#it feels so wrong for her to have golden hair like she's white blonde its canon. to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

apoptoses · 8 months ago

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Venice in winter is nothing compared to his homeland, but it’s still damp, oppressive. Outside the sky is a pale shade of grey and the wind must be blowing something fierce, as the little roundels of glass rattle in their iron panes.

But Bianca’s chambers are a hot house. Heat crackles in the fireplace, from the candelabras that dot the walls and tables. Steam curls from the surface of her bath and Amadeo watches the way the wisps of blond hair that surround her face curl with it. She tips her head back against the rim of the tub to look at him. Her cheeks are flushed as rose petals when she smiles, gone pink from the steam.

“You’ve made a terrible mess of my bed,” she says.

And so he has. Having no spare clothing here he’s had no choice but to yank the velvet covers free and wrap himself in them. He’s lying the wrong way, his feet peeking out near the head of the bed. He pushes them into a pillow and grins behind the auburn curtain of his hair.

“And what of it?” he asks.

“Does your master let you get away with such things?”

“No. He beats me terribly. I’m a victim of his punishments almost nightly.”

Bianca rolls her pretty blue eyes. “And you enjoy it, don’t you?”

He does. But she needn’t know that.

This room with all of its delicate things- perfume bottles, silk ribbons draped across her vanity table, Bianca’s little shoes and her combs for her hair and her vases of flowers- it’s not the place for that sort of talk. It’s like being inside a jewelry box. Like being beneath the sea, with the way the steam has collected on the windows and left them shimmering and wet.

Bianca toys with the golden end of her braid, searching it for split hairs. The pearl strands woven into it click softly as she twists and turns her hair.

Amadeo lives in a beautiful palazzo of unruly boys. He sleeps in his master’s strong, imposing bed. He’s been to brothels of all sorts, enjoyed their lurid sort of appeal but this place, this woman’s chamber- it holds such fascination. He watches her in awe as she lifts her feet from beneath the water, rests them on the opposite end of the tub, and he feels as though he’s under a spell.

“You look like a mermaid,” he mumbles.

Water runs down her legs. They’re pale, slender, and Amadeo wonders if he grasped her by the ankle if his fingers would touch where they encircle it. Pressed together as they are, water and soap bubbles clinging to her skin, they look like the appendage of a sea creature. If he blurs his vision the fine golden hair on her legs becomes scales.

“Oh?” Bianca flicks a bit of water at him. It lands on the tip of his nose. “And were I a mermaid what would you be? Some fisherman come to capture me? A prince lost at sea, desperate for saving like Odysseus? Come, wash my back and tell me.”

Amadeo rises from the bed. He leaves the safety of the blankets behind and drags her carved wooden stool over to the side of the tub.

Funny how they’re both naked and yet he feels all the more vulnerable for it. Bianca is otherworldly with her hair swept aside, her head tilted to expose the line of her throat, her shoulder. He takes the wet cloth, rubs the perfumed water into her skin, and wonders what a crude being he must be in comparison.

“Perhaps I would capture you and travel about with you, keeping you on display. I could charge a gold coin just to look upon your beauty,” he says. “You’d make me a rich man.”

He drags the cloth over the delicate ball of her shoulder. It’s white as a porcelain doll, soft in a way none of the other boy’s flesh is. Amadeo massages at her skin and takes in the musicality of her little groan.

“Mm, and would you keep me in a cage? Would you be a very strict master, one who never lets his little captive out?” she teases.

Amadeo nods. “A golden one, so that I might hand feed you through the bars. I could charge another coin for that, I think. Plenty of men would pay for the pleasure of passing you a little bite of fish.”

He washes her scapula when she leans forward, the ball joint at the base of her neck. Her breasts bob in the water, slick with soap, flushed pink with the heat, and Amadeo can’t resist running the cloth over her clavicle. Down and down until his finger slides into the valley between them where her sternum rests. Her laugh vibrates beneath the bone as she slaps at his wrist.

It’s a half-hearted protest. Splashing just for the sake of getting him wet, and as Amadeo dodges her hand he pretends to accidentally grope her. The entirety of her breast nestles perfectly into his hand.

“You’re such a predictable boy. Would you have them pay to do this as well?” Bianca asks. Her voice rises into a gasp when he catches her nipple between his finger and thumb. “How many gold coins to molest your captive mermaid?”

She’s soft. Not like his master, who’s like caressing one of the marble statues that lines their courtyard. Bianca has warm breasts to squeeze, a roll of flesh that appears above her stomach when she sits hunched and naked like this. Amadeo rubs his palm over the swell of her stomach, his fingertips brushing the gold curls that cover her mound, and curls his other arm around her shoulders to clasp her wet back to his chest.

“None,” he says. “I wouldn’t charge them any, because this I would keep all for my own.”

The wind rattles the shutters of the palazzo. Rain lashes at the windows. It’s freezing outside but in here Amadeo is sweating. It trickles down his back as he grazes her thighs with his fingers. He’s damp under the arms, too warm from the fireplace, from his desire. Just like with his master, he feels monstrous from it. Lesser for the needy thing between his legs. An animal driven by lust.

Bianca struggles in his grasp. Not to get free, to rise up toward his wandering hand. But the position is awkward. Her ankles, perched as they are on the edge of the tub, they don’t give her enough leverage to lift her hips and so she’s trapped there; wiggling like a fish. Amadeo teases at the crease where her thighs meet. He traces it from knee to pubis and back again and listens to the quickening of her breath.

The cleft of her must be slick. She’s probably flushed pink down there as well but he can’t see it through the water, the way her thighs are clenched together. But that’s alright. He’s submitted to his master, to the workers of the brothels. Amadeo’s not had anyone squirm for him and he’s finding he likes this game. Her shiver when he rakes his nails through her curls sets his blood alight.

He works his finger into the tight crevice where her thighs meet. He seeks out the sensitive nub between her legs and he knows he’s found it by the way Bianca tips her head back and inhales a sharp breath.

Amadeo tries to picture her as a sea creature. What folds she might have here, in this secret part of her. Whether she’d be warm inside or cold, slimy like the belly of a fish. He forces his finger further down through the squeeze of her thighs and teases at her entrance.

It’s torment, being outside of this bath, unable to plunge into her. In the excitement of the previous night he’d finished all too quickly, and it’s embarrassing, really. He’s dying inside to repeat his performance, to do better this time. But he owes her. Pleasure is the only way he can pay her.

Bianca’s hands grip his forearm like a vice. They’re slender, like a doll’s, and he likes to feel small but she’s the first to make him feel powerful. He rubs tiny circles at her and her nails dig into his skin. Glides his finger up and down and watches through the distortion of the water the needy thrust of her hips.

“Amadeo-“ she gasps.

Her knees fall apart. He clucks his tongue at her, stills his hand.

“You’re a mermaid, remember? Your legs should stay together, yes, like that.”

She lets out a whine, clenches her legs back into place. Amadeo touches her again, slow, teasing, and bites back a hiss when she claws at his wrist.

This is new, having someone fall apart in his arms. Taking her apart little by little with his fingertip alone is a rush that goes straight to his head. Like being drunk only better, because instead of a headache there’s a reward at the end. Falling upon her in her great golden bed. Or perhaps just the satisfaction of seeing her shake with pleasure. That alone might be enough.

The pearls in Bianca’s braid click when she tosses her head. Amadeo strokes her, up and down, again and again. Runs his finger along her folds and watches her toes curl at the edge of the bath. He presses at her entrance. Makes as if he’ll let his fingertip in and her toes point with anticipation. Then go lax again when he takes his fingertip away and seeks out the sensitive nub of her again.

“You’re a horrible tease,” she complains.

Amadeo laughs. “I’m your captor, aren’t I? It’s my right to tease. I trapped you for my own pleasure, after all.”

He traces a little circle over her clit. Bianca presses his cheek into the crook of his elbow, as though she means to hide her face.

“Most men would take their pleasure in other ways.”

There’s no hiding herself, though. Amadeo tilts his head, ignores the pain that comes with straining into such an awkward position, and takes in the way she’s panting. The rush of color to her cheeks, how she bites her lip when he touches just the right way. He keeps on that spot, repeats the motion, and he can tell by the way she squeezes her thighs that she’s squeezing tight on the inside too.

“I’m unlike most men,” he says, and kisses at her throat.

Her skin tastes like the perfumed water. Like salt because she too has begun to sweat. He rubs over and over, feels the rush of her pulse, and wonders if this is what his master feels with him. Whether making him squirm, helpless in his arms, makes him feel indomitable as well, and for a second he wishes he could rend her throat with his teeth. Amadeo wants to feel the stitch of her heart the way his master feels his whenever he bites into his flesh and takes his blood.

Slow circles. Over and over he spirals his fingertip. No change in the motion, no teasing now. There’s only one end to this and he means to achieve it as he drops kisses along her neck. Amadeo picks up his speed bit by bit until she gasps. There, there- the words are muttered out over the slosh of the bath, and he listens. Takes her advice even though his forearm is screaming at him, and-

Bianca kicks at the edge of the tub. Her cry sounds surprised, like she didn’t expect to be wracked with this much sensation, and she shakes with it. Her thighs squeeze so tight around Amadeo’s finger he couldn’t slip it inside her even if he wanted to.

And that’s fine. Good, in fact. This pleasure is for her sake and even if his cock is throbbing its need between his legs it can wait. Must wait, he decides. His master would scold him for taking her like a street ruffian not once but twice.

She’s lovely when she goes slack. Bianca’s hair is mussed from rubbing her face against his arm, a gold curl come free near her temple. Amadeo goes to tuck it back for her but she shakes her head.

“My hair will have to be redone entirely.” She plunges her wet fingers into his auburn hair and drags him down for a kiss. Her body is uncomfortably hot, sticky against his. “You’re right, you know.”

“About what?”

She nips at his lip, hard enough to leave it smarting. While Amadeo is busy rubbing at his mouth she rises from the tub like Venus from her shell. Arm covering her breasts, she reaches with the other hand and gestures for him to hand her a dry sheet.

“You’re like your master,” she says.

Amadeo cocks his head. He hands her the sheet without getting up from the stool, suddenly embarrassed of the thing throbbing between his own legs. He aches to throw her to the floor and take her.

“How so?” he asks.

Bianca enshrouds herself in white fabric. One neat movement, so well practiced that she hardly drips water onto the floor, and she’s perched on the edge of the bath rubbing herself dry. Arms first, then legs. She brings her ankle up to rest upon her knee and Amadeo can’t help but stare at the bone white jut of it. She’s pale as his master there. Her ankles never see the sunlight and so he can see the blue veins through her skin, and he wonders how they’d taste.

“Both of you are entirely unlike other men,” Bianca murmurs. Her foot with its pale sole, white as the belly of a fish, lands suddenly in Amadeo’s lap. She grinds her heel down and draws a gasp from him. “Now come to bed, Amadeo. I believe it’s time your captive takes her revenge. You’ll allow me some fun, won’t you? Before I release you back into the waters to swim home to your master?”

The pearls in her braid are loose. He ruts up against her foot and hears them rattle when she tosses her head back and smirks.

Amadeo is hooked. How easily he swings between such extremes. Misery and ecstasy. Dominance and submission. Shame and desire. He’s a being made of contradictions, and as he follows her to her golden bed he thinks he’ll do anything she wants so long as it keeps him here a moment longer. Safe from reality in her jewelry box room.

Safe from his sadness so long as he remains trapped in the net of want.

#a quickie i'd prepped for mermay #no actual mermaids involved lmao #i just wanted to write the armand/bianca smut nobody ever asked for #as a little tumblr exclusive #for funsies #anyways barely scraping in under the deadline oops #maybe i'll work on those short prompts as a warm up for bigger things this week #anyways reply to this post if you like it!!!#vamptember #mermay vc #armand/bianca #vc fic #apoptoses fic

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kylobith · 1 year ago

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LotR Week - Day 2 (12th Dec)

language | culture | beauty

Word count: 4,197

Under the burning afternoon sun reflecting upon the white city, Faramir emerged from the library, instantly shielding his eyes. Had he truly kept his nose buried in scrolls for so long? When he had entered, it was merely dawn, the palace still lulled in peaceful sleep. Constantly awoken by the tiniest noises and cracks from the hallways or outside, he had stirred out of bed and had decided to do what he did best in such irritating moments.

Studying.

Recently, he had found a plethora of reasons to delve into books again — not that he truly needed any — and learn as much as he could about a realm whose history and people that he admitted to not have paid heed to often enough.

Now that he and Éowyn were married, he felt a pang of guilt for not knowing more than he already did about her kingdom and her kin. Although they were to settle in Ithilien once their new home would be born from the ruins of a previous mansion, Faramir yearned to respect the customs of her land as much as his own within their household.

He was willing to compromise and demonstrate his sense of flexibility. Where their art of guest-receiving would align with Gondor’s standards, he saw no problem with providing a mixed education to the children he hoped to have and raise with her. Often had he pictured it; a blonde little being mounted on horseback with the poise of a court member of King Elessar’s entourage. The child would master Westron and Rohirric at equal level, speak Quenya fluently, and have at least some notions in Sindarin or Dwarvish tongues. They would be both wild and tame, proud of the two united banners of their bloodline.

Sensing that he was getting ahead of himself again, Faramir departed from the archives and set out for the citadel. As he paused to contemplate the breath-taking view upon the Pelennor, one which he should have long grown weary of, he found his mind drifting back to his research.

Rohirric. A language unlike any other that he knew or at least encountered, with its peculiar grammatical structure and malleable word order. For the first time in years, he was facing a barrier between the knowledge he sought and himself, as if the more he read about it and its phonetic system, the less he understood. It was as though he was grappling with a most complex device he needed to unlock, but missed the keys to access even the most basic notions of the dialect that she grew up speaking.

He had considered asking Éowyn directly to teach him, and the thought of having her sit him down at a table whilst happily scribbling away on a piece of parchment to also participate in the recording of Rohan’s oral culture sounded like the best way to ever spend time.

Faramir pictured her hardly-concealed impatience at his mistakes and his horrid accent, typical of beginners. How she would be unable to tame her reactions to spare his feelings, wincing whenever he would say something wrong or pronounced something to the point of complete incomprehension. And he would love every bit of it. She was Éowyn, after all. The fairest maiden he had ever beheld, the one who accepted his hand in marriage and shared his bed ever since the lavish wedding at Edoras.

But he meant for the whole learning process to remain a secret for now. It was all part of the grand gesture he wanted to make for her. He had already planned most of it. At sunset, he would take her to the garden in Minas Tirith, where he had held her hand for the first time. They would watch the golden and rosy hues of the evening sky from underneath the arches, and he would slip a carefully-picked flower into her luscious hair. Then, he would recite a love poem he would have written in her language, ending it with a simple sentence reflecting his adoration for her, and making a point of how beautiful she was to him.

If he finally managed to grasp the quirks of Rohirric, that is. Aware that each language reflects the culture of those who speak it, he needed to put himself in the boots of a Rohir, but he could not wrap his head around the way that they thought, the way that they felt and experienced the world around them. Something as simple as the subtlety of terms and the connotations of certain phrases eluded him.

He had seldom ridden through the plains and valleys of Rohan. Its landscape, although now somewhat familiar, remained a great mystery to him. Having lived all his life in Gondor, he had enjoyed the privilege of encountering visitors from nearly all over Middle-earth, engaging in hours-long conversations with them, but he had never known the challenge of settling down in a foreign land and immersing himself in another way of life. Faramir had offered to stay in Edoras until their Ithilien home was ready to welcome them; he would have gladly helped Éomer in his new role as king, to provide him with wise counsel and serve as mediation with Gondor.

But Éowyn had refused. While she was elated to have wed him in the heart of the colourful Meduseld, she was eager to start this new chapter in her life, to leave her past behind and begin her assimilation to Gondorian culture. Perhaps she was braver than he had ever been in this regard, he thought. There had been no hesitation on her part, and he had assumed that she would have wished to stay in Rohan longer in hopes to make a difference in the treatment of women. Or, more realistically, she would have barked at her brother until he would yield and introduce new laws while getting rid of archaic ones.

As he entered the Hall of the Kings, Faramir faced the two empty thrones ahead of him. Aragorn must be attending another council meeting in a different part of the citadel, he thought. It did seem rather strange to him that the hall was left vacant; what if somebody entered to beg for help? Would they even be heard?

A rustle coming from his right alerted him that he was not alone after all. Under the arches, studying one of the statues with passive interest, stood the king of Rohan himself, clad in his armour, yet comfortable enough to let his guard down.

‘Éomer, my brother!’ he exclaimed, walking up to him with a beaming smile and open arms.

