#moted castle

[pippapassed]

I Capture The Castle

Ightham Mote, Kent on 31st May, 2023. An artist I know commented that I looked like “Cassandra Mortmain grown up”. Cassandra is the heroine of Dodie Smith’s wonderful book I Capture The Castle (1948), about sexual awakening, the romance of place, financial hardship and the lessons of young adulthood – and being told that I embody a fictional character even for a moment is the best compliment an…

[rainingincale]

.

[timothyphillips]

(via Life In This Old Castle)

https://medium.com/@timphillips540/secrets-behind-the-stones-725460be16a6

join medium for free let the author and you shine through.

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

No Arthur today other than a brief good morning.

I am staring off for a second though and decide to speak to the bright agent.

*article on deep fakes*

Agent: so they are gonna come out and say it's been analyzed and it's a deep fake.

Me:

*sighs*

Ok, so all TV shows are deep fakes bro

Agent: what do I mean?

Me: Ever since the Honeymooners, bro. All Of Them

Let it sink in

*one punch man emote*

"with my own flavor thrown in"

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 6: Ladybugs and Dragonflies]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, a bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), references to war-related violence, pregnancy/childbirth/etc., Red and Jace should go on Marriage Boot Camp, Lady Caro tries to bond with her weird replacement daughter, a little animal abuse??

Word count: 6.2k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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

“How many people has he killed?” you ask as Jace takes your arm—not like Aemond would, not crushing and bruising but gently as if you are a creature with thin fragile bones, a blue jay or a bat—and leads you out of the Great Hall. The men still gathered around the letter on the table glance at you without knowing what to feel. As Jace’s wife you are their princess, you are their future queen, and yet you are Aemond’s sister and perhaps much more than that as well. Why else would he have abruptly fled Dragonstone to ravage the Riverlands, leaving Criston’s army vulnerable and scrambling to catch up?

“Thousands,” Jace says. “And there will be many more who starve because he’s torched their granaries and livestock. He’s sending ravens to the noble houses swearing that the dying will continue until you are returned to him.”

Thousands of people? Women like Mother and Helaena, children like Jaehaera and Maelor. “Let me write to him. I’ll tell him that I’m safe in hiding and not to harm any more noncombatants—”

“You think the Greens care about them?” Jace snaps as he brings you into the castle library, sparse and dusty, and you cannot help but remember the long hours Aemond spent in the Red Keep studying history, war, suturing, High Valyrian, the heroes of legends, the secrets of your body. “Daeron and Tessarion are burning people alive in the Reach. The Lannister army is pillaging every town they march through as they make their way east.”

“Jace, please, let me try.”

“Aemond isn’t going to believe a letter just because it claims to come from you.”

“There are things I can say that no one else would understand, and so he’ll know it’s really me and that I’m not acting against my will—”

“You’re not writing to him!” Jace shouts, and then collapses into a chair of pale lavender velvet and rubs his face with both hands. And you know—because he’s not someone who can easily hide what he’s feeling—that Jace is not just exhausted and frustrated but afraid. Afraid of the devastation Aemond sows, afraid of the hold he evidently still has over you. “It’s difficult for you to love someone like me, I think.”

“Yes,” you admit softly. “But I’m trying.”

Jace glares up at you; you have disappointed him. You have proven his suspicions true. “I don’t want it to take effort.”

“Isn’t it difficult for you too, Jace? To have affection for me? To see me as your wife instead of a captive enemy?”

“No,” he says. “Not anymore.”

You stand in the small neglected library—dust motes wheeling in cold grey daylight, dim nausea still churning in your belly—and watch him, feeling disoriented, feeling guilty, knowing there is nothing you can say that will help. It’s just like when Mother or Grandsire used to hint at your relationship with Aemond, grimacing with revulsion; you cannot make the accusations go away, you can only deflect. “Why would Aemond think I’m in the Riverlands?”

Jace sighs deeply, slumps in his chair, and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe because Daemon’s at Harrenhal, and Aemond assumes he arranged your travel.”

Caraxes and Sheepstealer. Can Vhagar survive them both? “Aemond won’t try to take Harrenhal, will he?”

“He might!” Jace says, throwing up his hands with exasperation. “He’s reckless, he’s bloodthirsty, he’s insane, only the gods know where his lunacy will end.”

You don’t respond to this, though it is your instinct to. He’s not insane. He once promised to find me, and now he’s keeping his word.

“Isn’t he worried he’ll harm you?” Jace mutters, almost to himself. “If he’s attacking so indiscriminately, couldn’t he inadvertently burn you too?”

“He thinks he would be able to feel it if I was close by.”

Jace stares at you. “How would he possibly know that?”

“There are a lot of things you don’t understand.”

“About him?” Jace says spitefully, as if trying to decipher Aemond’s madness is beneath him.

“About us.”

Jace studies you. “What was the nature of your relationship?” he asks after a while, and then when you hesitate: “It must have meant a lot to you both. You’re still protecting him, he’s burning down the realm for you.”

“It’s in the past.”

“But it still matters.”

“I haven’t asked you about Baela.”

“She’s not a part of this war, she’s not here anymore. Aegon saw to that. He murdered her.” Jace’s expression softens, and his voice goes tender. “We need to learn to be truthful with each other. To respect each other, to be in harmony.”

“So you don’t repeat the sins of your parents,” you fling at him like a stone.

“Yes,” Jace agrees. “And because I love you.”

“Why do you keep using that word?”

“Because we’re married.”

“You don’t know who I am.”

“I want to. But you have to let me do it.”

“You won’t like the real me.” No one does. No one except Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, Aemond.

Again Jace asks: “What was the nature of your relationship?”

You look helplessly at the books stacked on the shelves, chronicles of plants, animals, ailments, battles, gods, heroes, dragons. Mounted high on the wall is Lady Forlorn, the Valyrian steel longsword of House Corbray, possessed by the elderly Lord Leowyn but no longer wielded by him. If you stood on your tiptoes, you would be able to reach it. Near the center of the room is a large globe of the world with the unknown reaches left blank. You walk to it, spin it slowly, stop when your fingertips land on the broken ruins of Old Valyria.

I wish we were still there. That’s where we belong. Aemond and I would be married, and Aegon would be unburned, and Jaehaerys would still be alive, and perhaps I’d even have a dragon.

“You and Aemond were close,” Jace says.

“Yes,” you confess.

“Mother said that Alicent told her you shared a flirtation.”

“We did.”

“And that entailed…what?”

“Just words, mostly.”

“You’re lying.” Jace stands and rages to you, his words halfway between a threat and a plea. “Stop lying to me.”

You can’t catch your breath, you can’t think. Your skull pulses hotly, your stomach roils, the scar on the left side of your chest aches where Aemond stitched you back together. Jace can’t hurt me, he can’t break our mothers’ pact and undo this marriage. Not if I’m carrying his child. “Jace, I don’t feel well—”

“You know about your body. The way you kiss, the way you move, the High Valyrian…you learned it somewhere.” And you can see in Jace’s face—the attractive yet unextraordinary face of a Strong—that he is terrified you learned it from Aemond. “What did you do with him?”

Your head feels like a shell struck with a mallet, splintering, shattering. Your arteries and veins have turned to currents of magma beneath the black volcanic rocks of Dragonstone. “Everything except what happened on our wedding night.”

Jace’s dark eyes widen, then drop to your breasts, your waist, your hips. “Everything…?”

“Except that, yes. What could result in a child was saved for my husband.” Aemond could never father a bastard. He would sooner die than debase himself like Rhaenyra did.

“You mean…surely you didn’t…” Still, Jace is gaping at you, his words slow and stunned. “I’ve heard stories from the soldiers, vulgar and wicked, strange ways of coupling, sins they commit with whores in brothels so they don’t leave children in their bellies to be murdered or abandoned…but…but you’re not…”

“Then you are adequately educated and we need not expound on it further. You got the truth you asked for. I hope you’re satisfied.”

Jace reaches for the sword at his belt, grips the hilt, then releases it. Instead he kicks over the globe—it hits the stone floor with a reverberating boom—and points to the door. “Get out of my sight.”

“Why are you mad at me?!” You are drained and dismayed, and then you’re furious. “I answered your questions, I was honest with you. You wanted to be in harmony and you believed this is what it would take. I tried to protect you from it. You insisted upon being hurt.”

“You told me you were a virgin.”

“And I was, you know that.”

“But he still fucked you,” Jace hisses. “In every other way. Things no decent lady would ever do. So that, what, he could rob your future husband? So he could degrade and humiliate you?”

“It wasn’t about that! He wanted to feel close to me, he wanted to please me, and perhaps you don’t care about pleasing a woman but I know for a fact Aemond did.”

Jace turns away from you. Again, his hand rests on the hilt of his blade. “You’re sinful, you’re disgusting. I can’t believe I’m fated to be bound to you for a lifetime.”

“You aren’t a Targaryen,” you seethe in High Valyrian, words you know he can’t comprehend, and you can feel your gaze scorching and cold mountain air on your bared teeth. “You can’t fathom the fury, the lust, the violence, the fire and the blood. We aren’t like the people of any other house. And we aren’t supposed to be.”

“Stop it,” Jace orders you.

“You’re not the blood of the dragon. You’re just some bastard built of ordinary things.”

“Get out!” Jace roars, and you flee from the library, from the castle, yanking on your boots and fox fur coat left by the entranceway and bolting out into the snow. It is halfway up your shins and coated with a layer of ice that crunches as you plod through it towards the tree line. You aren’t supposed to go into the forest of towering pines—not even with guards, and certainly not alone—but all your life you have been doing things you aren’t supposed to and it hasn’t killed you yet, and even if it did this time, what would be lost? Your imprisonment with a man who hates you? Cold snowbound misery here in some forgotten corner of the Vale?

I can’t save Aemond. Jace will never listen to me now.

Under the shade of the pines, so thick their dark green needles interlace like lovers’ fingers and blot out the sunless grey daylight, you find a felled tree and push snow off the trunk with the sleeves of your coat. Then you climb up onto it to sit, your boots swinging just off the ground, a frigid breeze billowing down from the Mountains of the Moon to make you shudder. Your right hand settles on your belly, where you are increasingly sure—now that you think back to how long it’s been since your last bleeding—that you are carrying Jace’s child. You don’t want it there, you have no maternal inclinations toward it whatsoever. You wonder if you can somehow sneak unnoticed into the storeroom of the maester here at Heart’s Home and find the ingredients for moon tea. But you don’t know how to brew it. You’ve never had any need of it before.

I’m not in the Riverlands, you think as loudly as you can, peering up into the trees and listening for the deep rumbling of Vhagar’s screams, the maelstrom of wind she stirs up. Aemond, I’m here in the Vale with House Corbray. Come find me. Come bring me home.

But you’ve never been able to make him hear you by your own volition, just like you can’t control your glimpses into his mind. And you fear Aemond wouldn’t want you back the way you are now.

Whether Jace or Aemond, either would be convinced the other ruined me.

You don’t feel ruined. You don’t feel like a different person at all; you don’t believe that any man has ever changed your strangeness, your desire, your love, your ferocity, your dreams of flying. But the world seems so fixed in its rules, and Old Valyria is gone, and perhaps now the Targaryens and their dragons are meant to be too.

There is the sound of crunching snow, and you look around expecting to see a bear or a shadowcat, something to maul you to death and drag your carcass away to be picked to the bones. Instead, it is Jace, and he has hurried outside in such a rush that he has forgotten his coat. He stops when he sees you and stands there silently in his black and red, the colors of his mother’s house, shivering but trying not to show it.

“You aren’t supposed to be out here,” he says at last.

“I know.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“And you’d be so devastated if I was devoured by a shadowcat.”

Jace sighs and pulls himself up onto the tree trunk to sit beside you. “My father had a temper,” he says, then flushes and gazes down at his own footprints in the snow, ashamed. “Harwin Strong, I mean. He had a temper.”

