#its so jarring and makes you feel like you're going to pass out after

[9mo9]

yeah its definitely covid.

[yesimwriting]

An Act of Service

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Your father has loyally served the Iron Throne and royal family for many years. No one would ever assume the Grand Maester wanted more for his family's name until he has the opportunity to send his daughter to help treat the pain that's plagued Prince Aemond since the childhood injury that cost him his eye.

Warnings/info: canon deviations (maesters are vowed to celibacy and not allowed to have families bc of the exact political reasons this fic follows, but i really wanted to write this, so we're going to pretend that they can have kids), thinly veiled implications of reader's father wanting to "sell" his daughter out to a prince to aid his family's position

A/n I hate to be the part 2 girl but the ending set up a part 2 so well i may have to

----

It's systemic, the proportioning of herbs so familiar you barely need to glance away from the bronze mortar.

Your arm reaches forward, your eyes briefly darting away from the metal bowl and towards the neatly organized botanicals at your father's work station. You reach for dried petals, the remnants of a rose's remains crumbling slightly beneath your touch.

"Very well," the words are earnest, a rarity when it comes to your father's praise. "But do not get so comfortable you forget your measurements. These remedies may be creations that we feel, but they are also exact."

You nod once, allowing the petals to fall into the mortar before setting your hand against the work table. Your father's unofficial lessons are precarious, often based on his mood and defined by his meticulous nature. He did not achieve his position within the Red Keep through careless work.

Today, he seems content, his peace evident in the lightheartedness of his corrections. Days like this keep your world on its axis, the time with your father making you ever grateful for his position as well as your own. It is rare for a Maester's child to be allowed to stay near their father, let alone work within the same home as him. His place within the Red Keep allowed him the privilege of bringing you and your younger sister to work as royal maids after your mother's passing.

"Of course."

He plucks another petal from the jar, dropping it into the bowl with no sense of malice. You're glad for his patience, but in all honesty, you're grateful for his attention and lessons no matter his disposition.

As a woman, you may never be able to become a Maester or dedicate your life to the work that fascinates you, but his lessons still hold great value. You help your father heal others between your domestic labors within the Red Keep, and at times, you aid sick or injured members of the royal staff.

He nods approvingly, giving you the confidence to reach for the pestle. You begin to grind the combined herbs sitting inside the mortar.

Hurried footsteps echo from somewhere beyond your father's door. You hesitate, eyes darting towards the entrance. You are not barred from assisting your father with his labors, but many frown on the idea of a woman so close to such an important Maester's work.

The door is pushed open with a protesting groan from its tired hinges. The individual turns, revealing a too familiar uniform. A guard.

You blink, immediately turning your attention towards the unfinished herbal remedy in front of you.

"Grand Maester," the man's greeting is curt, uncertain as he glances in your direction. You busy yourself with blending your herbs. "It is the prince, once again pained by his missing eye."

That alone tells you all you need to know about the guard's hesitation to speak in front of you. You've never once spoken to Prince Aemond, but everyone knows of the childhood injury that cost him his eye. Some maids even claim that a great deal of current political turmoil stems from the mistake that occurred during youth driven roughhousing.

The recurring pain that has afflicted the prince since is a lesser known ailment. Over the years, your father has often been called to the prince's apartments at odd hours to clean and treat the prince's permanent injury, late at night or during the early hours of the morning, when the halls of the Red Keep are most empty.

Your father moves away from the work table and towards the shelf of prepared medications. "Did the prince describe the pain? An ache, soreness..."

"It is a burning pain," the guard begins, "The prince did not go into detail, but he did say his skin felt warm."

Your father stills. "That is not his usual ailment." He turns to face the guard. "I will need to cleanse the eye before the pain can be treated."

The guard is silent for such a long moment you find it in you to look away from the safety of the work table. "His highness...The prince has mandated that no Maesters be brought to him. He only wishes for me to bring him the salve you offered him last."

The Grand Maester begins to pace forward. "May I send his highness the girl?"

Your hand stalls too suddenly, the pestle striking the mortar's side. Surely, your father is referencing some--some other girl. A prince's maid that he is familiar with, or--

"My daughter has witnessed and aided me in my practices her entire life. She is well versed in the process of cleaning injuries and applying remedies in a way that avoids contamination." The guard is silent as his attention shifts onto you.

The guard finishes regarding you with no real flourish. He looks over at your father. "The prince's desires were clear, he does not want more people aware of the situation than necessary."

"You would have a prince of the realm apply a salve himself to an already agitated wound without first having it properly cleansed?" He begins to walk forward, approaching the guard with a confidence you've seen him wear before. "I am more than willing to serve him at a later hour, but his ailments do concern me, and time is a significant factor."

The guard says nothing as your father continues to take measured steps towards him. "She offers the prince the discretion of a maid and the skill of a Maester."

Warmth begins to burn its way up your neck. You had never been put into the position to work closely with the royal family, only ever seeing them from a distance. That does not mean you have not heard stories.

You're not a particularly shy or nervous maid, you understand your place and the importance of keeping silent. But the princes...gossip about them often permeates the maids' quarters. Prince Aegon and his entitlement, Prince Aemond and his anger. Why is your father attempting to throw you to the dragon's? Is he--is he that concerned about the prince's current state?

The guard's eyes briefly find yours. "She can't tell anyone."

Your lips part, unsure if the statement is meant for you or your father. Before you can think of anything to say, your father agrees on your behalf, "She is loyal to the crown and instruction. Rumors will not spread from my daughter's lips." There's a beat of silence, and then the guard's careful nod. "Very well. I will gather the necessary materials."

"I must return to my post, a maid will be sent to take her to the prince's apartments." With those final words, the guard begins to approach the door, glad to be done with his involvement on a change that may upset the prince.

Once the door shuts, and you are finally offered the privacy of your father's company alone, the dread you had been warding off burrows itself in your chest. "Father, why--why would you ask to send--"

"I have treated the prince for many years, more than other Maesters within the Red Keep because of his desire for privacy, discretion." Your father's attention returns to the already prepared remedies. He steals a small jar from its place, setting it on the work table. "You are well trained, and no one will assume you are there to treat the prince."

He opens a drawer of bandages. "You also have a kind disposition, and a patience with the injured that even the most experienced Maester would envy. The prince's exterior may be hardened, but I remember him as a sensitive child."

The reminder of his childhood wedges itself into your chest, distracting you from your own fears long enough for you to feel something akin to compassion. Forever suffering due to an injury inflicted by the brashness of childhood anger.

Your father sets the bandages next to the salve. He then reaches for a cleaning ointment you are familiar with, placing it on the work table as well. Now satisfied with his collected materials, his attention finally finds you.

He approaches you slowly, a fondness not often seen pooling in his eyes. If this is a way of bringing your father pride, perhaps this task will not be as dreadful as it seems. "You have matured before my very eyes, growing into your mother's heart and beauty."

Your father extends an arm, his palm coming to brush against your cheek. The gesture is easing, a display of affection he has rarely offered you since your mother's passing. His fingers settle against your hairline, his nails carefully combing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

"If you are to walk through the halls of the Red Keep, your hair should not flow as freely as a child's." The comment digs at you in a way you do not comprehend. When no worthy reaction comes to mind, you nod.

He steps back, attention returning to the supplies laid out on the work table. "Be careful, take your time checking the prince for infection and other sources of irritation. See to his needs, you are a good, kind girl. I am sure you will find a way to offer the prince comfort."

You swallow, unease settling in your stomach once again. With that, your father turns away from you.

----

The residential halls of the red keep are vast, with never ending turns and stairwells that come together to form a sort of labyrinth. Despite your lack of familiarity with the prince's maid that came to find you, you are grateful for her guidance.

She eyed you and the laundry basket disguising your medical supplies skeptically, but made no attempts to question you as she led you through the castle. Maids that are tasked with the direct care of the royal family tend to be familiar with the other staff members that work closely with the nobles. This woman has already recognized you as an oddity, a stray in routine.

If she had seemed less hesitant to be around you, you would have liked to ask her for her name, and to perhaps find a sense of normalcy through common ground. Her rejection and pointed distance has forced you to try to find a sense of peace through your surroundings.

You've rarely found reasons to wander through this part of the castle, the beauty of it serving as a way of distracting your racing thoughts.

Your guide stalls in front of a large set of doors. "These are the prince's apartments." She pushes open the doors, allowing you to enter before her. "The prince is resting in the room behind the seating area."

Your eyes land on the wooden door behind the small couch. One misstep in that room and things could very well be over for you and your family.

"Will you be able to find your way back?" The question is small, almost hesitant. You're sure she was tasked with getting you to and from the prince's apartments, but there's something about her stance that feels flighty. She does not want to enter the room the prince is resting in.

You have no way of knowing how Aemond reacts to treatments or his own pain, but if he fears the court gossiping about ailments enough to refuse a visit from a Maester, you doubt he takes well to maids witnessing his vulnerability.

"Yes," an act of mercy for you both, "Thank you for bringing me here, but I am certain I can make it back on my own."

She lets out a breath, nodding once. "Then I will return to my usual duties."

Considering that her usual duties revolve around Aemond, there's a good chance she's simply accepting the opportunity to excuse herself. You don't mind, glad for the excuse to not draw attention to what you're here for. She leaves you without another word.

You approach the door pointed out to you, firmly rapping your knuckles against the wooden surface once. A flat, "enter" provides you the strength to push open the door.

The details of the room are more intriguing than you can afford them to be, the intricate patterns on his walls and the ornate carvings etched into his bed frame so enticing a part of you nearly forgets of the prince.

You blink, forcing yourself to focus in an attempt to project the maturity your father had seen in you when he recommended you for this task.

You step further into the room, your eyes landing on the bed. There he is, head resting against the pillow, majority of his body covered by plush bedding.

Your father has only ever felt honored to care for members of the royal family, no matter Prince Aemond's sentiments, you're sure you'll feel something similar. "My prince?"

His head turns, the movement sluggish. "You...Who are you?" The words are more labored than they are defensive. That is not enough to ease the dread in your chest.

You exhale carefully, "The Maester--the Grand Maester sent me." You remain near the doorway, your hold on the laundry basket tightening. "I have a salve for your ailments."

He lifts his head further, his forearm pressing into the mattress. This new angle allows you to see the entirety of his features, the sharp slope of his jaw, the set of his lips...the jagged scar that cuts across porcelain skin. He regards you with an openness that leaves you without words.

The scar that marks him does not dull the beauty of his well sculpted features. Seeing him like this, studying him and what the loss of his eye has taken from him leaves your face warm, as if you've been caught searching for something not meant for you. You've never heard of a maid that's seen him without his sapphire eye.

"Alright." The response feels significantly less hostile than he was a moment before. "Leave it at my bedside table."

You walk forward carefully, mind begging you to think of a way to bring up why your father sent you here. "My pri--"

"You did not answer my question." The authority in his statement doesn't feel like an accusation. When you remain silent, he continues. "You are not my usual maid, the one who is sent to retrieve items from the Maester."

"No," you agree, "The Maester suggested that I bring you your remedy because he found the description of your pain slightly worrisome. He wanted to abide by your wishes to not be visited by a Maester while also assuring that your injury was properly cleansed before being treated." After a beat of no response, unease burrows itself further into your chest. "I can leave you, if you'd pref--"

He turns his head to better look at you, strands of silver hair falling past his shoulder. "What could possibly qualify you to cleanse a wound?"

The question, though delivered sharply, is a fair one. "The Grand Maester, my father..." If the revelation intrigues him in any way, he gives no indication of it. "Has had me assist him with his duties nearly my entire life. I have been trained in basic care and am confident in my ability to properly cleanse a wound."

Prince Aemond is silent for a moment, watching you with an all consuming focus. You've heard stories of his intensity, of his seriousness. The prince pushes himself to sit up fully. "Very well. The maid before you left clean water and rags at my bedside."

Your attention shifts to his nightstand, a small bucket and wash cloth waiting on the hardwood surface. You nod, digging through the clean sheets of your basket until you find the remedies and bandages your father had picked out for you. You lay out your supplies before looking over at the prince.

He has always seemed tall to you, but with him sitting in his bed, you cannot think of a proper way to lean over him to reach his eye while standing. You turn your head, eyes landing on a small desk and chair tucked into a corner. "My lord, would you mind if I..." You gesture towards the chair.

"Do as you need."

You nod in acknowledgement of his permission before moving the chair to his bedside. You dip the soft rag into the water before sitting. The proximity of your new position is oddly disorientating. Small Folk may not be held to the same pious standards as noble born women, but your father has raised you with certain expectations and regulations. With the exception of family, you doubt you've ever been this close to a man.

You lift the rag, but you cannot bring yourself to press it against his skin. "May I?"

He straightens. "Yes."

Even with that, you cannot will yourself to begin the cleaning process. Your father has always been careful when it comes to treating others, following every rule no matter how minor the injury. "My father has taught me to feel the area bordering the wound before cleaning it to make sure the extent of the injury is understood. However, I know this is an older wound, so if you'd prefer for me to only clea--"

"You may do as your father instructed. I am accustomed to the prodding." Sympathy briefly jabs at you. This is something he's experienced for over half his life.

You nod before lifting your free hand, fingertips gently brushing against his cheek. His skin is warm, perhaps a little warmer than a person should be. Your fingers shift forward gingerly, following the path of his scar. The closer you get to his eye, the warmer his skin feels.

"You don't look like him."

The comment pulls you out of your analysis. "Pardon me?"

"Your father," he tries again, "You don't look like him."

If his tone had been any less soft, you might have interpreted the observation as an accusation. "Oh, no." Your touch continues its path across his features. "Actually, I've often been told I take after my mother."

The skin around his eyebrow feels different than the rest of his injury, puffier, as if beginning to swell. Odd. "Does she work in the Red Keep as well?"

His curiosity is jarring, but not unwelcome. Having an excuse to speak makes focusing on such a personal task seem less invasive. "She did..." You blink in an attempt to reduce the impact of thoughts of what happened to your mother. You're doing well, you cannot allow an old grief to ruin everything. "Before she passed."

Prince Aemond hums once, the sound giving no indication of anything. Pleased with your preliminary analysis, you let your hand fall away from him. You turn to once again dampen the cloth held between your fingers.

"What happened?" The question is void of both empathy and brutal curiosity.

You bring the cloth to the side of the Prince's face. "She died..." Your only defense against his gaze is to focus on the irritated skin near his eyelid. Such swelling on such an old wound cannot be typical. "Bringing my sister into the world."

He falls silent again, allowing you to concentrate on dabbing the washcloth against his cheek. "I'm sorry."

Heat begins to burn its way up your chest, the way it always does when your mind dwells on the loss of your mother for too long. "I appreciate your sympathies, my prince."

Water beads against his skin, a single droplet beginning to drip downwards. Your hand stretches forward on instinct, thumb dragging against the hollow of his cheek to wipe away the water.

You do not realize your error until it is much too late. While wiping away the excess water dripping down the skin of an equal is expected, to do so to a prince without so much as asking first implies a familiarness that you are not entitled to.

"My lord, I apologize--there was water--" You stumble through your explanation while pulling your hand back.

Aemond extends his arm, long fingers latching themselves onto your wrist. His touch, though sudden, is far from harsh. You cannot manage to take in a full breath. "There is no need for apologies." He does not release you until you nod.

You return to cleaning his wound, this time making sure to be aware of your instinctual movements. The flesh above what once was his eyelid is jarringly hot. What would your father do? He'd--he'd examine the irritated area.

You shift towards him, so close you can make out individual strands of his silver hair. Your mind works at keeping your breaths even. There is a small area of his skin that's more swollen than the rest. At the center of the swelling, there's a thin line that seems to extend beneath his brow bone and into the space once occupied by his eye. As gently as you can manage, you lift the cloth to the space above his eyelid. He winces.

"I'm sorry." You're immediately pulling back, your spine pressing against your seat. "Are you hurt?"

Aemond's eye flits away from the wall in front of him and onto you. His lips are pressed together, his expression incredibly stoic. "No." The lie is a fragile thing that cannot matter. You saw him flinch. "If anything, you have been more thoughtful than most."

There's a tentative softness laced through the syllables, a hesitance that does not suit him. His careful assurance feels heavy, the pressure of it grounding you. In certain contexts, you can see how the strength of his personality could be perceived as violence, but there's something else to this quality...an intensity that can also apply to good things.

"I'm glad you feel that way." The nail of your thumb digs into the wash cloth. "I--I think I know why your eye has been troubling you, my prince."

His eyebrows draw together, expression coming dangerously close to displaying curiosity. "Why?"

"The skin just above your eye is slightly swollen and more irritated than the rest of your injury. When I examined the swelling more closely, I noticed a scratch." You pause, thinking through your wording. "It's small, but seems to be irritating the scarring around your original injury. You should have an ointment applied with your usual salve to ward off infection for the next few days."

You can't interpret the silence that follows. His expression morphs into something heavy. "A scratch?"

"It is nothing to be concerned about, my prince." The source of his pain is small, if he is careful, there should be no risk of infection or long term consequence. "Truly, the scrape is no wider than..." You glance around the room, looking for something to estimate the size of his injury. Your eyes fall to the hand on your lap. You lift your arm, holding your palm out between the two of you. "The width of my smallest finger."

Aemond lifts his own hand, his fingers bending around around yours. You let him move your arm forward. He studies your pinky before dragging his thumb against your knuckles. The gesture is so comfortable you have to work at not pulling away. He lets out a quiet breath.

"My prince?"