The king pivoted and his stern expression softened upon seeing his sister’s husband. He indulged him to a warm embrace and patted the prince’s arm rather harshly, but the latter paid it no mind.

‘I did not know you were visiting!’ Faramir said, surprised to see him in Minas Tirith at all, especially in the empty hall. ‘Has anybody been notified of your presence? Have you been assigned quarters for your stay?’

‘Yes, yes, don’t worry. I wanted to enjoy a bit of peace before being swarmed with servants and diplomats.’

Faramir laughed and shook his head. He would have felt exactly the same way, had fate been different and had he become Steward in his father’s stead.

‘Does Éowyn know that you are here?’

‘Not yet. Ah, she will find out soon enough.’

‘Are you not eager to see her?’ he inquired, his curiosity piqued. ‘If you do not send for her, you know that you will hear about it until you are on your deathbed.’

Éomer laughed and responded with a simple shrug. Faramir invited him to his office so they could both sit down and share news of their respective lives. How things had changed! After the pouring of wine and the exchange of pleasantries, the prince noticed that he had left some of the borrowed scrolls from the library wide open onto the desk. Unwilling to stain them with spilled wine or ink, he began to roll them up again, but their content did not escape Éomer’s notice, who squinted at the writings.

‘That is Rohirric!” he noted with a pleased expression. ‘Are you studying our tongue, brother?’

Faramir blushed and sheepishly nodded his head. He hoped that Éomer would not start questioning him about his knowledge, since he still considered it to be awfully vague.

‘Indeed. I wish for our household to be shaped by Rohirric and Gondorian customs alike. Éowyn is my equal, she should not forsake her culture for my own, even now that she came to live in my land.’

‘How’s the learning so far?’

‘Not great.’

He placed the secured scrolls onto a nearby shelf, away from the dangers of clumsiness, and returned to his chair, picking up his goblet.

‘I cannot seem to wrap my head around the way that your people see and write about the world. Do you see the same things that we Gondorians do? Do you see the bud of a flower and feel the promise of a fruitful spring to come?’

Éomer snorted and chugged the rest of his wine in one, large gulp.

‘You are overthinking it, Faramir,’ he said in reassurance. ‘The Rohirrim are not as complicated as you think. We do not need a hundred words to describe a tree.’

With Faramir’s permission, Éomer helped himself to another cup, stretching out his legs in front of him.

‘See us as more… practical people. Where you might look at this desk and say “Here stands the pillar of knowledge, the support of my hours of contemplation and meditation, the theatre of my duty and of my wit, where justice is served and culture preserved,” us Rohirrim would just say…’

The king waved his hand with raised eyebrows towards the piece of furniture in brief silence.

‘“It’s a desk.”’

Faramir chuckled and sipped the deep burgundy nectar.

‘Well, you sound well-learned in Gondorian phrases and imagery,’ he teased.

‘That happens when your brother-in-law keeps pestering my men about lore, poetry and song whenever he visits Edoras.’

Their shared laughter fills the room and instantly brings more warmth to it. The new prince of Ithilien stared at his working table in deep contemplation and pondered Éomer’s words. It’s just a desk. And indeed, it was, but could there not be more to it?

There it was again, his damned eternal Gondorian perspective.

Faramir tapped his fingertips against his goblet and reclined in his seat.

‘What makes your people so practical indeed?’

‘You are asking the wrong person, brother. I can’t say that I have much interest in knowing about such things. But the way I see it, it has something to do with our lack of documentation. Our stories, our tales, our history… We share them orally. We don’t value written records the way that your kin do. I suppose that we do need to keep it simple so our message and our motivations do not get lost in translation and interpretation. Besides, we see beauty in simplicity.’

‘Is it so?’

It made sense to him. Éomer might not have been raised a scholar, but his argument seemed to have opened Faramir’s eyes to something he had never even suspected. Of course, he had forgotten about the risks of oral tradition! How many names, accounts and legacies had been misshapen by the trials of time? By the innocent romanticisation of narration at the detriment of facts?

Faramir drank his wine pensively and glanced at his guest. Perhaps he could let him in on his little quest. After all, Éomer was great at keeping secrets, and he spoke the language he sought to master.

‘Éomer, I wish to learn Rohirric for Éowyn. I want her to feel at home wherever she goes, and I want her to feel understood. I have been trying to teach myself in secret for weeks, but it seems that the more I learn, the less I know.’

His brother-in-law curved his eyebrows in surprise — although he did not expect any less of Faramir. The king put down his cup and opened his hands.

‘I am a warrior, not a scholar. But I suppose that if there’s anything you wish to know, perhaps I can help.’

His host beamed at the offer and put his cup aside as well. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, propping up the sheet on his knee with a thick volume on the history of scientific innovations of the Haradrim.

‘There is one notion that seems to differ much between our mentalities,’ he started, ‘and it is this of beauty. You said that your kin find beauty in simplicity, but what else? How do you express it?’

‘Oh, well, we feel connected to the earth and fire, where Gondorians evoke air and water to us. Any aspect of our world that we find attractive, we connect to these two elements. We like what is grounded as much as we like that which is fiery. Many of our sayings and expressions comprise these themes, when they don’t revolve around horses.’

Not wasting a single second, Faramir scribbles away, his brow furrowed in concentration. Earth. Fire. Noted.

‘Do you have vocabulary with elemental connotations to describe something you find pretty?’

‘Yes, we do,’ Éomer answers before marking a pause, seeking examples. ‘When we mean to say that someone is as beautiful as the sun, we say sunne fyrna. Burning like the sun. Like they radiate light.’

Rejoiced at the idea that he might have found something to use to compliment Éowyn, he continued to take notes, guessing the spelling from the rules he had read about.

‘Is it a powerful way to compliment somebody’s beauty?’

‘Yes, and no. It can be overused.’

‘Oh.’

Éomer chuckled and drank another gulp of wine, before scratching his beard. He pictured his sister and tried to imagine how she would like to be complimented by Faramir. Not how anybody else might, but which words she would value from his mouth. Then, with a smile, he held out his hand for Faramir’s quill, and his brother-in-law did not hesitate to lend it to him, alongside the parchment.

Not quite used to writing, Éomer’s trembling hand formed a few words onto the paper and showed it to his host.

‘This is the highest compliment that Rohirric women could ever hear. If you wish for Éowyn to fall for you all over again, this is your key. But let me warn you: do not blame me if her bairn sees the light of day nine months after you say it to her,’ he winked.

A few days later, once Éomer had departed Minas Tirith to return to Rohan, Faramir approached Éowyn and tenderly wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her head. Despite the tears of sorrow from seeing her brother leave again, she allowed herself to smile and turned in his embrace to place a tender kiss upon his lips.

‘How about you and I have a walk in the garden at sunset?’ he murmured, his fingers weaving through her golden hair.

‘I would rather stay at home, if you don’t mind,’ she said with a sniffle. ‘How about we sit by the fire and you read to me again? I love hearing you tell stories.’

Faramir’s disappointment was powerless compared to the thrill that invaded him to know that she enjoyed listening to his tales. So, he gladly accepted, but still took the time left that day to pick the most beautiful flowers at the market for her, as well as her favourite Gondorian pastries.

When the fire crackled in the hearth of their home, Faramir entered the room, finding her already nestled onto a chair, her eyes admiring the dancing of the flames. Éomer was right; the Rohirrim were particularly bound to this element.

And now, he found beauty in it, too. Perhaps not like a Rohir would, but he did.

He found elegance and refinement in the way that it illuminated her delicate traits, her chiselled cheeks and the lovely dimple on her chin that he so often kissed. In its halo, the fairness of her hair glowed and radiated like the summer sun and the bright moon had come together in one. Her thin, pale hand rested onto her lap, only adorned by her wedding band. It was the perfect image; the love of his life in the firelight, making him fall head over heels all over again.

Faramir stepped inside ever so calmly, holding the flowers in his hand. Éowyn, alerted by the soft footsteps, turned to him and instantly smiled.

‘Fari, are those for me?’

He nodded, mirroring her grin and brushing his fingertips against her cheek. He came to one knee before her, admiring her with the most loving eyes that any being would be graced with.

‘Beautiful flowers for my most precious lady. My gorgeous wife.’

She chuckled and leant closer to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a tender kiss. Then, she took the flowers and admired them with her lips parted in awe.

‘They are perfect! Thank you. Let me find a vase for them.’

‘Do this, and I shall find a book for us to enjoy.’

They parted ways with another kiss and joined again after a few minutes. Faramir sat on the chair by the fireplace and patted his knee. Éowyn kicked off her slippers and sat in his lap, tying her wrists around his neck and resting her head in its crook. He opened the book and proceeded to read a tale of romance, the type that they had both come to appreciate more ever since their first encounter.

As he spoke the words in his solemn and affectionate voice, his eyes losing themselves in hers every so often, she felt her heart slowing down. Passion that causes one’s heart to race at the sole sight of one’s lover sure is pleasant; but to her, there was much greater satisfaction in finding a person with whom one feels so at ease and at peace that their heart would feel tranquil at last.

When the story came to a close, Faramir felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Now was the time to surprise her. He had written the poem with Éomer to help him translate his feelings in the Rohirric tongue, and his brother-in-law had provided with ample wordings and phrases for him to convey his affection for his wife.

But now that he had to recite it, he found himself at a loss. None of the words remained within reach. They eluded him every time that he thought he could reshape one of the verses. Oh, what to do?

Well, he would have to do what he always did in unforeseen circumstances as a Ranger. Improvise. At the very least, he could remember the loose vocabulary. He could manage to simply tell her that she is beautiful. That was easy.

Closing the book and placing it on the rug, Faramir held his beloved wife’s hand and stroked its smooth skin. Lost in her deep eyes, he let the words overcome him. He let them invade every piece of himself that was not already conquered by the sight he beheld.

‘Éowyn,’ he intoned with a lovestruck voice, ‘leofest wife min, is éosgitan prættigre thonne thé.’

Éowyn froze, her eyes round as marbles and her jaw slacked. Faramir beamed with pride at the sheer surprise upon his wife’s face. But when her bewilderment turned into a deep frown, his exaltation swiftly came to an end.

‘Did I mispronounce something?’

She blinked a few times before rolling her eyes to the ceiling with a groan. The tension in her shoulders decreased, until she met his gaze once more.

‘Did Éomer teach you this?’

‘Well, yes. I have been studying Rohirric for the past weeks, but I needed his help. I wrote you a whole poem, but as soon as I looked into your eyes, I… I could not retrieve the words and I felt rather foolish. So, I used the other words he taught me to compliment your beauty.’

Faramir ran a hand through his hair, rather embarrassed. Surely, if this was her reaction, he had done it all wrong.

‘Was my pronunciation that horrendous?’

Éowyn laughed and pecked his cheek.

‘No, my love,’ she consoled him. ‘If you need advice about learning Rohirric, here it is: never trust Éomer. What he taught you means that horseshit is prettier than me.’

‘Oh. OH. No, no, this was not my intention at all! I…’

‘Calm down, Fari. I figured as much.’

He sighed in relief and wrapped his arms around her waist.

‘Why would he do such a thing?’

‘He’s a big brother. That is what big brothers do.’

‘Boromir never…’

‘My love, from all the things I have heard about him, I can assure you that Boromir was no typical older sibling. Siblings bicker, they fight over the pettiest thing. Éomer and I often shouted death threats to one another!’

Faramir blanched and shook his head in disbelief. He could not fathom Boromir ever uttering such calamities to him. But come to think of it, his father had done that aplenty in his stead.

‘I see. Well… I apologise for my words. I never meant to insult you.’

‘I know, Fari, you do not need to reassure me. Take it easy on yourself. Éomer took advantage of your cluelessness about our tongue to trick you. In a way, I think it comforts me into thinking that he sees you as his brother now. Not only did he gratuitously insulted me through you, but he also played a trick on you to embarrass you without harm.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Oh, yes. He would not do that to just anyone.’

The pair exchanged a loving smile and indulged into a slow kiss. When their lips parted, Éowyn instantly forgot the incident and traced his jaw and chin with the tip of her nail.

‘So, you said that you are learning Rohirric? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I wanted to surprise you. I wrote a poem in your language for you, and I meant to recite it in the garden at sunset. But since you preferred to stay at home, I wanted to pronounce it here instead. Again, I forgot all of it. But I have it written in my office. Now, I do not know how much of it I can trust.’

‘You had Éomer translate it with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Expect the lewdest things, then. But I will read it, if you allow me. Perhaps he did grow some common sense and actually did a good job. You can never know, with him.’

She peppered his face with kisses, causing him to blush and giggle. Oh, how he loved it when she made him drop his guard and made him giddy with the simplest of gestures. None other could bring him to such heights.

‘Min se swetesta sunnan scima,’ she murmured into his ear.

‘Wait,’ he exclaimed, perking up. ‘Sunnan… It is the sun, is it not?’

‘See? You know more than you think.’

Faramir grinned from ear to ear in victory. At last! He had understood a spoken word! He felt like a child whose arrow reached the target for the first time. It did not matter whether he did not hit bullseye; he had reached it.

‘But what does it mean?’

‘It means “my sweetest sunbeam”. And seeing you now, I believe that it could not fit you more.’

He chuckled and cupped her face, gently tracing her cheekbones with his thumbs.

‘What word is there in the Rohirric tongue to describe what I feel when I see you?’

‘Your words were spot-on.’

‘Come on,’ he playfully groaned, rolling his eyes. ‘You know that I was the mere victim of a crude trick. I want, no, I need, a word to express the fact that you are my most precious treasure. A gem I shall never tire to behold. One I seldom dare to touch with my rough fingers out of fear that I might shatter you.’

Éowyn flushed red yet did not avert her gaze. She stroked his hair and sighed.

‘Sincroden.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Sincroden. It means “treasure-adorned”. Many maidens of the Rohirrim dream to have a man address them as such.’

A shy smile played on his lips as he registered the information. He shifted a little on his seat and, sensing her slipping off his lap, he held her knees firmly and pulled her back onto him, pressing her to his chest.

‘Sinchroden wife min.’

The twinkle in Éowyn’s eyes betrayed the bursting joy within her thundering heart. Once again, she bestowed him with a most tender kiss, and none of them let go for the rest of the evening. Clad in the flames’ cast orange hues, they no longer needed words to convey their devotion to each other. They spoke the universal and unspoken language of bewitched hearts, eyelashes grazing their cheeks and the caress of their mouths the only syllables they required.

#Please do not proofread my Old English lmao #I had to rely on online sources and my two textbooks #Then I had to tweak stuff to make it sound Rohirric #Faramir #Éowyn #Eowyn #Farawyn #lotrweek #Lord of the Rings #Éomer #Eomer #Rohan #Gondor #Rohanese #lotr #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #fanfiction

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alyofraventree · 7 months ago

Text

The Raven and Little Lady

a starter with @jaehaera-targaryen11

The sun had begun its rise over King’s Landing, casting a golden hue over the Red Keep. Alysanne stood at the edge of a balcony, taking in the site of the city below her. The air was filled with the smell of the city mixed with the salt of Blackwater Bay and this distant hum of city life. This new world was a far cry from the ancient woods of Raventree Hall, where it felt like the whispers of the old gods still lingered. Here, everything seemed brighter, sharper, and, in its own way, more dangerous.

Alysanne shifted her gaze from the bustling city to the training yard below, where knights and squires were already hard at work. She could feel her fingers itching for the familiar weight of her bow, but such training would have to wait until later. Here, she was expected to wear silks instead of leather. At least while she did enjoy a good sword fight, after years of mending her own clothing, her needle skills were not lacking. It had been a saving grace for her integration into courtly life.

She had faced many challenges in her twenty-one years, but now she found herself in a brand new predicament - navigating the delicate social world of the royal court and, more pressingly, trying to win the favor of a ten-year-old princess. Aly had grown up mostly along side her much other brother and her nephew, and the way of most young girls were as foreign to her as the Dornish deserts. And both were things she wished to know more about.

Damn it! Why was this so hard?

She could face down a charing boar, but the idea of making small talk with a little girl had on more on edge.

The soft rustle of fabric drew her attention, and she turned to see the Princess Jaehaera standing in the doorway. The young girl, with her white blonde hair and violet eyes, looking both delicate and intense. Alysanne felt a pang of uncertainty. She may have been known for her fearlessness and desire for adventure, but if ever those traits were useful while being a lady in waiting, it would mean something went very wrong.

Aly swallowed her nervousness. She had never been particularly “ladylike,” and she was worried that her rough edges might put off the young princess. Yet, she did desperately want Jaehaera to like her. She had heard of the girl's sweet nature and seen the smile on Helaena’s face when she talked about her precessus daughter. She had heard of her love for history and dragons, causing Alysanne to spend some time in the shelves reading as if preparing for a test from a maester. She had even spent some time with the ravens of the weirwood, listening for bits of gossip.