You are gentler with him now. It must be painful to lose a father who cares about you. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

Jace looks over at you. “Did you have a choice in the matter?” With what happened with Aemond, he means.

Mother’s words echo in your throbbing skull: You don’t know better. You never had a choice. “It felt like I did at the time. Now I’m not so sure.”

“What kind of an answer is that?”

“Did you have a choice in loving Baela?” you ask, and Jace frowns thoughtfully. “She was your circumstances, she was beyond your ability to resist. But still you grew to love her as if she had been the wife of your choosing.”

“You loved him? That monster?”

“It’s very hard to explain.”

“Did he love you?”

“I don’t know,” you reply honesty. If he did, he never said it.

Jace reaches for your right hand and you let him grasp it. The motion is a bit awkward, but Jace is warm. Flurries fall from an overcast sky. “Neither of us wanted this match. I imagine we both fought against it with equal passion. But now it has happened, and nothing can unravel this bind we find ourselves in. We were wed in the eyes of the Seven. We consummated the marriage. You are my wife and I will never lie with another woman. And I don’t have any desire to. Whatever happened before, whatever we or our kinsmen did, we have to move beyond it. There was betrayal and death, and there was love too, and yet all of it must be worked through if this marriage is to succeed.”

“Not a simple task,” you murmur.

“No,” Jace says. “It isn’t. But I’ll try to do better. As your husband, it is my responsibility to protect and cherish you, not to be envious or cruel or wrathful. I shouldn’t have blamed you for what happened when we hated each other. I shouldn’t have ridiculed you for the effects of Aemond’s perverse influence. And I do want to know the real you, even if that hurts me sometimes.”

You watch the flurries whirl in the steel-colored air, feeling nauseous and dizzy and weary and fading away like the snowflakes melting into Jace’s dark hair. “I need to go lie down.”

Jace seems alarmed. “Are you ill?”

“I think it worked.”

He furrows his brow at you. “What worked?”

“Our efforts in the marriage bed. And in the stable.”

He blinks at you, startled, and then he smiles more luminously than you’ve ever seen him, and you think: I should be happy too. I should want this child. But I don’t, I don’t, I know I don’t. Jace rests his head against yours, his curls tickling your cheek, and whispers: “I am your family now.”

“Yes,” you say, a lie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Winter descends slowly, like a fever in reverse: cold that swims in your bloodstream, bone marrow turned to ice. Snow falls, ices over, melts on warmer days, is covered by a fresh blanket of powdery white. Daeron and the Hightower army wage war in the Reach. Aemond and the Lannister army besiege the Riverlands as Criston and his men march to join them. Aegon is missing. Sunfyre is presumed dead. Mother is still held in the dungeons of the Red Keep, along with Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, and a number of other political prisoners. Helaena is confined to her rooms but—as the result of Jace’s intervention—allowed to see her surviving children and walk in the garden under the supervision of armed guards. Rhaenyra rules over King’s Landing, a city that grows more restless and more hostile as Lord Celtigar’s taxes are levied and rumors of your disappearance spread. All over Westeros, people are starving and suffering and dying. And you are here, an island marooned in an ocean of mist and rocks, a remote land of the First Men and the Andals, earth you feel you do not belong on.

Jace and Vermax fly over the mountains and head south to King’s Landing, where Vermithor and Seasmoke circle high above the city and keep the riots from swelling to rebellions. You are left at Heart’s Home, and each night Sapphire flaps through the open window to visit you in your bedchamber when you are alone, and each morning you nurse your nausea and headaches in bed: mugs of cinnamon tea, toast with a thin scrape of butter and blackberry jam, nips of milk of the poppy that the maester allows you on particularly bad days.

“That is very skillful work,” he notes once when he spots your scar as he applies cold wet cloths to your throat and collarbones to bring down your fever. “Though I should not be surprised. I have heard that Maester Orwyle is among the best healers in the realm.”

“He is,” you say. “But Prince Aemond was the person who mended me.” After assassins sent by one of your Blacks beheaded a child and nearly killed me too.

But you know by the expression on the maester’s face—bewildered, disturbed, shrinking away from the unmistakable fondness in your voice—that you cannot speak of Aemond this way, that you should not speak of him at all, that no one here will ever see him as anything but the monster who murdered Luke and Rhaenys, who is presently raining dragonfire down on the Riverlands. And with each passing hour, day, week, month, you wonder if he really is a monster, and if you invented every soft moment you ever believed you shared, and if you would have chosen him if he hadn’t been the one who laid claim to you since birth.

By afternoon you are usually better, and Lady Caro drags you around trying to transform you into a woman of the Vale. She shows you how to tend to the goats and turn their milk into cheese and soap. She forces you to embroider dull scenes of snowcapped mountains and winding rivers. She sings—bellowing and off-key—the ballads of her childhood as you beg her to stop before it has some malevolent effect upon the baby. She brings you insipid-colored gowns tailored to accommodate your growing belly. She brushes your hair and tries out new styles constantly. She accompanies you for dinner each night and implores you to eat enough to make up for the breakfast and lunch you missed due to illness.

“I was horrified when my parents first told me I was to marry Lord Corbray,” she tells you one night as you dine on stew made from potatoes and peas and the meat of shaggy, black-haired yaks that roam the rugged terrain of the Vale, the fire crackling and her full cheeks ever-pink. Lady Caro is not one to ever run out of stories. She could have entire conversations all by herself, you are convinced. “I wasn’t even twenty yet and he was forty-five, and I thought that he was just…so…so old! But as it turned out, there are advantages to having an old husband. He treated me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. He was too tired to chase after mistresses like all my sisters’ husbands did. And men with more experience…well…they understand how to please a wife in the marriage bed. Even if his male parts aren’t cooperating, he knows he has two hands and a tongue. And that’s all I’ll say!”

“I wish you’d say less,” you tease as you scoop up a spoonful of stew.

“And he was kind about it when we lost our children,” Lady Caro continues, soberly now. And she goes away, like she does sometimes, staring blankly at the window or the wall or the fireplace without seeing anything. “And then when Jessamyn was married and left for Seagard. Oh, that was an awful day for me.” Outside in the darkness wolves howl and owls hoot, and Lady Caro returns. “Do you know what Lord Corbray said to me last week?”

“What?”

“That my spirits are much improved since Prince Jacaerys brought you here. He thinks you remind me of Jessamyn, and so I get to be a mother again.”

“Did he really?”

“Yes! And of course I told him that he was absolutely mistaken, that you’re an odd and disobedient thing, always ruining your embroidery, sneaking off into the forest where you know you aren’t supposed to be, dodging all my kind words and soothing embraces. You’re nothing at all like my lovely sweet docile affectionate daughter.”

You smile mischievously. “I’m kind of like your daughter.”

Lady Caro snorts. “If you were my daughter, I’d walk straight into the ocean and drown myself.”

And you both burst out laughing, so loudly that Lord Leowyn Corbray overhears and ambles into the Great Hall to investigate the cause of the commotion.

When Jace returns, he is worn down: by the journey, by the tremendous suffering throughout the realm, by being overruled by his mother and her council. He tells you as you lie in bed together that night, Jace’s head resting on your belly and your fingers combing absentmindedly through his hair: “It never used to be this way.”

“Before the war, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Jace murmurs, kissing the place where his child lives. You wish you felt such devotion to it. You wish you felt anything. Mostly, you try to pretend it doesn’t exist. “We were able to speak kindly to each other. Mother was always reading stories and playing games with us. And Daemon…he and I were never especially close. But we didn’t quarrel. I respected him as my stepfather, and as the husband of my mother’s choosing. But he hasn’t earned that loyalty.” Jace is quiet for a while, and you assume he’s dozed off until he speaks again. “It changed all of us. Grandsire dying, Aegon trying to take Mother’s throne, Luke and Baela being killed. I suspect that in Nettles, Daemon sees Baela and my mother when she was young, and that’s why he’s grown so…attached to her.”

You wonder: Will Aemond find someone who makes him think of me?

Jace gets up to extinguish the candles. The window is closed so Sapphire can’t get in; you don’t think Jace would approve. Mosaics of the faces of your lost family hang on the walls, but when the candles are blown out no one can see them. You feel the feather mattress shift as Jace climbs back into bed and turns toward you.

“We don’t have to anymore,” you say. I’m already pregnant.

“No, you’re right. We don’t.”

But then in the darkness you reach for him—your body starving for passion, your bones cold—and this time it is slow and intense and brilliant, and Jace learns how to touch you, and although he is never as rough or as primal as you crave he does not leave you unsatisfied. And each time he and Vermax vanish into the mist-colored sky above Heart’s Home, you discover that you miss him more.

The Triarchy arrive with ninety warships at the mouth of Blackwater Bay—and you knew they were coming, but Jace didn’t—and the Sea Snake’s fleet repels them, but not before half his vessels sink to the bottom of the ocean and Seasmoke is killed by a bolt from one of the countless scorpions mounted on the Triarchy’s ships. Corlys, wounded in battle and having lost a wife, three children, a granddaughter, and a grandson, is unable to fight on and is brought to recuperate in the Red Keep. In the taverns of King’s Landing, Jace finds a Targaryen bastard called Ulf the White to ride Silverwing, who is claimed during a clandestine trip under the cover of nightfall to Dragonstone while Aemond is leagues away in the Riverlands. One less free dragon in the world, one more person judged worthy in ways you aren’t.

Without Jace’s knowledge or approval, Rhaenyra sends ravens instructing the loyal houses of the Riverlands to capture Nettles and bring her south to King’s Landing to be tried for treason. House Mooton of Maidenpool, fearful of Daemon’s retribution (as he and Caraxes are based nearby at Harrenhal), inform the prince consort of the plot. Daemon sends Nettles and Sheepstealer away—to where, exactly, no one knows—and then flies north to offer protection to Cregan Stark’s army so they will agree to invade the Riverlands. In his absence, Aemond and Vhagar take Harrenhal, and both the Lannister army and Criston’s men follow him there and dig in to wait for the Northmen.

When Jace is able to return to Heart’s Home to stay with you for a few days or a week, he tries to win your trust and show you that you have his. He tells you of the Blacks’ war strategies and that Rhaenyra has hidden Rhaena, Joffrey, and her silver-haired sons with Daemon, Aegon and Viserys, in the Eyrie with Lady Jeyne Arryn. And while Jace is here, you enjoy walking through the snow with him and visiting the horses in the stable, and at night you fall willingly into the shelter of his arms. But when he’s gone again, the pieces of yourself you have tried to smother come back to life.

You dream of being locked in a closet or a trunk and pounding on the wood for hours, but Aemond never returns to let you out. You startle when you see your reflection and don’t recognize yourself with your hair in the styles of the Vale. You recall Helaena placing ladybugs in your palms and watching them scurry up your forearms like blood drops. You feel your fingers yearning to swipe, to claw, to fight, to be pinned and overpowered. You remember when you taunted Aemond with words he once said in the garden of the Red Keep—“If I ran, do you think you could catch me?”—and he had bolted after you and chased you through the halls as you both laughed wildly, slamming each other into walls and doorframes as horrified onlookers gawked, dragging each other to the floor, until you had crawled on sore palms and knees into your bedchamber and Aemond finally caught you, rolled you onto your back, held your wrists to the floor as he climbed on top of you, and aching so badly it had put tears in your eyes you had begged for what you knew he could not yet give you.

You receive a vision through Aemond’s eye once, and only once, late on a night when Jace is hopelessly far away and you are petting Sapphire as he sits in your lap, his shiny black eyes gazing adoringly up at you and his fanlike ears twitching as they listen to your words. Abruptly you are in a different firelit bedchamber in another castle, and within Aemond’s skull is a turbulent sea of grief, fury, disgust, desire, and you see—who is that?—a flash of long dark hair.

Then Aemond is gone, but for only a few seconds he felt so close and so real that you are left breathless, broken, missing him more than you thought was possible now that you’re another man’s wife and carry his dark-haired heir in your belly.

Does he touch someone else? Does he love someone else?