Aemond's hold on you tightens. "Such a dismissible ailment, and I am left defenseless."

Oh--had he taken your attempts at easing him as an insult? His current wound may be small, but skin so marred is easily agitated, easily made sick. "I did not mean it that way." The earnestness of your own voice should startle you. "Your pain is no dismissible thing, the extent of your original injury is brutal enough, I cannot imagine how it feels for it to be agitated."

The words tumble past your lips so quickly, you are not given a chance to think through them. It is never a good idea to express opinions in front of the nobles. "I apologize for over stepping, my lord."

"I told you," his thumb moves against your knuckles once more, "There is no need to apologize."

You nod, still not feeling completely certain. "You should feel much better after the remedies take. The swelling will likely begin to go down before day's end."

His focus remains on your hand. Aemond releases you slowly, his fingers dragging against your skin as he lets go. A part of you is glad for the excuse to return to the familiarity of your tasks.

You open the ointment, fingers gathering a generous amount before returning to Aemond's wound. "Where do you usually work?"

"Often with my father, preparing remedies and organizing herbs and other supplies." You spread the product onto his skin carefully, your touch as light as you can manage. "When I'm not doing that, I assist the other maids, usually with the laundry and in the kitchen."

He nods absentmindedly. You straighten as you finish applying the salve. You wipe your hands onto the discarded washcloth before unscrewing the jar containing the salve.

Aemond is still as you apply the salve onto irritated skin. This time, as your fingers trail against his skin, you can feel Aemond's gaze focusing on you. You work quickly, focusing your distribution of the product onto the cut beneath his brow bone.

Finishing is more bittersweet than you expected it to be. You're glad to know that you've done what's been asked of you, to know that you've done nothing to offend the prince. However, some small part of you is reluctant to leave.

You reach for the cloth, dampening the fabric before wiping your hands clean once more. "The medications should begin to alleviate your pain soon." You twist the rag between your fingers. "Is there anything else you need, my prince?"

He watches you for a moment. "Only your name."

Unease lunges at your chest, nearly making your heart skin a beat. It is quite rare for a noble to ask for a servant's name, especially if the servant does not regularly see to their needs. When Aemond continues to watch you expectantly, you offer him your name.

He tries your name on his own lips, repeating it slowly. Unsure of what the proper response would be, you briefly dip your chin downwards in a subtle nod.

His lips part. You straighten, preparing for the appropriate dismissal. "Sit with me a little longer." The phrasing is gentle, but it feels far from a question. "Conversation would be a decent distraction."

You wring the washcloth further. Cautionary tales of low borns who found themselves overly comfortable spending time with the royal family have been recited to you as often as traditional bedtime stories. However, there is nothing inherently wrong with making polite conversation if it is asked of you. Either way, the dangers do not matter. It'd be a fool's error to directly deny the prince.

"Of course, my prince."

The immediate silence that follows tangles your stomach. Aemond has asked you for conversation as a way to distract himself from his pain and you have nothing worth saying to a prince. You lift your head, glancing around the room. Your observations are in vain, what common ground could you both possibly have?

Your eyes land on his desk. There are a few books stacked neatly on the wooden surface, one with a familiar title written on its spine. "Are you reading The History of the Conquerors?" The question feels too abrupt without a clarification, "I finished the final volume less than a fortnight ago, my lord."

Aemond studies you so openly you almost convince yourself you've misspoken. "You read?"

Despite the politeness of his tone, his true question is easy to assume. A majority of maids and other royal attendants can only read certain words, being taught just enough to get through their day to day lives. Your father had gone out of his way to teach you to read fully. He originally taught you to read to make it easier for you to understand texts detailing remedies and health conditions, but you quickly developed a passion for any text he could bring you.

"Yes, my father taught me." You smooth the washcloth over your lap. "Originally, he wanted me to be able to read about treatments and diseases, and now he is forever cursed to find me new reading material." As soon as the words are out, you're immediately mentally cursing yourself for your casualness. "I apologize, my prince, that was a...joke."

He shifts, his hands coming to rest on his lap. "I told you not to apologize." The correction leaves an uncomfortable heat clawing its way up your chest. Your nails dig into the rag. Aemond lets out a breath. "And you do not have to trouble yourself with proper addresses."

That's--You know for a fact that no maids in the Red Keep have ever spoken of a noble dismissing the need for formal addresses. If it happens, it's something kept secret. Not even your father, who has known and treated the prince since he was child, addresses him casually.

You squeeze the wash cloth, the fabric dampening your palm. "Alright." The word sits there, floating aimlessly without his title to guide it.

Aemond nods before allowing his attention to shift towards the books on his desk. "Did you enjoy the book?"

"Yes." At least this is a topic you feel capable of speaking on. "The descriptions of the seven kingdoms before they were united together were interesting, I haven't found many historical accounts that go that far back."

He takes a moment to digest your response. "It is a detailed account, but at times the writing seems to overly rely on the author's perspective."

"To me, that felt intentional." The excuse to debate narration is more welcomed than it should be. "The author is only taking the time to recount these events because of his personal investments in the conflict. The constant references to his own position felt like an attempt to get ahead of any accusations of bias."

Aemond sits up a little straighter, one of his hands coming to rest on the side of his bed. "That's a fair interpretation, though if that's the assumption we're reading under, it is a poor attempt at denoting political bias when compared to The Recounting of the Dornish Wars."

The Recounting of the Dornish Wars is a relatively popular account, your father had no trouble finding you the first and third volume. The second volume seems to be more of a rarity, something no one in your world has been able to track down yet.

"That's a good point, but the author of that account was in a completely different situation." You fold the towel in half. "It's one of my favorite accounts, even without the context of the second volume, the depiction of the conflict is so thorough one can still understand all the dynamics that came into play."

Aemond taps his fingers against the comforter, the rhythm slow but steady. "Without the second volume?"

"I've yet to track it down, but I've read the first and final installments." The admission feels small, almost uncertain. You move past it quickly, hands fidgeting with the wash cloth on your lap as you continue, "What did you think of the final act? I liked the sharpness of the ending, but I can also see how the suddenness could come off as inconclusive."

His hands move back to his lap. "I enjoyed it. I found the ending's sharpness an accurate depiction of a dragon's strength."

Right. To him, the historical accounts and enthralling tales are more than just stories. They're a part of him, familial legacies he is expected to continue.

A part of working within the Red Keep is dismissing any curiosities you may have regarding what is left of Old Valyria. The Small Folk may think of the dragons, may even discuss them in private, but they do not ask their riders about them.

This is the danger of losing certain formalities, lines begin to blur. You squeeze your hands together before asking, "Really?"

The corner of his mouth pulls itself upwards. Aemond presses the heel of his palm into the mattress as he shifts. "Even the smallest dragons are more fearsome than you can imagine." He angles himself towards you, morphing the remaining distance between the two of you into something inconsequential. "Each of them capable of a destruction that could devastate entire armies."

You're more drawn in than you should be. There's very little you can offer in return. To the Small Folk, the dragons are closer to an ideology than something to be known. Your curiosity combines uneasily with the acute awareness of his proximity. You rest your chin against your elbow. "Your dragon is...Vhagar? The same one from the History of the Conquerors?"

His chin dips forward, making the gentle curve of his mouth impossible to ignore. The prince's sole eye remains on you as it is dragged downwards, the pace of his analysis so unhurried you can feel each moment of it. Bearing the weight of Aemond's full focus is no small feat.

"Vhagar was once ridden by Queen Visenya, who used her size and strength to help unite Westeros." His voice is low, giving the reminder of what is connected to him through blood the reverence it deserves. He shifts even closer, the warmth of his breath now a tangible force against your skin. "And now she is mine."

Heat claws at your skin. You feel your lips part, but there is no waiting response. Before you can string together a coherent set of words, the familiar echoing of footsteps brings you back to the world outside of Prince Aemond.

Your spine straightens on its own accord, the entirety of your back pressing against the seat. Your fingers find the wash cloth again, nails digging into the fabric as if attempting to make up for the time the fabric spent abandoned on your lap.

There's a soft knock agaisnt his door, one Aemond only halfheartedly acknowledges with a blank "enter". He does not move until the door begins to creak open, and even then his new positioning is subtle, more of a turn of his head than an actual attempt to create distance between the two of you.

A maid, the same woman who first led you through the twisting halls of the Red Keep, is standing in the doorway. Her gaze briefly finds you before settling onto the prince. "My Prince, the Queen wishes to meet with you in the great hall before supper."

Aemond is quiet for a moment. You cannot will yourself to look away from the doorway to read his expression in an attempt to understand the silence. "Alright, tell my mother I will be there in a moment."

The maid nods. "Of course, my prince." Her eyes fall to you once more, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards before she shuts the door.

You maintain your posture as silence falls over the two of you. He studies you with the same openness that's characterized most of this interaction. An odd pang of some somber feeling you can't quite place strikes at somewhere deep inside your bones. "Do you need anything else before you meet with the queen?"

He presses his lips together before responding, "There is a book at the end of my desk that I've been meaning to return to the library."

You nod, a part of you relieved to be given such an understandable task. You stand, arms reaching for the abandoned laundry basket before you've fully straightened. "Of course." You adjust the basket onto your hip before letting your attention fall to the supplies still on his nightstand. "I'll leave the supplies here so that you can reapply the ointment and salve before bed."

You step back, eyes falling to the desk chair. One arm falls away from the basket, fingers coming to grasp the seat's wooden spine. "You may leave it."

The instruction is strange, but you don't think much about releasing the chair. "Of course." You move a few paces back before looking over at him again. Much to your dismay, the newfound distance does not rid your mind of the warmth of his breath against your skin. "If you'd like, I can tell my father that you'd like him to visit you tonight to check on your eye."

"No," his tone is decisive, "I trust your work." An unexpected pride swells in your chest at his certainty. Aemond sits fully, his legs moving out from under his bedding and onto the floor. "In fact, I'd like you to return tonight to check on my recovery."

Tonight. Your mind leaves you with no response. It is one thing to be sent to treat the prince when you are the only option for him to maintain the privacy he desires, but to come to his apartments at the hours you've heard of your father being called during, when the world is quiet and all the well behaved are already in bed.

You force those thoughts to stall. Aemond is a prince, and this is only an act of service. This is not a source of impropriety. "Of course, I'll be here when you call."

His acceptance of your compliance serves as a dismissal. You turn towards his desk, your eyes scanning the neatly organized items before finding the sole book waiting at the surface's edge. A copy of the second volume of The Recounting of the Dornish Wars.

This cannot be more than mere coincidence. You blink, throat a little drier than it was a moment ago. You're careful as you pick the novel, your hand supporting the book's spine. "This--"

"The library is not expecting it back for some time, but I believe it is best to keep things orderly." His voice remains neutral, but the set of his mouth, the upturn of his lips is much too knowing to not imply more.

He has directed you to a copy of the book you've been searching for that no one will think to look for for some time. The gesture settles against you, squeezing your chest in a way that makes it difficult to keep breathing. You allow yourself to grin openly as your gaze shifts between the prince and the book in your hand. "I agree, my prince."

The title falls from your lips before you can prevent it. You had been doing so well at disregarding titles...Perhaps it had been an act of fate, or some desperate attempt of your subconscious to remind you that any imaginary kinship your mind has created while treating him needs to be forever abandoned at his apartment's threshold.

His expression morphs into something unreadable. Instead of reminding you of what he had told you about titles, he says, "Aemond." The suddenness of his name throws you. "When we are alone, I'd prefer it if you called me Aemond."

Warmth burrows itself in your chest. If you thought any of the casualness the prince had shown you throughout your time here was dismissible, this is the opposite of that. A nail in a coffin you do not understand.

Still, you nod, fingers tightening around the book as you respond, "Then...I agree, Aemond."

A sharp nervousness digs into your chest, taking control of your limbs as you turn away. You leave his room without another word, a maid's basket on your hip and the prince's book in your hand.

----

a/n if you want to see the reader come back to aemond's room later pls lmk bc i think a part 2 would be fun :)

[pearlymel]

Sweet dreams—Zayne

summery : In which you need Zayne's help to tire you out so you can finally sleep.

Wc : 1.4k

Warning(s) : NSFW, Fem!reader, fingering, use of "good girl", finger sucking, unprotected sex, creampie, uhh lmk if i missed anything.

You don’t often ask Zayne for help, but he adored it when you did. He liked being needed, liked providing for you, always giving you anything you wanted. He’d never say it openly, though.

And tonight was one of those days, where both were of you were getting ready to sleep, Zayne facing his side of the bed and you embracing him from behind comfortably.

An hour passed. You look up at the clock on the wall, its already past midnight when you still couldn’t seem to get your eyes to close for the night. And who could you blame? Probably the sugar or drinks you had today that only seemed to make you hyper, and your handsome husband who you rarely get to see on nights like these. 

And you’re thankful, really. Finally being able to sleep in the same bed after hours of overtime from his demanding job. But that still doesn’t help with the fact that you missed him everyday when he leaves for work, oh how you ached for him to the point every simple thing he does turns you on. Like opening a jar you probably couldn’t open on your own, or sometimes watching him work out inside your shared space, his muscles flexing underneath that tight compression shirt, eyes fixated on the outline of the bulge peeking out from his grey—

You snapped back to reality when Zayne cleared his throat out loud, your body stiffening. Did he listen to what you were fantasizing about just a second ago?

“Why are you still not asleep? I can feel your fingertips playing with my hair…” you can hear the soft mumbling escaping his mouth. Your eyes follow his hand as he moves it to the back of his neck, his fingers nervously rubbing the area. You slowly pull your own hands back, still feeling the gentle tingle from the brief contact. A hint of redness creeps onto his earlobes, spreading across his skin like a subtle shade of embarrassment despite his back still facing you, but he quickly recovers from it.

“I can’t sleep. Plus I don’t feel tired from the amount of sugar I consumed this morning.” And you can only half blame him for it, since the candy jar he kept on the shelves were too tempting not to munch on.

“Sugar? You don’t happen to talk about the candy ja—“

“Ohh, i think its starting to hurt right here.” You swiftly cut him off, pretending to be in pain as you clutched on your stomach dramatically. And he can only sigh while watching your little act, even so, a small smile curled on one side of his lips. He's hopelessly smitten by your cute display.

"You're so dramatic," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. But despite his words, his hands reached for your wrists to lift them off your stomach, then slotting his hands on your stomach instead, gently massaging at first out of concern whether it was hurting or not.

“Here?” He whispered, fingers poking on your sides playfully which made you laugh, followed by a giggle. “That tickles, Dr Zayne!” And you continue squirming and laughing before he stopped with a smirk plastered on his face.

“Well, that still won’t help me fall asleep. In fact that just gave me more energy!” You smiled brightly in the slightly dim dark room. He only hums thoughtfully in return.

“If you want to sleep, we need to tire you out.” He leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead, and you only raise one eyebrow. When you tried to lift yourself off the bed, he only caged you gently in his arms while gently pushing you back on the bed. “I promise I won’t go too far,” and you feel like you instantly get the hint when his hand slides down to meet your bare thigh.

You silently thank yourself for only wearing an oversized shirt and panties tonight.

Zayne’s fingertips finally found itself way to your panties, his thumb slowly rubbing on your clit in circular motions through the thin fabric which made you gasp softly.

“Zayne—“

“Relax.” He whispered, soft lips finding yours into an open messy kiss, drinking in every mewl and whine that escaped from your lips. “Lie down, and spread your legs for me, darling.” He instructed in a low, husky tone. And you did as told, his arms pulling away from your back before letting yourself get comfortable on the mattress.

His breath hitched when you easily spread your legs open for him, his hands wasting not time to pull your underwear down to your ankles before slowly sinking in his middle finger into your wet, tight cunt. Your little hole fluttering around his finger when he started stroking your insides lightly, the back of your hand covering your mouth, struggling to not moan every time he would push knuckles deep inside you.

“Let me hear you,” he encouraged, gently brushing your hand away with his other hand before sinking in another finger in. Two fingers curling right into your sweet spot which immediately made you shamelessly moan out loud, hips arching off the bed as you clenched tightly around his fingers before coming undone. Though he continued thrusting his digits in and out, not fast, but steady.

“Good girl, now tell me what you want me to do next.” He roughly whispered, his own breathings growing heavier.

“I want…” you panted, mind still hazy while you tried to recover from your orgasm before he pulled out of you. “Open.” He ordered with dark eyes, your lips parting for him to take his digits in your mouth, your tongue lapping and sucking your juices clean off his fingers, a whine eliciting from your throat at the taste of yourself.

He then released his fingers from your mouth, leaning in to softly kiss at your temples. “I want more,” you mumble, eyes looking up innocently at him, which made him shake his head while chuckling. so you’re still not tired.

“More? That’s not enough information.” He said gruffly, and suddenly his pants were off, which made you blink twice for what’s to come. He exhales out shakily as he gives himself a few languid strokes before lining himself between your folds while leaning down to bury his face in your neck.

“You want me to fuck you roughly or gently? Do you want me to tie you up? Blindfold you? Or maybe, something else?” He whispered while pressing featherlight kisses along the curve of your neck. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable and enjoyed it. If you were uncomfortable, he wouldn’t proceed. But he knew you liked being dominated sometimes. He could see it in your eyes, the way your pupils dilated and your breathing becoming ragged.

“… Roughly, please.” You uttered, almost to yourself as you wrapped your arms around him. He smirked against your neck so you wouldn’t be able to see him, he was pleased with your decision.

Zayne parted your thighs wider apart using his rough hands as he lined himself up with your tight entrance that clenched around nothing eagerly. “Relax, darling.” He murmured with reassurance next to your ear as he pushed himself into you to the hilt without warning, causing you to yelp in surprise. He moved at a leisurely pace, making sure you adjusted to his size, he then paused, waiting for your body to adjust to his girth.

He then began fucking you harder, pounding into you with long, deep thrusts. His movements were sharp, and deliberate. His hands gripping onto your thighs tightly, further pushing them down which made you cry out in pleasure. 

He took the pleasure at the sight of you, back arched, your nails digging and scratching into his back while hearing your moans of pleasure.

“That’s it, take it.” He grunted, one of his hands sliding down to slap your ass lightly, “take my cock, sweetheart—ah, fuck.” He panted, the rhythm increased, he was soon pounding into you relentlessly, feeling you clench impossibly tight around him, drawing you closer to your next climax.

“Hah… ah, Z-zayne,” you whimpered, tears prickling your precious eyes to which he tried kissing them away. “‘M gonna cum—“ 

“Cum for me, sweets.” He whispered softly, his lips pressing one last time on your shoulder before feeling your muscles clench around him. “My good girl.”

Your orgasm hit like a freight train, your muscles milking his cock intensely. Zayne groaned, following closely behind, spilling into you and painting your walls white in slow, sloppy thrusts.

Finally, he pulled out of you after a moment of catching both of your breaths, he collapsed beside you, panting heavily. “Surely you're tired by now?” And you giggle tiredly in return, eyes closing lazily and turning to him to give his lips a peck.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he takes your wrist, his thumb stroking slow circles inside your wrists. “I love you too, now go to sleep, love. I’ll clean you up.”

[hypnagogics]

how soon is now? | part one

READ THIS FIRST 🇵🇸

teasers: one. two. series masterlist. next part here!!

♡: hallway crush!ellie x uni student!reader

☆: listen, i know this timeline is kind of ridiculous, but i’ve organized it all best as i can! this is the expanded story based on those first little blurbs introducing the au (reads fine on its own though), and this part specifically was originally going to be one huge fic, but i've ultimately decided to split it up and drop the first part now, because i feel like it ends in a convenient enough space where i can make a separation not so jarring. so that means this will have a direct continuation (how soon is now? 2 ? lol this is so stupid-), and that will be posted soon enough once i finish it! but yes that means after so much waiting, it's finally here for y’all. i literally thought up this silly idea right before i passed out on new years, and never expected y’all to love it so much…but i keep my promises, so here. also love the smiths and felt the title sort of fit. i feel like not too much happens but eh anyway, thank you for waiting, thank you for reading, and please enjoy!

♧:4.6k word count

◇:suggestive but not explicit - horny descriptions and tension, however no smut (for now?….BUT DON'T HOLD ME TO THAT.) no descriptions of reader’s physical appearance, no use of “y/n”, slow-burn construction and loooooads of pining, a lot of build up but stay with me, attempts at occasional foreshadowing, smau elements(text messages lmao), savage starlight is a plot point lol, hallwaycrush!ellie is sort of a mix of loser/modern/university au/dorky-ish ellie I DON'T EVEN KNOW. abby is your bestie, girl what else do i put here- this is just kinda plot, plot, and more plot progression about the whole ordeal, and me indulging my obsession with modern!ellie. (lmk if there's anything to be added!)

“Abbyyyyyyyyyy.” 

You rolled around your lifelong best friend’s bed, babbling her ear off while she studied away at her desk, or tried to at least. This situation has been a daily occurrence for weeks at this point.

Laying on your stomach facing away from her, you could hear her scoff in annoyance. “What?” “Please give me some advice..I don't know what I'm even supposed to do. She's driving me up the wall." This crush was the sole thing occupying your poor mind, so naturally, you had to drown your bestie with your troubles as well. That's what friends do. Abby spun around on her chair to face you, with a clearly fed up expression on her face, and leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. 

“Well I don’t fucking know man, I’ve already given you my best advice, and that's either introduce yourself, or suffer.” She said coolly. You sat up and groaned. Wasn't there an easier way? One that didn't involve actually taking initiative and doing something? Maybe, hypothetically, you ace a test, and the professor announces it in front of everyone as he emotionally congratulates his star student, and she bounds over, beaming. Then tearfully confesses her love and admiration for you- hold on, where the fuck is this going?

“Oh come on, you know I can’t do that..” You gulped a burning bundle of anxiety down as you replayed the scenarios with your obsession for the thousandth time that day, the mere crumbs you were forced to fixate on until you saw her next, the first sighting that started this whole fiasco,  and shook your head to clear it and listen to what your best friend had to say. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, slamming her textbook shut and making her way over to sit next to you.

“Listen babe, I love you, but you really gotta get ahold of yourself, alright?” She spoke sternly, looking you straight in the eyes to make sure you understood and absorbed every last word she said. “Listen, here's what you're gonna do. when you pass her in the hall, smile, it's simple but it's a classic, okay? And then you listen to the lecturer as normal, right? I have no idea what you nerds do in astrophysics, but that's besides my point. Make sure to pay attention and not stare only at her like a stalker or something, I cannot stress enough how normal you gotta be. But here's where it gets good, you still with me?” 

You're listening to her for sure, and nod vigorously. Crystal clear. She continues, “Okay you said you sit as far as possible from her? Sheesh, why'd you do that? When the class is over I want you to go over to her, and introduce yourself. Catch her on her way out, tap her on the shoulder if you're feeling bold. Ask for some of her contact details, play it cool. Just don't shit yourself, got it? All you gotta do." 

Abby finishes her speech, smirking and looking smug. She's positive she got through to you this time. On the surface you're totally chill, confident even, ready to snatch this ethereal being for yourself, however underneath all that you knew you didn't have an ounce of the courage that was required for this seemingly impossible task. 

Breathing deeply to calm yourself and try to take in her helpful words as best as possible, you give Abby a hug. “Thank you Abs, really. I'll do my best. Oh, but what if I freak out and start stuttering- or what if I trip and fall on her…I can't do this what the hell.” Swarmed with worry, you start doubting yourself yet again. Burying your face in your palms, you feel two strong hands on either side of your upper arms and you look back at Abby, who's really not playing around anymore. 

She was so serious about this it almost scared you. Either she cared about you more than anything, or she wanted to hear the end of these pathetic, lovestruck rambles. You prayed it was the former. 

“Suck it up. You can do this. You've had crushes before haven't you? This should be a piece of cake c’mon, I believe in you. Make sure to keep me updated every step of the way! I need to hear every last detail.” She lightens up at the end and releases you from her grip once she sees you've relaxed. 

Unsurprisingly, your best friend always knew what to say to snap you out of your spirals. Maybe most would disagree with her methods, say she was being rough, but they worked for you. Heart rate returning to a normal pace, you reply genuinely. 

“Okay, okay I got this. Yeah, it'll be fine.” She was getting through to you, this time you felt sure of it. “Good, good. Now will you let me finish this stupid assignment? Then we can watch something or do whatever." Abby chatted as she got up and sat back at her desk, resuming her studious endeavor as she left you with your thoughts. 

Immediately you heard her mutter, “All this and you don't even know her goddamn name…good grief.” For the sake of preserving the peace you chose to graciously ignore that one. She said she wanted some quiet, didn't she? 

Drifting away into a sea of daydreams, your thoughts inevitably returned to being clouded by this cryptic figure. It was like she'd cast a love spell on you. Did she even know who you were? Or did she shoot everyone those insufferably charming looks of hers. Was she even aware of how fucking cool she was? 

Dressed in that deliciously grungy style, you yearned to know what floated behind her greener-than-grass eyes. Her hair looked so smooth and soft, the wispy auburnette strands framing her refined features, intriguing fern tattoo decorating her lean forearm…. You felt your cheeks begin to heat up as a portrait of her materialized in your mind's eye. Nestling into the comfortable atmosphere of your best friend's room, you sunk deeper into your thoughts.

Like Abby had mentioned, it certainly wasn't as if you've never had crushes before, you've certainly had your fair share of them, like most people. But that was a sort of flaky, surface level interest, whether it be for their looks, their little quirks, or ways they treated you. Maybe it has been a while since you'd had a proper crush, but you couldn't recall a time when the infatuation, the pure limerence, had hit you this hard before. You almost felt helpless, just besotted by her.

You simply needed to act on this. Right then and there you steeled yourself, and decided you were going to follow Abby's advice after all, and go after this hallway crush. Worst comes to worst, she turns you down, you get over it eventually, bla bla end of story. It wasn't going to be too complicated, right?

You and Abby had stayed up all night, dusk till dawn, gossiping about things other than your hallway crush, shocking, and you were greatly regretting that decision the very moment it was time to gather your books and get to class.

You really did not feel like stunning everyone around you with a gorgeous outfit today, you were just trying to make it through the day in one piece to be honest with yourself. 

With a pounding headache you threw on some mismatched sweats, and ran out the door to be on time. Your bag felt unreasonably heavy as you made your way down your apartment stairs, and you cursed your past self for choosing a building without an elevator. Sure, exercise is healthy, but it can’t be when you’re feeling like a zombie, and wish for nothing more than a good, long nap.

Luckily the lecture hall was a comfortable distance away from your place, not far enough to make it a pain, but enough so you could get a much needed breath of fresh air. The tiredness had pushed all plans of action you and Abby had discussed the previous night to the back of your head, and you weren't thinking of your crush at all. At least for now. 

Walking slowly with your gaze pointed downward, you eventually made it to the hall. Completely dazed and zoned out, you made a mental note to never pull an all nighter again, gross, who’s idea was that- thump. 

Out of nowhere you're rudely jolted from your silent sulking by colliding with something, or someone? It takes a moment to register what happened, and you quickly look up from staring at the ground to sort the situation out. “Oh my gosh I am so sorry..” 

Profusely apologizing while simultaneously being smacked across the face with the realization of who this was. Her. Your words trail off as you’re suddenly winded, and you feel your blood run cold. You’re transfixed by the intense eye contact, and it feels like time has stopped. Goodness, this is dramatic. 

In the time it takes for you to briefly die and come back to life, the young woman has lowered her chunky headphones so they rest around her neck, Morissey’s vocals faintly floating out of them, and is looking at your stunned state with an indiscernible sneer playing on her face. Was this actually happening? Holy shit you and Abby did not discuss this scenario…you weren’t looking where you were going and had collided with an actual Earth angel. Great.

Still gawking at her like an absolute buffoon, akin to a deer in headlights, she breaks the tension first, with a smooth voice that you would obey virtually any command for. 

“Nah, you’re good.” And a wink. Your heart skipped a beat, or four, when you witnessed her wink at you. Did you imagine it? Was she being suave on purpose or did she have an eyelash in her eye…Was your life a literal rom-com or what? 

“Um..” Your mouth opens and closes in an attempt to form a coherent sentence, but your brain is much too fried to do so because, well, you had just made physical contact with the literal girl of your dreams. And gods did she smell good…while you’re unable to tear your eyes away from hers, she keeps talking as if nothing happened.

“I think the prof had an emergency or fuckin’, I dunno.” She stops to gesture around the two of you at the crowd that had formed in front of the auditorium’s double doors with elegant, ring adorned fingers..holy fuck you needed those inside you right fucking now- WHAT. 

Briskly shoving those thoughts down to the deepest depths of your subconscious back to where they belong, you turned your attention back to her, and put on a brave front. Hyper aware of how searing hot your face felt, her pretty self didn't show a hint of caring that you were making a fool of yourself. They say that any situation is always worse in your head than it was in actuality, well you hoped so. 

“So, what are we supposed to do now?” Clearing your throat you managed a sentence back, hooray. You were doing this. Good job. Although, of course, before the gorgeous nymph before you had a chance to respond with her own assumptions, a substitute lecturer you had never seen before pushes his way through the crowd and unlocks the door while people file in, separating you from her. You felt like Rose, viciously torn away from Jack from Titanic, what a cruel, cruel world this was.

And once again you didn't get to ask her name. Re-slinging her bag with one arm, she looks back at you one final time and throws you a “cya around.” Before disappearing into the auditorium with everyone else. You meekly nod at her and force a lopsided smile, before leaning against the wall to steady yourself after that fiasco in the now empty hallway.

Wasting virtually not a moment of time, you pulled your phone out and began furiously texting Abby with a recount of the events at a speed faster than the speed of light. 

Once that excruciatingly torturous class was over, you applauded yourself for containing the stares in her direction and keeping your eyes fixated on the professor. Whether you actually retained any information, now that was a different story. Picking up your bags and laptop, you stay behind for a moment as everyone else files out, no need to crowd and suffocate amongst the other students, and you had nowhere to be except catch up on your favorite shows and relax all by yourself. 

Filing out the auditorium with everyone else, you see a familiar face pass by you, and vaguely hear Abby’s voice in your head urging you to seize the moment. Now’s your chance, go! And so you gather every little bit of strength you possess to do just that. 

After a couple deep breaths you jog up to her. “Uh, hey.” She turns around and gives you a warm smile, making your legs instantly turn to jelly. You subtly checked her out and took in her outfit, another bulky jacket and lightly distressed jeans. Fingers studded with layered silver rings, and those big ole headphones seemed to be magnetically attached to her, she always had them on her. Note to self: ask for some music recommendations.

She was even hotter up close…with a beautiful galaxy of freckles scattered across her fair skin, you wanted to place a kiss on every single of them. “I, um, never caught your name.” “It's Ellie.” She sticks out her hand for a handshake and you accepted it, you finally had a name to the face you've been pining over so intensely for so long. Abby was going to lose it once you tell her about this. You steady your voice and hide the glee that was likely evident from this interaction going so smoothly, and introduce yourself to her as well.

After some time of idle chit chat and standing there, neither one of you knowing really what to say, Ellie pipes up, facepalming, tsking, and furrowing her brows. “Oh yeah, I don’t mean to spring this on you outta nowhere, but would you wanna study sometime?” She flushes a dusty pink, “I don't know anyone else taking this course and am having kind of a hard time with it...when I chose it, I expected it to be more about space and the planets, and less about numbers and math, my head hurts.”

Her demeanor was making you feel rather comfortable with her, even though the two of you had just formally met a few minutes prior. “I would love to, yeah!” Maybe you were being a little too enthusiastic, but at this point you were operating on pure instinct and not thinking critically of what was coming out of your mouth. “I actually don't have any plans now, or today at all, so if you want to, we can get a head start before the next class?” Well that just slipped out. Go you, blurting things out. 

You had no idea why you'd said that because your place was an absolute mess, clothes strewn everywhere, trash can still full, you'd been too preoccupied with your studies, and well her, to do much about it. To your horror, Ellie exclaims, “Hey, that's perfect! I don't have anything to do right now either, and it would be good to act on it while it's still fresh in my mind, y’know?” Her face morphs into an adorable toothy grin as she taps on her skull comically, you were becoming more obsessed by the second, if that was even possible.

Every little sliver of her personality you got to see under the stoic one you had assumed she had just grasped at your heartstrings. You smiled back at her so hard you almost pulled a muscle in your cheeks, “Awesome! Follow me, then, my dorm isn't far.”

The walk there was mostly fine as the two of you made it to your place, Ellie occasionally making comments about how she hates the class even though she adores outer space and learning about it on her own time, and you were nodding and acting as if you're listening, agreeing with her robotically while she rambled away and you daydreamed about what her lush lips would feel like on yours. You wondered if she was gentle with it, or if she’d kiss you hungrily, devour you like her very last meal….gulp.

Leading her to your place was an automatic task, not much navigation needed, and when the journey was done you had to legitimately stop short for a moment in an attempt to soothe the pounding in your chest. 

The crush that has plagued your mind for ages, who you've just met formally today, was about to be in your room. The two of you were about to be alone. That was totally fine, yeah, she can't be a murderer…..right?

“You good?” She asked sweetly, why did she have to be so nice, “Those stairs were killer, I totally get it, phew.” “Oh for sure, gets me every time.” Covering up your panic smoothly, you unlocked the door and went inside with her. When she walked inside, Ellie took a glance around your room and set herself down at the edge of your bed, immediately making herself comfortable, while you still lingered in the doorway, awkwardly swaying and staring at her, unsure of what to do with yourself. 

Suddenly you had completely forgotten why she was here in the first place. “No way, you read Savage Starlight too???” She spotted the figurine on your desk and snatched it up in her hands to inspect it thoroughly, with a childlike wonder in her eyes. “Wow, this one was a limited edition and it sold out in like an hour, I'm so jealous you got this!! How much you want for it, I'm serious.” She was so excited, and you couldn't believe it. Savage Starlight has always been one of your favorite comics ever, you've loved it since you were a young teen, and now this seemingly perfect human before you, who you're hopelessly obsessed with says she loves it too? Could she get any more flawless, is all you could wonder.

Her happiness because of this little thing you two bonded over was infectious, and some of your nerves slowly began to go away.  Grinning genuinely, you sheepishly said, “I've never met anyone else who likes it, that story has helped me through lots of phases in my life, and Daniela was my gay awakening.” Ellie gaped at you for a beat, making you almost doubt revealing that information.

“No. Fuckin’. Way. Mine too! Her suit was just- damn. And those action scenes in the third volume had my thirteen year old self’s brain just mush for, I don't even know for how long. This is crazy, I can already see we’re gonna get along so well.”

You wanted to talk to her about everything and anything forever, and her glee made you want to squish her, but there was unfortunately work to be done first. “There’s so much we have to discuss, but we gotta get some studying done first if we wanna make it out of this course alive.”

