#lyrics are there from “with my tail to the world”

[flunkett]

"fox brained"

[raitrolling]

Aren't I hurting anyone? Perhaps it's time for me to tear apart For what it is I've been Denote my place within humanity Projecting by my will I've been amassing solid iron claws Ignore the rottenness My recitals will decay in a flash

Happy birthday @cloudbattrolls! my buddy, my pal, my partner in writing hilarious and occasionally deeply cursed crimes

here's your blender gremlin :]

(full view)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 5: Heads Or Tails, Fairy Tales In My Mind]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Are We The Waiting” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“I know he has a scalpel in his bag,” Baela says, meaning Aemond. You are sitting with her on the front steps of a two-story house—1970s construction, split foyer, pale blue siding and rust-red bricks—on Trux Street in Plymouth, Ohio. This town was named for the place where the pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower over four hundred years ago, pioneers who crossed through the doorway of an unfathomably changing world to die of disease, cold, accidents, starvation, violence. You wonder if you are so unlike them. “He’s assisted with c-sections before, if it comes to that. And he has needles and surgical thread. But he doesn’t have any way to anesthetize me.”

Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the silver Chrysler Pacifica parked at the end of the driveway and surveilling the road. Everyone else is inside tearing the house apart as they try to find the keys. You don’t know what to say to Baela. There is no way to console her except by lying, and she’s too smart for that. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know.” She laughs like she’s on the verge of losing her mind. You don’t blame her. “The doctors calculate it based on the date of your last period, but mine was all over the place. I had tried a few different birth control pills and had all these side effects, weird spotting and cramping, no sex drive, feeling depressed, so I just figured I’d go all natural for six months and give my body a chance to reset. And we all know how that turned out.” She skims her palms over the globe of her belly, hidden beneath the flowing periwinkle cotton of a maternity dress she found at the Walmart back in Shenandoah. “I’m officially due in four weeks.”

“But it could happen at any time.”

Baela nods miserably. “My mum had me and Rhaena the…you know…the natural way, and it was smooth sailing. But she needed an emergency c-section with my little brother. What happens if that’s how it goes for me? Do you ever think about all the ways people can die now? It’s not just the zombies. I could get murdered, or fall and crack my skull open, or get a cut that turns septic, or rupture my appendix, or get frostbite or heatstroke, or get bitten by a snake. It never ends. We’ll be balancing on the knife’s edge for the rest of our lives.”

You wish you were better with words; you wish you were someone who spoke effortlessly like Rio or Aegon. You reply with the only thing you can think of. “Humans have survived for hundreds of thousands of years, and for the vast majority of that time with no modern medicine. It was dangerous, and it was painful. But there have always been people who made it. We wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

Remarkably, this seems to help. “I know Aemond will do everything he can for me,” Baela says, more steadily now. “He’s always been the most dependable one. So serious, so protective. Daeron was visiting us in Boston when everything shut down, and Aemond wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight for weeks…then Aemond almost died when he lost his eye and Daeron proved he could take care of himself with his compound bow.” Baela unwraps a Twizzler and takes a bite out of it, gazing vacantly at the sky, calm and overcast now that the storm has passed, breezy, mid-80s. She doesn’t even like them, but she’s been eating through a pack of Twizzlers Luke had been carrying in his backpack for Jace, slow mindless chewing like a cow’s. “Aemond feels responsible for you now. And that’s difficult when there’s so little control he actually has over what ends up happening.”

“Baela…I’m so sorry about Jace.”

“Drowning isn’t so bad, I guess. I hope he drowned. I hope he was dead before he washed ashore and they ate him.” Baela turns to you, eyes glazed. “Do you think we should have shot him before we left the river? To make sure he didn’t die in pain? You could have done it if you wanted to. Your aim is good enough.”

“No,” you say, horrified but trying to soften it. “I think that would have been…immoral.”

“I don’t even have a picture of Jace to show the baby, everything was online or on my phone, and now that’s all…gone. Just gone. Like he never even existed. How am I going to explain to my child what Boston was, or law school, or aerospace engineering, or grocery stores or shopping malls or Instagram, or anything else about our lives before this whole fucking disaster? All they’ll ever know is running from monsters, scrounging for shelter and supplies from the ruins of civilization.”

“The world is going to come back, Baela. Maybe not for five or ten years, and maybe looking a lot different than it did before, but humanity will recover. The Black Death wasn’t the end, and neither were the World Wars or the Mongol invasions or the colonization of the Americas, or famines or floods or volcanic eruptions. The zombies won’t end us either.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I want to. “Yeah, I do. We just have to hold on until the tide turns. We can’t give up.”

“In that case, I’ll try not to go completely insane in the immediate future. Thank God Rhaena and Luke are still here. Do you have any siblings?”

You smile vaguely. “Four.”

“Wow,” Baela says. “Do you know where they are now?”

There is an interruption before you have to decide how to answer: a roaring high above in the sky, a remote mechanical growling. You and Baela both look up to see a jet zooming by, just below the steel grey cloud cover and leaving a trail of condensation behind it like a comet’s tail of eons-old cosmic dust. From where he is perched atop the Pacifica, Luke is pointing at the jet to show Rhaena. Aemond, Rio, Aegon, and Daeron come rocketing out of the house to find the source of the noise. After a moment, Helaena moseys onto the front porch as well, tucking flashlights and napkins into her burlap messenger bag. Meanwhile, Aegon is filling his pockets with packs of Marlboro Golds and orange prescription bottles labelled Percocet.

“Is that an airplane?!” Aegon gasps. “People are flying again?! Oh, we are back, baby! We are so back! I’m catching the next flight to SFO, peace out bitches, no more Oregon Trail for me!”

“It’s a jet,” Aemond says flatly. “Not a passenger carrier. Probably military.”

“Doesn’t look like one of ours.” Rio turns to you for confirmation.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Then who the fuck is up there?” Aegon says. “Canada? The U.K.?”

Rio sighs, ruffling Aegon’s already quite disheveled blonde hair. “Who knows, Honey Bun. Maybe it’s China or Russia swinging by to drop nukes on any survivors.”

“Fortunately, nobody’s going to waste a nuclear bomb on freaking Plymouth, Ohio,” Baela says, watching the jet vanish into the west, the droning of its engines replaced by the breeze through the sugar maples and sycamores, the screeching of cicadas and chirps of robins. “No luck finding the keys?”

Aemond frowns as he shakes his head, tapping his chin anxiously. He knows she can’t walk much farther.

“How do none of us know how to hotwire a car?” Aegon demands, exasperated.

Rio replies cheerfully: “Well, Chips and I have been diligently serving this glorious nation since we were eighteen years old, and you’re all clueless rich kids. So…I think that just about sums it up.”

“I need more arrows,” Daeron says, clutching his compound bow. All the ones he had are now speared through zombies along the river where Jace died. When you snuck away from the farm at dawn, Luke used his binoculars to check the shores; they were still swamped with zombies, even more than the night before. They are pack animals; alone, they are aimless and easily confounded, their memories calamitously short. As part of a group—if they were crows they’d be a murder, if they were camels they’d be a caravan—zombies attract and guide each other, moving symbiotically like planets and moons locked in orbit.

“I think you’re going to have to start making them the old fashioned way, kid,” Rio tells Daeron, accompanied by a rough pat of encouragement on the back.

“What, like with sticks?!”

“Yeah. Use a knife to carve one end to make it pointy and you’re good to go.”

“Love it. Very pioneer.” Aegon holds up a Sony Walkman, pink and covered with Disney stickers, Ava spelled out across the top in glittering rhinestones. “At least I found this. Helaena, do we have any more AA batteries?” She fishes around in her bag and hands him a pair.

Baela gapes at him, but she’s smiling. It’s horrible, it’s absurd, it’s something you can’t help but find a macabre humor in. “Aegon, you cannot use that poor eaten kid’s CD player. You know it’s haunted.”

Aegon sings like a jingle from a commercial: “Little Ava died, RIP. Now I get to listen to my CDs.”

“Oh, that is so fucked up!” Rio cackles.

You say, grinning: “Aegon, I’m really going to miss you when we’re all in heaven at the bowling alley made of clouds and you’re downstairs in the fiery version of the afterlife.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, Chipmunk. You’re the one who’s going to die without ever having an orgasm.”

“You don’t need a man for that, Aegon,” Baela says.

“You definitely don’t,” you agree. Aemond glances over at you, intrigued. You stare dauntlessly back. What? You said you weren’t interested. The corners of his lips curl up in a reticent smile; he looks down to try to hide it. He’s touching his chin again. His cheeks flush pink as his mind wanders.

Rio chuckles. “Oh yeah, I remember your little experimenting phase. Lots of trips to the Spencer’s in the Tysons Corner mall when we were stationed at Anacostia.”

You raise your eyebrows, though you’re not annoyed. “I thought you were never going to tell anybody about that.”

“It’s the end of the world, baby. No time to be shy.” Then Rio asks Aemond: “Since we’re here and it’s quiet, you want to go ahead and check every house that has a car with the fuel cap still closed? There are some minivans and SUVs down at the other end of the street. Even a few gallons of gas will take us farther than days on foot.”

Aegon adds, checking his map: “A half tank would get us all the way to Decatur, Indiana.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Aemond says. He offers Baela a hand and helps lift her to her feet. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the driveway with the black…what is that, a Honda Odyssey? You know the one, the van in front of the yellow house. Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“Yup!” Aegon agrees as he speeds off, racing Daeron to the house. Rio—not one for sprinting—jogs after them with his Remington in hand, ready to bash rotting skulls in at a moment’s notice. Baela toddles down to the Pacifica to tell Luke and Rhaena the plan, her periwinkle dress billowing in the wind; then they climb down to walk with her. Helaena floats across the sidewalk like a ghost, pausing to pick buttercups that grow up between the cracks in the cement.

Aemond has been waiting until the two of you are alone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” A few houses down, a female zombie—early-twenties, white bikini top, red Ohio State shorts—staggers across the yard and in her attempt to snag Aegon falls and impales herself on the white picket fence. She is suspended there, clawing and yowling, her blackening intestines and dark clotted blood staining the wood. Aegon takes his time getting into a stance and swings his golf club like he’s at a driving range. He hits her dead-on, caves the front of her face in, takes a few more shots just to be sure.

“I get what’s in Oregon for Rio,” Aemond says. “Sophie, the baby, his parents. But why are you going there?”

“Rio’s my best friend. He might be my only friend who’s still alive. And when we left Saratoga Springs, he made me promise that I wouldn’t let him die alone. So before anything else, I have to make sure he gets to Odessa and finds his family. And then I can figure out what’s next for me. But if it really is safe there, I don’t see why I’d leave. I’ve never wanted to be on my own. Maybe I can end up having a family in Oregon too.”

Aemond rests his elbows on the porch railing. He’s teasing you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still alive.”

You tease him back. He deserves it. “I’m not sure about you and me.”

“I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Would you?”

“Resoundingly.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He considers you. “You know, Kentucky might have been a good place for you to hide out. And it would be a lot closer than Oregon.”

You stand up, throwing on your backpack full of bullets for your Beretta M9s, beef jerky and peanut butter crackers and granola bars, lip balm, bottles of water, Kleenex tissues, Juicy Fruit, miscellaneous treasures from the road, practically worthless trinkets made so impossibly valuable. “We’re done here, right?”

Aemond is disappointed, though not with you. He has committed an error he cannot understand. “Yeah, we’re done.” He walks with you to the yellow house, your sneakers pounding in tandem on the sidewalk, squirrels and rabbits darting through the overgrown lawns, eastern tiger swallowtails swooping between blossoms.

Aegon says when you and Aemond arrive in the driveway, nodding to the once-attractive blonde zombie pawing and licking at the glass of the living room window: “Who wants to take care of Ryan Seacrest?”

“Got it,” Rio replies immediately. He kicks down the front door, macerates the zombie’s skull with the butt of his Remington, then sweeps through the kitchen and dining room searching for any other monsters in need of hasty euthanasia. He doesn’t find any. He drags the corpse outside to lessen the stench of decomposition and opens all the downstairs windows.

“Commence Operation Find The Minivan Keys,” Aegon says as he rummages through drawers and cabinets. Helaena joins him, seeking so delicately she is almost soundless, her large blue eyes flicking from place to place. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron stay outside to keep watch. Baela collapses into a recliner in one corner of the living room and is dozing within seconds.

“I’ll clear the upstairs,” Aemond volunteers, then asks you: “Watch my blind side?”

You can’t help but smile; it is a generous invitation. It is an honor. You shadow him up the staircase of olive green carpet, through the hallway, into each of the three bedrooms and one full bath. When you are certain it is safe—exploring the back of every closet, under every bed—you and Aemond begin searching for weapons and car keys. The main bedroom is like a forest: blankets pattered with trees and deer, wood furniture, paintings of the Battle of the Wilderness during the Civil War. You investigate every drawer of the nightstand and dresser, then go to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else is around, then closes the bedroom door. Your eyes track him quizzically, shy skittish optimism, your head tilted, your fingers finding the dresser behind you, cool rust-hued oak, a color like dried blood. You slip off your backpack. Then Aemond comes to you like a returning comet—once in a lifetime, once in an eon—and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, soft, careful, unhurried, then turning famished, sweltering incurable hunger. You lift yourself up onto the dresser; your thighs have parted, and Aemond is between them, still fully clothed and leaving yours in place too, so innocent, so spotless, and yet in your mind you are imagining what it would feel like to lie beneath him as he opens and fills you, to be so irredeemably close to another person, to watch and listen as he teaches you what to do.

Right here? Right now?

It suddenly strikes you as too soon; you want this but you aren’t ready. Your heart races, you can’t catch your breath. “I am obligated to make you aware that according to your own calculations, I am likely dangerously fertile at the moment.”

Aemond grins as he bites playfully at your lower lip. “Relax. We’re not rounding all the bases this time.”

His voice evaporates your panic, lulls your rushing blood. Your muscles turn to seamless rippling water. Your bones crave the weight of his. “Yeah, totally, good, that’s good. Just making sure.”

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

In reply, you unbutton your denim shorts and pull down the zipper, slowly, very slowly, your gaze linked with his like torn flesh stitched together. He’s close enough to kiss you again, but he doesn’t; he takes your chin gently and turns your face to the side, admiring the curve of your jaw. Then his lips are on your throat and his right hand is skimming down the front of your shirt, over your belly, under your shorts. You gasp—the foreignness of another’s hand here, the disorienting vulnerability—and Aemond stops.

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him, smiling. You kiss him deeply, your fingertips tracing his scar, the work of his careful, gifted hands. Aemond does not flinch away. He presses his face into your palm, offering himself fully, taking shelter in you. And everything other than him—this house, this world, this age, this westward journey, this apocalypse—goes quiet, quiet, quiet, like when you are shooting, like when you are hammering nails under the sun. Aemond makes everything horrifying disappear. It is the greatest sort of magic you can imagine.

“So,” he says. “What did you buy at Spencer’s?”

“Green Day t-shirts.”

“Sure.”

“And some, uh, battery-powered companionship.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s fingers are moving against you; it is increasingly difficult to respond to his questions. “Internal or external? Or both?”

“Oh, definitely…um…I stayed on the outside, mostly. I tried…oh wow, okay…inside a few times, but I didn’t get much out of it. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

“No problem. We’ll work up to that.”

“Will we?” You hope you don’t sound too desperate. The warm coiling pleasure is swelling, strengthening, begging to be released, loosed like an arrow or fired like a bullet. Aemond’s fingers slip through your wetness, circling and pressing down harder, insistently, masterfully. It feels different than using toys: it is more gradual, less sharp, helplessly overpowering.

“That’s my plan. If you’ll allow it.”

You exhale a threadbare ghost of a whimper against his throat and then reach for his shorts, fumbling blindly for the button and zipper.

“No, don’t do anything,” Aemond murmurs, soft and pleading, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you. Please let me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot right at the moment.” You’re close now, your breaths quick and panting. You throw your arms around the back of Aemond’s neck and fold into him, feeling the thudding pulse of his carotid artery beneath your fingertips, the softness of his lips and unscarred cheek as he nuzzles the side of your face. It’s so quiet, but there’s no need to fill the silence, no words, no uneasiness. You’ve always wondered what you would have to do to please a man, what premeditated motions and praises you would offer him, niceties, perhaps even lies. But this is effortless. The shimmering golden glow like sunlight is here, and he is the one drawing it out of you, water from a well, blood from a tapped vein. The only sound you make is a shuddering inhale, but Aemond knows immediately. He closes his eyes, relieved, proud, beaming, resting his forehead against yours.

He asks: “Can I try…?”

“Yes, do it, please, I want you to.”

Aemond’s hand shifts between your thighs, moves lower, and there is a sudden jolt of pain like a pinch, like a bite. You wince before you can think to disguise it. Immediately, Aemond retreats, kissing your lips and your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were incredible.”

You reach for his shorts again and unbutton them. “Show me what to do.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He takes a shaky breath, drags his tongue over the fingers he touched you with, moans so quietly you can barely hear him. He frees himself from his clothes: long and thick, harder than you believed flesh could be. Aemond grasps your hand and places it, demonstrates how to move and how much pressure to apply. Then his own hands drop to grip the edge of the dresser as you stroke him. You nip at his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear; you coax euphoric sighs from him, feel a high in your bloodstream like something illicit and lethal.

“I’ll be honest,” you say. “I have no idea how that’s ever going to fit inside me.”

Aemond chuckles, distracted. “Women stretch, just like men do. It might take time, but it will happen. And I’ll make sure it’s as good as it can be.”

“I want it to be you, Aemond,” you whisper, and you can feel him throbbing in your hand. “You and no one else. Teach me how to do everything.” Make the world go away.

He gasps as he finishes, a thunderous trembling all over, a gush of white heat that flows over your hand. Curious, you lift it to your mouth. “Don’t—!”

But he’s too late; you lick him from your palm and then recoil at the taste, pungent, bitter, salty.

Aemond laughs hysterically, kissing your mouth and then your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“I hope I taste better than that.”

“You definitely do.”

You peer up at him, dazed, dreamy. “I really like you, Aemond.”

“You can’t fall in love with me.” It is a taunt; it is a warning.

“If I do, I won’t let you know,” you promise. “You’re on first watch tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll stay up too.”

“Rio already volunteered to do it.”

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Aemond purrs, brushing your hair back from your face, marveling at you. “I can’t have you sleep deprived. You’re our best shot.”

“I can handle it.”

“You want to be honest with each other, you want to communicate? I like knowing you’re rested. I like knowing you’re safe.”

The door flies open with a bang; Aegon stands in the threshold. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank of gas!” he announces ecstatically, jangling car keys in the air. Then he registers what he’s looking at. “Come outside when you’re done fucking.” Aegon slams the door shut; you hear his Sperry Bahama sneakers drumming on the staircase.

“I guess we should go,” you say reluctantly, untangling yourself from Aemond and sliding down from the dresser.

“Wait.” He gets a water bottle out of your backpack, soaks a handful of Kleenex tissues, and gives them to you to clean yourself off. When you’re done, he wipes himself down too. “Make sure you always take a piss after any…activities. We don’t have antibiotics if you get a kidney infection.”

“I know, doctor. I’ve read Reddit threads.”

“Not a doctor. Just a lowly intern.”

“You seem like an anatomy expert to me,” you say, then head downstairs.

The black Honda Odyssey is idling as the last of the supplies are loaded, the windows down, Baela adjusting the driver’s seat so she can accommodate her belly. Everyone piles inside and she steers the minivan out of the driveway and onto Trux Street. Aegon pops one of his mixtapes into the CD player. The song that pipes through the speakers is Prayer In C:

“Yeah, you never said a word

You didn’t send me no letter

Don’t think I could forgive you…”

“So,” Baela says casually, grinning at you in the rearview mirror. “How was the sex?”

“Stop,” Aemond begs, his face going red, smiling involuntarily.

You say placidly: “I appreciate your interest, but that’s not what we were doing.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Do you know what sex looks like or not, dumbass?”

“They were doing something, okay! Those were not virginal activities!”

“See, our world is slowly dying

I’m not wasting no more time

Don’t think I could believe you…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and watch the abandoned houses pass by in a blur.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Odyssey arrives in Decatur, Indiana just a few hours before sunset, gas to spare and plenty of time to find a safe place to spend the night. You break into a house on the outskirts of the west side of the city: a rancher with a screened-in porch, beach décor, bowls of seashells on tables and spray-painted aluminum dolphins on the wall. Baela plummets into sleep immediately, sharing the largest bed with Rhaena and Luke. Helaena writes in her spider notebook for a while before curling up on the living room couch, Daeron sprawled on the floor beside her with a couch cushion for a pillow. Aegon is in what was once a child’s bedroom; you have the bedroom of a teenage girl, perhaps spirited away to friends or relatives in some other part of the country, perhaps dead, perhaps lurching around out in the night somewhere, mad and murderous. Everything is purple, the walls, the blankets, the stuffed animals that form a mountain on the other half of the bed.

You are exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your thoughts won’t stop racing, stop craving. Aemond and Rio are in rocking chairs out on the porch, keeping watch and working their way through the case of Sunny D they found in the kitchen pantry. You go out to join them, then stop at the screen door that separates the linoleum-floored dining room from the porch. They are discussing you. You sit, legs crossed, listening in the dim silvery light, stars and moon and nothing else.

Aemond is saying: “She doesn’t talk much about where she came from.”

Rio chuckles, a low baritone rumble. “She doesn’t talk much in general. But yeah, don’t expect any juicy revelations. That’s not how she does things.”

“Do you know what her life was like before?”