You curl up on the cold stone floor and sob as Sapphire clings to your shoulder.

I can never go back to who I was before.

Then why is it so hard to forget her?

~~~~~~~~~~

Jace is gone again, and has been for weeks. You hope he is back before the baby is born. By custom, men do not enter the birthing chamber, but you still want him in the castle. It would make you feel less alone, here in the cold windswept Vale where Targaryens were never meant to be, here where an icy stream almost took your life when you were a child after Aemond pushed you in. Lady Caro and the maester say your labor will begin soon, but this seems impossible. The baby you carry has never felt real—not even when it kicks, not even when it puts aches in your spine and your hips—and you try not to think of it too much because what it makes you feel are only sinful things that anyone else would be horrified by: indifference, inconvenience, disconnection, disbelief.

You are in your bedchamber and Sapphire is here with you. He scrabbles clumsily around the floor as you work on your latest mosaic of shattered seashells. It’s the first one you’d made of Jace, and you are trying to figure out how best to place the black shards to mimic his curls. You are being a good wife. You are trying to believe that he is your family now.

The bedroom door opens and Jace sails in with his red cloak streaming out behind him, beaming now that he is home with you and his soon-to-be-born child. Before you can say anything, Sapphire takes flight and swoops at Jace, curious, benevolent, making new friends. Jace gasps and knocks him to the ground.

“Don’t!” you shriek, but it’s already happening: Jace stomps on the bat twice, but once would have been enough. Fragile bones are snapped and crushed, blood gushes out onto the grey stone floor. You’re wailing as you race across the room and cradle Sapphire’s limp body, his black and white fur a satchel of hemorrhaging organs and shifting bone splinters. His eyes are lifeless.

“What?” Jace is asking, desperate to help you but not realizing what he’s done. “What’s wrong with you? It’s a wild animal, it could give you diseases, it could harm you or the baby—”

“You know I love bats,” you sob.

“What?! No I don’t, what are you talking about?!”

“On the ship!” you shout, enraged now. “I told you on the ship when you brought me here!” When you trapped me, when you stole me.

Jace is blinking in disbelief. “That was nine months ago.”

He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t care. When he tries to comfort you, you push him away so violently his back hits the wall. You snarl at him in High Valyrian, words he cannot understand but a tone that is unmistakable: “You don’t listen to me. You don’t know me. Get out, get out, I don’t want you here.” And Jace storms out of the room simmering with his own disappointments, grieving that he will never have a wife who is sweet and compliant and comprehensible.

You want to burn Sapphire’s body so he can have the burial of a Targaryen, but the maids pour into your bedchamber and take him away as you try to fight them. They scrub his blood off the floor and make you change into a clean nightgown, and afterwards as you lie in bed with venomous tears snaking down your cheeks, you feel that everyone expects the person you were before to die and a new woman to reveal herself, but you can’t kill who you are—sometimes you wish you could, but you can’t—and there is a vague ache in your lower belly as you sink into dark, homesick dreams.

You wake at midnight in horrible pain, like the cramps you once had when you bled each month, but sharper and stronger and rather than letting up getting closer together until they are unrelenting. You stagger to the door, pink-tinged fluid leaking onto the floor, and call for the maids. They wake Lady Caro and the maester, then fetch linens and hot water and cold cloths. Lady Caro’s voice is calm, and her large hands are always there to seize with a crushing grip or help you stumble around the room. She tells you that Jace has been informed you’re in labor and that he is pacing in the library, where Lord Corbray is gamely trying to distract him.

I can’t be in labor. This baby isn’t real, this place isn’t real, I want to go home.

The maester thinks you should stay in bed, but you crawl down onto the floor and kneel there as contractions rip through you, and when he tries to urge you back into bed Lady Caro shushes him. The pain is very bad, and then awful, and then excruciating, and now you are convinced something has gone wrong and you cry out as your palms press into the cold stone floor.

“It’s not ladylike to scream,” Lady Caro says patiently, and you yowl at her and shove her away, and she laughs and comes back to cool your face with a cloth pulled from a bucket filled with snow. “It will be over soon. Right when you feel like you can no longer bear it, that’s when the baby will be born and the pain will subside.”

You look at her with sweated, exhausted terror. “Don’t pretend women don’t die doing this.” Rhaenyra’s mother Aemma did.

“Oh, they do, they do,” Lady Caro says. “But you won’t.”

Aemond would be here if I was his wife. “Please get Jace,” you tell her. “Can you bring him here? Please?”

Lady Caro glances anxiously at the maester and the maids. “Men aren’t usually permitted in the birthing chamber.”

“Please,” you moan. I’m dying. I’m afraid. I don’t want to be alone.

“Alright.” She squeezes your shoulder and then rubs your back reassuringly. “Let me go talk to him.”

It seems like Lady Caro is gone for a long time, but it must only be minutes. The maester is saying things you aren’t listening to, the maids are darting around franticly. It’s been a very long time since a baby was born in this castle. Then there are new footsteps in the room, swift and purposeful.

“I’m here,” Jace says, crouching down on the floor beside you. You clutch for him and he catches your hand, then kisses your knuckles. He chuckles nervously. “I don’t know what to do, but I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper pitifully. “I don’t want to die with you mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” Jace promises, and his lips travel to your cheek, your temple, your ear. “I’m not mad. I love you. I’ll get you new bats.”

There is unimaginable pain, and pressure, and blood too. Jace holds you as Lady Caro reaches beneath your red-stained nightgown and says you are almost done, a few more pushes and the baby will be here and the agony in the past; and while you still even now cannot fathom being a mother to anyone, let alone this child you cannot admit you don’t want, this encourages you. You shriek as the baby is born in a torrent of fire and blood, and Lady Caro catches him in a sheet that turns instantly from white to crimson.

“A boy!” Lady Caro is announcing, and the baby is crying as she and the maester clean him, and Jace is weeping ecstatically and asking to see his son, but you don’t even glance in his direction.

I don’t want this child, you think through the dissipating pain and the relief that the worst is over. I don’t want this life.

“Dear, you should hold him,” Lady Caro says gently, and before you can protest she places the child, no longer crying and wrapped snuggly in a blanket patterned with blue dragonflies, into your arms.

And although of course he does not look like a Targaryen—dark hair already twisting into curls, black eyelashes and Jace’s nose—when you gaze down at him it feels as if everyone you’ve ever lost has been returned to you, Aegon and Helaena and Daeron, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and Maelor, a mother who understands you, a father who is present, Grandsire smiling proudly at you like he once smiled at Helaena, and even Aemond’s ghost (who haunts doorways and staircases, bedchambers and libraries); and when Jace marvels at the baby’s tiny wrinkled hands you know he is remembering Luke, and Harwin Strong, and Laenor Velaryon, and Baela, and he has forgiven you for all of it.

“We are your family now,” Jace says, and for the first time you believe him.

[girllblogging777]

Pls pls do something where the reader has lots of friendship issues, and doesn’t manage well and gets upset and stressed and panicky and Mattheo/theo are super calming and know what will help y/n

𝐻𝑂𝐿𝐷 𝑀𝐸 𝑆𝑇𝐸𝐴𝐷𝑌

↳ mattheo riddle/theodore nott x reader (platonic)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0.8k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : your life is lowkey shitty but at least your best friends are here for you

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

it was one of those nights when the castle felt suffocating. the walls felt like they were pressing against you, the whispers from earlier circling around in your head like vultures. you had been running from them all day but there was no escaping now. not in the silence of the library, where even the dust motes seemed to have something to say.

you were sitting at a table tucked into the farthest corner, your hands trembling as you tried to focus on the parchment in front of you. a transfiguration essay, but the words were blurring, dissolving into thoughts of your friends. well, former friends, maybe. girls who once knew your heart better than you did, but who barely looked at you now.

how had it happened ? one day, everything was fine. the next, cold stares, missed invites, whispers cutting through you like a blade. you had already replayed every interaction, trying to find where it all went wrong. were you too distant? too blunt? did they tire of you the way you feared they would?

“there she is.”

you flinched at the voice, your panic catching you off guard. but it didn’t take long for you to recognise it. low, measured. calming in a way few things are. theo.

he stood across from you, his bag slung over one shoulder and his tie slightly loose. his gaze flicked to your hands gripping the edge of the table, your knuckles white.

“you’re doing it again,” he said softly, dropping his bag onto the chair next to you.

“doing what?” you answered with a strained voice, even as you tried to force calmness into it.

“spiraling.”

you opened your mouth to deny it but he raised an eyebrow, his eyes scanning your face. there was no point pretending. not with him. not when theo nott has known you since you were children, when scraped knees and shared secrets were all that mattered.

you exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through your hair. “i just… i don’t know how to stop.”

theo didn’t push. he never did. instead, he sat next to you, quiet and steady, like he had always been. the library felt a little less oppressive with him there, like he was anchoring you to something real.

moments later, another presence swept in. louder, more chaotic. mattheo riddle. you didn’t need to look up to know it was him. your other best friend moved with a certain energy that was hard to miss, all storm and smirk.

“i knew you’d be here,” mattheo said, dropping into the seat across from you. “you’ve got that look.”

“what look?” you muttered, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“the ‘i’m-about-to-break-down-and-won’t-tell-anyone’ look,” mattheo grinned, though there was nothing teasing in his eyes. “but we know you better than that.”

he was right. they both were. and somehow, that made it harder to hold everything in. your voice wobbled when you spoke again. “it’s stupid. it’s just… the girls. it’s like everything’s changed, and i don’t know why.”

mattheo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “girls are complicated. too much drama.”

“helpful,” theo muttered back, shooting mattheo a glare. but mattheo just shrugged, his grin softening into something kinder.

“i’m serious, though,” mattheo said. “they’re not worth this. not if they’re making you feel like this.”

“but they were my friends,” you whispered, your throat tightening. “i don’t know what to do without them.”

after a couple seconds of silence, theo spoke up. “you don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

“exactly,” mattheo added, his hand reaching across the table to squeeze yours. “and you’ve got us. always.”

“but—”

“no buts,” theo cut in gently. “we’ve been through worse together. remember that time in first year when you thought you’d failed potions and locked yourself in the broom closet?”

mattheo snorted, his chocolate eyes glimmering. “and i had to break the door down? you were crying about how you’d ‘never amount to anything.’”

“and theo told me i was being ridiculous,” you murmured, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “then you both stayed with me until i stopped panicking.”

“we’ll do that every time if we have to,” theo said firmly.

“you’re stuck with us,” mattheo grinned, leaning back in his chair. “so, how about we ditch this depressing library and sneak out? fresh air might clear your head.”

you hesitated, the weight in your chest still lingering. “we’ll get caught.”

“you worry too much,” he answered with a shrug, standing and grabbing your hand. “live a little.”

“besides,” theo added, standing as well, “you’ll feel better when you’re not trapped in here.”

“okay,” you whispered before letting them pull you to your feet. “let’s go.”

outside, the cool air filled your lungs, washing away the tightness in your chest. theo walked beside you, his presence calming, while mattheo cracked jokes that weren’t funny at all, but made you laugh anyway.

and for tonight, that was enough. with them, it always was.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : quick little drabble for you guys, hope you enjoyed it !

tell me if you wanna be added to the tag list ! @redeemingvillains @leona-hawthorne @shiftingwithmars @tateshifts @rose-of-the-grave @clar2aa @iris-qt @sp7-mr @deadghosy @deadsnakey @helendeath @jolly4holly @larmesdevanille @dexoq @shiftingwithleah @sunkissedscribbles @chelawrites @myunperfektstorys @yikesitslush @slut-for-fictional-men @romantasyreader28 @witchsrecs @mattiesgf @reidol0gy @kenjikishimotoswifey @2dloveshp

[normatural]

Echoes of Souls | A.T

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: In the old, abandoned castle, she found a love letter addressed to her, written by someone who died a century ago.

Word Count: 627

A/N: This is going to be a multi-chapter story so let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Feedback is always welcome. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes but feel free to point them out to help me improve.

