#ive never been this like. fixated on a drawing ive done before

[kiwibirdlafayette]

would. would yall be mad if i pinned the gomens mianite AU drawings. Would you

[themotherofhorses]

you can pretend it's not meant to be (but you can't stay away from me)

summary: to you, he is fictional. but to him, you are everything and more. he can't live without you. and, really, there is no use in trying to run away, he'll always find you.

pairing: (somewhat) dark!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. noncon to dubcon. abduction. massive obsessive tendencies on aemond's part. breeding kink. slight spitting kink. pregnancy.

note: hey this is me practicing writing smut because ive never ever done it before and i don't know jackshit like wtf is a dick hahaha im dreading posting this hahahasendhelpplshaha

masterlist | series masterlist

part two | part three | part four | part five

How did you end up here?

That was all you could ask yourself, over and over again.

It had only been hours ago, maybe, that you were sitting at home, rewatching the first season of House of the Dragon for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Perhaps you dozed off on the couch too, but that was it. You have heard of shifting techniques before- ways to visit your favorite fictional worlds- but you never sought to try them out yourself.

College left you too busy with assignments and textbook readings, as well as the constant and unwavering pressure to maintain both your scholarships and high GPA.

Ever the dutiful and driven daughter, hungry for academic validation and success.

Oh, fuck, your scholarships!

Your GPA!

All those assignments and discussions and exams!

And what about your family? Your mother and father? And your best friend?

Aemond Targaryen seems not to understand your words, and why you tell, beg, and plead for him to let you go. “Please, I need to go home,” you cry loudly, while yanking at the thick knots that bound you to his bedframe, “please! My family, my friends. They will be worrying when they don’t hear from me, and all my hard work and accomplishments, it will be for nothing! Please, I beg you, let me go home.”

But he just chuckles and kisses your forehead and says, “Oh, my sweet girl, I’m your family now. Or what is of it.” His lips feel so soft and wonderful, and how desperately you wish to enjoy the feeling. But not like this. You cannot think properly nor muster any sort of response, too distracted and stressed and focused on calming your breathing.

“Although,” he then adds with a smirk, “it truly is not considered a family until you have a babe of your own…or two.”

At his words, you tremble and whimper and try your best to break free, though it is all in stupid and foolish vain. There is no going anywhere, the knots are too tight and Aemond can easily overpower you. All you can do is stare up at the man you once considered your favorite character in the series, ever since the eighth episode aired and he stole your heart and soul and burrowed himself deep within your most inner thoughts and fixation.

“Do not worry,” he says, and you can see a twinkle in the violet of his eye. He rests a hand on your collarbone, gently drawing little shapes across the skin. “Good things will come out of this night, my love, I promise you that.”

Look on the bright side, you tell yourself, in some dumb attempt to steel your nerves, better Aemond Targaryen to lose your virginity to.

“You need to be quieter, my darling-” Aemond murmurs close to your ear “-we do not need curious ears listening in, do we?” He has you riding him, both hands clutching your hips as you do your best to bounce on his cock and match his thrusts. You’re sloppy and inexperienced, and a bit confused on what exactly to do, but it is so endearing that his lips curl into a grin.

Oh, you were made for me, he thinks, watching the way your glazed-over eyes try to hold his gaze. He will have you believe that by the end of the night, dawning if necessary.

There is much rush now that he found you, now that he has the chance to claim you.

You still moan, loud and high-pitched, and he slaps a hand flat over your mouth to shut you up. It makes your pretty and teary eyes widen more as you grab at his wrist, holding onto it while he tuts. “I’ll move my hand when you learn to listen to your husband and stay quiet. No one is allowed to hear my wife in her pleasure. No one but I.” At that, you bat your eyelashes at him, breasts heaving as he leans you down, so close your lips nearly touch, and Aemond can feel your heavy pants against his mouth.

“They will take you away from me, and ship you far across the world where I can’t find you,” he hisses, pinching your swollen nipple between his fingers, “I can’t have that. No, no, do you hear me? I will not survive being torn from you.”

The mere thought of losing you, either at the hands of his mother and grandsire or you returning to your homeland, fills him with sheer dread.

He does not know how to tell you that you are the girl of his dreams, everything he has desired and more. He has seen you in his nighttime slumbers and in the gleam of the summer sunlight and up among the black midnight stars.

But the words fall apart on his tongue, and all he can do is lay beneath you and marvel at your beauty: cheekbones and pretty puffy lips and the curve of your nose, the way your eyebrows furrow in pure pleasure, and how you look utterly delicious and ruined.

“You were made for me,” he breathes in awe, palming at both your breasts. You have to believe him, this sweet and pretty girl of his, how could you not? The gods above created you for him, he will make you see it. “You are taking me so fucking well,” and Aemond flattens a palm against your belly, where he can feel the slight bulge of his cock. “Look at you, you’re my dream come true.” He thrusts his hips up, fucking into you harder and deeper. It makes you squeal and go cross-eyed.

“Is this too much? I know you can handle it, my darling. My love, my sweet girl,” he purrs.

Aemond swipes at the drool pooling at your lips before stuffing two fingers in. “Fuck,” he whines, breathing hard, slipping his other hand in between your thighs, and with his thumb, rubbing at your clit. Your face twists in a gasp as you tremble, your entire body tightening until you cream over his cock, your loud moan muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he hums, slowing his thrusts, “Such a good fucking girl. Look at that, did that feel good, my love?” he asks you.

You nod, rocking your hips back and forth. Your thighs shaking and your face scrunching in complete bliss as you start again, taking his cock deep in your stomach with tiny bounces. “Please- please- please-” you babble against his palm. “I-I want- I need-”

“Want what, my sweet girl? Need what, my darling wife?”

You don’t answer, too overtaken by the pleasure. Aemond chuckles and leans upwards, to bury his face between your breasts. You are absolutely stunning, gorgeous, a living goddess; how he went this long without you is baffling. “You wish for my seed. Is that what you want?” he mutters against your nipple, “of course you do, this belly is too empty, isn’t it? My son should be sleeping inside.” His fingers pinch your clit, and you gasp again. “You’ll be the prettiest mother. You were made to carry my children. You were made for me,” and he pulls your face back to his, with a rough grip on your chin.

“Tell me,” he demands through a pant, “tell me how fucking badly you need my seed. Tell me…tell me right now.”

“I- I need it-“ you choke out, but then you shake your head. “No- No I can’t! I- I need to go- go home!”

Aemond laughs, so hard he flings his head back. The sight takes you by surprise before he shoves you off, causing you to land next to him on the bed. You stare up at him, wide eyed and puzzled and swollen and covered in countless bites and bruises. In one swing, he forces your face into the pillow as he mounts you from behind, fucking you hard. His fingers return to your clit, squeezing and tweaking and not caring one bit about your muffled yelps and whines

“You’ll learn, my sweet girl, but perhaps not tonight. I am your home now, do you understand? I’m your family, your husband, and the father to your children.”

He grabs a fistful of damp hair and yanks your face back, never once slowing his thrusts. Your mouth is open with many moans spilling out, eyes clouded with tears, and cheeks flushed. With his lips next to your ear, he whispers, “You are going nowhere.” Then propping himself on one arm, he trails small kisses up your back to your shoulder blade until his mouth slams down on yours in a heavy and wet kiss.

And when he pulls away, his fingertips squeeze your cheeks together as he demands for you to open your mouth. "You are mine," he grunts, "you belong to me," before spitting into it. "Good, now swallow."

And when you do, he smiles.

"There, see?" he coos, leaning to kiss your forehead as he feels you tighten around his cock. He was going to seed you again, deep inside your womb. Come the morning, he knows his son will be in there, and he can hardly wait.

"My wife, my darling girl, the only woman deserving of me and all of me. Only me." He watches you sob at that, pink lips pressing in a tight line as fat tears streak down both cheeks. "Oh, do not worry, my love. You're too lovely to be crying," and he uses his thumb to brush away the tears, "I'm here to give you the life you deserve," he vows, so lovingly, "you will want for nothing."

With a loud huff, you plop yourself on the couch.

The saying “home sweet home” never felt more sincere until now. It took much time and planning and effort and sneaking around on your part, but you managed to find a way to escape from Aemond Targaryen, though not without consequences. Your belly was growing only larger with every new moon, and your babe was starting to shift around more. At most times, you could feel the fluttering sensation across the bottom of your tummy, and every now and then, the tiniest kick.

It was adorable, you admitted, and you tried your best to find enjoyment throughout the pregnancy, sometimes wondering at night about who your child would resemble.

Would their looks favor yours? Or would they favor their father, with his Valyrian features- that iconic silver hair and violet eyes. The latter worried you the most. How could you even begin to explain why your child looked as if they belonged in the Game of Thrones series, specifically in House Targaryen?

Speaking of such, you had not touched House of the Dragon since you arrived back home all those months ago, too unwilling to turn on the tv and see the man whose child you were mysteriously carrying in your womb. It just did not make any sense, it felt more like a weird dream than reality.

But you were dying of boredom. The dragonling (you had taken to nicknaming the baby that, it sounded both cute and appropriate) was stealing away most of your time and energy, and your mother refused to allow you to do anything that could cause harm or add more unnecessary stress.

So you bit your tongue and swallowed down your grumbles and settled comfortably on the couch before opening Fire and Blood.

“Fucking crazy to think that this is a book of your family’s history,” you mumbled to your baby bump, “fictional my ass.”

So you read, to yourself and to your babe. Read about Aegon’s Conquest and the Year of the Three Brides and King Jaehaerys and his Alysanne and their triumphs and tragedies and legacy, and you read until you reached The Dying of the Dragons, the Blacks and the Greens, where you just sighed.

“And when Alicent sent for her second son to fly to Storm’s End, with the purpose of securing Borros Baratheon’s loyalty to Aegon II by winning the hand of one of his daughters, the Four Storms, the truth was finally known. One-eyed Prince Aemond, twenty and one, had taken a wife of his own in secret, a young maiden not of Westeros (according to Mushroom). Yet Prince Aemond lost her a month into their marriage, although by that time he had become so besotted with his bride, to such an extent that he could not bear the thought of living without her or taking another woman as his new wife.

With Prince Aemond refusing his mother’s orders, Queen Alicent had little choice but to send her youngest, Prince Daeron, in his place to Storm’s End. And by the seventh month, Prince Daeron wedded Floris Baratheon, and Prince Aemond One-Eye had reunited with his wife, who was heavy with child by the time he found her.”

You suddenly glance up from the book pages, feeling your heart hammering so hard in your chest that it seems at the end of your throat. On the wall, to your right, hung the calendar which you had taken to use as a means of tracking your pregnancy.

In two weeks, you’ll be at your seventh-month mark.

[untoldsoup]

Just wanted to make a quick update!

I know some people have expressed concern over my mental health because of the speed I get updates out so I figured I would make a post to clear the air.

Yes, I draw 3-4 or more hours a day. And I know it sounds alarming but I'm an introvert. I spend most of my time between work and home. Before starting this comic I would either play video games all day or scroll the Internet. If you look at my blog history, you will see I've actually had this blog since 2020. However before this comic I posted barely anything. Maybe one to two arts a year.

I had a long span of depression and life and health issues that really affected my passion for art (a year of spine problems that also prevented me from drawing until I had emergency surgery). Getting into the mario fandom really reignited my drive to draw again. When I find something I like I hyper fixate on it A LOT. I did the same with starwars for 4 years with a previous blog.

Also, this is my first time actually committing to a comic and I'm having a ton of fun with it, learning new things and fully enjoying the experience.

I do take breaks for other things (over the summer I worked less on the comic and more on other sidlink projects ect) to prevent burnout.

But drawing really is relaxing when I get home from work. I put on youtube or music and work on a page, then do some chores and a few other things before bed.

Not to mention I got a system down now and its easier to start and finish pages than it was at the beginning.

I'm working on the last update now and whats really motivating me is proving to myself I can finish such a large project. Ive never worked on something this big before and there is a sense of pride in completing it. I also plan on working on a ten page epilogue that wont be post on tumblr due to the nsfw rules, but will probably have on bluesky or discord or something.

I think after that I will however take a small break before working on the sequel (I do have the first 12 pages of the sequel ready to go, but it wont be posted till chapters one and two are both finished) just so I dont stress about it.

I'm a very anxious, isolated person and having projects to work on has helped a lot. I also started some depression meds this year that have been a boon to getting stuff done and not being sad all the time lol.

So all is well rn!! I'm on page 57 right now for the comic, and have a long xmas break coming up so I might meet my deadline who knows XD

[obscureother]

🌑 the obscure intro post. 🌑

Hello, this is the obscure other :0 i dont have an official name to go by, but ive been called ob or obscure before so those work fine, or other things you would refer to me through (one time someone called me ghost :0)

This is the blog i hide on from other people, so if you know or find other profiles i own, i request you not expose it for those reasons before im comfortable to. Like lots of bloggers, i dont want some of the people i know discovering the things i get into or like.

so this is just an f/o blog/journaling. . thing. I'm not entirely sure what content will be here, but it will be centered around f/os, self-shipping, and its just to give me a place to yell about the people that live in my/your brain rent-free and know they don’t exist but we pretend they do anyway for comfort reasons and serotonin, dopamine, uhh what other things feel good and ok??

some of it will be for you if I happen to think of something, other times it is for me to explode over my fixation f/os!!

youre also welcome to come talk about your f/os or introduce them to me!! i love hearing about other people's f/os of every kind, so i would love to hear or learn about yours.

This is a comfort blog to me, so there wont be any room for meanness or intended offenses here. Dont come to me with troublesome things or somehow twist/morph my content into something its not, we're just here to have a cool time with our fictional people, bro. . :((

For the f/ovember:

other obscure things below the drop :0

🌑

Obscure general information:

○ They/them ○ Ob is 21 yo. Minors welcome, just look for the tags you need to block for this blog. Know that some of you younger kiddies or goofy youngsters have energies i dont know how to respond to, so sorry if im a little awkward over things sometimes. Nothing is your fault, its only me lol. ○ College student, so ill be slow to respond. Forgive me, i dont ghost others on purpose. ○ Ob loves horror, spooky things, drawing, video games, other movies, dinosaurs, zoology, and old cars :0

🌑

Obscure blog content + information:

○ Nothing explicit/detailed will normally be posted. but: The worst there will be is just being hormonally silly from kind of "rrr ovaries go brr, chew on theM-" energy of f/os. Overall, there wont be NSFW on the obscure blog, just the occasional post or goofy thing that might be NSFW-related. Those will be tagged, so look for the obscure tag post below. ○ obscure.other is overly sheepish but loves inbox games/questions/etc. or tagging things so if you want to give those, those are very cool. Those are the coolest thing on tumblr, tho i dont havet the confidence to reblog them for the obscure blog. tho if you give me one, ill give you one too!! DMs, inbox, or tagging me on them is ok. ○ roleplay requests are open, tho college forces me to be selective sometimes or slow. I love roleplay, headcanons, etc. so if you want to of f/os (be it mine, yours, or if we both like one) or other things not f/o-related, that's cool too. ○ the obscure blog is ok for sharing f/os, but if you do, that's ok. Go here: 🌑 the obscure f/o list or if there is one you love and would still like to be friends, just let me know so you can be the only one to talk about them on our DMs. They have tags you can block for when I post of them or the obscure self-inserts. ○ For the obscure blog tags, here is your tag list: 🌑 the obscure blog tags ○ There will be off-topic stuff, but those are less common than selfshipping things so don’t worry. Following the obscure blog comes with the extra benefits of memes and other posts. 👌🏻 ○ There are villain obscure f/os. Know that I don't condone them, and that some have headcanons tweaked for certain things because of those extra bad f/os, so those extra bad things might not be relevant on the blog. Do not go giving trouble for that on the obscure blog, or it will be blocked or ignored. ○ Do not get this too involved in the discourse of other things.  Don’t give the blog labels or talk about them on here. Know that I don't really care for things like incest, zoophilia, pedophilia, or prejudice of any sort. They’re gross and uncomfy for me to come across. Those who go for it or the content will only be blocked or ignored. That's all for that.

thx for checking out the obscure blog :0 buh-bye!!

[yesimwriting]

Crossing lines

General Kirigan/the darkling x reader

Summary: This was requested by my friend @vvsdiamond28 who also writes and has a really good kirigan x reader story up right now! The request was basically for a fic in which the reader is out wandering at night and runs into kirigan while he’s in the banya and then they get to talking and some other stuff before he admits to only trusting the reader and giving her his real name. This gets kinda steamy bc of the request and bc the story called for it lol but it’s not full smut bc i decided that it would be better to do that as a part 2 so that i could add some jealousy tension haha

a/n i think im back?? Ive been working on requests a lot and ive really enjoyed writing regularly again. A small side note, after rewatching revenge of the sith im kinda in the mood to try writing an anakin fic 😭 pls he was my OG fictional crush,, so either send help or a request for him or something, Anyways,, back to this fic--ahh i had fun writing it but i still feel awkward writing steamier stuff so be nice!! 

-- 

Those that wander in the night, lost in uneasy thought--there’s probably a lot that can be said about them. But I can’t think of anything to be said about me. Nothing good comes from walking around a place full of powerful and tense people in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t take much effort to interpret my actions as suspicious, and yet I continue forward. I’m an idiot--just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I have to wander around campgrounds. My presence is barely tolerated here, I shouldn’t try backstroking in waters I can barely tread. 

But still, I walk, eyes more fixated on the open night sky than anything else. The moon is as full as an overflowing glass, the stars twinkling as if desperate to compete with a light it will never be able to duplicate. I sigh, pressing my lips together. Maybe the stars and I have more in common than I thought. Normally, that would be a good thing. 

Letting out a weary breath, I continue forward, away from the relative safety of the main tents. I’m still on the grounds, I’m approaching the border where the tents of higher ranking officials are. That should make me more nervous, but if anything it almost eases me slightly. 