“I know some of it. I don’t know a lot.” Rio pauses; you can envision him shrugging and running his fingers through his dark curly hair, weighing what you would be okay with him sharing. “I know that when I met her, her mother was calling all the time telling her to send money home. And she’d do it, because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Then she never had cash for drinks or anything, I was always paying her way, and one day I was finally like ‘Chips, how much do you actually have in your account right now?’ because I figured she must be down real low. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the balance, she had like three bucks left until her next paycheck, and of course then her mother would be calling again. She sent tens of thousands of dollars home that disappeared, poof, gone, without a trace.”

Aemond sounds stunned. “What did they spend it on?”

“Who the fuck knows with those people. Lottery tickets and cigs, probably. Trips to Virginia Beach. Benny Hinn Bibles. And when she tried to hit the brakes, her mother and siblings got nasty, calling constantly and telling her how awful she was and that they were going to starve. I convinced her to stop picking up the phone, but it took forever. I think she knew by then she was going to have to cut them off if she didn’t want to end up back there, but she needed somebody to give her permission. That was my job. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to anyone from home in years. Hell, Sophie was her AOP.”

“AOP…?”

“Oh, sorry, Arrears of Pay. It’s the person you designate to get all your benefits if you die in the service. I guess she figured that if our base got bombed or our plane went down or something, at least it would end up with my family.”

Aemond is quiet, thirty seconds, a minute, maybe two. “Obviously my circumstances were a lot different. But I understand having to choose between other people’s expectations and yourself.”

“Why are you asking me all this?”

Another pause; silent thoughts under glimmering stars and the shrieks of short-lived summer cicadas. “She takes me out of this world for a while. She makes the guilt and the fear go quiet. I want to know everything about her.”

When Rio speaks, he is gentle, compassionate. “The hard truth is, the details aren’t my business. They aren’t yours either. When people enlist, they’re starting over. It’s a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It gets them away from home, but it also gets them away from whoever they were before.”

“She said something like that once. Back at Fort Indiantown Gap.”

“It’s a polite way of telling you to shut up.” You know from his voice that Rio is smiling. “If she wants to forget her old life, you have to let her. If you care about her, you’ll want her to be able to move on.”

“I care.”

“She likes you,” Rio says. “But you could still fuck it up. She’s good at finding reasons not to trust people.”

“It’s a bad way to live.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m the same way.”

There is quiet now, only the sounds of Sunny D being slurped and cicadas screaming through the darkness. You have intruded enough. You stand and walk back down the hallway, then remember something Aegon said outside a Burger King in Pennsylvania. You go to his bedroom, illuminated by a flashlight pointed towards the ceiling, casting long deformed shadows.

Aegon is lying on his back with his head hanging upside down over the side of the bed—dinosaur blankets, bright red and blue pillows—puffing on a cigarette and listening to his new CD player, previously Ava’s, with both earbuds in. Then he spots you. Still upside down, Aegon hits the pause button on his CD player and says: “Hey, Microchip.”

“What did you mean about people pretending to love you?”

He smirks, shrugs, takes a lazy drag off his Marlboro Gold. “Every friend I’ve ever had has used me for money, mansions, yachts. Every girl I’ve ever fucked has wanted something in return. Mother prefers Daeron, Grandfather prefers Helaena, Criston prefers Aemond, and Father prefers his real estate empire and his model ships. Can you imagine loving a miniature replica of the Titanic more than your own children?”

“No,” you say, honestly and with heavy, gore-red pity. “You shouldn’t have to go back to people who make you feel that way. I wouldn’t.”

Aegon takes another drag as he watches you. “Aemond mentioned you’re from Kentucky.”

“I am.”

“But you won’t be returning.”

“No.”

Aegon nods, like you’ve answered an important question. “Aemond talks about you a lot. It’s cute. It doesn’t make me sick like when he was with Alys. Playing her games, breaking himself in half to follow her rules.”

You peer down at your fingernails, short and functional and unglamorous. You don’t want to hear about the older woman who was his lover, his obsession, his cure, his venom. She was poisonous to him, surely, and yet she was experienced where you are uninitiated and unversed, she had a PhD to compare with your high school diploma. Surely in those seven years he shared moments with her that were divine. Surely even a curse is woven from magic.

“Anyway.” Aegon rolls over, props himself up on his elbows, and extinguishes his cigarette in an empty plastic Sunny D bottle. “I have no particular affinity for my old life or the beach house in California, but that’s where Aemond is going. And I have to be where he is. I have to make sure he’s alright, you know?”

Yes, you do know; that’s how you feel about Rio. “What’s it like? That house up on a cliff all by itself?”

Aegon grins, like he’s caught you in a mouthwateringly compromising position. “Why? You thinking about visiting someday?”

“Just wondering.”

He squirms over to one side of the bed to make room for you, popping in an earbud. “Come listen with me.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here!”

You cross the room and kick off your sneakers, climb onto the bed, lie down and take the other earbud that Aegon offers you. What you hear when you listen is Don McLean’s American Pie. “Oh, this is ancient.”

“It’s a classic. I wish I’d gotten to live through the 70s.”

“We’ll reinvent them when the world starts up again. Disco and lava lamps and shag carpets. We’ll shoot heroin and listen to vinyl records. Jimmy Carter can be president if he’s still alive.”

Aegon snickers, and then he sings along, hushed but surprisingly melodic, solemn, tender. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyebrows raised, nodding, beckoning for you to join him. You adamantly refuse. You don’t sing in front of anybody, not even Rio.

“I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I’d heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

Aegon shoves your shoulder. “I could be dead tomorrow. Don’t ignore me.”

Self-consciously, but smiling a little bit, you begin to sing with him, so softly you can barely hear yourself. Aegon is beaming, small even white teeth beneath sparkling eyes, a murky cool blue like storm clouds, like the ocean, waves lapping at the shores of Diego Garcia, the Gulf of Tadjoura off the east coast of Djibouti, Corpus Christi Bay, places you once never knew existed.

“And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died.”

[wolven91]

The Artist's Eye

"Why does it look so strange?" Asked the noble, tilting his head one way, then the other.

"I believe it's wider than it should be. I have a summer home that has those buildings in the background there..." A scaled, clawed hand points at the backdrop of the portrait. "The buildings are far thinner in real life. Everything is wider than it should be." Claimed the second noble, another male whose tongue briefly flicked out from between his scaled lips and lapped at the blue liquid in his delicate glass.

The pair of them continued to observe the giant portrait painting of an ursidain general. It was unheard of, and completely novel. A painting! With oils and hand-crafted hues and paints. If one leaned in, and observed the collection from the side, one could even see the uneven strokes and application of the paints against a canvas. The subject didn't matter, the ursidain was practically unheard of, but his commissioned painted was on loan to the ssypno people for a gallery event, featuring a human artist.

His style was unknown, his methods unorthodox to the point of being unheard of outside of ancient texts that describe using chintian fur brushes.

"Wider? I would say this would be the wrong portrait to observe if we are wanting to check if the human's eye adds inches to the subjects girth!" Tittered the noble, gesturing at the rotund ursidain. Unbeknownst to them, the general had been delighted at his portrait and only at the promise he could have another done, did he relinquish possession of his painting.

The two nobles approached another painting, this one of a member of House Sa'vurn. 'The Promised Daughter', one 'Desh Sa'vurn', the people's favourite.

The two nobles joined a third, a female who was coiled directly in front of it.

"Her eyes are rather alive, don't you think?" The noble asked openly, drawing the two male's attention. It was true, Desh's eyes followed them. One of the males felt judged, as if the people's favourite Sa'vurn had found him wanting, whilst the other found them angry, as she were posed to strike him.

"If you observe each of his subjects, they are all observed in one fashion or another, but it is their eyes where he has put in more detail than other artists." The noble observed.

"Why? I would know more of the subject if her body posture made sense. Her shoulders are back, but her tail coiled? Her hood is flared yet not a dot of heat."

"Of course there's no heat, it is an oil painting." The lady sighed, pointing out the obvious. "We are observing what the human sees."

"No heat? Boring." Moaned the judged male.

"Fascinating I say. We are stripped down to our most basic parts. There is no lying when standing in in front of his easel. He ignores or is blind to our attempts to show our heat, to radiate what we want others to perceive." Extrapolated the lady noble, referencing how almost every single ssypno in the gallery was displaying as much heat as they could in their hoods, to show that they were successful and didn't need to conserve their heat. She frowned as she reached out, only to stop herself from touching the canvas.

"I do wonder why do many portions are left so dark?"

"I can answer that my lady." Came a lyrical voice from behind. The trio of ssypno turned at once and met the eye of an esquinine. He didn't flinch, or close one eyes, but met their gazes without fear in turn.

"I have been privy to the human's art from the beginning, he rented my loft when he arrived on our home world." Explained the long-faced empath.  "The portions that are dark to you, are actually a sea of different colours, but more in the hues of purples and dark blues. I'm afraid these are colours outside of your visual range."

The trio of large serpants turned back to the art and squinted, as if trying to force their vision to focus and draw forth a colour they'd never seen.

"It is one thing to know one has limited visual colours, it is another to stand before what we know is there and be unable to see it." The female noble lamented.

"Ugh, annoying. Why would he paint a ssypno with colours a ssypno can't see? Insulting."

"He paints for his own enjoyment; it just so happens that others consider this art worth money. Amazing than an artist is more creative when they aren't starving." Noted the esquinine before bowing curtly and leaving the ssypno behind. The esquinine meandered through and over the tails that trailed behind the various gallery patrons before slipping into a side down and strutting down a quiet hallway.

He came to a door, pressed his thumb to the reader then stepped inside.

The human was sat watching the screens.

"How's it going?" He asked, nervously nibbling on a nail. The esquinine stepped over and gently slapped the top of the human's hand, reminding him to stop with the nervous habit.

"Well. They still don't quite 'get' it, but then they are the upper crust. Dry and tasteless." Observed the empath, who turned to watch the screens as a crowd of ssypno tried to force their own world view onto art made by a wholly different species with a very different life to them.

"It's fun seeing ignorance get exposed over and over though..." Considered the esqunine, resting his head against a finger.

"Just because I see the world differently..." Mumbled the human, mildly frustrated.

"Galaxy, and I would be quick to point out they love to remind you, that you are smell blind. I think its rather justified to remind them that they are blind to a whole world of colours, no matter how rich they are." Pointed out the alien with a cold tone to the nobles.

"Body mods are a thing." Supplied the young man, considering how they could choose to have different eyes with their money.

"And admit they aren't perfect? They'd have an ice bath first." Came the esquinine's reply, without missing a beat, taking the human by surprise.

The human grinned and couldn't help but smile at the curt and cutting remarks of his closest ally, cheering him up immediately.

[houpss]

Relationships with SKZ

🧊–return to masterlist ¡! ✥

BANG CHAN+HWANG LILY (Chanly):

To begin with, she was deeply in love with him and Now she feels great affection for him, she literally cannot live without him for a second.

She literally fell in love with Chan because he was so kind to her while they were trainees.

Very cute and soft duet.

Lily helped Chan a lot with his self-esteem and self-acceptance, they did a great job together.

And Chan is always there when Lily has anxiety attacks or panic attacks, he's always there.

She is his regular guest in the Chan's room (more on that later)

Very popular pairing!!! (hyunlix, minsung and chanly almost three main ways )

She cried every time he said something bad to himself.

She takes him shopping, because Chan doesn’t really like this business.

The NOT funniest jokes that only they laugh at .

Mmm, she loves Chan's curls, plays with them every chance she gets.

bro...they're literally dating, don't you get it? THEY'RE IN A RELATIONSHIP

How did it happen?

Literally one phrase from Lily one cold and bad evening changed everything

Nicknames for the Chan (in phone):Channie wife 🌹

Nicknames for the Lily (in phone): Teddy Lily 🐻❤️

LEE KNOW+HWANG LILY (Limin):

Minho was extremely annoyed that Lily would be in a MAN group.

Constant joint training brought them closer, very close.

In front of the cameras, they tease each other and literally mock each other, but outside the cameras...

Outside of cameras and public life, they are together, they love each other

bro...they are like brother and sister. they love each other so much

Lily is very attracted to him

Dance duet. THEY DANCED THE TROUBLE MAKER (what Hyunjin and Minho danced)

Small acts of caring.

He holds her hand in public, this is the norm.

They watch anime or cook together (that's why they live in the same dorm)

So much sarcasm.

Lily mom sunidunidori.

A couple of volunteers and a couple of sincerity

Nicknames for Lee Know (in phone): cat lover 🐈‍⬛

Nicknames for Lily (in phone): annoying lady 👾

SEO CHANGBIN+HWANG LILY (Binli):

THEY BECAME FRIENDS RIGHT AFTER CHANGBIN JOINED JYP.

Lily can just walk up to him and start screaming and Changbin will scream back.

They eat together and always eat.

She makes fun of Changbin because of his height, and Changbin is indignant.

Changbin steals Lily's cookies.

the noisiest in the group and in the company.

Changbinie teaches Lily women's choreography.

Lily dies at the sight of his muscles.

"My little dwaekki is lives in the gym???"

They're just fun and noisy.

Sometimes they write song lyrics together.

Nicknames for Changbin (in phone):Changbin 🐽🐰

Nicknames for Lily (in phone):LILYYYY ❤️

HWANG HYUNJIN+HWANG LILY (Lyhyun):

We disliked each other a little before debut.

But this immediately passed when the survival show began.

So aesthetic and flirty together 🫦

Hyunjin has a collection of Lily's portraits.

She makes hairstyles out of his hair, but Lily's favorite hairstyle is TWO TAIL ON THE SIDE (I’m dying, girls)

Hyunjin doesn't like to be touched a lot, but she's allowed.

She protects him from all the hate 🥺🥺

So beautiful and their interactions are going viral on social media.

Lily often watches Hyunjin draw, it's just so cozy.

THEIR HANDS DIFFERENCE.. Hyunjin's arms are 20.5 cm, and Lily's are 16.5.

He kissed her once on the cheek at a concert (oh my god, how the fans love it)

"My world is your peace of mind, and I am your protection"

Nicknames for Hyunjin (in phone): Mr.Hwang

Nicknames for Lily (in phone):Mrs.Hwang

HAN JISUNG+HWANG LILY (Lisung):

These bro jokers of the group.

They both have mental problems...

They write sad lyrical songs together.

Sweet tooth and of course the leaders of the sunny trio.

He's so chaotic and she's calm.

There are paired rings and paired T-shirts, the participants consider their T-shirts to be cringe, but they like it.

A very noisy duet part 2

Lily Paints Jisung's Nails.

They walk together to refresh their minds and get back to normal.

Walking with dogs is possible!

High notes are their place of comfort.

They didn't communicate during their trainee days.

Nicknames for Jisung (in phone): Squirrel 🌙

Nicknames for Lily (in phone): Lily ily

LEE FELIX+HWANG LILY (Lilix):

HER LITTLE BOY LIX 🥺🥺🥺

completes the sunny trio.

UBUBUBU LILY IS VERY GENTLE AND CAREFUL WITH HIM.

they bake desserts together!

Felix arranges ASMR sessions for Lily.

She saw his abs and went crazy.

Literally two kittens.

Lily's soft voice and Felix's bass....

They have several covers and songs together and maybe stay will hear them.

She was very careful and gentle with him during her trainee days, because Felix was very shy and afraid.

HE IS HER SUNSHINE:(((

They're soulmates, okay?

The second most popular pairing is with Lily (Chanly is in first place, and Limin is in third)

Nicknames for Felix (in phone): Bby sunny 🥺🩷

Nicknames for Lily (in phone): Kitten soo 😼

KIM SEUNGMIN+HWANG LILY (Seungly):

Okay...he's a pain in her ass.

SHE BARKED AROUND HIM ONCE (he thinks she's weird)

Lily loves his vocals and his voice.

Seungmin mocks Lily, but he also knows how to care.

Seungmin teaches Lily to play baseball, but she is not a very good player.

He takes photos of her, because according to Lily, Seungmin takes the best photos.

Snarky #1

When she is anxious, he brings her some soft toy and leaves.

But then the boy always finds out how she feels.

DAY6 FANS

Let Seungmin smile so widely next to Lily

Nicknames for Seungmin (in phone): Don't pick up the phone

Nicknames for Lily (in phone): Lily bear

I.N+HWANG LILY (Lijeon):

Her sweet child!

But, I want to say that Jeongin is 23 (!) and he is such a protection and support for Lily, he loves her very much 🥺

They go to Busan together and hang out there

Jeongin's family considers Lily their daughter (problems in Lily's family)

Jeongin is so handsome and sweet, Lily loves his company

He repeatedly selected looks and outfits for her for some outings and she did the same for him.

Jeongin allows Lily to hug him WITHOUT PROBLEMS AND NOT LIKE WITH THE OTHER MEMBERS.

Literally helped him with his homework

They have a card (which all the Stays fight for) where they are hugging and they are wearing pale pink outfits

They watch dramas at night (Chan scolds them for this).

Nicknames for Jeongin (in phone): millionaire guy

Nicknames for Lily (in phone): beautiful bear 🐻🫂

[celestialtarot11]

If you were a mermaid or a siren, what powers would you have? Whats your story? What song captures your essence? 🌀🐚

Hi everyone! Super fun and silly tarot reading just to switch it up 🤗 I always fantasized being a mermaid when I was younger and I still do 😤 mermaids are ELITE. Sirens too 👀 if ya’ll liked playing mermaids this is your reading —> Pick below 😈

• Pile 1: You guys love adventure as a mermaid/siren. I’m getting mermaid vibes for ya’ll instead. You would be the type to talk to fishes and have your little community of fish. I’m seeing fish school 🤣 like if fish could talk you’d have a little meeting where you’re the teacher and you’re teaching the fish the wonders of the world. Meaning you’re telling them your stories of walking on land, and they’re all so intrigued. Talking fish is a little scary for me, but I’m picturing the little mermaid alright 😤 and ya’ll love a good chase either with men or women or both. You guys love the attention, and love to hide at the same time. You never really give up who you are underneath, but you’ve got one best friend who you tell everything too. They’re probably a mermaid too, and they’re super sweet. So maybe you know someone in this lifetime who is sweet, you can picture them as your mermaid sister 🤣 or best friend. As for powers I get the power of creativity.

You cast spells with your eyes and the fire of creativity makes you feel alive as a mermaid. Other people are so intrigued by this they can’t help but wonder who you are, and what you’re doing. As a mermaid, your bubbly nature and warm laugh draws people in, and lures them into your energy. You’re definitely the kind to bring a topic up, scratch just the surface, and never truly give away the details. It leaves people wondering, thinking they truly know you, when in reality they don’t.

Your channeled song: Brent Faiyaz- FYTB this song is literally your essence. More so the lyrics than the beats. “I’m a hot bitch(cannot say the N word) check my degrees” thats literally your essence :)

• Pile 2 Hi :) I’m getting the vibe you moved away from the coast and have had to adjust to the city as a siren. The new life is something you want, but staying on land is temporary for your kind. Eventually, you have to dip your toes in the water. I see you as a siren studying in university or working in a job during the days, but by night your tail is out 💅🏻 you are reserved and it takes a while for you to slowly open up, so people are naturally inclined to wonder about you. You mostly spend time alone, and enjoy the peace the waters bring. But you know all about destruction, and change. You may resonate with this phrase, you are a walking tower of change. People learn different things about you; and you learn different things about others. When you walk into (or swim 😉) into peoples lives, they never remain the same. As a siren, your touch and energy cause people to feel seen. Naked almost, but no ones actually naked lmao. When they feel your otherworldly presence, they shiver and get goosebumps. Immediately, they know you’re different. Because you’ve seen many reactions which are good or bad from them, you’ve learned to isolate.

When you speak, when you move, or just exist, people see your power. People know there’s something intoxicating about you. They know you’re different, and to some it repulses them. For others who are bold, they are attracted to you. They want to know you, but you hold them at a distance. The unknowing push or pull attracts others and that is your power 🐚 I’m also seeing you have healing hands. When you touch others, they feel so much warmth wrapping around them. Some may want more than want you give, they want to be consumed by all the ways you touch them. Physically, mentally and spiritually.

Your channeled song: The Beach by The Neighborhood 🤍

• Pile 3! Hi 🤗🐚🤍 You guys are the real star lovers and moon lovers. Mermaid vibes for sure. Wanderlust and daydreaming. Some of ya’ll use daydreaming as an escape from your life. Some of you guys want to live as a human, and travel long distances without losing your legs. You fantasize about how humans are connected to earth, but find yourself returning to the water as a source of comfort. Both are important to you and it seems to me as a mermaid you want to strike balance with both worlds. You definitely are shy, but not quiet. I think if you had a chance, you’d spill what you want to someone else. You’d tell them your fantasies, your ideas of travel. And their response would be like, “why don’t you do it?” And you’d remember your reality as a mermaid, needing water to live and somehow you’d feel sad. You’re reminded of your hometown. I think leaving home, or a concept of home is scary for you all. As a mermaid, you find yourself talking to birds the most, your fish friends aren’t present as much. Somehow you find yourself connecting to birds more.

What is your power? Definitely your ethereal, starry energy. You resemble the night sky but a soft one. Where the wind blows gently and the stars are clear, and the moon is round and bright. People are comforted by you, and its easy to get lost in the likes of you. People like a good fantasy, they get high off you. They like the euphoria you bring, and want more. When they look in your eyes, they see nothing but a certain dreaminess, mixed with a longing. It makes them want to coddle you almost, or give something to you you never had. Thats how you lure others in. Along with your deep conversations, people think about them a lot after. It stays 🤍🐚

Your channeled song: Cool For the Summer Demi Lovato- this really captured your secretive energy. People are drawn to what secrets you hold, and your curiosity for the world pulls them in. So much about fantasy and paradise in this song, getting lost in someone, but for you its the world 🤍

Hi guys!! This was so much fun to create and definitely got my inner child going 🧜‍♀️🐚 comment below what mermaid you are & what resonated. We need more mermaids and sirens in this human world anyway 😤

Book a reading with me here 🤍

[loving-azerath]

ANGSTY JOHN PRICE FIC

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone" It was something Price heard often. It was something he sang in the showers when no one was around if it got stuck in his head. He never saw it any anything other than a song. Anything but an earworm. You would laugh with him. Smile with him. Sometimes if you were both in the shower, hands exploring the same body that had grown addicted to the touch. The feeling of your soaked wet bodies under the spray. Sometimes he would sing even then. Sometimes you would sing with.

If it came on in the car he would skip it though, moving towards dad rock or whatever song you had in your head at the time. His hand on your thigh. His eyes glancing over at you in the middle of traffic. God what a sight you were to him. Even in dead stop traffic he didn't mind. He didn't want to go anywhere. In his mind if the traffic didn't move neither did the world. Time could freeze. Just you and him, in a car. Your smile, your eyes. You infectious laugh when he told you one of his corny ass jokes.

It was everything to him. You made traffic fun. You made living life fun. You made everything feel so light. So bright. When in his world he only saw things under the dim scope of pessimism. You brightened everything.

Then suddenly, those lyrics were no longer just lyrics.

He was on a mission when he got that call. He was walking around the safehouse he was located at with his team. They were bickering around an old wooden table, playing a game of uno that Gaz was sure Ghost was cheating at. He was.

He answered it like he did every phone call.

"Captain John Price" He greets, it was a habit.

"Hello, sir this is Dr. Diaz from Saint Joseph's Hospital. This is regarding your wife, Reader Price" The voice says, he stopped walking

"My wife? Is she alright? What is she doing at hospital?" He asks, confused. Like that the arguments stop. The men looking up from their game. Their faces falling into a concerned expression. It was even evident on Ghost's eyes.

"She was admitted earlier today, there was a car accident and she came in with severe head trauma and blood loss. I am calling to inform, because while we were attempting to run tests to determine her condition, she unfortunately passed away. I am so sorry for your loss on behalf of myself and Saint Joseph's Hospital." He says, it was like the air was removed from his lungs. It felt like the blood not only left his face but heart too leaving it beating hopelessly in his chest while the chill took over.

"What?" He asks,

"I am sorry for your loss. We did what we could. Unfortunately the injuries she sustained in the accident were too severe and she succumbed to them too fast " He says, Price furrows his brows in confusion. He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. No because you had texted him that morning. You had sent him a good morning text with that fucking sunshine emote that creeped him out. He just stood there. Confused. The doctor says his goodbyes, yet even when the phone clicks off Price didn't remove it from his ear. He just stared ahead of him. The world around him seemingly to shift and move and he was being thrown off.

"Cap?" Soap asks approaching, Gaz on his tail.

"Captain? Is the missus alright?" Gaz asks, they get closer and as soon as Gaz goes to touch his shoulder his entire knees buckled. Soap catching his other side while Gaz hangs on tight.

"Woah woah- Cap? Cap?" Soap starts

"Price, mate what's happened?" Ghost asks getting up from the table, Price just shook his head. He could barely comprehend what he was told let alone be able to say it himself.

"No-" He manages out but it was all he could as they start lowering him to the floor. Noticing he wasn't catching his groundings again. He wasn't getting up.

The light seemed to be sucked out of the room. Suddenly he was on the floor and he still couldn't ground himself enough to understand. Enough to let it sink in.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone"

Suddenly meant everything to him. He suddenly understood. Because after that he couldn't find it. He would stand outside sometimes, feeling the heat on his face and yet he didn't feel like it was light. He didn't feel like it was bright enough.

He stopped skipping it in the car. Letting it play all the way through stuck in the same traffic when he was home. He wished the world would move. He wished this fucking prius would learn how to fucking drive and would just do it.

Suddenly the world seemed so quiet. So dim. So empty. Showers were cold no matter how hot the water. Beds felt too big. He would text your number. Sending that little fucking sun emote that he hated so much. Until one day the texts turned green. He called the phone company but they had already reassigned your phone number. He was dying inside. Suddenly those lyrics didn't seem like just lyrics, they felt like a death sentence. Though for him. Because everyday that he lived without your sunshine was another day he was left cold. Left freezing. Left getting frostbite on his nerves and heart. The world had taken you from him. The world that you made so fun.

Nighttime was the worst but felt the most true. He hated the lonely nights but he preferred the dim moonlight to the false sun in the sky. The sun trying so hard to shine as bright as you once had and yet it could never quite get it right.

There was truly no more sunshine, with you gone.

[annikin-annotates]

Lady of the Lake

Hi y’all! I’m so glad to be writing this for my dear kindred spirit for her 1,000 followers celebration! I hope you all enjoy the One Shot I’ve created using Hozier's Butchered Tongues as my base. Congratulations my dear @arcielee, you deserve all the love you receive, I hope this lives up to your expectations!. 

Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglists!

Happy reading.

Pairing: Aemond x Siren!Reader

Word Count: 3,069 (Nice)

Warnings; Blood, mentions of death, thoughts of ripping Aemond limb from limb. Minors DNI 18+

Chosen lyrics; They are buried without scalp in the shattered bedrock of our home.

The lake had been covered in misty fog, its eerie tendrils dancing just above the surface of the water, if one looked close enough they could see water sprites at work. Humans believed that magic was gone from the world, but if they only looked a little closer they would see that it was still here, barely; like the final embers on a candle wick. 

She lived beneath the surface of a pond, a safe haven under the ever changing waters of the stream that flows into it. It was always quiet in her small pond, the blue gills and catfish her only company. Though she would not say that it was entirely awful, it may be secluded and quiet but it was always safe, and being safe meant staying alive. 

Trees twisted and wrapped their way around one another, strangling one another for a chance at seeing the sun, oh how she longed for the sun’s warmth. The dense dark green thickets surrounding the edge of the lake, pointed thorns dipping into the water, another reminder of the cage she had put herself in. 

She slipped below the surface once more, sinking to the mossy floor, her head resting on a mossy rock, staring up at the underside of the lily pads. She spent the rest of her day hunting catfish and playing with the small water spiders that skimmed across the surface of the water.

She spent her night curled up in a patch of Hydrilla, its green tips making a space in the water. She stared up into the inky expanse and wondered what it was like above the surface. She wondered if perhaps one day, she too could walk amongst them. She had walked on land before, some centuries ago when she was only a girl.

Back when humans knew and respected the creatures that dwell out of sight, the rulers of nature. For a time they had lived in peace, silently walking amongst them, helping when needed, fighting in wars that were not ours, and aiding the sick with cures and magic long forgotten by mankind.

Somewhere along the path, we had become a threat, a danger to humans, they began to push them back into the woods and lakes, away from civilisations. Her mother was forced from her job as a maid in a keep not far from where she dwelled, it was not long after that, they began to cull them. All her family were snuffed out within a night, now all of them laid at the bottom of the God’s Eye.

All except her. 

She shook the thoughts from her head, she couldn’t bear to think about it any more. She reached a webbed hand toward the starry sky, the rippled surface obscuring the true beauty of it. Her arm came to rest by her side, disturbing the sediment as she sighed, an air pocket travelling all the way to the surface.  

Shimmering sunlight awoke her from her slumber, she sat up and stretched her arms and leant forward to stretch her back, the dorsal fin waying with the current. Perhaps today she would sun herself on the boulder in her lake, enjoy the sound of birdsong and they trickling water. The warmth of the flat rock warmed her cold flesh, her tail swishing in the clear water beneath her. 

The sun had just begun to beam down into her pond, refracting different colours like light onto a thousand precious gems. She spent time braiding her hair down the length of her back, small river flowers delicately weaved into it. She hummed the melody of a song her mother used to sing to her when she was young, the same one she would use to lure men to their watery graves. 

The sound of approaching hooves sent her beneath the water again, resurfacing in the safety of the water reeds. Directly across from her was a lithe man knelt by the running water of the stream, drinking handfuls of water. He was marvellous to look at, his deep green clothes and gold trimmed armour and his hair that looked like spun silver fluttering in the gentle wind. 

A familiar primal feeling came over her, it was stronger than she had ever felt before: have him, have him, devour him, feast upon his bones, it chanted. It frightened her, but she followed the feeling, diving below the water once more only to look at him from between the reeds. She could see all the features of his face now, a strong chin and pronounced nose and eyes that glittered like amethysts in the sun. He was handsome, but she could taste the sadness permeating from him, the wish to be anywhere other than where he was, she empathised with him. 

‘Come and find me,’ she whispered, edging him closer and closer to the water ‘Let me free you from your burdens,’ she cooed, watching him fall deeper and deeper under her spell. 

He was within her grasp, she surfaced from beneath the water, scaled chest glimmering in the sunlight, a webbed hand extended for him to take. Their fingers ghosted one another, his hands were soft and warm while hers were cold and slippery, ‘Come to me, my sweet,’ she hummed melodically. She could practically feel her teeth sinking into his flesh, tearing him limb from limb, the thought sent her milky eyes rolling back into her head. 

A woman with long dark hair grasped his shoulder, pulling him from her carefully laid trance, “You mustn’t venture too close to the water, my Prince,” she said firmly. By the time he had flicked his eyes towards the other woman and back to the water, she was gone. 

“Why?” she heard him ask, standing from the waters edge, his eyes hadn’t yet left the spot where he saw her. 

“Dark creatures lurk below the surface of these waters,” the woman replied, though the conversation had become less clear the further they ventured from the water. 

The woman in the water haunted him for days after returning to Harrenhal, the word she spoke to him ringing in his ears, ‘Let me free you from your burdens,’ she had said. She was slowly consuming him, mind, body and soul, and he had no desire to break free from her hold. He would never forget the feeling of being lured by her, both horrifying and euphoric. 

He saw flashes of her everywhere, peeking around corners, the melody of birdsong and in his dark haired lover. He saw her in the pursuit of his own high, chasing her from the recesses of his mind, Alys’ face slowly morphing into the face he saw below the water. Aemond could almost feel her talons ghosting along his skin, leaving rippling heat in its wake.

The feeling of fangs pressing against the column of his throat sent him into a frenzy of thrusts, his large hands guiding the body above him. The melodic song he had heard from her, guiding him like a boat through a tempest, had driven him over the edge. ‘Aemond,’ Alys moaned, though he heard only the melodic voice of the woman in the water. 

He didn’t dare look up at her, instead he slipped from beneath her, choosing to stand at the windowsill, looking over the God’s Eye, wondering about her. Slender fingers and soft lips trailed over his shoulder and down his arm, and yet it did not stoke the fire that burned deep within him as it usually did. 

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Alys asked her nose softly nudging the nape of his neck, her hands never leaving him.

Aemond thought for a moment, “Yes,” he replied, a cold edge to his voice. 

Alys pulled away from him, recoiling from the coldness of the  response “I see,” she said, clearing her throat. “I shall leave you be, my Prince,” she continued, making her way to where her clothes lay. She dressed silently and left through the servants corridor, to remain unseen. 

—

Muffled dragon cries woke her abruptly from her slumber, she broke the surface of the water, a panicked gasp tearing from her as she looked helplessly at the sky. She looked around her, as flickering embers and ash fell from the sky, she couldn’t stay here. Today would be the day where she would face her fears and leave the safety of her pond.

She heaved herself up through the bramble that surrounded her pond, thorns pricking and scratching her tender skin, half blind from the sun. Her legs wobbled as she took a few steps before breaking out into a stumbling run, similar to that of a newborn foal. She cried out in pain as she began to run, nothing good could come from two dragons warring above, she needed to clear out of the pond, she could return when it was safe. 

The pain in her legs and feet was extraordinary, each log she cleared felt as though she was stepping on shards of glass when she landed. It was so loud, the overlapping shouts of soldiers, the clanking of armour and screeching of metal on metal, it was cacophonous; it reeked of self assured destruction. Every bone inside her wanted to turn around and leap back into the safety of her pond, but now wasn’t the time for hiding, it was the time for running. 

She veered deeper into the forest, but something made her stop to look up at the sky, to the dragons wrapping themselves around one another. She turned away once more, determined to find some other body of water to bide her time, when an ear piercing screech sent her to a screeching halt. Her breath heaved in her chest, her lungs working overtime ‘He needs you,’ a pleading voice whispered.

It was enough to send her careening towards the waters of the God’s Eye. 

The larger of the dragons was falling towards the lake, its throat had been ripped open, flames escaping the wound. If its rider was to stand any chance of living she would need to rescue him, humans didn’t live long once they entered her domain. She threw herself head first into its frigid waters, disappearing into its depths untraced. Her eyes only needed a minute to adjust to her surroundings once more, the world around her becoming a little clearer, and it would be any moment before that scaled beast would hit the water.

The crash was unimaginable, sediment and rocks flew past her as she braced herself by a sunken boulder, she could hear the sound of the heart drumming in his chest. It was now a race to find him before The Stranger did, she at the very least could follow his heart beat. She had no idea why she was putting herself in danger for a human who was supposed to be her next meal, she was designed to consume them - not save them. 

She dove deeper and deeper into the lake, the sunlight filtering away, total blackness enveloping her. Though she could not see very well above the water in the sunlight, she could see perfectly in the dark. She did not dare look at the bedrock of the lake, in fear of discovering corpses she did not wish to see. She could see the roiling bubbles ascending to the surface and the immense heat emanating from directly beneath her, she wasted no time in diving again. 

She very quickly discovered the corpse of the beast, resting peacefully in the bedrock, her rider still saddled. She stopped directly in front of him, watching his hands shake as he struggled with the chains. Malicious thoughts slithered into her head; she could feast for ages on both dragon and rider, she would have no need to think about the surface for a long time. It would be so easy, all she had to do was wait for him to drown.

No. He didn’t deserve this, at the very least she could unbind him and send him to the surface, what happened to him beyond that was not her problem. Against her better judgement, she rushed him, shoving his hands away from the ropes around his waist and ripping them away with her nails. He struggled and thrashed in her grip, using all his might to get away from her.

‘Stop struggling! I’m trying to help you!’ She hissed. He ceased his struggling immediately, having become sluggish and slow, the lack of oxygen finally taking its toll on him, leaving him weak and defenceless. Everything in her screamed at her to devour him, to gut him like a fish and swallow him whole.

A helpless groan left her as she threw his arm around her broad shoulders, heaving him up towards the rippling light of the surface. They wouldn’t be looking for his body yet, but she didn’t have long before they would be descending upon them, she’d be damned if she would die for a human. With one final forceful push of her tail, she was able to push his lithe body halfway up on to a secluded bank, her heartbeat thundering in her chest.

He wasn’t breathing. Gods, he wasn’t breathing!

With the last of her strength she threw herself up onto the bank, kneeling beside him; his heartbeat was there, but faint, she needed to work quickly if he was to survive the day. His body felt as though it was made of lead as she dragged him away from the water, the further away they were from the water, the less temptation there was. 

He had taken water into his lungs, which meant she needed to get it out as soon as possible. She opened his mouth, placing her own on his, pulling the water from his lungs mouthful after mouthful, spitting it onto the lush grass. He had other wounds, cuts and scrapes but it was nothing she couldn’t use her magic to heal. With a final mouthful of water, air rushed into his lungs, sending him bolt upright coughing and hacking. 

The movement sent her toppling over into the grass, where he descended upon her, blade against her throat. Her slender taloned fingers spread out across his face, daring to take his other eye. 

“I saved your life, and this is how you repay me? By slitting my throat?” she asked, half daring him to do it, maybe then she would get some peace. His face seemed to shift in that moment, furrowed brows relaxed his clenched jaw loosening. 

“You are right, I am sorry,” He replied, taking the blade from her throat.

The woman in front of him was full of contradictions, she was both dark and light, sharp edges and softness, terrifying and beautiful. She had almost lured him to his death one day and then saved him the very next. She held no fear in her eyes, even as he had held the blade to her throat, her beautiful, supple throat, he shook the thoughts from his head. 

“Stop looking at me like you wish to swallow me whole, and let me heal you,” she bit at him, a gentle push sending him into the plush grass. She struggled with taking his chest plate, the leather straps far too finicky for her liking she took a sharp talon to the supple leather, slicing into it. 

“No, leave me here,” he told her, trying to force her hands away. 

“You will die if I don’t tend to your wounds!” she said through gritted teeth, pulling the chest plate away and straddling him, pinning his arms underneath her legs. Her hand hovered over the gaping wound in his shoulder, a calming blue light emanating from her palm. She watched the wound pull the deep red ichor back into his body, skin stitching itself shut, leaving no trace that there was ever a wound there. 

I’d like to see his witch heal him in such a manner. 

—

They took shelter in a cave deep in the woods outside Harrenhal, out of the sight of prying eyes and away from hands that would do them harm. In the time they had spent in the cave, she had learnt that the Prince's name was Aemond and that he was not one for conversation. 

“I wish I could leave all of this behind,” Aemond whispered, his voice laced with pain and exhaustion. She sat cross legged across from him, a pleasant prickling feeling crawling up her legs from sitting in one place. 

She tilted her head to the side slightly “Why can’t you?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

“I have a duty to my family, it's a matter of honour,” was the silver haired Prince's response, his jaw twitching as his arms came to rest across his broad chest. The dim embers illuminating the way his lip twitched upward as she leant forward, to press him further.

“Your family would rather send you to die than allow you to leave?” She responded, her voice laced with disbelief, she shook her head. It slowly became clear to her about what happened just hours ago, when he demanded she leave him to die. He had wanted that fate, he would have preferred death to failure. 

Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice taking on an edge “It is about honour, as I said,” his response did not invite any further conversation between them. And for a while there was nothing but the crackle of logs on a fire and the sound of their breaths. 

“Run away with me, it's not safe for either of us here. We can board a ship tonight and be gone by morning,” she offered, they could board a ship for Essos or Yi-Ti and never be found again. She would forsake the waters of her home for him, if it meant that he could live the life he desired. 

“No,” was Aemond's immediate response, face contorting into a scowl. She was beginning to break down the barrier of duty and honour he had surrounded himself with, for without those virtues, what would he become? 

She stood from her perch on a boulder, allowing the silk shoulder cape Aemond had given her to cover herself to slip away. Exposing the mounds and valleys of her body, the scales on her legs and cheekbones catching the firelight. “Come, My Darling. Please just give me your hand,” she cooed into his ear, running her delicate fingers over his shoulder and up the column of his throat, stopping to stroke his jaw. 

And so he did. 

Thank you to my darling @sylasthegrim for beta reading this! And creating the wonderful header/moodboard!

Please reblog my work if you enjoy it! it helps keep fan fiction alive <3

[shhh-secret-time]

hiii! i rlly enjoy your writing and ur one of my fav sp writers so i was wondering if u could possibly write poly style (stan and kyle) fluff with a shy reader! tyyyy <333

Ohhhh ohhhh I'm so soft for this, I'm weak. I love fluff pieces so much and for some reason they're the hardest for me to write! I'm sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! It's Mermaid flavored.

Warning: Strong Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, these boys being adorable dorks

Pairing: Stan x GN!Reader x Kyle

The feeling of the waves brushing against your ankles as they continue their dance with the moon is the only thing anchoring you to this moment. Wet sand beneath your feet seem to sink slightly, molding to show the world where you stood. Only for the ocean waves to take it away.

Each time you came out to this secluded little cove you would challenge yourself to find something new. Yesterday you found a little crab buried under the soft blanket of sand. Today it was a new rock sticking out of the water. Just on the outskirts of your vision, you had never seen it before. Your eyes take in the outline and the shadows it cast on the dark water. The only light from the large full moon behind it.

Night probably wasn't the best time to come to the water, much less alone, but you liked it that way. It was exhausting having to be around so many people all the time, most of the time you didn't even know what to say or talk about. It's not that you didn't want to contribute to conversations and be invited out to things with your friends, but it was hard. You needed moments like this.

Moments with the moon, the stars, and the ocean to keep you company. Some nights it felt like something straight out of a story book. Watching intently as the ocean beckons you to come closer, how She sings for you.

Her song is beautiful. A language you can't understand but a rhythm you can feel. So, you sing back to Her on nights like this. With the sky clear so the moon can hear your voice. You only hope the moon knows how beautiful She is.

So, you part your lips and suck in a cool breath. For a moment it catches in your throat, years of teaching yourself to keep your mouth shut takes over. But only for a moment. After a single heartbeat the lyrics pour from your mouth, a second breath and you're sharing a tune with the ocean.

Sometimes while you'd sink things would brush against your legs. Shells and seaweed cling to your skin, and sometimes you like to pretend they were gifts from the ocean.

But they weren't. At least not from the ocean Herself.

They were gifts from your two admirers. The night sky and the large body of water were not the only thing you had sung for.

Two men swam in the water, circling each other in a gentle tempo. Hips swaying gently with one another. Scaled tails twined together so gently like silk across skin.

One colored with dark orange and white scales, with vibrant finned out reds. A deep red that matches the curls in his hair and the small blush on his face as his partner leads him in the dance.

His partner with eyes like the waters they tread. His tail is the same deep blue color with a thin line of silver going down it. Sharper fins compared to the red heads veiled ones. His black hair pushes and pulls against the tide.

The tide that carries your voice and tells a story they can't quite understand. Both men feel it in their chest, the urge to understand. And that urge only gets stronger every time you come out to sing.

At first it was just an accident, they swam too far out. There they saw you sitting on a board staring out towards the ocean. Your legs on either side of the brightly colored plank, swinging them back and forth. You opened your mouth and for the first time they heard you sing.