Alright, don't mess this up, Alys. Keep it simple. Keep it safe. And try not to swear like a damn sailor.

“Good morning, Princess Jaehaera,” she said, her voice steady but warm, or at least she hoped it was. “Your mother has asked me to keep you company today.”

After a pause and a slew of swears that sang through her mind, in the worry that she had somehow already messed up, she tried to remember the advice given to her by Lady Helaena. “I brought some sewing supplies. I used to sew my own clothes back at Raventree Hall. Perhaps we could work on something together? Recently I have been trying to add details to a gown that show some old Blackwood legends.”

She motioned towards a nearby table, where needles, thread, and fabric lay. This included a black dress with a trim of fallen red weirwood leaves, telling the story of the poisoning of the Raventree Weirwood.

a starter with @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

#alysanne blackwood #rp #rp blog #alysanne blackwood rp #jaehaera targaryen #asongofgf&bbstarter #raven and little lady #asongofgoldenfireandblackblood #asongofgf&bb

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theratandcatshow · 12 days ago

Text

Episode 6: No mistakes allowed

Now armed with the information that the critters want to break out in four days, you make your way to them. After all, the prototype and CatNap have their own plan, but you think it's a bad one with too many risks. You finally get to see a little touch of your backstory and theres a view of scientists outside talking about you. Plus a Point of view from the Smilling Critters and their increasing panic. So it's off to the finale.

---

It's slowly but surely getting to the final! Yes, a double update! I finally sat down and managed to get two long chapters out in just one week! Pay attention to the small details, from here on it really starts, the final act! Have fun reading!

---

"What about him?"

"Too bony, he would need more supplies for his metabolism."

Two people were standing in the large, bright and white laboratory. One was a man with brown hair, dressed in an immaculate white coat. His glasses glinted in the glare of the room, and his demeanor betrayed authority, albeit of a cool, scientific kind.

The other person, a woman with sharp features and deep blonde hair, watched the large room in front of them with her arms crossed: A completely white room without any furniture, and in the corner looked a child.

"How much does he weigh?" the woman asked, without taking her eyes off the child.

The man tapped the tablet in his hand, studied the values displayed on it and clicked his tongue softly. "Just under 25 kilograms. Far too little for what we need."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "But... Sufficient if we speed it up. An aggressive dietary regimen, supplemented with the new stabilizers. Its genetic structure is... intriguing." She seemed almost mesmerized as she spoke.

The man sighed. "You know what that means. The probability of organ failure rises to 48 percent. That's unacceptable."

"The risk is irrelevant if we succeed," she replied coldly. "He's not here to stay healthy. He's here to... be useful."

"Why do we even want more subjects? The rat is already in Critter Valley, isn't it?" She replies, seemingly annoyed by the argument. "He's as good as perfect, he won't have any problems spying on the critters or pulling a pair of...strings in an emergency."

The man shook his head slowly, his brow furrowed as he clutched the tablet tighter. "The rat is stable, yes, but perfection is not our goal. Perfection is a myth. What we need is redundancy. A fail-safe protocol in case something goes wrong."

The woman laughed softly, but it didn't sound friendly. "Redundancy? So you mean if his golden project fails, we'll just put someone else on the same mission? Do you really think he's replaceable?"

"It must be him," the man replied calmly, but his tone was one of icy determination. "It's not about the rat or this child. It's about progress. Our work is too important to be dependent on a single subject."

"Right... There was something else."

The woman's voice cuts through the room, cool and focused. She reaches for the man's arm, her grip firm but not rough. The man, who was about to take another step forward, pauses. The sterile surroundings of the room - the blank, white walls that reflect the light like mirrors - suddenly seem narrower, almost oppressive.

"What exactly is the rat's background?" she asks, her voice resonating with a quiet but unmistakable sharpness.

The question hovers in the room like a ghost. The air seems to have been sucked out of the room; the tiny, barely perceptible noises - the buzzing of electronics, the crackling of fabric as it moves - disappear. Instead, an almost unbearable silence sets in. It is so oppressive that for a moment the woman feels as if she can hear her own heart hammering against her chest.

The man turns to her slowly, his face a mask that wants to hide every emotion but can't quite. His gaze meets hers, and there is something in his eyes - a spark of uncertainty or reluctance perhaps.

"That... is irrelevant," he finally mumbles, his voice quiet but strained.

"No," she replies, her voice now clear and determined. "That's not it. Not if we want to know why he chose him. Not if we really want to understand what's behind all this."

"You..." The man pauses and turns to her. His gaze rests on her, sharp and unfathomable. She sees something in his eyes - perhaps distaste, perhaps amusement. It seems as if he can barely grasp her question.

"Have you ever heard of the Playtime Co. success story?" he finally asks, his voice so calm that it seems almost mocking. Without waiting for an answer, he starts moving again, his steps steady, as if the conversation doesn't really interest him. Her stare seems to affect him as little as the cool air in the room.

"It's not real anyway. So why-"

"Playtime Co, Critter Valley, Smiling Critters... All just shiny backdrops." He interrupts her abruptly, his voice growing colder with each word. "A carousel of colors and fake smiles, while the machines and corpses slowly pile up in the basement. All this was never meant for us - never for those who are willing to ask questions."

The hint of harshness and fear in his voice sends a cold shiver down her spine. She hardly dares to take a breath.

"Why are you telling me this now?" she finally asks, her voice a barely audible whisper.

He pauses briefly, turns his head slightly towards her and speaks with a calmness that sounds like a warning. "Because you asked...But don't forget one thing: answers are like open doors. They show you what lies behind them - and sometimes, just sometimes... you wish you'd never pushed them open."

The words echo in her head as he slowly moves away from her again. She remains motionless, caught up in what he has said. Her determination to search for answers begins to crumble, overwhelmed by a fear of the truth that now feels much darker than she expected.

"I know... that he used to be a normal kid," she mumbles, little more than a thought forming into words. "Before the rat."

The man remains standing, his shoulders slightly tense, as if he has a burden on them that he cannot shed. At first, she thinks her words will fade into nothingness. But then he turns around, slowly, menacingly, like a shadow looming over her.

His gaze, cutting like a blade, hits her directly. The coldness in it is so penetrating that she feels her heart pounding, gathering in her throat. A spot of sweat traces his forehead, and his eyes - fixed and restless - betray something she has never seen in him before: Fear.

Real fear.

It's not the kind of fear that paralyzes you, but the kind that runs deep, that makes your legs tremble, that takes your breath away. She watches him as he tries to keep up his façade, pretending to be tougher than he is. But she recognizes it - a tiny tremor in his voice, a barely noticeable twitch in his face. He doesn't know everything. Not as much as he pretends.

"A normal child?" His voice is a low whisper, but each word cuts like a knife. "That's what you think? That he was ever normal? The stalker rat?!"

The silence afterwards is oppressive. For a moment, the air around her seems to get thicker, heavier, more merciless. She swallows hard, her thoughts racing. Whatever the background to this so-called rat, it is nothing she could ever have foreseen.

But she does not give in. She gathers her courage and breaks through the oppressive silence. "And that's why they took the memories from him?" Her voice is firmer than she expected, although her hands are shaking.

He remains motionless, then lowers his head slightly, as if pondering something unspeakably terrible. "They didn't take it from him," he finally says. His words hang in the air like an unspoken judgment. "It's only a matter of time before he gets them back."

His eyes meet hers again, this time with an expression that is less frightening, but no less unsettling. There is something deep in his gaze, a harbinger of something to come. Something that is inevitable.

"And then," he adds quietly, "it gets exciting."

Dawn of the Last Four Days.

96 hours remain until the outbreak and 168 until the Hour of Joy.

Shit, shit, shit!

You run through the dense forest, your Weird legs hitting the ground, leaving small leaves and dirt clinging to your joints, but you can't afford to pay attention to that now. Your mind is spinning in a desperate cycle.

How long do I have left? 96 hours? 95? 94?!

Your breathing gets heavier, but you force yourself to keep running. Fuck! The realization burns in your head like a red-hot iron: They're going to break out freezing cold in four days!

Your gaze briefly wanders upwards, where the sky shimmers between the treetops. But it's not real - you know that. Everyone knows that, at least deep down. The horizon, the firmament, it's all just an illusion.

From a distance, you can already make out Crafty and Picky's houses standing quietly by the road, almost peacefully. The familiar silhouettes flash a moment of normality, but the thought is as fleeting as a dream.

That's not important now.

Your mind struggles with the all-important question that weighs like a weight on your chest:

Should I confess it in my report?

The consequences immediately flash through your mind.

If I report it, what then? Who would listen to me? Maybe they'd dismiss it, maybe they'd think you're a traitor, paranoid, or worse.... a confidant.

But if I remain silent, if I hesitate... What then?

96 hours. Less than four days until everything here goes down the drain. Until every moment, every person, every inch of this world absolutely dies.

You stop abruptly - maybe just for a heartbeat, less than a second. But it's enough. Your eyes tremble, your arms feel heavy, as if pulled down by invisible weights. For the first time since you have been in this false world, you are overcome by this feeling.

An unpleasant, strange feeling.

It is as if something is shaking inside you, something that has been buried for a long time. An oppressive pressure that forces you to doubt your own existence. You feel uncomfortable in your own skin - or perhaps in the thought that this skin is not yours.

Not anymore.

Not really.

"God made a mistake."

You gasp for air, a soft wheeze that barely breaks the silence. But the words echo in your head as if someone had shouted them.

What... what was that?

You look around you, but the forest seems silent. Only the breeze rustles through the leaves. But these words - they feel so real, so heavy, as if they have been burned directly into your brain.

They lie in your mind like a memory, one that shouldn't be there. One that feels wrong and painfully familiar at the same time.

"God made a mistake."

Was it your own voice? Someone else?

Your heart beats faster and a shiver runs down your spine. In your head, your mind tries to organize itself, to calm down - but you know that these words have changed everything.

What have you forgotten?

Or worse - what have you been forced to forget?

I can't think about that now! The clock is ticking!

You have lost your focus, your steps are wild and uncoordinated, and adrenaline is pumping through your veins. Your breathing is heavy and hurried as you run across the vast grassy valley, the ground beneath your feet feels unsteady, as if every step could lead you further into the abyss. The clear logic, the control you have always maintained, is gone. Your head, which has spent so long thinking through what to do, is now flooded by a single, overwhelming wave of emotions.

Your thoughts are reeling. It's no longer about doing right or wrong. It's no longer about what you should or shouldn't do.

If the prototype is right, and the critters really do know everything, then CatNap will never be able to convince them to join the Hour of Joy. It's simply impossible. Even if DogDay, the only one who can stand him, joins him, the others will refuse.

And what if they make it?

For a moment, a brief, painful moment, you stand still. The sky gets darker and darker, the grassland stretches out before you, and the houses in the distance look like shadows in the mist.

Let's say they make it out of here...

Your gaze is lost in the distance and the mechanical feeling in your body becomes noticeable again, as if you have lost a part of yourself. You try to ignore it, but it's hard not to think about the unspoken.

What will i become then?

When so much work is already put into it that the Smiling Critters don't realize when a human shows up in their midst... along with the staggering amount of effort and expense that went into this whole world... not to mention what the prototype had said.

"They go all out just so the critters don't know it's all fake."

The thought won't let you go. You feel the weight of the decision pressing down on your shoulders. There are only two options, and neither of them feels right.

Either you help CatNap to convince the rest of the critters. By doing so, however, you risk everything: your position with those acting outside, all the trust you have painstakingly built up, and perhaps even your safety.

Or... you go the other way. You confess everything in your report. You tell the truth, lay your cards on the table and hope it's enough to keep you in their favor.

Both paths are rocky. Both could destroy you.

But what was there really to save? You don't care about the Smiling Critters. They are nothing more than tools in a complex game where only survival counts. This is the course of nature, as you have always learned: strength is shown in adaptation, not in compassion.

With this cold clarity, you turn forward again. The path in front of you seems to stretch and shorten at the same time as you plan your next steps. A hundred - no, seventy meters away stands DogDay's house, and light still burns through the windows. It flickers slightly, like a reminder of hope or danger.

It's time to act, time to make another move on this inescapable chessboard. Your heart beats calmly, but your mind is a wild storm.

"Please! Keep on Breathing, please!"

You flinch, as if struck by a sudden electric shock, and look around hastily. Your breathing is shallow and irregular, and the trembling that runs through your body is unstoppable.

The voice wasn't real - not here, anyway. It came from somewhere in the depths of your mind, sharp and insistent, as if it were screaming at you with all its might. The words echo, burn into your mind like a warning call.

You swallow hard, trying to recapture the reality around you, but your gaze remains uncertain. Was that an echo from the past? A warning? Or something you can't comprehend?

Your breath hitches, as if frozen. It feels as if someone has sucked the air out of your chest and every attempt to get it back fails. Your lungs are screaming for oxygen, but you can't breathe - it's as if an invisible hand has been placed around your neck.

Your knees go weak, almost wobbly, and you sway slightly. A roar sets in, softly at first, then louder, like a dull pulse throbbing in your ears. Your vision blurs, the world around you becomes blurred and it seems as if everything is crashing down on you at the same time and moving infinitely far away.

Your chest feels like it's going to burst - an oppressive weight rests on you, heavier than the world itself. Your hands shake uncontrollably and you only realize that you are digging your fingernails into your palms when the pain snaps you out of your vortex of fear for a brief moment.

"What the hell was that? Who's supposed to keep breathing? Who's dying right now?" The questions race through your head, bouncing off like a pinball machine that can't find its footing. Your mind screams for answers, but the panic doesn't allow you to think clearly.

You just stand there, in the wide open meadow, under the endless sky that suddenly oppresses you instead of giving you freedom. Your heart is racing, your muscles are tensing, ready to flee - but where to? You are trapped in your own body, in your own head, and the cold of the night bites through the thin layers as if it were part of the panic itself.

Minutes pass, or maybe seconds, you can't tell. Your gaze flickers into the distance, and the only constant is the shudder that won't leave your body.

And then, all of a sudden, you somehow pull yourself together. A deep, hoarse inhalation makes your chest burn, but it breaks through the rigidity that has held you in place. Your knees give way slightly, but you force yourself to stand still.

Your gaze slowly lowers to your arm. The brown fur, unnaturally thick and irregular, stands out against the darkness of the night. The scars on it - large, deep, and in some places grotesquely distorted - tell stories you don't want to hear. It doesn't just look strange; it feels strange. That feeling creeps up inside you again, a disgusting unease that lies like a veil over your mind.

This is not my real body. The thought thunders in your head, sharp and relentless, as if someone were hammering it into your brain.

You feel your throat constrict, but this time it's not panic. It's this suffocating feeling that you're wearing something that never belonged to you - as if you're wearing a mask that's too tight and suffocating your own skin. Your fingers tremble as they slowly run over the scars, and for a brief moment you pause. The body feels too coarse, too solid, like a rigid shell that restricts your movements.

You look down and notice it: the tail you've been dragging behind you the whole time. Another foreign appendage that alienates you even further from your own body. It drags sluggishly across the ground, heavier than it should be and with a hint of resistance as it brushes the grass.

That's not me. I never was.

You feel uncomfortable all over again, as if your own body is mocking you. Everything about you feels wrong - like a puppet with strings held by someone else. And yet there is no choice. You are trapped in this shell, for now.

With the new calm that slowly rises within you, the sharp cold that you know so well also returns. Your breathing stabilizes and your thoughts form clear, logical lines again. Everything that was blurry a moment ago - the panic, the voices, the gnawing feeling of strangeness - fades away.

Human lives are worthless.

The idea is not new, but old and familiar. It is sober, free of emotion, and yet full of conviction. You have thought it through so often that it feels like a fact, not an opinion.

I will sacrifice anyone, without hesitation, to achieve my goal.

There you are again.

The rat.

The one who weighs up all the options, analyzes every situation and never hesitates to make the best move - no matter who falls by the wayside. Was that perhaps the reason why they chose you, or not?

You feel this rationality guiding your actions again. It is an incorruptible logic, a weapon that you have sharpened in order to survive. Everything else - morality, compassion, attachments - fades into meaningless obstacles.

And so you set off. Your destination: DogDay's house. Step by step through the grassland, under the ever-darkening sky. Your thoughts are clear, the cold inside you guides you.

You know exactly what awaits you there. They're probably all there - the Smiling Critters, gathered like a flock of lost sheep, unaware of the larger world that surrounds them. And CatNap, of course.

He will try to convince them. He is damn naive if he thinks that there will be no consequences. He probably trusts the prototype with his life, after all he knows his name.

Perfect, you're fully back again.