General Kirigan is not the type to be friendly, and yet our interactions have always been laced with a touch of intimacy I can’t quite explain. We’ve been alone together more and more frequently, and I think that’s how I like him best. It’s strange, but when we’re alone some of his sharpness dulls, leaving space for something I might consider humor or actual personality on anyone else. He probably speaks to many girls like that when they’re alone together--a fact I have to fight to remind myself of--but it’s the closest thing to friendship I have here. Maybe it’s foolish to hold onto that, but I can’t bring myself to release my grip on those sentiments. At least not yet, when the kind moments are still rare and fleeting and no line has been crossed. 

The danger, however, comes from the prospect of not recognizing lines before they’re crossed. Even now, as I walk aimlessly in the night, pacing in hopes of exhausting my thoughts, I’m crossing lines in a much more literal way and even these are ill defined. I must be in new territory now, and even that I can only vaguely recognize because of the strangely humid scent that surrounds this area of the grounds. 

I’m near the banya. I didn’t intend to wander here, but the thought of splashing water on my face is too tempting to pass up on. I move closer, finding a sense of peace in having some direction, even in a small way. 

When the promise of water is only steps away, I begin to regret everything. There’s a figure in the bath. I freeze, ready to attempt to shrink away in hopes of disappearing before I’m caught. This could easily turn extremely awkward even though I technically haven’t done anything. Most people don’t bathe at this hour. Who bathes this late at night? 

I keep my eyes on the individual, trying to make out who they are and how aware they are of their surroundings in the dim light. Pale skin, dark hair--unbelievably attractive torso. My eyes linger there longer than they should. I force my gaze upwards, towards their face as if that can erase my ogling. Embarrassment leaves my face burning--I’m not the ‘ogling’ type, and this person doesn’t even know I’m here. I keep my eyes on them as I step back, taking in unaware features as best I can in the dark. 

I know them--I--Saints, it’s Kirigan. 

Fantastic. Of course he has to be even more impossibly attractive while shirtless and wet. I turn my head upwards sharply, more desperate to not be caught than ever. I would never, ever recover from being caught. Whether he’d tease me or be angry with me, I don’t know. I also don’t know which option I’d prefer. 

I step back again, my gait wider due to my urgency. Snap. The sound of both a twig and my chance of a stealthy escape being shattered. I cringe, craning my neck to the left in a desperate attempt to make it clear that I wasn’t watching him. I take another desperate step, ready to duck behind a nearby tree. Maybe he hasn’t seen me--maybe he’s distracted and assumed that some kind of rabbit or something passed by. He may not actively dislike me, but I’m not sure any semblance of favor he may have for me extends to this situation.

“Y/n.” His tone reveals nothing but his level of certainty. Ignoring him will only make me seem guilty. 

I pause, keeping my gaze off of him. “Yes.” It wasn’t really a question, and yet I still answer it like one. “I was--I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get some air, and I was walking kind of aimlessly and I ended up here and I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Why do I feel like I’m making this situation worse? “I’m sorry--I’m gonna--I’m going to go now.” This is the kind of embarrassing moment that will come back to me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. I know it.

“You know the polite thing to do after intruding is to make eye contact.” 

I don’t think my face has ever felt this warm before. At least he doesn’t sound angry, but his voice doesn’t reveal that much. I raise my gaze carefully, turning my head slowly. “I didn’t mean,” I exhale slowly, “It wasn’t my intention to intrude.” 

He straightens slightly at my words, exposing more of his chest. I stay still, eyes trained on his to avoid an accidental lapse. “You could make it up to me by offering conversation.” Kirigan’s tone is deliberate, his words measured and calm. I don’t speak, feeling like I’m being presented a test I don’t understand, but most of our conversations leave me feeling like that. “Only if you’re comfortable.” 

And just like that, I’m backed into a corner. A challenge. To deny him now would be to expose the effect he has on me. My chin raises a fraction of an inch as I take in that assured half-smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?” 

Kirigan arches a dark brow, assessing my response. “Then sit,” his voice has not changed, “You want air and I want company.” 

I don’t think anyone that looks as good as he does shirtless has ever had trouble finding company, especially with the smooth way he speaks. Despite this, I step forward to accept his challenge without calling him out on his coyness. Each step is the crossing of another invisible line until I’m near the water’s edge. I make sure to keep my nightgown at a respectable length as I sit down. 

I make a point of extending my legs towards the water while leaning back so that I can’t be easily accused of being a coward. “I feel the need to warn you that I might not make particularly interesting company.”

He angles his head to the side slightly, drawing attention to his jawline and neck. I force my stare to focus on the water. “I’ve never found you uninteresting.” 

There’s something resigned in the way he says this. On instinct, I look up, taking in the slight softening of his features. The release of his usual sternness only adds to his beauty, a fact that I’m already resenting. 

“You may be the only one.” It’s not meant to be a deprecating comment, but I’m not sure my partial laugh softens my bitterness. I hope it does--I’d rather his interest than the interest of my entire unit. 

Kirigan shifts forward, the water moving with him. “Do you think that any coldness you’re experiencing has to do with you?” 

The question has me drawing my eyebrows together. What else could it be? I shrug, “I’ve considered it.” 

He nods once, eyes hardening slightly. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?” 

The personalness of the question shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. Kirigan seems to only understand boundaries when he’s the one setting them. “Not really.” A partial lie--this time I’m glad I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. “It’s not uncommon for me, but it’s not something I deal with every night.” 

I risk shifting my eyeline when I hear the sound of water moving. Kirigan’s now resting an arm on the rim of the pool, wet skin dangerously close to my ankle and lower calf. “It’s not always easy,” his voice is low now, “Being alone with your thoughts.” 

That’s not the kind of reply I’d expect from him. I blink twice before turning to study his expression. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him seem so tired--so weary and human and in need of something. The line between his eyebrows and the far off quality of his eyes leave me with the strong desire to give whatever it is he needs to him. The urge to reach out, to touch him in hopes of breaking him free from his odd trance leaves my stomach knotted. That line is too clear to cross so recklessly.

I need to chase away the serious atmosphere he’s created. “Is that why you bathe so late at night?” I let myself smile, “To avoid thoughts?” 

“I like the peace of it.” Something akin to amusement touches his words. “And for the record, little dove,” the nickname is pointed and earns him an eyeroll, “The warm water doesn’t exactly chase away thoughts so much as encourages others.” He pauses. “You understand, considering you can barely look at me.”

This is the most embarrassing thing to have ever happened. The suggestive jilt to his words has to be intentional. Damn him. I turn my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I can look at you just fine.” 

“And if I were a Heartrender and could hear your heartbeat your pulse would be normal?” The question is teasing, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

The warmth in my face increases, spreading down my neck. Kirigan’s expression remains smug. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

“No?” He leans forward, angling his head so close to me I can faintly feel the warmth of his breath on my lower calf. “I find myself amusing.” 

At least being around him like this is getting easier. I open my mouth, ready to provide some sarcastic comment I haven’t thought out yet. My mouth clamps shut on instinct when I feel his touch on my ankle. The faint contact quickly grows, his fingers brushing up my ankle and calf, leaving drops of cool water across my skin.

“What are you doing?” That’s a--a fair question, right? I’m not sure, rational thought slipping from me more and more with each passing second. 

“Nothing, really,” his reply is quick. “Nervous?” 

There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I roll my eyes, fighting against my instinctual fluster. “No,” a full lie, “You’re just getting me wet.” 

“Barely.” When he’s not busy being brooding he’s not much better than an irritating child. He retracts his hand slowly, fingers grazing my skin slowly as he submerges his hand beneath the water. The loss of contact should feel like a victory. It doesn’t. “Y/n,” he shifts closer, back straightening.

There’s an odd seriousness to his demeanor that almost leaves me reeling. “Yes?” 

He beckons me forward. I hesitate, but comply, letting myself shift closer to the water’s edge. Kirgan’s lips part, but no words leave him before he moves his arm, purposefully splashing water over my thighs and bottom of my nightgown. I let out an instinctively annoyed sound. “That is getting you wet.” 

“Kirigan!” My tone is as menacing as I can make it, but he continues to grin. There’s such a lightness to the look I almost forget to be annoyed. Almost. “I should tell the entire Second Army how much of a child you are.” 

My threat does nothing, his smile softening without fading. “They fear me too much for your stories to make a difference.” He says this flatly. “All of them except you.” 

I don’t know if I’m supposed to make something of that comment. A brief moment passes in which I think his eyes come close to softening. Maybe that’s a side effect of seeing the world as you want. Wait...what do I want? Him? No, no, I can’t. 

Okay, he’s objectively attractive and sometimes I think I may see more depth in him than he wants to be capable of. But that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to want anything with him. Even if he was trustworthy enough for me to be with him in any capacity...even casually, it could never happen. Nothing good could come from having relations with the highest ranked general and I doubt he’d ever want me like that. He likes to fluster people and I’m an easy target. I just accept it because being some level of entertainment to him is better than being nothing to everyone. 

“I don’t think there’s much point in fear.” It feels like a fair answer. The fairest answer I can manage, anyways. 

He sighs, the sound heavy. His hand stretches forward cautiously. I watch him and make no attempt to stop him from touching my lower calf. His fingers trace absentmindedly across the skin. “Of course you’d think that.” 

Again, I don’t know what to make of his words. Or his actions. He couldn’t find anything wrong with me just slightly adjusting my position. It’d be a polite way to remind us both of the natural order of things. But then again, someone like him is allowed to be mad about anything. And I’m not sure I want to remind us of our place. 

Actually, I’m completely sure that I want the opposite of that. But admitting that to myself is enough of a risk. I’ve already crossed thousands of tiny lines and what I want will require us to cross a thousand more. 

“I’m a little surprised you’re not reminding me how foolish a notion like that can be.” 

He lets out a tiny breath as he shifts even closer to me. “Maybe I’m enjoying your foolishness.” 

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or the opposite.” 

The slightest hint of a smile is visible to me beneath the moon’s glow. There’s something about darkness that adds beauty to things. I wait for him to reply, but instead of speaking his  hand moves further up my leg. I struggle to hide my reaction to his long fingers trailing up my skin.

He’s touched me before, sure. Tiny moments in which he’d push a strand of hair out of my face or wipe at a bit of dirt on my cheekbone. More recently, he had gripped my hip firmly to guide me through a crowd of soldiers. He had been in a hurry, stealing me from a conversation with the only member of my unit that’s been somewhat friendly to me. It wasn’t serious--he had just been rushing me because he only had a minute between meetings and apparently he had too long of a day to not take a moment to speak with me. 

“Are you alright, Dovey?” Normally, the nickname and all of its variations earns him an eyeroll. But everything is a lot less humorous with his hand half up my lower leg, leaving a trail of cool water wherever he touches. 

His fingers press more firmly into my skin. “Yes, I’m fine--it’s just late.” 

“Hm…” Kirigan breathes before tilting his head slightly. “You’re warm.” I stay silent as his hand shifts slightly. “Perhaps too warm.” 

If I’m hot that has absolutely nothing to do with fever. “I’m fine, General, I promise.” 

“Come closer,” he says, “It’ll take me no time to check.” 

...A little too convenient. My nightgown is still embarrassingly damp from the last time I eased tonight. “Please tell me you don’t find me that naive.” 

“Naive? No.” He lifts his hand slightly. “Warm? Yes.” I still don’t trust him. “I’m not going to do anything. I promise.” 

His eyes are dark and the limited lighting of the moon doesn’t offer me much in my analysis, but what I can see makes him seem genuine. “Why do I feel like that’s not the first time you’ve had to say that?” Despite my comment, I move towards him. 

The back of Kirigan’s palm is pressed to my forehead for less than a second. He brushes his hand down the side of my temple, rotating his wrist so that his fingertips can touch my cheek. His hand then continues to move down my jawline and then my neck...and then finally trails down my collarbone. I bite my tongue to avoid exhaling audibly at the contact. 

“Warm,” he concludes with a tsk, and yet he doesn’t withdraw his hand. “Though that could just have to do with the climate.” His thumb slips beneath the sleeve of my nightgown. “Perhaps you could benefit from joining me.” 

I bite my tongue to avoid letting out a surprised, embarrassingly enthusiastic squeak. I don’t know what’s gotten into him...maybe it’s the night air and the prospect of being fully alone. I should be strong enough to break whatever spell he’s starting to place on me. But I’m not. I’m really, really not. 

He pulls on the sleeve of my nightgown slightly. “I’m…” 

“Unless you’re nervous?” Another damn challenge. To shy away from this would be to expose myself. He tugs on the sleeve a little more assuredly, exposing my shoulder to the humid night. “Do I make you nervous?” 

His voice comes out a shallow rasp. I feel it straight in my core. “...Not more than you should.” 

“More than I should?” 

Ugh--too honest. I let myself get distracted. It shouldn’t be too difficult to explain what I meant. He knows he’s feared. He wants to be feared. “I’m sure we’re both aware that there are a fair amount of cautionary tales revolving around you.” 

His hand falls next to my lap. Oh? I didn’t expect to miss the contact between us so much. His expression seems to have fallen slightly as well. Was it my response to his question? It felt fair and straightforward without being too blunt. “And you believe every cautionary tale you hear?” 

There’s something stiff about the way he asks the question. His moodiness is making me miss his touchiness even more. At least then I didn’t have to feel like I made a mistake. Did I say something wrong? “Should I?”

“It depends on whether or not you plan on being brave.” 

“I told you...I don’t see much point in fear.” 

“And yet you’re still there.” A bit of humor returns to his voice. “Why is that?” 

Rolling my eyes, I shift forward, letting my legs dip into the water. This is as far as I should let this go. I’ve already lost too much more control. “Better?” He’s strangely tense again, a hint of something bitter playing at the smug look he tries for. “You alright?”

“Of course you’d ask me that.” He says this with a tired sigh. “You can never make things easy.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

He shifts backwards slightly. I can feel the distance between us like I’d feel a pebble in my shoe. “Do you believe all the stories about me?” 

Is he still bothered by that? “I didn’t mean it as literally as you’re taking it. All I meant is that people are intimidated by you, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s the way things have to be, you’re the only Shadow Summoner in existence and the army needs you to be intimidating so that they can act on your guidance.”

“The way things have to be,” he echoes, his voice strangely weighted. “There’s a specific kind of loneliness that comes with being feared by everyone.” 

Oh--I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him feel defeated like that. I reach for his hand without thinking, pulling his fingers towards my lap. “I don’t--I’m not scared of you.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but it’s the only one I can think of. “That probably doesn’t mean anything, but I--” 

His hand turns in my lap, squeezing the exposed part of my thigh. “It means something.” Kirigan’s voice has hardened in a different way. “You’re the only person I’m certain of.” 

Everything in me seems to tighten at that. At the implication of something so personal from someone so closed off. “Kirigan, you don’t have to be as alone as you feel. You talk to me all the time and you do so in a way that makes it easy to forget the cautionary tales.” His hand moves further up my thigh. I fight as I try to remember our usual dynamic. “You’re the only one that talks to me like that.” 

“Have you ever considered that maybe the others refuse to take to you because of the favor I’ve shown you? The instinct to stay away from me is strong enough to extend to those around me.” Kirigan’s hand moves higher up my thigh. “To be near me is to involve solitude.” 

“I don’t care.” The answer leaves me too quickly. “Being near you is worth it.” 

He leans closer before resting his chin on my knee with no hesitation. “Careful, you don’t understand the line you tread.” Kirigan places his hand more firmly between my thighs. “Or perhaps you do...perhaps you know what you want to cross.” 

This time I can’t help the airy sigh that leaves me. Kirigan pushes against my thigh slightly, separating my legs. I feel his breath on my inner thigh before I know what’s going on. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t even breathe. That inability to do anything but feel my heart pound against my chest only worsens as I feel his lips press into the inside of my thigh. His lips trail up my skin before his teeth gently sink into the top of my thigh. 

“Is the line you want to cross?” He breathes the question so softly I feel like I’m being coddled. Everything in me feels too hot to think of any kind of coherent response. Kirigan uses his free hand to pull the fabric of my nightgown as high up my thighs as he can from his position below me. “Or maybe this is the line you want to cross?” Kirigan pulls me forward so suddenly I let out a tiny gasp. I’m not fully on the edge of the banya. “Or perhaps this one?” He kisses the skin of my inner thigh gently. Each time I exhale too loudly, his teeth graze my skin. He gets harsher with each passing second. “Lay down.” 

My body listens to him on instinct. How is this happening? How am I this powerless to fight against something that’s so clearly wrong? The sound of water shifting causes my entire body to tense. He’s pulled himself out of the water. Kirigan moves above me instantly, water dripping from his toned chest and dark hair and onto my still damp nightgown. 

Before I can speak, he’s on me completely, his lips pressing against my jaw. He kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing against my skin sporadically. He pulls away from me by tracing his tongue across my collar bone. I let out something dangerously close to a moan. “Such pretty, little sounds.” 

“Kirigan--” 

“The only name I want you to hear from your lips is the only name that I’ve not given myself. The only name that holds meaning to me.” 

His lips graze where my skin meets the hem of my now soaked through nightgown. I’m not sure the poor lighting is offering me enough coverage now. There’s no way the thin fabric leaves much to the imagination while being this wet. He kisses up my chest and neck until his lips reach the shell of my ear. 

“Aleksander.” The name is grace in the form of a breath so soft it’s more like I’m feeling the name than actually hearing it. 

He presses his lips against the spot on my neck directly beneath my ear. I exhale into the contact. “Aleksander.” As I test his true name on my tongue, his teeth dig into my skin much more harshly than before. 

I let out a partial squeak at the sudden shift in pace as his hands grip my waist. “Say it again. Say my name again.”

He traces his tongue gingerly over the skin he just aggravated with his teeth before I can speak. The soothing sensation is so much I can barely find my voice. “Aleksander.” 

His hand bunches the bottom of my nightgown, raising the fabric to my hips. “...Say it just like that.” Kirgan’s rough hand slips between the bone of my hip and the fabric of my hip. “Like I’m the only one that knows you like this.”

“Aleksander.” I breathe as he traces invisible patterns into my skin with his lips. “Aleksander.” Each use of his name earns me extra attention--a stronger hold on my hip, a more adamant nip at the base of my neck. I feel my need for him so heavily I swear it’s leaked into my bones. “Aleksander.”