That strange language, the way it rolled off your tongue had them both in some kind of trance. Deep in their hearts they knew coming back was too great of a risk, land walkers weren't supposed to know about their kind. But the way you sang so gently, so earnestly, it was hard to picture you as any kind of threat. So, like storm chasers they returned. Every night the lovers would come back to the cove that was too far from their homes.

Now here they were dancing under the moon, just like every other night. Tonight, was no different, except of course the thoughts bouncing around in raven haired man's mind. He stops only after you pause your song, looking over at the other.

"We should get closer tonight. I don't think the shells are enough of a gift. The land walker isn't picking them up!" His voice drops to a low murmur as he swims closer to the surface.

"I don't know if that's a good idea Stan! What if they freak out?" Stern emerald eyes follow him, watching as Stan's fingers glide across the surface, not quite breaking the tension.

"What if they don't?" Stan asks, "Come on, we'll never know if we don't try Kyle."

"But we can't even communicate with them!" Despite his protests, Kyle swims up next to Stan.

The man always did have a way to pull Kyle into things he wouldn't normally do. But for Stan, he'd follow him to the deepest of trenches. And apparent by the way Stan takes his hand, he knows he would too.

"True, buuuut when was the last time we did something this exciting. I don't think the land walkers are as bad as your mom says they are." Stan wraps his arm around him and pulls him up closer towards his chest.

"Oh stop, you know she just says things like that to keep us safe. I never bought into those scare tactics."

"Uh-huh, that's why your fins are all fanned out." Stan says smirking down at him.

"N-no!" A nervous stutter and Kyle's fins fold back down against his tail. "Let's just do this before I change my mind!" He breaks from Stan's hold with a groan.

You've stopped your song for the night, content in just getting the emotions out. Normally around this time you'd step away from the caress of the water and make your walk back home. But when you caught movement from the corner of your eye, your body froze. The reality of being out in a cove so far away from town with no one knowing your location sits in your stomach like a brick.

"U...um hello?" You call out to the dark, maybe not the smartest idea but your mouth moves before you have time to think about it.

Your blood ran cold when you got no response, watching as the shadowy figure only got closer. Now that it was coming into the moonlight you could make out small shapes. Humanoid figures, two of them, a bit larger than you.

Somewhere along the way your brain finally made the connection that it should be telling your legs to move. Your legs felt like weights were strapped to them with each step you took back.

Just when you think the two figures will give chase, they stop. Curiosity seemed to be winning the little internal battle as you turned back and watch them. Squinting your eyes to get a closer look at what emerged from the water.

Two men, the water covering their lower waists. Little water droplets trail down their exposed chest, tracing every curve as it does. A breath ticks by, then a heartbeat, before the raven-haired man begins to move again. Out of instinct you look away and squeeze your eyes shut.

Silence washes over everything, even the oceans tides have stopped making noise. Until you hear what sounds like someone slapping the water.

Your eyes flicker over before you have time to stop yourself. You have to do a double take when you see how the man's perched up against the sands. Where legs should be is a tail, much longer than your legs. Blue orbs meet yours and for a moment there's a look of excitement when they meet. The depth of his blues is almost deep enough to make you forget about the fact that he's not entirely human. But when his tail slaps the water again, it reminds you of just that.

The red head circles around in the water a few times. His curly hair clings to the front of his face obscuring most of his features. Between the two of them he looks much shyer and more reserved, like he's waiting for you to make a move. Slowly inching closer to the other, he wades in the water with fins flared out.

They're both beautiful. Unlike anything you've ever seen, myths that have swam right out of a story book. Your stomach starts to do flips and your head begins to spin. It's all too much. It has to be a dream. The one with ocean-colored eyes goes to say something. He opens his mouth, but all that comes are sounds and syllables you'd never be able to make if you tried. When you tilt your head in confusion he stops and looks back at the other. The look on his face is clear, you don't need to speak their language to know the look of, "I told you so."

Their eyes fall back on you watching every little movement. The way your breathing slows. You should just grab your shoes and run back home, pretend you never saw this and go on with your life.

But it's hard when you watch the red head grab a shell and dig it into the sand. When he's finished, he looks up at you and gestures for you to look.

From the way the black haired one's face lit up and tail picked up speed you could only assume he was excited. He wraps his arms around the red head and shakes him back and forth, which only earns him a few grunts and a nudge.

Slowly you make your way over to the men. Just close enough to see what they were gesturing down towards. The fear of being dragged down to the depth by these two was still there, but the other part of you still thought this was a weird dream.

For a shell picked up on the beach, the drawing wasn't bad. It looked like a shaky attempt at a human with their mouth open. If you squint and tilt your head just right it looked like you.

When you look down at him, he grins and goes to draw in the sand again. Lines being dug quickly and traced over and over until they stick. When he's finished, he looks up at you again.

This time it looks like two fish swimming around. Chasing one another in some strange trance. The little spots and stripes across their tails made you realize they were supposed to be the two men in front of you.

The smile that spreads across your face makes their hearts leap. You gestured for the shell, a small giggle escaping your lips when the red head did a double take. The first contact with something so bizarre. Your fingertips brush against his skin as you take the shell and he's sure this is what lightning feels like. A jolt of something he feels every time Stan touches him.

You bend down and begin tracing a pattern in the sand next to his drawing. They slowly move up next to you, watching intently at your work. When you’re finished, they tilt their head and grin, turning to one another and speaking in that language that sounds like rain beating against a car window.

This went on all night, trying to figure out a way to communicate that didn't involve speech. While it was annoying at times, having to play a game of charades with creatures from a storybook. But at the same time there was something so freeing about not having to worry about saying the wrong thing. They seemed to be happy with every little thing you did, every little drawing you made in the sand, and every bit of laughter that came from your mouth.

Stan decided that was his favorite sound. The way your eyes lit up and the way your lips curled to that soft smile.

And there you stayed until the sun crept up, peeking over where He and the ocean meet. The radiance and warmth touched your skin reminding you of the passage of time. Something that seemed to slip by so quickly. It wasn't the first time you were disappointed to leave your little spot, but it was the first time you were disappointed to say goodbye.

The two men watched as you picked your shoes up and gave them a gentle little wave. They left you with one last bit of laughter as they waved with their hands and their tails. Before you could turn away, they flung themselves back into the water. Bodies twist and turn in the water as they come in contact with the cool waves.

The walk home felt heavy, but not in a way that was uncomfortable. The weight of something new, whatever it was, felt good.

Since that night your little secluded space has been accompanied by your two friends. Tracing memories into the sand, learning about one another the best you could.

There was only so much one could learn from pictures. That didn't stop you from trying, however. Over time you learned the two men were partners in all ways. Their love for each other ran deep, apparent in the way they smiled at each other. You didn't need a common tongue to see the love there. How beautiful.

You learned that they only come to see you at night. It took a while to piece it together, but eventually it clicked. Even though they were quick to trust you, didn't mean they were quick to come out in broad daylight. It was just safer this way and to be honest, you didn't mind.

Most nights were spent with you singing to your heart’s content. Watching in amazement as they graced your song with their dance. Sharing things from your different lives. They showed you fish that you've never seen before, rocks and plants. Things found only in the deepest parts of the ocean. And in return you showed them fruits and vegetables, foods they wouldn't normally be able to taste without it getting soggy. It was fascinating watching them react in different ways to the taste of things. The raven haired one seemed to like most of the things you brought, there were a few things he preferred over the other.

But the red head seemed to be a bit pickier about what he liked and didn't. Everything you brought was fine until the day you brought them bananas. Showing them how to peel it and eat the inside, not the outside, was the easy part. The hard part was not laughing when the red head immediately spit it out and tossed it so far into the ocean, that it disappeared in the dark. Even harder so when his partner laughed at him, sounding like waves crashing into a ship.

After you finished the small picnic that you packed, you stood up and began your song. Something you were working on in between nights that you couldn't come see the pair. Nights where it stormed or if the weather was too bad.

And like clockwork the two began their dance. It was hard to see in the depths of the ocean, the dark blues masquerading in their movements. But that was never the reason you sang in the first place; it was just a bonus to have an audience.

Your song is cut midway when the red head swam up to you, leaving his partner with the upper half of his head sticking out. You watch as he twists his body and tail, circling you like he's beckoning you to come into the water. Drawing in a breath, his movements feel hypnotic. In a way that doesn't take away your agency, almost comforting.

Each step deeper feels less like treading water and more like walking on air. The water rises to your waist, then to your stomach, then your neck and soon you're no longer walking but floating. Clothes cling to you like second skin, but the consequences be damned now. You damned them long ago when you chose to stay on the beach that night.

Inhaling as deeply as you can, precious oxygen fills your lungs. You dip your head into the cool water and immediately your hair begins to flow around you. The men stare in amazement, quickly circling you. As one circles your back, fingers brushing through your hair. The other is already in front of you staring into your eyes.

It's like seeing you in a new light for them. Their fingers brush over every part of exposed skin. Watching as you kick your legs to tread the waves.

"It must be hard to move without fins. Looks exhausting." The red head speaks making your eyes go wide.

You can understand him.

"I dunno, kinda looks like they're using their hips! I told you they wouldn't hate coming in the water!" His partner responds with a smug smile.

You can understand him!

"Hmm!" Before you could stop yourself, you open your mouth is shock, bubbles of air floating to the top.

"Is the land walker trying to breath in the water, Stan?"

"I don't know? I thought they couldn't do that."

Stan. The black haired one's name is Stan. You could understand them and had no way of communicating. This is what it must feel to be a fish trapped behind glass. The irony is almost funny.

What isn't is the way your lungs begin to burn. It feels like you just stepped into their world and now you have to step away from it. With a quick kick of your legs, you push yourself back up to the surface, taking deep breaths once you break. The men follow you still circling around you, if you didn't know any better think, they were hungry sharks looking for their next meal.

Their eyes train on you. Watching every little movement just like that night. Past the rocking waves you can almost make out their lips moving. Talking to one another and conversing.

Just as you contemplate going back down, you feel a hand on your ankle. Stan looks up towards you and his eyes light up. Either the lack of air or too much salt water is making you go crazy, it almost looks as if he's asking to pull you back down. It makes your heart flutter to know that you're able to understand them even though you've only known them a short time.

You take another breath and nod at him. He wastes no time pulling you back down towards him. His partner’s hands come down to your waste, acting as an anchor. Their bodies pressed against yours in such a way that reminds you that they're still shirtless. You only hope they can't see the blush on your face.

"So, you're sure this will work Kyle?" Stan asks, his eyes flickering from you to the red head behind him.

"Only one way to find out, go ahead. If it does, we can explain ourselves." Kyle speaks so softly, almost as softly as his hands on your hips squeeze.

You want to say something, ask them what they mean. The little muffled noises you make are enough to catch their attention again. Stan takes a deep breath and looks down at you. But his eyes don't land on yours, they travel down to your lips.

His head dips down slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away. He understands the move he makes is bold. But when you don't pull your head back, when you don't struggle against their hold, he places his lips onto yours. They're soft. Gentle. Almost perfect. They feel like the rocking of waves, lulling you into feeling of mental repose.

It isn't until he pulls away that you realize you're not holding your breath. You haven't for a while. The loss of his kiss makes your eyes flutter open slowly. He states down at you and cocks his head to the side.

"I think it worked? They're not freaking out." Stan breaks the silence with a murmur.

Kyle's hands move off your hips just as Stan pulls away from you. They move around you again watching as you float there.

You open your mouth and feel strange, like your tongue doesn't quite fit in your mouth. But it does, the taste of the saltwater brushing against it reminds you that it's there. A few bubbles escape your mouth but nothing like before. You hesitate for a moment before drawing in.

When your lungs don't burn like you expect them to, you do it again. Breathing out and then back in. Each time is different until it feels like breathing. You look down at your hands and then back at the men who are grinning from ear to ear.

"It worked! Oh shit!"

And you laugh. You laugh at the comment. At the situation. At the jubilation in your heart. You're under the water breathing as they would. Each time you breath in so do they. It makes you wonder if their hearts are beating with yours.

"I can't believe this." Your voice is so small, it's hard to make it any louder.

"I can't either." Kyle responds to you with a chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. "It was my idea and Stan gets to kiss you first."

He responds to you. Talking to you like it's something he's done every day this week. Between the three of you Kyle looks like he's the only one not freaking out, because as you look at Stan, he has the same dorky grin that you're sure is on your face.

"Wait, but how am I able to do this?! Why can I understand you guys?! How did you know to do this?!" The questions spill from your lips faster than either men have time to answer.

"Kyle read it in some book! Apparently, we used to interact with you land walkers a lot in the past." Stan says circling around you again.

"It wasn't some book dude; it was a journal left behind by someone who fell in love with a land walker. They figured out our kisses grant them the ability to breath under water for a short time." Kyle follows Stan in the circle almost like he's compelled to do it.

"But why?"

"Dunno, I didn't really read the rest of it. I was just excited that we could bring you down here with us."

"Should have seen the way he swam into my room~! It was cute!"

"Shut up!"

"No way dude, you're cute. You just have to accept it! The sooner you do the easier it'll be for all of us!"

You smile at their bickering even though you could understand them, it didn't feel different than when you couldn't. Trying your best to keep up with their circling, your body twists, and spins around with them. Their tails get closer to you with each spin, veil like fins brush against your legs. Closer and closer until their hands are back on your body again. Each time you began to float back to the top, their hands would pull you back down. And each time, their touch lingered a little longer.

"But now you're down here with us. We can talk to you and hear you finally!" Kyle smiles down at you, "Just be sure to let us know if you start to struggle to breathe. It'll be my pleasure to give you more time."

The little hum behind his voice makes your face burn, the flirty tone isn't hard to pick up. It made you wonder if the kiss was just an excuse to keep you down here, if they knew that it was making your heart pound against your chest. Did they put their hands on your hips and arms just to keep you from floating away or was there more to the touches? Was this okay to feel this way?

"O-oh um...thank you Kyle and thank you Stan. For um...all of this. This is amazing, I would have never been able to dream of something so beautiful." It takes you a while to find your voice again, so wrapped up in your own head.

"You don't need to thank us for doing something we wanted to do in the first place. We wanted you down here." Stan's mind almost goes blank when he hears your name fall from your lips.

"I-I just feel like it's something to be thankful for. You trust me this much."

"Trust?" Kyle tilts his head and chuckles. "I guess you could see it that way, but honestly it's just selfishness on our part."

Oh, the leap in his chest when you tilt your head at him, that adorable look of curiosity in your eyes. The water makes them sparkle in ways that gems could never. Stan circles behind him and lays his chin on his partner’s shoulder just as he reaches up and brushes some of the stands of hair out of your face.

"As fun as our little games on the sand were, it was frustrating being so close to you and not being able to tell you how we feel."

Stan picks up where Kyle leaves off, "How happy you made us every time you came out to sing. We had no idea what you were saying, it just sounded like humming and chanting! Now we can!"

"My singing means that much to you?"

"Well...yeah. It brought us together, didn't it?" Stan blinks at you

How could he say something so sweet so bluntly. If they continued this little team attack on your heart it was going to make the water around your face boil. Out of habit you go to move your hands to your face to cover them. But it's like they had a read on your movements and their hands come up to take your wrists.

Kyle takes over and pulls you to his body, his arm moves around your waist. You can feel the laughter rumble up through his chest from how close he's holding you. "Before Stan got the idea to come up to the shores, we used to dance by the rocks for hours. Something about the way you sing, it's irresistible."

"At first it was just supposed to be a one-time thing, but then we came back and there you were." As Stan speaks Kyle twirls you around.

Letting his hold on you go, the momentum spins you towards Stan whose hands find your hips. He lifts you up in the water, twisting his body around in a gentle waltz. When you gasp, he only laughs and lets you go just as your body flips back. Arching your spine, you follow the movement into a full flip where your hands find his.

"Singing again. Pulling us into a trance again, and again, and again." Every whisper of the word 'again' and he gets closer to your face.

Your eyes flutter shut getting ready for another kiss from the man in your arms. It never comes, but the feeling of being pulled away makes you open your eyes again. Kyle's arms, the paler skin, finds purchase on your waist and pulls you down out of Stan's hold. You get a quick glimpse of his pout before he goes to circle the both of you.

"I don't know if love at first sight is the right way to describe it, but you made Stan and I feel something we only felt with each other. So, we had to get you down here. Needed to know everything about you, had to hear your voice and tell you how we felt." Kyle confesses as he lets you go and follows his lover in the circular motion.

You're in the middle of their dance now, yet you feel a part of it. You feel a part of them and everything they felt. Kyle was right, maybe love was too strong of a word but there was something akin to it. Something like you felt for the moon when you sang to Her or the ocean, yet this felt grounded. Heavy like how you felt that night you walked home the first time.

The feeling was overwhelming you, starting to boil over that you were sure that tears were spilling from your eyes. You've never cried from happiness like this before, much less cried under water. What could you say to that? Thank them again? You'd be here all night thanking them until you needed air again.

So instead, you opened your mouth and began to sing. Your voice echoes through the deep, letting the undertow take your song to places you know you'll never see. Even now it's impossible to think about just all the places your voice will carry you, but it doesn't matter. Now when it's lead you here. In this beautiful moment surrounded by admiration and a heart’s desire.

Just as the waves push forward, Kyle rides the momentum towards you. Pressing a kiss into your lips. He silences your song for just a moment before continuing his ride.

Just as the waves pull back, Stan lets it carry him towards you. His lips replacing his partners on yours. The song resumes when he's pulled away.

Push and pull. Song and dance. How poetic that you would fall in love with the moon and ocean.

[communicationthroughlyrics]

Master List

18+, Men and Minors DNI- Do not repost works without permission!

WLW, Celebrity Fan-fiction. Heavy use of song lyrics for themes and storylines, and I don't like to write short fics. This is my first fanfic blog in a long time- I appreciate reading everyones comments on my work! Focused on Scarlett Johannson and her characters, Elizabeth Olsen, AJ Cook, Blake Lively, etc.

Bonus points to those who can guess all the lyrics being used :]

Series: I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much (ScarJo)

HIATUS

You’re a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet. (Warnings: Smut, Strong Language, Violence, Stalking, Death Threats, Implied Abuse/Sexual Abuse, Flashbacks to War/PTSD)

*More warnings will be added as I write*

Ch. 1 - Are You at One, or do You Lie?

Ch. 2 - We’re Hiding Like a Shadow in the Dark

Ch. 3 - All This Money and This Pain Got Me Heartless

Ch. 4 - Fuck Around and Damn Near Die in it

Ch. 5 - You Pulled Me Under Just to Save Yourself

Ch. 6 - You Blame Me for Everything You Hate

Ch. 7 - Fall Down Before Me, I Want You on Your Knees 

Ch. 8 - The Weight That’s Crushing can be Relieved

Ch. 9 - I Have a Growing Fear and You’re Not Helping Me

Ch. 10 -  I Pulled Off Your Wings, Then I Laughed

Ch. 11 - Army Green Was No Safe Bet

Ch. 12 - Whisper on a Scream, Doesn't Change a Thing

Ch. 13 - Digging Up the Dirt, You Get to Meet All Sorts

Ch. 14 - I Just Want You to Know Who I Am

Ch. 15 - The Only Thing You Brought Is Psychological Warfare

Ch. 16 - You're Gonna Get What's Coming to You

Ch. 17 - A Pebble in the Water Makes a Ripple Effect

Ch. 18 - If You Wade Around Forever, You Will Surely Drown

Ch. 19 - I'll Be Hurtin' When I Wake Up On The Floor

View the Story Board for this pic HERE

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Series: I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me? (Wanda Maximoff)

ONGOING

Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs? (Warnings: Smut, Strong Language, Cheating, Intersex!Reader, Alcohol Abuse, Angst)

- PT. 1 - PT.2 - PT.3 - PT.4 - PT.5 -

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One Shots, Drabbles and Stuff

😈= smut 🥰= fluff 😰= angst

S.J. - You Hold Your Hands in the Air, Screaming My Name 😈

S.J. - So Fucked Up, From the Way That You Touch - Pt. 1. Pt. 2. 😈

E.O. - Our Fire When We're Together, Mixed With Paranoid Manners🥰

N.R. - I Got a Secret, So I'ma Drop ‘Em to the Floor 🎄😈

W.M. - Easy to Love 🥰

J.J. - It's Time to Let Her Know What You Need - Pt. 1 Pt.2 😈

N.R. - Let's Talk About Chemistry😈

J.J. - Caught Between Black and White 😰

W.M. - I Just Wanna be Yours 😈

N.R. - There's No Hope In Endless Winter 😰

N.R. - Ancient Sun, Cast Your Light (Pt. 2 to There's No Hope In Endless Winter) 😰😈🥰

W.M./N.R - I Gambled On Red And The Price Was Paid 😈

W.M./N.R - Fuck Me Like You Mean It (Pt. 2 to I Gambled On Red)😈🥰

S.J. - You Should Probably Leave 🥰😈😰

N.R. - I Can't Help The Way I'm Feelin' Pt. 1 Pt.2 😈

E.O. - Watch The World Explode From Underneath Your Glow 😈

W.M. - She Had Other Plans

W.M. - Tell Me Your Limit and We'll Cross the Line Again (Pt. 2 to She Had Other Plans)😈

*credit for images/lyrics used on this blog belong to respective owners, i do not own these images/songs. contents of this blog are purely for creative entertainment purposes, any similarities between those portrayed in this blog and real people are purely coincidental. all works on this blog are fiction. works are my own, do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.*

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 7: Tell Me That I Won't Feel A Thing]

A/N: Hello besties! Thank you for voting in the poll for Chapter 7. Below are your predictions...let's see how you did! 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is back yay!!!

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Give Me Novacaine” by Green Day.

Word count: 9.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

Billboards ask you as the Tahoe flies across the flat emerald sea of Iowa: Have you heard the good news? Have you been saved? Where will you spend eternity? Are you struggling with same-sex attraction? Do you regret your abortion? Do you fear the Lord? Do you want to end up in Hell?

Aegon snickers, gnawing on a Slim Jim. The sun glare turns his wild hair to gold, etches crinkles into the ruddy skin around his eyes, murky like deep water, oceans you recognize from other corners of the world. “I thought I was already there.”

Jace’s Honda Rebel 300 is left on the shoulder of the highway with its fuel tank uncapped, drained to feed the Tahoe, prehistoric combustion, bottomless mechanical hunger. Rhaena takes over driving so Baela can sit with Jace, touch him, inhale him, convince herself he’s real. Aegon climbs into the passenger’s seat and skips songs on the CD player until he finds the one he wants: In Da Club by 50 Cent. The miles roll by so soft and so infinite that you can’t imagine ever feeling trapped again, warm July air unfurling down the darkest corridors of your lungs, hawks on lifeless power lines and fields dappled with white-tailed deer. And you think: Everything will be better now.

You cross the Missouri River and into Nebraska at Plattsmouth, which—according to a plaque mounted on the outskirts of town—the Lewis and Clark Expedition passed through over two centuries ago. Rhaena follows Aegon’s directions to cut between Lincoln and Omaha, avoiding the roiling wastelands of the cities and keeping well north of Cooper Nuclear Station, where in the absence of a successful manual or computerized shutdown before the power grid collapsed, rods of uranium are melting down and irradiating the surrounding area, anemia, cancer, heart disease, radiation sickness, an affliction that eats you alive.

Rhaena takes Nebraska State Route 66 north and then Route 92 due west, lush fields of corn and soybeans and sorghum planted before the dead began to walk, bones of devoured livestock. You stop for the night in a town called Broken Bow, the sky turning the colors of fire and rust and blood, the Tahoe exsanguinated like a man with a slit throat. Every vehicle you pass already has its fuel cap unscrewed; the farther west you go—the scarcer the resources, the longer it’s been since the world began to end—the less the earth will yield to you: less guns, less gasoline, less food, less human settlements scattered across what was once called the frontier. You commandeer a two-story house: white wood, wraparound porch, a long gravel driveway that winds like a snake. There is a small cornfield and a barn, both of which you sweep for zombies before making yourselves at home. You try not to think about what happened to the family that used to live here.

Helaena lights candles, Luke and Rhaena distribute bowls and silverware, Aemond and Rio gather kindling for the woodstove, Daeron keeps watch on the porch, Aegon picks all the Twizzlers out of a mixed bag of Hershey’s candy for Jace. There is a 12-pack of Ramen noodles in the pantry, gallons of water in the cellar, and a pot large enough to cook it all in one batch. Cregan takes Ice and disappears into the cornfield for half an hour at dusk—something none of the rest of you would ever consider—and reappears with an opossum that he’s nearly decapitated with his axe. He butchers it and you brown cubes of meat in a sauté pan placed directly on the glowing embers. The others are horrified and won’t eat a single bite until you do. It’s the first real food you’ve had since you left Saratoga Springs, and you feel satiated in a way you had forgotten existed.

In honor of Jace’s resurrection, some revelry is in order. There are bottles of Grey Goose vodka in a kitchen cabinet, and Aemond allows a two drink maximum for anyone eligible to participate: Baela is too pregnant, Daeron is too young, Aemond himself is too vigilant, too self-sacrificial, too indoctrinated into the religion of his own martyrdom.

“Daddy loved his screwdrivers,” Cregan says. “I remember being five or six and taking a big gulp of one thinking it was Sunny D or Tang or something. Lord almighty, was that a shock!” He guffaws, then inspects the pantry, scratching at the dark stubble on his cheeks. “We ain’t got nothing like orange juice though.”

“Mama made hers with Hawaiian Punch.” You point: there are several jugs of it on the floor between boxes of Pop-Tarts and Welch’s Fruit Snacks and Cheddar Whales, red like crushed blackberries or fresh blood.

Cregan grins at you over his brawny shoulder. “That’ll work, Miss Chips.”

Luke and Rhaena have first watch, Rio and Aegon will take the second. You are blessedly unburdened tonight. This house is big enough for you to get your own room; you climb the staircase with Grey Goose vodka burning in your throat, your head warm and dizzy, a sensation like freefalling as you lie down on the bed.

I left them, you think, the walls spinning around you, echoes of Mama’s voice through the phone as Rio stood there nodding, encouraging you to hang up. I left them and I never looked back. Can someone commit such an act of ancestral betrayal without incurring a curse?

You are still considering this when you feel Aemond’s weight on the mattress and fold into him, the world going dark and hushed and harmless.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I think it’s safe,” you tell Aemond between sighs, his lips on your throat, his hand between your thighs. Late-morning sunlight slants in through the bedroom windows; goldfinches and blue jays flap by chirping blithely. The dead pillage the misfortunate beasts of the earth, but creatures of the air and water are spared. You can hear geese honking from a distance, and the breeze through the cornfield, and calm indistinct voices beneath the floorboards. You can smell pancakes turning from white to gold in a pan sizzling with Crisco. Cregan must be cooking breakfast in the woodstove.

“How sure are you?” Aemond murmurs, his breath warm on your neck, those small teeth he’s always hiding nipping playfully, and if he leaves marks like stains of ballpoint ink you don’t care. He’s whisked every scrap of your clothing away. Beneath him you are bare and helpless and needing more.

“Like…eighty percent sure.”

“I’ll pull out.”

“Like Jace did?”

He laughs and kisses your mouth, not just ravenous but wild like a storm, and all the rest of the world goes quiet. Your ankles are linked around him, his hips rocking with yours. He is wearing only his boxers, black plaid from a looted Walmart, apocalypse chic. “Hopefully better than that.”

“Just try your best. I trust you. I’m willing to risk it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s worth it to me.” I could be dead in nine months, he could be dead in nine months. I’m not wasting the time we have left.

“It’s your decision. You would be most affected by the consequences.” He draws away and glances down. “I want to look at you.”

“Ohhh.” You stall. “I’ve been trimming with scissors by candlelight. It’s a hack job.”

“I won’t mind.” He grins. “You don’t mind my hack job of a face.”

“I love your face,” you say as you skim your fingerprints down the length of his scar. And then, when he raises an eyebrow roguishly: “I didn’t break any rules. I didn’t say I love you, just your face. I’m totally using you for your face. Your personality is terrible.”

He snickers, kisses you goodbye, retreats to your hips and pushes your thighs apart as you cover your face and whimper, nervous, exhilarated. And then his lips are on you and the trepidation melts away, puddles pooling and then evaporating, and you have a vision of being home again, shivering and dripping in front of the crackling flames of the woodstove after playing outside in the snow and waiting for the fire to take the cold away. Now the fire is growing over you like ivy, tendrils snaking through veins and leaves opening in your lungs, bones vanishing, muscles turning pliant and weightless. You can feel Aemond’s fingers pushing into you, a fleeting second of tension and discomfort, and then a fullness that is delectable, irresistible, maddening.

“Come back,” you plead, and when he does you clasp his face with both hands, kissing him deeply as his fingers remain inside you, thrusting and bathed in your wetness. You’re finally ready for him, you have to be, you need him so badly: like you’re dying of thirst, like you’re running out of air. “Now, Aemond, please. I want all of you.”

And he wants it too. His boxers are gone and he’s positioning himself between your legs, his tongue in your mouth, one hand cradling your jaw as the other guides his cock to where you are slick and aching and aware of an emptiness that has never felt so dire.

He’s so big…

But you are determined to take all of him. You don’t care if there’s pain, if there’s fear. You want to feel what it’s like to be with him before it’s too late.

Aemond presses himself against you, rolls his hips cautiously…and nothing happens. He is a bit more forceful. There is immense pressure, then the beginning of a stretching that is sharp, searing, dreadful, unfamiliar in a way that is completely disorienting. You gasp before you can stop yourself; a wince ripples across your face too quickly to camouflage. Aemond shakes his head and climbs off you, settling beside you on the bed.

“Fuck,” you exhale in frustration, slapping a palm down on the mattress. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why…why I’m like this…”

“Shh,” Aemond soothes, kissing you. “It’s okay, it’s fine. I’ll help you finish and then we can try again later.”

“Why isn’t this easier?”

“You’re just nervous,” he says gently, smoothing your hair back from your face, like it’s no big deal, like he’s pointing out a bird or a rabbit or the shape of a cloud.

“I don’t feel nervous.”

“It’s not always conscious, sometimes the body reacts without the mind even being aware of it. You tense up and things become…more challenging. But fortunately for us, the treatment is very enjoyable. We just keep messing around and working up to it until one day you’re so aroused and so relaxed that I can glide in without any discomfort whatsoever, and then your body adjusts to this glorious new experience and you aren’t so nervous anymore.”

“Can’t you just…you know…sorry, this isn’t very romantic, but like…shove it in?”

“I could, sure,” Aemond says. “If I was a horrible person. And then you’d learn to associate sex with pain, which would just exacerbate the situation.”

“The problem, you mean.”

He smiles patiently. “You aren’t a problem. We’ll figure it out, we have time.”

Do we? You stare morosely up at the ceiling, shadows of clouds, shades of wings. “I should have hooked up with that Marine at Corpus Christi. Then I’d have practice. I was so afraid of giving a man the power to hurt me or get me pregnant or otherwise ruin my life, but I didn’t know I’d meet you one day. And now I just want everything to be easy for us, and it isn’t.”

“Hey.” Aemond turns your face towards his. “For me, you are…” He struggles to decide on the words, his eye drifting to the window, sunlight turning the blue of his iris to a shallow, glass-clear river. “You’re like an island, and everything else is a sea of poison, and violence, and catastrophically fucked up situations, and when we’re alone together it all goes away for a little while. The world gets quiet. It’s never been like that for me before. I don’t mind if it takes time for us to figure this out. I just want to be with you.”

“What happens when we get to Nevada, and you’re supposed to turn south for the Bay Area while I go north to Oregon?”

Aemond shrugs, but his expression is contemplative. “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe we’ll all stay together and go to one place, then the other. If Odessa is safe, I can bring my parents, Criston, and Grandfather there. If it isn’t, we can bring Rio’s family south and live in California in that beach house on the cliff.”

“I never thought I’d set foot in a mansion.”

“I never thought I’d eat opossum.”

You laugh and curl up against him, resting your head and a palm on his chest. “How was it?”

“Not too bad, actually. Kind of like dark meat chicken. A little gamey, but I like lamb and venison, so that’s fine with me.”

“Just wait until you try bear.”

“Bear?!”

There is a knock at the bedroom door. Luke’s bashful voice is muted through the wood. “Aemond?”

“Yeah?” Aemond replies impatiently.

This was not an invitation, but Luke doesn’t seem to know that. He opens the door, and as he does Aemond throws the blanket over you so you’re covered, leaving himself completely exposed.

Luke begins: “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to bother you, but…” His eyes go wide. “Oh, you’re like, all the way naked.” He turns and stares at the wall to be polite. “If it’s a bad time, I could come back in five minutes. Do you need more than five minutes? Wait, that was rude, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure you can last way longer than five minutes…um…”

Aemond sighs. “What’s wrong, Luke?”

“Jace is sick.”

“Sick?” Aemond sits up straighter, his eye narrowing. “Sick how?”

“He’s been puking since he woke up.”

You and Aemond exchange a startled glance as you clutch the edges of a blanket patterned with wild horses. Illness, virus, plague, curse.

“He hasn’t been bitten or anything,” Luke says quickly. “So it can’t be…you know…that. And he and Baela don’t seem that worried. But you should probably take a look at him.”

Aemond nods, less alarmed now. “I agree. Can I get those five minutes first?”

Luke smiles. “Yeah. See you downstairs.” He leaves and shuts the door behind him.

You look to Aemond. “Why—?”

He yanks the blanket away and drags you towards him. “I said I was going to help you finish,” he says, grinning, a hand slipping between your thighs.

You bite at his lips when he kisses you and tease: “I don’t need your help.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t. But it’s better when I’m here.”

And he’s right; it is.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daeron is out on the front porch sharpening sticks into arrows and using goose feathers for fletching, attaching them to the wood with a tube of Gorilla Glue that Helaena found for him. Helaena herself is presently floating through the house—soundlessly, ethereally, traceless like a ghost—and partaking in what you all call “apocalypse shopping,” pilfering the clothes and accessories of the former occupants. She seems to know everyone’s sizes without needing to ask. Aegon, Rio, and Cregan are sitting in the living room and eating pancakes off paper plates, carelessly spilling Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup on hideous 1970s couches ornamented with scenes of pheasants and autumn leaves. Down on the Turkish-style area rug, Ice is merrily chomping her way through a stack of burnt pancakes.

“So Cregan,” Rio says, his bare feet propped on the coffee table. “What did you do before the whole zombie situation?”

“I was a lumberjack.”

“No way!”

“Yes sir. I cut down trees for the power company.”

“What a coincidence,” Rio says around a mouthful of pancakes. “I was an electrician!”

“Well how about that? We oughta go into business together once the world straightens itself out. Where’d you work?”

“All over. Wherever the Navy sent us.”

Cregan sets his fork down on his plate. “You were enlisted?”

“Yeah, me and Chips both. That’s how we met.”

Cregan, much to Rio’s surprise, seizes his hand and shakes it soberly. “Thank you very kindly for your service.”

“No problem,” Rio replies, then turns to Aegon. “No gratitude from you, huh?”

“I showed my gratitude when I let you have the last pancake, you ogre…”

In the only bedroom on the first floor, down a hallway and towards the back of the house, Jace looks worse than you expected. He is heaving into a reusable plastic popcorn bucket, gluey ropes of saliva dangling from his lips; his skin is pale and bloodless, his dark curls damp with sweat. Baela is perched beside him on the bed and holding a wet washcloth to the back of his neck. Rhaena and Luke are loitering anxiously in the doorway, watching Aemond to determine if they should panic.

Jace casts you a bitter glance. “You poisoned me with your poor people food.”

“There’s nothing wrong with eating opossum,” you say, somewhat defensively.

Aemond feels his forehead. “That wouldn’t give you a fever. And everyone else is fine.”

“Maybe I’m extra sensitive. My digestive system has higher standards. I’m built different.” Jace resumes retching into the bucket.

Baela tells Aemond: “He can’t keep anything down. There’s nothing left in him, but he’s still so sick…it has to be a stomach flu, right?”

“Who would he have caught it from?” Luke asks, and Baela doesn’t have an answer.

“Stand up,” Aemond orders Jace when his wave of nausea abates. “Strip down.”

“Aemond, he wasn’t bitten,” Baela says. “I saw his whole body last night. He doesn’t have any scratches or bruises or anything.”

“Fine. But I want to see for myself.”

Jace stumbles out of the bed, pushing away Baela’s hands as she tries to stop him. “Okay, Nick Fury. If you wish to gaze upon the goods, I won’t deny you. I’m not shy.” Aemond rolls his eye. You turn around to give Jace privacy. “What’s the matter, Chips? The only dick you’re interested in belongs to Mike Wazowski over there?”

“Jace,” Baela says, but she’s chuckling. Amused, you stare at a picture on the wall—a haloed Jesus guiding a flock of lambs—as Jace sheds his clothing and follows Aemond’s instructions: lift your arm, turn around, show me the bottoms of your feet.

“No bites,” Aemond confirms, deep in thought. “But the symptoms…”

“It’s not that, Aemond, I’m telling you,” Jace insists, rasping breaths between each clause. “Listen, I got sick when I was alone, before I found you guys again. My stomach, my head. Maybe it’s the same thing now. It didn’t last long, and I thought I was over it, but I guess not.”

“People don’t get better and then worse again after they’ve been bitten,” Rhaena observes softly. “They just get worse.”

Jace lies back down on the bed, his face crumbling with pain. Baela uses the wet washcloth to cool his cheeks and neck. “My head hurts so fucking bad…”

“Because you’re dehydrated,” Aemond says.

“Helaena brought pills, but every time I try to take one I throw it up before it can start working.” There is a gurgling sound in his guts, and then a horrified expression. “Baela, I gotta get outside again.” She and Luke immediately swoop in, grab one arm each, and usher him out of the bedroom, through the back door of the farmhouse, and into the cornfield to allow him some semblance of dignity.

Rhaena gives you and Aemond an awkward smirk. “Helaena found Jace a 24-pack of Angel Soft toilet paper in the basement. So there’s some good news.”

“He needs electrolytes,” Aemond says. “We can’t let him get so dehydrated that his kidneys shut down. IV fluids aren’t an option. Pedialyte would be the next best thing, Gatorade or Powerade if that’s all we can find.”

“We passed a pharmacy on our way here,” Rhaena recalls. “It’s only a mile back, I think.”

Aemond nods. “Then that’s where I’m going,” he says, and walks out of the room.

You say as you follow him: “I want to go with you.”

“No.” Aemond points to Rio, who is now playing Uno with Aegon on the coffee table in the living room. “You and I are going to a pharmacy to get Pedialyte for Jace so he doesn’t die.”

“Cool,” Rio says, standing and fetching his Remington shotgun from where he propped it against the wall. “What’s wrong with him?”

“We don’t know. Maybe food poisoning.”

Aegon says, a hand pressed to his heart: “Personally, I loved the opossum.”

You stare defiantly up at Aemond. “If Rio is going, I have to go too.”

“Aww, so you can protect me?” Rio teases fondly, patting your back with one monstrous palm, an unintentional battering.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Rio looks at Aemond. Aemond looks at you, touching his chin agitatedly. “You are stressing me out.”

“I’m the best shot. I want to be there in case anything happens.”

“Fine, okay, whatever you want. Just stay near Rio.”

“That’s the idea.”

“A pharmacy?” Aegon asks excitedly. “Can I go?”

“No,” Aemond snaps, and continues out onto the porch. In the gravel driveway, Cregan and Daeron are kneeling by the Tahoe and inspecting the front tire on the driver’s side. “What’s wrong now?” Aemond asks, exasperated.

“Got a flat,” Cregan says. “The little fella here noticed it.”

Daeron is mortified. “Please don’t call me that.”

Aemond peers around mistrustfully, out at the road, into the cornfield. “Someone sabotaged us?”

Cregan shakes his head and taps the tire. “Naw, we just ran over a nail yesterday. You can see it right here. A big one too, a masonry nail, I suspect.”

“Can you fix it?” Rio asks.

“I think so. I saw a jack and a lug wrench hanging up on the wall in the barn, now I just need a new tire, a real one. A spare wouldn’t do us much good, not with all the weight we’re carrying. It’d pop in twenty miles.” Cregan gestures to the main road, but westward, the opposite direction from the pharmacy. “Don’t remember seeing a tire place on our way in. Figured I’d try the other direction. I’ll walk ‘til I find a shop or a truck with the right kind of tires to steal from, whichever comes first. Can’t change a tire on gravel, though. I’ll have to drive the Tahoe out to the road and fix it there. I’m gonna need Rhaena’s keys.”

There is an uneasy lull as Aemond studies him. You, Rio, Daeron, and Aegon—who is lingering on the front porch, not yet ready to admit defeat—glance between them apprehensively. Ice is rolling around in the gravel, coating her grey fur with dust. “How do I know you won’t take off without us?”

Cregan’s face goes dark. His brow, heavy and furrowed, settles low over his eyes. “Look buddy, I’ve done a lot of things for you and your people that I didn’t have to. And now I’m fixing the Tahoe so it can take you west, someplace you decided we’re going. If you don’t trust me, do it yourself. Kill your own opossum. Change your own flat tire. But you can’t, can you? Just like I can’t shoot a zombie straight through the eye or tell you how to cure that sick boy in there. We’ve all got jobs here. Let me do mine.”

Aemond glowers at Cregan, knowing he’s right. Daeron averts his eyes; Rio, grinning, eats a handful of Cheddar Whales from a pocket of his cargo shorts. You lay a palm on Aemond’s forearm. “Aemond…he’s trying to help.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies crossly.

“You want collateral?” Cregan says. “Take my dog.” He whistles, and Ice scampers to his side. He points to you. “Go on, princess.” Ice obediently trots over to stand with you, shaggy ash-colored fur, bestial amber eyes like a rattlesnake’s. “She’ll look after you on your way to the pharmacy and back. And if the Tahoe and I have mysteriously vanished upon your return, you can eat her for dinner.”

“You don’t want a warning if you’re about to run into zombies?” Rio asks.

Cregan chuckles as he picks up his axe off the gravel. “Don’t you worry about me. We haven’t heard a peep since we got into town, and I’m just going a little ways up the road. Any less than ten of those abominations, and I can take care of myself.” He gives you and Rio a parting salute and strides into the farmhouse to collect the Tahoe keys from Rhaena.

Aemond turns to Daeron. “Stay here, keep watch. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Daeron nods, glancing to where his compound bow rests on the front porch. “Got it.”

“Aegon will help you.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aegon says. “I want to go to the pharmacy too.”

Aemond is losing what remains of his patience. “No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

“Then can you at least bring me something back?”

Rio is confounded. “What do you need?”

“You know…” Aegon gestures vaguely. “Percocet, Vicodin, Oxy, maybe some of that cough syrup with the codeine in it—”

“Grow the fuck up,” Aemond flares, and Aegon falls silent. “You’re thirty years old. Take some goddamn responsibility for something, for anything. I have to go to the pharmacy, Cregan has to fix the Tahoe, someone has to stay here with Daeron to help protect Jace and Baela, and Luke and Rhaena, and Helaena too. Just shut up and do the right thing. You have to start acting like an adult. Who do you think is in charge if I get killed? I’ve never for a single day of my life had the luxury of making selfish choices, and now I feel like I’m not even allowed to die. Leaving everyone else with you would be like leaving them with nobody.”