Prologue

As you ventured deeper into the old castle’s darkened heart, the wooden floors creaked under your weight. Moonlight spilled through the gaps in the boarded-up windows, casting eerie patterns on the walls. Your footsteps echoed in the vast, empty halls - a reminder of the life that once filled these rooms. In its prime, the castle must have been a sight of power and strength but now only its ruins stood with the remains of what it once was.

In a forgotten corner, behind a luxurious, albeit faded, tapestry was a small, concealed door. Intrigued, you pushed it open, revealing a hidden study. Dust motes danced in the beam of your phone’s lantern as you surveyed the room. Your eyes fell upon an ancient and elegant desk, covered in a thick layer of dust. Something gleamed faintly beneath the grime.

Clearing the dust with gentle, careful strokes, you noticed an old, ornate inkwell and an unfinished letter. But it was the sealed envelope that captured your attention. You picked it up, the paper fragile and yellowed with age. You broke the seal with trembling hands and unfolded the letter, eyes scanning the elegant, flowing script.

As your eyes scanned the words, you could scarcely believe your vision. The letter was addressed to you, bearing an unknown name that sent shivers down your spine. It was a letter from Aemond Targaryen, written over a century ago.

"My Dearest, 

Though you may never read these words, I write them with an ardent heart, compelled by a love that defies the boundaries of time. From the moment I first beheld you, my soul recognized its counterpart. In the fleeting, stolen moments we shared, I found a joy that I had never known, a peace that I had never sought.

But fate, it seems, is a cruel mistress, and the duties of our blood have kept us apart. Yet, even as I fulfill these obligations, my thoughts are ever with you, my heart yearning for the day we may be reunited, even if only in another life.

If you find this letter, know that my love for you was eternal and unyielding. The gods themselves could not tear my heart from yours. You are, and will always be, my greatest love.

Yours forever,

Aemond Targaryen.”

Tears welled in your eyes as the heartfelt words sank in. A part of me felt somehow a profound connection to the man who wrote them as if his spirit had been waiting patiently across the centuries for you to find him. To find this letter. It was as if you could feel Aemond’s presence, a gentle whisper in the air, a caress just out of reach. The hairs in your body stand on end.

Memories that were not your own flickered in the periphery of your mind - glimpses of a life filled with passion and tumult, of a love that burned brightly against the backdrop of a world in turmoil. Aemond’s face, stern yet tender, flashed before your eyes, a visage that seemed to bridge the gap between past and present.

At that moment, the abandoned castle felt alive with the echoes of the past. You clutched the letter to your chest, your heart beating faster against your ribcage. How could such a thing be possible?

In the quiet of the night, under the watchful gaze of the moon, you whispered your own words to the wind. Hoping that somehow they’d meet that man just like his had met yours. Sleep didn’t catch you that night. Your thoughts too consumed with that letter and the whirlwind in your chest to fall into a slumber. The fact that you should start planning the restoration of the castle is just as lost.

[see-arcane]

On the one hand, while Dracula seems prepared to play house enough to act as a driver and cook, I have to wonder if he’d relegate himself to taking care of things like dumping waste and filling bathtubs. If anyone would be willing to drop cash on taking care of that particular indignity by hiring professionals to come all the way to the castle just to outfit the old stonework with the novelty of indoor plumbing for at least one (1) sink, flush toilet, and tub, It Would Be Him. Jonathan certainly never mentions Dracula caught in the act of dumping a chamber pot the way he noted the stuff about making his bed and preparing the food. It’s possible!

On the other hand, this is also the kind of mortifying detail that rarely ever gets mentioned in a story for the sake of keeping the thematic flow and not touching on the biological inevitabilities that come with the far end of eating and drinking. Even in a gothic horror, everyone (who isn’t undead) needs to answer nature’s call and wash the usual bodily funk off. Early on we see a hint of Jonathan’s preference for a well-kempt appearance with the shaving bit. It suggests he’s a guy who keeps himself clean. 

(Unless, of course, he knew exactly who would have to come and go to bring hot water to a tub without its own plumbing, and who might be lurking around while he stripped down for a soak...) 

Which is all to say, it’s possible Jonathan is choosing to wholly censor his journal to hide this entire mortifying facet of life in which he’s either

A) Being given the litter box and bath time treatment only out of the courtesy of his captor, ala a cat and his owner, or

B) He is taking care of as much business as he can discreetly ala getting rid of his own waste out a window, while bathing outright may be sporadic...or...

C) Dumped waste and (especially) bathing happens when Dracula decides it happens. I can’t imagine the Count putting up with a pet-prisoner who lets himself fester and reek--it rather spoils the mood for the intimate uninvited touching and mind games--and so Jonathan either wakes to or is otherwise informed that ‘the servants’ have drawn his bath. Which he may or may not have asked for. Or even needed. 

But hot water is hot water and, clean or no, Jonathan knows not to waste the opportunity. (Or get Dracula’s hackles up over daring to waste the menial labor of it all.) So he washes when he’s allowed/told to, and pretends he doesn’t feel other eyes in the room. 

Did Castle Dracula have indoor plumbing before he knew Jonathan was coming to stay?

[sizzlingstarlightsky]

Im Only Gonna Drag You Down

Eris x Reader

Summary: You've been fine, but your depression comes out of nowhere. Now all you can feel is numb as you look for an escape from reality. Eris takes it upon himself to help you through it.

word count: 1.7k

cw: I'm so sorry... the demons told me to write this /s

The morning sun cast a soft glow across the room, illuminating the dust motes that danced lazily in the air. You stirred under the warm blankets, eyes slowly adjusting to the light that seeped through the gap in the curtains.

Your hand reached out automatically to the cold space beside you, expecting to feel the reassuring warmth of your mate's body. But the emptiness only served as a cruel reminder that you were alone.

Eris had left early to attend to him duties in the court, giving you space to deal with your tumultuous emotions.

You hadn't seen him since the night before, when you'd broken down, the weight of your depression finally too much to bear. His eyes had been filled with a mix of pain and determination as he held you tightly, whispering soothing words into your ear. But even his gentle embrace couldn't chase away the numbness that consumed you.

Now, lying in the quiet of the room, you felt the heaviness of your soul pressing down on you like a leaden blanket.

You tried to sit up, but your body felt like it was made of stone, unresponsive to your desperate attempts to break free.

The once comforting scent of him on the pillow only served to deepen the ache in your chest. You could almost hear the echo of his footsteps, the sound of his laughter, but it was all just a taunting memory.

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself upright, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, sending a jolt up your spine.

You knew you needed to get moving, to do something—anything—to keep the suffocating emptiness at bay.

You glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the half-empty mug of tea he'd brought you last night, the candle that had burned down to a stub. The sight of them made your stomach clench, a reminder that even in the midst of your despair, he was there, trying to be your beacon of light.

The sound of a bird's sweet trill outside the window pulled you from your thoughts.

You stumbled over to the sill, gripping the edge for support. The sight of the vibrant world outside was jarring, quite the contrast to the gloom that clung to you.

You watched the sun rise higher in the sky, the colors shifting from pale pinks to vibrant oranges and yellows. It was a beautiful morning, a perfect day that you had no right to spoil with your dark thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, you turned away from the window and reached for your robe. The fabric was soft against your skin, but it couldn't soothe the turmoil within.

You shuffled over to the washbasin, the cold water a shock to your system as you splashed it onto your face. You stared at your reflection, searching for any semblance of the person you once were.

The eyes that looked back at you were hollow, lifeless pools of despair.

What does he even see in you?

The question whispered through your mind, as persistent as the buzz of a pesky fly. You knew you weren't whole, that your shattered pieces were held together by a thread so thin it could snap at any moment.

Yet Eris had claimed you as his mate, promising to stand by your side, to cherish and protect you. The weight of his love was a burden you didn't feel worthy of carrying.

You managed to get dressed, the act of pulling on your clothes feeling like a monumental achievement.

As you stepped out into the corridor, the castle's usual bustle felt alien and overwhelming. Voices, laughter, and the clatter of footsteps echoed around you, each sound a knife twisting in your gut.

You craved the solitude of the library, a place where the words in the ancient tomes had once offered you comfort.

The library was a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you could lose yourself in the tales of heroes and myths, if only for a brief reprieve from reality.

As you approached the grand oak doors, they swung open, revealing Eris standing there, a book tucked under his arm, his gaze searching for you. His eyes widened with relief when he saw you, and he strode over, his movements full of concern.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his voice a soothing balm.

You tried to smile, but it felt forced.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose." The words were heavy, a lie coated in a thin layer of hope.

Eris studied you intently, his gaze sweeping over your drawn features. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat like a lump of unyielding ice. But the warmth of his touch was a gentle prod, urging you to open up. With a shaky exhale, you nodded.

"I just...I don't know what happened. I felt okay, and then everything just...crashed."

He led you to a secluded corner of the library, his hand never leaving yours. The scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the storm raging in your chest. Eris sat beside you on the plush velvet bench, his eyes never leaving yours as you spoke.

"It's like...everything just stopped making sense," you whispered, the words raw and painful. "I feel like I'm stuck in a fog, and I can't find my way out."

Eris's grip tightened on your hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles.

"Depression can be like that," he said, his voice low and soothing. "It doesn't always come with a warning. Sometimes it just...appears."

You nodded, his understanding piercing the fog ever so slightly.

"I know. It's just...I didn't think it would come back. I thought I was stronger than this."

Eris leaned in, his eyes filled with a fierce tenderness.

"Strength isn't about never falling, it's about always getting back up." He paused, his expression earnest. "And you will. We'll face this together."

But the words felt hollow, the weight of exhaustion dragging at your very soul.

"What if I'm too tired to keep fighting?" The question slipped out, a quiet admission of defeat that hung heavy between you.

"Then I'll carry you," Eris said firmly.

His hand cupped your cheek, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin.

"We'll fight together."

You searched his eyes, looking for a crack in his resolve, a hint of doubt. But all you found was a steadfast belief in you, a conviction that you were worth fighting for.

"It's not your burden. You deserve someone better."

"Someone better?" Eris's voice was a soft rumble of disbelief. "You are my heart, my mate. There is no one better for me than you. We face this as one, just as we face everything else."

His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped your lashes, the warmth of his skin leaving a trail of comfort.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease a fraction.

"But what if I drag you down with me?"

Eris's eyes searched yours, full of a fierce love that seemed too bright for the dimly lit room.

"Then I'll fly with you, even into the darkest depths of the earth. I swore an oath to you, and I meant it. Through every joy and sorrow, I am yours, and you are mine."

He took a deep breath, the air in the library seeming to still around you both.

"But I need you to do one thing for me."

Your heart thudded in your chest, hope and fear mingling in an uneasy dance.

"What?"

"Let me help you," Eris said simply, his eyes never wavering from yours. "Allow me to share this burden, to support you when you can't stand alone."

You bit your lip, the tears welling up again.

"I don't want to be a burden."

Eris's gaze softened, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're not. You're my partner, my equal. And in the same way that I would fight to the death for you, I'll stand by you in this too."

He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Please, let me in."

The sincerity in his words pierced through the fog, and you found yourself nodding, the first real spark of hope flickering in your chest. He leaned over, wrapping his arms around you in a fierce embrace. You melted into him, feeling the warmth and solidity of his body, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

"I'll read to you," Eris murmured, pulling back to look into your eyes. "You just listen and rest."