You were sitting at your desk, hunched over the sprawled out textbooks and messy notes, as you drew the graphs and talked to her about the concepts she was struggling with. Your desk was so small and you only had one chair, and you were the one using it, so Ellie was forced to hover over you to see all you were doing.

Focusing solely on the subject before you was proving to be more difficult as studying time went by, because you were a little too aware of the way she had caged you in against the desk to watch, her oversized shirt grazing your upper back. You gripped your pen ever so tightly to minimize any trembling, and kept a steady voice as best you could while explaining it all.

She was so, so close, the tension in the tiny room was palpable, she didn't seem to notice your nervous tremors or the proximity she’d created, and the low murmurs of, “ohhh, mhm, yeah,” as you embarrassingly stammered over your explanations made you flushed and to be frank, needy. You could feel her warmth radiating off of her, could faintly hear her breathing just above you. You didn't dare move a muscle. Was she feeling this too?

At this point you swore the delicious gravelly vibrations from her voice this close to you would be plenty enough to make you cream your pants. The air in the enclosed space was getting hotter and thicker by every passing moment, it took everything you had to keep yourself from losing your mind right now. If you moved back a petty few inches, you’d be pressed flush with her front. What would that be like, you wondered. Oh, no. Your throat felt drier than the desert when you swallowed, the thought of that making you weak.

Since your focus on the work was lapsing, you were beginning to make some little mistakes and blunders, compelling her to take the pen right from your hand and fix them herself. “No, no, this one’s supposed to be like this instead, see? Then you're able to get the right answer which is…” She stretches over you further, you nearly whined, someone save you, and grabs the textbook to review the solution. “Like this, yeah, I was right. Honest mistake though, don’t worry about it.”

You nod your head and make a pathetic murmur of approval, ignoring the fiery tingles spreading all the way up your arm when her hand bumps yours to return the writing utensil, and the blistering coil of want forming in your stomach. This all had to be deliberate, right? She couldn't lack that much spatial awareness, could she? Well, it wasn’t that you minded, she could get as close as she damn wanted to, you'd let her throw you around like a ragdoll even- you were just afraid your heart was going to give out if she kept it up. “Could you show me this work you guys did? Of course the one day I'm late, the prof talks about something new and I miss it.” 

What feels like an eternity later, you hear her groan above you and she returns to her earlier spot on your bed. You can finally breathe properly. Glancing at the clock, your own headache begins to set in. Crap it was late, how time flies. 

“We’ve been studying for so long, it’s getting late.” “Shit, you’re right, I’ve definitely overstayed my welcome. Sorry about that, and hey, thanks for this. I understand it all a lot better now, see you tomorrow.”

She stands up abruptly and ushers herself out of your door in a flash, to which you clumsily stand up, knock your chair over, and hastily run after her, not wanting her to go just yet. “Wait, Ellie!” “What's up, did I forget something?”

She pats her pockets and looks at you with concern. Round puppy dog eyes, and lips in a miniscule pout, so cute. You were in front of her now, but did not process what you actually wanted to say. Just ran after her like the smitten nincompoop you are. Upon feeling your face go hot, you look at the ground to mutter, “Uh- nothing. See you later.” Realistically, what were you planning on saying, or doing?

After stumbling over your words you two finally part ways and you slump down against your door, missing her presence already. You simultaneously wanted to jump around or open your bedside table drawer to release the energy you'd accumulated, and wanted to fall into the deepest sleep of your life to recuperate from the experience. This was just, a lot. You wanted to scream and screech like there's no tomorrow, but did not want to deal with noise complaints from the others living on your floor. Gosh she was so close, she shares your niche interest, your hands touched, albeit accidentally, lo and behold you were in love with her.

Maybe it was early to call it that, but you were going to plan out your future together. Preferably a quaint, peaceful farmhouse, the one you two lovebirds renovated together exactly how you envisioned, where you could ogle her doing the farmwork. Ugh. Cook all her favorite meals, make sweet, sweet love under the moonlight. Take strolls through the flower gardens you two planted, receive her curated bouquets as gifts, you two are going to have such a tender, domestic life. 

You had to mull it over some more, and didn’t dare wish to forget how close she was to you, you were still buzzing from her essence. You were pointlessly pacing around your room now, unable to stop looping the study session's events in your head. The simplicity, the eroticism of the encounter. One-sided or not, you had yet to find out more about her, the impatience was going to take over. The day almost seemed too good to be true, but for now you had to force yourself to relax and think about something other than her. Time to browse Pinterest with striking kitchen ideas for your beautiful future. 

What were you going to say to her the next time you see her? You were eager to know how, or if at all, this new friendship was going to progress. Part of you was dying of impatience, but the rest of you wanted to take it all as slow as possible, savoring every little moment and making the most of it. 

You sighed, this was going to be a long, long, year.

lovely taggies: @amiorca @mostlyhornyandsad @lasting-lover @radioheadfan699 @sophie-thefrog8 @machetegirl109 @ellieschair @aouiaa @wavesgocrash @tangerinngi @elliesbitchvenus @dinaissoprettyoml @rxreaqia @camicocom1a @elliesexual @ellslvr @boobdrug @writing-on-a-bathroom-stall @bready101 @yourelliewillms

.......really hoping this doesn't flop because it isn't smutty, yall wanted more fics that are plot soooo

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 8

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Eddie hears the commotion in the living room, and it takes everything left in him to move away from the door. He just crawls himself forward and onto a pile of nearby clothes because he knows he'll be out of the way there when they open his door.

He knows he should open the door and go out there. Wayne's still out there, confused and concerned, and he needs to call Jeff. He can't just not show up. Yet he remains on the ground, cross-legged this time, face hidden in his hands.

Steve is broken. Because Eddie broke him.

He's been so afraid that something would happen to Steve if he wasn't around but given the track record of Eddie's life, he feels like such an idiot for not realizing the biggest threat to Steve and his safety is Eddie himself.

The commotion beyond his door gets louder, bursting open, and then Robin and Dustin are falling through it, stumbling over each other in their haste to get into Eddie's room. Wordlessly, Eddie points to where he abandoned Steve on the floor, knows that they're here for him.

He's a bit startled when the two finally untangle themselves and Dustin goes to Steve but Robin drops herself onto his dirty laundry, all but draping herself over him in a hug. His body moves on its own, wrapping around Robin and all but pulling her into his lap in a bear hug. He's not crying, too numb for that now, but he does shove his face into the side of her neck and let out a dry, sobbing noise as she coos softly.

"Shhhh. We're here. We've got Steve and we've got you," Robin's voice is wet. She's crying, too, silently but tears are definitely falling because one lands directly in his ear.

He feels detached from himself after that. He's aware of things going on around him but doesn't feel sentient. Robin pulls back from him slowly, she says something as she stands up but Eddie's too busy watching Dustin ever so gently pick up Steve's pinky finger and then Steve. He thinks the smile Dustin gives him is supposed to be reassuring but it's mostly just sad.

Eddie's head followed Dustin as he heads out the door and down the hall, at which point he starts to track Robin as she's coming back down the hall, dragging Wayne behind her.

"Can you stand up, Eddie?" she asks, and Eddie feels like he's watching himself shake his head no more than he feels like he's actually doing it.

"That's alright," Wayne says, as he pats one of Robin's shoulders before moving around her. "I'm not so old as to not be able to get down there. I still don't understand what's goin' on, Eddie, but I'm here."

Wayne joins him on the floor, sitting beside him so he can fling an arm around Eddie's shoulders and tuck him into his side. Robin flops down on his other side, once again draping herself across Eddie like a weighted blanket. It's all very grounding, and a little bit jarring, and that's probably what makes Eddie come back to himself sooner than he would have if he were alone in his room.

"You should be with Steve," is what Eddie decides on saying when words return, turning his head to look at Robin.

"Nah."

"He'd want you-"

"No, he wouldn't. I'm Steve's soulmate and I know him better than anyone else in the world. Which mean you don't get to tell me what Steve would want, because I know what Steve would want. And that's me, here, making sure you're okay first."

"What's happened with Steve?" Wayne asks, and Eddie stiffens. Robin starts rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It's a long story, Mr. Munson. But I promise we'll fill you in once the crisis has passed."

"Is this related to whatever happened last year durin' the supposed earthquake that y'all can't talk about?"

"Well, I couldn't say either way, since we can't talk about it."

"Right. Get one o' the kids to tell me, then. Whatever they signed ain't legal anyhow."

Robin shoots Eddie a look, like she's trying to figure out if Eddie broke his NDA and told his uncle everything. He gives a quick shake of his head, and then Robin looks to Wayne. "I'm certain Dustin would be thrilled to fill you in, then. Now, Eddie, can you tell me what happened?"

He looks down the hall. He can see people crowded into the trailer's tiny living room but none of them look like any member of the Byers-Hopper household. "Uhh, yeah, but where's El?"

"They're in Indy, some family day thing. But don't worry, we went out to the Cerebro and were able to get El on the Walkie, so they're on the way back."

"You went- how long have I been just... sitting in here," Eddie is mostly talking to himself because it hasn't felt like enough time has passed for them to have made it to pick everyone up, get to Weathertop, communicate with El, and come here.

"Well, Nancy called me-" she cuts off, grabbing Eddie's arm and twisting it around so she can read the time on his watch, "-about an hour and a half ago. So, I guess you've been here that long."

Eddie untwists his arm, shaking her off. "You are being scarily calm right now, Queen of Catastrophizing."

"I already had an hour and a half to freak out. You think I need more?" Robin says as she stands up.

"I guess not," Eddie follows after her.

"Hey, help your old man up," Wayne grumbles, hand out for Eddie to grasp and help pull.

They go down the hall and now Eddie can see the full collective of people in his living room. Nancy, Mike, Lucas, Erica, Max, and Dustin, who is still holding Steve. It settles something inside Eddie, that the group he sees before him is the same one that fought tooth and nail to clear his name and keep him alive.

"So, we're all really sure that we can't just glue it back on?" Mike is asking when Eddie, Robin, and Wayne make it to the living room.

"We aren't sure about anything, Mike," Nancy replies, the frustration in her voice clear.

Everyone stops talking, though, as Wayne gives Eddie a thump on his back and wades through the crowd to get back to his chair. "Well, don't stop on my account. If I hear somethin', no I didn't."

That gets a snort of a laugh from Dustin.

Nancy looks like she wants to argue but doesn't. Instead, she wheels on Eddie, full journalism mode seemingly on, "what happened?"

Eddie swallows thickly before answering, "I dropped him. I-I pick him up and something pinched my palm. It surprised me, or something, and I just- I just let go. He landed on his left side before falling onto his back."

Nancy nods, brain processing much faster than Eddie right now, "And the crack appeared before or after you dropped him?"

He tries to remember, "I don't- I think so?"

"You think or you know?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know, Wheeler," Eddie says it more harshly than needed but he doesn't know! He doesn't remember because he didn't even look at Steve for longer than a second or two after Jeff saw him. "I've been having a mental breakdown kind of all day so no, I don't know! All I know is it's my fault because there wasn't a crack this morning, and now he's missing a finger-"

She's not even effected by his outburst, "Eddie! I'm not blaming you! I'm asking for the details because if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, then maybe that's just Steve, breaking the curse or something."

His anger drains from him almost as quickly as it built. "What?"

"I've been reading a lot, researching you know. About magical transformations. But there's not a lot of nonfiction on the subject. Ergo, I've been reading a lot of fairy tales."

"Which isn't really good for research-" Dustin starts, but Nancy just talks over him.

"My point is that, if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, maybe it just happened naturally. Supernaturally? Whatever, maybe it's a sign of whatever curse is on Steve is fading on it's own. That's why I wanted to know," she shifts from one foot to another now before adding, "I'm sorry about your day. I might have broached the subject differently had I known."

"No, you wouldn't have, but that's why I like you, Wheeler. You're a no-nonsense gal and I appreciate that," Eddie says.

Nancy gives him a small, almost shy, smile in return and the room falls into a silence that just this side of uncomfortable.

"Alright, Dustin, since the talkin' seems to be done, you wanna fill an old man in on what the hell's been goin' on around here for the last few years?" Wayne breaks the silence and Eddie barks out a laugh at the look on everyone's faces.

"Uhh, we don't-I don't know what you are talking about," is Dustin's eloquent answer.

Wayne nods and Eddie knows his uncle well enough to recognize the look on his face and in his eyes. Wayne switches tactics, then, and says, "You got any one older than twenty-five that knows what's happenin'?"

The group exchanges looks before Dustin says, "yes."

"Alright. They comin' here?"

"Yes."

"I can wait, then. Anyone hungry? Thirsty?" Wayne asks, and then without waiting for an answer, looks to Eddie and says, "Eddie, get to makin' some sandwiches. What kinda host are you?" Wayne is shaking his head like he can't believe Eddie's audacity.

Eddie sputters out some indignant response, even as he turns to round the corner cabinet to officially be in the kitchen. His first choice is peanut butter and jelly, but when he gets the peanut butter out, he can see there's probably enough for two sandwiches, three if it's a thin layer of peanut butter. Opening the fridge shows a sad amount of lunch meat; the cupboard has two tuna fish cans.

"Guess we're making several different sandwiches," Robin's voice so close to his back makes him jump, which earns a chorus of chuckles from the peanut gallery in the living room.

"Someone needs to get you a bell," Eddie mutters. "Get to work on the PB and J's. I'll get this tuna mixed."

They work in silence, making three different types of sandwiches. Wayne knew they didn't have enough of any one thing to make enough for everyone here, and the ones who will be showing up eventually, but he told Eddie to do it anyway. Asked, but didn't wait for an answer. Wayne's making busy work for him, he realizes. A distraction from what he's done. He's not sure if he should be thankful for that or not.

The only thing separating the kitchen from where everyone is seated in the living room is a counter and cupboards, so when the sandwiches are done, Eddie just shoved them across the counter. "Sandwiches are done."

It's not exactly a rush for the sandwiches on the other side of the counter but everyone does gather to grab one. There's not even an argument about wanting a specific one, except Max, who is offered all three kinds and when she says PB&J, Mike hands over the one he grabbed without hesitation. It's the most mature thing Eddie's seen him do, if only because every other time he does something mature he complains about it, which kind of ruins the 'mature' part.

It's about three minutes into eating that the trailer's front door bursts open and at first no one is there, like a gust of wind had blown it open, but then El comes barreling in and Hopper can be heard shouting something about knocking first.

"Where is he?" El demands.

"Here," Dustin is already holding Steve out to her. She doesn't even approach Dustin, just pulls Steve to her using her mind, grabbing him out of the air with one hand. She examines him quickly, finding the crack. She trails one of her fingers along the crack to where his pinky is missing. Dustin adds, "Do you want his finger, too?"

She shakes her head and turns to Eddie next, and he doesn't even feel the bandana leave his pocket, but he does watch it fly across the space between them. She moves over to sit in front of the TV, Steve in her lap as she's folding the bandana into a blindfold.

"TV," is her final demand as her eyes vanish behind cloth and she's trying off the bandana. Mike moves instantly to the TV, clicking it on to fill the room with static.

Wayne, to his credit, has only the tiniest hint of an eyebrow raised from watching things move about the room seemingly by nothing. El hadn't even stopped to consider someone not In The Know was here. Guess he's In The Know now.

Will, Jonathan, Argyle, Joyce, and Hopper have made it into the trailer, closing the door silently behind them. Hopper finds Wayne among the crowd of kids, eyes going wide, while Wayne just lifts his sandwich in a salute before taking a big bite out of it.

"Steve, I cannot hear you. I do not think you can hear me in your mind. Nod if you hear me now." El's voice breaks the tense silence that had fallen.

Of shit, what did Eddie do?

"Oh, good. Are you okay?" A pause. "He is nodding. Do you know what happened? He is shaking his head. Do you know why you are far away now? Shaking his head again. You can still hear. Can you still see? He is nodding. Steve, there is a crack on your arm-"

"His left arm," Mike interjectes.

"Yes, your left arm. Yes. You are missing a finger on that hand. Do you think that is what is causing the distance? He is shrugging. Do not worry, we will figure this out. I am going to go now."

El pulls off the bandana and uses it to wipe the blood from her nose before setting it on the living room floor. "I cannot get as close to him as I could before. He stays far away no matter how close I walk. But he is okay."

He's okay. Steve's okay. Fucking Christ, Eddie's going to throw up. A couple people call his name as he dashes down the hall. He crashes through the bathroom door and knows he doesn't have time to close it, so everyone gets to hear him lose his sandwich into the toilet bowl. On the third heave of his stomach, cool hands touch his head, gather his hair up and away from his face. He doesn't even have it in him to flinch or jump. "Thanks."

"I'd say anytime, dingbat, but I don't really want to hold your puke hair too many more times. You get, like, two more, tops," Robin says.

"I can't go back out there, Robin," he whispers, "I did this. I cracked him, broke his finger off and now El can't even hear him. I can't- he's gotta go with someone else. I can't-"

"I know. Dustin already asked if you'd be upset if Steve went home with him. I'll let him know you understand he needs to be around Steve right now."

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"Dingbat. Eddie. You're mad enough at yourself for all of us," she says, reaching over and flushing the toilet. Eddie feels like there's more throwing up to do but he is glad to have the smell of vomit reduced with the flush. He sits up a bit more, so his hair won't fall into his face when Robin lets go. Robin lets go long enough to search the bathroom cabinets for a hair tie, pushing it into Eddie's hands. "Hair up."

"So demanding," Eddie mumbles even as he gathers his hair into the tie.

"Once you're done ralphing just go to bed. I'll get everyone out of your house."

Eddie nods and Robin leaves, clicking the door closed. He heaves a few more times before his body is done. On shaking legs, he makes his way to his room. He feels like he's floating above himself again. He doesn't know if everyone has left yet, or if he hears nothing because he's too out of it.

He tucks himself in and dozes. He wakes up three times; once, when his uncle comes in and puts the walkie near him on the bed, the second time in the evening when Robin wriggles into his bed and forces herself into his arms with a simple I usually hold Steve when I'm feeling bad, but I suppose you holding me will have to do and the final time, almost at midnight, when the walkie goes off.

"Anyone up?" says the disembodied voice of Dustin Henderson.

Eddie's not sure how the quiet voice woke him up, but it does. He reaches over Robin, who has starfished out of his arms in their sleep, to grab the walkie. He doesn't know if he should answer, so he holds out for someone else.

"Hello?" Dustin asks again.

No one answers. So, finally, Eddie does. "I'm here, Henderson. Bad dream?"

"I'm glad it's you, Eddie," Dustin says, something soft in his voice.

"Why?"

"'Cause I wanted to talk to you," says a new voice, a familiar voice.

"Steve?" Eddie whispers, even as his free hand is violently shaking Robin awake.

Robin mumbles something incoherent, head turning to Eddie as the voice on the walkie says, "Yeah, it's me."

[sashaisready]

Chapter Eighteen - Weakness

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again

Warning: Dark - Kidnapping and false imprisonment, threats with a gun, threats of violence/sexual assault, references to murder, rough handling of reader

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 19

Series Masterlist

You briefly allow yourself to hope that this is Bucky and his men. That he's doing this as some sort of twisted punishment for what you said. Yes, that would be a super fucked up thing to hope for, but at least you'd stand a chance of getting out of this alive.

As time goes on it becomes clear that this isn't Bucky, though. You don't recognise any of their voices. You have no idea who these men are.

This is bad. Really bad.

You do your best to stay calm, knowing panicking will mean you won't have your wits about you. You need to stay focused, do everything you can to stay alive.

Finally, after a very bumpy car ride as you laid on the floor of the vehicle, you get to wherever you're going. The journey was about forty minutes you think, maybe an hour, you try and work out how far that might be out of the city, but to no avail. They park up and you hear people step out to talk. You strain to hear what they're saying through whatever fabric is over your head - there are at least two of them, maybe three. They don't use names and don't give anything away about who they might be or what they're doing with you. They just mutter about the boss, and everything being in place for something. You can't make out the rest.

Suddenly the door is wrenched open, you are tugged up to your feet and snatched roughly out of the vehicle. It hurts and you know you'll likely have bruises up your arms from where they've manhandled you. You're standing outside again when the gun impatiently taps on the back of your head and you take that as indication to walk. You can't see so you have no idea where you're going, a firm hand on your shoulder is guiding you to walk in the direction they want you in. You clomp awkwardly in your date night heels.

"Please..." you murmur quietly from under the hood. "If you want money I can get you my savings and everything from my job's safe...I don't have much but-".

The gun digs hard into your skull again and you shut up suddenly, not stupid enough to continue.

You're lead into some sort of building, trying to count the number of turns and doors you take, doing your best to form a mental picture of the layout. You can feel voices on either side of you and know multiple sets of eyes are on you as you pass by even though you can't see them. Eventually you are pushed down into a rigid chair and the hood is torn from your head.

Your eyes strain under the bright lights after being in the darkness for so long and you do your best to adjust to where you are. The lights are lurid and unflattering, adding a disorientating edge to the already stark space.

You peer across the room as you blink and get your bearings. You're in a warehouse or factory it seems, rusting machinery surrounds you and everything looks decayed and far beyond its best days. The air smells of rusty water and damp mould.

Soon your eyes find your captors, standing ten or so feet away. There's a group of them dressed in combat gear. They all have various weapons strapped to them – sat in holsters, slung over their shoulders, tucked carefully into their palms. Ammo clips are affixed to belts draped around their waists, bandoliers rest threateningly across their torsos. You shudder at the sight. There are more of them than you realised.

A muscular dark haired man stares back at you hungrily and you flinch instinctively at his gaze.

An older man in a dark suit and tie smiles kindly as he heads towards you, his professional attire a jarring contrast to the others in their almost-military like get up. He seems warmer than his 'colleagues' and you can tell he was a handsome man in his younger days.

You begin to panic, the reality of seeing your kidnappers in front of you with all of their weaponry suddenly triggering your flight or fight response. You squirm in your restraints, head jerking side to side as you hunt for anything or anyone that might help you. You feel exposed too, still wearing your tight evening dress from your date. Your body is on show more than you'd like – not that there's an optimum outfit for this type of scenario. You've also managed to lose a shoe somewhere on the walk from the car to here. You're vulnerable, weak. They all know that too.

"Please..." you plead weakly. "I don't know why I'm here".

"I know it must be scary, honey. But try not to panic. We aren't going to hurt you" says the suited man, his voice low and soothing.

"Speak for yourself" laughs the dark haired man, and the rest of the group laugh coldly with him.

The suited man shoots them a look and they all shut up instantly. He must be their leader, you understand. The 'boss' they mentioned.

"Like I said. Nobody is going to hurt you sweetie, as long as you behave yourself. Alright? Can you do that for me?" He coos at you as he comes closer.

You nod rapidly, your eyes widening. You have no interest in finding out what happens if you don't behave.

"Smart girl. But I should've guessed. Barnes isn't gonna pick himself a dummy is he?" He laughs.

Your eyes narrow at the mention of Bucky's name. "Barnes...?" you mumble as things finally start to fall into place.

"Uh huh" the man continues. "The man himself. We know you're well acquainted".

Your throat suddenly feels very dry. "I think y-you have the wrong girl" you stammer. "We aren't together, me and him."

The man smiles, his sweet tone never faltering.

"Well, are you sure about that sweetie? Maybe think about it again. We know he was outside of your apartment when we picked you up. We know he sent a huge order of balloons to your workplace. We know you spent the night with him at his house after some canoodling in a nightclub. We know he sends his men to follow you around town. And he's always in that cute little bakery of yours, isn't he? Seems like pretty damning evidence to me, sweetheart".

You internally admit that you see their logic.

You nearly vomit as you begin to understand just how long they have been following you. Bucky too. Did he know they were following him? How could his surveillance team miss them??

You choke out a sound which is a mix between a laugh and a sob.

"No no...you gotta believe me. We did spend the night together yes, but that's it. He follows me because he likes to torture me. He doesn't really want me. I'm just a... a plaything to him. He's been making my life a misery. He doesn't care, not really. Please...you've gotta believe me..." you're practically begging now.

The men all laugh like you've told a great joke and the suited one speaks again.

"Lovers' quarrel huh sweetie? We've all been there. But listen, you don't know him like we do - he's always been a hump and dump kinda guy. Been that way since he discovered his pecker. Trust me, he used to work for me back in the day and he was the same way then, too. He doesn't keep them around, but he keeps you around. That's no accident."

You almost laugh at the ridiculousness of this terrifying thug validating your relationship with Bucky. This was the last way you ever thought you'd receive reassurance about how Bucky feels about you.

"He used to work for you?" you ask quietly.

The man nods, a hint of a smile lurking on his solemn face.

"A long time ago. We taught him everything he knows. He'd be nothing if I didn't take him under my wing. Oh - where are my manners? My name is Alexander Pierce. This fine gentleman is Brock Rumlow" he gestures to the dark haired man who sneers back at you.

You instinctively know Rumlow was the one from the car with the gun pressed into your spine. You feel like a strong hatred for him like you've never felt for a stranger before. You just know in your gut that he's a bad man. A dangerous man.

That they all are.

Pierce introduces some of the other men who all share the same identical snarl on their faces. In your peripheral vision you see more figures at the side of the warehouse, weaving in and out of the doors. There are more of them here than you initially thought. The place is swarming with them.

You scan the room again and take in more of the layout. There are the big double doors you came through on one side, that's where the hub of activity seems to be with people coming and going. A lot of old machinery is dotted across the wide room, each in varying states of disrepair. There's a raised mezzanine level running across one side which seems to be accessed by ladders but it doesn't seem to go anywhere. And then finally in the far corner you spot a solitary door. Fire exit, maybe?

Pierce stands in front of you as your attention snaps back to him. He begins to talk, seemingly relishing your fear.

"You may know us as HYDRA. We knew Barnes as the Winter Soldier. He was the deadliest assassin on the east coast, maybe the country" continues Pierce. "He could put a bullet between anyone's eyes before they'd even noticed him. We recruited him when he was very young, he took to training like a duck to water. It was all very innate, you know the type. Very valuable to our little organisation, as you can imagine".

Pierce mimes a gun action with his hand, his mouth imitating blowing a gun barrel with his finger.

You swallow nervously as you listen. HYDRA rings a bell, you've heard of them – maybe seen a headline or two - knew they were bad men involved with organised crime and terrorist activity, but you couldn't recall much else. You knew Bucky was capable of awful things, and you knew deep down he would've killed somewhere along the way, but hearing it like this from Pierce chilled you to the bone. Bucky was scary. You cringed thinking about all the times you'd berated or challenged him. How lucky you'd been to not push him too far...

"But being just a hitman wasn't enough for him" Pierce continued. "So he broke away from us and started his own organisation, using everything he learned from his time here. Teamed up with some old military buddies of his and built themselves from the ground up, using all the connections and knowledge he learned from us".

Steve and Sam.

"They took out nearly 80% of our numbers after they surprised us one evening, an evening not unlike this one actually. A total massacre. Barnes was like a terminator that night, sweetie, I have never seen anything like it. He just kept coming. Kept mowing people down. The few who managed to survive still have nightmares about him. And now he's on top, and he's been hunting the rest of us ever since..." smiled Pierce forlornly.

"And now he's mostly legit, filing his taxes and all that boring civilian stuff. He's still terrorising the city, but in a different way. We've been trying to find a weakness of his for years but nothing ever came up. Until now that is..." he explained, grinning at you devilishly.

You shrink slightly in your chair. "Weakness...?" you ask in a small voice.

"That's where you come in, sweetheart. You're our bait. You're going to help lure Barnes out here and we are finally going to take care of him, once and for all - and then we can get back on top where we belong".

You begin to panic, eyes widening as you shake your head. You feel sick thinking about Bucky coming out here, as desperate as you also are for him to save you. There are just so many of them. He and his men would be wiped out.

"You don't understand...." you whimper. "It's like I said. We aren't an item. This evening I called him a sociopath and threatened to rat him out to the feds. He...he isn't coming to help me if I ask".

The group laugh, amused by your story. Pierce grins from ear to ear as he leans towards you, pulling up another chair and sitting opposite you.

"If that's true and he doesn't come - no big deal, we'll just shoot you any way sweetheart. No skin off our noses. Annoying to waste a night, but we'll just regroup and come up with something else. Get him some other time. Besides, the boys here will enjoy taking their time with you".

The room echoes with the gang's skin-crawling laughter and you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as fear grips you and sits on your chest like a boulder.

"And...and if he does come?" you manage to croak out. "What happens to me after...well...after you've dealt with him?"

Pierce grins and the other men titter behind him.

"Well, we haven't decided yet, honey. But if you're good, maybe we'll keep you around. We could use a feminine presence around the place. And we can help you get over your boyfriend".

You don't want to think about what that might entail. It seems whatever happens tonight, this doesn't end well for you. 

You're not naïve. You know Bucky isn't going to risk his life, or the lives of his friends and men, to come save the person who screamed at him just a couple of hours before. A woman he'd fucked once when you'd drunkenly stumbled around his nightclub. There'd be no sentimentality solely because she used to package up his doughnuts.

You were on your own.

You had to save yourself.

Pierce smiles as he holds up your phone, wriggling it in his hand.

"Let's drop lover boy a line, shall we?" he tells you ominously.

[drifloonz]

Omg hi! I very recently got REALLY into Strangled Red so finding your writing for it was such a nice surprise, it's feeding my hyperfixation for this man so well. I love how you write and portray him especially since I'm a sucker for character phycology. If you're still up for it, could you maybe give some headcannons for Steven reacting to the s/o reader being hit on and not being into it? I just think it has nice writing potential and I'm a sucker for jealousy/possessiveness and overprotectiveness when the character has good reason to be. If you don't feel up for it I completely understand that, and just know that I've loved all the writing you've done so far! :)

ty sm.. i fucking love Analyzing steven hes like a petri dish algae or something that im putting under a microscope. he means so much to me and i love picking him apart like the little freak [lovingly] that he is.

i am very glad i make ppl think of him and give ppl food that is my Goal . Give people good steven food. steven food makes it sound like stevens a creature u need to feed. thats s!3v3n not steven /j

ALSO SAME HERE i love jealousy and possessiveness and being overprotective within like. Normal means. Maybe its bc i have bpd idk but i also like when ppl are jealous in regards to me or clingy... makes you feel important sometimes and thats nice to some people including me hehehe.

anyways !!

jealous steven x s/o reader!

__

♡ steven's not one for going out with you - he prefers to rot in his house. it's awful, but, at least you visit him and are there with him a lot of the time. or he's with you in your house rotting a little less. either or is fine to him.

♡ although, recently he's been trying more. maybe you have a job and he likes to visit you because he gets lonely - he's not all too dissimilar to a growlithe or a clingy litten waiting for their owner to get home. except he's a grown ass 6-or-7' man that tends to intimidate everyone just by being around, so how clingy he is sometimes is kind of jarring. gap moe.

♡ or maybe you just go out a lot and he likes to tag along, because well. he likes you. and you're probably dating?

♡ .. and because he's scared that something will happen to you when he's not around.

♡ . . . he won't admit that part, though.

♡ he'll often be overaffectionate when and if you visit him when you haven't for a while, too. clingy overaffectionate. lots of cuddling and silent affection from the big guy.

♡ he especially doesn't like thinking about the fact that other people can possibly see you and have less than great thoughts about you or possibly be making passes at you when he's not there - you're his, dammit. ... and he's all yours, not like anyone else is competing for him these days.

♡ so when he is there, and when someone does, and has the balls to do it around or in front of him?

♡ well. probably when he's around but not immediately close to you. and as such...

♡ he'll probably stand up if he overhears it / sees it, or just thinks anybody's being just a biiiit too friendly with you. goes behind you, maybe while you're still talking to the person, busy and unaware that he's Approaching.

♡ he's so tall the shadow of his figure looms over the person who even dared to try.

♡ he'll just glare at them, until they fuck off. honest to god. he hates talking to people, especially strangers, and his resting neutral face being turned into slightly more of a resting bitch face sends the message better than anything he could say ever would.

♡ he can look scarier if he wants to, maybe make his eyes glow red and give a bit more of a snarl - but just his resting face seems to scare people off real easily. good. he doesn't want to put in too much effort- plus, it might look wrong, or odd. him emoting in any good or bad way more than his usual resting face tends to look weird. he has no idea how he used to do it so much more when he was younger ... ( HE'S SUCH A FUCKING LOSERRRR . sorry continue on . )

♡ and after the fact - or if they somehow don't get the memo from that - he'll try harder.

♡ some possessive touches - a squeeze of the hand, pulling you closer to him, maybe resting his hands on your hips or shoulder - maybe even his head resting on your head... anything that silently tells other people that you two have something deeper going on.

♡ he doesn't want to actively scare them off. it'd cause a scene, and steven already hates being in public and around people as much as it is, especially because he can feel everyones eyes always on him like he's some freak. which he is, but ... it makes him feel Some sort of way. reminds him of how everyone stared at him, almost as if he was some laughingstock of kanto, when miki had-

he can't keep thinking about this. something'll happen. he doesn't want to get like that in public again, ever.

♡ anyways.

♡ even if the person already left, steven will be quick to make it clear to everyone else and you that you two are an item. he doesn't want anyone else to look at you or talk to you in that way.

♡ ... he doesn't want to lose you. you're about all he has these days, and he doesn't think he's the best choice of a boyfriend or even anyone you should be dating at all - always scared he'll do or say something. always scared of what he did back then coming back to haunt him, always feeling guilty and like you should know about the things he did. he thinks he's awful, honestly. he keeps things from you, and things you should probably know. he's not the greatest person.

♡ steven could go on and on in his head about why you should not be dating him of all people - you're so beautiful, too. you deserve better, to have anyone you want.

♡ but you are dating him. and he's happy. happier than he's ever been, and he feels loved, and lucky - but also scared. he has something to lose, again. and he's terrified.

♡ so he has to work to show you that he loves you. cherishes you more than the world. this is just one of those small ways he does it, even if in an odd way and due to him being possessive and clingy. but he's like that for a very good reason.

♡ because you're everything to him.

♡ sometimes he's glad that people are scared of him. he can protect you that way. even if he can never fully integrate back to society - not that he ever even fucking wants to - he can at least be around you.

♡ you joke about him being like your personal bodyguard sometimes.

♡ there's a faint smile when he hears that.

__

i hope u enjoyed i went kind of crazy. I think about how much he'd be scared to be dating someone again sssoooo badly LIKE HE HAS SOMETHING TO LOSE AGAIN. HE'S TERRIFIED OF LOSING YOU TO SOMETHING HE CAN'T CONTROL!! like. Especially death or some freak accident like with miki and mike but from also, just not being good enough, being a bad partner, someone charming you more than him... etc. this all comes to a head in how clingy and possessive he is.

