife Grace had passed away and, therefore, your presence took Johnny Dogs by surprise.

As you finally reached the fireplace and you sat down on of the blankets scattered around it, Tommy took off his coat and placed it over you in order to keep you warm.

‘Thank you’ you said shyly as his blue eyes locked with yours. ‘Now tell me Tommy, how did you know where I live?’ you asked curiously, knowing that you had never told him your address.

‘I simply asked your employer’ Tommy winked and it was when you realised that you just asked him a completely silly question. Of course, he knew your address. The charitable organisation of which he was the founder and chairman had signed your employment contract.

‘You never told me what brought you to Birmingham’ Tommy then went on to say before asking you to hand him the cigarettes from the pocket of his coat.

But, as you reached into the pocket on the right to retrieve his cigarettes, smokes weren’t all you found. In fact, the first thing you inadvertently took out was a small case containing a blue bottle of cocaine and a brown bottle of opium which, without questions, you quickly put back into their place.

‘My father’s work is what brought us here’ you eventually said as you handed Tommy his cigarettes.

‘You said he is a copper, right?’ Tommy observed before lighting himself a cigarette and you nodded before Tommy continued on.

‘What is a copper from London doing in Birmingham? It doesn’t seem like a good career move to me’ Tommy chuckled and you simply told him that he wanted a change of scenery for the both of you and an easier life.

‘Well, I am not sure if he came to the right place then, eh’ Tommy laughed.

‘Why, is there a lot of crime here?’ you then went on to ask and Tommy shook his head.

‘Just the usual brawls you can expect in a town full of working men’ Tommy chuckled before quickly changing the topic.

You then talked for at least an hour about your respective upbringings and gypsy roots and Tommy appeared genuine and kind. It was obvious to you that he felt attracted towards you and, over the hour, you moved closer and closer towards each other, sharing one cigarette after another as you talked for what felt like an eternity.

You sat so close to him that you could smell the scent of his aftershave, a hint of musk and sweetness and it was at this point that Tommy made an admission to you.

‘I have to be honest Y/N. I didn’t just bring you out here to introduce you to the Lee Family’ Tommy said, just as the moment was right.

‘So, what are your alternate motives then Mr Shelby?’ you asked shyly but with a smile.

‘This’ Tommy responded quietly while caressing your face with one of his hands before drawing your face towards his with ease and pressing his lips onto yours.

You gave into the kiss, parting your lips slightly as you did and allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

His lips were soft and warm and you ran your hands through his hair gently as you deepened the kiss.

Tommy’s hands then moved from your face over your chest and beneath his warm coat, brushing your breasts in the process.

It was at this point you abruptly pulled away and began to breathe heavily. His hands were too close to the scar which carried all your bad memories.

‘Don’t. I am sorry’ you said, your hands shaking as you broke out in tears.

‘Hey, look at me Y/N’ Tommy said calmly, unsure why you reacted the way you did but wanting to calm you down and comfort you.

‘Whatever it is, its alight, eh’ Tommy said, his both cupping your face, making you look at him and nod.

‘I am so sorry. I just…’ you said, looking down at the fire, unable to finish your sentence as tears built up in the corners of your eyes again.

Tommy sat there patiently, telling you to breathe before wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

‘I am ashamed of my body Tommy. I just am not ready for this’ you went on to say and Tommy looked at you, his eyes full of questions.

‘Then we won’t’ Tommy said calmly, his thumb running over your cheek as he smiled at you. ‘Although, you really have no reason to be ashamed. You are beautiful’ Tommy then whispered reassuringly before giving you another quick kiss, intending to leave at this for the night.

‘Yeah, well, you say this now but that might change when you see the hideous scar covering my stomach’ you said rather upset and it was at this point that Tommy stood up, took off his suit jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.

You weren’t quite sure what he was doing and you were slightly concerned about his actions when he suddenly pulled you up and reached for your hand.

‘Count them’ Tommy said as he guided your hand over his bare chest before telling you to reach behind him and run your hand over his back.

‘Six’ you said, swallowing harshly, realising that he had just a few more scars than you which evidentially all came from bullets and stabbings.

‘Seven actually’ Tommy chuckled as your hand left his chest and you took Tommy’s hand and guided it beneath your nightgown and right over your scar.

Your scar was large, covering the right side of your abdomen. But Tommy didn’t seem bothered and simply kissed you again, as passionately as he could and you would allow him.  

‘Who did this to you?’ Tommy then asked as your lips drifted apart and it was at this point that you broke down, confiding him about what had happened to you.

You never confided in anyone before and the truth was, you didn’t know why you told Tommy that night. But you felt that it was the right thing to do.

Shortly thereafter, Tommy walked you back home and, just as you reached the house and sneaked past the security guards which, quite evidentially didn’t do their job, Tommy kissed you again, gently but yet passionately.

‘Can I see you again?’ he then asked and you nodded shyly.

‘I didn’t think you would want to after tonight’ you said somewhat embarrassed about how things had ended.

‘You have no idea, do you?’ Tommy chuckled just as one of the security guards came walking around the house.

Without his coat and gun, Tommy kissed you goodbye in a rush before disappearing into the night, ensuring that he wouldn’t get caught.

‘Everything alright Miss?’ one of the guards asked, curious as to what the noises were which he had heard.

‘Yes, just two rabbits out and about. So cute’ you said as you stuffed Tommy’s coat and gun beneath the blanket on the sofa while looking out of the window.

‘Rabbits?’ the guard asked.

‘Yes, the small animals with the big ears and the fluffy tail’ you said.

Birmingham, 17 September 1924

Following your evening at the river with Tommy, you hadn’t heard from him for days and thought again that, perhaps, he had changed his mind.

But he didn’t and, on the morning of the 17th of September, you received a telegram, delivered to your house along with the daily newspaper your father had ordered.

With a cup of coffee, you sat down in the reading room, opening the telegram.

****

‘Y/N,

I ensured that this telegram would only reach you in your father’s absence.

Meet me tonight, at 8 o’clock. Your father will be busy and security will be taken care of. I will be waiting for you outside the gate of your property’

Tommy’

****

After you read the telegram, you couldn’t help but smile while a feeling of warmth and butterflies rushed through your body.

Nonetheless, you were surprised by his influence. How did he know that your father would be busy and how would he take care of security, you wondered?

But those thoughts soon left your mind when you opened the newspaper and read the headlines.

****

Judge dead in house explosion

Judge Kent has died along with his 24-year-old son in what appeared to have been a house explosion caused by two hand grenades.

Mysteriously, their death occurred just an hour before two killings in a London Nightclub in which another two men had been shot. This also appeared to be a targeted attack.

The two men identified as Jonathan Cohen and Lucas Cohen, friends and acquaintances of the Judge’s Kent’s son who, several years ago, escaped charges for assault.

Whether the murders are linked is yet to be determined and no arrests were made.

 Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15  @stickyknightflowerbailiff​ @im-constantly-fangirling​

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby