#not caring about rules that have been set

[nanamiscocksleeve]

A Tight Spot

Warnings: MDNI, pegging, piv sex, voyeurism, slightly subby Sylus A/n: I know in my rules I said I don't write butt stuff, but (no pun intended) I'm coming around to the idea of prostate massage for men.

Sylus was not in the habit of hiding things from you. However, he had his own secrets, things that he felt made him vulnerable, or he wasn’t sure you’d understand.

One of those things was his ultimate, private kink; pegging. He’d tried it once by himself after reading about prostate massage but the unbelievable pleasure it had brought him blew his mind. The intensity, the absolute delight of getting an orgasm from a prostate massage had opened up new realms for him. Of course, Sylus was kinky and he loved having sex with you, but this particular bit of information embarrassed him, and he’d never dared bring it up for fear that you might judge him. 

Which is why he only indulges in this pleasure when he is alone. The mansion was empty, having sent all his henchmen home for the day, and you were heading back to Linkon City. Sylus lays on his bed, naked, remembering the way your body felt against his, the flushed heat and soft sway of your tits as you rode him, the sound of your sweet moans in his ear. His back still carried the lines scratched by your nails as you’d held onto him in the throes of ecstasy. He missed having you in his bed. Sylus firmly grips his cock, pumping his hard flesh, gritting his teeth, little growls leaving his throat as he pleasured himself.

He imagines you kneeling in between his legs, your face looking so innocent before you opened that wicked mouth and slurped him in, your tongue dipping right into his slit, making him pathetically dribble copious amounts of precum that you licked off with enthusiasm. The memory of your small hand as you squeezed his base, followed by the wet noises of his skin being suctioned by your lips was enough to almost drive him to the edge.

Sylus stops, panting, his eyes wild, blood rushing through his veins as he tries to regain control of his breathing. He knew what would take this fantasy from amazing to out-of-this-world. His tip was weeping, and he thumbs at the milky beads forming on the tip before going on all fours. His hand creeps behind his balls and he knuckles down on his perineum, feeling the faint vestiges of pressure on the little gland hidden away under his skin. He lets out a moan, flexing his buttocks, clenching and unclenching his asshole.  He feels his body starting to tingle with need, the kind that builds up when you’ve been teasing yourself for too long. 

He reaches into his nightstand, digging through the various toys that had been used over this weekend, and finds a slim, black, silicone dildo, the one he’d personally tested amongst many for his backdoor pleasure. A similar one but in red rested in the drawer as well; he was careful to never mix these two up. The red one was yours, and he’d never risk your health by selfishly using the dildo meant for your pussy for himself. He trickles a generous amount of lube on his dildo, before sticking the suction cup base to his headboard and gently backing onto it. He breathes in and out slowly, allowing the muscles to relax, then teases his tight, puckered hole with the tip, groaning as it passes through his tight ring of muscles, filling him up so deliciously. 

Sylus wonders if this is how your pussy feels during penetrative sex and the thought has him clenching, drawing the soft silicone deeper inside of him. He hopes it felt as good for you as this was for him. His cock stands proudly erect, the sensitive head brushing against the sheets as he continues backing onto the toy until he feels it press against a sensitive patch of elastic muscle and he lets out a pathetic moan. His hips arch, angling the tip of the toy until he’s able to glide comfortably, feeling the slick dildo massaging his inner walls, stimulating him beyond belief. 

His eyes close as he sets up his rhythm, each exquisite push against his prostate bringing pops of color behind his closed lids. Sweat slickens his skin as he builds up the pleasurable tension, grounding his hands and knees into the soft mattress to keep up his speed and arousal. Taking a deep breath, he pushes back further and feels like his eyes might roll into the back of his head as the toy bottoms out inside his hole, sitting right against the pulsing gland that threatened to shoot his load out. It never failed to amaze him how quickly his orgasm could form with this particular act, and the tantalizing dance of keeping himself on the edge was an intoxicating rush.

A low, gravelly, purr leaves his throat as he thrusts shallowly, letting himself be massaged so intimately at that sweet spot that he’d been oblivious to for so many years. He wondered how long he’d last this time; he had a reasonable period to himself now that no one was home, and he intended to tease himself into a mess, just to test how much his willpower could be stretched.

 He rides the dildo slowly, his hips rolling smoothly, feeling his back muscles coordinate and his ass grip the dildo in sweet ecstasy. As Sylus’s pace picks up, lewd squelching noises fill the room as he gives in to his urges. He can feel the tension building in his balls, in his belly, his hard abs quivering as the heat starts to gather in his gut. Sweat forms on his forehead, his cock twitching as he humps leaking precum all over the sheets. He can see the stains and bites his lip, feeling the way the sensation grows and ripples through him.