Maybe CatNap will give it his all. He may be a coward, but he won't just give up or try to get out of it with half-hearted arguments.

If you turn up there, the already fragile trust could be shattered for good. The Smiling Critters definitely don't like you - they don't trust you any more than they trust the world outside their little bubble. Maybe even less.

And yet... your presence will complicate everything. The only question is whether you can use this to your advantage.

I can already feel The winds of victory blowing at the back of me.

You clench your hands slightly, and your fingers tighten into the sturdy fabric of the long gloves. Underneath, you can feel the claws lying just a breath away from the surface, ready to kill.

Slowly lift your tail off the floor and let it hover a few centimetres above it. Every movement is controlled, every muscle fiber tensed. The thought that you are about to launch yourself into the attack sends an adrenaline rush through you.

I'll tear you apart if you come near me and my goal.

"How are the reports coming along?" asks a clear, almost clinical voice as a girl with brown hair crosses the room. The lab coat she is wearing fits perfectly, and her straight, almost stiff posture leaves no doubt that she is used to precision.

Her eyes narrow slightly as she turns to another woman standing at a terminal. Tall, with an imposing presence, the second woman seems unapproachable. Her long, blonde hair is immaculately tied back in a severe bun and she surveys the screen with the cool efficiency of someone who wants to have every detail under control.

"What exactly does... he actually writes in there?" the girl asks, the slight hint of curiosity in her voice hard to miss.

The blonde doesn't take her eyes off the monitor. Instead, she replies in a calm but emphatic voice: "The fact that you alone know about this could cost me my head."

The sharpness of her words hangs heavy in the air for a moment, before she turns her attention back to her work, as if she has finally closed the subject.

But the girl in the lab coat doesn't give up. She hesitates briefly, her hands wringing restlessly before she speaks again:

"I understand how things work here with the hierarchy... Playtime Co really is a big company and all that..."

Her voice is slightly shaky, a hint of uncertainty creeps into her words, but her curiosity remains. She ventures a cautious step closer, her eyes searching the blonde woman. "But you always act like if you know a little too much, you'll disappear immediately."

The blonde pauses briefly. Her fingers linger over the keyboard before she slowly turns around and looks at the girl with a gaze that is both scrutinizing and warning.

"You should think carefully about how much you want to know," she finally says with a cool, precise sharpness that cuts through the room like a scalpel. "Because sometimes it's not the company that makes you disappear. Sometimes you disappear on your own - under the weight of what you know."

The girl swallows audibly, but she withstands the blonde's gaze, even though her shoulders slump a little. The room is silent, the humming of the equipment in the background suddenly seems deafening.

"And the rat?" The words come hesitantly, almost in a whisper, from her lips. She barely dares to look at the blonde, staring instead at the edge of her lab coat as her fingers pluck nervously at it. "I mean, he seems to know a lot... But he's still needed, isn't he?"

The blonde remains silent long enough for the minutes to feel like hours. The young woman feels beads of sweat forming on her palms, her fingers clammy and shaky. Just when she can no longer bear the silence, the blonde raises her head, her eyes like cold glass.

"Stop talking about him," she says with unwavering calm, which nevertheless rolls through the room like silent thunder.

The girl ventures an uncertain nod, but then, as quietly as a breath, the blonde adds something that will stay with her for as long as she lives.

"He's playing..." She pauses, considering the words with a terse but scathing emphasis, "... in a completely different league."

It is quiet in the room, the blonde woman continues to type away on the keyboard while the girl just stands nervously by.

Did I say something wrong? No, I must have touched on something big and hit a nerve. I don't think I'll ask any more questions today, otherwise there will be consequences.

But for a moment, less than a millisecond, a new thought occurs to her.

But these samples, these drugs...they're all for humans, aren't they? Then the rat wouldn't be a man-hating, clever robot, but a human? I wonder how much he had to go through to get to such a skillful level? Trauma? Training? And how could he have done so well in everything to get into Critter Valley?

And then she has an idea that changes everything: Playcare. Playtime Co's own orphanage.

Not human... A child. Oh God...

"So he used to be human?"

The room freezes.

The blonde woman pauses, her fingers hovering over the keys as if the last word had taken the breath out of the world itself. She turns around slowly, her ice-blue eyes now fixed on the girl. No anger, no confusion - just an icy cold expression that says more than words ever could.

The girl feels her heart hammering against her ribcage, as if trying to escape the silence that now hangs over her like an inescapable judgment. Her own words echo in her head, a repetitive litany.

So he used to be human?

She should never have said it.

"Listen," the blonde finally says, her voice soft, almost soothing, but the tone carries the edge of a knife. "What you just said... What you think... Must never be repeated outside this room."

The girl dares to take a step back, her knees feel weak, but she nods mechanically. It's not the fear of an angry outburst, but of the cold, all-controlling gaze that leaves no room for backtalk.

"You have no idea what those words mean," the blonde continues. She stands up now, her presence overwhelming. "But I'll give you some advice. Stop making up stories in your head. And above all, stop asking questions you can't understand."

The girl opens her mouth to apologize, but the blonde raises a hand to silence her.

"He was never a child," she finally says, her voice drenched with definitive authority. "He was never human. He's the rat, and that's all you need to know."

But even as she says this, something flashes in her eyes - a shadow, a contradiction that disappears as quickly as it came. The girl notices it, but she knows she mustn't say anything.

She just nods, slowly, her thoughts confused and her heart heavy. Whatever the truth is - whether the rat was really a person, a child, or just a myth - she knows she will never know the full answer.

The belief that you, as a human, at least came from Playcare, was wrong.

But the girl would never know, because the microphone, hidden inside the computer, had recorded every word. While the blonde woman was still measuring her with her piercing gaze, the algorithmic filter was running in the background. The key word - "Playcare" - was enough to set the company's mechanisms in motion.

She was never found again.

"This...This must be a fucking joke!"

"FUCK! AND YOU'RE IN THIS!"

DogDay's living room was always quite tidy.

His couch, brightly colored and spotlessly clean, perfectly reflected DogDay's personality - lively, friendly and always keen to keep things tidy. Everywhere in his house, not just in the living room, there were pictures that told of countless memories. They were a colorful patchwork of stories that captured DogDay's life and the adventures of the Smiling Critters.

Directly above the couch hung a collection of photos capturing birthdays - smiling faces, colorful balloons and cakes that were almost too beautiful to cut. On another wall, funny moments were immortalized: Kickin stuck somewhere, or a scene in which he made everyone laugh with one of his legendary jokes - the laughter that was so infectious that it never seemed to end.

Normally, DogDay's house was the meeting place for everyone, a safe haven in the middle of the valley. But right now the air hung heavy with tension, almost palpable, and no one seemed to know how to break through it.

They wanted to discuss their plan to break out of this False World. But suddenly CatNap seemed to appear, trying to convince them to join some Mechanical Hand and create a riot instead.

CatNap stood at the door, his slender purple form looking almost like a shadow against the warm light that filled DogDay's living room. The other critters were spread across the room, each in their own posture of uncertainty, anger or despair.

DogDay stood directly in front of CatNap, his broad back facing the other critters. His face was hard to read, but the absence of his trademark smile spoke for itself. His usually lively, bobbing tail lay still on the ground - an eerie stillness that was uncharacteristic of him, especially in CatNap's presence. His pointed dog ears were strained forward, his tall stature unyielding, like a bulwark that could break at any moment.

Kickin and Hoppy had settled down on DogDay's colorful couch, but even their postures betrayed the turmoil in the room. Kickin had sunk so deeply into the cushions that he was almost lying down, but the furious movements of his wings, which were constantly running through his feathered crown, revealed that he was boiling inside. Hoppy sat next to him, her eyes wide. Her leg - the fastest in the Valley - was shaking uncontrollably, while the other was nervously stamping on the colorful carpet. She simply couldn't understand what CatNap was saying.

The other critters were sitting at the large dining table on the left, except for Bubba, who could no longer sit still. Picky pushed her half-full bowl of cornflakes to one side. Her curly tail slowly began to uncurl, a clear sign of her nervousness. Her eyes darted back and forth between CatNap and the other critters as she struggled to form an opinion she couldn't voice.

Bobby sat next to her, her dreamy, loving face becoming increasingly nervous. She had always found CatNap a little strange, but in a harmless way. The fact that he was now making plans for a riot was beyond anything she could have imagined. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she listened to their words, which continued to escalate.

Crafty, on the other hand, was somewhere else entirely in her mind. In her head, she imagined scenarios of how the Smiling Critters could escape this false world. But her plans fell apart as the harsh reality loomed ever more clearly before her. Without CatNap, there would be no escape, she knew that. That was the end. Her imagination succumbed to reality and tears gathered in her eyes. The soft glow of her horn, which usually gave her a hint of hope, faded.

Bubba, however, to say the least, was completely out of his mind.

He had originally sat at the table, but as the discussion between CatNap and DogDay became increasingly heated, nothing could keep him in his seat. Now he stood just two meters behind DogDay, his massive figure like a looming shadow. His gaze bore into CatNap as if he wanted to see right through him. His trunk moved restlessly, and his deep bass echoed through the room as he listed facts and vigorously countered CatNap's arguments. Bubba left no doubt that he thought an escape with the Critters was the only way forward - and not the rebellion CatNap was obviously planning.

"This is absolutely absurd!" roared Bubba, his voice booming through the room and making everyone flinch. His thick hands whirled uncontrollably through the air as if to grab the words he was looking for. "We had a plan! A clear fucking plan! In just four-no, three days! Three! And now you come along and want to start a riot?!"

His massive body shook with excitement as he pointed at CatNap with a penetrating gaze. "This is madness, CatNap! You're endangering us all!"

"And all this for some robot hand called a prototype?" Hoppy almost jumped up from the couch, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Is that even what it's called?" Her voice trembled, caught between anger and bewilderment. "He's just taking advantage of you, CatNap! You can see that, can't you?"

Her foot stamped restlessly on the floor and she looked as if she was about to explode - not just from anger, but from the sheer desperation that gripped her in the face of the situation.

"What's your problem, Dude?" shouted Kickin from the couch, his voice almost booming with excitement. With a jerk, he straightened up, his movements restless as his feathers stuck out in all directions

"You're always acting so fucking weird! And now-now-! Do you want to wait any longer to escape this fucking fake world?" His voice grew louder, his words imbued with a mixture of anger and nervousness. Kickin took a step forward, his hands twitching as if to grab CatNap, but he paused, his gaze a jumble of accusation and despair.

"I just can't believe it..." whispered Bobby, her voice barely more than a breath as she stared at the table in front of her. Her fingers played nervously with the edge of her plate, but her eyes remained fixed on Crafty.

The two shared a look, heavy with unspoken pain and despair. Crafty's desperate expression mirrored exactly what Bobby was feeling - the creeping realization that everything they had believed in was about to collapse.

Bobby felt, Crafty thought.

"H-Hey, let's all think about this slowly and together... okay?" DogDay's voice was firm, but a slight tremor showed how much the situation was weighing on him. He stood directly in front of CatNap, tall and leader as ever, but his trademark imperturbable smile was gone. Instead, a nervous, almost apologetic smile crept onto his face - an expression that couldn't quite hide his uncertainty.

A storm was raging inside him. As the leader of the group, it was up to him to make a decision that everyone could understand and accept. But the pressure weighed heavily. Letting CatNap go alone was not an option for DogDay. He didn't want to give him up - CatNap was part of the group, more important to DogDay than anyone else, even if he would never admit it

But the other critters wanted to act. The escape was due to begin in a few days, a plan to which they had all clung and which symbolized their hope. And now? Now CatNap wanted to turn everything upside down, wanted to risk an uprising - with unforeseeable consequences.

DogDay feels the responsibility weighing a ton on his shoulders. Whatever he decided, the consequences would haunt him. And the idea that he could make the wrong choice was choking him.

"Think about it together?! Tell me, what's wrong with you two?" Kickin suddenly shouted from the corner, his voice so loud that the other critters flinched. With quick, energetic steps, he ran towards DogDay and CatNap, his feathers completely ruffled, while his words shot through the room like sharp arrows.

"we've been planning this shit for weeks - no, MONTHS! And now? Now the little weirdo just won't leave with us?" His eyes sparkled with anger, his hands clenched into fists as he approached. The tension in the room was almost palpable, and the other critters seemed to instinctively sound the alarm, their eyes shifting nervously between the opponents.

"Hey, Kickin-" DogDay tried to interject, but his voice was immediately interrupted by another.

"He's right."

Hoppy spoke in a cool, firm voice that brooked no argument. It was no surprise that she sided with Kickin - the two of them were almost always a team, especially when it came to standing their ground, whether they were in the right or not. Hoppy's determined look met DogDay's eyes, and she added: "We've worked far too hard for all this to just back down now. He can't just pretend there's a better plan!"

There was absolute silence for the next few seconds.

The tension in the room was almost palpable, like an invisible pressure that weighed on everyone. Glances were exchanged, nervous hands wandered restlessly to manes, feathers, fur or tails. Postures changed as if everyone was trying to protect themselves from the threatening words. Small drops of sweat ran down tense faces, but no one dared to break the silence.

Finally, it was DogDay who found the voice, his words slow and deliberate, as if cutting the suffocating silence with a fine knife. "We... will go out and discuss everything." His gaze slid around the room, almost pleading for the group to follow him.

He paused for a moment, then added, more quietly but insistently, "Stay calm... please."

It is not a request out of weakness, but out of the deep realization that they could only find a way out together - and that any wrong move could cause the situation to explode.

DogDay nodded to CatNap before the two of them slowly turned towards the door. The other critters looked after them as they left the living room and thus the house, and the room suddenly felt even more oppressive.

With a soft click, the door clicked shut behind them and their voices were soon swallowed up by the muffled sound of the outside world as they moved their conversation outside.

But inside, the tension continued to simmer. The room was now filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the soft rattle of Pinky's tail and Hoppy's nervous pounding. Glances were exchanged, fleeting and full of unspoken questions. Everyone seemed to be waiting for the next argument to break out - or for someone to finally find the words that everyone was thinking but no one dared to say.

"I just... don't get it." Bubba's deep voice broke the silence that had fallen over the group. His trunk sank down lazily and his normally confident face was marked by an expression of deep confusion. For the first time in his life, he seemed at a loss for words.

"Those... People took our memories," he finally said, his voice softer, almost brittle. "They brought us here... and now CatNap trusts one of those on the outside?"

The words hung heavy in the air for a moment before echoing into the minds of the other critters. Slowly, a clear picture began to form, as if Bubba's thoughts were tying together the loose threads in their own minds. Everything seemed to click into place logically, and with this realization, a nagging question grew in each of their minds:

What are DogDay and CatNap talking about out there?

So there they are: DogDay, the large, imposing appearance of an anthropomorphic dog, and CatNap, almost half the size, but with a presence that should not be underestimated.

DogDay was an impressive figure. His orange fur radiated warmth and was complemented by expressive black eyes and drooping, soft ears. His shiny black nose gave him a charming touch.

A golden pendant in the shape of a radiant sun hangs from his chest, its bright orange rays a striking addition to his color palette. He looked like the embodiment of optimism - or at least like a figure who was meant to appear that way.

Next to him stood CatNap, an anthropomorphic purple tom whose black eyes and triangular ears made him appear both playful and mysterious. His fur was a rich, dark purple, while his paws and the insides of his ears were a slightly darker shade. A very long tail hung lazily behind him, almost like a second life that seemed to snake around him.

While DogDay dominated the stage with his tall, sunny appearance, CatNap, in his compact, mysterious manner, looked like the calm shadow at his side. Together they stood under the starless sky, a contrast of sun and moon, warmth and mystery, light and darkness.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" DogDay's voice was calm but strained, like that of a mother trying to teach her child a lesson - worried, but also disappointed. His ears were stiffly forward and his usual smile had given way to a serious expression.

"I could have... explained it to them better." His words sounded almost like a reproach, but they were laced with concern and a hint of sadness. He held CatNap firmly in his gaze, as if he wanted to make sure that his words were really being heard.

"Whoever believes it."

Both heads turn jerkily towards the darkness in front of them, and two pairs of eyes fix on the place where the voice had come from.

Slowly, their eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and then they saw you: the rat.

DogDay's breath hitched, his ears laid back and his eyes widened in disbelief. "You are..." His voice was little more than a whisper, a hint of shock and fear as he looked at the creature before him.

CatNap, on the other hand, looked as if he had let the blood freeze in his veins. He opened his mouth, closed it again and finally took half a step behind DogDay, as if seeking protection.

"In discussing when exactly you'll flee..." Your voice is a sharp hiss that cuts through the night like a cold blade.

You spoke slowly, emphatically, with a vile mixture of derision and contempt that permeated every syllable. Your posture was relaxed, almost bored, and yet there was an unsettling dominance in your presence.