He has no idea how he'd deal with it either and doesn't even want to think ab it because if he did he'd tweak ( go s!3v3nmode and lock himself in his room about it. )

he will Not lose you because he cannot fucking lose you and if it means being a fucking loser and getting protective of you if anyone even so much as tries to flirt with you, then so be it.

I LOVE EXPLORING THIS SIDE OF HIM. HE'S NOT A YANDERE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK HE JUST HAS INSAAANE ISSUES. TRAUMA. PTSD. AND BPD. and also Really bad paranoia. Probably some other shit too maybe ocd fuck if i know He doesnt know either but basically he has. Issues. and doesnt know how to handle them esp since hes been isolated so hes Working on it. Kind of.

ty for requesting ^-^ its good to get in the writing groove again. altho my keyboard feels a little weird and wacky which doesnt help and i Should clean it but thank god i can type properly again.

[thimbledoll]

Debating Dolls

Warning: Hypno language

"Lady, I swear, I'm a person!" Sage cried out for what had to be the dozenth time.

The Witch sitting opposite her just peeked her eyes over her glasses, throwing the woman a look of clear condescension and sarcasm. "Uh-huh. Sure. I to~tally believe you."

"What is it going to take to prove this to you once and for all?!"

"You're asking the wrong question," the Witch replied.

"Well then enlighten me, oh Wise One."

"Well, you can't prove a negative."

Sage threw her hands up in exasperation. "Alright. You've officially lost me."

"Well, what do you believe makes a doll?"

"Oh, gee. I don't know. Cloth? Clockwork? Artifice? Magick?! Lady, hellooo~! Flesh and blood here. Granted motion by life, not Magicks. I am completely au natural," Sage retorted, emphasizing her point with a tongue in cheek hip gyration

"See? There's the error in your thinking. A doll is a being of Purpose and Stillness. The material is, funnily enough, immaterial. To prove you're a person, you'd have to prove you lack those two qualities. Thus, I reiterate, you can't prove a negative."

Finishing her lecture, the Witch took another sip from her tea while Sage sat aghast at what she'd just heard. Silence overtook them until the empty teacup clinked back down atop its saucer.

"Could I get a refill, dear?"

"Wha-oh. Yeah. Sure," Sage replied, reaching for the pot.

As she poured, Sage continued her line of questioning, "So what? You're telling me there's not a person out there who can truly claim to be a person?"

"Pretty much."

"That's absurd…"

"Not half as absurd as a doll calling itself human."

That earned the Witch a glare that would cause a weaker woman to wilt, but she held her ground, simply reaching for her cup once it had been filled.

"Fine then. Proof by exclusion. You say I'm either a human or a doll. If you fail to prove I'm a doll, then by process of elimination, I must be human. You said there are only two criteria that need to be filled, so proving them should be simple, if you're so confident."

"Are you sure?" the Witch asked, her know-it-all air evaporating for the first time.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Are you absolutely certain, dear? The realization could be quite… jarring."

"Yeah, lady, I'm sure. I'm not so weak as to crumple over a simple deba—"

"Oh no!" the Witch exclaimed. "Out of biscuits already. You can't have afternoon tea without biscuits…"

"I'll get some more fricking biscuits, but then we're continuing this!"

"Tha~nk you, dear," the Witch shouted back sarcastically, Sage already halfway to the café's counter.

When she returned, biscuits in hand, the Witch took one to let soak in the tea a moment before responding to Sage's initial question. "Very well. If it's proof you want, then it's proof you'll get."

"Finally… This whole rigmarole has been quite tireso—"

"Dear, quiet yourself a moment, please. I'm collecting my thoughts."

Sage stopped herself, awaiting the Witch's argument. And waited. And waited. Growing tired of the Witch's contemplative nibbling, Sage redirected her interests to their surroundings, anything to occupy her mind

The outdoor café they sat in was quiet that day. The hustle and bustle of the evening crowds hadn't yet arrived. Light, tingly music lilted over the speakers as the smell of the tea and biscuits wafted through the air. A gentle breeze blew her long hair around, but why tie it up?

After what seemed an eternity, the Witch finally spoke. "It's nice, isn't it? So peaceful. So tranquil. So calm. You could sit like this for hours and hardly feel time pass at all."

Sage had to agree. How long had they sat like this already, enjoying their repartee?

The Witch continued, "Time just seems to slow to a crawl, like a clock winding down. Everything gets slower… and slower… and slower. You could start it back up if you wanted. But isn't it nicer to just sit back and enjoy it?"

The Witch had a point, Sage thought.

"So just relax. Let time wind down. Let everything slow to a crawl. As that internal clock just tick—"

「Wait…」

"—tick—"

「Hold on…」

"—ticks away."

Sage felt herself go limp as all the world seemed to pause. She thought to panic, to get up, to yell, but…

Everything was just so nice when it was Still…

"Time winds down. Perception winds down. You wind down. You could get up if you wanted. You could leave if you wished. Or you could just sit here and be Still with me."

The Witch paused, waiting for what, Sage knew not.

"Then sit. Be Still. Let time pass you by. Nothing need disturb you. Nothing need bother you. Nothing need be thought by you. Mind racing as it always does, arguing, fighting, debating, it's tiring isn't it? Trying to do so much, think so much, be so much. Let it all be Still."

And so Sage obeyed.

________________________________________

"That did not go as expected…" Sage exclaimed, opening her eyes and blinking slowly.

"No, I imagine it did not."

"That was hardly a logical argument."

"No, I imagine it was not."

"Fine, I admit. You've proven I can be Still. What of the other criterion you listed?"

"Oh, that? That requires no proof. Now be a dear and go fetch another pot of tea, will you?"

Sage stood and began to walk, feeling her whole body move in a stilted, yet natural manner it never had before, Purpose guiding her back to the counter. "Yes, my Lady," the doll answered.

End 🧵

(Old story reposted from Twitter)

[gunkreads]

S2E3 thoughts:

They absolutely fucking FACEPLANTED. Fully shit the bed. on the pacing for Nynaeve's arch challenges. I'm going to talk about this to distract myself from the loss of My Boy Uno. Let me explain:

The core of the arches is to stare down the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future and beat the shit out of them. Aspiring Accepted are meant to look at the regrets, the wrongs, and the joys of a life they could've led and say "No, the ring and shawl mean more to me." THAT is the point. The way out (which astute readers and watchers alike may remember "comes but once") must come when there's a reason to stay in the dream for this to work.

That is not what they fucking did in the episode.

This isn't about divergence from the books, this isn't about my own personal preference; this is about the show establishing a concept and then just drop-kicking it backwards into a wastewater treatment pond.

First dream gets a soft pass. What the hell was she gonna do there? Go upstairs and get killed/kidnapped? I dunno, it was just weird and didn't set up the nature of the challenge very well.

Second dream, we see a problem. The way out only appears after we've implicitly established that there's nothing Nynaeve can do to help. What the hell's the point of that? Of course she's capable of walking away! The show used its visual language to explain very explicitly that Nynaeve can't Heal here and consequently can't do anything to help, then uses regular language to tell us she's not wanted there (bearing in mind that she doesn't really even know how to Heal at this point in the books, so it'd be an herb situation anyway). This is mostly how it goes in the books, sure, but because of the placement of the Healing attempt, there's basically nothing more for her to do at that point besides sit by Tam's side and watch him die. This would've been more potent if there was absolutely any inkling that there was more she could do to fix the situation.

Third dream is the faceplant. I'll tell you what should've happened and you'll agree with me: the arch should have appeared as she watched the boys die, then she should've had to go through it as she watched the Trollocs go into the house after her daughter. Waiting until almost everything was lost, then letting her try to carry her daughter to safety, makes it a non-choice. There was literally no incentive to stay.

There's genuinely nothing wrong with Nynaeve's characterization in this whole sequence. I actually love it dearly. I just think they went 0 for 3 on a very crucial part of the pacing of the sequence.

Anyway.

Mat's fun still. It's super weird how much less antsy he is than his book counterpart--or, at least, how much that antsiness is channeled into smaller physical tics rather than large-scale paranoia and anxiety. I haven't gotten a grip on what'll be driving him yet, but the show is doing a good job telling me that they'll set that up soon. They'd fucking better, at least.

I'm getting weirded out by the power dynamics in the Tower--unpopular or not, Liandrin has absolute authority over the girls in the books by virtue of her status, and turning that on its head in the show just so Egwene and Nynaeve can have more effective rebel moments feels super odd. I don't understand why they're doing it that way. Egwene's confrontation with Liandrin at the ring melter was more confusing than, like, cool.

Rand's plotline is wonderfully paced for a whole-ass different show. His whole shit is going so slowly compared to everyone else's (except Mat) that it's just jarring to cut back to him having made next to zero progress. Arguably the most jarring part is that his goals are unclear right now. I'm speaking from my girlfriend's perspective here, who has not read the books: how the hell did Rand track down Logain, how the hell did he figure out this plan, how the hell did Selene get them into that party, etc. etc. NOW I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING because I'm thinking it too. I fucking know how, don't worry. And my girlfriend can wait to find out, don't worry. The problem isn't that these things aren't been spoon-fed to you, it's that everything else is. Rand's arc in this season is creating a lot of pacing dissonance; it's running so much more slowly and steadily than the other characters' lightning-quick plot sprints that it just feels out of place. Great in isolation, confusing in context.

Perrin's plotline was HRRRRRRGHGHGK

We don't talk about Uno. Do not say his fucking name around me for at least three weeks. I need some time.

[forlorn-crows]

Crowwwwwwwww you're giving me mushy brain :(

I'd love to see the ghoulettes enjoying the abbey grounds on a nice spring day. Lunch by the lake where they feed each other fruit. Wandering through the rose garden, Sunshine picking flowers for them all to pit in their hair. Holding hands while they watch the sunset. Just give me SWEET LADIES PLS I BEG ♡

mushy mushy ladies for femslash februaryyyy

Balmy spring afternoons are always the ghoulette’s favorite. Something about the way the air smells, the way the breeze ruffles the green buds on the trees; it’s a renewing, grounding feeling that air elementals long for every year. As soon as the winter’s chill finally breaks and the icy bite of the air is replaced with the sweetness of regrowth, Cirrus, Cumulus, and Sunshine are outside as much as their schedules will allow it.

Sunshine is bounding through the rose garden with Cirrus and Cumulus in tow. Her lithe form floats amongst the baby blooms of ivory, blush pink, and crimson, seemingly opening up ever so slightly as she passes by.

“Come on, little clouds!” She yells back to them, grinning wide. Cirrus flies after her, but Cumulus has given up trying to catch either of them.

“Both of your legs are too long! You’re like little fairies I just can’t get my hands on,” she laughs, taking a shortcut through a break in the shrubbery.

Cirrus grabs Sunshine around the waist once she catches her, making the smaller ghoulette giggle with glee. She tries to scurry her way out of her arms, but Cirrus holds fast, peppering her cheek with little kisses and a playful nip or two.

“Caught the little star, ‘Lusy!” Cirrus shuffles them around the corner and back to Cumulus.

“’Put her in your pocket, never let her fade away,’” she sings, reaching out to them and completing the Sunshine sandwich. “What should we do with her now that we’ve caught her?”

“Hm,” Cirrus muses playfully, looking at her as if she were a frog they captured from the creek. “I think we should . . .” she trails off for dramatic effect. Sunshine holds her breath, biting back a smile.

“Eat her!” Cirrus and Cumulus say in unison, unleashing kisses and pinches in all the places they can reach. It’s their favorite game, one to which they all know the pattern. Sunshine squeals and chirps with delight, wriggling under their ticklish touches.

“Mercy! Mercy! Spare me, oh devilish ones!” she laughs.

“Oh, I don’t know, sweet Sunshine,” Cirrus purrs against her jaw. “You’re so delicious, why should we let you go?”

Cumulus lowers the tone of her voice too, devious. “Tell us, little sprite.”

Sunshine blushes, ducking her head into her shoulder. “I dunno,” she says shyly. But the smirk she’s hiding says otherwise.

“You mean to tell us you are not the most delicious little slice of sunshine we have managed to capture thus far?” Cirrus pokes her on the cheek.

“No,” she giggles, squirming in their arms. “I taste like mud and bugs!” Somehow, she breaks free from their grasp, trilling and laughing as she runs away. Cirrus and Cumulus just laugh along, following after Sunshine once more.

Later, they end up at the lake, sprawled out on a blanket on the cool grass. Sunshine is peeling clementines, the citrus scent blanketing them with its sweetness. Cumulus’ head is in her lap, fluffy curls splaying out over her crossed legs. Cirrus leans against Sunshine’s back with her head dropped against her shoulder, basking in the setting sunlight.

“Lus,” Sunshine says, plopping a small slice in her mouth. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Cirrus’ laugh reverberates through her back. Cumulus looks up at her, eyes crinkling. “If you were a worm?” she verifies.

“Yeah, you know,” she says through chewing, “if I randomly turned into a worm. Would you still love me?”

“Of course, I would still love you. Put you in a little jar and carry you everywhere we go.”

Sunshine chirps at that. “You would?”

“I’d get Mountain to help us make you a terrarium. Could stick you in the greenhouse and feed you whatever worms eat,” Cirrus chimes in.

“Decorate your enclosure with flowers and sticks and leaves.”

“You’d be the cutest worm.” Cirrus tips her head back further to place a kiss on Sunshine’s jaw.

They sit in contended silence for a while, sharing the last of the clementines. Sunshine idly twirls pieces of Cumulus’ hair, running her fingers over all the rosebuds her and Cirrus had placed there. They look like a pastel galaxy—pinpricks of petals in a bright blonde sky. She pets Cirrus’ hair too, having laid down next to Sunshine’s thigh, weaving her raven-black hair into Cumulus’ light strands.

The sun sits just on the horizon of the lake, bathing the three in a honey-amber glow. Sunshine breathes in the scent of spring and renewal, sighing happily. She closes her eyes, letting the light settle over her eyelids.

“It’s like it’s giving me a hug,” she says quietly.

Cumulus looks up at her, admiring the way her entire being seems to glow. It pulls on something deep in her chest and makes her smile. She reaches down to intertwine her hand in hers. Cirrus reaches up and overhead to capture Cumulus’ free hand, completing their little circle.

They sit in silence, giving small squeezes to each other’s hands until the sun goes down.

[chaos-of-the-endless]

Since tumblr decided to be a bitch and delete ask I'll send mine again

With quantum leap ending soon I'm very hyperfixiated on Ian especially with all the good outfits they've been wearing So may I ask for Ian Wright x male reader I feel like Ian definitely needs someone especially after a certain episode 13 I don't want to spoil for anyone but you know what I mean chaos give me Reader comforting Ian back at their home

The outfits are killer! The dress in the last episode nearly unalived me.

This one was so cute! I was absolutely feeling this after the finale! I hope its what you had in mind ❤️❤️❤️

Ian stood, hands resting against the kitchen counter, arms stretched to their capacity as they watch their coffee machine stream out a second pods worth of coffee in that one giant cup they'd squeezed onto the platform. They were seemingly mesmerised by the flow of the liquid, so much so, that they couldn't tear their eyes away from it as their mind both simultaneously raced, but was completely devoid of any cohesive thoughts.

It was speed thinking scenarios. They where running down every single other path of what could happen next, might happen next, and definitely will and won't, happen next.

The coffee machines comforting hum came to a stop, and the lever clicked back, making them jump out of their trance.

They took their coffee, added their metric shit ton of sugar, and shuffled back to the sofa with their favourite knitted blanket around their shoulders.

The sound of a key entering their door from this side of it, was still a jarring enough noise for Ian to lurch forward on the sofa at a speed that caused a tsunami over the side of their cup, just enough to drip coffee on their favourite blanket, which made them cuss under their breath.

"Hey" You call out, having unknowingly caused a small mug disaster.

"What are you doing here?!" Ian called back, clearly frustrated with something that couldn't have been your presence, not so soon after walking into the room.

"Are you okay?" You ask after a moment of taking in the sight before you.

"No, I'm not, thanks to you and your... Noisy key ... I have another wash load this week. It's going to smell of coffee now for the rest of time."

"Don't you ~like coffee?"

"There's a difference between ~liking coffee, and wanting your favourtie blanket to smell of the stuff for the rest of fricking eternity!" Their voice was getting louder... and a little bit more growl like with every passing second.

You have been in a relationship with this person for long enough to know that when the little things start to bug them, they are stressed to the max. Sitting down beside them, you take their coffee for them, placing it down on the table, before taking their hands in yours, prying them off of the blanket slowly.

"Ian.... Ian, baby.... look at me." You say softly, taking a breath and tapping their hand for them to take notice, and do the same. A little code you'd both put in place. Reluctantly, they follow your lead, but with every breath they took, their eyes filled with more and more tears, until they where eventually cascading down their cheeks without a single sound.

"It's not going to get any better." They sobbed out eventually, to which you wrapped your arms around their yarn cucooned body, and kissed their temple.

"I know you can't tell me everything - but I know, that on this one, rare occasion? You're wrong, sweetheart. That team of people have the most incredible techie on this planet... The most empathetic and kind, but also, the most hyper intelligent... that's a lethal combination, right there." You chuckle out a little sound, just to make them feel better in the smallest of ways.

"If I can't do this ... If I can't figure it out... Ziggy goes to shit, and my friends go the same way." While they hadn't divulged everything to you, they'd let you in more than they ever had anyone else. They knew the probability of holding onto a relationship without doing so was very slim - they didn't need Ziggy to tell them that.