The next second is a blur of motion. As he’s in the blissful throes of his own passion, he hears his bedroom door opening and his name being called. His eyes fly open and he splutters in shock as you enter, losing his rhythm and almost slamming the dildo in haste. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight before you. Your big, intimidating, boyfriend, bared on all fours, with a dildo in his ass was not something you were expecting to see. Sylus scrambles off the toy, his breathing heavy and unsteady, his face burning red as he tries to cover himself.

He’d never been caught in such a compromising situation, the feeling of being vulnerable alien to him, feeling shame burn through him. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. “What-what are you doing here?” He manages to ask after a long moment of silence. 

You don’t move from your position near the door and Sylus keeps his eyes downcast. After a gap, you start to speak. “Luke and Kieran almost got me to the border but there was a really bad sandstorm. It could have taken hours for it to die down. So they brought me back here.”

“Luke and Kieran?” Sylus’s head whips up in alarm, ruby eyes widening in panic and you quickly approach him on the bed.

“They dropped me off here and went back to their place. It’s ok. It’s just me.”

Relief floods his features only to be immediately drowned by embarrassment and he averts his gaze. You see the tension in his shoulders and how fidgety and nervous he is, making you feel strange. This wasn’t your boyfriend, the confident and ruthless leader of the N109 zone that you had gotten to know. Unsure how to proceed, you gently cup his cheek. His glances briefly at you and you realize he’s waiting for you to pass judgment. Your heart squeezes to see him like this.

“Sylus. Do you mind telling me what you were doing?” Your voice is soft and you kneel on the bed so that you can thread your fingers through his hair. Your touch soothes his racing heart but he’s still anxious. His voice is low as he starts to admit his actions.

“I like being pegged.” His voice sounds ashamed. 

“Isn’t that a kink?” You haven’t moved, staying close to his quivering body. 

“It’s not one that I think most men would admit to having.” You gnaw at your lip, trying to remember something, anything, that would ease his tension. 

“But…isn’t pegging the only way to stimulate the prostate? That’s a thing right? Prostate massage?” You slowly draw him closer to you so that you can rest your head on his shoulder. Your hands dip down from his hair to stroke his back and you feel him shiver.

“Yeah. It is.”

“And…it feels good right?” You probe further, trying to get him to talk. 

Sylus takes a deep breath before answering. “Yeah. It does.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone and you like it, why are you so scared right now?” Sylus feels some of the discomfort in his chest release as your words wash over him. After a beat, you ask him a question.

“Why haven’t you shared this with me?” There’s no blame in your voice, just a general curiosity.

Sylus swallows, then rests his cheek on top of your hair, drawing comfort from you. “I don’t know. It’s not a norm. It’s frowned upon. Joked about. I just didn’t know how you’d react to it.”

You huff then grasp his chin and make him look at you. “Sylus, do you know how ironic it is that you made me share all the kinks that I’ve fantasized about and you’ve done them all only to hide this from me?” 

“So you-you don’t find this weird?”

“I think it’s hot when you’re being pleasured. Isn’t that that a good enough answer?” 

Sylus processes what’s been said to him and you take advantage of his distraction to push him down on the mattress, his large frame falling on it with a thump before you lay down next to him. You reassuringly cuddle his body, pressing into him and nuzzling his neck. 

“You looked like you were on the edge of a pretty good orgasm there. Before I came in that is.” 

Sylus clears his throat, traces of a blush lingering on his cheeks and ears. “Yeah, I was.” You trace your fingers down his chest.

“Would you be comfortable to do that again? With me in the room?” You ask the question carefully trying not to crowd him. Sylus finally looks at you in the face. His expression still looked guarded with a tinge of disbelief.

“You-you want to watch me?” Even as he says the words, he feels a surge of arousal. It was touching, almost intimate that you wanted to be a part of this. 

You bite your lip. “You looked really sexy there for a minute. All hot and moaning. I liked it.��

Sylus huffs, trying to regain his composure but your reaction to the whole situation was calming him down. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Your hands busy themselves on his thighs, squeezing and hard sinew, and you see his eyes softening as he realizes he can trust you with this. It pulls at you and you raise your head to kiss him, enjoying their warmth. 

His hands are working deftly to pull off your clothes, his cock hardening again at the prospect of what was to come. You, watching him, pleasuring himself, and it turned you on. There was no mistaking that little lip nibble you had done. The knowledge that he could share this vulnerability was filling him with a different kind of pleasure. 