When he pulls away, I fight the urge to whine. The night is still humid, but with the absence of his touch I feel like I’m shivering. He regards me silently for a long moment before shifting his weight again. I feel my heart stall in my chest as his hand softly brushes a strand of hair out of my face. He lets his hand linger there, at the apple of my cheek. The entire world seems to stall as he leans down, his hand cupping the side of my face as his mouth inches closer to mine. 

“I can feel the fluttering of your heart.” 

Any poor defense dies in my throat as his lips meet mine. He gives me no time to think about what’s happening as he presses into me even harder. Kirigan holds my face as his teeth graze against my bottom lip. My mouth opens slightly in surprise, giving him the opportunity he needs to slip his tongue into my mouth. His tongue slowly brushes against mine, coaxing me into total, delirious, compliance. When he starts to pull away, I react, my hands flying forward to grab his hair. He lets me get away with tugging him towards me, prolonging the kiss as he bites my bottom lip. 

One of his hands leaves my face and travels up the hands holding onto his hair. He pulls me off of him easily, pinning both of my wrists above my head with one hand. “Easy,” Kirigan warns, “You’ve been such a good girl, let’s not ruin it before we’ve started.” 

A tiny sigh leaves me. I can feel the pride he takes in that as his hand trails further down my body. His fingers ghost along the hem of my underwear teasingly. 

“Is someone there?” I’ve never damned the voice of a stranger more. 

Panic and dread roll in my stomach. I’m going to get caught like this, with my nightgown bunched at my hips beneath the General Kirigan. An unclothed, wet, General Kirigan. “I’m bathing.” 

Okay...good...Aleksander spoke. Anyone with common sense would run at the thought of invading on Kirgan’s privacy. It’s a good thing that the soldier had the sense to linger behind a thicket of bushes. “Pardon General, but there’s been a crucial development. A new strategy should be thought of as soon as possible.” 

No. No. The thought of losing contact so entirely, of having a moment that should have never happened be ripped from me before it’s even really happened is overwhelming. I feel my lips pull into a pout. Kirigan’s hand adjusts on me, his thumb pressing teasingly over where I’m neediest. I bite my tongue to avoid making an inappropriate noise. 

“Five minutes--I’ll be in the strategy tent in five minutes.” 

“I’ll tell the others, General.”

Great. I hear the stranger disappear, his feet crushing twigs and grass as he leaves us. Aleksander’s attention returns to me quickly. Disappointment swells in my chest as I take in the solemn look that crosses his features. His hand moves to my chin quickly before pulling me into another deep kiss. It’s too short lived. 

“I have to go.” 

Frowning, I lift my hand to trace my fingers up his arm. It’s softer than I should allow myself to be, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not when this is probably never going to happen again. “Do you?” I mumble to myself, half joking.

He sighs once, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “No pouting.” 

Now that whatever little bubble we were in has popped, I’m capable of normal feelings. Including shame. “I am n--” 

“Easy, little dove, I’ll remember all of this when I find you again.” 

This...this is going to happen again? “You’re going to find me?” 

“I haven’t yet heard your voice crack on my name as I undo you.” He punctuates the promise with a kiss to my jaw. “Again.” Another kiss. “And again.” Another brush of his lips as he finally pulls away. “And again.” 

My breath catches itself in my throat as he moves off of me entirely. Damn whatever change in the war that’s pulled him away from me so suddenly. I sit up as he stands. I’m not sure where to look now that he’s not in close enough proximity to cloud my thoughts. I should leave as he dresses, but I can’t quite bring myself to. It doesn’t feel safe, not when the man that interrupted us could reappear at any moment. Not when I want to hold onto his presence like this as long as possible. 

 He squeezes my shoulder warmly as he passes before bending down to press one more kiss next to where his hand is. 

“Soon,” he promises again. 

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[dotster001]

Congrats on 500! I'd love a matchup if they're still open. Obey me, romantic please!

I'm not quite sure how to do this as ive never requested something like this before but I shall try.

I am 5'3, very pale with lots of freckles. Thick, curly, auburn hair, not quite orange enough to be qualified as a ginger but enough that I have to be wary on international hit a ginger day 😔 My hairs just past shoulder length and pretty messy so I usually tie it back, except for my bangs which are somehow even more messy, I tend to just brush them aside.

I'm a Sagittarius, INFP. I have a cat despite being severely allergic to them. My cat is my favourite thing in the wkrld. Literally my best friend, I don't care if that makes me a loser. She's great. And fluffy. And adorable.

I'm pretty sarcastic, sometimes I get carried away, to the point that I'm mean. I've been trying to do better though. I have pretty bad anger issues, I used to punch holes in walls when I was 3-14. Haven't done it in a while but I still feel anger most of the time. It's just that instead of reacting with violence I react with a cold sort of malice. I still have those out bursts of burning rage where I shout and throw things, but my last one was like a year ago so I'm pretty happy with how far I've come!

I've got ADHD. Common hyper-fixations include animals of all kinds. Crime, torture methods, serial murder etc... I've unfortunately become pretty desensitized to the kind of stuff I learn.

Ive always been creative. I love to read and write. I currently own over 500 books and I've read most of them. Recently I've been trying to get into gaming. I've only ever played games on the Wii and DS before. I love Kirby, the only two games I've ever finished are Kirby ones. I've even watched the anime.

I write mostly fantasy stuff, with magic and dragons. Love dragons. When I was younger I taught myself draconic just because I could. I do tend to write things a bit darker, I love a tortured protagonist. My current WIP shows an assassin joining a normal guild to maintain their cover (as they didn't kill a guild member who saw them and need to keep an eye on them to make sure they don't snitch). Then with time the assassin finds themselves getting attached to the guild and it's members, especially the younger ones. But oh no, their identity gets out and everyone turns against them! The whole things very convoluted honestly. Lots of blood and violence. I find it cathartic.

I also like to draw and paint though I'm not great at either. I tend to like to collecting things. I'm currently collecting the vintage Fear Street books- I started reading them like years ago now but since the movies come out they're so much harder to come by. I've only 40 or so to go though! I was probably too young to read them, won't go into details but there were deaths and scenes of violence in those books that I had no business reading when I was six.

I also collect Pokemon cards, though I'm not buying them as often. I wanted to get all the Eeveelotions, but then they came out with Sylveon and I quit because honestly how dare they? I was only two away and they made a new one. And it wasn't even a dragon type :( My big claim to fame is that I have a number of first edition cards, which is super fun!

I love music so much. I listen to pretty much every genre. My biggest are metal, indie and punk rock. But I also really like musicals. Right now my top songs are probably Ride the Lightning, Fleur de Lis, Ophelia, I Can't Decide, Don't Go Breaking My Heart, the other side of Hollywood and Mr Loverman. I play the baritone/euphobium- think a small tuba. I also play the guitar and harmonica (self taught!). I'm looking into getting an otamatone. My dream instrument, though, is the bagpipes.

My favourite movie of all time is How To Train Your Dragon. SAW III is a close second. Idk why I like SAW III so much, it makes me so angry I literally shake just thinking of it. But I also find it hilarious for the same reason it infuriates me. The main character is horrible. I make a point of watching it with every friend i make. All the homies hate Jeff.

My favourite season is winter because I love wearing toques and sweaters, curling up in fuzzy blankets, snuggling with my cat. I love the snow and the way it sounds beneath boots. I tend to dress mainly in black and red. Ripped jeans, steel toed boogs. I've got a ring in the shape of a snake and another with a bunch of eyes carved in it. I have a padlock necklace with an accompanying skeleton key necklace because I like things to fit together, y'know? I have a fairly eclectic earring collection. My favourite pair is a silver set made to look like meat cleavers.

So sorry for rambling, I have no idea what to say and ended up saying way too much but whatever. Thanks a bunch and congrats again! Go drink some water if you haven't in a while!

❄️☃️ anon

(Yo I feel your pain on the red head thing 😂 I'm strawberry blonde, and some people will fight to the death to say I'm a redhead. Stay safe out there 😂 Also, my cat's my best friend, so we can be losers together)

I match you with Lucifer.

To be totally honest, I could see you with every brother, and Barbs. But in the end, I feel like Lucifer just shone through. Especially when it comes to sarcasm. He can slice and dice someone in three words, so he'll give you a run for your money.

He loves how many instruments you know how to play, and may or may not be looking into finding the best bagpipes teacher to ever exist, so that you can both learn how to play together. Will make the other brothers play instruments as well so that you can all put on a concert for Diavolo.

He has all the ins and outs of everything, so he can help you build your collections. He makes it look like an illegal drug deal sometimes, and he's willing to pay waaaaay too much money for you to feel safe about your financial future, but he gets everything for you. Don't give up on your Eeveelution collection yet. He's got a lead.

He'll watch SAW III with you. He doesn't really understand why you continue to watch it if you hate Jeff so much, but it makes him feel soft inside to watch something you enjoy so much with you.

He birthed Satan from his wrath. He understands anger. If you get overly angry, he understands and will help you figure things out, calm down, or slice a bitch. He's flexible.

You'd gotten dressed to go out for the day, in your black ripped jeans and boots, a red blouse Lucifer had gotten for you, and that new pair of dragon earrings he'd also gotten for you. After finishing getting dressed, you headed to his office.

You knew he was the avatar of pride, but sometimes it was easy to forget until you saw him practically preening like this. He stood up from his desk, and took your hand, just staring at you for a moment.

"What is it, Luci? Is my beauty leaving you speechless?" You said with a playful eye roll.

He gave a booming laugh, before he drew you closer, and whispered, "Have you ever noticed how you tend to prefer my colors?"

"Huh, I guess I didn't," you said. "Anyway, where are we going today?"

He smiled, and again, his pride was staggering.

"We are going to practice your draconic, my love," he said, collecting a couple things and starting to leave the room.

"Wait, so that means..."

"Yes," he smiled. "I'm going to introduce you to my pet dragon."

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 23

masterlist 

Hello darlings! I’m back very briefly to give you a short chapter that was already have finished before my tests. I still have a bunch of school work to do, so I’ll be back to hermitting directly as college kills my soul, but please! Send asks! This story is very quickly drawing to its conclusion (probably only 10 or so parts left), and I’d love to know who you all would like to see in my next fic! Love you all!-- chaotic puff 

Jin found them there sometime later curled up on the sofa with Namjoon in one corner and Y/N resting against his side a blanket tucked around her legs and Moni settled happily next to her as the trio watched some sort of drama on the tv. The dog had perhaps missed her more than Namjoon had. While Moni was Namjoon’s dog, in the short time that Y/N had been there, she’d come to be the fluff ball’s favorite person which could have had everything to do with how much she spoiled him.

Namjoon couldn’t find it in himself to be jealous of the animal though. Moni made her happy, he was comforting to her, and Jin’s words rang through his head. She needed comforting things in her life now. She needed security, and Namjoon had every intention of providing it.

“How is the patient doing?” Jin asked almost sorry to break the peaceful moment as the pair had so few of those.

“She ate some of the porridge and drank a full cup of tea.” Namjoon reported with a tired smile, before the smile fell again morphing into a more concerned look. “She hasn’t had anything else though.”

It was bothering him. He was relieved she was awake, but she wasn’t herself. She had eaten so little too. He had hoped she’d finish the whole bowl of porridge, but she’d picked at it finishing maybe a quarter of it before she declared herself done.

“I’ll set up another saline bag to make sure she stays hydrated until she’s feeling a little better.” Jin nodded coming over to check that the IV port was still good on her arm. “Some exercise would be good to if she was up to it, just a walk in the garden though, nothing strenuous.”

“There’s something else.” He sighed eyes them both warily. It wasn’t news he wanted to give, but someone had to. “You have visitors.”

Namjoon stiffened though Y/N barely seemed to register the news.  “What visitors.” He asked in a low growl jaw clenched as he tried to keep his temper under control.

“Jackson Wang and Mark Tuan. They’d like to see Y/N.”  Came the reluctant reply, but this time earning a reaction from the woman. She stiffened before straightening up one hand anxiously knotted in the fur on the back of Moni’s neck.

“I don’t want to see him.” She whispered her eyes fixated on the floor.

“No one will make you.” Namjoon assured wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder and leveling Jin a hard look clearly displeased by the news and the fact it had been stated in her presence. “I’ll deal with them.” He murmured into her hair. She nodded mutely keeping her eyes on the floor as she anxiously ran her fingers through Moni’s fur. “Jin, could you have Jungkook come up and stay with her?”

“Jungkook’s here?” She asked her eyes flying up to meet his.

“He got back the other day. He wanted to see you, but you were still sleeping. He’s been staying in one of the guest rooms.” The smile that Namjoon sent her was warm, indulgent. He was far too relieved to see her displaying some sort of emotion that he didn’t even care it was directed towards another man. “Would you like to see him?”

“Yeah.”  

Namjoon smiled placing a soft kiss to her forehead as he stood up. “I’ll be back after I deal with this.”

“Okay.”

Namjoon and Jin walked out together leaving her curled on the sofa with Moni. The drama still played softly in the background though both men knew that she wasn’t really paying attention to it. She wasn’t herself, and they both knew it.  

“Has she spoken at all?”

“Not much more than you heard.” He sighed leaning against the wall outside of the room. “She asked me to stay.”  He huffed out a laugh with a sad smile. “You and I both knew she wouldn’t do that unless something was wrong.”

“She’s been through a lot. As much as she doesn’t like you, you are familiar at this point. Her entire world just got turned on its head. She needs familiarity. You, me, Jungkook. She needs people who care for her right now. She’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she’s, Y/N. She’s tougher than she looks, she’s just a little fragile right now.”

“Who let those bastards in the house?” He growled pushing off the wall to go deal with the pests that had invaded his home.

“They demanded entrance, claimed they had business with you. Hoseok’s with them now.”

He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well let’s see what the bastards want. Can you send Jungkook to sit with Y/N?”

“Of course.” Jin nodded. “I’ll hook her up to a new saline bag as well. We’ll see if Jungkook can get her to eat anything else.”

“Thank you, hyung.”

Namjoon was practically seething by the time they got to the parlor where Miss In and Hoseok stood guard over the two unwanted visitors. Miss In might not have looked like much, but she was nothing if not loyal to Namjoon. She ran the house with an iron fist so that Namjoon could run his business in the same way without worrying over his home. Hoseok would not hesitate to put a bullet into the heads of the other gang’s members. He was a loyal to Namjoon more so than any of his other men.

“What can I do for you gentleman?” Namjoon asked leisurely strolling into the room giving them a cold smile in greeting.

Jackson stood up whirling around to face Namjoon. “Where’s Y/N?” Namjoon ignored him choosing instead to settle himself into a chair across from the two men. “Where is she?” Jackson repeated glaring at the other man.

“Y/N doesn’t want to see you.” He drawled taking pleasure in the man’s clear annoyance.

“Of course she wants to see me. You can’t keep her away from me.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Wang, that Y/N does not want to see you. She’s been unwell and hasn’t wanted any visitors, especially not you.”

Jackson frowned clenching his fists. “Y/N would never refuse to see me, and what do you mean she’s been unwell?”

“She’s been unwell.” He shrugged purposefully keeping his answer vague partly to protect Y/N’s privacy and partly to annoy the other man.

“You said. What’s wrong with her?” He gritted out trying to restrain himself from jumping on the other man, but this was RM’s domain, and it would do no good to cause problems when Y/N’s safety was dependent on this man.

“I don’t think she would like you to know.” He smiled the expression dark and cold. “You did after all betray her.”

“I did no such thing!” Jackson shouted jumping up from his seat only to be pulled down by Mark.

“Control yourself.” He sighed. “Yelling isn’t going to get you any closer to seeing Y/N.”

“I’m afraid that neither of you will be seeing Y/N today. She has very clearly requested not to see you.”

“Where is she?”

“That is none of your concern.” Namjoon drawled. “She has asked not to see you. I intend to honor that request.”

“You can’t keep her away from me. She’s my sister.”

“And what kind of brother fails to protect his little sister?” Namjoon shot back cruelly.

“She was never supposed to marry you.” Jackson hissed. “She never should have been here in the first place. She never should have met a bastard like you.”

Namjoon froze the tension in the room rising as he levelled Jackson with a dark look. “She was always meant for me.” He smirked the expression cold, almost feral in nature as he stared at the other man. “Do you really think you could protect her? You? She’s better off here with me than she ever was with you.”

Jackson scoffed and leaning forward with a manic twinkle in his eye. “You think she’ll ever love you?”  He grinned the expression lacking any warmth or humor. “She won’t. She’s too good to degrade herself like that.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed dangerously his grin almost feral as he looked at the other man. “You think she would be any better off with you?”  The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he spoke. “You couldn’t even manage to get her more than an hour away before your bumbling attempt at a rescue was foiled. Did you really think you could take her away from me? The only reason you aren’t dead is because she didn’t want you dead. The only reason your bumbling crew was given the time of day was because you had the audacity to claim her as kin.”

“I want to make something perfectly clear to you, Mr. Wang. Y/N has never been and never will be your kin. She is my wife, and once the wedding is over, you will never see her again.”  

“You have no right!”

“I have every right! You may not like it, but Y/N is my wife. She will remain my wife, and you will fade into obscurity especially after your spectacular failure of a rescue. She was willing to sacrifice herself for you, if only you hadn’t lied to her.” He sighed false sympathy dripping from his tone. “She was quite heartbroken you know.”

“You bastard!”

“Is that any way to talk to your betters?” Namjoon quirked a brow unamused by the man across from him who was practically vibrating with anger.

“Just let me see her!”

“No. Out of the question. I won’t have you upsetting her any more than you already have.”  He scoffed elegantly crossed his legs leisurely leaning back in his seat. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’ve outstayed your welcome. Hoseok!” He called and almost instantaneously the red haired man was by his side. “Could you escort our guests out? And make sure that the gate knows that they are not welcome at the estate again.” He turned his cold gaze on the two men again sending them a smile that sent chills down both of their spines. “If you have any further business with me, you can do it through official channels, not at my home.”

part 24

[wrathofthewind]

iv. Child

A bowl of hot soup hadn’t been the trick. Once Arnalt had taken that young boy to his palace from the Jungles of Tahr, it required several bowls, more than a few butchered pigs and quite the large amount of bags of rice. The boy was insatiable. It wasn’t a normal appetite either, any stomach would’ve given out. It shouldn’t have been so alarming, but with rumours of his status as a Kurian child, the state in which he arrived, the hunger with which he ate�� in an unrefined matter no less, it didn’t take long for the kitchen staff to stop sending out dishes.

“More.” Arnalt demanded, his chilly gaze sweeping over the service.

“Sire… we, we’re not able to continue.”

“What, did we run out of chickens? Is the State in my name so devoid of birds?”

The servant daren’t speak, but they had already crossed a line. Any other household would have them released. That’s probably what they wanted.

“Here then,” Arnalt tossed his bow and signaled with his chin towards the bag of arrows in the corner of the room. “Go hunt something then. Pallax!”

Pallax came walking swiftly.

“Can it be we really ran out of chickens?”

“Sire, they…”

He waited for the servant to clear the room. Nervous glances thrown sideways at both him and Tyssen.

“They don’t want to keep… feeding a Kurian.”

Arnalt pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly rubbed it, eyes closed.

The boy started coughing behind them. Arnalt approached him and slapped his back, making him spit a bone.

“No wonder you’re choking. Slow down!”

Pallax grimaced.

Nobody wanted to touch the Kurian, or look at the Kurian, or acknowledge it was there anymore. But Pallax was a loyal vassal, and willingly stepped in to try and place a fork and knife or other cutlery on the child’s hand.

Arnalt smiled at him brightly. “Thank you.”

It disturbed Pallax momentarily, who nearly dropped the fork. But just as quickly, Arnalt was once again stern-faced and pacing the room. He then sat in front of the child on the table.

“You.”

The boy didn’t pay attention, so he snapped his fingers in front of his face to draw his eyes. “Yes, you. What’s your name?”

“Mar… Marius.” He tried to speak between mouthfuls. “Marius Ihnat di Aedan.”

“So you do speak.” And had a strong name actually. Arnalt had already assumed the boy probably came from a wealthy merchant family, with the quality of his tattered clothes and the few jeweled accessories they found in his pockets. It seemed he might be of one with rank and title too.  

“What about your age? You look about 7? 8? Do you know how to count?” Arnalt raised his palm up to try and signal the numbers with his fingers.

“12.” He chewed the remaining bits of rice and potatoes in his mouth and swallowed briskly, immediately reaching for another bowl of soup and drinking it down, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down with large gulps.

Arnalt and Pallax both blinked, looked at each other, then back at Marius.

“That’s… then why do you look so…” Pallax said.

Arnalt lifted a hand to stop him. “Nevermind, so you’ve been quite hungry haven’t you?”

Marius nodded and finally seemed to be done with the food he could safely consume. He burped generously and quickly covered his mouth.

Arnalt snorted, while Pallax looked offended beyond belief. “Such lack of manners in front of his Highness, how dare—“

“It’s alright, he doesn’t understand what I am.”

“You’re the prince.” Marius said simply, his eyes suddenly wide and honest. “You’re the seventeenth prince, his royal highness Arnalt Azuria. The Eagle.”

He sounded like a pamphlet. Arnalt was mildly shocked. “Right.”

“…”

“Where are you from?”

“…”

“How did you end up in the Jungles?”

“…”

And the most difficult question. “Where are your parents.”

“They’re gone.” Marius looked down, fixating on his lap.

“I see.” Arnalt didn’t know what else to say.

“I know what they say. I know I’m cursed. Is it true this is my last meal?”

A lightbulb suddenly popped in Arnalt’s head. He started laughing heartily, slamming his fist on the table and shaking all over with his head lowered. “Is this why you’ve eaten all my chickens? Hahaha!”

Pallax was mortified.

Marius’s eyes watered.

“You silly child. I was just confirmed and crowned into the Azurian pantheon thanks to that Vegna Spyralia you carried in your fist.” Arnalt felt his face grow a little hot suddenly, having called him a child wasn’t quite right, considering he was only 4 years younger, but his body looked so young he couldn’t help himself. He wondered how long he’d been malnourished in those Jungles. It must’ve been several years. How did he learn to speak so eloquently? Why did he know his name, rank and title? How was he informed of the goings on of the world? Did he sneak out of Tahr? He might’ve unknowingly contaminated others so Arnalt made a mental note to order a full territory sweep. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, I’ve granted you my Mercy. You will not die under my watch, you hear me?”

The boy’s wet eyes blossomed, his arm immediately coming up to wipe at his suddenly wet cheeks.

Arnalt thought it was both a silly and happy occasion, so he kept laughing to Pallax’s horror. “Now, now, no need to cry. You’re safe.”

“I see.” Marius said, his voice trembling. “In that case…” he sniffed and composed himself, straightening his shoulders. “Use me as you will. I pledge myself to your house.” Marius lowered his head solemnly. It was a bit amusing coming from someone so young, who looked so much younger than his age.

Arnalt smiled, his chin resting leisurely on the back of his hand. “As you wish.”

***

With the battle aganist Ithana squared away and scheduled, and a few other council duties and reprimands already brought over to his desk, Arnalt wrapped up the final tasks of the day and went back to the kitchen quarters. 

He entered Marius’s chambers like a sudden gust, a heavy bag strapped on his back.

Marius instantly moved to stand from the bed where he’d been resting from his relentless training, no doubt ready to assist with the bag, but Arnalt had already sat down in front of him, and Marius remained with his torso raised but the rest of him firmly laying on the bed. He awkwardly tried shifting so that he could at least move into a more formal sitting position, even if the coarse robes he wore could never lend an air of formality to the situation, at the very least his posture could contribute. Next to him was a bowl of hot soup made with chicken stock, boiled chicken strips, corn and sliced potatoes, prepared exactly as they’d been years ago when he was still a child.

Arnalt had gone to the kitchen to order it and asked the staff to keep it coming throughout the night. Naturally he wouldn’t deliver something like that himself, and he didn’t want to make it so important that Marius would suddenly inquire about it.

A servant came in with another bowl and this time Arnalt waved a hand. “Alright that’s the final one, you’re dismissed and no need to send more until the morning.”

The servant quietly placed the bowl on the small wooden table next to Marius’s bed and just as quietly shuffled out of the room--their steps eagerly faster as they were allowed to leave.

Arnalt kept staring with an icy glare which to others would’ve seemed combative but to Marius merely showed Arnalt was deep in thought. It was still a little nerve-wracking, his whole countenance was already so cool and refined, like a porcelain doll with marble grey eyes. At times it felt like staring into a storm, and others like speaking to a stone. The eerie silence begged to be broken.  

“So, now can I say this is my last meal?” Marius said.

Arnalt was surprised by the sheer cheek of that remark. “Your humor is astounding.” And also how perceptive! Just like that, the porcelain glimmered back to life and a bit of peachy softness rose up, as if Arnalt was ashamed to have found that particular joke charming. 

“My impulse is to punish you, everything that’s happened, everything you’ve done, it’s all led to this. This is your fault. You need to bear responsibility. I did my best to warn you and you still won’t listen. And don’t say your duty is to protect me.” Arnalt pre-emptively raised his hand to pause Marius’s reply. “Your duty, first and foremost is to serve, and to listen. I expect my orders followed. Now with everything coming up, this time you will follow instructions precisely or so help me Aegerian gods I will deliver you to the Glaes Winterlands myself.”

Marius glanced at Arnalt’s fist. It was clenched unconsciously. Arnalt quickly released it. 

“Tomorrow, I’ll duel Ithana to secure a vote in your favor in the High Council.”

“As if a vote would matter much...” Marius muttered.

“Of course a vote matters for shit.” Arnalt exclaimed. “I’ll just act as a distraction.”

“My Lord-- why would... that’s not--” Marius looked deeply uncomfortable and ready to jump in and make some bold statement, but Arnalt cut in before he could even start.

“And you, so-called hellhound of Kur,” Arnalt threw the bag he’d been carrying on his back on the ground, a weight off his shoulders that was so visible his body practically lifted once he’d let that bag go, “you’ll run away.”

Marius paled. 

“This is where we say our goodbyes. May you have a good life.”

He couldn’t understand why Marius looked so shocked, or why his fists clenched. 

True, his life might be difficult outside of the palace of the 17th Prince, but he could manage at least a few weeks on his own before anyone recognized his identity. There were ways to hide the marks that made him a Kurian. Either way, the boy had been extensively trained and should if anything find some manual labor in a small village somewhere. 

They both heard a few hard steps and then the door slid, Tyssen had entered and bowed quickly. “Your highness, I’ve arranged everything.”

“Tyssen will brief you on your escape route.” Arnalt stood up.

Marius quickly rose to his feet. “My Lord, wait I—!”

“Make sure he memorizes that map tonight and have him equipped by dawn. I’ll try to keep the battle going until noon.”

Even Tyssen’s eyes widened, but he knew better than to contradict. He bowed once more. “Yes, your Highness, and-- Calm down you!” He pushed Marius back and locked the door as Arnalt left.

Arnalt heard Marius yelling behind him. “My Lord please reconsider. This is impossible! My Lord listen—!”

But Arnalt quickly walked away to avoid changing his mind. This was as much as he could do, battle Ithana until his body gave out, at least by then Marius would have escaped, and he would’ve kept his word.

Marius would absolutely not die under his watch. And he’d already made as much use of Marius’s oath as he could. The boy had downright become a liability anyway. 

Even if the idea of remaining in the arena, standing, for seven hours straight against Ithana… was probably exactly as Marius had said: impossible.

Well fuck impossible.

Arnalt unconsciously gripped his Aerial ring between two fingers and turned it nervously. After a while, he’d already let go. 

[split-n-splice]

Sometimes those who are bad do good while those who are good do bad with good intentions. A kidnapping and a brief encounter between villain wannabe and a hero-to-be.

Pre-Team Go. Just thinking about origins and adjusting to new powers. I fancy the idea that Drakken and Shego go “way back.”

Chapters: 3 Words: 12k Warnings: violence, language (Updated with revised version Feb, 2020!)

[Chapter Guide]

Chapter 1

Save for the rhythm of her own breath and the hum of a fluorescent she’d grown deaf to, her chambers had been dead silent for hours on end until the lull was broken by the long-awaited click of the lock and the quiet swish of the door opening.

“Subject B?” came the wavering call of an uncertain man.

The teenager’s lip almost quirked into a smirk. Almost. Fresh meat, she thought wryly.

Her arms were bent uncomfortably over her head, shielding her eyes from the infinite light above as she lay on her cot. For quite some time now, she’d had nothing better to do other than sleep until she ached and then some. If only sleep was easy to come by.

The footsteps neared. “I’m your, uhm. Psychiatrist.” He waited. She’d leave him hanging, she decided. “Hello? Are you awake?” Another moment passed. The footsteps began to retreat, and she heard him mutter impatiently to himself, “I must be in the wrong sector.”

The girl sat upright then with great exertion, lifting a heavy cast over her head. She slumped forward and glowered down to her hands secured and bound together in the slipshod plaster cocoon before squinting up against the searing white light as a man in a crisp blue suit came into focus.

“M’name’s not Subject B,” she rasped, voice hoarse from thirst and lack of use. A far more interesting glass of water on the homey little nightstand beside her cot drew her attention away from the stranger, reminding her how parched she was. She’d been encouraged to break her strike for a while now – she’d lost count of the days she’d been on it, honestly – and though she was presently hooked to an IV to treat dehydration, she was still holding fast to her conditions: let her go or she’d find a way to self-destruct. So far the tactic wasn’t working.

Her visitor said something she didn’t catch – the damn water had her fixated. She could have – should have – knocked it over hours ago, or maybe days ago, but what if another glass never came—?

The girl shook her head and tore her eyes away from the tempting glass. She scrunched her nose as if smelling something foul as she studied the spectacled man again. “You look too young to be a psychiatrist,” she deadpanned. “Mommy still do your laundry? Looks like she dresses you too.”

Something she said must have struck a nerve. “Listen, you snot-nosed little brat—” the man began, but she lurched to her feet. The wobble of her knees couldn’t have been threatening but her glare must have done something. She liked to think so anyway.

“This snot-nosed little brat left yesterday’s psychiatrist’s face looking like a Picasso,” she hissed venomously, and raised her trapped hands a little as evidence before dropping them. “So watch your mouth.” She couldn’t do much to him in her present state, but he seemed on edge just enough for threats alone to be sufficient.

When she took a step forward, IV stand scooting along with her, the man took a step back. Her eyes darted to the floor. She almost smiled, but he was talking again. “Is that what that is about?” He gestured with his clipboard to her bound hands. “Why?”

The girl arched her brow at the perplexed inquiry. There wasn’t an inkling of sarcasm. She looked down to the plaster keeping her primary means of defense at bay. She was sure she could burn the cast off, but not without burning herself again in the process. Her skin was already raw and blistered from earlier attempts to burn her way to freedom. Having a go at her last doctor had been the last straw. They’d said the improvised cast was only a temporary quick fix. They’d said it was to keep her from hurting herself, like a cone on a dog – but that had been a load. The burns lacing her palms and knuckles might have gotten the attention they needed if she weren’t so obstinate, but she’d hardly let anyone near enough to check on her in days.

She’d been a lab rat under observation for months – ever since the organization holding her in custody had caught wind of something extraterrestrial practically leveling her neighborhood. She hadn’t been compliant with their studies.

The snapping of fingers made her blink. An almost concerned look crossed the man’s face. He was stupid enough to take a step closer. He opened his mouth to repeat the question but she cut him off.

“If you’d read my file, you would know what it’s for.” She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion as he scrambled to flip through the scant pages on his clipboard. “There was even a hazard sign posted outside the door, last I saw.”

“I – uh – I’m just making small talk. Of course, I’ve read your file,” he said, a tentative smile quivering.

The girl glanced to the floor again, to the painted red caution line marking the boundary behind him, and a second marking a boundary through the center of the barren room between them, her own personal invisible fence. If he was a stuttering idiot because he was scared, he would have taken the proper precautions when confronting her. She did the math. Something didn’t add up right. “Then you wouldn’t have crossed the line,” she stated in a quiet mutter, eyes fixating on the particular warning line three steps behind him. Personnel without guards were unauthorized to cross it, and as of yet, no doctor had even risked seeing her alone.

Dragging the IV stand behind her, she approached the center of the room, the invisible barrier clear only to her. The tingle of a thick mechanical collar around her throat became noticeable, heating up in warning.

“Line?” uttered the young man, face scrunching as he looked down and all around. By the time he’d noticed them, the warning lines, the sound of her hacking something made his spectacled eyes snap back to her.

She really didn’t want to encourage being muzzled too, but she was in a bad mood. Without pausing to think twice, she spat what could only be described as a plasma loogie his way. The man leapt back with a startled yelp, both disgusted and frightened as the green flame bubbled and burned itself out in a tiny pit in the linoleum. Her throat burned like she’d swallowed a hot coal and she choked on the aftertaste, but it had been worth it for the look on the stranger’s face.

Her eyes watered. The glass of water had never been more tempting. “How’s that for snot-nosed, huh?” she coughed, caught between laughter and choking. She smiled wider than she had in days, or maybe weeks. How long had she been here? Long enough for her hair to grow back long enough to tickle her ears again. She didn’t want to think about it.

She focused her heated glare back on the livid man, who now stood a safe distance out of her spitting range marked clearly in the floor by a dozen other divots and of course the red paint. “Why, you little!” he seethed, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

“You’re not the shrink they sent to get inside my head,” she decided, making her way back to her cot. “So who are you?” Talking was getting to be too exhausting, but she could use some relief from the monotony of this hell of solitary confinement. They’d tried to give her a television and other enrichment, but that had been one of the things she’d fired at that had gotten her hands bound up. They kept telling her to behave and cooperate like Subjects A and C and they’d let her go in no time – but she had her doubts and had become increasingly volatile since this had all started a month or two or three or more ago. She didn’t even know if her brothers had really been released or if something worse had befallen them. She hadn’t seen them since they were put into custody for observation.

The man said something else she didn’t catch as she flopped down in her cot and instantly regretted doing so a little bit, the jolt making her body ache ever more and the IV tug in her arm. She leaned awkwardly on her elbows to study the glass at eye level, resting her chin on the nightstand. She had the worst case of heartburn right now. Her eyes stung.

She expected the man to be done with this session and leave to tattle on her for spitting acid at him. To at least take some notes if he was, in fact, her new psychiatrist. Something.

But after a moment and a thoughtful hum, his footsteps neared instead, crossing the warning line again.

The girl twisted around to glare back incredulously at him. He held the clipboard under his arm and was fidgeting with something with an antenna in his palm. “Why don’t we take a little walk, Subject B?” he suggested.

She thought she recognized what he held but she wasn’t sure, maybe it was just a radio or—

“No thanks, I’m good,” she said quickly, scrambling to her knees and pressing herself into the farthest corner, folding her legs up to her chest. Her heart started to pound.

What was this sketchy doctor playing at? He must realize he was playing with fire. Was he brave or just stupid?

She tried to swallow as he approached but she was too parched. She couldn’t even draw upon the green alien fire to spit in defense this time.

In the back of her mind, the state of her dress became a concern and she squeezed her legs tighter to her chest. A dress – that was all they gave her – a dress and nothing else, no shoes, no underwear, just the bare necessity to keep her decent. Suddenly the dress didn’t concern her anymore. Pants never warded off grubby hands much anyway, she supposed.

Flight wasn’t an option. Fight kicked in.

The man had a lot of gall to reach down for her, but she kicked out at him, targeting his groin but her heel making contact with his stomach instead. It knocked the wind out of him at least, and for a split second she fancied the thought of cracking the cast open like a coconut on his stupid head – but he was recovering too soon, and frankly she was too exhausted from malnutrition to fight a grown man, even a sort of scrawny one like him.

He glared hard down at her and held up the device to wiggle mockingly. She blanched. It was exactly what she’d thought it was – it went to the damned obedience collar locked around her neck to keep her under control for those special occasions she went batshit. It even kept her behind the invisible barrier. He must have seen the fear flicker in her eyes because he grinned maliciously.

Her stomach turned.

“You know, it’s funny,” he ground out, not particularly amused as he stood back and held the device out of reach when she lunged for it, forgetting for a second that she couldn’t grab at things in this state. His hand on her head was enough to hold her at bay. She could have bitten him. She wanted to. She scowled instead and threw herself back against the wall, legs tucked tight again. “When I stole it, I thought this was the remote to the inexhaustible nuclear weapon I heard rumor of Global Justice obtaining. It goes to something alright, but I’m not sure about the weapon being inexhaustible. Or nuclear. Hm.”

He studied the remote as if it determining the ripeness of a piece of fruit in a produce aisle, and then looked back down at her. “Oh well,” he sang, idly spinning a knob of settings like some sort of wheel of misfortune that made her heart thunder. “I suppose it still functions for the intended purpose, but I wasn’t expecting the weapon to be some kid.”

The sick bastard was just plain taunting her now. “I’m a freshman,” she snapped. Or at least she was supposed to be.

She didn’t have time to argue about it, bracing herself again to thrash when the questionable doctor stooped over her a second time.

The man was wrestling her for her arms now. “Don’t be a pill! I’m as displeased about this as you are,” the man assured her unsympathetically.

She tried screaming, even though she knew her chances of getting any help were slim to none. She’d already cried wolf countless hours before – so any guards in the area were desensitized to her screams and whoever was on monitor duty must be napping on the clock or there would have been an intervention by now.

“What are you doing?” she squawked, writhing and kicking, but her weak legs were useless in prying off her assailant.

“You don’t need this where we’re going. Just – ow! Stop that!”

A headbutt only dealt her more harm than him. She was dazed just long enough for him to get a grip on her, and she nearly resumed her thrashing again until she realized his target was the IV in her arm. She went rigid then. She wasn’t keen on having it simply ripped out. She hadn’t eaten in days but she felt like puking when she finally surrendered, if only for the moment. Pressing her face to the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sight. It didn’t help knowing he was holding the remote carelessly between his teeth now as he worked to remove the catheter – she didn’t want to think about the voltage burns that could be inflicted by the accidental press of a button.

The vinegar breath and entire weight of his presence backed off suddenly, the foreign object dislodged from her flesh as well. She stared at the little piece of gauze taped over the site, a dot of blood blooming already.

“Now,” said the man with an exhausted huff of frustration as he stood back from her. He tried to smooth his hair back into place and pointed the remote at the door. “How about that walk?” His eyes narrowed at her bare feet as the cautious girl put them on the floor. “I don’t suppose you have any shoes—?”

“No.”

“Huh. You know, you’d really think they’d be more hospitable than that,” he uttered, stupefied for a second. She didn’t have a chance to ask him to clarify who they were. The man shook his head then and shuffled away, fidgeting with the controller and then aiming it back at her.

The girl tensed when she saw his thumb hover over the control pad and heard the tiny beep.

She waited.

There was no electric shock, no heat, no choking – nothing they’d used against her to get her under control when typical civilized methods failed.

There was, however, the sudden absence of a barely-perceivable vibration she’d grown numb to.

She started to reach for her throat, blinking in surprise, but remembered about her plaster-bound hands and dropped them. She stretched her jaw instead and tried to swallow, readjusting to the missing sensation. “Would feel better if it was off,” she rasped.

The sketchy doctor was leaned out the door, peeking into the hall. He scoffed as he looked back at her incredulously. “I don’t think so.”

“Can’t blame me for trying,” she sighed.

“Let’s go, Subject B.”

“I have a name.”

He sighed impatiently and rolled his wrist at her in encouragement. “Then what is it?” he demanded in a hiss.

No question about it. Her eyes narrowed at the phony doctor’s back as she followed two steps behind him down the blinding white halls. “Are you kidding me?” she balked. “It’s on my paperwork.” She knew that much, even if she hadn’t been called by name in months. And in any case, phony or not, he should have at least known what he was targeting.

“Yes, well, I didn’t read them, so—”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Of course you didn’t. You’re not a real doctor.”

“Am too.”

“Are not.”

“You little sh— shush!” he snipped under his breath, whirling on her. He might have poked her in the chest with a sharp finger if she was standing any closer, but instead he jabbed at the air. “I demand you behave yourself and act natural. Don’t make me use the, the uh—” He waved the device menacingly. “This.”

“Obedience collar,” she supplied. The young man glowered, nostrils flaring, holding his tongue. She sighed, shoulders sagging. “Whatever. I’ll play along.” It should be pretty fun when he got busted and it sure beat sitting around doing nothing for another day, she decided.

“Thank you,” he said, spinning back around.

A couple minutes passed as she followed the man through twisting corridors and security doors that took a mere sweep of a card to open. It was soon clear he’d lost his sense of direction by his frown. “You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” she whispered behind him, making him jump. “You didn’t think this through at all.”

“I – I did too,” he hissed back. His hands flailed in the air, gesturing at her in frustration. “I just wasn’t expecting – augh!” He bit back a curse and skulked ahead, hands still flapping. “You were supposed to be a thing. Like a gun or something.”

“Sorry I’m inconvenient.” She rolled her eyes. “What do you plan to do with me?”

The man glared over his shoulder and swiped his pass card again. “Keep moving.”

She wasn’t one to be rushed, and certainly not by a bumbling idiot. He looked about ready to throw her over his shoulder to speed things up, but she doubted he had the muscle to do so. Then again, she’d lost quite a bit of weight recently. She was probably as light as an armful of kindling by now. She certainly felt like a walking stick anyway.

Following the stupid black mop ahead of her became the only thing keeping her legs moving, like following the white rabbit down the rabbit hole. She was zoning out again, the man’s complaints never quite reaching her ears. Every once in a while, the sketchy young doctor looked back to frown at her or wave the remote in threat, and his grip wrapped around her arm at one point to all but drag her along when she paused to rest.

They passed legitimate personnel, typical doctors and science geeks in white lab coats, in the hall at one point, and she was vaguely aware of the intruder beside her straightening up and fixing his pokerface. Act natural. Whatever that meant. She walked along, feet dragging on the cold linoleum, like the prisoner she was, on her way to whatever destination her phony doctor had prescribed for her.

And then they were outside. The hot air hit her like a wall, every fiber of her being soaking up the evening sunlight. She had to stop to enjoy the moment, even if the blacktop was searing hot underfoot. It was nothing compared to the fire she’d been burdened with.

She was being manhandled again, shoved into a car and pushed down to the floorboard. “Hide there until I give the all-clear,” the phony doctor instructed, throwing his jacket down at her face. She got the hint. She was being smuggled out. She had her doubts how well it would work, and almost voiced her criticism from beneath the cover when she heard a spoken exchange above.

She held her breath. Crouching beneath a glovebox like some sort of lumpy painfully-obvious frog had to be one of the stupidest things she’d done, but it was too late to suggest the trunk as a better hiding place.

Moments after the brief chat with the gatekeeper, there was a light rap against her head and she climbed out of the cranny, collapsing back into the passenger seat and heaving a sigh from all the exertion.

“So what flavor of hell does my new captor have for me?” she wondered idly, head lolling to study the man. “Rape, murder, desecration – the standard procedure? Wow me already. Say something. Cripes you’re boring. You’re not very good at kidnapping.”

He pushed his glasses back up his button nose, grimaced, and shook his head. He was chewing on something he didn’t want to say.

As they hit the highway, he almost commanded she put on her seatbelt, but she held up her bound hands before he could finish the word, and he groaned, reaching over to fumble for it himself to stretch over her awkwardly.

“Thanks,” she said dryly.

He only grunted in reply.

She slumped uncomfortably against the window, the vibration of the wheels covering ground soon lulling her effortlessly to dreamland.

[bijoulilou]

After TWK part iv

Liliver is a bit frantic as she tugs on Van's sleeve. He's busy rummaging through his pockets for the wine he just nicked, completely clueless to what was unraveling just a short distance away. Their leader of the court of shadows, the human that she once worried about was turning out to be transitioning quite smoothly. Not only did Jude come to accept her exile in human world, she came to accept life with out her King. Cardan stood against a darkened lamp post watching, silent.

When Van does manage to look up, he goes into his pocket to retrieve a flask of heartier liquor than the tame wine of man. His King takes it without question and takes a draught out of it before handing it back. Then he takes the wine and drinks that too. Liliver and Van exchange looks, it seems they're going to have to carry him back. If they can manage that without drawing attention. Which ironically enough, they most certainly could. They just didn't want to.

Unbeknownst to the mortals in question who just finished going on their date, they sprang apart when a front door opened. Vivi stood on the top stair of their apartment, a triumphant curve of her lips with Oak at her hip sharing a look mirrored the disapproval of other parties hiding in the dark. They were in pajamas with mismatched mugs of ice cream in their hands. Tom blushed and Jude cleared her throat to hide her embarrassment.

"Hey, I thought you weren't going to stay out late?" Vivi surveys them with a slow sweep of her bright cat eyes. "Are we interrupting something?" She leans against the door, lazily surveying her ice cream.

Jude's eyes narrow, "I told you not to wait up. Oak, what are you doing out of bed?"

Oak doesn't hide his irritation, "You were supposed to read to me until I fall asleep. We do it every night now, why should tonight be any different? Is it because he's here?"

Tom shifts uncomfortably behind Jude as she tries to give them an answer, any answer to just make them go away. Jude sighs and apologizes for her insincerity and promises to go inside if they'd just give her a minute. Her siblings tsk and close the door, Oak sits by the window to stare at them until Vivi drags him away and closes the blinds.

They both awkwardly laugh, not knowing how else to get back where they left off. Tom traces the curve of her face with his fingers, gently drawing back her hair to get a better look at Jude. Once again, her skin feels to warm. More embarrassed then nervous at her lack of experience with mortal men. Her hand reaches up to press his closer and then she casually takes it away. She isn't used to being touched like this, to be given adoring straightforwardness attention. She admits this when Tom tries to apologize. In all of Jude's life, she can barely recall this much tenderness in such a short amount of time. Or maybe she's forgotten, she confesses.

"I find that hard to believe," Tom hears a noise but chooses to ignore it, "Were your past relationships not so caring?"

Jude doesn't know what to say, her eyes stay trained in the floor as she tries to unscramble her thoughts.

"Or, is it that you've never been in a relationship at all." He draws out slowly. When Jude doesn't respond he reacts surprised, "That I find harder to believe."

"Its complicated." Jude stays silent. The pause drawn out for things that can't be said, Tom starts regretting his choice of words. But Jude stops him. "Don't feel bad. It's an honest response." She smiles without mirth before going on, "The thing is Tom...I'm already married. Well sort of. But we're estranged at the moment, so to speak." Jude heard these words from her clients who were vaguely similar situations.

Tom doesn't say anything right way, nor does he take his hand out of hers.

"Do you think you two will work it out?" He asks, a sense of dread fills him as he stares at their intertwined fingers.

"Its not like that. I can't go back without endangering my livelihood. It's not that easy." Once again there's that humorless smile across her lips.

He straightens up at her words and puts his hands on either side of her face, "Did they hurt you?"

She shakes her head and laughs at his embolden bravery and kisses his palm to soften the sound. This beautiful person that she just met has no idea, not even an inkling of what his actions would cost him. Of the regret he would surely feel after dealing with the treacherous fae, her adopted people.

Tom leans to kiss her and their lips touch, but the excitement is gone. For her at least. There was a rush of adrenaline that sparked beneath her skin. She hoped it would warm her and it did, but for only a moment. Jude deepens the kiss, maybe if they pressed themselves closer that hunger of hers would be satiated. Right before she could get an answer, Tom is ripped away from her and she's in shock at who stands before her.

"I've had enough of this." Cardan in ill concealed glamour glares haughtily at Tom. Jude's hands tremble, out of anger and embarrassment. Tom lays on the ground wincing and she moves to help him. "NO!" He hisses. Them out of the shadows come Van and Liliver, at a loss of words to defend their King. Without taking his eyes away from Jude he commands them,"Take him home. Erase his memories of tonight."

"What?! No!" Jude moves towards Tom, whose face has already been enamoured into a daze. Cardan blocks her and she is forced to watch as the two faeries she once confided in carry him away. A sickening ache starts to break open in her chest and she cannot bear one more second in Cardan's presence unarmed. She turns away from him, her feet mechanically leading her to the door. Unable to comprehend what just took place.

"We made vows Jude." Cardan says when the silence gets the best of him. His hands are balled up into fists as Jude faces away from him. She crumbles against the door, her shoulders shake and a small cry escapes her lips. Jude presses her hand against her lips to muffle the sound. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know if she'll even let him touch her and console her over what he just did. At what he's done.

After a moment, Jude turns around, there are no tears just red eyes. Her hands still trembling as stares him down and says, "You. Are no king of mine. As soon as you placed me in exile, your vows ceased to mean anything to me."

Cardan recoiled, her words stung more then he expected. Anger rang in his voice, "Though you do not accept me as such I am still your King and therefore you are my Queen. That vow stays in place despite your flippant mortal feelings."

Jude takes a the next step off her stair, keeping her eyes fixated on Cardan. "Perhaps I should make this easier on you then, I no longer want to be the Queen of Nothing. Keep your crown and your twisted words. I don't want to be tied to you anymore than I have to be."

Cardan encloses the distance between them, his stance reminding her of the prince he was before she told Oak to give him the crown. "Its not up to you to break it." He towers over her and she can barely stand it. He smells of freshly turned earth, honeyed wine and rain. Her skin hums with anticipation and her pulse quickens in her ears. Cardan gives her a heavy lidded look.

"You're drunk." Her eyes land on the broken bottle that's behind him. Jude shakes her head in disbelief.

"When am I not? How is it that my wife has kissed another and here I stand taking accusations. Tell me Jude, was he any good at it? Is this as far as he's ever gotten?" He leans in to whisper in her ear. It sends shivers down her spine, but as far he knows she is not moved.

Jude laughs, a heartless guttural giggle escaping her lips. "What makes you think that? How are you sure I haven't brought him to my bed? " Cardan stiffens and it is her turn to taunt him, "You can't be. You'll never know if whether or not he spent the night. A mere mortal greening your queen's white gown." She leans in close and kisses him. Cardan feels his composure unraveling, bested by Jude's surprising move. He almost yields when she pulls away and whispers.

"Tell me King, how does my enamoured mortal taste?"

Cardan cannot respond. He is still reeling in from their kiss. So sweet and short it was almost like it didn't happen. His hands snap up around Jude and he kisses her. Perhaps he has finally snapped like everybody predicted he would. It could possibly be the stress of running the kingdom without counsel or maybe even the tart human wine. He doesn't care. Whatever it is has driven him mad and he runs his lips and tongue against Jude's, his hands get lost in her hair as her hands stay paralyzed against his chest he takes his fill of her, damned of the consequences before he pulls away. Jude is stunned with swollen lips as she stands at her doorstep as Cardan turns away. He calls out to her.

"Your mortal's lips have stained not only yours but my mouth as well. Surely you can understand I have only an acquired taste for your own. I'll be back Jude, to make sure you keep your vows as I've kept mine." And with that he leaves with company awaiting in the shadows.

[carbonitekisses]

IV: Trust and Promises

In which Jon and Sansa finally have a moment alone after his return to Winterfell. Also on AO3 

Her hand trembles slightly but the key turns the lock and the door swings in.

No.

I can't do this. Sansa takes a step back into the hallway. Not right now.

"Stay," he asks of her. Loud enough that she hears him, quiet enough that she is sure Brienne knows nothing of his presence in her rooms. She could leave and none would be the wiser.

Sansa was a lady at the age of three. A lady's courtesy is the only reason she takes one last painful draw of free air, steps into her room, and seals the exit.

Discreetly, she tries to steady her breathing though her lungs beg her to gasp and heave. Jon is here and Sansa will not show herself as weak in front of him. She thought she knew him, at least a little. She knew him as a king, a partner, and family. But then he left for Dragonstone against all counsel, and came back changed. He's still Jon. She still trusts him. And yet, Sansa's heart stutters in her chest and there is so little room, so little air, He left and came back as someone who's actions I do not understand...perhaps someone I did not ever really know. Jon remains standing, waiting for her to make the first move. Caught unawares and unprepared, it is an ambush she has walked into. Sooner or later a confrontation between them had to pass. She had rhetorically hoped it would never come. Pretend, that is all I can do for now. Pretend I am everything I am not—calm and indifferent. Varys and his little birds will have to wait. First, this. 

The lady of WInterfell confidently walks around Jon Snow and takes her place behind the great oak desk. I made the first move, let him be the first to break the silence and speak. 

// 

He hears her before he sees her.

“...only be a minute in my own rooms.”

Jon rises from the chair set before the desk just as she opens the door. He can tell she's been outside. The wind has played with her hair though the braids have done their duty in keeping it in place. Although she has been in the cold her cheeks lack the red that normally colors them after being in the winter wind. Jon would think her unwell but she shows no discomfort or uneasiness. Her left foot takes a backstep, ready to retreat into the hall. She can't leave. He can't let her. 

“Stay,” he whispers.

And she does. Reluctantly, he knows, but she stays.

She calmly closes the door behind her. He thinks of what to say to break the silence but Sansa's gaze passes over him. If Jon hadn't spoken and witnessed her surprise at seeing him in her rooms, he would think himself invisible. He watches her as she strides to sit behind her desk. Sansa blankly looks at him as he remains standing. She will not speak, fine. Then he will.

"Are you well?"

"Yes."

"Any news of import?"

"A lot has happened since you left the North."

The window behind her does little in keeping out the gales that push back against the castle walls. He is glad for it. The wind makes the silence between words slightly more bearable.

"And will you not tell me of this news?"

"First: how did you get in? I'm assuming Arya was involved?"

“Aye.” It took her less than a minute to pick the lock.

"Thank you."

Arya shakes her head as she works the metal pick into the lock. "Don't thank me. I'm not doing this for you." A final twist and the door unlocks. "I have my own reasons."

His little sister is harsher and sharper-edged but the sweet girl he remembers is still there. He wonders what else besides lock-picking she's learned during her time away from home.

"I don't trust her."

"Arya, she's your sis—"

"Our sister." She pushes the door open and steps aside so he can go in. "And I wasn't talking about Sansa; I've played the game with her. I have yet to play it with Daenerys Targaryen. Or with you."

"What game?"

She gives him a smile instead of an answer, and leaves.

“Where is she?” Sansa asks him. “Arya? I need to speak with her.”

Arya had mentioned going to the forges. The blacksmiths are hard at work, laboring day and night to make dragonglass weapons. Something tells him that if he told Sansa where Arya is she would leave in search of her. “I don't know,” he lies.

She says nothing, her eyes flicking to the closed door behind him. Yes, she would have left him to search for Arya.

Jon had arrived at Winterfell yesterday but right now is the first time Sansa and him are truly alone. Their reunion had been confined to their embrace in the courtyard. From there onwards, aside from the assembly in the hall, they spent the rest of the day in different parts of the keep, with different people, and different tasks. He knows his own reasons for avoiding her...what he doesn't know is why she avoided him. Since Castle Black, Jon has come to understand a little of what makes the woman that stands before him. She's strong-willed, persuasive, and unafraid to speak her mind. Jon had expected her to hunt him down like a she-wolf and bring him to heel, demand answers to the questions he knows have been simmering ever since he signed as 'Warden of the North' on that damned scroll. 

She never came.

“You've been avoiding me.” He knows she had avoided him. She must know he had avoided her. 

“And you, me,” she confirms. “We've been avoiding each other. Now we're not. Is that all you came here for?”

Her lack of feeling or care needles him.

“No. It's not. We need to talk.”

Without warning or apparent cause, placidness seems to replace her discordance. "Very well, then. What news do you want to hear of first?" She leans back and lays her arms on the chair's armrests. He sits, cautious and wary of her change in tone. "The food shortage, the fickleness of the northern lords, the tension between the Free Folk and northmen, Arya and Bran? Or perhaps we should discuss the newer concerns that arrived with Daenerys Targaryen. Varys' little birds, the hatred the north holds against Targaryens and Lannisters, the wight dragon, and, again, the food shortage."

"Little birds?" It's a term he hasn't heard of and the first topic that tumbles out of his mouth.

"Varys is called Master of Whispers for a reason," she replies drily, "Little birds, he calls them. Spies. Eyes and ears that report back to him, and often spread secrets and lies of their own. No conversation, secret, plan, or information is safe with them here. There is a reason Varys has survived three regencies. He's a dangerous man."

And you brought him here, is left unsaid. 

Jon swallows and tries to bring some moisture to his drying mouth. Spies in Winterfell that report to Varys and, by extension, to Daenerys. Daenerys who is quick to anger and impulsive. Northerners are not known for their tact or minding their tongues. If the assembly in the hall is anything to go by, Jon is sure these little birds will have an easy job of reporting how unwanted Daenerys is in the North. It is a problem he is not sure he can solve. It is a problem he didn't even know existed. How private is this conversation? Could there be a little bird in this very room? At least he knows Brienne is standing guard right outside. 

Speaking of dangerous men, "What of Baelish? I have yet to see him following you around the halls." He tries for humor in order to not betray his preoccupation, "Did Ghost frighten him away?"

There is a shift in her demeanor. Minutely, her hands tighten around the armrests. Her nostrils flare while she takes in a drag of air. Something happened between Baelish and her. "I love Sansa, as I loved her mother," Baelish had said. Jon should have killed the beady-eyed man when he had the chance. Instead, Jon left Sansa unprotected and alone with a man whose hungry stare never wavered from her.

"Don't worry. He's no longer your concern. Or a threat. Arya, Bran and I saw to that."

Unbidden, his gloved hand tightens. Muscle memory. Tendons and muscle move as he tries to choke a neck that is no longer there. "What happened? He made his intentions towards you very clear to me before I left."

"I don't want to talk about Littlefinger right now."

"Sansa." He says her name like a challenge. He doesn't know why he is so intent on this. He feels almost childish, fixated on a topic he can see she holds no love for. However, it is the first time that she has shown any matter of feeling or investment in this...conversation. And there is something dark and viscid within him that needs to know—that wants to break the veil of ice she is wearing. "I need to know," Sansa stiffens. "Did he—did he cross any boundaries he shouldn't have?"

"You 'need to know'?" Her head lowers, shaking humorlessly, until he can only see the braided rose that crowns her hair. Words are slow and pointed in coming out of her mouth. Her tongue seems to savor each syllable. "Funny, that, how you demand answers and explanations from me. How, suddenly, 'we need to talk'. We needed to talk several moons past, what use is talking now? My counsel and opinion doesn’t matter to you."

You're wrong. There are few people he can and does trust. He left the North in her steady and capable hands. He entrusted the safety of their people to her. She...she came into his life unexpectedly but he now finds himself unable to fathom a future without her—and the rest of his family. How can you doubt your importance to me? Or believe that your counsel and opinion doesn't matter? “It does matter—”

Her chair scrapes against the floor as she abruptly stands, and her hands grip the edge of the desk. “No, it doesn’t." As if surprised by the vehemency that coats her words, she blinks rapidly, and twists her face away from him. "One raven, Jon. That is all you cared to send." Her voice is hoarse; he surmises it is probably from anger. "You left our home and a kingdom we just reclaimed, to leave on a mission everyone advised you against because we couldn’t risk losing you. Moons without a single word, or scroll to at least let me know you were alive and well." She lifts a hand to wipe away a strand of auburn that escaped her braid. "And then when I do receive a raven it’s to let me know—not confer with or discuss—but to let me know that you bent the knee. Brienne told me of how you publicly pledged yourself to Daenerys at the Dragon Pit. No one aside from you and the Targaryen queen, not even Ser Davos, your hand, knew." 

He mimics her and stands just as harshly. Jon thought she trusted him. 'We need to trust each other'. They had promised atop Winterfell's battlements, hadn't they? "You weren't the one that had to negotiate with Daenerys. I was." Anger at her mistrust worms into his throat. Sansa wasn't kept prisoner with no access to her ship and weapons. She doesn't know of how tense the situation was. She doesn't know how volatile Daenerys' temper is. She criticizes him without knowing exactly what transpired on that thrice-damned island. "You have no idea what it was like, you only believe what you want to believe and accuse me of—of I don't know what."

"That's the problem! I have no idea because you refuse to confide in me!" Her gloveless hands release their grip on the desk. The lady of Winterfell draws her shoulders back and circles the desk to stand before him. The barrier between them is gone and at this close distance Jon can see a faint redness lining the white of her eyes. "You act like a lone wolf without thinking of the consequences. With the stroke of a quill, you sent a scroll renouncing a crown voluntarily given and voluntarily accepted," a breath shudders past the belt that tightly winds around her waist, "and it fell upon me to try and explain a situation I knew nothing of to the people that put their trust in the Stark name. Thrice now, a Stark king has lost the north. Did you believe the lords would accept a Targaryen queen as easily as you did? You know what the North has suffered at the hands of southern rulers—especially Targaryens. I'd almost wager many of them would rather die in the Long Night than submit once more to 'Fire and Blood'."

"Then they're fools," he says through clenched teeth. We're really all just Northern fools in the end. "Do you think the Night King cares about who holds what title? Titles don't matter—"

"Oh, yes they do," she cuts in, "What will happen after the war? After the Night King is defeated? You say you fight for the living but it seems you don't care or understand that life, the very thing you are fighting for, will continue on afterwards and the promises and pledges you have sworn will matter. Who rules over us, over the North, will matter. That you pledged northern men to fight for a bloody throne in the south will matter." Her volley of attacks leaves her winded and gasping. "You're a fool if you don't understand this."

"She has dragons, armies, and dragonglass. We need Daenerys, what don't you understand about that?" He isn't wearing the cloak Sansa made for him yet he feels himself warming underneath Sansa's clear disapproval. Sansa always gets under his skin. What does he have to do to gain her trust? "Without her we will not win this war. I've seen the Army of the Dead. I've fought them. Not even her dragons are safe. You heard Bran, the Night King now has a dragon of his own." Guilt at agreeing to go beyond the Wall for Daenerys' truce, the loss of Uncle Benjen, guides his eyes away from Sansa's penetrating gaze. "You have no idea what we're up against. If I hadn't gone to Dragonstone...there is no doubt in my mind the Night King would kill every single northern man, woman, and child before making his way south. You must know," he takes a single step forward, tries to make her understand. "All I care about is protecting the North. I promised to protect you, remember? I could never forgive myself if I hadn't done everything possible to protect you, Arya, and Bran."

The braziers and sconces mounted around the room crackle, and cast her face in orange light. He feels like she's ripped from him an unknown truth he himself is blind to. She looks at him, unblinking. He stares back, waiting. His eyes start to burn but he will not yield. Sansa's veneer of ice seems to thaw. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her thumb worry her palm. Quietly, she asks him a question that tears open the wounds on his chest, “Was it duty to the North or love for her that made you bend the knee?"

[fredheads]

excerpts from the same party

predictably, my free choice for day 8 is fred’s life falling apart 

i. 

“so she broke up with you to date hiram,” says fp in the black-and-white marble bathroom, bigger than fred’s kitchen - “and now she’s here with hiram, and you want to leave.”

“um… yeah.” fred replies, his response slowed somewhat by the marijuana in his lungs, the stretched-out feeling of being high. fp takes the blunt from his fingers and inhales long - he’s in the bathtub, dry, clothed, reclined like a queen or an emperor.

“the thing is, this is hiram’s house. so i’m thinking you could have forseen this.”

fred just stares at him. fp’s hair is glittering, like someone’s threaded fairy lights through it - the bathroom lights make a halo on his head, glowing through his curls like a supernova crown of thorns. his eyes are two shiny pools of black. it feels like they’re both naked.

“dude, you’re done,” says fp, and puts the roll back between his lips, doesn’t pass it back. fred’s on the counter, feet dangling. “no more for you.”

“i want to go home,” fred repeats uncertainly, suddenly hyper-focused on his red converse shoes, the laces loose on the left one, threatening to plummet off. the counter feels very high, and the black marble floor is easily mistaken for the endless void of outer space. he wonders how he’s breathing.

“we’re not going home when we just got here.” rhythm is a dancer is on the stereo outside, beating through the party like a heart. the heavy walls shiver. “it’s a big fucking house, you don’t have to see them.”

fred keeps staring at fp, fixated on every part of his face in turn. “do you think they’ve slept together?”

fp groans and lets his head fall back, hitting the tap. “dude, don’t do this.”

“do what?” asks fred and wiggles his ankle imperceptibly, lets his loose shoe fall and plummet to hit with a slap on the marble floor.

ii. 

“do you love me?” she asks, face bathed in purple light, and she looks like pictures of goddesses, roller-rink disco ball glow and purple cotton candy. fred wants to touch her, run the pads of his fingers along her velvet skin and wrap her glossy hair around his wrist, lick the sparkly lip gloss off her mouth. they’re in a corner of the dance floor and the music is louder than the blood in his head. the only part of his body that exists is his hands. he puts them on her hips, counts the teeth in the crescent-moon uptick of her smile. hiram’s hands have been there. his hands are not allowed there anymore but the smile says keep them and he does.

“yes,” he says reverently, her face is like a candle, pure and glowing with light. he touches her dark hair and her lips and feels dizzy, drinks from the smell of her, sugar and peach and mint. his stomach jumps.

“i bet you don’t even miss me,” hermione says nastily. “i bet you don’t even miss me a little.”

for some reason he can’t think of the right answer. his mouth tastes like vodka soda and his heart is beating in his wrists. her face is shimmering like a mirage in front of his eyes, far away from him and close up at the same time. he stares at her lips.

“do you love me more than you love him?” she asks.

fred’s mouth is very dry. “who?”

“him,” she says intensely, her shifting, pearlescent aura settling in a glow around her face and body.

“yes,” says fred, only because she hasn’t specified, which makes it easier to lie. then they’re kissing on the dance floor, his hands in her hair and her tongue on his teeth, just like it used to be. 

iii. 

“you don’t have to hold my hair,” he says as he’s heaving, penelope’s short nails raking it back from his scalp (she’s doing a shitty job anyway, there are long strands of hair hanging down at his ears into the toilet bowl, damp with sweat and vomit) - “you have a lot of it,” penelope replies dubiously and fred can’t think of an argument before he’s puking again, hot vodka mixed with old pizza, everything in his stomach.

he resurfaces into what seems like the brightest bathroom on earth - white walls, white floors, white porcelain, shining so brightly that he hides his eyes, ducks his head and stares at his jeans, the dark blotch of his body on the white landscape, counts the flecks of vomit on the white rim of the toilet. he squints to look at penelope who’s skin is washed out by the white, all except her puffy eyelids and nose, which are as red as her hair.

“hal and alice?” he asks, ears buzzing as his eyes adjust, the back of his neck slick with a quarter-inch layer of damp sweat. She juts her chin at him, looking too the worse for wear, her hair in disarray and the lipstick cracked on her raw lips. fresh tears threaten to spill over her eyes, the tear tracks on her cheeks black with mascara. he’s sure he looks no better.

“you saw hiram and hermione, i guess” she shoots back cooly, and then, kinder: “your nose is bleeding.”

he looks down at the white floor and a tiny drop of brilliant red hits the hem of his jeans. he groans and pinches it closed. “i puked too hard.” his voice is cartoonish with his nostrils sealed, his thumb and forefinger wet with blood.

penelope is putting hand sanitizer on her hands. he wonders about her missing glasses, if she has contacts in or has only been squinting. they’re both friendless in this bathroom, which makes them friends, which means he could ask. “i see you throw up at school,” she says.

“my stomach’s fucked up.”

“it’s called an eating disorder.”

“that’s not what it is,” he says, although he’s not sure.

his nose has stopped bleeding, he releases his fingers and she dumps hand sanitizer into his palm, holding the bottle from afar so that it doesn’t touch his skin. the alcohol burns in any little cuts on his skin, mixes with the fresh blood and turns it pink before it evaporates. “gum?” she asks, and he takes some gratefully, though he has a blister pack in his own jeans, flat from kneeling - penelope has the kind that comes in sticks, he pushes it soft around his sore mouth with his tongue.

“do you want to do shots with me and then dance?” he asks.

penelope thinks about it and seems to surprise herself more than anyone when she says yes.

iv. 

“you have to put ice on that,” tom says after hiram hits him, guiding fred quickly into the kitchen, the two of them leaving a trail of blood drops on the cashmere-soft carpet. “soon, or you’ll regret it tomorrow.” he busies himself at the massive freezer, rummaging for frozen vegetables, fred expects, which of course the lodges don’t buy. fred’s gaze lands on the remnants of drinks on the counter.

“pass me that bottle.”

“i’m not passing you that bottle.” tom replies, pulling a thick frozen steak in a wax-paper wrapper from the depths of the freezer and handing it to him. it oozes gluey blood onto fred’s wrist. “put this on your eye.”

their fingers brush when he hands it over, and fred thinks of yanking tom’s wrist toward him, biting it like a vampire, drawing blood. if fp wanted to be jealous he’d make him jealous.

“hiram’s a psycho,” he says, just to keep tom looking at him. “he boxes and hits people for fun.”

“it’s none of my business, but you were making out with his girlfriend.” tom’s avoiding his gaze, and fred’s heart sinks like a dark stone. “that’s why he hit you.”

“who told hiram?” fred asks, peeling the steak away from his eyes. tom grips his wrist and places it back. “it was fp, wasn’t it? go ahead, tell me. it was fp. i already know.”

tom looks away and up at the ceiling. “sixty days till graduation,” he says to himself. “that’s all.”

v. 

he stole a two-six of expensive vodka from hiram lodge’s kitchen and he empties half of it into sierra samuels’ red slushie, more than half to be nice, then dumps the rest into his green one. vodka all tastes the same mixed with icee but its smooth going down. they smash plastic cups together on the wet picnic table in the park and toast to graduation. he watches her lips wrap around the straw and thinks about roller rink dates, popcorn mixed with m&ms at the movies, the last time he kissed her. it’s past his curfew and the bugs are out. drunk food turned into convenience store food somewhere on their walk and there’s an empty bag of beef jerky between them that he doesn’t remember eating, only he must have, because sierra’s a vegetarian and she’s been talking so much he doesn’t think she’d have had time to chew.

“everyone thinks i have it all together but i dont,” is what she says now, and fred says he has nothing together too. sierra stares at the horizon and shakes in her blouse and he puts fps jacket around her to keep her warm. “it’s not fair we can’t love who we love,” she says and starts to cry, weeps on his shoulder with her hair in his mouth and he pats her head like a mother, his mouth too sweet and his lips stained green.

“it’s not fair for us,” she says, “it’s not fair, you and fp, me and tommy, that we can’t be together,” and fred says nothing because maybe if he doesn’t say anything she’ll think she made a mistake, that there was never anything between him and fp at all.

vi. 

“do you have a ride home?” mary asks after almost running him over, and of course he doesn’t, he’s wandering the street outside the party with his lip bleeding and one shoe missing, blood and snot streaming from his nose into his teeth. maybe she only asked as a courtesy because she doesn’t wait for him to answer, hauls him across the street and into her mother’s car, closes the door on him before he breaks down sobbing in her passenger seat.

“who’d you come with?” mary asks, watching him cry. there’s a pair of fluffy dice dangling from the rearview mirror.

“fp” he manages, through his tears and snot. mary stares at his black eye.

“and who hit you?”

“hiram.”

mary swears under her breath. “asshole,” she says. they roll slowly down the street at ten miles an hour, avoiding potholes. fred can’t look at her. it’s like trying to look at the sun. “fp just left you? i don’t believe that.”

“everyone left me.” the self pity tastes good, he rolls it around in his mouth, presses his tongue to the torn flap of it. he draws back into the seat when he recognizes the turn, panicked. “don’t take me home.” he’s too far past curfew for that, too far past wasted, half-covered in blood. “take me to gladys’. it’s okay,” he insists when mary hesitates. “i crash with her a lot.”

“okay,” says mary, “but i’m waking her up. i’m not just dropping you off somewhere if i don’t know you’re safe.”

it occurs to him later that it’s the nicest thing she’s ever said to him, and wholly undeserved.

vii. 

“i made you another mixtape,” he says in the morning, lips sticky with hangover, eyes crusted shut. gladys is awake beside him, eating a bag of chips, the duvet curled around them. he breathes in the familiar smell of sweat and cigarettes and feels safe.

“is it full of your pretty boy rock shit?” gladys asks.

“yeah.”

“okay, i’ll listen.” fred rolls over and she pulls him in against her, mashes his face to her stomach and lower boob. her voice is more smirk than sympathy. “how are you feeling?”

“eat shit,” says fred, whose bruised eye still stings. she’s wearing fp’s metallica shirt, the ME pressed to his cheek. his mouth and stomach are sour and hollow, his joints stiff and his neck screaming in pain. 

“i only ask because mary tossed you out of her car into my yard because you were throwing up bright green.”

“vodka slushies,” he explains weakly, though it feels like a different night entirely that they’d been on that picnic table, feels like the wrong answer. gladys runs her hands through his hair and scratches his scalp. he tries to be cheerful. “you should have come.”

“hiram lodge’s party? i’d rather put a pencil through my eye.”

fred remembers his shiner and lifts his head from her chest. “do i look like a badass?”

“no. you look like a pathetic loser who made out with his ex-girlfriend and had an awful night.” .

“your room is messy,” says fred. there’s a stack of laundry that looks like the leaning tower of pisa in front of his unbruised eye when he finally cracks it open - the duvet they’re sleeping in is covered in clothes and album sleeves.

“i’m gonna clean it. i went to the hardware store yesterday-”

“how butch of you.”

“shut up.” he can tell from her voice she’s smiling. “i’m going to paint it all black. you want to help?”

“your mom lets you?”

“yeah.”

“okay.”

“okay.” gladys curls a lock of his long hair around her finger and smooths it out.

“gladys, what are we going to do?” fred asks.

“you and me?”

“all of us.”

“we’re going to be fine,” says gladys, lying through her teeth. “we’re going to be just fine.”

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE Fanfiction - In Time of Need (Part 20: Aberration)

Summary: Schneep and Marvin recover from the emotional turmoil after their reconciliation and, in the process, they decide they ought to check in with Jameson.

Schneep returned to the waking world with a start, groaning as soon as his aching eyes were open and flinging an arm over his face. He didn’t have a clock accessible near his little cot in the side room off his lab, but he could sense that it had only been a short time since his conversation with Marvin.

Crying hard always took a lot out of him and when Marvin had finally felt okay enough to pull away and had gotten a good look at him, he’d sniffed, rubbed his face and advised the doctor to go lie down for a while. He’d promised to wake Schneep after an hour or two but as usual, Schneep’s caffeine-fueled body would never perform properly to others’ standards.

He knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon, no matter how his mind craved it and despite the fact that he’d gotten hardly any sleep yesterday night after his panic attack upon finding the doll in his cot. Thus he opted to kick his blanket onto the floor, inelegantly smudge his glasses as he slid them onto his nose and rise.

As he stumbled back out into the main room, his attention naturally gravitated back to Jack. “It’s about time you got a change for some fresh IV bags, isn’t it?” he mused, coughing to clear his throat as his voice broke. It was a habit his body had when he’d just woken up that was quite exasperating; a good doctor was supposed to speak with prestige and clarity!

A good doctor…

His anguished words to Marvin easily came back to him then and he pursed his lips, grimacing as he pulled the IV bags down from their rack and the upward motion made the stitches in his arms and shoulders protest. He had to be a good doctor. He may not have made anything better for Jack and Jackieboy…He may have made everything worse for them, in fact, but he still had to be a good doctor.

“I can start by cleaning up after messes I made and taking tender, loving care of you while you are sleeping,” he concluded to Jack, as if his creator could have heard his thoughts. “Is least I can do for you, Jack, after everything you’ve done for me.”

Once the bags had been changed, antidepressants and all, Schneep drifted over to his coffee machine. Upon returning with his #1 Doctor mug filled to the brim, he sank down into the chair by Jack’s bedside, sipping on the coffee before the steam had even subsided. It was hot enough to make his toes curl in his loafers but the taste of cinnamon and peppermint more than made up for it. Thoughtfully he paused, leaning forward and blowing some of the steam gently in Jack’s direction. Perhaps he imagined that Jack’s breathing deepened as it reached him, but it was a comforting thought.

“This is the closest we get to sharing coffee again,” he remarked softly. The comment didn’t stir as much pain in him as it usually did, to his vague surprise. The future for Jack was still just as uncertain as it had been yesterday and there were still no signs other than Chase’s word that he was anything close to responsive, but Schneep must have simply cried himself out earlier. There were no more tears to shed for Jack, at least not for today. They wouldn’t change anything.

In a way, it was even more important that he had spent those tears for the noble cause of reconciling with Marvin. He’d even gotten the magician to open up with him, which was more of a rarity that Schneep cared to admit. They had never clicked with each other the way they had with Jackieboy and more often than not, he was the one who dragged them onto neutral ground and forced them to face their differences when they surfaced as arguments.

Somehow or another they had managed to make their way through it on their own and Schneep genuinely hoped that it would be a good starting point for the future, proving that they could get through everything else on their own until Jackieboy woke.

He was going to wake up; he and Jack both were. Right now, with the state of mind he was in, Schneep refused to face any other alternative.  

After sitting in silence and sipping his way halfway down the mug for a while, he returned to his feet, promising, “I’ll be back soon, Jack. I just need to go check on the others, alright?” and then shuffling out of the lab, dimming the lights slightly as he went.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” Marvin scolded. “It’s only been forty-five minutes, Schneep, you’re supposed to—oh, well, the coffee explains it. You really need to start going lighter on that stuff if you ever want to sleep well again.”

“Are you really going to give another speech about how unhealthy it is for me every time you see me with a coffee mug?!” Schneep exclaimed, to which Marvin simply huffed and turned down the volume on the TV. As soon as Schneep shuffled in his direction to join him on the couch, however, he switched the channel, earning a suspicious look that lingered until he finally glanced sideways to meet it.

“Before you ask, yes, it was a Disney movie,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Of course it was. You give me the grief and the nagging for my vices—” He lifted the coffee mug indicatively. “—at the very same minute you’re indulging yours!”

“Y’know, now that my magic is returning, I could perform a spell that would make you see stars and put you to sleep for hours.”

“As long as you caught my coffee mug before it fell,” Schneep countered with a petty little smile. “Otherwise you’d have to perform quite the disappearing act when I woke up and started hunting you down to avenge it.”

Marvin waved him off at that, clearly not appreciating the weight of the threat, and Schneep was forced to resist the urge to elbow him before taking a stoic, lingering slurp of his drink. Judging by how quickly Marvin threw himself off the couch, the noise aggravated him just as it was meant to, Schneep noted, stifling a giggle and then stopping up short as realization dawned.

When was the last time he’d found anything funny? He couldn’t even remember. Why had this of all things been the reason for him to crack a smile again? Perhaps it was just childish enough, just relaxed enough that he felt free to.

“I’m going to pick up Jameson from the ABOP,” Marvin announced, cracking each knuckle individually as he centered himself in the hallway to open the portal.

“You left him there overnight?” Schneep scolded, setting his mug on the coffee table.

“Well, he said he wasn’t in any hurry to come back. Hopefully he’ll have calmed down after a good night’s sleep. You should come with me, by the way, to get an update on Sam,” Marvin offered, magic stirring between his outstretched hands. “Let’s hope he’ll be doing a little better too.”

It had been a while since Schneep had traveled by portal; it took him a moment to find his feet and let the dizziness subside but once it had, he looked up. Jameson didn’t come running to meet them and he wasn’t on the cot in the corner, so he couldn’t still be asleep. Where was he?

“Jamie?” he called, moving ahead of Marvin and scanning the darkness. “Jamie, come on out now. We’re here to bring you—”

“Whoa, what’s going on with Sam?” Marvin cut him off in astonishment, drawing Schneep’s gaze to the tank where their mascot was repetitively slamming himself against the backside of the glass.

“Sam?” Schneep’s voice managed to catch the eye’s attention. He whirled around, drawing gasps from the both of them before Schneep hurried toward him, admonishing worriedly, “Oh, Sammy, you’ve given yourself a black eye! What have you been doing?!”

Despite the way his pupil was dilated in obvious pain from the bruises, Sam refused to stop, surging against the side of the tank closest to them and then charging at the backside, striking it three more times before rushing back to them and whipping his tail frantically to and fro. Marvin soon joined Schneep at his side, trying to puzzle out whatever Sam may be communicating. He didn’t have long, for moments later Sam shook himself and hit the back of the tank yet again, so hard that they could hear the thunk reverberate back to them before he spiraled down to the bottom of the tank, rather dazed.

“Stop for a moment, little one, you’re hurting yourself! Why are you hitting the glass like that?” Schneep demanded, blinking in bewilderment as Sam sluggishly turned away from them and stared off in the direction of the debris dump. Now that he was actively following his gaze, the doctor leaned sideways, commenting, “Is it me or is some light coming from there?”

“Well, yeah, but some of the machines like to flicker on and off,” Marvin answered, extending an arm to bar Schneep’s path as he tried to shift toward it. “I’ll check it out. You take a look at Sam.”

Opting not to argue, Schneep lowered himself to a crouch and clicked his fingers invitingly. “Here, Sammy. Here!”

Sam usually listened to him more than the others so he had honestly expected him to obey immediately, but instead he remained fixated on the direction Marvin was going. Tsking in bewilderment, Schneep snapped again, more insistently, finally earning a halfhearted wag of Sam’s tail and a glance back at him.

“Come here,” the doctor urged again, his worry and confusion lingering even as Sam backed slowly away from that side of the tank and wandered toward him. Sam himself looked far more upset than Schneep was, so he put a hand against the glass which Sam promptly swam to, nuzzling against it for comfort as the Ego crooned, “There’s my Sam, there he is. You’re very swollen and bruised, little friend…How long were you hitting the glass? Tell the good doctor what is bothering you, hmm? What made you do this?”

“Jameson!”

Marvin’s bark of alarm broke both Schneep’s concentration and the progress he had made at calming Sam down. The mascot flew back toward the other side, bouncing up and down in front of it urgently as Schneep scrambled to his feet and jogged after the sound of Marvin’s voice.

“Jamie?” he called again. “Marvin, what’s going—?”

Before he could finish, Marvin was barreling into him, shoving him back the way he had come and paying no heed to his yelps of pain as he spat, “Back, get back!” and clamped a hand over his face, blinding him.

“What?! M-Marvin, what are you—? Get off! Oof!” The stunned grunt was forced out of him as his back was planted forcefully against Sam’s tank. Only when Schneep had stopped struggling against the new position did Marvin take a moment to still, one arm pressed against Schneep’s chest to keep him where he was. Why was he panting so heavily, so panically? Schneep wondered, too nervous to ask.

“Don’t…look,” Marvin growled lowly, to which Schneep helplessly shook his head.

“Your hand is over my eyes,” he reminded him apprehensively. “I can’t look.”

At that Marvin heaved a deeper breath, muttering something that Schneep couldn’t quite catch before raising his voice again. “Okay. Okay, I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that?” At Schneep’s wordless nod, he continued cautiously, “Jameson is over there.”

“Then why doesn’t he come to us? Why don’t we go to him?”

“He can’t and you can’t. I can go to him, but you can’t come with me.”

His face contorting under Marvin’s hand, Schneep allowed some of his frustration to blend into his voice as he protested, “Why not? It’s the debris dump! Nothing special, I’ve been there hundreds of times—”

“Not for the past nine months, you haven’t,” Marvin interrupted pointedly, his fingertips digging into the skin under Schneep’s temple. “There’s been an…addition since you’ve been gone. It was back in December. There was something new, something we’ve never seen before, that wasn’t like anything else we’d experienced. We put it there because it was just too dangerous to have in the house.”

“What?” Schneep breathed, both taken aback and increasingly uneasy at this news. Because their faces were mere inches apart, he could hear Marvin swallow hard. He could practically hear him thinking about whatever the outcome could have been before getting his mind back to the moment at hand.

“You need to wait here,” he instructed, shushing the younger Ego before he could protest. “Wait, Schneep. I’m going to get Jameson and bring him back here. When I do, he’s going to need you, but while I’m over there, this is what you need to do: you stay right here and keep your eyes shut no matter what you’re hearing. Do you understand? When I take my hand away, you keep your eyes shut and you don’t open them again until I tell you it’s safe. Are you hearing me?”

“What is this danger?” Schneep couldn’t resist asking, to which Marvin simply repeated his question. “Yes, I—I understand.” As the pressure of Marvin’s hand eased on his face, he hurriedly ducked his head and closed his eyes, straining his ears to follow the magician’s footsteps as they receded in the opposite direction.

It took entirely too long for them to grow louder again; by the time they did, Schneep was fidgeting, his lashes flickering ever so slightly as the temptation to peek grew. He could feel Sam pressed against the glass immediately behind him, tapping it restlessly, which just fueled his own nervous tension. At long last, Marvin relented, though his voice was quiet and pained as he did so.

“…You can look now, doc.”

Schneep’s eyes flew open. As soon as they did, his mouth dropped open with them and he lunged forward, forgetting all about how he had planned to look in the direction of the debris to see how Marvin had dealt with the unknown menace.

“No…No, no!” Nearly knocking heads with Marvin as he bent over the gentleman cradled in his arms, Schneep burst out frantically, “Jamie! Oh, Jamie, what’s happened to you?! Jameson?” Sliding his hands underneath the youngest Ego’s head, he gingerly lifted it from where it had fallen against Marvin’s shoulder, tightly cupping his ashen cheeks and peering into his glazed, distant eyes. He was staring right through him. “Can you hear me?! Can you—? Marvin, bring him to the cot and lie him down!”

Releasing Jameson and letting his head fall, he rushed ahead of them, his mind racing as he turned on the old lamp nearby, frenziedly wiping the dust off on his coat as his heart throbbed to keep up. This couldn’t happen. This couldn’t be happening.

“Be a good doctor,” he murmured hoarsely as the fear that had become all too familiar now created a tremble in his fingers. “Be a good doctor, be a good doctor, be a good doctor…He needs you…We’re—we’re not losing him too…”

We can’t lose him too.

[averyonelovesjack]

i don’t (III) ~ daniel seavey

requested: @phcnekisses

summary: y/n gets a call just before her flight home

warning(s): sad

word count: 1446

READ THESE FIRST: 

part i, part II

My body was completely drained from the events of the week. Jenna sat to my left and my mom to my right. Each were scrolling through their phones, but i sat silently, trying to let the time pass quickly. 

The airport was unsurprisingly crowded, it being just days before Christmas. My dad was lucky to have gotten us four tickets this late. Originally, we were supposed to be spending the holidays with my groom-to-be and his family, but it didn’t seem right to be there with him. 

My phone beside me buzzed and quickly, recognizing that i didn’t have much time left for it ringing, i stood up and answered. Through the phone, I heard a recognizable voice that left me broken all over again. With my name falling off of his lips, i pressed the end button.

It was only about half a second before another call came. I hadn’t even started towards my seat, denying the call. And another call came. Daniel. I hung up again. and again. and again.

Each and every time that he called me broke me into a smaller piece. My heart ached by the end of the several minutes spent denying his call. Finally, some peace.

I started my journey back towards my seat between two family members when a final call came. Daniel. 

God, it’s been days since he showed up at my door and not a word, but the second I choose to get up and leave my bed and do something for myself, he’s back in my mind like a fucking magnet. It was painful to even think about what he’d done, and then for him to continuously call me just day later was even more hurtful.

Pain struck my heart as my name dripped off his lips, my ear connecting with my phone as i listened to what he’d said, “y/n! please don’t hang up” 

I remained quiet for a few seconds, “what do you want?” 

“meet me at the church,” his voice shakes, either in nerves or excitement. I listened carefully, unsure of what to say.

“daniel, i-” 

“just meet me here, please,” i wanted to say something, to question him, to deny him, but the ringing hit my ear and i recognized that it had now been him to hang up on me.

Thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to figure out what to do. Daniel has done completely enough to hurt me in every way possible. He broke me down, and yet those simple words stated to me over the phone seemed to draw me in. Maybe this was important, maybe something will change.

If I choose to go see him, i’d be choosing to miss my flight. This was the only flight back home that was available, there would be no way for me to go home in time for the holidays. However, if i go home, there’s a good chance that i don’t come back. I’d never hear whatever Daniel may have to say. I’ll never have the possibility of everything being finalized. 

Jenna looked at me strangely as I picked up my bags, “y/n what are you doing?” 

“i have to go,” I state simply, gathering my things.

“what do you mean? the plane takes off in twenty minutes. where are you going?” My mom asks.

“merry christmas and i love you all, i just have somewhere i need to be,” i inform them.

“you aren’t going anywhere. You need to get on that plane. Whatever this is can wait,” Jenna tells me.

“I’m not coming back here after i leave,” i tell her, “so i’ll get a flight home another time. I’ll stay at my apartment for christmas, it’ll be fine. I’ll call you guys. This is important” 

“more important than christmas at home?” My father questioned and everything rushing to my brain explained loud and clear to me that it was.

Daniel was more important than Christmas, “yes. it’s extremely important” 

I found my way out of the gate, searching for an opening in the airport. I pulled my purse out of my bag, stumbling into a cab that was ready to go. 

Mutters and mumbles left my mouth as I quickly explained the location of my destination. The cab driver began to drive quickly as I thought about the different things that Daniel could possibly have to tell me.