"Just... Try to stay calm, okay?"

"Does that ever really help ~anyone? I'm on the brink of an existential crisis and a liiiittle bit of a mental breakdown, I'm just attempting to lean into this time, if that's alright." Their sass was actually hilarious most of the time but it sometimes could reflect their frustrations with the world - on top of the rest of it.

"That's .... fair.." You chuckle, your hand on their back rubbing firmly, but gently, staying silent for the longest time, your other hand squeezing tight, which made their body instantly relax into yours, flopping to the side and resting their head against your shoulder. A grounding touch never failed.

"Words are cheap to Ian, huh?" You grumble into their hair where you found yourself nuzzling while you matched their level of sass, it was one of the things they loved about you.

"Asshole." They mumble, but with the slightest of smiles.

"I'll take that. I deserve it."

"No... No you don't. I love you. You know I do."

"I do. It's a damn good job, because I brought us home chinese food and I was kinda hoping we could have a few rounds of Mortal Kombat." You reply with a smile as you find your strong fingers massaging into the palm of their elegant hands,

"hmmmm...ummmhumm... Can I fight as Jade?"

"Fuck yes. I'd be disappointed if you didn't chose the character you kick my ass with every time." You laugh.

"Hmmmmm" They pondered "In that case... both of those things ~would ease some tension."

"I know a few other tricks for that later, too.."

"You do? What would those be, loverboy?"

"Words are cheap, Ian baby." You snark with a soft laugh.

"I fricking love you, Asshole." They laughed gently.

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Thunderbrush 19

Let's Get Zombies Out Of The Way

A conwoman disguised as a noble and the delegation of university students studying her have arrived in the jungle city of Thunderbrush, ruled by ancient dryads and organized crime. Will they manage to stay uninvolved in shady conspiracies? (No.)

Story so far | Session log index | Previous session

Last time, the party made some preparations for a trip to Dead Jane's territory, a circle of land centered on a long-since-incommunicado ghost dryad who emits a field of magical murder radiation that kills everything in like a hundred meter radius. Why are they doing this? They got a hot tip from an evil vampire who works for a gang of shady mafia information brokers that said some people from a conspiracy would be there. This is a good enough reason to go on a deadly adventure!

Anyway the magical murder radiation doesn't technically kill everything, and the things it doesn't kill might also kill them, so they've got a few issues getting inside.

First things first is getting there- though it's not as difficult as their prep makes it out to be. They've got to pass through three Stumps' territories- the Green Hats, the Oaken Casket, and the Gentle Chains- but for the most part, this isn't a real obstacle. This wooded area is still part of the city, with a lot of these trees having buildings built into or on top of them, and the Stumps really only care about defending their territory from rival gangs. Civilians like the party are mostly ignored, except by the various oversized spiders and other unpleasant jungle fauna that occupy these woods. There's a risk of getting jumped, but the party's stealth more than suffices to cover the distance.

After securing a safe route, the stealthy and invisible members of the party call in their backup- mainly Orluthe and his clanky armor and heavy backpack. While they wait, Saelhen proffers AMAZING DEALS.

Saelhen happens to have right here... a jar of honey! A jar of honey containing a weird prickly vine (weird, where'd she get that from? hasn't come up before...) and a good deal of extremely deadly neurotoxin pilfered from some of the evil stuff that bit her in her bracer dimension and extracted by Looseleaf.

The deer moves with an unnatural gait- its legs don't move in sync with each other. It's like it's playing QWOP with its own body. It's pretty horrific, but not as horrific as the bevy of deer puns that happen during this brief combat encounter:

Saelhen: [I suppose it's time to get to the hart of the matter.] [Though I suppose we won't need to rack our brains for this encounter.] Oliver: [You could also stop with the puns, doe.] Saelhen: [Oyobi, I'm happy to give you free rein here, dear.] Oyobi: [Don't worry- I can... h'antler.] [Uh, him.] Saelhen: [Boo.] [Hiss.] [Pathetic.] [I no longer trust you to do incredible violence.] Oliver: [You're the one who didn't want to part with the poison without making a buck first.]

As they're dealing with this thing, Miriko shows up (she wasn't initially with the group) and helpfully informs them that this is a revenant.

Revenants are the victims of revenant bugs- colonies of tiny flat bugs that slip beneath the tissues of corpses and use them to try and kill more living things to lay offspring in and infest. They use silk strands and incredible teamwork to animate their hosts, acting as a sort of auxiliary musculoskeletal system! Nature is amazing!

Saelhen decapitates the thing with knives, which makes a zombie deer a whole lot less threatening.

With that out of the way, it's time to actually enter the zone- and as soon as Looseleaf takes her first step inside, she feels like she's dying. She can't point to specific damage being done- she just feels sick. She's queasy and her head hurts and it feels like she hasn't eaten in days.

On using her spirit magic... she's able to determine that what's happening is that her spirit has been turned into a corpse, and her body is just taking a while to catch up. There's a spiritual force being exerted on it, just like her own magic.

She's able to manually make repairs to her spirit, since the actual difference, physically, between being alive and being a corpse... not that big. The cells of her body are being screwed with just enough to make them nonfunctional, and she can put them back easily enough.

But having to constantly re-heal herself and all her teammates in this place would be a giant pain in the ass- so she tries employing her own spiritual force to push back against this effect and stop it from affecting her in the first place.

She rolls a crit fail versus the effect's crit success.

The force of it doesn't seem to be pushing as quickly as Looseleaf can, but she can't just completely repel it- she has to let it do its thing and correct the damage as it occurs. What this means is... she has to constantly heal everyone, and nobody can stray too far from Looseleaf (or Orluthe, who has divine healing available), or else they'll just run out of HP. Ouch.

A side effect of this, though, is that Looseleaf and Saelhen get to make a sort of knowledge check about another tree that might know spirit magic:

Hm! Dryads can do that, huh? That's! Concerning!

This has some pretty grim implications for how much they can trust Evelyn, one of the few ghost dryads who isn't running a crime empire- but they've got a job to do here. They've reached Dead Jane proper- and there's a bunch more revenants to contend with.

It's time for combat! We've got two revenant panthers, three revenant halflings, and a GIANT revenant spider perched up on the staircase that's been carved into one of Dead Jane's roots.

Saelhen opens by throwing knives and slicing off a revenant panther's dessicated legs, immobilizing the nearest one and functionally taking it out. Oliver pursues the same general idea, dumping a bunch of pneumantic goo on the other panther to keep it from moving temporarily (until the goo evaporates into pneuma, anyway). Big cats are definitely more dangerous than humans as zombies, right? Take them out first and don't give them a chance to attack! And don't provoke that giant spid-

Oyobi has other ideas, because she loves nothing more than Leeroy Jenkinsing at the biggest baddest monster available. She splits from the group and charges the thing to slash at its face.

Miriko uses Mirage Coordinator, which basically just means watching the battlefield and granting teammates free dodge attempts. Orluthe chops at the nearest human, and cleaves it from its neck to its waist... which doesn't kill it, because those were not the parts necessary for locomotion. It's about to counterattack... but then Vayen does something unexpected: Helping At All. He fries it with lightning.

On the enemy turn, the giant spider is about to punish Oyobi for her hubris, right?

ha ha ha no she rolls a crit success on dodge

The spider does have a second attack, though, albeit a lot less dangerous- it tramples her and pins her to the floor under its weight. Everyone takes damage from the death miasma, and then...

Well, Saelhen throws some knives, and Iska-via-Orluthe throws a divine fireball, and the spider is reduced to half health. Which... triggers a special ability!

Luckily, Oliver has the perfect solution to a swarm of tiny monster bugs: an AoE attack! His pneumantic pressure bombs make short work of the swarm of baby spiders, at the cost of dealing a little damage to Oyobi, too. He can't do that and keep up his stealth spell though, failing the roll to maintain it.

The party continues throwing damage at this spider while Oyobi tries to extricate herself, because this thing still won't fucking die aaaaaaa, but it's not enough to take it out.

not that oyobi doesn't KEEP MAKING EVERY SINGLE DODGE EVERY TIME SHE GETS ATTACKED THOUGH. the only way she's going to get hurt is if the party's least helpful party member does something about it!

The spider is finished off, and somehow Oyobi still hasn't lost all her hit points from that.

Oyobi shakily gets to her feet and limps over to Looseleaf, brushing a smoldering hair out of her eye. "Roomie," she says, "I'm invincible." Then she falls down.

The remaining halfling revenants didn't seem to aggro the party throughout all that- and the party's able to mop them up pretty effectively. Looting the corpses... they find unfamiliar antler tattoos on their necks, but the only actual loot is an ostentatious gold necklace with a picture of a cottage embossed on it. Oliver feels a vague tingle putting it on, which is scary, so he has Looseleaf scan it.

With a success... it turns out this thing was supposed to be a protective amulet of some kind, but it's apparently been damaged. Currently it's doing nothing but slowly leaking mana from its battery all over the wearer.

Oliver attempts to repair it... and fails the roll. But... there's a Luck mechanic in my new system, see. You can spend Luck before a roll for free to boost it by 10, or you can spend it after the roll to get the same boost but take a Karma, which lets me sabotage later rolls. He takes two to boost his repair attempt to a full success. So... now he has a magic amulet he can turn on to grant himself +1 Armor, which is a big deal when a baseline basic attack usually does 2. It's a little awkward, though, since it's not permeable to air and doesn't let you breathe- you have to activate it when you're expecting to get hit and hold your breath.

...Unfortunately, the amulet repels physical blows, and doesn't do jack shit against the magic death field, which is probably part of why it was found being worn by a shambling corpse. Whoops!

Still, they've made it to Dead Jane in one piece, more or less- next time, they'll be exploring the ruins of a 102-year-old mafia hideout in search of loot, magical lore, and criminal conspirators.

[sorcerous-caress]

Well, for starters my githzerai monk( named him Khal'ian) Was originally a githyanki youngling that was taken from a creche that was destroyed via a mindflayer attack. He was shortly founded by githzerai and taken to a monastery in Limbo.

He was seen as an experiment, think of The Society of Brilliance with the gith egg but with an already formed youngling.

To see how well Zerai doctrine could be adopted by a Yanki youth.

The Short Answer to that : Yes, they adopt very well.

The Long Answer to that : Yes, but not without consequences for the youth's mental health.

Limbo is Ever-Changing Chaos, a plane that is a bubbling soup of elements and energy. This plane never stays the same for any length of time and to survive, you must be constantly forcing your will over the chaotic forces that make up this plane.

Being brought to this plane would be very jarring on its own as a youth being born and raised within the Material Plane.

To make the situation worse, is that you just bore witness to the worst enemy your people as taught you to hate, clear out your entire home. Then get taken in by the second worst enemy you've been taught to hate, after they pick through the rubble.

A Very Volatile experience that would cause a whole wave of emotions. However, by the very nature of the plane you find yourself in you can't emote the way you need, especially if you're hurting.

In Limbo sadness/pain, confusion and uncertainty can cause solid structures to evaporate or to liquify or explode into raw chaos and drown the individual.

To add even more on to the situation, you are surrounded by people, that at best see you as a odd little guinea pig and at worst a future savage slaver among them.

You adapt to Limbo, learn to enforce your will upon it to exist safely. But you grow up feeling disconnected from your emotions and sensations.

So when my githzerai monk(Khal'ian) finally found themselves on the Material Plane again, being able to safely emote again without constant willpower use.

He seeks out comfort from people he can trust to care(Jaheira) or strict enough to stop him from overwhelming himself(Minthara).

He finds the relinquishing of control very soothing.

But that's enough of my rambling, I'm going to go back to writing Minthara & Jaheira railing him in the woods 🪵. If you want more rambling let me know or I'll stick to smut.

Gith make me feel things.

-Githzerai anon

That's a lot of thought and dedication you've put into him anon, it's impressive.

Especially the emotion controlling concept, having to weild your emotions like a sword and a shield from the chaos in limbo that'd swallow you otherwise. Forcing yourself to feel certain feelings and never let them fester naturally.

Actually he even fits in a durge run very well. In bg1 the player, the bhaalspawn, also comes from a very guarded and isolated city of monks. They barely express their emotions and just close off the outside world.

Also, I remember reading something about how githzerai attempted to replicate the bonds githyanki have with red dragons, by using chaos dragons instead. That went as good as you'd expect from a chaos dragon.

But some of them have managed.

Now I'm not saying to use the red and chaos dragons bonds as symbolism for his different bonds with Minthara and Jaheira but- that is exactly what I'm saying.

Because he is both a githyanki and githzerai. It's almost too perfect to pass on.

Also, when the companions eventually go into the gith creche and he is met with an actual caretaker, how do you think his reaction would be? How would Jaheira's be.

[yuukei-yikes]

coughs yp blood please i need to see ur ideal kenjirou ending scenario.........

i think he should LIVE!!! AND DEAL WITH CONSEQUENCES!!! i truly dont know how he could live and make it make sense... idk how he could live if hiyori is also alive and theyre using clearing as Her surrogate life. but. erm erm erm. yeah💥 Sorry to link this shit again but like i did WRITE A FIC ABOUT THIS CONCEPT kenjirou living and dealing with all the fucked up things he did or maybe didnt do... *goes crazy*

idk yeah kenjirou dying MAKES sense but... sniff sniff... we only see him walking away with ayaka. idk. feels too easy. for such a convoluted character who is also so interesting, I'd love if there was more to it than just this. maybe a last bit of consciousness before or after clearing leaves his body. id love for him to talk or apologize to his kids before going. Augh hayloft II by mother mother playing in my head. SHE'S NOT A BAD KID SHE HAD TO DO IT SHE HAD TO KILL POP -> ayano is back, somehow. shintaro brought her. even with everything going on, i wonder if kenjirou would see this and wonder If ayano is here, can't ayaka? kenjirou sees all his kids here and sees the atrocities he's done in the name of the love for his wife. was it really worth it? would she want you, like this? once you go, who is taking care of the kids? they look grown. but they aren't. you're fading away and your kids stand above you and watch you. and they have the audacity and humanity to mourn you. if he spoke, he could say he loves them or better, say he's sorry. but he does neither and then he's dead. and on the other side there is her, and she won't be as merciful as they were. she will make him pay for what he's done through her rejection.

(coughs) anyways when the holder of a snake in the real world passes, they get swallowed back to the daze with all the ones stuck there, i guess to reclaim the snake? kenjirou and ayaka walk away together so one could assume that's what happens cuz the daze sure as hell isnt releasing the people inside, so its not like just cuz kenjirous dead, ayaka will be released. but also, kenjirou dies precisely cuz clearing leaves his body, so why would the daze open? it has no snake to reclaim!!! ayaka and kenjirou would NOT reunite!!! Unless ayaka is released?? maybe in the specific scenario where a snake holder dies BUT the snake gets out of the body, maybe their counterpart inside the daze gets out and both souls die together this time for reals??? erm. idk. seems over complicated and hey why are you looking at me weird. this is normal im not overanalysing.

erm... anyways, either way kenjirou and ayaka DO reunite somehow?? and its funny to imagine kenjirou and ayaka in the daze going thru a divorce arc i guess!!

im not sure WHAT my ideal ending would be. but i sure as hell wish he had a moment where he's fully himself again, aside the bit in the anime where he's like "thanks for watching me all these years" to saeru. like that bit is good i like it but i wish there was something more jarring and real about it. i wish he felt guilt and horror and saw what he collaborated in doing, i wish to know how conscious he was about it. i want him to see his kids and wish he could stay with them but know theyre better off without him. i wish he saw haruka&takane and what hes done to them and feel nauseous. kenjirou fascinates me he's such an interesting guy

[respondedinkind]

All Khan can do, really, is to keep watching his unannounced guest making his way through the kitchen like he owns it, has been here on many occasions before - as if this isn't his very first time to ever visit the cute barista, as that man is calling Khan.

It's confusing, surprising and very much impressive at the same time, causes a mixture of interesting sensations to pulse through Khan's suffering body; He continues to feel more and more at ease, simply because the man's own casualness is very much bleeding over to him, but then he simply has such a hard time to grasp the whole concept of this situation - still overwhelmed, unsure how to even process the amount of information he's given.

... That really is a whole chicken sitting on the kitchen island there---

Blue eyes, momentarily focused on the meat in question, flick back over to the shorter one when he makes his way back over to him, elaborating on why Khan should have texted him and how it would have been possible for him to even do it; He's very much not pleased, Khan can tell, sounds disappointed about having gone ignored.

And as soon as the tip is mentioned, Khan's stomach drops.

The thermometer is held out toward him, together with the guy - fuck, Khan doesn't even know his name! - glancing at him in a mixture of something sheepish and expectant, perhaps... and the sheepish-part looks so foreign on him that this gaze alone causes a breath to get stuck inside a throat for a second, with Khan opening and closing his lips a few times like a fish out of water, unsure where to even begin with what he has to say.

"---Okay... ---Okay, wait a second."

Blinking again, clearing his throat - then briefly turning his head to the side, away from his guest, to cough a few times and stop a sneeze from coming over him, features distorting as he sniffles, then looks back at that man-without-a-name - Khan takes a breath, moves his hand to take that thermometer out of the shorter one's grasp, being careful but persistent, before lowering it. Keeping his stare focused on his previous customer, fever not as important right now, because he has to clear up a misunderstanding here.

"I think we have to talk about something here - because I can tell that you're hurt by... what you think has happened."