Once he’s freed you from your clothes, he palms your breasts, groaning as your hands find his cock, pumping him enticingly. After his interrupted orgasm, the whole organ pulses, heat and sexual need filling him. He doesn’t hold back with his bites, leaving bruises on your soft skin as he touches you fervently.

Soft sighs leave your lips as you play with his cock, and you’re eager to see his demonstration on the dildo, needed to hear him make those noises of ecstasy again. “What do you need me to do?” You ask, still pumping his hard flesh. 

Sylus’s eyes are half closed, clearly enjoying your ministrations. He hesitates but asks, “Do you mind squeezing my cheeks?”

Understanding, your hands sensually leave his cock and instead, start to massage the soft rounded flesh of his rear, and he hums at your touch. You feel the muscles contracting and relaxing under your fingers and Sylus was syncing his breaths to the action. He glances over at his headboard, and you can see the dildo is still there, held in place by the broad suction cup base.

“Needs more lube,” he observes, and you squeeze his ass once more before reaching over to grab the bottle from the nightstand and hand it to him. You take note of how much he applies to the toy for future use and he begins to back himself up against it. He looks at you again, unsure. 

“What is it?” You lean up to cup his face, peppering kisses all over it. 

“I’ve…always fantasized about…someone holding me open as I…get penetrated.” He admits shyly and you feel flattered that he had opened up and asked. You move towards his legs and with care, part his cheeks, seeing his opening fluttering, similar to how your pussy would when it needed to be filled.

You watch in fascination as Sylus continues to back onto the dildo and your heart leaps as he makes contact, and watch, wide-eyed, as it starts to disappear into his hole. There’s a rush of arousal, at how hot the sight was, but you remain quiet, the room filling with Sylus’s contained moans as he pushes himself onto the toy.

“Oh Sylus…the view is so sexy.” You encourage him as he pauses in his penetration, panting. 

“Yeah?” He looks at you over his shoulder, and you nod. Your hands slowly release his cheeks which jiggle slightly as they fall back into place. Then he starts to move.

The noises that leave him drive you wild. You’ve heard him while having good sex but nothing compared to this; the way his hips started to buck in abandon, the husky, desperate way he moans as he fucks himself. Not wanting to miss a second, you quickly scramble back to his face, his expression sending a spear of pure lust straight into your core.

His ruby eyes are wide with delight, mouth hanging open in an O as he rides to climax. His gaze fixates on you and you see the flush that stains his skin and know he’s just as turned on by you, by the fact that you’re watching him so admiringly. You squeeze your breasts, teasing your nipples as you try to stimulate yourself with him, rubbing your clit in time to his thrusts, watching the way his weeping cock drags along the sheets with each thrust.

It wasn’t enough and driven by primal instinct, you quickly slide under his muscled body, surprising him. He pauses in his motions. “Kitten?” he breathes questioningly, gazing at you beneath him. 

“Sylus, I can’t. I need to experience you like this.” He lets out a guttural moan as you spread your legs and begin to guide his neglected cock into your hot wetness, the dual sensation too much for him to handle. His hole clenches, feeling the dildo snugly against his prostate while his cock was being nestled into your pussy. He lets out a deep, sultry whine.

“Fuck, sweetie. You’re going to kill me.” You stroke every inch of his body you can reach and Sylus begins to build up his rhythm, going as slowly as possible to stave off his orgasm but he feels like he’s a lost cause. 

Your pussy grips his cock, spasming with each thrust. Every time he moved forward, he’s gliding through your eager cunt, and every time he moves back, the dildo massages his aching prostate and he feels like a loser, knowing he won’t last too long this way.

You see the struggle in his eyes and talk him through it. “It’s ok Sy. You’ve held on for so long. It’s ok to cum. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Let yourself cum.” you murmur reassuringly to him and he lets out a keening groan, his hips going into overdrive as he pushes himself over the edge.

His vision blurs at the edges as an intense orgasm grips him, his hands gripping the sheets as he tries not to collapse on you. His body shakes, creamy jets of cum filling your pussy as his hole spasms rhythmically, prolonging his state of euphoria as he empties himself into you. 

Sylus carefully crawls off the dildo, then lays over you. Sweat covers each inch of his body as you lovingly stroke his hair. 

“I don’t know why you’d hide something so hot from me.”

“What’s a relationship without a little mystery?”

“Well mystery solved. Next time, we should use a vibrating dildo.”