Aegon gazes up at him, not offended but childishly, mortally wounded. His oceanic eyes are huge and glistening. “But you’re not going to die before me.”

“That’s not the point,” Aemond pitches back, cutting, caustic. Then he starts down the long gravel driveway towards the road. You give Aegon a small, apologetic half-smile and then follow after his younger brother, Ice loping alongside you.

Rio thumps Aegon encouragingly on one shoulder. “See you soon, Honey Bun.” And Aegon watches the three of you disappear, standing in the dazzling midday light with his arms folded over his chest and his hair in hie face, kicking at the gravel with the Sperry Bahama sneakers he once wore on yachts and golf courses.

“Please try to be nice to him,” you tell Aemond when you’re far enough away to be out of earshot. Rio is humming a song you don’t immediately recognize—probably Enrique Iglesias—and acting like he’s not listening. “You don’t know how much longer any of us have. And if that was the last thing you ever said to him, you’d feel awful about it.”

“You have no idea what it was like being his brother. Since I was born all I’ve done is try to plug the holes he blasts into ships. But there’s always water on the floor, I’m never done bailing it out. He needs to learn how to do things for himself.”

“Yes, he does. But he loves you, and he wants you to be happy. He would never intentionally take anything from you. He’ll grow into his purpose, whatever that is.”

“He needs to do it faster,” Aemond says harshly, and you walk the rest of the way without speaking, listening for snarling or lurching footsteps, hearing nothing but birdsong and wind whispering through leaves.

The pharmacy—a diminutive family-owned business, not a chain—has been ravaged. The glass of the large bay window has been broken out and the shelves looted, empty containers and wrappers littering the floor, crystalline shards threatening to gash, stab, infect.

“Stay out here with the dog,” Aemond tells you. Ice is panting calmly, her ears relaxed, her strange yellowish eyes taking in the scenery without any concern. “If she gets her paws sliced up, Cregan will have yet another accusation to levy against me.”

“You’re going to have to get used to him.”

“Not much of an adjustment for you, it seems,” Aemond says, then steps through the shattered window, glass crunching beneath his shoes. Rio gives you a wink and goes after him. They rummage through the remaining merchandise, strewn about randomly and interspersed among trash. Aemond peeks behind the counter where pharmacists once filled prescriptions and climbs over it, searching for any bottles or boxes that were left behind.

“Sorry guys, no condoms,” Rio announces, then laughs at his own joke.

“Be careful,” you urge from outside. “Look underneath, check the bottom racks. Rio? Rio, down low, check them!”

“Relax, ain’t nothing going on in here. It’s silent as the grave.” He laughs again. “Get it? As the grave.”

“Aemond?”

“I’m fine,” he tells you as he squints to read medicine bottles.

“Okay, okay,” Rio says, squatting to examine the shelves closest to the cluttered floor. “I’m checking all the racks. There’s nothing scary under the racks. Happy now?”

“Very. Helaena said something that freaked me out.”

“She can be a bit of an enigma,” Aemond admits. He is taking a tiny box from a drawer to keep.

“Oh, we got Pedialyte!” Rio says, yanking a jug of pink fluid from a pile of debris. “You think Jace likes strawberry?”

Aemond hurries over to help him hunt for more. “Yeah. It’s like a Twizzler, right?”

Ice noses your hand and whimpers softly. You look down at her. “What?”

She whirls and canters around the side of the pharmacy, then returns to make sure you’re keeping up. You go after her, slow and wary, a hand on one of your Beretta M9s. There’s nothing of note to be found in the narrow, shadowy alleyway other than an overflowing dumpster and two skeletons stripped of every shred of fabric and flesh; even the bones were licked clean.

You turn to Ice. “Did I need to see this?” She whines and shifts her weight from foot to foot, ears perked up. Something else? You look down the alleyway. Far behind the pharmacy and the shops that surround it is a church on a jade green slope, old-fashioned, white wood and a belltower. There is a cemetery beside it, and amidst the small grey blurs of headstones are… “Oh,” you breathe. “So that’s where the rest of the town is.”

The graveyard is full of limp, swaying figures that can only be zombies. You are far away and draped in shadows; you retreat back to the pharmacy without any indication that you’ve been spotted, Ice trailing close behind. Aemond and Rio are climbing out of the window just as you arrive. They are each carrying three jugs of Pedialyte in various flavors.

“Where the hell’d you go?” Aemond says; but he sounds more relieved than irritated.

“There’s a church about an eight of a mile away. And there are a lot of zombies in the cemetery.”

Rio sets his Pedialyte down on the sidewalk and reaches for the Remington 12 gauge hanging over his shoulder by its leather strap. “Okay, let’s go clear them out.”

“No, I mean a lot. Like a hundred.”

He freezes. “Oh.”

“We should leave town,” you say.

“While Jace is puking and shitting everywhere? You want to be stuck in a car with that?”

Aemond is thinking, toying with the little box you saw him pick up earlier. “We’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“What’s that?” you ask him.

He shows you the label. “Injectable morphine. All the pills were gone, but I found one vial of this, and I have syringes in my medical kit. It doesn’t need to be refrigerated. It should still be useable.”

“For Baela?” For when she delivers the baby?

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Just in case.” Then he looks at both you and Rio meaningfully. “Don’t tell Aegon I have this.”

“We won’t,” Rio promises. And Ice begins trotting back towards the farmhouse, as if trying to rush you along.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Tahoe is at the mouth of the long gravel driveway, still up on a hand-cranked scissor jack. The tire appears to be new, but the lug nuts haven’t been tightened, and the wrench is nowhere to be found.

“Cregan?” Rio says uncertainly, peeking through the cornstalks as they bend in the wind. “Hey, Cregan? Aemond’s sorry he was a bitch to you earlier. He wants you to return ASAP and do manual labor for him.” Aemond grimaces; Rio beams in reply. But Cregan does not appear.

You can hear them long before you reach the farmhouse, muffled chaotic chattering, raised voices and rushing footsteps. As you ascend the steps of the front porch, Rhaena bursts through the door.

“Thank God you’re back,” she says; there is blood on her hands. “It’s Jace, he…he…come look at him. Aemond, you have to do something. He’s sick, he’s really sick. He’s bleeding.”

“From where?” Aemond asks, urgent, bewildered.

“From everywhere,” Rhaena replies, and beckons for him to follow.

The bedsheets Jace is swathed in are blooming with crimson, flowers of doomed gore. Blood drips from his nostrils and his eyes; when he retches into the popcorn bucket, clots of pink and red spew out. Everyone is gathered around him and speaking at the same time, except Helaena. She is crouched on the floor of the hallway just outside his room, her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her face stricken. Ice curls up beside her.

Above the other voices, Baela screams at Aemond, a desperate horrified moan: “What’s wrong with him?!”

Aemond pushes by the others and feels Jace’s forehead, then grabs his wrist to measure his pulse. As Aemond’s fingers tighten, Jace’s skin rips beneath them, the top layer sliding off and leaving only glistening, raw pink. Jace howls, tears of blood streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t know,” Aemond says, his voice unsteady.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?!” Baela shouts back. “You’re a doctor! Fix him!”

“It hurts, Aemond,” Jace gasps, fresh blood on his teeth. When Baela touches his hair, locks of it fall out into her hand.

“He’s turning, right?” Rio says to you. “This is what happened to Snowflake, the blood and the skin and everything—?”

“He wasn’t bitten!” Luke insists, positioned in front of Jace’s bed as if he’s guarding it.

“I don’t care if we can’t find a bite mark, he’s decomposing for Christ’s sake, what the fuck else could it be?!”

Daeron returns with more blankets and towels. Aegon grabs a strawberry Pedialyte out of Rio’s grasp and tries to help Jace drink it. Cregan is muttering: “I ain’t never seen anything like this…”

Decomposing, you think dizzily. He wasn’t bitten, but he’s falling apart…what else does that to a person?

Baela cleans blood from his lips, a towel turning from snow to rubies. “Jace, baby, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to help you…”

“Could it be rat poison or something?” Cregan is saying. “Rabies? Mad cow disease? Ebola?”

“How the fuck do you think he got Ebola?!” Aemond exclaims. “You think he took a jet to sub-Saharan Africa when he was on his own? Use your brain.”

“I’m just trying to come up with ideas here, doc, and I don’t see you with any bright ones!”

He’s decomposing. He’s decomposing.

And then you remember. You kneel down beside the bed so you can look into his face, so you can make him pay attention. “Jace, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” he replies faintly. He coughs, wet and gurgling. Fresh blood paints his lips. There are blisters beginning to form up and down his arms, you see now, the skin bubbling and separating.

“Jace, do you remember Three Mile Island?”

“What the fuck.” He is baffled, dismissive. “Three Mile what? Huh? What are you talking about…?”

“You’re upsetting him,” Baela says fiercely, tears glittering in her eyes.

But you are determined. “Outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, after we left Fort Indiantown Gap. There were these huge concrete cooling towers. We saw them from the Wawa parking lot.” But he wasn’t there when we talked about radiation. He was still inside searching for guns. “Remember, Jace? Do you remember?”

Now Aemond and Rio are looking at you, petrified, realizing what you must be thinking. No one else understands yet. After a long pause, Jace nods feebly. “Yeah. I remember the towers.”

“Good,” you say, smiling to encourage him. “Okay, this is important. After we lost you at the river, before you found us again, did you see anywhere that looked like Three Mile Island?”

“Yeah,” Jace murmurs as he stares back at you with glazed, bloody eyes; and Rio sighs and shakes his head. “I drove right by it on the Honda. The sign said Byron.”

And it’s been over for him since that moment.

“Alright, Jace.” You want to touch him, to embrace him or cup his cheek. You know it will only make his suffering worse. “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to ask.” He begins to gag again, and Baela hurries to place the popcorn bucket so it can catch his liquefying organs. You turn around and walk through the doorway.

“What’s happening?” Aegon asks you, hushed voice, frantic eyes. He has followed you to the living room, along with Aemond, Rio, and Cregan. You nod to Aemond. He knows.

“It’s radiation sickness,” Aemond says, low and bleak.

“What?!” Aegon gapes at him. “I mean, are you sure…?”

“It fits all the symptoms. He was in close proximity to a nuclear power plant, something the rest of us have intentionally avoided. If there was a meltdown, there are miles and miles that are poisoned with radiation. Passing by on a motorcycle could definitely result in a lethal dose.”

“Poor guy,” Rio says. “Not a good way to go.”

“No,” you agree. It isn’t.

“So how do you treat something like that?” Cregan asks Aemond.

“It can’t be treated,” Aemond replies tersely. “Not here, not by me, not by anyone. Not even if the world was normal again.”

“What do you mean it can’t be treated?! Everything can be treated nowadays! Cancer, heart attacks, diabetes, hell, my cousin got testicular cancer and he was fine a month later, he even got to keep one of his balls!”

“Radiation sickness can’t be treated. He’s going to die.”

“But how is that possible when—?!”

“I need you to try to not be stupid for five minutes,” Aemond snaps.

You say quietly: “He’s not stupid, Aemond. He just doesn’t know about this.”

“You are always defending him.”

“Because not going to med school isn’t a character flaw.”

Cregan asks mildly, looking at Aemond: “Could you explain it to me?”

“It’s pennies in a jar, man,” Rio says. “Radiation stacks up and at a certain point it kills you. It destroys your DNA and your body falls apart. You can get it just by going near someplace contaminated, and you might not even feel it happen. And there’s no way to undo the damage. The pennies never leave the jar.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Aemond. “Was that so difficult?”

Aemond ignores him. “We have to tell Jace,” he says instead.

Back in the bedroom—a mineral stench in the air, coppery blood and the salt of sweat—Aegon sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of Jace’s swelling, blistering hands carefully in his own.

“Don’t hold my hand, you loser.” Jace mumbles, and Aegon respectfully releases him.

“Jace,” Aegon begins. “We think you have radiation sickness.”

Jace blinks up at him, wincing and disoriented. “Which means…?”

“Which means, um, it’s going to be…not great.”

“Why are you the person explaining this?”

“You’re right, I really shouldn’t be explaining it. Can someone else explain it…?” Aegon glances around hopefully.

“Jace,” Aemond says. “Those cooling towers you drove by were part of a nuclear power plant that melted down when the power grid collapsed. You received a fatal dose of radiation. It’s the only thing that explains what’s happening to you.”

“Fatal…?” Daeron ventures.

Rhaena gasps and reaches for Luke. Baela’s face is a mask of numb shock. Jace stares up at Aemond for a long time before he speaks. “Aemond, fix me.”

Aemond’s words are brittle and fracturing. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Stop fucking around, man, you’re a doctor. You can fix me. I know you can. You’re a genius. You’re a total freak but you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Give me the pills, give me the shots. Cut me open if you have to. I won’t scream, I promise. Fix me. I trust you.”

“Jace, I can’t do anything. No one can.”

“I have to meet the baby, Aemond,” Jace whispers, scarlet tears bleeding down his cheeks. “I have to be here for Baela and Luke. Fix me, man. I’ll do anything you tell me to.”

“Jace,” Aemond says, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I can’t help you.”

Jace looks to Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and at last back to Aemond. “How long?”

“Not very. A few days, maybe.”

“Days?” he echoes, dazed. “What happens?”

Aemond shakes his head. You don’t want to know.

“Yeah I do. Tell me.”

Aemond can’t respond; clear silent tears snake down the right side of his face. Rio answers for him. “You continue to bleed out of every orifice and the rest of your skin falls off. And eventually you die.”

Jace breaks down in sobs. “I was trying to find you guys.”

Suddenly, Baela turns to you and Rio and Aemond, wrathful, hissing. “This is your fault.”

Aemond pleads: “Baela, please don’t—”

“You made me leave him at the river. I knew he was still alive, but you forced me to leave him. If he’d been with us, this never would have happened. But he was alone, and it was because of you. You did this to him. You stole him from me.”

Rhaena tries to console her. “Baela, no one meant to—”

“I just got him back!” she screams, and then shelters Jace in her arms as he clings to her, the skin of his fingers and palms flaking at the pressure, holding onto her anyway. No one knows what to say; everyone has tears burning in their eyes and embers in their throats. “Get out,” Baela demands. “Leave us alone. This is the last time I’ll ever have with him and it’s your fucking fault. So get out.”

And you leave them to their final moments, failing flesh in a dying world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Only Luke and Rhaena flit in and out of the bedroom, carrying soiled linens and the plastic popcorn bucket to be periodically emptied. The rest of you are engrossed in a grim, thunderstruck deathwatch in the living room. You discuss the inevitable in hushed murmurs. It is cruel to let Jace suffer; it is unspeakably horrible to let Baela witness it. Ice alternates between receiving scratches from Cregan, Helaena, and Aegon, never trying to enter Jace’s room. You can hear Jace and Baela talking in there, his retching and groaning, her sobs.

It is not until dusk that Rhaena summons Aemond. Luke is weeping as he paces back and forth in the bedroom. Baela is still sitting on the bed with Jace, resigned now. She does not apologize, but she doesn’t have any more venom to spit either. The rest of you watch from the hallway, keeping a respectful distance. Ice nudges your hand with her nose, but you ignore her. Jace’s bloody eyes roll to Aemond.

“I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Aemond replies. There’s no point in lying.

“And I don’t need to feel myself melting like this for days. I get the idea.” Jace looks at Aemond for a while. His voice is anemic but calm; there are fresh blisters on his face and neck. “What can you give me?”

Aemond opens his medical kit and shows Jace the vial of morphine. “I found this at the pharmacy today. It would be painless, like going to sleep and never waking up.”

“Why do you have that?”

“I was thinking a small amount might help Baela during labor.”

“Is it the only morphine in your kit?”

“Yes.”

Jace nods. “Save it for Baela.” His gaze drops to the Glock in the holster at Aemond’s waist. “Can I borrow that?”

Rhaena stifles a dismayed yelp. Baela closes her eyes, but does not protest. Aemond says: “I don’t think you want to do this.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Cyclops,” Jace says, smiling. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“It’s heavy,” Aemond warns. He clicks off the safety and gives the Glock to Jace. “Are you able to use it by yourself?”

“It’s a very simple two-step process. Barrel to skull, finger on the trigger. I think I’ll manage.”

Again, Ice bumps her nose against your knuckles; again, you barely notice. Baela kisses Jace on the mouth, her lips coming away bloody. Rhaena says goodbye to him, then Luke, whispered parting words you don’t try to listen to. Before Aemond exits, Jace grasps his hand.

“Take care of my family, Aemond.”

“I will.”

“Don’t let the zombies eat me afterwards.”

And then it becomes real. Aemond’s composure falters. “Jace…I’m so sorry…”

“Go,” Jace urges him. Then there is a coughing fit, fresh blood and pieces of stomach and lungs. “Right now. Before I lose my nerve.”

Baela is the last one to leave the bedroom; she shuts the door behind her. Almost immediately afterwards is a deafening bang. Baela sinks to the floor and wails, one hand on her belly, the other embracing Rhaena and Luke when they rush to her. Ice is whining and pawing at the floor, her nails screeching on the hardwood. Aemond alone returns to Jace’s bedroom and reappears with his Glock. He places it back in his holster, his scarred face vacant. There’s blood on his fingers, you see. Jace’s blood, the last he’ll ever shed. Aemond hasn’t noticed yet.

You reach for Aemond’s hand; he flinches away. You ask him, pained: “Do you think if you don’t touch me, it won’t hurt you when I die?”

“Please don’t say that,” Aemond responds in a hoarse, splintering whisper.

Ice yowls, and Cregan is abruptly aware of her. “Oh shit, the Tahoe is still up on the jack. I’ll go get it.” He opens the front door. Under the moonlight, there are upwards of a hundred zombies stumbling down the long gravel driveway. Everyone begins screaming. Cregan slams the door shut and shoves one of the couches in front of it. “What now?!”

“We go through the cornfield,” Aemond says as you are all frantically gathering your sparse possessions. “It will be more difficult for them to see us. We kill as many as we can and we make our way to the Tahoe. Cregan, how long will it take you to get it ready to drive?”

“Maybe a minute. But I’ll need someone to spot me while I tighten the lug nuts.”

“Sounds like my kind of job opportunity,” Rio says, pumping his Remington. Helaena gives you a flashlight. Cregan secures the lug wrench under his belt and picks up his axe. Rhaena has her Ruger out and is telling Baela to breathe, to stay focused, to let her and Luke lead the way.

Aemond comes to you and leans in close so the others can’t hear. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Not enough. Maybe fifty.”

“Do what you can. Stay near Rio.”

“I’ll try.”

Now there are zombies at the front windows, beating their spongy swamp-colored palms against the glass. Baela, Rhaena, and Luke are leaving through the back door with Daeron; you can hear the whizzing of his arrows and the sick soft sound they make when they pierce rotting meat. Under the weight of so many hands, one of the living room windows pops from its frame and clatters against the floor. You open fire, bullets exploding skulls and spraying brains, corpses jolting and then diving to the ground. You shoot until both M9s are empty, then pause to reload, boxes of bullets that Cregan gave you back in Iowa.

“Let them in,” Helaena says.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Aegon shouts at her. He’s firing his Marlin .22 beside you, quite poorly; Rio and Aemond are in the backyard killing any zombies that find their way towards the cornfield. “We’re not letting them get through the house!”

“Not through,” Helaena says placidly. “In.”

“Oh.” Aegon understands. “Oh! I get it! Trap them inside!” He races to the kitchen and tears the remaining bottles of Grey Goose vodka out of the cabinet, then begins spilling them onto the wood floor. “Helaena, give me a lighter.”

She places one in his outstretched palm and then leaves with Cregan as he escorts her away, leading her by her fragile hand. They vanish together into the cornfield, Ice on their heels.

“Time to go, Chips!” Rio booms; he can’t be far behind Cregan.

“We’re on our way!”

Zombies are pouring through the front of the house; another window has given way. You pull the trigger over and over again as you move with Aegon towards the backyard, his clear river of vodka drawing a path from one end of the house to the other. You hit the grass before he does, then wait for him by the edge of the cornfield. Aemond and Rio are shouting for Aegon to hurry up. He crosses through the threshold, flicks the lighter to life, and throws it into the house. His plan works—the farmhouse is abruptly aflame, cooking zombies like long-spoiled hams—but he neglected to realize that in his haste, he had also accidentally doused his own left leg and Sperry Bahama sneaker. The fire licks up over Aegon’s skin and blazes there radiantly. He shrieks and falls to the ground. Rio yanks his own shirt off and uses it to smother the inferno, then throws Aegon over one shoulder to carry him.

“Go to Cregan!” Rio tells Aemond, shoving him in the direction of the Tahoe. Rio will be slower now, but no one else could still run with Aegon’s added weight. “You and Daeron spot him until I get there!” When Aemond is gone, Rio glances back at you.

“I’m fine,” you say, felling zombies as they round the house. “Get Aegon to the car!” And Rio listens to you like he always does, vanishing with Aegon through the cornfield.

You weave through the leafy stalks, investigating each growl and rustling with the beam of your flashlight. Grotesque, fetid faces plunge through the greenery, and you demolish them. You’re in the rhythm now, wheeling for a target and locking in, squeezing the trigger and watching ghoulish faces disappear. And then you spy a zombie lurching towards you from fifteen feet away, a twenty-something in a red Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt making her way down the dirt aisle between two rows of corn; and when you pull the trigger, there is only a dry click in reply. Your other M9 is already empty. You’ve used all the ammo Cregan gave you.