He picked up the book he'd brought, the title long forgotten in the face of your pain. As he opened it to a random page, you leaned your head against his shoulder, the comfort of his presence seeping into your very bones.

His voice, deep and melodious, began to weave a tale of adventure and love, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The steady rhythm of his reading soon lulled you into a doze, the story's cadence acting as a lullaby to quiet the chaos in your mind.

The sun shone in your eyes as you sat up in your small bed, the light revealing the cramped room you called home.

The smell of burnt toast wafted in from the kitchen, a reminder of your mundane existence.

Your hand reached out to the cold space beside you, searching for Eris's warmth, but all you found was the chill of the pillow.

Your heart sank as reality crashed down on you like a lead weight.

You pushed yourself off the bed, the springs protesting with a groan. Your bare feet hit the floor, the coldness jolting you fully awake.

The dream had been so vivid, so real, that for a moment you had truly believed in the fantasy of a world where you had a mate, a love so strong it could conquer your deepest fears.

But it was just a figment of your imagination, a desperate attempt to escape the loneliness that had become your constant companion.

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[see-arcane]

The Harkers have got me fucked up. Not just from how much they're going through. Not just from how well they know each other.

But in how much is not being said. How much that appears to have been missed.

Mina has just made their friends swear to euthanize her. In front of Jonathan, who she knows cannot/will not make said promise aloud, though she tries to fish it out. A funeral service, yes, but no more than that. She takes the wins she can, relying on the others for the sacrificial slaughter while she pries what she thinks is some mote of acceptance of the Worst Case Scenario in Potentia from Jonathan. Perhaps she's read the vampiric vow of his journal by now. Perhaps not. Perhaps she already suspects either way and wants desperately not to see him damn himself, damn both of them, to avoid raising a killing hand to her.

She is going into the dark. What kind, she does not know yet. But she knows--thinks she knows--she has taken some measure to save her soul and Jonathan's. God's will be done. (Piety trembles in her heart, a fear trying frantically to still look like faith.)

Jonathan, meanwhile, is in Hell.

As it was in the castle, there are some miseries too deep to dwell on for him to stomach writing them down. Hence his tapping Jack to record it all. But the silence from him here, bar the dodge of the promise that goes against his private vow, bar the reading of the burial service, sinks deeper than any horror he suffered from the Count in person. What can he be thinking now?

I made this all possible. I opened the door to England for him. Showed him how to spread his poison. Failed to strike a killing blow when I had the chance. Slept frozen and useless beside her as he drank and made her drink. Lost him by inches in Piccadilly. Now I am here, listening to her claim so sunnily that any man of old would murder his woman to save her from the enemy's touch, as if asking for a trifle. All the while I sit contemplating a hellish betrayal, holding my heart over her wishes, over sanity, humanity, Heaven and Hell. Contemplating worse.

(The kukri is very sharp by now. In time it will have so fine an edge that no one would feel its cut before their head toppled off. Be they in a coffin or a friend with their back turned. Sickly, he finds the thought cold and placid in his mind. Is he not already damned for what he's allowed? Is he not already slated for the Count's collection? He knows whose blood it was on the monster's lips on that final dawn in Transylvania. And when he dies...)

I imagine he has to stop himself from making a mirrored request to the others right there. Has to stop himself from handing Mina the Bible and asking her to read it out for him. If she is lost, he is lost. It is not merely undeath that he would follow her into--whatever she is, wherever she goes, so must he be, so must he go.

Read it for me now, darling. You laid it all out so eloquently. I am already lost but for the wait for the grave. Come everyone, while we're here. Two funerals. Two sets of oaths. I can perhaps save you half the work, if I fall neatly enough on the kukri. Pry it from my heart and take my head when the time comes.

But he bites his tongue. Does not touch his pen. Does not risk heaping another weight on his love who is already crushed beneath existential terrors that are being thrust on her by the actions of others. She does not know what he is planning, even if she suspects it by half.

What she knows: Jonathan cannot raise a hand to her. (He would have me as a monster than not exist at all.)

What he prays she never will: Jonathan will be anything she is. (Mortal. Monster. Dead.)

One last secret to keep.

All the way to the grave.

[pippapassed]

I Capture The Castle

Martin Hübscher Photography © 31 May, 2023        

[itwasthereaminuteago]

Monster/Beast bf x female reader

It's snowing heavily outside, the sky glowing dimly with reflected light as the huge flakes flurry against the leader windowpane.

You shiver in bed, pulling up the layers of blankets to try and cover every exposed inch of you but it's still a struggle to get warm. After a few moments of tossing and turning, wriggling around in bed trying your utmost to heat up so you can sleep, finally you give up, pulling one of the blankets around you as you get out of bed and totter as quickly as you can over the cold stone of the castle floor.

You make your way out of your room and down the darkened corridor, the candles so low some of them are guttering out. Thankfully one still has a decent stub left. You lift the end sconce from the wall near the stairs and head up the twisting spiral all the way to the top of the tower. Once outside the thick wooden door that is studded with black iron you hesitate before entering, maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

You carefully push the door open not wanting to make a sound, it's almost completely dark inside, the dying embers of the fireplace only giving off a mote of heat, and silent except for the soft sound of the snowflakes piling up on the window ledge outside. You blow out your candle with care and set it down on the nearby table, not wanting to disturb the peace too much, then quietly pad across to the huge bed at the other side of the room. You climb up onto the high mattress, gently burrowing under the covers, snuggling closer to the heat behind you.

A low rumbling growl penetrates your bones as a large arm slowly wraps over your waist hugging you tightly to the source of the sound.

"Princess... you shouldn't be here." The soft gruff voice warns, even as he's moulding his gigantic form around you. You feel so warm and cosy already.

"My room is so freezing cold, and you... well, you're always able to heat me up." You whisper back, wriggling in his embrace and not-so-innocently pushing the curve of your ass against him.

He makes a sound somewhere between and a grunt and a purr, and you feel the gradual firming of him pressing against your back as he leans over to kiss you on the cheek.

"You're trouble." He muses with what passes for a chuckle, and you smile to yourself as his massive and warm, clawed paw slides down your stomach and between your eagerly parting thighs.

[impala-dreamer]

Danger In The Mist

A Supernatural Story from The Kingdom of Moondoor

~ As the fair Princess Y/N races through the woods, running for her life from the evil monster, Margraw the Horrid, she fears that all is lost. Is there anyone who can save her? Will some brave knight come to her aide?!~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

2,400 Words

Warnings: Action, Fluff, Romance, Comedy. 

A/N: Set in the world of Moondoor... A request from a patron and the "hey, you made need to bite on this" square for my @jacklesversebingo Bingo Card. Hope you all enjoy! I must say, I really enjoyed writing this and the voice I found is a lot of fun.

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

A light mist kissed her cheeks as she raced through the woods. Her slippered feet ached with every step as rocks rose up to meet the silken soles of her feet. Her arms were stinging, scrapped by the rough hands of wayward branches and brambles. Out of breath and filled with fear, she stumbled from tree to tree, clawing at the sturdy bark for a moment of support before taking off once more.

She ran until her lungs burned.

Thinking herself safe, Princess Y/N paused aside a large rock formation. Her wind-blown hair created a pillow against the mossy stone and she breathed deeply, slowly. Her heart was pounding and her ears rang, but she listened closely to the forest.

To her left, birds chirped, signaling to others a warning of the approaching storm. Wings flapped against the graying sky as they filled the canopy with urgent alarm. On her right, twigs snapped under the hooves of deer and delicate leaves crumbled in their mouths. All around, wind passed through the greenery and Y/N held her breath, searching blindly for the one sound she absolutely needed to hear. All was still. She was surrounded by quiet.

A few moments later, heavy footfalls broke through the mote of silence and entered her perception. She gasped as the thing approached, stalking at a quick pace that she knew she could no longer keep up with or out run.

It was over.

She would soon be captured, taken away and shoved back into the dank, cold tower at Dunshire Castle to await her terrible fate. She exhaled and a hot tear trekked down her flushed cheek, mixing with the cool drizzle as it settled upon her skin.

“Come out, Princess!” The monster yelled as he sniffed the air like a dog. “I know that you are near. I can smell your sweet scent!”

A howling roar erupted from its maw and Y/N shivered. In her mind’s eye she could see the terrible creature clearly - a giant, thick body covered in the harsh gray fur of a wolf, fangs like a venomous snake that curved beyond its jaw, digging into his chapped lip. His piercing eyes like glowing rubies, seething with dark magic. The stank of him struck her senses and Y/N tried not to wretch.

She wanted to run but her body was weak. She wanted to scream, but she could not allow her voice to betray her location. She needed but a little more time to feel the dying sun on her face, to inhale the fresh air, to feel the soft ground beneath her feet before she was snatched back to the hell of the towering prison. She would not be taken so soon!

Another roar made her jump. It was closer this time and Y/N’s skin crawled. She had to run. She had to try.

She took a breath and then a step, moving away from the safety of the overhanging rock.

The moment she was free, a giant hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, yanking her backwards with ghastly power.

She screamed and the winged flock above scrambled to fly away from the echoing noise.

“Please! Help me!”

Y/N steeled herself for a blow that never came. As she took one final look at the forest, saying goodbye to the deer and the yapping birds, a strapping figure appeared a few yards away. The man was tall and handsome, with cropped brown hair that stood up a bit at the crown. His lips were full and pink, and his eyes matched the surrounding forest. He wore tights and a simple shirt of russet orange with silver chainmail covering his broad shoulders and chest.

“Unhand her, you fiend!”

The man’s deep, booming voice shook the trees and wrapped around Y/N with all the comfort of a heavy woolen shawl. She was saved. She was safe. She’d soon be free.

The monster pushed Y/N aside and she fell into the grass, watching as the war for her freedom began.

“How dare you,” the thing spat. “Do you have any idea who I am!”

“No introduction is needed, Margraw the Horrid! Though, I would like you to say hello to my little friend.” The man smirked and drew his longsword from its sheath. The metal gleamed in the dimming light and the crest of the mighty House of Winchester shone brightly upon the hilt.

Margraw hissed. “Winchester!”

Dean smiled proudly and turned the sword in his hand. “The one and only.”

A cackle left the beast’s lips. “Indeed. E’er since I slaughtered your baby brother those many moons ago. He truly was a delicious feast.” Margraw licked his hairy chops and stared the knight down. “I wonder if you’ll taste the same or if I’ll have to boil you with mead to enhance the flavor.”

Dean’s upper lip curled into a sneer and he raised his sword high. “Sorry to break it to you, Margraw, but I am the tastiest snack you’ll never have!”

Y/N was taken by the handsomeness of the brave knight and the way he bit back with his words. It was as if he were cutting Margraw down before even swinging his blade. Her heart raced once again, but she knew from the building heat betwixt her thighs that it was no longer from fear.

“You’re cocky, Winchester,” Margraw hissed.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Dean replied with a wink towards the Princess. “Now, just hand over the girl and we can all be on our way.”

Margraw laughed viciously. “The Princess is mine. Her father signed her life over to me before she was even born. I am her destiny.”

Y/N cringed, shuddering on the cold ground.

Dean looked at her, brows creased in curiosity. “Is this true, m’lady?”

When their eyes met, Y/N swooned and the forest grew light around him as if the world were highlighting his chiseled frame.

“Sadly, yes, sir, but-”

A fresh tear fell and the knight nodded in understanding.

“Fear not, Princess,” he said boldly. “You shall not be dinner for this monster tonight.” He took a step forward, sword ready for a fight. “But perhaps you can be my desert.”

He winked once again and Y/N’s stomach flipped. Her right hand reached for her heaving breast and she watched in awe as Dean, brave knight of the House of Winchester, defended her honor against the dreaded beast, Margraw the Horrid.

The fight was fast and fierce. Dean dodged blows from Margraw’s massive paws and jabbed with his trusted blade. The beast moved slower but with much force, continually blocking Dean’s attacks and sending the knight toppling over his own feet.

Y/N viewed the malay with a hand clutched over her heart, praying to the forest gods that all would be well. When Dean cried out in pain, she nearly lost all hope. He fell to one knee and held his leg as blood leaked from his thigh. He’d been struck by Margraw’s poisoned claws and fire seeped into his veins.

“Dean!” Y/N cried, her voice saturated with grim pain. “No!”

Green eyes swept lovingly over her face and Dean found the strength to carry on. With one swift motion, he stood and swung his arm, deftly delivering a final, deadly blow to Margraw. The monster fell with a sickening howl and the forest was still once more.

Finally free, Y/N scrambled to her feet and swept the dirt from her skirts. She took a deep breath and walked toward the corpse, looking down at the empty eyes of her captor.

She spat in his ugly face. “You shall never again haunt my nightmares, you beast!”

Satisfied and at peace, Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment and let the cool mist wash her past away.

Behind her, Dean collapsed. His longsword fell to the ground, coming to lay beside his bloodied body. He gasped as a rock dug into his broken rib and Y/N spun around, rushing to his side.

“Dean!”

Down to her knees she fell and Y/N looked him over, her eyes heavy with worry.

He looked up and managed a smile even as the monster’s poison worked its painful magic, pulsing through his bloodstream.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Her cheeks flushed but there was no time to attend to her blossoming need. “You’re hurt,” she said, hands hovering over the wound in his meaty thigh.

“No big deal,” he joked, holding back a harsh cough. “I’ve had worse.”

Carefully, she examined his leg and saw the purple streaks expand across his freckled skin as the poison moved about.

She shook her head. “No. Margraw’s claws are tainted with the Poison of Aragrog- enough to kill an army of thousands. We must draw it out before it takes your heart.”

Dean tried to sit up, but he faltered and landed on his elbows, his long legs stretched out before him. “I don’t think it can,” he teased.

“And why not?”

“Because, my heart has already been taken,” he whispered, “by you.”

Y/N’s bosom swelled and her mouth dried, demanding a drink from his lips. “You are quite smooth, Sir Knight, and I do owe you my life. Will you not allow me to attempt now to save yours?”

Dean sighed and then twitched as pain spread up his side. “Do what you must.”

Quickly, Y/N grabbed hold of her innermost skirt and ripped a long strip of the airy fabric free. She looped the frayed white hem around his upper thigh and then reached for a fallen branch. She twisted the thin bit of wood into the fabric and prepared to tighten the tourniquet.

Dean watched with wide, nervous eyes as she worked.

“That’s not gonna hurt, is it?” he asked timidly.

Y/N smiled as kindly as she could. “It will,” she answered truthfully. “But I need to stop the poison from spreading any further whilst I prepare a healing salve. I believe I spied a patch of yarrow over yonder.”

Dean’s expression was worrisome. Hesitation creased with suffering. She took pity and snapped the tip of the twisting branch off, handing it to him.

“Here,” she told him, “you may need something to bite on.”

As her hand lifted the bark to his lips, Dean snatched her wrist and tugged, yanking the Princess down into his arms. He kissed her sweet lips and nestled a hand against the small of her back. She meant to cry out, to protest his rash decision, but the pressure of his mouth upon hers, the feel of his fingers splaying across her back, the taste of his tongue all conspired to wipe the worry from her mind. She melted into him and kissed him back, hoping beyond hope that he would be saved from the poison so that she might be granted a thousand more kisses just like this one.

While she prayed, Dean wrapped his arms tight around her and rolled with her, claiming the top space and pressing her soft body into the earth. He dipped his tongue into her mouth as he bunched up the mass of skirts covering her sex. He pressed his knee into her heat and she moaned loudly into his mouth.

“Thou art quite the kisser, Sir Winchester…”

Dean grinned and flexed his thigh, pushing against her pussy again. “Ya know, I’m kinda loving you calling me Sir, Y/N/N.”

She grabbed at the rough collar of his shirt. “That’s Princess, to you, peasant.” She tugged and he fell back to kissing her, captivated by the pull of her mouth and the heat of her writhing body.

Sneaking a hand between them, Y/N reached for his cock and rubbed her palm over it. He shivered and bucked his hips, helping her along.

“Fuck, I wanna fuck you right here,” he growled, lips dragging over the shell of her ear.

Y/N closed her eyes and spread her legs wider, lifting them to wrap around his trim waist. “You should…”

He let out a sexy huff that made her nipples tingle and her pussy leak. She licked at his mouth and lightly squeezed his sack.

“Now you’re askin’ for it,” he laughed.

“Yeah, I literally just asked for it.”

He nibbled at her throat. “Well, I’m gonna give it to ya.”

“Are you? You’re taking forever.” She pulsed her hand over the tip of his cock.

“Oh, I am.” He pushed up on his hands, hovering over her.

“Good,” she beamed, “give it to me, big boy.”

“It’s coming-”

“Not before I do,” she warned.

“Never,” he smirked. “You know how I roll.”

“I sure d-”

“Hold!”

A voice cried out and Dean’s head snapped back to look over his shoulder.

Patrick, the IT tech draped in Margraw’s costume and covered in fake fur, stood with arms crossed and a sour expression.

“You two know I’m still here, right?” he asked, eyeing each in turn.

Y/N could feel her cheeks burn and she dropped her legs from Dean’s ass and less than gracefully rolled out from under him.

“Sorry…”

Dean, however, was tickled pink about the whole situation. He laughed and pushed himself up to his feet. He turned to his fellow LARPer and shrugged.

“Maybe if you switch sides and play the hero for once, you could get some too.”

Patrick tapped an annoyed boot and sighed. “There are rules, ya know.”

Dean turned up the charm and threw his arm around the costumed monster. “I know, bud. Why don’t we go back to camp, hit the tavern, and you can tell me all about them.”

Y/N stood back a bit, fixing her skirts and pushing her boobs back into her corset. She watched as her knight in cheap armor and her attacker set off into the misty sunset.

Sure, maybe it was cheesy to some, but fighting a monster that definitely was not going to actually kill you was rather fun. There was plenty to do in the Kingdom of Moondoor, lots of adventure and pageantry, feats of skill and laughter. It was a relaxing weekend away from the real world, and Y/N loved sneaking away to enjoy it. Especially because she always got to go home with the handsome knight when the day was through…

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05  

[lilacmingi]

PLAYTIME

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you are under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Moondrop!San & Sundrop!Wooyoung x fem reader

Word count: 4,092

Note: This was published on Wattpad October 2022 and since the FNAF movie is coming out in a couple days I’m sharing this one on Tumblr! It’s one of my favorites and I feel like it’s so unique. There will not be a part 2. Also if the cover looks bad pls ignore it :P

You huffed as you pushed up the metal garage-like door just enough for you to get through. You didn't really care where it led to, you just wanted to get out of the main area of the mall and away from those incessant staff bots.

You just started working at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. In fact, it was your first day on the job and you somehow managed to get yourself locked inside. You were so busy with all your work that you lost track of time. When you finished, you found that you had been locked inside.

The area you just entered was the daycare.

The first thing you spotted was a huge golden statue depicting a sun and moon character, both dressed in attire that resembled that of a jester. Glancing around the room, you saw round tables scattered about, each one with a number on it. You were quick to figure out you were in some sort of reception area of the daycare.

You peered out into the netted area beyond the reception hall, inside were two large, multicolored play structures with cartoon faces of the glamrock mascots from the Fazbear franchise stuck on them and a massive ball pit designed to look like a mote. Your gaze was drawn to a platform a few feet above the play area, made to look like the outlook on a tower, a bright spotlight shining directly on it. Red curtains draped over an arched doorway that led to what you could only assume was a room.

The daycare area appeared to be a safe and vacant place for you to lay low for a while.

Your eyes searched the area for a moment before you spotted a colorful rainbow sign that read: SLIDE INTO FUN! leading directly into the daycare area. It appeared to be your only way inside, seeing as the security bots were patrolling the staircase that led to the second entrance for adults.

Without any other option, you got in and descended down the slide, falling right into a ball pit. You waded through the colorful spheres and stepped out of the pit. Now that you were inside the netted area, you were able to get a better look at everything.

The place seemed to be empty and free of any bloodthirsty animatronics.

Surely, you'd be safe.

Suddenly, your attention was turned to the castle up on the wall. A man suddenly emerged from the arched, curtain-draped opening and stepped out onto the platform. His blonde hair was pushed back away from his face, tousled in a way that made it look a bit spiky. He was dressed in jester attire, the collar ruffled as well as the top of his yellow and red striped pants. Tied on his wrists were red ribbons with bells that jingled when he moved.

The man lifted his arms into the air, chuckling gleefully before diving into the ball pit you were just in moments ago. You watched with wary eyes as the man never came up. Hesitantly, you stepped closer, peering into the ball pit. He emerged abruptly, causing some of the colorful spheres to fly through the air. He made his way out of the ball pit, a bright smile on his face.

"Hello, new friend! You're a bit big to be in the daycare." He tilted his head. "That's alright! We can still have fun!"

He didn't give you a chance to speak as he continued talking.

"We can finger paint, tell stories, drink Fizzy Faz until our heads explode and stay up all night!" He exclaimed, giddily as he pranced around.

"I was actually just hoping to—"

"What's your name, new friend?"

"Uh... Y/n." You answered.

You were wearing a name tag. Did he not notice it?

"Ah! Y/n. What a wonderful name! I'm Wooyoung, but my friends call me Woo. Hey, do you like glitter glue?"

"I-“

"If you like glitter glue, I have glitter glue, and lots of it!"

"I'd like to just stay in here for a while if that's okay."

His eyes sparkled as an excited gasp left him.

"Of course! There's so much we can do! We could play hide and seek, have a puppet show, make macaroni art." He listed enthusiastically.

This guy didn't seem so bad and the daycare appeared to be the safest place for you. Perhaps you could stay.

"Oh, this'll be so much fun! There's one rule, however. Lights stay on. On." He punctuated the last word, his voice sounding ominous when he did.

"Uh. Yeah. I can do that."

"Wonderful!" He clasped his hands together. "Come here! I have some fun activities planned."

He grabbed your hands, yanking you forward. Because of that, you stumbled and accidentally knocked over a stack of cylinders that had crescent moons and music notes on them, the objects making the sound of a party favor as they tumbled to the floor.

Wooyoung came to a stop, turning to see the shapes that had toppled over.

"No, no, no, no! What a mess! Oh, which was the bottom? Where is the top? Clean up! Clean up!" He stressed, hurrying to stack the musical cylinders back up.

Once the stack was back the way it was, he let out a sigh.

"There. Good as new."

"Sorry." You apologized even though it wasn't really your fault, but it felt appropriate.

"It's alright, friend." He beamed. "I get ahead of myself sometimes and I can be a bit clumsy."

He continued to pull you towards a tiny table where he ushered you into a small chair that you barely fit in.

"Look at all this neat stuff!" Wooyoung beamed. "Here."

He placed a piece of copy paper in front of you and began talking about all the different arts and crafts materials he had.

You opted for the colored pencils, grabbing one of them while Wooyoung started grabbing paints.

"What are you gonna draw?" Wooyoung asked, giddily. "I'm gonna paint a sun."

"I'm not sure what I'm gonna draw yet."

"That's okay. Just wait for inspiration to strike!"

As you thought about what to draw, you noticed a black cord stretching across the play area.

"What are those cords?" You asked Wooyoung.

"Oh. Those lead to generators in the play structures. There are five of them and each connect to a light on the outside of the structures." He pointed.

You noticed a few lights here and there attached to the plastic grate walls of the structures. You wondered why there were generators in a play area for children, but chose not to ask questions.

"So, you mentioned Fizzy Faz earlier."

"Uh-huh." He nodded.

"What does it taste like?"

The paintbrush in Wooyoung's hand fell, as did his jaw.

"You've never had it?"

You shook your head.

"We have to change that right away! What flavor do you prefer? There's orange, pink lemonade, cherry, lime, and grape."

"I'll have (your choice)."

Wooyoung immediately got up from his chair and started to hurry off only to stop and turn to you.

"You won't run off, will you?"

"I don't have anywhere else to go." You shrugged.

Minutes later, Wooyoung returned with a can of the fizzy drink and a small paper cup.

"Here you go, friend." He beamed, placing the small cup down on the table.

You thanked him, trying some of the soda, the tiny cup already nearly empty.

"Are you hungry? I have all sorts of yummy snacks. Goldfish crackers, cookies, potato chips, gummies." He listed.

"Now that you mention it, I am kinda hungry."

"Great! I'll be right back."

He hurried off somewhere while you stayed in your seat, working on your drawing.

Moments later, a paper tower was placed on the table as Wooyoung started putting small piles of assorted snacks onto it.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted, so brought everything." He paused for a second. "You don't have peanut allergies, do you?"