"You can tell you're all... stupid." The words came with a cold, disparaging precision, as if you wanted to make sure each syllable hit like a blow.

DogDay unconsciously clenched his paws, but he kept eye contact, his eyes full of suspicion and determination. "We may not be the very smartest, but that doesn't mean you can patronize us like that."

You wait a second, a moment of absolute silence. Your eyes slowly wandered to CatNap, who looked at you with a mixture of uncertainty and fleeting understanding. It was almost amusing - this faint spark of hope that he might understand your motives after all.

"Hmph!" A snide snort escaped you, followed by a cold stoic expression. "I was surprised you guys were able to plan anything at all... But I guess you really are just a small fry."

Your words suddenly switched to a mocking, fluent English, as if you were switching languages yourself just to demonstrate your superiority. "But I guess you're just small fry. Right now, I can see it - all of you, just amateurs."

You paused for a moment, your gaze boring into DogDay's eyes, before adding with an ominous glint in your voice: "I can see the outcome. And trust me... it's not pretty."

"Humans are no different from a flock of pigeons. If one bird flies right, they all go right." You stop, your words echoing in the still night, and for a moment you let them hang in the air. Your gaze wanders to the windows of DogDay's house, where the light is still on, the faint, flickering light that seems like a deceptive glow in the darkness. You see no one looking out, and the silence that follows seems to raise the question of how much longer they will be safe.

"You," you say with an almost mocking undertone and point at DogDay, "especially you, need to watch yourself. What you do... your friends will follow. If you make a mistake, you'll all die together. Or, in separate rooms... then the only thing you share is the garbage can in which your corpse is kept for the coyotes."

"Tsk!" Hissed DogDay, and for the first time you noticed a spark of anger in his demeanor. It was a small but significant break in his otherwise confident façade.

You could imagine exactly what was going on in his head - he imagined their escape failing. The thought that they could all fail probably crept into his heart too. You sense that he himself doesn't really believe that they can make it. And that? You can take advantage of that.

"CatNap." Your voice is calm, almost mocking, as you pause briefly to make sure his eyes land on you again. "I know about the prototype, and I'd go along with your plan."

That's a lie of course, someone like me doesn't join those damn idiots. But as long as I have the chance, I should take it and gain confidence in order to have more options in the end...

This is where the fun begins...

"However, you still need to clarify who exactly is coming with you, because all of... those" You point to the house, your rusty mechanical arm feels so strange again, but you ignore it, after all, the situation is more important right now. "They're dead weight, and useless."

"However, you still need to clarify who exactly is coming with you, because all of...them," you point to the house with a fluid gesture, your rusty, mechanical arm feeling strange, but you ignore it. The situation is more important now, and you focus on your words. "Are dead weight, and useless."

The tension in the air is palpable, and you can feel the tension in DogDay's posture before he even speaks.

"How dare you..." Your words are abruptly interrupted by DogDay. You look to your right, and his piercing gaze meets you squarely. Light patches of sweat form on his forehead, his eyes are half-closed, and his fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles stand out white. "You're one of their spies, and you insult us like we're some kind of animals. How can we trust someone like you? You don't even look like us!"

"I do."

CatNap interrupts DogDay's tirade, his voice trembling slightly, but he remains steadfast. "I... I trust him. If even he trusts him, I think it's for the best."

Heh, what an idiot.

"I thought you and DogDay got along well... Hmph!" Your smile solidifies as you see CatNap hesitate. Without those weird, unnecessary feelings stealing your moment, you can finally take full advantage of your superior position again. "Nevertheless... this is all according to plan, right?"

The words fall coldly into the silence. DogDay doesn't answer anymore, and you can see it clearly: small tears begin to gather in his eyes. His eyes alternate between you and CatNap, as if he is struggling to decide who he can trust more. The doubt, the uncertainty that overshadows his expression are like an open book to you. And you know that you can exploit this uncertainty.

"But there is one more thing..." Your voice sounds almost amused, and you feel like you are in complete control of the situation. You are the puppeteer, controlling every movement of the strings. "Every day I write a report for the... I suppose if I don't mention anything about our plans, your trust in me shouldn't waver any more, shouldn't it?"

Neither of them answers immediately. The tension is so thick that it becomes almost palpable. Only a silent nod from CatNap is the response, while DogDay continues to stare at you in a kind of blank stare, as if trying to see through you.

You let the moment linger in silence for a moment and it feels good. You know that you have the upper hand.

"In exchange, however, I demand that none of you do anything stupid that could jeopardize the plan." Your gaze is sharp now, and you emphasize every word as if it were an inescapable condition for their success. You will make them bow to you.

"You want to hand in your report today?"

You stare directly at DogDay, and for the very first time since you've been here in Critter Valley, in this new life that's been thrust upon you, you're confused.

What does he mean? Why does he react so strangely to the word "today"? No... don't tell me -

"We will break out tonight, this very night."

You thought you had everything under control, but these words turn everything around.

The escape begins now.

Dawn of the Last Hours.

??? hours remain until the outbreak and THE END.

---

Notes:

Holy shit, they want to break out TODAY?! Well, what can I say, I wrote it. But anyway, it's all going to go a little faster now, and I think this story is the first one I'm going to finish. As I've said twice on Wattpad, I'm now writing a Christmas special for each story, so don't expect any canon updates for the stories. Please leave a comment and Kudos!

#smilling critters #dogday #catnap #poppy playtime #poppy playtime 3 #bubba bubbaphant #stalking #kickinchicken #hoppy hopscotch #cartoon

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reverend-dog · 3 months ago

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Legacy

Taima didn’t really know what the bottom of a birdcage tastes like, but she was blessed with a vivid imagination. She dragged in a breath and coughed, and recoiled from the stench of her own breath. “Drinking games are stupid,” she muttered, and wished she had listened to that advice earlier. She shook her head, both in disgust with herself and in an effort to clear her mind.

Her hair slapped her cheeks like nylon rope. She grabbed a lock in one hand and brought it in front to riddle the reason. Some sort of dark, stiff crust coated the strands and fused them together. But in the next instant, Taima forgot all about her distressed coif in favor of the sight before her.

She recognized the costume first. Who wouldn’t? Barely a week went by that the red, black, and gold unitard with complementary boots and cape didn’t show up on the news, or on somebody’s channel. Usually the images were blurry, with just the colors visible, but Exemplar gave enough interviews and photos with fans to be instantly familiar. Ten years since his first appearance, never a hint of scandal, hailed as one of the greatest heroes, even by some of his enemies.

But Taima guessed that not nearly as many people had ever seen him like this.

Exemplar’s eyes and mouth gaped, though a more accurate description of his eyes would be the sockets gaped where the eyes should have been. One side of his cowl was torn, and cracked bone gleamed where the scalp beneath was likewise shredded. His left arm twisted behind him in a way that meant a dislocation at best. The right arm was nowhere in sight. His chest, with the stylized image of a shield, curved inward like a tire with the air let out. Both his knees bent the wrong way, and one boot was missing. Of his cape, the billowing golden expanse of fabric, only a few short, ragged strands remained.

And the blood. So much blood. It gathered in a dark crust around Exemplar’s eyes and mouth, but the puddle under him was large enough to still be liquid. Spatters made gory graffiti on the alley walls, and a flash of insight told Taima what it was that made her feel so filthy as well. Looking down, she confirmed the spatters and streaks that covered her. She rolled to hands and knees as her stomach rebelled, and spilled its contents to mix with the grime and carnage.

“A witness,” purred a voice behind her. “Perfect.”

Dry heaves prevented Taima from answering, or even lifting her head to see who spoke. A giant hand reached under her to wrap around her neck, and dragged her into the air. She clawed at the fingers with both hands, both in an attempt at defense and to keep from choking. A face appeared inches from her own, one just as well-known as Exemplar, but for opposite reasons.

“I’m not going to harm you,” he offered reassurance, his smile dazzling in an uncannily handsome face. His white costume with golden armor accents had never gathered the slightest smudge, and his long, blonde hair always fell past his shoulders in perfect waves. “You know who I am. Say my name.” He loosened his grip on Taima’s neck just a touch.

Though terror seized her heart and twisted her gut, Taima found her voice. “M-Morningstar,” she mumbled.

Morningstar nodded, his smile even wider. “Very good,” he praised, then looked Taima over. “Oh dear, I hope none of that blood is yours, is it? What were you doing here?” He pulled her closer and sniffed, then nodded. “Ah, I see. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor, right?” He shook his head and tsk’ed. “Alcohol is bad for you, especially in large quantities.”

“Important safety tip,” Taima choked around his grip. “Thanks, Egon.”

Morningstar chuckled. “Though in this case it’s serendipitous. Now, listen closely. You have a very important assignment.” He extended the arm from which Taima hung, and held her over Exemplar’s body. “Take a good look. Do you have a phone? Take some pictures. You’re going to be my Gabriel. You’re going to tell everybody that their beloved guardian is dead, and how he died. You’re going to make sure the world knows his blood is on my hands.” He chuckled again. “So to speak.” He pulled Taima in close again. “If you don’t, I will find you. And after I do, nobody will ever find you again. Tell me you understand.”

Taima fought to keep her face from showing her revulsion. She thought her breath smelled bad? Morningstar’s somehow managed to outdo it, a pointed counter to his perfect looks. Her head felt light, not quite attached to her neck, and very fine needles seemed to poke her all over. Her eyes felt hot. Was this strangulation? “I – understand,” she managed.

“Excellent!” Morningstar pronounced with another smile. “I’m going to set you down now, and then I’m --”

What he meant to do next would forever remain a mystery. A strange warmth bloomed within Taima, starting between her chest and abdomen, then spreading through her in a rush that made her gasp. The blood that drenched her soaked into her skin, like sweat in reverse. Pressure built in her eyes and released, and through a golden tint she saw Morningstar’s head throw back, face stretched in surprise and pain. His grip on her throat released, but she did not fall. Taima looked down, and gaped at the distance between her feet and the ground, and the force that radiated from her to keep her aloft.

Morningstar staggered backward to fetch up against a concrete wall with a solo of growls and moans. Composure lost, he stared at Taima, perfect features grotesque. “What is this?” he spluttered.

“I don’t know,” Taima told him, “but you’re not going to like it.”

#fiction #short fiction #short story #writing #creative writing #surreal #superheroes #supervillains #origin story

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ninazadzia · 2 years ago

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One Night In Santorini, By Ninazadzia

Summary: They were colleagues. Yelena Belova was his teammate, first and foremost. She was not a romantic prospect for him, never had been, and never would be. But Bucky couldn't deny what was right in front of him. "What happens in Santorini stays in Santorini, as far as I'm concerned." T for swearing/sexual innuendo. Bucky/Yelena.

Here’s an excerpt:

As it turned out—Yelena liked red wine.

“You look nice,” he managed, as she walked up to the table.

She threw him a wink, and sat across from him.

He had to admit—when he tasked Yelena with finding civilian clothing, he didn’t think she’d take that to mean dressing like a literal Greek goddess.

She’d taken her blonde hair out of its usual braids, which had dried into fluffy curls over the course of the afternoon. She wore a billowing white maxi dress and golden sandals. Her dress had halter straps and a plunging neckline, and from what he could tell, an entirely open back. He tried his best not to stare, but if her goal was to show off her figure, she’d accomplished that in spades.

In the time they’d been working together, he tried his best not to think of Yelena Belova in that way. They were teammates, colleagues—never mind the fact that she was an objectively attractive blonde woman. They could never “go there,” as far as he was concerned, so the less he thought about it, the better.

Still though. As she leaned over the table to get a better look at the menu, James couldn’t help but think, there’s a reason you’ve kept her at arm’s length.

It was true. Of all of the Thunderbolts—Alexei, Ava, Antonia, John, everyone else he’d gotten to know these last few weeks—he’d gotten to know Yelena the least. He made a point to spend as little time alone with her as humanly possible—so much so that their interactions that afternoon was probably more than he’d talked to her than all of their previous exchanges combined.

Yelena, astutely, clocked this. “So. If there was ever a time for us to bond, James, this would be it.”

He sighed, and took a sip from his wineglass. “You’re right. I’m sorry about that.”

“Let me guess.” His stomach dropped as he waited for her to continue. “This has to do with the fact that you knew my sister, and you two didn’t exactly get along.”

He had to stop himself from breathing a sigh of relief. He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t even say that I really ‘knew her’ all that well. I mean we worked together a few times, but still—Natasha and I never really talked much.”

Yelena slowly nodded, and then narrowed his gaze at him for a moment, not saying anything. James picked at his calamari, and it slowly dawned him that he might’ve just made a mistake.

“Okay then,” she said, softly. “What did I do wrong?”

He looked up from his plate. “What do you mean?”

Yelena’s blue eyes were glassy, as if she were fighting off tears. She let out a hollow laugh. “I mean we’re on the same team, we’re fighting the same enemies… John, Ava and Antonia, none of them have any reason to be friendly to me, but I know all of them way better than I know you. And every time I try to talk to you, I just, I feel like you just push me away.”

Bucky softened his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

He was lying through his teeth, and she knew it. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, cut the shit, James. Of course you were. So if it isn’t because of Natasha, and if wasn’t something I did, then please, tell me whatever the fuck it is that’s made you so damn antisocial towards me, specifically.”

He’s taken aback by how angry she is—although, realistically, he shouldn’t be. She’s right, and he knows it.

Tell her the truth.

He tries his best to drown that voice out, the one in his head telling him to tell her exactly why she’d been kept at arm’s length, why he wouldn’t dare allow himself to get to know Yelena Belova.

Truthfully—his resolve was waning. And it was getting all the more tempting to rip that bandaid off, and to tell her the truth.

You can read the full thing here.

#bucky x yelena #yelena x bucky #yelena belova #bucky barnes #winter soldier #black widow #bucklena

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practically-an-x-man · 5 months ago

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So... I rewatched Pixar's Brave, and I got a huge burst of writing inspiration for a scene toward the end of Ellis' story

Essentially, the government finally catches on to Ellis, and they trick Gabi into telling them an angel's one weakness (it's decapitation). By the time Gabi realizes what she's done, they've already taken Ellis.

Ellis is almost out of angelic power, and their transformation has taken its toll on their body. They can't fight back, not without risking everything. The government agents take Ellis to a secure base, awaiting interrogation.

Gabi, fearing the worst (since she told them how to kill angels) gets her best friend/crush Sonia to drive her to the military base where they're keeping Ellis, and they surprisingly manage to sneak in undetected and free Ellis.

Unfortunately, on the way out, things go horribly wrong.

Just before they're able to escape, one of the guards shoots Gabi in the heart. She's dying, and it'd take nothing less than a miracle to save her- one Ellis might not have enough power to give.

Risking their life, sanity, and identity, Ellis crumbles to the ground, shielding Gabi and Sonia with their wings. They push their last bit of angelic power into Gabi, hoping that maybe, it'll be enough to save her life.

Instead of becoming fully demon, something else happens. Ellis, as the first angel to feel actual love since... well, the Stone age about, (platonic, not romantic, Gabi and Sonia are endgame lol) starts to change. Their angelic features are restored, but rather than looking like they did when they first fell, they have six wings instead of the regular two, and their hair is bright white instead of golden blonde.

They've become a Seraph, the first to ascend since the angels detached from humanity and human emotions.

This... does not make the other angels happy, to say the least. But that's another arc, one I'm still figuring out.

That's epic! So intense!

Thank you for sharing!

#sorry I don't have much deep commentary I'm exhausted and I have to get to work. but I really like it!#my friends!!!#answered asks #revan ocs #ellis angelos

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blondrichclosetwitch · 2 years ago

Text

Your eyes couldn't hide anything

You were wrong when you said everything's gonna be alright

You were right when you said this is the end

You lie for a moment, you lie as a decoy

Sittin on the stand with no remorse

Be creepin wit mad demons

Blood rushin, concussions

Y’all can’t see this but this might be the night

Chloe don’t know better, Chloe’s just like me

Dreams like this must die

And everyone has a heart and it’s calling for something, and we’re all so sick and tired of seeing things as they are, and everyone is hidden and everyone is cruel, there’s no shortage of tyrants and no shortage of fools

And the little white shape dancing at the end of the hall is just a wish that time can’t dissolve at all:

“Well, there are some things too hard to explain but my baby’s coming home.”

And I realized

How many paths have crossed between us

This story is old, I know—but it goes on

Sounds like today’s a good day for a tape

It seems to make you laugh each time I cry

Annie

Well its been ten years or maybe more since I first laid eyes on you

Come and play the tunes of glory

Raise your voice in celebration

And learn the meaning of existence in fortnightly instalments

Come share this golden age with me in my single room apartment

Oh and I could be a genius if I just put my mind to it

Now they expected to control us (these aren’t the words but they’re what I thought the words were for 30 years )

“Oh, come on make it up yourself. And I promise I won't tell this to anybody else in the world but you.”

I ain’t had a job for a year or more, I don’t own a thing

Holy law and money, their intentions are tall

We smoke and talk in my room

Maybe I'm crazy

Or maybe you know

But I've got this feeling it’s all about to blow

So we go from year to year with secrets we’ve been keeping

“Yes, Jackie.” (there’s actually a French man named jacky on the wall who died last year)

Cameras on the microphone

I knew you was conflicted

Light my fire

Holy junkie

Funky monkey

He don't want to play that game

He gotta play that game

What will you ever do when you blow a fuse?

Sooner or later you’ve gotta get down and sing

I’m the siren that you hear

I’m churnin out novels like beat poetry on amphetamines

I’ve got feathers in my hair

They judge me

Brooklyn Babies

Yeah then I saw love disfigure me into something I am not recognizing

“See the cage.”

I will not open myself this way again.

All all you folks, you come to see; you just stand there looking at me…and I could kill you.

“I know there’s a way that we can make ‘em pay.”

“We never lost control.”(this stuck out like a sore thumb today)

When I’m in trouble I know she’ll go with me until the end; everybody asks me how I know I smile at them and say “she told me so.”

Don’t get high on what you create, oh it just might steal ya

Cocaine cocaine cocaine ALL DAY, Jesus, ok quick lecture: we’ve Got an overdose coming, so you better pull your shit together and now the lyrics: buzzing all the time, just one hit and I feel great….we promise we won’t tell.

Music is your only friend; until the end.

We can’t stop is the song that was playing Dec 30 2017 when fake katie told me I needed to “party” even tho I’d been sober a year, and when I asked with what, she responded “coke and ecstasy”. That was the longest & most severe drug addiction I ever had and I hope I never see it again, and sometime in 2018 while high out of my Mind after realizing I’d been duped, wrote, “blond got me hooked on cocaine” on my wall next to an exchange between me and my ex-therapist that said “I’m in a boat with drugs and ritual and voices”, and her response “do something with it or get a new boat”…so I did. It just took awhile. In the words of our friend the pot dealer “smoke weed, dude.”

Also don’t trick people into cocaine addictions by pretending to be their dead niece, maybe? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Don’t bother saying you’re sorry(though you having your henchmen leave wrapped drinking straws everywhere so I’d be reminded of my addiction was super shitty IMHO)

You are the habit I can’t seem to kick

And like a car crash I can see but I just can’t avoid

Like a plane I’ve been told I never should board (Steel, RIP)

Oh right that song about a girl you’re obsessed with that you never talk to, twice in one day

“When you hit the ground, it’s an awful sound.” Speak to us of this expertise. After all it’s played three times in 24 hours. On three different playlists.

A yo there’s poison in that gumbo

I know your secrets, bitches

#today is a 39/12/03

0 notes

messers-moony · 3 years ago

Text

My Everything | S.B

Paring: Sirius Black X Wife!Reader

Summary: When five marauders goes to two within the instance of a day. Two children are left without fathers and a wife is left without a husband.

Request: Sirius Black x Wife!reader reuniting and she's Remus sister

A/N: My first Harry Potter request. I got so excited to see this in my inbox and I hope it isn’t the last :)

Perhaps it was the feeling of betrayal she felt when he was finally gone. The fact that everything he’d ever said was a lie. She couldn’t help but think maybe his vows were a lie too. The five Marauders were now two. Only two left. How did this even happen?

The unbreakable group of five. James Potter, the so-called leader of them all. The mom friend who always made sure everyone was okay and cared for. Sirius Black, the second in command. The mischievous, charismatic troublemaker who was always in detention. Peter Pettigrew, the outcast of them all. The shy and naive boy who gave them all a sense of logic. Remus Lupin, the intelligent and solace of them all. The only boy smart enough not to get caught. Y/n Lupin, the creative and sneaky one. The only one who could sneak and out of the Potions cabinet without Slughorn noticing.

Now it was just the Lupin twins who, as Sirius called them, the “Linking Lupins.” It was hard in the beginning. First-year was difficult. All they had was each other. Lyall hadn’t really been accepting in the first place, but Hope was always blissfully unaware of her son's problem. All she knew was that he had to go away once a month. Lyall cursed himself out every night that Remus went away, cursing himself for letting this happen to his son.

The cries of his baby girl begging for her brother. The wails of Y/n pleading for Remus not to go away. Not wanting to let go of him, hearing Remus from inside the room in the basement begging to be let out. Sobbing, crying for his mum or his dad to let him out, praying that the wolf doesn’t take over. Whimpering at how much it hurts the way his bones dislocate and relocate back together in a new way.

So yeah, first year was challenging. But Dumbledore had a safe place for him to go every evening of the full moon, and Y/n would be there when he woke up every time. Remus relished in the way her hands felt in his. They were so soft compared to his calloused ones. So gentle compared to his often rough movements. Small compared to big. She was everything he wasn’t, and he was happy about that.

James Potter was the first to talk to them with his flamboyant nature. His eyes were the lightest of browns with spotted glittering green. His smile was perfect and straight. How could someone’s smile be that way at the ripe age of eleven? Despite his aura screaming, “I’m the popular kid, and you’re the loser,” he was actually quite nice.

Upon looking at James, the Lupin twins both thought of trouble. They remembered the popular kids from their muggle school before this one, how they used to belittle Remus for his scars and how Y/n used to push them away. So, forgive them for being a little cautious around him. It didn’t help that James’ counterpart was the opposite of them both.

Sirius Black, lanky and confident. This boy had no boundaries and absolutely no limits. If he wanted it, he was going to get it. His eyes were the purest iron, and his smile was white like quartz. Hair black as coal and personality as gregarious as the color wheel. His style was toned back, but his character could’ve put the color wheel to shame with how bright he was. Sirius Black could’ve been the antonym to Remus and Y/n Lupin.

During second year they found another boy who was being beaten by Slytherins for his scarlet and golden robes. He was stocky, and it seems that he was pretty timid. His blond hair was disheveled, and his blue eyes full of fright. Y/n had stepped in front of him just like she had Remus from the bullies back in muggle school. Her wand was held tight in her grip as she stared at them.

“What are you gonna do, Loony Lupin?” One of them snarled.

“Aguamenti.”

The Slytherins were now covered in water. Damp like they had all taken a shower with their clothes on. Their black robes turned a shade darker. The evergreen accents turned olive, and the silver turned into grey. The main Slytherin boy gritted his teeth, and his icy eyes stared into Y/n’s e/c ones.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Y/n pocketed her wand in her robes, smiling sweetly, “I’m sure I will. Now, run along before I do something worse.”

They didn’t want to obey, but they also didn’t want to stay in that situation. The Slytherins scurried off like dogs following their owner's command. Y/n fixed her hair with her hand and turned around. She was offering her soft hand to the boy who was frozen, shocked, staring at her. Hesitantly he gripped her hand, allowing her to pull him up. She was only slightly shorter than him.

“Y/n Lupin.” She introduced, “You are?”

“Pe- Peter Pettigrew.”

Y/n bowed playfully, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Peter.”

“Pleasure.” Peter muttered shyly as her group of friends approached.

Remus swung an arm around her shoulders, “You’re bloody brilliant, you know?”

“Our star.” Sirius swooned jokingly as Y/n punched his shoulder, causing him to pout, “Who’s this?” James queried, looking at Peter, who cowered under the hazel-eyed gaze.

“Boys,” Y/n smiled brightly, “This is our new member of the Marauders. Peter Pettigrew.”

Peter fiddled with his hands anxiously, “New- New member?”

“Mhm!” Y/n hummed, “You’re our new addition.”

James smiled, “Any friend of Y/n’s is a friend of ours. Welcome, Peter.”

From then it went from four to five. Peter never really stopped thanking them for letting him in. For the first time, Peter felt at home, and it was thanks to Y/n. He realized how kind she was, how creative she was. It was so strange. The group was so different, like extraordinarily diverse, yet they worked together so well. Y/n and Remus seemed to be the brains of things. James and Sirius seemed to be the trouble makers. Peter just did his own thing but always contributed.

In fifth year Remus started to worry. Everyone was so secretive. They stopped hanging around as much, even his sister. It hurt. It really hurt to see them seeking around on the map that he and Y/n created together for the most part. It wasn’t until during the winter break did Y/n finally realize what they were doing affected them.

Remus barely cried. Or at least that’s what people made it out to seem. Remus actually cried a decent amount. He was snuggled up in his room. His blanket encasing him, and his arms held around his pillow tightly, gripping it as if it’d leave him like he felt everyone else was. His heart felt broken. Y/n was outside his door, hearing his soft cries, and gently knocked on the door.

“Rem. Can I come in, please?”

He didn’t say anything, so she just let herself in. The door closed behind her with a click, and she saw her tall brother curled up into the tightest ball with silver streams on his cheeks. Y/n sat in front of him and rubbed the side of his arm. Remus’ eyes continue to release water like a dam that had been broken. He couldn’t swallow it no matter how hard he tried.

“What’s wrong, Rem?”

Remus didn’t say anything. He just dug his head deeper into the pillow he was holding. Y/n’s hand made its way to his sandy-colored hair. She was scratching at the scalp and smoothing his hair away from his face keeping the strands from getting wet. Her hand hesitantly reached his cheek and wiped away the tears that kept falling.

She sighed, “Remus, please.”

“You’re- you’re gon’ leave me, aren’ you.” Remus choked.

“Leave you?” Y/n questioned softly, afraid if she raised her voice any more, it’d make things worse, “I wouldn’t leave you if I was given a chance, Remmy.”

He sniffled, “You- you haven’ been a- around.”

“I know.” Y/n soothed, caressing his cheek, “But there’s an explanation for it. James, Sirius, Peter, and I have been distant. We know that. But there’s a reason for it. You’ll find out soon.”

Remus’ eyes met his sister's warm e/c ones, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Never.”

He smiled gently. The corners of his lips barely curled, but she knew it was there. Remus had fallen asleep with his sister's hand in his hair. When she was sure he was sleeping, Y/n left the bedroom, allowing him to sleep peacefully. Then she wrote a letter to James where she knew Sirius was staying too.

One more week, Y/n thought. One more week of this Mandrake leaf in their mouths until they could be done with this.

It took another month before it was ready. Before they were ready. They were in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom when they started. James started first. When he turned into a stag, they all began laughing. James turned back, pouting. Sirius turned second into a huge black dog. Y/n smiled and petted his head.

“Very fitting, Sirius.”

Sirius turned back, letting Peter turn next. He was so tiny that Sirius almost stepped on him. James and Y/n sniggered at their rat friend. Next was Y/n, who turned into a graceful cat. Her fur was black, and her eyes were a striking e/c. James smirked and nudged Sirius.

“Matching animagus’, eh?”

Sirius scowled, “Cats and dogs don’t match.”

Y/n turned back, “Don’t they?”

“Ready for this full moon?” James asked them all.

“‘Course!”

“Yep!”

“Can’t wait.”

That full moon was better than them all. Remus had people to join him. There was something that he noticed, though. Every time he’d get close to the cat, the dog would growl and stand in front of her. It was like the dog was protecting what was his. Y/n noticed it too. Every time Remus got close, Sirius stood in front of her, keeping him at a safe distance.

It wasn’t until a quiet night in the Marauders dorm did Remus finally bring it up, “Sirius.”

“Remus.”

“How long?”

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows, “How long what?”

“You know,” Remus moved his hand in a circular motion for him to continue, “How long have you liked my sister?”

“Woah, Remus.” Sirius stated in shock, “That’s quite the accusation.”

Remus tilted his head, “Is it?”

“Yeah. It is.” Sirius replied, “Y/n is my friend. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So, you not sleeping with any girls for the past year is just a coincidence?” Remus questioned knowingly, “You staring at her during class and parties is just on accident?”

Sirius’ cheeks went pink, “And it’s definitely a coincidence that you always hug her first after every Quidditch match.”

“Okay, fine, fine.” Sirius confessed, “I like Y/n. I have for a while.”

“So why haven’t you asked her out?”

“Excuse me?”

Remus shrugged, “Why haven’t you asked her out yet? You know she enjoys going to Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks.”

“Mate, have you forgotten we’re talking about your sister?” Sirius asked, “Like your twin sister?”

“I know.” Remus replied, “She likes you too, you know.”

Sirius’ eyes were practically bulging out of his skull. How in the name of Merlin was Remus so calm about this? He said it so casually as if they were talking about the weather. Sirius expected Remus to get angry or throw a book at him.

“Are you- Are you giving me permission to date your sister?”

“As long as you don’t hurt her, sure.”

Sirius hesitated before asking his next question, “Can you help me do it?”

Remus smirked, “Casanova of Hogwarts can’t ask out Y/n?”

“Please, Remus.” Sirius begged, “I really like her, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Remus snorted, “You always fuck things up.”

“That’s why I need you!”

Remus just smirked triumphantly.

“Pleaaaseeeeeee.”

“Alright, fine.” Remus relented, “Just be cool about it, yeah? Take her to Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. She’d enjoy that a lot. Maybe take her to Tomes and Scrolls.”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Remus rolled his eyes, “Now shut up. ‘M tired.”

The following day Sirius and Y/n did go to Hogsmeade together. She was amazed when they went into Honeydukes together. She picked out some of her favorite sweets and some for Remus since the full moon was a week away. When she went to pay for it, Sirius pushed her hand away, paying for it himself. Y/n wouldn’t stop thanking him.

Next, they went to Tomes and Scrolls. On any ordinary occasion, Sirius would’ve hated this. Truth be told, he wasn’t really a reader or a book person in general. But for her, he’d do absolutely anything. Y/n picked out some new books and began raving to Sirius about one in particular. So again, Sirius paid for them and told her to find a table in the Three Broomsticks.

Sirius went to the area where the book she was raving about was found. He grabbed one for himself, planning to read and annotate it for her. Maybe he’d give it to her as a birthday gift or just a random gift. Nonetheless, he knew she’d love it, and Sirius would fall off a cliff if she asked him to.

Inside he found her sitting with a hot chocolate and a butterbeer for himself. Sirius slid into the booth smiling at her. They talked about everything and anything. Sirius even went as far as to tell her some stuff about his family the other guys didn’t know about. He went on about how he envied Remus and her relationship wanting the same thing with Regulus.

Sirius told her how he wanted his future to look. How many tattoos he wanted. Where he wanted to live. How many children he wanted. So on and so forth. He was so open and so honest it surprised her. Generally, if someone asked Sirius what he wanted his future to look at, he’d just shrug. Now he was spilling everything to her.

It didn’t take long after that for them to become official. Remus smiled when she announced it. He was happy for her. Remus could see how happy Sirius made her, and for that, he was grateful that someone could take care of her in his absence. Y/n only wanted that for him too. One day she’d have a family, and Remus wouldn’t be her main priority. That scared her because, for all seventeen years of her life, it was just her and Remus.

After graduating from Hogwarts, they got married. It wasn’t anything huge, especially with Voldemort on the rise, but it happened. James was Sirius’ best man, and Marlene was Y/n’s maid of honor. Remus walked Y/n down the aisle and gently kissed her cheek before letting her go. Seeing Sirius and Y/n get married made James overjoyed to marry Lily, but that would happen all in due time.

So what was it that made her feel this way? Was it the betrayal? Was it the dishonesty? Was it the disloyalty? What was it in truth? The moment Sirius was locked away in Azkaban, everything changed. When Remus heard about it, she was his first stop. Inside he saw her with a baby on her lap. Their baby boy, just a year old. He was born only months before Harry.

Little Perseus Sirius Black. Y/n’s pride and joy. He was everything to her. Remus had walked into the house seeing his broken sister holding her child close to her as he cried. Remus walked in and gently took the child from her arms, allowing her to lean on his shoulder as he held Perseus. The little boy smiled at the familiar face of his uncle.

“Rem!”

Remus smiled softly, “Hey, Perseus.”

It took a long time for Y/n to collect herself. Remus had taken a spot in the house since he couldn’t find a place by himself. Y/n worked at the ministry most days, and Remus would take care of her little troublemaker. As Perseus grew, he looked more and more like his mother. The same e/c eyes and h/c hair. The only thing that made him look like a Black was his defined body and facial structure.

The sharp jawline, the defined nose, the straight cheekbones, the semi-hollow cheeks, and the pointed chin. His features were that of the Noble House of Black, yet he could’ve made his way to look like a Lupin even more. For a while, Y/n worked a lot. She was trying to keep her family afloat. But it wasn’t until Remus said he got a job offer at Hogwarts did she have to stop. Working for her felt like nothing. Every day she was worried about Perseus going to school. Especially with Sirius being out of Azkaban.

The night that Remus saw Peter Pettigrew on the map, he knew something was wrong and sent Y/n and owl for her to come to Hogwarts. Without hesitation, she did. On the night of that full moon, she was also down in the Shrieking Shack, holding Harry close to her, not wanting him to get hurt. When everything got resolved, she cried.

Y/n went home that night rethinking everything. A week later, Remus and Perseus returned home. She couldn’t remember holding Percy that tight ever. Y/n was just thankful that he was safe and he was home. That night that Y/n and Remus told Percy what really happened, why his father was never really in the picture.

A year later is when Perseus finally met his father - well, that he can remember. He was fifteen now, going into his fifth year at Hogwarts when Y/n and Remus took him to Grimmauld Place 12. It felt foreign, and it felt evil. Needless to say, Percy didn’t like the place. Inside, Sirius was waiting for them along with many others.

When the door opened and shut gently, he knew it was her. For the first time in over twelve years, he’d be allowed with his wife again. The woman he loved and the woman he felt the most solace with. He’d also see the boy that he used to know grown up into a young adult. The young gentleman Sirius always wanted.

Perseus stood in front of her, Y/n’s hands on his shoulders. Sirius almost chuckled at it. Percy was protecting her even if she didn’t know it herself. He stood in front of her for a reason, to make sure she’d be safe. Sirius stood in front of them, swallowing harshly.

“Remus, Y/n.” He choked on the last name.

“Good evening Sirius.” Remus greeted politely, “How have you been?”

Sirius shuffled, “I’ve been better.”

Remus hugged him, whispering in his ear, “Don’t fuck this up.”

“Hey, Siri.” Y/n smiled with tears in her eyes, “Hey, love.”

Gently she walked in front of Percy and hugged him tightly. Sirius’ arms went around her waist, and his nose dug into her hair. The scent of her perfume and shampoo calming his nerves slightly. Y/n dug her head into his neck and placed her arms around him. They pulled away and smiled. Gently he kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry for believing that you would ever,” She looked down, “You know.”

Sirius picked her chin back up gently, “You have nothing to be sorry for, love.”

Y/n kissed his lips softly. His lips were far from how she remembered. They were no longer soft and tasted of smoke. Instead, they were chapped and tasted of firewhiskey. Perhaps some things never change. Their lips melded together perfectly, just as they did so many years ago. They pulled apart, smiling brightly. She pulled from his embrace to stand by his side.

“Sirius, this is-“

“Perseus, I know.”

Perseus smiled nervously; they had the same smile, the same straight smile, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

It was silent for a while as Perseus shuffled, “Are you- are you staying this time?”

“I’d like to.” Sirius replied, “I’m not quite sure the extent of my living abilities, but I’ll be here.”

“I’m- I'm in Slytherin.”

“Okay.”

Perseus looked incredulously, “Okay? That’s all you have to say?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being in Slytherin.” Sirius stated, “Your heart is in the right place.”

“How would you know?” Percy snapped, “You’ve been gone for most of my life. You don’t know anything about me.”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “So you standing in front of your Mather was just a happy accident? You weren’t planning on protecting her. Shall something go wrong?”

Percy looked at the ground, “Someone had to make sure she was safe while you were gone.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair!” Percy yelled, “You left us. You don’t realize how badly you hurt her while you were gone.”

Remus walked back into the corridor to see Y/n frozen staring at her son. Sirius was standing in an argumentative stance. Percy’s eyes were filling with tears of frustration as he stared at the man who abandoned him from the start.

“You left me. You left mum. You left Remus.” Percy cried, “How did you expect this to go, huh?”

Sirius didn’t say anything, “Did you expect me to be happy?! Did you expect me to hug you and fall into your arms?!” Percy shouted, “Because I’m not. I’m not happy, and I’m not going to fall into your arms and hug you like a naive little boy. My mum deserves better than this bullshit.”

“Enough!” Remus snapped, and Percy froze, “Your father is risking his life to be here right now. To meet you. I get it. I wouldn’t be happy either if my father did what Sirius did. But with things, the way they are right now is holding a grudge really that important?”

“N- No, sir.”

“Percy.” Y/n called, and he stared at her with watery eyes as she approached him, “I get it. You’re angry, you’re upset, but he’s still your father. He wants to be here now.”

“B- But he-“

“I know, my love. He’s going to try and make up for it. You don’t have to trust him right away. You don’t have to say ‘I love you’ right away. He isn’t expecting that.” Y/n wiped the tears from his cheeks, “All he’s expecting is his son. The little boy that he last saw.”

Percy looked down, “I know you aren’t that little boy, and I wish you still were. The little boy that used to make me smile and laugh. The little boy that used to cause mischief around the house driving Remus mad.”

Sirius smiled, “You’re older now, and that will take some getting used to. I know you don’t remember, but Sirius used to be the only one who could get you to stop crying. He used to hold you all night, sleep with you in the rocking chair.”

“Sirius used to babble nonsense to you while I was at work. He used to take you to the park. Make you laugh by turning into a dog.” Percy sniffled, “Back then, Sirius was your everything, baby.”

Percy hugged his mom tight, “I- I’m scared.”

It was only loud enough for her to hear, “Why, baby?”

“What if- what if he leaves again?”

“He’s not going to.” Y/n moved the hair from his face, “Sirius wouldn’t leave us unless he had to.”

Percy knew what that meant. Sirius wouldn’t leave unless he got killed or died. Percy looked at Sirius’ eyes which were filled with tears from recalling the moments of his past. Y/n smiled reassuringly before Percy allowed himself to hug his father. He was wrapping his arms around his stomach, nuzzling his nose into his chest.

When they pulled apart, Sirius smiled, “You’re my everything, kiddo.”

1K notes · View notes

thesmokingguns · 2 years ago

Text

Tomato Plant

Minors DNI 18+

Mentions of drugs and sex

When Duff moved into his new apartment he noticed that the neighbor had a green thumb. When moving boxes he had to be careful to weave through pots and plants that were growing. It reminded him of his mom back home and though the boys all grumbled that this was definitely not going to be a party house like they had wanted.

But when he saw her at 6am on a Sunday morning when he was waking up to throw up he realized just how wrong he had been about the girl next door.

“I’m Duff.” he had brushed his teeth and sprayed too much cologne on and got dressed in his semi clean pants. She looked up tuckin a stray piece of curly blonde hair behind her ear, looking him up and down, smiling at him.

“I’m Dani. So you’re the new neighbor who listens to The Clash at full volume at 3am.” she said it teasingly but the bassist felt the way she was easy to get along with. “I was going to bring you some cookies or something but my cooking doesn’t keep up with my gardening so I have a plant for you.” she was moving around, finding one of the plants in a big black pot and giving it to Duff.

He looked at it, vaguely thinking that it looked like a weed plant but not knowing enough about plants to actually say anything to her.

“You can tell everyone it’s a tomato plant and you harvest it when it blooms in September. If you need help with it let me know.” He nodded his head, not knowing what else to do, “I have to go to work soon. Have a good day Duff.”

When the guys came over that afternoon they all looked at the plant and at Duff, confused.

“Where did you get a pot plant?” Axl asked, looking at the plant that Dani had given to him. Duff looked at the plant confused.

“It’s a tomato plant.” Duff repeated what he had been told, handing out beers to the guys who all looked at him, wondering if he could really be that vulnerable.

“Where did you get a tomato plant?” Izzy asked, suspicious of this new development and wondering where he could acquire one as well.

But Duff was starting to realize that this plant was for him and not others and he was going to safeguard his secret now. His neighbor with the golden hair and those hazel brown eyes who was not the old lady that he had expected.

“Leave the plant alone, aren’t we here to work on the band?” He didn’t see them all exchanging looks at the plant that would never sprout a tomato in its life.

Duff saw her again two days later. She was on the back balcony, smoking as she sat back on a chair, eyes closed with an expression that let him know she was stressed about something. Dani was well dressed in a pair of suit pants, a starched white shirt with too many buttons undone and her curls falling out of a ponytail.

He could see her from his balcony and wanted to comfort her but he didn’t know what words to say to her. He had only talked to her once and that had been when she gave him the tomato plant that had yet to sprout any red tomatoes.

“Hey Dani.” the words came out of his mouth before he knew what was going on. He watched her eyes open and she blinked at him as if she was wondering how long he had been staring at her on the porch. “I ordered pizza and wings. Do you want to eat with me?” she smirked, putting out her joint as she pushed herself up.

“I had a really bad day, Duff. Really bad.” he wanted to apologize to her, ask her if she wanted to talk about it but she was morning closer to him, lips so close he could smell the chapstick she was wearing. “And the only thing that would make me feel better is to get fucked so hard all I can think about is dick and not my problems.” She tilted her head as she leaned forward, the small barrier between them not giving enough space. “Can you fuck me?”

Duff nodded his head and Dani smiled, swinging her legs over the barrier and making it over to his side of the porch. She was grabbing his hand, leading him into his home as she sent a smirk over her shoulder at him.

The bassist was confused as to what was happening but as Victoria made her way into his bedroom and started undressing he became bery aware that she was serious about fucking him. She folded her shirt and pants, placing it on a chair and turned to him in a black lacy set, waiting for him to make a move.

He pulled off his shirt, stepping forward as Dani started undoing his pants. Neither of them are talking now as they just breathed in each other. His pants fell to the floor with a tug and Dani raised an eyebrow as she looked at Duff.

“Comando? I guess I’m wearing too much now.” Duff moved for her panties, tugging them down as Dani undid her bralette. Her small tits free as the bassist pulled her panties off and grabbed her thigh, pulling it closer to him.

Dani leaned into her pleasure, fingers tangling with his blonde hair as she felt his mouth on her body. Kissed on her thighs as she waited and anticipated the feeling of his lips higher to the split between her legs. A whimper came out of her mouth as his tongue came out, flicking over the wetness between her thighs. The way she whimpered and grinded against his face was driving Duff insane.

He hadn't been with girls who let themself just feel pleasure like this. The way Dani was so free with letting him see her enjoy herself. She was loud, whimpering as she arched against his face giving him access to her body.

“Fuck Duff, you’re going to make me cum.” his fingers slipped into her body and he had to catch her with one hand and guide her back onto the bed as he pushed her thighs back, his mouth devouring her.

As soon as Dani hinted at cumming he was making it his personal mission to make her cum as many times as humanly possible. Her back arched, hand tugging his hair as she rode her orgasm on his fingers and face. Duff licking and working his fingers inside her body as she pushed her knees together holding him there.

The doorbell rang, breaking Duff’s concentration as he pulled back from Dani who was still writhing in his sheets, panting heavily now in her post orgasms. She lifted a hand to touch her cheeks as she looked down at him, the doorbell ringing again.

“It’s the food.” Duff admitted, unsure of what to do. Dani smirked at him, pushing herself up as she grabbed duff, kissing him.

She could taste herself on his tongue and Duff was thinking of laying her back and holding her down as he made her cum around his cock this time. BUt as he tried to lay her down Dani shook her head, pulling away from the kiss with a wet smack of lips.

“You should probably get that. I think it’s going to be a very long night for us.” Duff groaned, grabbing his pants as he heard the doorbell ring again.

The pizza kid looked annoyed as he saw him but Duff could care less as he grabbed the pizza and wings, handing the kid the money as a teenager looked inside the apartment, eyes landing on the plant Dani had given to him.

“Cool tomato plant.” Duff looked at him, handing him a bigger tip before shutting the door, locking it and putting the food down. He had to get back to bed.

#McKagan Mondays #Duff mckagan GNR #duff mckagan fanfic #duff mckagan #Duff McKagan fan fiction #Duff McKagan fan fic

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dr4cking · 3 years ago

Note

I just came across your blog and I love your writing so much. Can I request where reader and draco are in a secret relationship so she likes to tease him in public by flirting with guys!? And he gets like so possessive and fucks the living shit out of her 🧎🏼‍♀️🧎🏼‍♀️🧎🏼‍♀️🧎🏼‍♀️

Consequences.

masterlist taglist

draco malfoy x reader | smut | anon requested.

a/n : thank you for requesting! this was so fun to write! <3

this is one of the most excited things she got when she signed a deal to be in a relationship with the one and only, draco malfoy.

they have been secretly dating for 7 months and the fact that no one know about this, making the adrenaline of getting caught more exciting.

y/n loves how draco would treated her like she is the only girl for him, which is true. but she also likes how she would seek a chance of getting him worked up when she gets on his skin then she would get what she wanted.

like now, it was no different days but she decided she would add some fun today, she loves when he goes rough with her in bed and now she makes sure she would get it without having to look desperate.

y/n smirked as the brightest idea popped up in her mind. draco is the type of jealous and overprotective boyfriend, so why doesnt she proves it today?

she admit she was kinda scared when she saw the angry version of her boyfriend but she loved it at the same time. she likes to tease him, knowing he cant do anything.

and if this how she would get what she wanted then she would take it.

she walked out of her dorm and run downstairs, she knew draco already waiting for her in the great hall. it would be the perfect chance for her.

her eyes looking for the blonde haired guy as soon as she entered the great hall and she found him already looking at her, his eyes were telling her to sit near him,

but no, not today.

y/n took a seat beside theodore nott, a friend of draco who would always take his chance to flirt with all the girls who passed by him.

“hey nott, you’re looking good today” y/n raising her voice a little bit louder on purpose, draco who sat across them already fuming at her flirty voices.

“hey y/n its all you, looking hot as always.” she laughs although its not really funny, she cringed at the way her laugh sounds but play it along when she heard a thumped sounds from a fork dropped to the plate.

y/n continues her flirting with theo touching his arm and laughing about his jokes until it was time for their class. she looks at draco’s red face and give him a wink and a smirk.

“what the fuck is up with your bratty behavior today?” draco asked as he walks past her, he makes sure no one was looking in their direction.

“who are you calling brat? because i’m for sure not one.” y/n replied giving him her sly grin before she runs to the class not giving him the chance to answer her.

they were sitting next to each other in potions class, draco tried his best not to distracting the class by calling y/n’s name at any chance he got but she was still ignoring him and told him it was nothing.

“baby, did i do something wrong?” she swore she almost wanted to stop all her game when she heard the intonation in his voice but she decided to be stubborn.

“its nothing draco i promise” y/n shoots him a smile reassuring him, the least she could do right now.

professor snape called out and announce that they’re gonna make a new potion and have to partner up with someone and when he listed her name with harry potter, she couldnt get more excited as she look at draco and shot him an apologetic smile.

“hey y/n, could you bring the ingredients i’m still working on how to make this properly” she nodded at harry’s order and get the ingredients immediately but not before taking a look at draco and swaying her hips on her way making him glared at her.

“here, harry. so, what’s the first step?” y/n asked and do what harry instructed.

she keeps asking him not-so- important questions to keep their conversation going but to make it worse she touched his arm on purpose and twirling her hair.

draco behind her already watching every move she made.

but whats make draco more mad is when they finished the potion and y/n jumped happily as they successfully made the potion and give the chosen one a tight embrace.

draco stormed out of the class balling his fists up, anger radiates off of him making all people passed by him to back off a little. y/n noticed this right away feeling guilty and decided to follow him but he was nowhere at the sight.

she was still looking around for draco asking people if they’ve seen him but the answer is no.

until a cold hand grabbed her wrist harshly and pulling her in one of abandoned class. she yelped when the person lock the door and put his hand on her mouth to muffled her scream.

“you did that on purpose, dont you, brat?” y/n rubbed her thighs together as she recognized the deep voice behind her, its draco.

“now you gonna have to stay quiet and be a good girl for me while i teached you some lesson, yeah?” she only nodded at him cant speak as his hand still on her mouth.

“for the whole day i’ve been wondering what i did wrong to make you act like an ungrateful brat. but all i see now is that you just need to be tamed, right?” draco whispers into her ear guiding his free hand down to the bottom of her skirt after y/n gives him a nod of permission.

he sneaked his hand under her skirt and put it in her panties rubbing her cunt getting her aroused then he pushed in his fingers into her without warning making her body jolt out.

“you just wanted to be fucked braindead, yeah? what a dumb girl” his hand still remain on her mouth not trusting she would be able to keep her voice down.

y/n put her hand on his hand that were buried deep inside her and pushing his fingers deeper into her starting to fuck herself on his fingers making him chuckle.

“think you deserve to cum after what you did earlier, hm?” draco said taking all the control in his hand and starts to thrusting his fingers deeper and faster.

his long fingers abused her cunt just like the way she needed and when he curls them inside she screamed, luckily his other hand still covering her. she was squirming there and then under his touch.

y/n rolled her eyes back in pleasure when his fingers meet her spot and pumping into it over and over again.

draco feels her walls clenching around him and quickly pulled them out of her leaving the girl whining.