“I’m out of bullets,” you say, but no one hears you; you are alone. Aemond always told you to stay near Rio and you never did. Too late, you realize what an oversight that has been. “Rio? Aemond?!”

There are human voices and gunshots, but reverberating from a distance. Far closer are snarls and groans of the dead. You click off your flashlight, drop to the earth, and crawl until you are as far under a row of corn as you can be, long leaves tickling the back of your neck and damp soil in your nostrils. Clumsy, lumbering footsteps trod by you. From the road, you hear the Tahoe’s engine start with a rumble.

They’re leaving.

You shake your head, here with no one to see you in the dark. Still, the thought persists.

They’re leaving. I left my family and now my family is leaving me.

“Chips, stay where you are!” Rio shouts. “We’re coming back, we’ll find you!”

You wait until they are within ten feet of you, Rio cracking skulls with his Remington—he must be out of bullets too—and Aemond firing his Glock. “I’m here, I’m here!” you cry, and they are lifting you up from the dirt and dragging you towards Tahoe, and Aemond puts his pistol in your hand knowing you can do more good with it. You fire ten rounds before the Glock is empty, and you think with terror: Do any of us have bullets left?

Then you are being helped into the Tahoe, and the second all the doors are shut Rhaena floors the gas pedal, heading west on State Route 92.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I got my drugs after all,” Aegon rasps as Aemond injects him with morphine on the floor of a laundromat on the edge of Merna, Nebraska, far enough to escape the zombies, not so far that the Tahoe risks running out of gas before you reach the next town. His left leg is burned from the knee down, and burned badly: skin, fat, muscle, blood-red scorched ruin. Even through the modest dose of morphine—Aemond is terrified of accidentally killing him—Aegon can still feel what has happened to him. He knows it’s bad. He knows it could be the last mistake he ever makes. “I’m so thirsty…”

“I got you, Honey Bun,” Rio says, and then uses the butt of his Remington to bust open the vending machines and bring him bottles of Powerade. Baela is sobbing in the corner with Luke and Rhaena. Helaena is shining a flashlight on Aegon’s leg so Aemond can see. Daeron and Cregan are keeping watch by the entrance. You don’t even know why. All the bullets and arrows are gone, Aegon can’t walk, the Tahoe’s gas tank is nearly drained. If you are descended upon now, what will you do?

Aegon sobs and clutches for you, links his arms around your waist, rests his head in your lap. You hold him and comb your fingers through his unruly hair over and over again, like a compulsion, like a ritual. You are so afraid to let go of him. You are terrified he’ll disappear.

I wish I knew what to say. I never know what to say.

He’s shaking uncontrollably as Aemond cleans his leg: peeling away dead skin, wiping down the raw flesh with disinfectant. Aegon’s eyes are wide and glassy. There is blood on the white tile floor, pinkish lymph fluid, bits of charred skin. Ice is whimpering, her muzzle propped on her paws and her eyes darting around the room. Aegon manages through the pain, a reedy, gasping whisper: “Tell me about all those places you went when you were in the Navy.”

You can see it like the miles-deep blue of his eyes: the Indian Ocean, the jewel-tone equatorial sky. “On Diego Garcia, they have these birds called red-footed boobies—”

Aegon barks out a weak laugh. “They do not. You’re making that up.”

“No, really, I swear! They’re like seagulls, but they have blue on their face and bright red feet, hence the name. They’re extremely stupid, and one night a few of us were hanging out drinking Guinness and playing pool, and a booby flew in through an open window. We panicked, it panicked, and then it was flying in circles and couldn’t get out. We opened all the doors and windows, and the booby still just flew around banging into the walls. And of course the whole time it was shitting and bleeding and getting feathers everywhere, we knew it was going to take hours to clean up. After thirty minutes of chasing this idiot bird around, Rio snapped, took off his boot, and smacked the booby with it. He was trying to fling it out the window, like hitting a tennis ball with a racket, but he accidentally hit the bird too hard and murdered it. Its beak literally separated from its body and flew across the room. None of us could believe it, we didn’t even know that was possible. Rio felt so bad he started crying. We took the booby—and its beak, of course—out to the beach for a Viking funeral. We made it a little raft of coconut tree leaves, set it on fire with a lighter, and pushed it out into the waves.”

Aegon is cackling. “Bryan Osorio, terrorizer of the homicidal undead and boobies!”

“What else?” Baela says, and you look over at her, startled. The flashlight incandescence turns you all to ghosts, phantoms, half-shadows. At first you don’t know what she means. “What else did they have on Diego Garcia?”

“Oh, tell them about the coconut crabs,” Rio prompts you. He’s settled down beside Aegon and is resting one broad hand on his trembling shoulder.

“Coconut crabs?” Rhaena asks you, wiping tears from her cheeks with her delicate, small-boned fingers.

You are abruptly aware that you have an audience. You can feel yourself shrinking beneath their gazes. “Rio should tell the story. I’m not good at it.”

“Sure you are,” Rio says, smiling kindly beneath dark, wet eyes. “Go on. Tell them.”

So you do.

[jaybirddreads]

Trolls Band Together: "You just call on me, brother" (John Dory and Floyd)

Floyd’s letter is wrong.

When it first appeared, stuck to John Dory’s door, his heart overtook his head. Floyd was reaching out to him. Floyd– Floyd wrote him. John Dory’s heart sank as fast as it had risen when his eyes skimmed the contents of the letter. Immediately, the handwriting wasn’t Floyd. Or, it wasn’t the Floyd that John Dory remembered. Floyd’s scrawl was barely legible half the time back then. John Dory would spend hours deciphering his sheet music and lyrics and re-writing them in neat printed letters so they could actually practice instead of triggering aneurysms trying to read Floyd’s handwriting. John Dory had been jealous of Branch back then, because he didn’t know how to read. The handwriting in the letter that John Dory had received was big and clunky golden cursive with strokes a lot bolder than his shy little brother. 

The contents of the letter itself worried John Dory as he read it over and over again.

Dear John Dory, (Floyd– if he had written this letter– would have addressed him as John or JD.) I’m being held against my will by superstars Velvet and Veneer. Come to Mount Rageous at once and bring our brothers. Love, Floyd, the sensitive one. (Floyd would never sign off as ‘the sensitive one’.) The message itself, apart from the strange greeting and ending of the letter, was weird. John Dory didn’t know in what world his stubborn, sarcastic little brother would refer to his kidnappers as ‘superstars’. 

Floyd would also never want to risk putting any of his brothers, especially Branch, in danger. It would make no sense for him to tell John Dory to bring their brothers or even contact him– as concerning as it sounds now that he thinks about it. John Dory is positive that his brother did not write this letter. John Dory’s reasons to come to this conclusion are; 1. He claims to be being held captive. 2. It’s just not something that Floyd would do. 3. How would he even get the letter to John Dory if he’s all the way in Mount Rageous? 4. How the hell would Floyd have ever found John Dory in the first place? He lives in the middle of nowhere.

John Dory has no idea who Velvet and Veneer are, but if there is a chance that they are hurting his brother, he will do anything in his power to put a stop to that. John Dory is not going to abandon his brother again. A few years ago, he head trekked back home with his tail between his legs in search of forgiveness from at least his Gran and youngest brother only to find his grandmother’s pod abandoned, overgrown with weeds, and infected with dozens of insects. All that was left in the pod was Gran’s dirty furniture and a couple of dusty framed pictures still hung on the walls. John Dory had collected those as carefully as he could and cleaned them. They’re put away in a cupboard somewhere around his living space. He has no idea if Gran and Branch are okay, but he hopes they are. If Floyd needs his help now, John Dory is going to provide, like he should have for all four of his younger brothers years ago.

He closes the letter– that is most likely bait– and grabs one of his many maps. 

Mount Rageous is a far trip from where he is right now. If he and Rhonda hurry, they can cut the trip down to a day and a half. He’s not the biggest fan of hustling, but if that's what it takes to get to Floyd before anything really bad happens, so be it. Luckily, Rhonda loves hustling. She purrs, shaking excitedly when John Dory hovers his finger over the red-orange button.

John Dory hits the ground hard after they slow down. His elbows and knees ache. They’re still hours from Mount Rageous, but that’s good. It gives him time to come up with a plan. He knows he wants to get to Mount Rageous, find Floyd, and get him out, but that’s a wishlist, not a plan. John Dory’s radio hisses and he reaches up to turn the dial. He skips through stations, trying to find something quiet since Rhonda hates when he turns the radio off. He passes a station and pauses, turning the dial backward. We now return to superstar sensations, Velvet and Veneer’s latest hit single– music bleeds through the radio, a catchy beat that John Dory can instantly recognize as the type of rhythm that made him and his brothers famous in the first place. A girl and a boy begin to sing, the sounds of their voices are unreal. It eerily reminds him of Floyd’s singing. The people who might have hurt his brother are popstars? Ironic. Creepy, maybe. Stalkerish, probably. 

The radio provides him with nearly everything he needs. It gives him the date of their next concert, the location, and the duration. Later tonight, when he arrives at Mount Rageous, he will have to find the Boom Box before 9pm where he will have an hour to find Floyd and break him out. It’s not much better than his wishlist, but it definitely has more properties of a plan. John Dory was almost glad that it was rageons that had Floyd. They were definitely easier on the eyes than bergens, and not as strong. The moment Rhonda crossed the threshold between the Troll Kingdom and Mount Rageous, the difference was clear as night and day. Everything was big, shiny, and neon. Even the people. 

Rhonda went unnoticed, tiny among the gigantic vehicles of the rageons. 

It didn’t take as long as John Dory had imagined to find Boom Box. The crowds pouring out the door were a clear indication of what it was. It reminded John Dory of his days of selling out venues. Rhonda jumps from the main road and digs into the tail-end of the crowd, weaving through dancing rageons left and right. John Dory steers her into a dark corner, under a lonely bench that all the party-goers are ignoring. The music thrums through the air and Velvet and Veneer’s voices are much louder and much clearer than they were over the radio. They’re singing a song that feels so much like Floyd that it’s messing with John Dory’s head. The lyrics swim around his head, as if he’s a teenager again, sneaking Floyd’s journal out from under his bed to see what was going on in his little brother’s head. He and Spruce used to giggle at Floyd’s unnecessarily deep ramblings about whatever it was that got him in a tizzy. Yes, it was wrong of him to invade Floyd’s privacy like that, but in his defense, Floyd was the heaviest sleeper he had ever met (and John Dory would be lying if he said that Floyd didn’t have a talent of lyrical genius– some of their best hits were thanks to Floyd and his sad, sad journal).

John Dory rolled out of the way of several pairs of heavy black boots as a brood of angsty rageons dragged their feet to get to the snack bar. He ducks through several long pairs of legs until he reaches the nearest wall. John Dory watches as the shiny giants dance and laugh and cheer. He slides against the wall until he reaches a vent, just out of sight from most of the rageons. If Floyd is here, John Dory will search every single nook and cranny until he finds his brother. John Dory runs down every vent, turning corners sharply. He peers through every grate he finds. He sees bathrooms, dressing rooms, offices, and storage closets. 

He feels almost hopeless until he comes across the final vent opening in the west half of the building. John Dory peered in through the thin grate blinds. It was an empty purple dressing room. Make up, wigs, and costumes were strewn about haphazardly. John Dory was about to turn away and look in another part of Boom Box when his eyes caught a glimmer of something. He saw a large ornate purple perfume bottle. John Dory’s eyes widened when he noticed something move inside the semi-transparent bottle. A spark of magenta had John Dory propelling down into the dressing room without a second thought. He hit the surface of the vanity, face first, with a resounding thunk. John Dory groans, peels his face from the vanity, and shouts Floyd’s name.

Floyd– his sweet, shy, sensitive brother– gasps and presses his hands against the glass of the perfume bottle, “John Dory!” he gasps, his voice trembling with strained emotion. It’s so strange to see Floyd now, after nearly twenty years. His little brother is a man now. A man trapped in a giant glass bottle. Yeah, John Dory was right. There was no way that Floyd had written that number. “I never thought I’d see any of my brothers again.” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” John Dory says, pressing his hand against the glasses where Floyd’s hand was. “I’ll get you out.” 

“You can’t,” Floyd’s eyes were wide with fear, “it’s a trap, JD. Velvet and Veneer are pop obsessed succubi and they’ve been stealing my talent to get famous!”

“I know it’s a trap. I’m not leaving you here. Not my brother.” John Dory shook his head. He looks around the dressing room, searching for something he can use to break the glass and get his brother out of that suffocating bottle. John Dory attempts to break the glass, but it’s no use. He kicks at it, punches at it, throws the heaviest things he can carry at it. 

Floyd drops his head against the glass with a soft thump, “It’s no use, JD. The bottle is made of diamond…” 

“Diamond,” John Dory repeats the word. It rolls off the tip of his tongue like a dry, dusty heap. There is only one thing that can shatter diamond. John Dory feels helpless once more. Floyd’s eyes droop as he stares at his feet. “There’s only one thing that can shatter diamond…” 

“Yeah,” Floyd laughs miserably. Laughter and loud foot falls cause his head to shoot up, “John, you have to leave. They’re coming back. If they catch you—” 

“Floyd, I won’t abandon you.” John Dory argues.

Floyd slams his fist against the glass, “No, just save yourself, please. Do it for me.”

“Floyd–” 

“I don’t want to see my big brother trapped in a jar.” Floyd says. 

The door knob jiggles and the click of a key echoes. John Dory looks at Floyd, his chest swelling with determination. He shoots his trusty grappling hook up, and it latches onto the vent. “I’ll be back for you, bro. Count on it.” John Dory’s pulled back up into the vent as the door opens and two near-identical rageons enter the dressing room. The last thing that John Dory sees before he begrudgingly makes his escape is one of the rageons picking Floyd’s bottle up and shaking him cruelly.

[cornyonmains]

Just got done watching episode 6 of 4 Minutes. At this point I'm almost certain they do the weird music over Bible's NC scenes because they might be too horny otherwise.

Anyways, I've been thinking about the curse the woman Great hit with her car bought. Initially, I thought she was paying for an assassin using selling spells and charms as a front or means of embezzling the money. But if that shit actually worked, and it's what's allowing Great to fiddle with the timelines, then we have to wonder who she's trying to separate from her loved ones with this.

All signs point to this being Great's father. I keep getting stuck on the lyrics they mentioned in an interview, with one of them being something along the lines of giving up everything to be with someone.

In the timeline Great's creating, his mother has (presumably) died. Great's a smitten 21 year old, still kind of a kid, being spoon fed a do-over with the Barbie Dream Doctor Boyfriend Edition that is Tyme, and his father is a homophobic footnote in his subconscious.

Korn has been given a romantic ultimatum by Fasai that's not likely to end well. Korn was able to tolerate her because he had Tonkla to go to to reclaim a sense of agency and control with. All the characters around Great's father are either being killed, in the process of dying, or in the process of events that could see them choosing their own paths over one provided by his dirty money.

The woman also specifically told Great that he would have a bright future, and this is one of those situations where I wish I understood Thai because I feel like there's some stuff that was likely baked into her wording that got lost in translation.

This episode also once again proved Sammon is the real queen on the scene in the BL writing community. I was so convinced the Great we were seeing in the new timeline was reflective of the one in the old timeline. But no, Great was a coward, a spoiled brat, completely removed from a world of consequences, an accomplice to murder, and so fraught with Daddy issues the idea of getting caught on 4K letting time hit it like a 747 filled him with childish glee. And Tyme was into that. These two definitely deserve each other, and would definitely have me considering an OnlyFans subscription. The Great we were seeing in the new timeline was a Great reacting to his subconscious trauma of all his actions catching up to him.

In summation, I have no idea what's going on, but I deeply hope that getting shot does not deter either of them from starting an OnlyFans if Tyme's career as a surgeon doesn't work out. Also, I still have no solid theories as to who Tonkla is killing that field. My theories are Title, Korn, or Win. Yeah, that's right, I finally remembered Win's name and am not calling him lanky cop anymore. I am capable of positive change on occasion. If some of you little 20 year old shits had been smoking weed since the tail end of the Clinton administration you'd have memory problems too.

[onskepa]

Please feed me boo- OKAY I’ve got a new delulu bout cute romantic dancing- so I wanna see tonowari dance with our dear reader at a festival or something. Let’s say that they’re already mated and that they’ve danced ever since they started dating (and hat if they met at a dance class for traditional dancing or smth?!?!?!) pleeeaaasseee I want that sweet dancing where everything else around them fades awayyyyyy

Feed my delusions pls

I gotchu gurl. Took me a bit, but I believe I got it down!

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

Sosul

[Credit goes to the artist]

Dusk came to the Metkayina clan, everyone wearing their best outfits. Women wearing their best jewelry, their hair done perfectly. The men, wearing their armor and woven clothing like arm bands. It was the night of rebirth. Where the young one's who passed their Iknimaya, the now young adults recently getting their new tattoos and a new bead in their song chords. It was a night for many. And feeling blessed by Eywa, they party to their hearts content.

Among the crowd stood the Ole'yktan and Tashik, Tonowari and his proud mate whom he teases to call, Sosul. They sat together, hands holding each other as they eat in peace. Another generation to bring a bright future to their flourishing clan.

"Ma' wari.....doesnt this bring you back to our youth?" sosul asked in a daze, reminiscing back to their Iknimaya. "We are still young ourselves yawne" he replies. "I know but.....seeing them.....reminds me how we began. Our paths leading to each other.....the trials and challenges, as hard as they were I was happy, to prove my worth to the clan and to you" sosul speaks as she looks at her beloved straight in his eyes. Sky blue meeting ocean blue eyes.

But their eye mating was cut, as a familiar rhythm began to play. The song of the hunt [not real I made it up] was being played. Sosul gasped in happiness. Quickly she grabbed tonowari's hand and began to pull him up. "ma'wari! lets dance!" she smiles so brightly.

As if caught in a spell, Tonowari was brought back to that special night. Their night of rebirth.

Young Tonowari lets young sosul pull him to the center of the gathering. Excited that they are now adults and can do whatever they want as their hearts desire.

"I'm coming, I'm coming" Tonowari says, happy to let his beloved take him wherever she wants. Feeling the rhythm of the drums and the chants, telling of young na'vi exploring and traveling in their journeys. Sosul and Tonowari felt the rhythm in their hearts and soul. Dancing they began, laughing and smiling. For now and forever more, do they only have eyes for each other and no one else. Trapped in their own world.

Arms holding, legs switching, tails swaying, hips moving, and eyes locked. Do Sosul and Tonowari truly move as one with each other, and one with the beat of the ocean. Their bodies molded for one another, holding each other, twirling and chanting as well with the lyrics. It truly was a song mean for them. Tonowari had never felt happier as he was in that moment. Having her close, he could smell the lovely scent of the distant ocean. Calming and brining him peace and tranquility. And sosul enjoying having her moment with the one she loves. His broad and might built, his scent that of the smooth sand and salt from the sea. Enjoy everything of him and all of him.

For No one else mattered, only each other. It always has been and always will be in their future years and after.

Sosul = pleasant smell of nearby water running, rain, moist vegetation.

And that is it for this one! hope you all like it! until next time!

[theraggedygirl11]

Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud

Bojan's POV

Kris' POV: AO3 - Tumblr

SUMMARY: In a world where Heaven and Hell exist, angels and demons are constantly fighting and killing one another. What if a demon easily dominated by his emotions falls in love with a stoic and cold angel trained to kill demons?

PAIRING: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin

WARNINGS: swearing, blood, implied violence, hurt/comfort, implied suicide, emotional rollercoaster, enemies to lovers, hint of jance in the background

WORDS COUNT: 5.094

LINK: AO3

NOTES: Hello! Welcome to my first ever BoKris fic. It all started from this post by @arctixout and that damn tag (for reference: #stoic angel!kris and demon!bojan who's slave to his emotions and then they somehow fall in love wait who said that). And what could I do? It was too juicy to not write something out of it! So here we are.

Besides, as you can see from the title, I used Bluza (Youtube video and lyrics+translation) as my inspiration (and background music while writing), and this songs plays a role in the plot too 👀 yeah, I know we all think this is a BoJere song, but in this fic it's a BoKris fic, you'll understand why

Also, thanks to my beta @anxious-witch!

Last but not the least, I did this aestethic/moodboard trying to match @arctixout gifs

“You should talk to him.”

“Why? He's a demon. He's impure, a damned soul.”

“And you love him.”

“Angels can't love. He started corrupting me.”

“Angels can love and they must love. It's not corruption.”

“How can you tell it's not his corruption, Jan?!”

“Because I fell in love with a demon too. And I accepted it. Go to him, speak to him. He’s singing for you.”

When humans think about demons, the mental image they have is that of a terrifying creature, maybe with huge bat wings, a tail with an arrowhead at the end, claws, horns, red skin, maybe even hooves instead of feet.

Well, we do have a tail, and wings, and claws, but nothing alike of what you see in those pictures, and not every demon has them. We own a human form, just like everyone on this planet, that we use to roam among mortals. We have feelings, desires, hobbies, friends and families. Our only drawback is being born a demon from demon parents. We are guardians in Hell, we just watch over the damned souls who doomed themselves to suffering.

Heaven knows this, angels too, but they deliberately chose to not see this, to hate us, and they kill us with no hesitation when they find us on Earth. They think we are impure beings that don’t deserve to live.

And this is what led me, a demon, to meet the most beautiful creature ever seen on every plane of existence. I fell in love with an angel, I don’t even know his name, but I will discover it.

He almost killed me, I was terrified for my life, but he stopped when our eyes met, the sharp point of his dagger barely touched my throat. Something exploded in my chest, my heart was beating so fast. I've never felt something similar to what I felt at that moment.

And since that night I find myself staring at the sky so often, during both daytime and nighttime. Am I a hopeless romantic that waits for his angel to come and get him? Oh yeah, you can bet on it. And I'll wait for him to appear for eternity, if necessary.

* * *

“Bojan, come on!” Shouts Nace, one of my dearest demon friends. “We are late!”

I turn my eyes in his direction. I was staring at the sky, again. As always, no signs of my angel. He will appear, I’m sure of it, but this is not that day. I sigh, then reach Nace and Jure.

“Still looking for that feathered ass?” Jure asks.

“I…yes. I’d like to meet him again.”

“It’s better if you forget him, he will try to kill you again the next time he sees you,” says Jure while looking me in the eyes.

“He’s different. I’m sure of it. He didn’t kill me.”

“No, but he was about to,” replies Nace. “You know better than us that those winged assholes can’t be reasoned with.”

I lower my eyes, aware of the truth behind Nace’s words. We lost so many of our demon friends because of angels. But maybe…maybe he’s not like the other angels. I saw something in his eyes, something different, this sparkle.

With this thought in mind, I followed Nace and Jure to our destination: there’s a concert of a human band we all like, so we decided to go. We enjoy music so much, we also joke about forming a band together and tour together on Earth, among mortals, but that would put too much attention on us. It’s too dangerous. But at least we can enjoy concerts and gigs!

I’m dancing, taken away by the rhythm of the songs, when my gaze meets familiar eyes in the crowd, two amazing blue-green seas. I completely stop, and so does he. The music and every other sound disappears along with the people around me.

We stare at each other for moments that seem to last decades, blue into brown, light into darkness, Heaven into Hell, a perfect but forbidden combination, something that should never exist.

This magic spell breaks when I feel a hand on my shoulder and immediately after a tight grip. I turn and see Nace on my side, who is harshly staring at my angel. Jure appears on my other side.

I turn again towards my angel and I see two other people near him, one of them with dark and long messy hair and a beard, the other one with shorter hair but well combed and a trimmed beard. They are definitely angels. And they know we are demons.

The guy with messy hair steps in our direction, but my angel stops him, raising his hand and using it as a barrier. The dark-haired angel steps back and quickly glances at his friend. No one says a word.

“Bojči, let’s go,” Jure whispers into my ear, then grabs my arm and pulls me away.

I keep looking at my angel until I can no longer see him in the crowd.

In the next weeks Nace and Jure forbid me to go to the surface, but I sneak out. Every other demon could tell that my self-preservation instinct got fried because I want to talk to that angel, at all costs.

I keep looking at the sky, searching for him. Waiting for him to show up. And every single time nothing happens. But I’m stubborn, I won’t give up.

Tonight the sky is clear, stars are shining bright, and there's a small crescent moon. I'm lying on a patch of grass in the middle of nowhere, around me only trees and mountains. 

Suddenly a shadow partially covers the sky above me.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

I startle and stand up immediately, recoiling scared. When I recognise the person in front of me, I wide my eyes and open my mouth in surprise.

“Angel,” I whisper.

It’s dark, but I can sense his piercing blue eyes on me. He’s tall, taller than Jure and Nace too. His cheekbones are prominent, I can for sure cut myself while stroking them. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I want to touch them and feel them under my hands and bleed for him. He’s standing straight, rigid like a soldier, or maybe a general, I can’t tell his celestial rank.

“I repeat, since you seem to not understand my words, what are you doing here all alone?”

Shivers run down my whole body, his voice is…ok, this might sound cheeky, but yes, his voice sounds angelic, a slow caress of a lover on my back down to my waist. 

“I was looking for you.”

“For me?” He’s surprised.

“Yes, for you. I wanted to talk to you, angel.”

Now he’s confused. Well, not every day a demon comes looking for an angel. I go closer to him, moving slowly.

“I’m not armed,” I show him my hands. “You can check on me. This is not a trap.”

His eyes follow every single movement I do, even more carefully when I’m in front of him. I stare at his face, stunned by his beauty. I lift a hand to touch it, but I stop mid-air. No, I can’t touch him, my dirty hands can only ruin his perfection.

“Why do you want to talk to me, exactly?”

“I…I want to know you, angel.”

“I beg your pardon, you want to know…me?”

“Yes,” I nod. “You are amazingly beautiful, angel,” I let slip this comment, without realising. 

I notice a weird red-ish colour on his face. Did I just make him blush? I chuckle, he replies with a shy smile. Oh, he’s so wonderful! That smile almost made me melt on the spot. 

“Would you like to…I don’t know, come grab a coffee or anything else to drink?”

Who said that angels and demons can’t get along well? They must have never met an angel, then.

My angel, whose name is Kris, is a pleasant company. Well, he’s still a little bit rigid, but since that night when we had a couple of drinks together in a bar he became much more open and relaxed and he smiles so much now! Oh, I adore his smile. And his laugh too! 

We started going out together here and there, but every time it happens, my heart almost explodes out of joy. I can’t wait to see him again and again and again. Jure and Nace are worried for me, but I feel safe around Kris. He’s not like the other angels.

Our “dates” are pretty diverse. Sometimes we just hang out in some park or in the middle of wild places; once we sat on a cliff for hours, we talked and we observed the environment, at least Kris, I was too busy looking at him with heart eyes. Some other time we choose a city and we explore it, we can just appear anywhere in the world, a perk of being supernatural creatures!

This night though is special. Tonight I will confess my feelings to Kris. By now we have been seeing each other for some months and I’m completely sure about my love for him. Yes, I, a demon, fell in love with an angel, I’m not afraid of saying it, I want to shout it from the top of a building.

I’m putting on some makeup. I’m in front of the mirror in the bathroom of a small apartment I rented for when I’m roaming around on Earth. Jure and Nace are with me in the room, they are still worried for me.

“Are you sure of what you are about to do?” Nace asks.

“Yes, never been so sure in my long demonic life,” I reply.

“But he’s an angel, Bojči,” Jure whispers. “He’s dangerous. What if he’s playing with you?”

“He’s not, Jurček. I see how he looks at me, he…I think he’s in love with me too,” I glance at him through the mirror. 

“Angels are sly creatures, you can’t trust them,” Jure adds.

“They say the same stuff about us, you know?” 

I smile at my reflection. That black eyeshadow with glitter is perfect for me, my eyes are shining. “I love him, I’m going to tell him this. Tonight will be a special night, nothing can change this.”

We hear the sound of wings in the living room. He’s here.

I almost run in the room, a huge smile appears on my lips when I see him. He’s wearing beige trousers, a shirt with light colours and floral designs and a silver jacket. He’s from Heaven, no one can be mistaken. And his clothes collide with mine: I’m wearing black trousers and a black t-shirt, when we’ll go out I planned to wear a bright red leather jacket. He’s the good boy, I’m the bully, the bad boy.

“You are stunning, ljubavi .”

“You…too, Bojan.”

I notice his eyes passing over me. I turn and I see Jure and Nace.

“Oh, yeah, these are my dearest friends. This is Jure,” and I point to the blonde demon. “And this is Nace,” I move my hand towards the tattooed demon. “They are safe, they won’t hurt you. I ask you to do the same.”

“...fine,” he grants. His eyes turn back to me. I notice hesitation in him.“You put on makeup.” 

“Yes, just for you. Do you like it?”

“You…look good.”

I grab his hand. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes and follow me.”

I practically pull Kris to the bathroom, where I make him sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“What are you trying to do, little demon?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” I reply while I take the palette I bought the other day. I start putting makeup on his face, I chose a wonderful golden eyeshadow for him. I admire my work.

“You are otherworldly, ljubavi . Open your eyes.”

Kris opens his eyes and looks in the mirror. I observe his reaction: I can read astonishment in his face.

“Gold is your colour. It suits you perfectly.”

“I-It does,” he whispers.

I smile and kiss him on the cheek. “We can go, then. I have other surprises for you, my angel.”

Our first stop is at a wonderful restaurant where we had already eaten so many times because it’s Kris’ favourite. I let him order whatever he wants and then pay for the whole dinner. We talk about many topics, but Kris is weirdly more silent than usual.

“Is everything ok, ljubavi ?” 

“Yeah, sure, don't worry. I…had a rough day in Heaven, that's all.”

I smile fondly at him, then gently grab his hand and slowly stroke its back.

“Now it's time for you to relax, then. Enjoy this night out.”

Our eyes lock. I see him relaxing a bit, the shadow of whatever happened retreating.

Once dinner is finished, we take a long walk into the city centre. It's almost summer, the temperatures are pleasant, so many other humans are around. We blend in, looking like a proper couple, even because we are holding hands.

When we arrive at our final destination of the night, I bring Kris to the top of a building, so we can be alone and closer to the sky, his home.

“Why did you bring me here?” Kris asks.

I shake one hand in the air, around us many candles appear and some slow music starts spreading, embracing us. I turn towards my angel and offer him my hand.

“Would you like to dance with me, Kris?”

He looks at me, confused, but then takes it. I lay my other hand on his waist and smile at him. We start dancing, slowly. My angel is a bit embarrassed, but he tries to follow my lead.

“Just let the music flow over you. Hear it inside of you and allow it to take control over your body,” I whisper to him with a tender voice.

A few seconds later Kris is more relaxed and we are dancing more fluidly, following the rhythm and the melody. I can’t stop smiling while I look at my angel. He’s so beautiful, so ethereal, so perfect. I can see stars reflecting into his eyes, an entire galaxy in which I could lose myself, bewitched by its beauty.

We keep dancing along with the music, but the more we dance, the more I see a shadow coming back in Kris’ eyes, until he leaves my hands and takes two steps back.

“We can’t go on doing this, Bojan.”

“Why not? I don’t understand.”

“Because we can’t! You are a demon, and I’m an angel. We are not supposed to…mingle.”

“We are not mingling, ljubavi . This is a romantic date between two creatures who have feelings for each other.”

I grab the angel's hands and look him in the eyes.

“Kris, I'm not the monster Heaven teaches you to despise. You saw me, you got to know me.”

“You are still a demon, Bojan, no matter how you behave or what you do.”

“And so? What does it change between us?”

“I'm a freaking angel! We are supposed to fight each other, not…doing this, dancing alone like two teenagers in love!”

“Only because we are not human teenagers? Because we come from two different places? Because others tell us that we should hate each other?” I clutch his hands between mine. “You know me,” I repeat. It’s the truth, we have been seeing each other for some months now. I bring one of his hands on my chest, right over my heart. “This heart is yours, ljubavi , and no one else’s.”

“Bojan, this is wrong .”

“Kris, I love you. What's wrong with that?” I feel my heart sink into my chest. “You…don't love me?”

“No, Bojan. I don’t love you. Let’s stop pretending.”

My heart stops beating in that exact moment and I feel my head spin. The ground under my feet is crumbling. I’m falling even if I’m right in front of Kris, my angel. I struggle breathing.

“I-I’m not pretending.”

“Don’t lie, Bojan. You are a demon, all demons do is lie. You know who and what I am, you saw weakness in me because I didn’t kill you that day. You are corrupting me because you want me to lose my wings!”

“I know you are an angel and nothing else! I-I don't want you to lose your wings!” There’s panic in my voice, and maybe it’s showing on my face too. “I’m not lying!”

“You want to bring me to the path of perdition! You want me to fall, just like Lucifer.”

I let Kris' hands go and recoil, stuttering. My heart is clenched, it can’t beat.

“I-I’m not, Kris. I-I don’t want to-”

“Stop lying!” He shouts and his eyes begin shining out of celestial power. “You are a filthy demon. You don’t change, you just want to destroy us.”

I recoil again, scared, I even fall on the ground. I stand up then turn and run away as fast as I can. Tears sting my eyes violently, they want to come out and a few seconds later they manage to do so. My makeup is for sure ruined and dripping down my face. 

I feel like an idiot. I hoped that Kris would be different, but what was I thinking? He's an angel, those creatures are heartless killers when it comes to demons like me. Their hatred for us is blind, almost innate. I just got another proof.

Nace and Jure were right. Angels and demons are not meant to be together. Then why did I, a demon, fall in love with an angel? If we are supposed to be mortal enemies, then why was I destined to lose my reason for a celestial creature that would slaughter me just because I am what I am? Just why? Will I ever get an answer? 

I’ve been locked in my room in a building in Hell for…who knows how much time. I don’t want to see anyone, neither Nace nor Jure. I keep crying, stopping the tears coming out of my eyes is difficult, or dare I say even impossible. My heart is shattered.

Why are demons born with such intense feelings? Why can’t we control them like angels do? Or are we cursed to be dominated by our emotions exactly because angels don’t have them?They teach us that the universe needs balance, so if angels can’t feel, someone else must feel double the time. 

I wrap my body with my arms, trying to look smaller. My tail is out, wrapped around my leg. It’s a pathetic endeavour to not feel so alone and abandoned. 

I wince when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes and see Nace sitting by my side. He’s visibly worried.

“Bojči, what happened?”

I sob. “Y-you were right about him. He-he’s a heartless angel, just like anyone else of them,” I stutter, my voice is trembling.

Nace lays on my bed, facing me, then pulls me over to hug me. I plant my face against his chest. I feel his hand running up and down my back.

“Not every angel is heartless.”

“He is, Nace!” I shout, utter despair in my voice. “He is! I showed him my love and he accused me of trying to corrupt him! I-I gave him my whole heart and he laughed at me, he stabbed it with his ice dagger and killed me-” I stop. I can still hear his words in my mind. “H-He called me a filthy demon, Nace. After all I did for him and showed him, I-I’m still a filthy demon to him.”

My friend says nothing, he just stays there and cuddles me, attempting to make me feel a little bit better. 

And since that day I kind of started feeling better. Well, it’s more of a euphemism. Let’s say that I was barely surviving. I came back to my chores as a demon, but now I don’t smile anymore, or very little. I’m quiet. I prefer to stay alone than in the middle of a crowd. With me I have a small notebook in which I write my thoughts, ideas, feelings, and also lyrics. I can’t be a singer in the human world, but no one can stop me from writing what I feel, what I experience. 

This is how I wrote a song about my angel and how I fell in love with him. It has a stupid name too. I can write good songs, but I’m not able to name them. I will find a better one, one day. Hopefully.

“What are you writing in that notebook?” Asks Jure while sitting next to me.

We are in the human world, more precisely in a park. We needed some fresh air and some sunlight. 

“It’s nothing…” I answer.

Jure leans forward to read. “Is this about him?”

I nod. There’s no one else in my mind. I don’t like his presence, he’s haunting me, my mind is working against me. 

“It’s really intense,” Jure whispers. “Do you really love him?”

I nod again. “I know I’m a stupid demon. I should move on, forget him, but I can’t. He doesn’t love me back, he said it,” I sigh. “I’m just hoping to forget him as soon as possible. Maybe writing this stuff will help me process this stupid feeling.”

“Love isn’t stupid!”

“My love is absolutely stupid. An angel, Jurček! I’m a freaking demon and I fell in love with an angel.”

“You are not the first one.”

“Yeah, and how many of them survived? Are they here to tell their love story? No, Jurček, because angels killed them. I’m lucky I’m still alive.”

Jure pushes me with his shoulder. “Don’t lose hope, Bojči. There’s always time to change.”

I look at him. I don’t believe his words. Months have passed since my last moment with my angel, his shiny eyes are still impressed in my mind. He was about to kill me that night. 

No, he won’t change. Kris is an angel, full stop. He’s born to despise demons like me. I just need to accept that, but it will take time.

Is this despair that is guiding my actions? Possibly. Will I regret my decisions? Almost certainly. But if I can’t be with my angel, then I’d rather be dead, maybe slaughtered by him directly. That would be pretty ironic, wouldn’t it? A demon executed by the angel he’s fallen in love with. There’s poetry behind all of this. Maybe demons will use me as an example to the younglings to warn them to not fall in love with angels if they want to live.

I tried to forget him, move on, but every time I close my eyes, I see him. He's haunting me. And with him also the lyrics of the song I wrote for him. 

I’m in the middle of an abandoned industrial area. I prepared an amplifier with a microphone and a computer. I recorded some music for my song and I will perform it for the first (and last) time here, hoping that my angel is listening to me and will come to…I don’t know, to do anything. I’m ready for whatever he will decide to do to me. Included death.

I test the volume and the music. Everything sounds good, so I play the music and I start singing, looking directly at the sky.

“ Stolicu primakni, ruku mi dotakni, noćas ti si moja muza, ja u ritmu tvoga bluza ću da plešem bez prestanka .”

Nothing. The sky is blue, there’s not a single cloud, not a single sign of feathered wings. I continue singing.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

Still nothing. But I won’t lose hope, I will keep singing for him. He will show up, eventually. I just need a sign, Kris, please, I’m begging you.

“ Samo se okreni, baci pogled prema meni. Preći će tišina sama kilometre među nama dok jednom srce otkuca .”

Now it’s again time for the refrain. Some tears started running down my face, but I continue singing, I must, even if he won’t appear. I need to take these feelings out of my heart or it will explode. Maybe it will be my heart to kill me and not my angel.

“ Soba nam je mala. Ja ko pijana budala, a ni čaše nisam popio. Ja mislim da sam se zaljubio u tebe. Baš ja, koji nisam verovao da za nekim biću lud. Za tebe, kao u pesmama i filmovima ljubavnim, staviću zvuk .”

I see something in the sky, then the clear sound of wings hits me. I lower my eyes and I find Kris right in front of me. I see his three pairs of wings. A seraph, I should have guessed. Of course, I fell in love with one of the most powerful angels in the sky. When I do something, it’s always something big or I’m not happy with the result.

I kneel in front of him. Now I’ll sing the last part of my song.

“ Ne palite još svetla, još samo jedan tren da se nagledam lepote te. Ne palite još svetla. Ne prizivajte dan. Spasite me, smislite neki plan. Ako svane sunce, ostaću sam .”

The music stops. I’m looking at my angel, finally here for me. I’m breathing deeply, my heart is racing in my chest. My hand that’s holding the microphone is shaking. I’m afraid of what might happen, but at the same time I’m relieved. 

“You came,” I whisper.

“You called.”

Silence falls again between us. Kris slowly approaches, his facial expression is cold, hiding every emotion. I have pure angelic power in front of me, a deadly machine trained to kill my kind, and I’m looking at him in adoration.

“You know I should kill you right now because you are on Earth and not in Hell, right?”

“Then do it. I won’t fight, I won’t run away. If I can’t be with you, I’d rather be dead.”

Kris averts his eyes and presses his lips together, then talks. 

“You are an idiot, Bojan.”

“Yeah, I know, ljubavi . Love made me lose my mind in a way I didn’t think possible.”

“You said that in the song.”

I chuckle. “Maybe it’s just one of the many flaws that make us demons so imperfect in front of you angels. I was so unlucky to fall in love with you, but I don’t consider myself unlucky. I had the best moments of my life with you, I don’t want to change this for anything else in this world, not even a place in Heaven, if this means that I will lose my ability to love so strongly.”

I let the microphone fall on the ground and grab Kris’ sword, he has it in his hand, then I lay his sharp point right on my heart.

“You are here for this, no? Killing another impure soul that doesn’t follow the rules.”

Kris looks at me, finally. I smile, those eyes are so cold and so beautiful at the same time.

“Don’t make me do this, Bojan.”

“It’s ok, ljubavi . It’s ok. It’s…it’s your nature, you have been trained to do this your whole life.”

My voice trembles with emotions. Tears keep running down my face. No, I realise I’m not ready to die. I want to live, to be with him, but I know I can’t. It’s not allowed.

I feel the point of his sword pressed against my chest. In a few seconds it will reach my heart, and it will stop beating. I close my eyes.

But nothing happens. I’m still here, alive, breathing. I hear a metal sound against the ground, then two hands cup my face and I feel warm and soft lips pressed on mine.I open wide my eyes. Kris is kneeling on the ground in front of me and he’s kissing me.

I close my eyes again. I kiss him back, desperate to feel him, to make him feel my love through that act. I gently grab his wrists. 

When we interrupt the kiss, I touch Kris’ forehead with mine. I keep my eyes closed, trying to process what just happened.  

“Please, let it be real,” I whisper, without even realising it. “Please, please, let it be real.”

Kris chuckles. “It’s real, Bojan.”

I open my eyes and part a bit from him, just to look him in the eyes. “Real-real kind of way or…real-I’m-in-some-sort-of-Heaven-for-demons-because-I’m-dead kind of way?” I ask.

My angel gently strokes my cheeks, then leans forward to kiss me again. 

“This kind of way, my little demon,” he whispers against my lips. I shiver thanks to that lovely nickname. I hate being called little because it reminds me of my lack of height, but I’d let Kris call me whatever he wants, just to hear his voice again and again.

“I’m your little demon, then?”

Kris nods while looking me in the eyes. He caresses my lower lip with his thumb. His touch is so gentle, shivers run down my spine again.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Your song. I had feelings for you, they developed pretty early, but I…wasn’t acknowledging their existence because I never had the chance to fall in love with someone.”

I jump on Kris to hug him, sending us both falling to the ground, so I end up on top of him. I burst out laughing.

“Well, now you have someone right here.”

My tail appears behind me and shakes in the air, showing my happiness. I kiss him on the cheek, then giggle when I see him blushing. A couple of tears run down my face, but this time they are out of pure and simple joy.

* * *

I've been a demon my whole life. I grew up fearing angels, but nothing could have prepared me for what fate had planned for me. I fell in love with Kris, an angel, a seraph. Our relationship began with the worst scenario possible, with him trying to kill me. And yeah, I might be dumb, because I fell in love with him in that moment, but now we are happy together. And I wouldn’t change a thing about us.

Heaven and Hell finally united thanks to the love between an angel and a demon.