Before you could answer, he spoke up. "It's fine. None of these snacks are made with peanut products anyway. Gotta stay safe for the kiddos." He gave a bright smile, his head cocking to the side. "Here you go, friend."

You chuckled at the setup before you. A small, paper cup with soda and a paper towel with little piles of snacks on it.

"What's so funny?" Wooyoung asked.

"This just reminds me of when I was a kid." You smiled softly at the nostalgia. "This was the usual setup for special snack at school."

"Ah, that's right. You're not a kid." He chuckled. "Sorry, friend. I'm used to being around children." He slid the can of Fizzy Faz to you before sitting back down in his seat to continue his painting.

"That's alright." You waved it off, taking a drink of the bubbly soda. "You're trained to handle kids. You're used to that, so I don't blame you for being on autopilot."

"Thank you, Y/n." Wooyoung gave you a gentle smile before turning his attention back to his artwork.

"So, you work here?" He asked.

"You just noticed?" You chuckled.

"Yeah. I was so excited to have a visitor that I got carried away."

"Well, I only just started working here today. I don't know too much about this place and I had so much work I got distracted and when I finished, the doors were locked."

"So you're stuck in here until morning?"

You nodded.

"You can stay in here with me until 6am! You'll be safe here."

"Thank you."

Things were quiet for a few moments. The only sounds were the music playing in the daycare accompanied by the soft noise of your colored pencils against the paper.

"New friend, Y/n. Can I tell you something?" Wooyoung asked, cutting through the silence.

"Sure." You hummed, painting away.

When he didn't say anything, you looked up at him. His cheeks were tinted pink and he was holding back giggles.

"What is it?" You urged.

"You're very pretty."

"Oh. Thank you."

"Only children come into the daycare, and parents, of course, but I'm not used to seeing someone as pretty as you." Wooyoung was blushing like crazy as he spoke. "The teenagers and young adults usually spend their time elsewhere like Roxy Raceway."

"Right. I'm sure this is weird for you."

"No, actually. It's a nice change. The limited non-robot staff we have here don't really come into the daycare, so I'm not around older people that often. But, again, it's a nice change."

An hour or so passed and you were having a wonderful time with Wooyoung. Making crafts and painting really took you back to your childhood and helped to distract you from worrying about animatronics. Wooyoung had even made a cute little drawing of you with crayons, which you found endearing. He was very enthusiastic and bubbly, asking lots of questions about you and your interests. Whenever you'd give him your answer he'd watch you with wide eyes, taking in every word.

The two of you were having a blast when all of a sudden the lights shut off, surrounding you in near total darkness. You let out a gasp, the bright and sunny man's stern words immediately replaying in your head.

"Lights stay on. On."

He was so serious when he said that.

What happens when the lights go off?

"Oh no." Wooyoung muttered. "Oh no. Oh no!"

He stood up from his chair abruptly, causing it to fall over as the panic in his voice rose.

"What's wrong?" You asked, worriedly.

"Not good! Not good!" He put his hands on his face, staggering backwards as he screamed in agony.

Lost in his hysterics, he tripped and fell behind a stack of large, foam blocks sitting about the daycare, the atmosphere becoming eerily silent.

"Wooyoung?" You called out, shakily.

To your shock and mild horror, a completely different person emerged from behind the shapes. This one had dark hair with a white streak in his bangs. His attire was similar to Wooyoung's, but instead of stripes, this man's pants were a dark blue color with yellow stars all over them. He donned a night cap on his head with the same pattern.

"I'm not Wooyoung." The man responded with a sinister grin. "I'm San."

"What happened to Wooyoung?" You asked, taking a step back.

"He's not here right now." His red colored irises that seemed to glow raked down your body. "You're up a bit late, don't you think?"

"No." You answered, taking another step back.

"You should be sleeping. Naughty, naughty." He shook his head while wagging a finger at you.

"I'm not a child." You responded.

He let out a tsk as he leaned in close to you, tilting his head. "Daycare rules."

You took a step back, stumbling when your foot hit something. You had accidentally knocked over the same stack of cylinder shapes that you'd bumped into earlier.

San growled angrily, bending down.

"Clean up! clean up!" He repeated in a seemingly annoyed voice as he began stacking the objects back up.

You then realized Wooyoung reacted the same way and perhaps you could use that to your advantage. You took that as your chance to try and escape, bolting directly for the play structures, crawling up the slide, opting to hide there for a moment.

"Oh~ you wanna play hide and seek?" San chuckled, the sound coming out in a rasp. "I think I can manage."

It sounded like San was on the opposite side of the daycare, which put your nerves at ease, but only for a moment.

Afraid to stay in one place for too long, you

shimmied up the slide and started crawling around in the structure.

What do I do? What do I do?

Would you have to spend the rest of the night hiding from this San guy?

You advanced further into the play structure, moving up a bit higher, taking a moment to peer out into the daycare. It was dark except for the giant screen at the front of the room depicting a sun character that resembled Wooyoung.

Using the light from the screen, you looked around the area from above. You didn't see San anywhere, which terrified you. Instead of staying in one place for too long, you continued on your way, slipping through a colorful tube and into another section of the structure.

As you crawled ahead, you felt your foot catch on something, instinctively flinching before turning around to find a generator. The relief you felt when you saw that it wasn't San was immeasurable.

That's right. There are generators inside the play structures.

You shuffled back to the generator, a red light shining. Feeling around, you managed to find a switch of some sort, your fingers curling around the handle. You pulled up on it, a light on the outside of the structure coming on shortly after.

A quiet sigh of relief leaves you.

One down, four to go.

"You can't hide forever, dear." You heard San's voice from somewhere below.

Taking one last look out into the daycare, you spotted San creeping across the bridge above the ball pit.

You needed to find the other generators, and fast.

You crawled through the top area of the play structure, not finding any. As much as you hated to, you knew you'd have to go back down to the lower level.

Taking in a deep breath and gathering all the courage you could muster, you headed down until you got to the bottom level. You glanced around, checking for San before sneaking your way into another section of the play structure. It didn't take long for you to come across a second generator. You flipped it on and were on the move once again.

The floodlights didn't illuminate the area very well, but it was better than nothing. You hoped turning on all five would somehow bring Wooyoung back.

You continued searching the play structure, opting to follow the cords throughout the area, hoping they would lead you to a generator. Sometimes they would lead to one you had already turned on, while other times they led to a light attached to the outside of the structure.

You hadn't spotted San for quite some time, which gave you a sense of relief. Maybe you got lucky and he forgot about you.

Just then, you spotted him clinging to the outside of the play structure. A scream tore through you as the man leaned close to the grates.

"It's past your bedtime, my dear." He said with a sinister smirk.

You scurried away as quickly as you could, wanting to get as far away from him as possible, your knees becoming sore from crawling around so much.

You had already turned four generators on. There was only one left, but you couldn't seem to find it.

I've searched this entire structure. You thought to yourself. Where could it be?

Just then, you spotted a second play structure on the other side of the daycare, your heart dropping in your chest. The last generator is over there. You're certain of it.

You would have to find a way over to it without getting caught.

Moving silently throughout the play structure, you made your way to the bottom where you slowly began to lose your nerve. Your mind began to fill with petrifying thoughts, wondering what ghastly things San would do if he caught you.

You have to get to that last generator, Y/n. You told yourself, trying your best to psych yourself up and gather your nerves. Getting the lights back on was the only way to ensure yourself safety.

Taking one last look out into the daycare, you got ready to make a break for it, checking for San. When you didn't see him, you took off across the colorful foam flooring, skittering towards the second play structure.

Dark chuckles echoed through the vast room.

"Run run as fast as you can."

Hearing San's taunting frightened you and had you shaking like a leaf, but it also gave you that extra rush of adrenaline you needed, helping to get you safely to the second structure where you momentarily felt safe.

"I can see you." He sang creepily, prompting you to scurry further into the structure in an attempt to get away from him.

You hated this. Why did the lights have to go out all of a sudden? That was the one thing Wooyoung said not to do and now look where you are. It's your first day on the job and you're going to die by the hands of some psychopath in star pajamas. The mere thought of being caught made the panic within you rise tenfold.

You creeped through the structure, hoping San doesn't find his way inside. Little did you know, your fears would soon become a reality.

As you're crawling, you feel someone's breath fanning against your neck.

"Knock knock." He whispered.

You let out a terrified yelp, continuing to move forward at a quicker pace, but you didn't make it very far.

A gasp left you as San grabbed hold of your ankle, jerking you backwards until you were underneath him.

"Caught you."

His hands held you firmly against the flooring of the play structure, preventing you from escaping. You were just a foot from the last generator—so close, yet so far away. San moved in closer, his sharp eyes gazing down at you as a wicked smirk played at his lips.

What do I do?

You were panicking, your heart beating so fast you could hear the pounding in your ears. Fearful of what he would do with you, you shoved him away with your knee, pulling yourself closer to the generator, stretching your arm out, your fingers reaching for the switch, just barely brushing it.

"Wait!"

You paused after hearing San call out to you.

"Don't. Please."

The desperation in his voice caught you off guard, making you hesitate in your actions.

Your brows pulled together in confusion. Did he just ask you not to flip the generator on?

"I thought we were playing hide and seek." He continued, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth downward.

"Hide and seek?" You parroted in disbelief. "I thought you were trying to kill me!"

"Kill you? No. I thought we were just playing a game."

He pout in his voice almost made you feel bad for him. Almost.

"You didn't exactly make that clear."

He sighed, his head dropping in disappointment.

"I'm turning this on." You told him. "I want Wooyoung back."

"You don't like me?"

Your hand froze once again after hearing his words. He sounded hurt. Pitiful, almost. Turning back to him, you saw the expression on his face. His bottom lip was stuck out in a pout, quivering slightly as his red eyes appearing glossy with tears.

Your hand went limp, abandoning the the generator and silently hoping you weren't about to make a mistake.

•

Your heart thudded against your rib cage, your knees hitting the plastic flooring of the play structure as you crawled as fast as you could through the narrow passageways, getting lost in the maze once again.

I can't believe I let this happen again.

You barely made it out the first time and now you're stuck here once more. That all too familiar feeling of terror was beginning to build inside you as you hurried to hide, ominous chuckles from San echoing down the tunnel you were crawling through. Your body shook as you hurried through the endless labyrinth that was the play structures. The raw panic and trepidation that ran through your body was the only thing keeping you going. Your trembling hand grabbed onto the switch on the third generator, flipping it on.

That's when you heard San's dark chuckling behind you, causing you to gasp.

He was inside the play structure.

Crawling as fast as you possibly could, you turned a corner, shuffling through a tube, coming out at the bridge that connected two of the play towers. You hurried across into the second structure in search for the next generator.

"You're getting better at this, darling." San's voice emitted from across the bridge.

He was right on your tail.

You followed the twists and turns of the tunnels and platforms, not realizing you'd somehow gotten turned around.

Panicked, you changed directions and shimmied down a nearby passageway, narrowly escaping. You arrived at a small ramp that led to a lower level of the play structure. From what you remember, there was a generator nearby one of the ramps, though you weren't sure if this one was the right one. There was no time to think it over as you took the chance.

Just when you thought you were about to find the next generator, you ran into San who had a wicked smile on his face, his eyes flickering with mischief.

You yelped in surprise, which only made him grin wider. In one, swift motion he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you.

"Gotcha."

"You promised you wouldn't chase me this time." You frowned.

"Sorry." He giggled. "It's just so much fun."

"I've had enough hide and seek for the night. I wanna hang out with Wooyoung."

"You got to hang out with Wooyoung earlier." San whined.

"Alright, fine. But I don't want you scaring me anymore."