What if it was some bullshit lame excuse that wouldn’t make up for anything that he had done to me? If he was just going to sit there and cry in front of me like he did last week, trying to explain to me that he loved me when he truthfully may not have? Maybe he didn’t have anything good to say, and maybe he was just going to admit to not loving me. Admit to our relationship and engagement being a mistake.

If this was a stupid reason for me to show up at a church, then i’d have missed my flight home. I’d be missing everything I loved about the holidays, just so that I could see my ex-fiance sob in front of me once again.

Through the next several minutes, my mind rushed with emotions. Slowly anger seeped through my brain at the thought that this was a lame excuse. Sadness poured into my heart at the thought that he had left me in the first place. And excitement soared through my veins at the thought that Daniel had reached out to me after the bitchy act I’d performed towards him on the day of our failed wedding. 

Suddenly, before I was ready, the cab appeared at the church. I fed the polite man a tiny smile, tipping him as necessary before pulling my small bag from the trunk and slamming the car door. The church parking lot was currently very full, which led me to realize that there must be a session going on right now. 

Nerves struck my body as I opened the door quietly, carrying my bag in. The session was about to begin, me being the last person to walk inside. My eyes scattered the packed room until they met with those of my love’s. 

Daniel sat quietly in the final row of the church, his eyes gazing carefully towards the front while everyone listened to the priest speak. His hands were glued together in his lap. He was dressed in a black suit, formal like most of the others here. Instead, I wore leggings and a sweatshirt.

Next to daniel was an empty seat that i took carefully. Rather than paying attention to the speaker, i stared at Daniel, waiting for his glance towards me that never truly came. Instead, he just stared ahead, barely acknowledging my presence. 

finally, i decided to say something. it wasn’t anything big, but just something so that he could hear that i had arrived next to him. so that he could know that this wasn’t a stupid prank to me, “i missed my flight because of you, please make this worth it” 

he turned, his blue eyes pouring into my now-gray ones deeply. everything about him seemed peaceful, the way he sat, the way he stared, the way he dressed. Daniel seemed, almost, at peace.

Instead of replying, he stared. And then a few moments later, he looked away, his eyes following the Priest’s every words and moves. I shifted my gaze towards the priest as well, watching but not listening.

I took in every aspect of the church. They’d cleaned it up nicely after last week’s disaster, and to anyone who didn’t hear about what had happened, it looked normal. 

No tearing ribbons or dead flowers, no tear stains, or footprints. No angry family members and no loud sobs. Just the priest and the devoted.

The service went fairly quickly, but I had absolutely no idea what was going on for most of it. Daniel didn’t dare to move, and neither did I. If there was something to be said, I didn’t want to shy him away from saying it.

The final moments of the service came and the members of the church all started to file out one by one, the church growing loud with voices and laughter. And yet, we didn’t move. We sat with our hands in ours laps, our eyes gazing forward, and our faces stiff. The church grew quiet again, the loud door closing tightly and a deep breath being exhaled from Daniel’s mouth.

He didn’t look at me, his eyes fixating on something in the distance as his fingers tapped gently against each other. His eyes saddened. A tear slid down his face as he became choked up easily. Daniel closed his eyes and spoke softly, “my parents are getting a divorce”

part IV, part V

[i-am-1134]

The Lady of Light

In the year of my 4th 6, I worked with a man at a barbeque shop that I ended up giving many names starting with ginger and eventually Red being that he had natural red hair and so as an ice breaker I liked filling his head with celtic lore and stories of red headed giants, attempting to break through his firm stances of skepticism. He had a very healthy way of dealing with knowledge, someone who clearly had no internal dispute with cognitive dissonance. I would draw conversations into topics leading to a frame of reference for some of my “bizzare” theories. Like clockwork he would say a little something like “Bullshit, total bullshit. Show me some proof.” in which id find a direction of knowledge to lead the way. He would come back and say either “Ok you got a point there.” or “I see where you get your ideas now but there are holes”. Once I figured out how open he was willing to be we began swapping hallucinogenic trips stories and he eventually said “Have you done dmt?” I answered “ Ive never even heard of it.” then he followed with some personal stories of his own. I was thinking it sounded like the helpers in psilocybin mushrooms on mega steroids and equipped with even deeper soul revelations. I was very interested at this point and just like that he said “You wanna try it?” and so a week or so later he invited me over to his place to partake.

The setting was just right, a perfect chill in the air and at the cusp of Twilight, a synchronosity with my time of power and 2 days after my date of birth. Red Began with an instruction on how to use it “ take two big hits if you just want the experience, 3 or 4 if you got the courage, and don't ride the flame.”. So going by his instruction it became obvious that sticking to my golden rule when dealing with hallucinogens and doing more than the doctor prescribes, 5 it was. He set me up on a couch in his living room facing a 9 foot window with the shades down barely seeping through the nights light, he said “Im gonna turn off the lights and leave you here with yourself.” I said “Alone? That's cool.” wondering why. Red replied with an assurance that its the best way.

With a bowl of pot and some of these yellow tiny crystals piled on top I thought “here we go” and began taking my puffs. The taste and the smell was potent, really embrassive to the nostrils yet familiar and the smoke was hard to hold in, coughing every hit.

Out of nowhere I became very aware of my hearing and focused on this sound. I then realized I was hearing my awareness and its pitch was getting higher and higher. My Whole body felt as if it had come alive with some engulfing force and every cell in my body was expressing a fraction of my awareness while bathing in it. Suddenly my attention was drawn to these eyes popping in and out of my surroundings. They would appear closed, open, peer into me, and then disappear. Following were shapes that were swiftly changing different colors and started off as the common platonic shapes but then became strange never before seen shapes with strange curves throughout glistening the colors of the rainbow one by one yet even quicker and like that, everything went away and the whole room was dark.

“What the hell happened, is this it?” I thought to myself when a light in front of me caught my eye. It was like light coming through the creases of a door. At that point I had come to realize that what was once Red's 9 ft window with blinds was now a huge metallic looking double door arched at the tops and was what appeared to be opening, letting in more of these rays of high yellow- golden light and revealing strange engravements all over it. A shield with something in some in-discernable language to me now forgotten, a sword that appeared to have flames coming off of it, two serpents on each door side going all the way to the top that looked like they were slithering down the door. I thought to myself that it must be because of the shadows on the doors surface due to the light coming through it as the doors were opening. The word Adonai engraved at the top of the door just above the shield that were both being cut in half as the door opened.

A silhouette made out of scintillating golden light in the shape of a woman appeared in the opening and began putting her foot down out of the door way. As her foot took each step downward it became clearer to me that she was walking down a crystal stair case and every step she took her shape became not only more clearer, solid looking but was changing appearance. Her feet, her legs, hips, stomach, breasts, shoulders, hands, her neck, her hair, and even all of her facial features were changing every step she took down the crystal staircase. When the morphing was over I was looking at the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen and realized that this creature was looking for my un-dividable attention and when I say that it had it, I really mean had it. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she began to crawl to me on hands and knees, popping her shoulder blades up and down like a lion or a puma. The whole time with her eyes fixated on mine and it felt like she was peering at something right through me and behind me or deep within me, she gave a quick half cocked suspicious like smile and disappeared within a flash of an eye.

All of a sudden I saw myself flying through the door way at the speed of thought and the surrounding became very incomprehensible. Seemed as if its was an environment filled with billions of electrical currents chaotically going each and every way and as quick as it came it was gone. In an instant the surroundings became a lush jungle all around me and all the trees and plants were luminescent with rich gold light streams. It seemed that the lights were responsible for the makeup of their forms. Flowers appeared to bloom out and retract back in a synchronized fashion with one another and at the speed of my heart beat. It was like the whole jungle was swaying back and forth to the beat of my breathe. There was a stream of water translucent yet emanating gold filaments of light that appeared to flow upstream as its current flowed down. It encapsulated me for what seemed to be quite a long time when my attention suddenly peered across the stream at a cluster of gold mushrooms. The golden mushrooms were so brilliant I couldn't help but smile. As I fixated on them I started thinking to myself how delicate they must be, like the wings of a golden moth. I look up from the ground and spot a big golden toadstool in the middle and sitting on top was the woman, sitting with her legs crossed and back in her original golden silhouette.

At that moment, like a lotus flower blooming in the middle of my mind space, I received what I was to come to know as a telepathic message. Each petal was like a linear conversation that I quickly found out that I could easily decipher into a coherency I could store in memory. It was as if my entire interaction with her was pre-written somehow beyond the confines of time.

The message made me realize even more the familiarity I was having with this place and the mysterious creature that appeared as a human woman. I said in my mind “Who are you?” and through the lotus message I heard “through the many ages it took you to get back here and who I am is what you want to know?” I never realized it before but at that moment I had this profound remembrance of an age old personal history and was witnessing it in it's totality and became embarrassed of my question. “Thotek” I heard and at that same instant I recollected where I actually was. I was at the point of all knowing, absolutely anything that can possibly be known was at my door step, all I had to do was ask the question. I became nervous with haste I realized that the golden jungle was fading as their luminosity was fading, so was she, and the force that I had been feeling engulfing me was beginning to wane.

“Quickly, you don't have the energy to stay here.” she said and I knew the substance was wearing off. I was completely unprepared for this gift of a lifetime and I was blowing it and I knew I was blowing it. I decided quickly and thought to her “ How do I assemble my light saber?” and “What am I ?” I heard a soft closed mouth type female chuckle that left me contemplating on the feeling of how this creature was close to me someway and out of nowhere I watched a lightsaber being assembled out of thin air. There were three main parts made out of a complexity of many parts and I realized almost instantaneously that my previous research was way off and amounted to a pile of shit. It was overwhelming but was quickly taken from me for a time because of what happened next.

The Next thing I remember I was back on the couch, no door in front of me and pitch black yet I could still see a faint dark blue hue of the living room like a silhouette of everything making it up. I was overwhelmed and depressed, I just got the greatest gift I probably will ever know and I blew it and like that a vortice appeared. It seemed to grow pretty significant in size and then a snout came through it, followed by a head, and a long body, it was a dragon, a chinese style dragon and its entire form looked like it was formed of some kind of glowing smoke. Its whiskers, its eyes, its scales, absolutely everything that made this dragon was in full detail and it was moving very slow with an enthralling grace. Another vortice opened up in front of it and it started going through when I notice another vortice and another, until the entire room was filled with this dragon going in and out of them.

“don't be afraid, if you feel ready reach out and touch.” I heard in my mind. Its power was great I could feel it. I put what felt was my hand out and became very intimidated and much to frightened so I pulled my hand back in.

At that moment a vortice opened right in front of me and I saw the dragon coming out right at me but slowly. I couldn't seem to move my body and began to brace myself for impact in the hopes of it being enough for whatever was about to come. It opened its mouth wide, it looked as if it could swallow me in one gulp and right when my upper body was within its jaws I was completely back in this reality. The last remanance of the dragon appeared as smoke swaying past my cheek and the feeling of a tingly cold energy running throughout my entire body to my core and exiting through what felt like two unseen or etheric appendages off my upper back. All I could muster out of my mouth was “......WOOOH....”

[bosstoaster]

AU where the Galra invaded earth immediately after Shiro's escape?

I read ‘Shiro’s escape’ as ‘from the Garrison’ instead of ‘from the Galra’, which is my bad.  So this happens after the gang have already vamoosed with the Blue Lion.

(also thank you for this opportunity)

I) Colleen Holt has already lost too much.

She lost her husband and son in one fell swoop, in one awful phone call, in one news report.  Mission Failure.  Pilot Error.  ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am.’

Two words, and two-thirds of her family was gone.  Just gone.  Nothing to do, no bodies to identify, no one to bury.

No closer.

She lost her daughter shortly after, to furious rants and steadfast denial.  Colleen tried everything to help Katie, to help her in this new, terrible world.  But then she vanished.

And Colleen was alone.

Colleen guards what she had left.  The home her family had lived in, the dog they’d raised since he was a puppy, the routines and rituals she could manage on her own.

So much was gone.

Colleen didn’t think she had anything left to lose.

Until the aliens came.

(read more below)

II) The world panics.

No one seems to know what’s happening anymore.

Colleen calls friends at the Garrison, calls friends who work in the government, listens to the television, listens to the radio.  None of it agrees, none of it makes any sense.

Cities start going dark.  Gone.

The invaders are swift and powerful, wielding weapons that humanity can’t hope to match.  Grainy cell-phone footage comes in, images of marching soldiers in armor that looks like eyes, followed by legions upon legions of robots.

There’s an attempt at fighting back.  Broadcasters stream live footage as military planes fire upon the huge warships and don’t even get past the projected shields.  News reports come in of bombing on invaded areas, but it’s never enough.  For the dozens and dozens of robots destroyed, of soldiers finally shot down, there’s another ship full to fight.

Slowly, pictures start to come out of the aliens.  None of them seem to have much in common, other than purples and blues and their horrible, yellow eyes.  Fur, scales, horns, fangs, tusks, claws-

All of it the same, with armor on and blasters in their hands.

Governments start to stop responding.  Some have buckled down into isolationism, hoping to weather the storm.

Others are simply gone.

Colleen sits upon a wealth of information.  She calls in a favor, gets a gun.  Holes out in her room with Baebae and waits for the aliens to come to her.

It takes a few hours of that for her to think no.

So instead she loads Baebae into the car with as many supplies as she can get from the house, and then as much as the few grocery stories still open can sell.

Then she starts to drive.

III) The Garrison is no better than anywhere else.

Colleen wasn’t sure what she was hoping for.  

There’s yelling and panic.  The students have been evacuated - it even started before the invasion, after a crash and several students snuck out and were never found.  Colleen tries to feel sorry for those poor lost kids, whatever happened to them, but she can’t find it in herself, not really.  If they died out there, they missed the worse deaths later.  Shouldn’t have snuck out in the first place anyway.

Colleen knocks on doors, offers her services.  No, she’s not a soldier, no, she doesn’t have Sam’s particular training, for what good it would have done them.

Instead, she shows them the information she’s collected, from all her calls and favors.

Colleen has the clearest picture of the invasion, maybe of anyone on earth.

Iverson eyes her, takes in her haggard appearance and her fierce grip on Baebae’s collar.  The stubborn set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes.

“Alright,” he says, nodding to one of the younger officers (a lieutenant, like Matt would have been- no don’t think about it).  “Take her to the communications room.”

Colleen goes with her head held high, and ignores the ache in her heart at the sight of the uniforms.

IV) No one knows what the aliens want.

Colleen fixates on that.  No one’s been able to get the aliens to talk.  The very few captured alive will only say the same thing, over and over.  ‘Veprit Sa.’  No translation known.  They have linguists on it, but they have nothing to work on.  It’s a fool’s errand.

But Colleen needs to know why.  Does Earth have some material they want?  Do they just want to lay claim to the land?  Did something happen?

There’s a thought, in the back of her mind, that Colleen doesn’t want to shine a light on.  A fear that maybe the reason the aliens had never come before was that they hadn’t known Earth was there.  Until they breached the surface, until humanity went just that touch too far.  Maybe they’d disturbed a nest they hadn’t been aware was there.

Pilot error.  No one can tell her what that means, because it means they don’t know.  Pilot error meant ‘human error, maybe?’  It meant ‘we don’t see anything wrong, there was no crash’.  It meant ‘something happened but it wasn’t us, so it had to be someone else’.

Had her husband and son and their pilot been the first victims of these monsters?

Colleen thinks of Sam’s endless enthusiasm, his pursuit for his life’s work, the proof that somewhere, out there, was someone else.  That humanity was not alone.  

She buries her face in Baebae’s fur and hides her burning eyes.

Then she gets back to work.

Slowly, day by day, more cities and sources go quiet.  But they finally get another word.

V) ‘Voltron’.

What’s a Voltron?

Colleen has no idea.  She still has no idea when the sky darkens, and when a fleet of ships lands in front of the Garrison.  One of the few remaining points of communication, it would have been a target sooner or later.

Their time was up.

“Stay,” Colleen ordered Baebae.  Closing a door on him would be a death sentence if no one was around to let him out, so she has to rely on commands.  “Stay!”

The dog sits obediently, gray on his muzzle and tail thumping quietly.

She has so little left to loose.

Colleen will do her best to protect this piece.

With that, Colleen draws her gun and turns around.

The base is overrun quickly.  There’s no defense against them as they barrel through, shooting or striking down anyone in their way.

But Colleen has lost too much.  She won’t turn tail and let this be taken.

One steps forward, their huge, fluffy ears a mocking counterpoint to their fanged smile and glowing eye.  He speaks, a string of words that mean nothing to Colleen.  He sounds upset, almost nervous.  Frantic.  Impatient.

When he speaks again, this time she does know one word.

‘Voltron’.

Several times, over and over, angrier each time.  The alien roams through the room, of the scientists and soldiers and one civilian left.  They meet Colleen’s eyes, and their single one narrows, seeing something.

Seeing her lack of fear.

Colleen has lost so much.  This alien can’t touch her, not really.  Not like she’s already been hurt.

They get closer, growling.  They don’t check her hands, to see if she’s tied up like the rest.  ‘Voltron’ again, demanding.  There’s yelling behind them, one of the other soldiers hissing and pointing to a floating screen, urgent.

There’s a huge crash outside.  The one-eyed cat-jackass looks in that direction.  They’re tense, worried, out of time.

When they look back, Colleen’s gun is in their face.

“Go ‘Veprit Sa’ yourself.”

She fires and gets him right in the remaining eye.

The other soldiers shout, and the skinny one with the screen draws their weapon.

Outside, there is a mighty roar.

Bonus) There’s nothing left to lose, and everything to gain.

“Matthew?” Colleen asks, breathless, as the green-armored one takes off their helmet.

But the face is too young, the body too short.  Instead, they gape at her in a very familiar way.  “Mom?”

“Katie?!”

Suddenly, she has an armful of excited daughter, three cadets of various levels of nervousness to deal with, a missing pilot who apparently didn’t error, and two aliens (not those aliens) to deal with.

When Voltron flies away, Colleen Holt is with them.

She lost her family once.  Really, the least she could get in return is a space castle.