“think about the consequences next time, princess.” draco turns her around and pushes her chest against the wall, placing her ass right in front of his crotch.

“i’m sorry i’m sorry draco! please i need to cum.. fuck me please dray punish me!” y/n finally let her voice out as his hands are too busy roaming around her body.

a hard smack delivered to her ass making a loud sound causing her to whimpered at the sting.

“stay quiet princess or i will not consider about giving you the chance to cum” she shuts her mouth instantly as draco unbuckled his pants letting it falls to his ankle.

y/n cant help but letting out high pitched moan when his hand came in contact with her marked ass again and when he pushed her panties aside finally lining up his cock against her entrance.

“now you will remember who you belong to.” draco said as he slammed all of his cock inside her, pounding into her right away not giving her time to adjust.

“oh fuck! y-yes dray..” y/n moans out loud which earned her another slap on her sore ass.

“quiet, brat” she tried to hold her moan by biting her lips but it just slipped off of her especially when his tip hit her spot.

draco’s eyes rolled back in pleasure, groaning quietly as he let himself disappear inside her going in and out of her with snaps of his hips, each time it gets harder and faster.

he roughly squeezed her breasts through her shirt making her shirt ruffled and messy before letting his hand down to circling her clit.

“make yourself cum, y/n.” he slaps her sensitive clit a few times making her writhed, ripping her orgasm through her body, she doesnt care anymore when she moaned his name out loud.

“feels so fucking good” with the last thrust, draco stilled and shoots his thick cum into her non stop, painting her walls white with his liquids over and over again making the girl moaned when her panties became sticky.

draco pulls out and put his pants back on. he stared at her fucked out body before turning her around to face him and quickly pressing their lips together kissing her passionately.

“next time just ask me if you want your needy pussy to get pounded hard by me. dont you dare do that stunt ever again.” y/n nodded at his words giving him a cheeky grin. sweats running through their bodies.

and when they opened the door, all the students that passed by giving them a weird look, draco smirked at them before pulling y/n back into a deep kiss.

“mine.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

pls i love this one-

tagging : @dracoscum (unblock me hoe) @hellounicorn @onyourgoddamnleft @whoreforgeorgeandfred @turn-to-page-394-please @underappreciated-spoon-321 @youreso-golden @silverdelirium @dracmalf0y-dm @f4iryluvy @famishedbeak @arzfia @starstruckgranger @lieswithoutfairytales @slut4dracoo @alexthealexthealex

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco oneshot #draco fanfiction #draco smut #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #harry potter

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whimsicallyreading · 3 years ago

Text

For Rowaelin Month day 17

“A sick day”

CW- PTSD, mentions of violence

Aelin considered herself a fortunate person.

She has survived genocide, her family's murders, losing loved ones, slavery, torture, and the Great War. Now she is a queen, a mother, a beloved Mate.

Her life had changed since those bleak days where she'd wondered if she would ever escape captivity—the days when Aelin didn't know if she would ever be free or find love again. Every morning she woke up curled into Rowan's side, and while she drank her morning tea, Aelin could count on her young daughter snuggling into her lap.

Yes, she was swamped most days, but that was normal for a queen. But even the moments between boring meetings brimmed with life and laughter. Rowan's hand on her thigh beneath the table. Fenrys' theatrics when conversation spiraled off-topic. And even the hardened lords thought it was hilarious when their three-year-old princess barged into councils and demanded her mother's attention.

Her family gathered for dinners at the end of every day. Aelin's little family, Fenrys, Emrys, and Malakai were the regular attendees. Aedion, Lysandra, Elide, and Lorcan joined when they were present. It was a time reserved for family only, and it was by far Aelin's favorite part of the day.

Aelin had a good life now. Her family was growing, and her country thrived beneath her rule.

So it always took her by surprise when a bad day came.

She had woken up fine. Delly had slammed open the chamber door with a gust of wind and squirmed herself between her and Rowan in the early morning. Usually, Aelin treasured the moments when her daughter joined them, but being pregnant again had taken a toll on her sleep.

Rowan tried to stop their child before she entirely collapsed onto Aelin but was a moment too slow. Delly flopped onto her mother's chest in a disarray of wrinkled nightgown and golden curls. Soft sobs were sputtering out of the tiny figure.

I'm sorry. Rowan whispered into her thoughts. He knew how hard pregnancy was on her and took his mate's comfort very seriously. It troubled him that their toddling daughter woke Aelin so abruptly.

Aelin blinks the sleep from her eyes and sends him a happy smile to assure him everything is fine.

"What's wrong, Dell?" Aelin soothes a hand up her baby's quaking form.

Adelia sniffles harder, unable to talk through the tears. She'd started to have bad dreams in recent weeks, but never had she been so inconsolable.

Aelin shifts as Adelia's arms tighten uncomfortably around her bump. Rowan sees her discomfort and reaches around to pull Dell to him instead, but it is met with resistance.

"No," Adelia finally wails. "Mama. I want Mama."

Rowan frowns. Adelia was a daddy's girl to the bone, and this was the first time she'd ever refused to go to him. Their daughter squeezes harder and burrows her face into Aelin's torso.

"Dell," Rowan leans next to her and whispers, a cool breeze brushing against her flushed cheek. "What's wrong little love?"

Adelia lifts her head, and Aelin's heart contracts painfully. Her cheeks are red and swollen from the intensity of her crying, little sobs still stumbling from her chest as Rowan settles her down enough to speak.

"Mama was gone. She was hurt, and she couldn't see me." Dell sniffles, her green eyes glassy. "Can you see me, Mama?"

Aelin tugs her daughter in closer, unable to stand the sight of her so sad. "Yes, of course, I can. I'm right here."

"You were in a box. She wouldn't let me see you," Adelia whimpers in a small voice. "She told me she was gonna keep you. I don't want you to go, Mama."

Aelin's face blanches. It wasn't possible. Her little baby couldn't possibly have seen what was coming to her mind. She looks at Rowan, and his face is pinched with worry.

"It's not real, Dell." Rowan uses a thumb to wipe the tears off her cheek.

Adelia flinches. "Uncle Ress told me it was. He told me Mama had got stollen and put into a box by the bad lady and that she should have stayed there."

Aelin's heart stops. Nausea crawls up her throat, and Rowan tugs Adelia away just in time for her to crawl out of bed and gag into a potted plant. The sickness grips Aelin, the shudders in her arms only growing worse with her daughter's mumbled cries.

"Daddy, I want Mama to stay here." Rowan hushes her and murmurs quiet reassurances. "Don't let her get stollen."

Ress had said that? In front of her daughter? Aelin tries to close her eyes against the visions creeping into her mind. The places her scars used to be ache, and her hands pulse with the remembered pain of reconstruction.

The baby in her womb squirms under its mother's stress, and Aelin throws up again.

She should have stayed there.

Cairn brings the hammer down onto her frail knees, the ringing of cracking bone splits the air.

She should have stayed there.

Aelin opens her eyes to endless darkness. Sweet smoke wafts through invisible holes and sends her to sleep- leaving her mind vulnerable to Maeve's manipulations.

She should have stayed there.

More and more memories swarm behind her eyelids until a pair of grounding arms wrap around her shoulders.

"Fireheart, you are home. You are safe. Can you breathe with me?" Rowan sighs loudly behind her shoulder, and Aelin tries to force her own breath out.

Breathing in is harder, but Rowan's scent fills her nose and loosens the binds on her lungs. Soon, Aelin is doing the exercises independently, and Rowan nuzzles his face into her neck. His hands snake under her bump and lift some of the pressure, easing more of her tension.

"There you are," Rowan kisses her cheek as Aelin comes back around. "Are you okay?"

Aelin shakes her head and sinks into his arms. "Can you take me back to bed?"

Her legs feel like jelly, and her stomach is weak from turning. Rowan lifts her with ease. His arms are warm, and he murmurs sweet nothings into her ear as he carries his mate back to their bed.

"Adelia?" Aelin looks around for their daughter.

Rowan pulls back the duvet and reveals the sleepy from nestled right into the middle of the pillows. "She fell back asleep quickly."

"I can't believe Ress told her those things," Aelin can feel a tear slipping down her face. Ress had never forgiven her for her days as Celaena. Darrow had grown to accept her, but Ress never warmed up to having Aelin as his queen despite her efforts.

She hadn't realized the extent his hatred went.

Rowan scowls as he lays Aelin down next to their daughter. "Ress is young and foolish. I have forgiven a lot of his hostility and ignored most of his juvenile antics, but Aelin, I can't forgive this."

"He should never have said those things to Dell." Ress's words linger in her head. She tried to do right by her title and live up to her parent's legacy. Aelin took a lot of pride in listening to the demands of her people and tending to their problems personally. But the odds of Ress being the only one to feel this way are slim. Did they wish she'd never returned? Was she arrogant to take the crown just because it was her inheritance? She'd never had the formal training as ruler and relied a lot on Rowan to help manage foreign affairs. Despite the loss of her fire, many still feared her and considered her a murderer. No matter how hard she tried, Aelin's history as Adarlan's Assassin proceeded her.

Tears burn Aelin's eyes, and Rowan's scowl deepens. "He should have never spoken of you like that at all."

Aelin shakes her head, "It's his right to think what he wants. Maybe he has a point."

"No." Rowan growls, and Dell flinches in her sleep. Taking a deep breath, Rowan softens his voice. "He's wrong, Aelin. Ress was wrong to scare Dell, and he has no right to demean everything you've sacrificed. You've suffered for your people."

"I closed the lock because I had to Rowan," Aelin argues. "That doesn't automatically make me a good queen. What if I'm failing?"

Rowan pulls their duvet up to Aelin's chin, and Dell instinctively snuggles to her mother's side. Her daughter was a leach for warmth, and Aelin could feel her remaining flames writhing in her veins agitated.

"You are a wonderful ruler, Fireheart." Rowan bends down and kisses her lips reverently. "I've met my fair share of emperors, kings, and queens. None of them have given up so much to better the lives of their people. They care for you in return."

Rowan steps away from the bed, and Aelin makes a displeased noise. "Where are you going so early in the morning."

"I'm awake now. I feel like a flight through Oakwald. Go to sleep, and when you wake up, I'll bring my females breakfast," Rowan pulls on a plain white tunic. "Sleep, love. You both need your rest."

Rowan can read her too well. Aelin can feel her eyes drooping despite how much she wants to deny it. "Very well, but there better be tea and pastries."

As Aelin drifts back to sleep, she swears that a mischievous smile passes across her mate's face.

~~~

"Aelin," Maeve twirls a lock of blonde hair in her fingers. "Where are the keys?"

Cairn twists the blade in her thigh again, and Aelin screams, "screw yourself."

Aelin writhes beneath the pain and the dark queen's gaze. Her torturer goes to twist the blade again, but Maeve holds up a hand. "Wait. There is a smarter way to go about this."

"I won't tell you anything," Aelin gasps, the blood seeping from her thigh pools onto the table. "There is nothing you can do."

"Not even to spare the princess?" Maeve smiles as the cell door opens. Connall walks into the room, a squirming girl in his arms.

"Let me go," the girl screams, and the air in the room turns frigid. Her blonde hair whips around as she twists and fights. The little girl's head turns, and she freezes when she catches sight of Aelin. "Mama?"

"Adelia?" Aelin asks, confused. "You can't be here. You aren't supposed to be here." With renewed energy, Aelin thrashes against her bonds and bares her teeth at Maeve.

Maeve takes Adelia from Connall and strokes her hair. "Such a pretty one."

"This isn't real," Aelin hisses. "I wasn't pregnant when you took me. Adelia was born in Terresan."

Maeve hums a sympathetic note, "It seems you're confused." Aelin fights as the dark queen sits with a frozen Adelia in her lap. "Begin again, Cairn."

A hot iron is lain against Aelin's neck, and Adelia's screams rattle the stone chamber.

~~~

Aelin wakes with a gasp. Her chest is seizing in uncontrollable fits, and little hands cup the sides of her face.

"Mama?" Adelia's concerned face hovers over Aelin's. "Why are you crying?"

Relief washes over her at the sight of her daughter, safe and sound. She tries to take deeper breaths, but her body fights against her. The baby in her womb squirms uncomfortably. Aelin feels guilt that they are so subject to her moods. She tries to open her mouth to speak, consol her frightened daughter, but Aelin can't get any words out.

"Daddy!" Dell screams, frightened tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

Rowan bursts through the door, "Dell?"

Adelia sniffles and kisses Aelin's face sadly, "Daddy, what's wrong with Mama?"

Aelin grabs at her chest, trying to ease the tightness there. She was scaring her daughter. What kind of mother would do that? Rowan sits beside her, and a cool wind goes up her nose and fills her lungs.

"Fireheart," Rowan lifts Adelia and sits beside her. "Is this a sick day?"

It was the code they'd come up with for the days when the past came back to haunt them. When the turmoil in their mind forces their bodies to rebel, and they can't seem to put on their usual facades. It used to shame Aelin, the days she couldn't rise from bed and do her duty. But her mate's unwavering love soon cracked that lie and eased her burden. Rowan had convincing arguments. Aelin's people needed their queen at her best, and on sick days, she wasn't able to give that to them. Their court was strong. They wouldn't allow Terresan to fall while she recovered. Aelin deserved time to heal.

Rowan must have been able to tell that she wouldn't be able to settle herself this time as his winds continued their push and pull in her chest. "Yes," she rasps dejectedly.

Dell buries her face into Rowan's shoulder. Her mate rests a hand on the side of her face and soothes her cheek. "To whatever end, Aelin. We will get through this just as we do everything else."

Rowan kisses the side of Dell's face. "Little love, do you think you can go to the kitchens and have someone bring Mama tea?"

That fae instinct to fuss rears its head in their child. Adelia perks up at the opportunity to do something useful. "Yes!"

Rowan sets her on the floor, and she takes off in a blur of untamed hair and swishing skirts. They wince as a gust of wind slams the doors of their chambers against the wall.

"She's a handful," Rowan talks, aware of the soothing effect his voice has on her. "But we always knew our children would be. I can't wait to see what kind of chaos our son brings into our lives."

Aelin wraps her arms around him as the remnants of her dreams finally fade away. "You think it's a boy?"

"I know so," Rowan pinches her side, and Aelin smiles. He'd also been confident that their first child would be a girl. His smugness after Adelia's birth was unbearable.

"Rowan," Aelin whispers. "Can we just lay here today?"

"I could never deny you anything," Rowan leans against their headboard and kicks off his shoes. "You don't need to ask, Aelin. It's okay to take time for yourself."

"What if I'm just proving Ress right?" The insecurity slips from her lips before she can stop them. "What if there is someone more capable?"

"Ress won't be a problem anymore," Rowan rests a hand against her bump, and the baby withing kicks at it, bringing a smile to his face.

Aelin narrows her eyes, "What have you done?"

"Nothing that anyone will blame me for," Rowan assures. "He would be in a lot more trouble if the rest of the court learned what he said in front of Dell. Ress should be grateful I didn't do a lot worse."

Aelin sighs, "I don't understand why I can't just let it all go. Why do I allow myself to be so haunted?"

"It's not that simple," Rowan shakes his head. "I'm hundreds of years old, and no matter how many years pass, there are things from my past that haven't healed. The mind is different from the body, and sometimes it takes longer for it to recover. There is nothing wrong with that. You gave up everything for the people you loved."

"Because I had to," Aelin contradicts.

A hardness comes over Rowan, "because no one else could."

Rowan rolls over her body into a plank and looks deep into her eyes. "No one else that day would have made the same sacrifices out of love. Not even me. I was too selfish to let you go. You gave up everything, and by the strength in your soul, you came home to me. In all my decades, I have never met someone so remarkable, and I never will again. Take as many years as you need to recover, Aelin. This world owes a debt to you, and I will make sure it pays. You deserve every happiness."

His hand threads through one of hers and drags it up to rest on the bump between them.

Happiness.

Dell darts back into their room, a cup of tea sloshing in her hands as she runs. "Daddy, I put extra sugar in it. Uncle Fen is coming with more cups, but I made this one special."

Rowan pulls away from her, and the laughter on his face is contagious.

Aelin smiles and accepts the tea from Dell's hands. She even manages a few sips without cringing from the sweetness. Fenrys follows behind her shortly and sets a fresh cup covertly on her bedside table.

There may be hard days, Aelin realizes as her family gathers around her, but the love they showed her every day made it all worth it.

#throne of glass #rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #fanfic #tog #angst #rowan x aelin #ptsd #sick day #baby fic #canon #sjm #sjmaas

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