There it is, the sneeze; Khan just barely manages to turn away, lifting his arm in front of his nose before it breaks free of him, violently so, causing the whole of his body to shake for a second with the intensity of it. He coughs, swallows, taking another breath before mumbling a quiet "My apologies.", then turns back to face that guy for the millionth time today.

"---Let me explain: I never handle the tip jar. I never open it, and I never take out the tips. It's one of the many shop policies existing; I simply take the jar to the back at the end of the day, and my superior - the owner of the establishment, to be precise - handles it in the morning. Once done, I receive the empty jar and place it back out for the customers to fill as they please."

And that is precisely why Khan did not get that number, and had no idea about anything. He does not say it out loud, but he hopes that his slightly tilted head and the barest lift of his brow does tell about the obvious fact that he also never sees a penny of those tips, that all of them are going straight to his superior's wallet where they'll live a comfortable life.

He allows a second to pass between them, followed by an almost apologetic expression that crosses his tired - and sweaty - features, before he finally brings that thermometer up to his mouth and puts it between his lips, under his tongue, to let it do its work.

...It soon shows that Khan is, indeed, quite sick - said temperature seems to be at a not-so-comfortable 102,2 degrees fahrenheit. At least that's what the thermometer says after a few seconds of time have passed.

All of this sucks, he thinks; That man has, apparently, written his number on a piece of paper, and Marcus must have found it.... but chose to throw it away, never tell anyone about it. Of course that's what happened, and that's why his guest feels the way he does... probably thought of Khan being a huge asshole who didn't even think of texting him, despite them having had rather interesting conversations back at the café...

"---I'm sorry.", is what Khan mumbles, muffled due to the thermometer still being stuck between his lips. "It was not my intention to make you feel the way you did."

Tony   is   a   fluster   of   action   in   the   flat,   marching   back   a   few   steps   to   snatch   a   thermometer   he   bought   from   the   kitchen   island.   He   had   a   wonderful   gift,   that   Rhodey   would   say   is   more   of   an   annoying   lack   of   self-awareness,   to   feel   at   home   in   any   and   every   place   he   went   to.   There   was   no   exception   in   Khan’s   apartment   either,   he   was   going   about   as   though   he   owned   the   place   himself.   So   far,   the   taller   man   didn’t   seem   to   mind,   but   then   again,   he   was   probably   a)   too   shocked   to   say   anything   about   it,   b)   too   sick   to   understand   what’s   going   on   or   c)   all of the above.   Or   maybe   none   at   all,   maybe   he   just   didn’t   care   that   Tony   seemed   to   disregard   all   social   norms.   

“No,   we   haven’t   exchanged   numbers.”   He’s   taking   the   thermometer   out   of   the   box   and   setting   it   aside,   only   to   grab   a   pack   of   alcohol   wipes   out   of   another   box,   tearing   the   packaging   open   and   slipping   a   singular   wipe   out,   gently   cleaning   off   the   device.   “But   I   have   left   you   my   phone   number   with   the   tip   and   I   was   pretty   patiently   waiting   until   you   would   text   me.   That   didn’t   happen   and   my   patience   ran   out   and   while   I   get   that   I   have   taken   pretty   extreme   measures   to   reach   out   to   you   again,   I   think   on   our   first   meeting   you   should’ve   known   that   I   am   pretty   intense   when   it   comes   to   the   things   I   do   or   like   so. . .   Here   I   am.”   

At   the   end   of   his   rant,   Tony’s   biting   into   his   lower   lip   and   the   look   he   presents   is   probably   the   first   time   he   seemed   even   a   little   bit   sheepish,   gazing   up   at   Khan   over   his   lashes.   Gently   shaking   the   oral   thermometer   to   get   the   alcohol   to   dry   out   quicker,   that   moment   of   his   vulnerability   is   gone   the   second   it   seemed   like   Khan   processed   at   least   half   of   what   he   had   said,   the   engineer   makes   his   way   back   to   him,   holding   up   the   device.   “Now   open   up,   I   need   to   see   just   how   high   your   fever   is.”   

[arealcrow]

nightmares

3k, d&d (saltmarsh)

After a harrowing night on a smugglers' ship, Sendoa's dreams haunt him. Also: he checks in on a friend.

The brig smells like rusting metal and rotting wood more than anything else. Some days the smell of rust comes from his own blood. His cell is small and cramped, there’s barely enough space for him to move around in, and the shackles on his wrists are a heavy reminder that even if he had space, there’s nothing he could do. At least it’s mostly quiet, just the occasional sound of boots on the wood above him. They leave him in peace most of the time. It’s a hungry and aching peace but it’s better than the days where they try to get him to talk. 

Sendoa doesn’t sleep well after the night they take the smugglers' ship, and not just because he misses the gentle sway of the ocean rocking him to sleep. The first night, he wakes up every three hours in a cold sweat. The sound of wood creaking echoes in his ears, and remembering the small space he'd spent months in makes him feel restless even now. As quietly as he can- which is not as quietly as he’d like- he slips out of bed and sets about starting his day. 

The sun outside has only barely started to approach the horizon, its first rays of the morning barely light up the clouds littering the sky. It’s more than enough light for him to start preparing for breakfast. There’s a jar that usually keeps bread starter on the counter, and when Sendoa opens it he’s unsurprised to find it’s heavily depleted from all of the baking his mother had been doing over the past week. Inside there is just enough to start a small loaf for just the two of them without fully depleting it.

He watches the sunrise through the kitchen window as he works. The golden light slowly creeps over the horizon and coats the coastal town in early morning warmth, driving the clouds from the sky. As he kneads the dough, he recites a small prayer to Pelor, for strength and radiance throughout his day, and for blessings of safety for his family.

When Idoya pads sleepily into the kitchen a few hours later, she finds a warm cup of tea waiting for her. 

"Oh, Sen, this is wonderful. Thank you, dear," she says, voice still hoarse with sleep, and settles down on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

"Of course," he says as he sets a plate with toasted bread, two eggs, and small cups of jam and butter on it. "You've been cooking for the community all week, it's the least I could do." 

Though his tone is light, he means the words very seriously. Idoya is a ball of energy- he takes after her in that way- and she's always directed that energy towards helping those around her. It's the least he can do to try and keep her off her feet and relaxing for a little longer.

"You're so sweet," she smiles and her eyes light up with affection. He gives her a small smile back and quickly turns to fix himself a plate. Even from his family, praise makes him feel uncharacteristically shy.

"Just for you," he says, and they both know he's not being entirely truthful. Idoya knows how attached Sendoa can get, when he lets himself. She knows how many nights he spends grieving the friends he lost at sea years ago.

“How was the potluck?” he asks, before she can praise him further. 

“It was lovely. I brought plenty of things home for you to try,” she says matter of factly as she spreads jam over her toast. She levels a look at him before adding, “You were very missed, and not just by me.” 

“Thank you, mom,” he says, bowing his head, “I’m sorry again for not going.”

“I know, I know,” she says and sighs, resigned. 

“It was important, promise,” he sips his tea, thinking on his words carefully before he continues, “We found smugglers off the coast, and took care of their ship. Turned over the things they stole to the guards, and everything. Though, I think we get to keep the ship.”

He waits for the surprise to pass from Idoya’s face before he continues.

“And there were people on the ship, captives that the smugglers’ had taken,” he starts, and then stops to reassure his mother when he sees worry spread on her face, “They’re okay now, we got them off the ship safely. I- uh- was thinking about checking on them both? I knew one of them, from when I was in the marines. I’m.. worried about him.”

It takes her a few moments to process what he’s told her.

“I’m glad they got off that ship safely, as I’m glad that you did,” she says, her worry about him plain in her eyes. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

He smiles down towards his cup of tea, and she reaches forward to ruffle his still sleep mussed hair.

“That’s my little ray of sunshine.”

“Moooom, stop-”

-

The faces of his captors blur together, either from the haziness of the dream or the fog of repressed memory, he can't be sure. What stands out is a wide and wicked smile, like a cat that's got its claws sunk deep in a mouse. The shifting faces of the figure in front of him melt between memories of his captors before solidifying into his captain's blood splattered features.

Sendoa jerks awake, gasping for air. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" he says, the words coming out airy and quiet. 

It takes him minutes of sitting there in the early morning light to catch his breath again. He huffs a sigh when he realizes that the amount of light filtering into his room already means it’s definitely too late to try and get more sleep. The sound of his mom puttering around the kitchen reaches his ears as he wakes up fully and comes into his body. Moving on autopilot, he dresses for the day and says a quick good morning to his mother and grandmother. Breakfast is laid out on the kitchen island, and he tries to be as quick and unobtrusive as possible as he packs up a basket of food. He grabs enough of the bread, fruit, cheese, and tea for two servings.

“Not staying for breakfast?" his grandmother asks. Sendoa can’t help but think she resembles an osprey sitting on a cliff as her piercing eyes watch him. "And I came all this way to see you."

Out of respect, Sendoa doesn’t point out that she lives next door. 

“No, sorry, got plans today. Gonna visit a.. friend,” he’s not sure if it’s too forward to call someone he’s only worked with before a friend, but he cares for Duri and the word is out before he thinks further than that, “I wanna make sure he’s doing okay.”

His grandmother gives his mom a long, suspicious look at his hesitation, who simply shrugs her shoulders. He’d told her of his plans to check in on Duri’s well being already. He didn’t tell her about the nightmares, or about how jumpy he’s felt since that night, but he knows she can see the fatigue in his eyes. His memories and thoughts weigh heavy on him. Whatever conflicted feelings he was having about his crew mates, she was content to let him process them in his own time. If he needed her help, she was there.

“Very well, then,” Naia says, and sips at her tea, “You’d better take something sweet as well, to round the meal off.”

“Oh! I know!” his mother disappears into their pantry and then reappears holding a small jar full of deep amber. “Evelyn brought us some fancy, imported honey at the potluck. Take that with you, as a gift for your friend.”

Before Sendoa can even think to refuse, his mother is already packing the honey into his bundle for him. Once her mind is set on something, she rarely takes no for an answer; especially not when it comes to her kindness.

“Okay, I’ll take him the honey. Thank you, mom. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it,” he says with a small smile, and packs the bundle of food into his back.

“Of course, hun,” Idoya places her hands on his shoulders when he stands up again, holding him still so she can press a kiss to his cheek. “I hope you have a good time. Don’t stay out too late, okay?”

“I won’t, I’ll be home before sundown. I promise.” He leans down to give her a kiss on the forehead, and then heads out into the bright morning.

He still isn’t entirely sure how long Duri was on that ship, but even a short time in a space like the one they found him in must have taken its toll. He also isn’t sure what happened to the ship that Duri had been on beforehand- had he been the only survivor? The other person being held captive didn’t seem familiar to him, so he clearly hadn’t been captured with Duri. Seeing your crew go down around you is another thing that he knows from experience can weigh heavy on someone’s shoulders.

As he walks, he supposes that the specifics of the hardship don’t matter that much. The comfort he’s trying to bring is what matters.

It occurs to him only when he’s already standing in front of the door that he’s pretty sure is Duri’s, that he didn’t give any warning that he would be stopping by today specifically. He’s also not entirely certain he’s at the right place. The directions he was given were from a few days ago and he hadn’t written them down until he got home that night, he could have misremembered. Or Duri could have misremembered; captivity can scramble the brain.

He stands there hesitating too long. When the door in front of him opens, Duri almost walks right into him. 

“Oh-!” Duri looks surprised to see him, but pleasantly so, “Sendoa, hello. I, uhm- what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see how you were holding up,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He holds up the basket, “I brought breakfast. It’s okay if you’re busy though, I can come back-”

“No, no,” Duri’s eyes dart to the basket of food and then back to his face, “Your timing is great, I was just going out to get something for breakfast. Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

After being led into the apartment, Sendoa does just that. He puts water on for tea, and then sets about unloading his basket. The food is carefully arranged on two plates; he makes sure the plate he prepares for Duri has the nicer looking pieces of fruit. The jar of honey has a wooden dipper with the shape of a bee carved on the end tied onto it with a ribbon, which he takes and places in the jar for convenience. He sticks to small talk until the tea is ready; just asking about how Duri’s morning has been going, chatting about the weather and the ever bustling activity at the docks. The intrusion into Duri’s space doesn’t seem to draw any complaints, only curious eyes on him as he putters around the kitchen. It’s only after he places a plate and a cup of tea in front of Duri that he’s ready to start prying.

“How have you been? Since that night on the ship?” he asks, watching carefully as Duri sips the tea. His eyes are focused, probably unnervingly so, like he’s trying to tell if he’s been eating and sleeping enough just by looking at him.

“I’m doing better, now that I’m on land,” Duri says with a small, almost sheepish smile.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sendoa says, returning the smile. “How long were you on that ship?”

“As a captive? Thankfully not as long as Oceanus, only about a week. But I had been hired on by them before that as a healer. And no-'' he sees the look on Sendoa’s face, “I didn’t know they were smugglers. I thought they were merchants, it seemed like a standard job.”

“So how’d you end up locked in a closet?”

“Well, when I realized they were, in fact, not merchants, I was making plans to turn them in once we got to port. Unfortunately we didn’t make it that far before they realized what I was going to do.”

“I see,” Sendoa resists the urge to call Duri a fool, affectionately, both for not realizing what kind of ship he’d been hired onto, and for getting caught. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t stuck there longer. Though even a week was miserable, I’m sure. And I’m glad they didn’t throw you overboard, or something. The seas would have lost a good man.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, really,” Duri looks around at the spread of food and tea between them. It’s all very kind. “I’m glad to be out of there. It was fortuitous that you and the others showed up when you did.”

A look passes over Duri’s face like he’s considering something, and a moment of silence passes before he speaks again.

“So,” Duri starts, and gives Sendoa a curious look, “How did you end up on a crew with pirates?”

Sendoa can’t help but laugh a little at the question, one he has asked himself multiple times over the past few days. 

“In my defense. Or I guess their defense. There hasn’t been any piracy while I’ve been around. Nothing egregious anyway,” he has to think on that for a second, and then add, “At least not recently.” 

It’s not a very reassuring answer, and the look on Duri’s face is one of worry.

“Most of them I only just met, it hasn’t been long. They helped clear some house that was giving the guard trouble, that led us to the ship- and you,” he leans back in his chair, considering the group. 

“Susie’s just a kid. I’m not really worried about her. Well, I am, but not in the same way as the other two. Ny is… I think he’s alright,” the memory of a shadowy tentacle makes him add, “Mostly okay, probably not dangerous to us anyway.”

“And the captain?”

“Hadrien’s another story.”

Duri raises an eyebrow at him. 

“First time I met him was when I was a marine, just some pirate on the other end of my blade. Slippery, though. His ship escaped our grasp back then and I didn’t think twice about it until he showed up here,” he says, eyes distant as he recounts his thoughts, “He’s very, very good at what he does. Which is mostly killing, but he’s good with the group too. And a little too good at talking. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, and I feel like I could probably toss him pretty far.”

Duri nods, seeming to agree with his conclusion, “He seems like bad news, like he could become a problem if no one’s there to stop him.”

Sendoa nods as well. He doesn't like letting the pirate out of his sight. “He’ll make a problem or one will find him, that’s the feeling I’ve been getting.”

“Well,” Duri sits up a little bit, “If he becomes a problem, it sounds like we’ve got an otherwise seaworthy crew. I’ve seen mutinies before, I’m sure I could lead one.”

Sendoa’s not sure how serious he’s being, even still he laughs softly and says, “That sounds like a plan. I’ll just throw him overboard for you, and make Susie the captain instead. She’s already got the hat.”

Duri laughs as well, and Sendoa feels less tense than he has in days. The weight he’s felt, carrying his doubts alone, feels like it has started to lift from his shoulders. It’s easy to talk to him about this, reassuring.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Duri says, once a comfortable quiet has settled between them. 

“Oh, yeah, you’re welcome,” Sendoa says, shrugging a shoulder and looking down at his cup of tea. “Really it’s nothing. You should come over sometime and I could make you a real meal.”

"That sounds very nice," Duri says after only a few seconds of hesitation. That sheepish smile is back on his face, which only encourages Sendoa.

"Then it's settled. I'll make you dinner. I'll make whatever you want, so think about it a bit."

“Whatever I want?” Duri asks, raising one eyebrow challengingly.

“Whatever you want that I could reasonably get ingredients for,” Sendoa counters, grinning.

“Alright,” Duri leans back in his chair and sips his tea thoughtfully, “I’ll think about it.”

-

There's one small porthole he can stand by and lean his face against- when he has the energy- to feel the sun on his skin and let fresh, sea air clear his senses. A small mercy in captivity. One he carries with him when he finds freedom again. 

After the pirates ransom him back to the Navy, he spends a month in a hospital, stuck under the healer's careful eyes. The warmth of the sun and the sound of waves crashing against the shore keep him looking forward, keep it from feeling like another cage. More than one cleric suggests he go home, and end his time in the marines. Still, he requests placement on another ship. He can’t go home- doesn’t go home for another year, when his mother finally begs him to.

The sun’s comfort was with him that night on the smugglers’ ship as well; it’s healing mercy keeping him standing and his shining blade smiting down smugglers.

With his grandfather’s sword clutched tightly in hand as he kneels in a sunlit courtyard to take his oath, Sendoa prays. He prays Pelor’s strength will be with him as he wields the light to strike down his foes. He prays for the courage to defend those in need of protection, and for the clarity to mete out mercy to those who deserve it.