"No scaring. I promise!"

After that first night at the pizzaplex, you learned San wasn't so bad after all. He just had an odd way of interacting with people sometimes and tended to come off a bit scary. He wasn't nearly as terrifying as he appeared. In fact, he was actually rather adorable.

His counterpart, Wooyoung, had apologized profusely to you once the sun had come up, worried that San had spooked you. Being honest with him, you explained what happened, but assured him that San wasn't a bad person and you actually enjoyed your time with him—when he wasn't chasing you, that is.

From then on, you would drop in and visit Wooyoung during the day while working and stay after hours to spend a little more time with him before bringing San out. Something fishy was definitely going down at the mega pizzaplex, especially with the glamrock animatronics, but with San and Wooyoung around, you felt safe. You found yourself looking forward to seeing them every day, wondering what new shenanigans would ensue once the pizzaplex closed for the night.

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

[vickyvicarious]

Today's entry is full of Lucy/Jonathan parallels. It's so many throughout... I can't possibly quote every single one, but here are a few big things.

I write this and leave it to be seen, so that no one may by any chance get into trouble through me. This is an exact record of what took place to-night. I feel I am dying of weakness, and have barely strength to write, but it must be done if I die in the doing.

vs

If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. (5 May)

+

These may be the last words I ever write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if Death came he should find me ready. (30 July)

Lucy is writing with the specific intent of keeping anyone else from getting into trouble through her - in other words, so none of the maids or her doctors or whoever will be blamed for her murder if she dies before the night is through. The first quote from Jonathan is not really a direct match to this sentiment, of course. But while I couldn't remember a perfect quote to compare, we see hints throughout his journal that Jonathan is writing in the hopes that someone else might someday see it. Perhaps Mina, perhaps some other guest to the castle... he hopes that the explanation of what happened to him, and detailing of what Dracula is, will prove useful. Perhaps it will help someone else protect themself - just like Lucy hopes here. (This is of course not his only reason for writing. Another major reason why is how it helps to keep him sane and helps him plan escapes. Still, it is one of his reasons.) And certainly, the sentiment that the record is important to keep even at risk to oneself, is a shared link between them. Both of them also show a determination to face their death directly.

This line is also an echo of the various times Jonathan (and, more recently, Jack) experienced something seemingly impossibly horrific, and made a big point that they were writing things down exactly as they happened.

The time did not seem long, but very, very awful, till I recovered consciousness again. Somewhere near, a passing bell was tolling; the dogs all round the neighbourhood were howling; and in our shrubbery, seemingly just outside, a nightingale was singing.

vs

Something made me start up, a low, piteous howling of dogs somewhere far below in the valley, which was hidden from my sight. Louder it seemed to ring in my ears, and the floating motes of dust to take new shapes to the sound as they danced in the moonlight. I felt myself struggling to awake to some call of my instincts; nay, my very soul was struggling, and my half-remembered sensibilities were striving to answer the call. I was becoming hypnotised! (24 June)

Lucy awakens after the first attack of the night to the sound of dogs howling (amongst other things). Jonathan too has been saved from a trance by this noise, though in his case it was a close call. Dracula certainly seems to have successfully hypnotized her and most likely did drink from her between his arrival in the room (the dust swirling in) and the maids'.

What am I to do? what am I to do? I am back in the room with mother. I cannot leave her, and I am alone, save for the sleeping servants, whom some one has drugged. Alone with the dead! I dare not go out, for I can hear the low howl of the wolf through the broken window.

vs

I fear I am myself the only living soul within the place. (8 May)

+

What shall I do? what can I do? How can I escape from this dreadful thing of night and gloom and fear? (24 June)

+

Suddenly it struck me that this might be the moment and means of my doom; I was to be given to the wolves, and at my own instigation. There was a diabolical wickedness in the idea great enough for the Count, and as a last chance I cried out:— "Shut the door; I shall wait till morning!" and covered my face with my hands to hide my tears of bitter disappointment. (29 June)

These are only a few of the lines that Lucy's quote reminds me of. This is the big one, there's so much to connect in it.

Like Jonathan, Lucy is alone with the dead. Dracula has sabotaged her only chance of reaching out to other people for aid (drugged maids = workers in the yard, people who saw Dracula dressed as Jonathan). She also feels duty-bound to stay by her mother's side, in a way which reminds me of Jonathan's feeling of obligation towards Mr. Hawkins (all the more as Mina's letter today emphasizes how familial their relationship has become). Like Jonathan, Lucy cannot see any options to escape from the living nightmare she is experiencing.

Like Jonathan, Lucy cannot leave because if she does, she fears a wolf will get her. (Much like Jonathan, she is earlier in her memorandum able to distinguish a wolf howl from a dog's, despite never hearing one before.) Even though she does not really expect to live through the night, she cannot make the choice to go out and face almost certain death. She's even recently seen the wolf kill a mother, to really drive the comparison with Jonathan's experiences home. (A contrast between the two is, of course, the mother he saw die was trying to rescue/avenge her dead child, but was too late. Mrs. Westenra seeks comfort from her daughter tonight, and as she dies unwittingly steals away Lucy's protection (garlic), thus holding true to her role of accidentally endangering her further.)

The air seems full of specks, floating and circling in the draught from the window, and the lights burn blue and dim. What am I to do? God shield me from harm this night! I shall hide this paper in my breast, where they shall find it when they come to lay me out. My dear mother gone! It is time that I go too. Good-bye, dear Arthur, if I should not survive this night. God keep you, dear, and God help me!

vs

Then I began to notice that there were some quaint little specks floating in the rays of the moonlight. They were like the tiniest grains of dust, and they whirled round and gathered in clusters in a nebulous sort of way. (24 June)

+

God help me in my task! Good-bye, Mina, if I fail; good-bye, my faithful friend and second father; good-bye, all, and last of all Mina! (25 June)

(I've run out of new colors and am recycling. These aren't meant to match to the above instances of these colors.)

Like Jonathan described his experience being hypnotized by the vampire ladies, Lucy too sees Dracula's form as circling specks (twice, in fact, the other quote being above). The lights going blue and dim are also reminiscent of the various times Jonathan describes moonlight at the Castle. I especially think of just before he meets the vampire women, when he muses about the powers that modernity cannot defeat, and his modern lighting is contrasted to the moonlit room. Here, Lucy's modern lighting is going out as the supernatural invades her bedroom.

Lucy bids her final farewells to her mother and her fiance. In the quote I gave, Jonathan does the same for his father figure and his fiancee. Both of them invoke God for help. Both of them end their entries with this thinking of the one they love most. Jonathan of course does this multiple times, but I'm only quoting this one instance as it feels like the closest match overall.

And once again, we also see multiple comparisons beyond what I directly quoted. Lucy reiterates her expectation of death as in the quote at the top, and even chooses to hide her memorandum in her clothes, much as Jonathan hid his diary on his person at all times. (The difference being, he wanted to hide it from Dracula; she wants to ensure hers is seen by someone.)

[firefly-ghoul]

BEACH DAY WITH THE GHOULS + COPIA!

I have been so excited to share this! It took waaaay longer than expected the write. I’m so sorry for the long wait but here it is!

Rain

This fish is running to the water as soon as they arrive at the beach. He is so excited to be at the beach seeing how he in a saltwater ghoul. He also brought his surfboard with them, eagerly anticipating riding the waves. After he gets his fill of surfing he heads to deeper waters. He dives down and just chills on the sea floor for a few minutes. They find all sorts of stuff on the sea floor like kelp, starfish, urchins, crabs, fish and sea anemones. Eventually he returns to the shore with many shiny stones. He gives everyone these little stones

Phantom

Phantom Is just digging giant hole. Not a small one inch deep hole, it’s one that you can full on climb in. Phantom’s got a shovel and a dream of finding treasure and that’s all he needs. And the shovel isn’t one of those dinky little plastic shovels He actually stole one of the real garden shovels from the ministry. Phantom does eventually have to stop digging for treasure after copia got on to him about the giant hole being a safety hazard. He sulks for a few minutes before joining Sodo in making a sand castle. His off getting buckets of water whenever sodo needs some for the castle mote and building material such as shells, sea weed, and rocks.

Sodo

Sodo is here for one thing and one thing only, and that is to build the perfect sand castle. He has a tiny shovel and a bucket beside him, and his focus is unparalleled. He even built a big mote with the help of phantom. Soon he and phantom noticed cirrus and mountain building a sand castle not too far from them. The second sodo sees them the competition is on. He starts making a hole ass sand kingdom. The war is vicious as the two sand kingdoms fight vigorously.

Cirrus

Cirrus originally was swimming / floating with the other ghouletts sitting in matching tubes, fruity drinks in hand, Just chitchatting. But then out of the corner of her eye she noticed sodo and phantom making a sand castle and thought “I am going to go cause chaos”and immediately got to work. Cirrus now is building an elaborate sand kingdom with Mountain who she somehow convinced to help her. She lays out the plan for their kingdom and they are determined to outdo Sodo and Phantom.

Mountain

Don’t get mountain wrong he loves beach trips, he really does! He however doesn’t like all the sand that sticks to his skin. He does enjoy seeing all the other ghoul having a blast. Eventually though the sounds of the beach make him sleepy. he closes his eyes. He listens to the waves cashing against the sand. The sounds of his pack mates excitement, the birds chirping. But soon his peace is interrupted when cirrus walks over where he is lounging. She asks him to help her make a sand castle. He tries to turn down her offer until she uses his weakness against him…forehead kisses! so after that he reluctantly joins her in the sand war. After an hour and a half of non stop kingdom building they get bored.. yeah they get bore! It’s the mont anticlimactic end but you can’t blame them they don’t have that good of a attention span, it’s lucky they even made it this far. but eventually they come to a truce. And after the all that hullabaloo mountain finally can take his peaceful beach nap.

Aurora

She starts out the day tube floating with the ghoulettes until cirrus left to start some drama. The rest of the group dissolve not long after that to do there own things. Aurora ends up doing all kinds of crafts. She brought paint with her and is painting on sea shells that a given to her and, ones she finds. She’s making cute little sun catcher with sea glass, sea shells, and driftwood. Aurora also makes some seashell candles with the help of sodo once he’s done with his sand war. She’s got him to heat up the wax while she put wicks in the shells. Ones she crafts till her harts content she gets in the water again and starts playing Marko polo with the other ghouls.

Cumulus

Cumulus brought a hand full of books and has layed out a beach towel in the perfect sun bathing spot. She made sure to bring a horror mystery book that cirrus lent her earlier that week. She lies on her towel, occasionally glancing up to enjoy the view. She especially loves listening to an ocean waves as she reads. After she fishes the book she goes and takes a dip to cool down. She later joins Aurora in collecting sea glass and shells, contributing tidbits she finds interesting to Aurora's crafts.

Swiss

Swiss is playing volleyball with anybody who joins. Multiple ghouls throughout the day play a couple of games before needing a break from the direct sun. All except sodo (when he joins him) who is enjoying the sun just as much as Swiss. Once he gets bored of volleyball he’s running to the water and challenging anyone to a chicken fight. Eventually he convinces sodo rain and cirrus to join him. Rain on cirrus shoulders, and sodo on Swiss’s shoulders. It was a vicious battle but eventually he and sodo won three out of five. They both were super obnoxious about their win the rest of the day.

Copia

Copia is siting on his beach chair under his umbrella relaxing with big shades on. Every now and again a ghoul will come bring him a trinket and he’ll obviously act like . He’s got a pile of shells painted and not, sand dollars, sea glass, driftwood, pretty rocks and a couple small fish rain hunted for him. He also has a trash bag full of plastic and other litter the ghouls had picked up. He periodically look up to make sure the ghouls haven’t gotten them selfs in to trouble. And he most certainly will have to get the ghouls out of trouble, be it phantom and his treasure hunt, or rain catching to many fish. But overall copia would say is was a successful beach day