Your eyes flicker with mischief and Sylus chuckles at your enthusiasm. 

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

[libraryofolive]

okay but hear me out...

featuring: Takuma Ino x gn!reader

genre: Fluff, crack

word count: 600

synopsis: Making a hear me out cake with your boyfriend is just meaningless fun, right?

Like this? You can find my smaus here and my drabbles and other fiics here!

Do you have a request? You can find my rules for requesting here!

a/n: i fear the demons cooked with this idea that would not leave my head until I wrote it

“Kuma!” You called out to your boyfriend from the kitchen, mischief lacing your tone.

“Yeah babe?” He asked, appearing in the doorway of your shared kitchen. You had spent all day in there, shooing him out every time he popped his head in to try and find out what exactly you were doing. He found you stood at the kitchen table, spreading buttercream icing onto a freshly made chocolate cake. “Is that what you’ve been doing all day? Are we celebrating something?”

“I need you to go and print some stuff out for me.” You smiled at him.

“We have a printer?”

“Yes, we have a printer. Now go use it.”

“What exactly am I printing out?”

There was a beat of silence before you answered him. “Your hear me outs.” He broke out in a massive grin, eyes lighting up with excitement. Your own smile widened at his puppy-like excitement, glad he was on board with your surprise idea.

“Is that a hear me out cake?”

“Nah, it’s my friend’s birthday cake.”

“Oh..” His shoulders sunk, suddenly lethargic.

“I’m kidding, idiot. We’re absolutely doing hear me out cake. Go get printing, and don’t you dare hold back.” Ino was suddenly full of energy again, rushing off to print off the photos he needed.

“Erm, baby?” He wandered back into the kitchen, sheepish.

“Yeah sweetie?” You looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Where is the printer?”

-

It was 20 minutes later, and you had your phone set in front of the fresh cake, filming the two of you stood behind it. You had both done the majority of your hear me outs, and it was your turn to reveal your last one.

“I’d, erm, say this is a relatively tame one, but I saved it til last just for your reaction.” You bit your lip, nervously looking at your boyfriend.

“Okay, now I’m kinda scared. The last one you said was ‘tame’ was a headless mannequin.”

You slowly spun your kebab stick around, revealing the photo attached to it to your camera, purposefully holding it close to block Ino’s view of it.

“Babe, I can’t see-”

“Nanami!” You squeaked, hurriedly stabbing the stick into the cake.

“That’s my boss!” Ino gaped at you, jaw hanging so low it was basically on the floor.

“Hey, you can’t deny that that man is very much attractive. A gentleman too.”

“No, I really can’t deny it…” As your boyfriend trailed off, he slowly spun his last hear me out around, allowing you to see the subject of it.

“Fuck off!” You exclaimed, a gobsmacked laugh tearing it’s way out of your throat.

“My last hear me out is also Nanami…” He said to the camera, before putting it in the cake next to your photo of the same man.

“Did we use the same photo?” You reeled, admiring your cake through your phone screen.

“It is a sexy photo of him.”

“I’m telling you, it’s the rolled up sleeves. It’s the same as the mannequin-” The two of you spent the next minute admiring your boyfriend’s superior, all on a video that eventually made its way onto your TikTok page.

-

A few days passed, and the two of you had pretty much forgotten about the video you had posted. The cake had been devoured by the two of you over those days, and the many photos that had been stuck in it thrown away, as if the entire thing never happened. Until Ino received a text, that is.

Would you care to explain what a ‘hear me out’ is?

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Shadows and Paws

Chapter 4: Boundaries and Bonds

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

AU: Hybrid 141 X Hybrid Reader

Warnings: language, violence, mild blood/injuries, Readers nickname/callsign is Foxy

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i almost forgot about this chapter but I hope I made it worth the read!

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist | Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The morning fog clung to the trees, shrouding the forest in a damp, eerie silence that set every nerve on edge. Each footstep felt like it echoed too loudly, despite the team’s silent movement. Foxy moved with confidence, yet a tension had settled into their posture, an awareness that they weren’t alone. The forest felt charged, as if the very trees were watching.

The team was alert, senses heightened. Gaz had already taken to the air, circling above to give them a view of the terrain, his keen falcon eyes searching for any sign of movement. Ghost moved in tandem with the others, silent and vigilant, while Soap’s usual energy was tempered, his ears constantly flicking to pick up the smallest sound. Price took up the rear, his mind running through different strategies, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were stepping into something dangerous.

"Something’s not right," Soap murmured, his voice barely audible. "I feel like we’re being watched."

"That's because we are," Foxy replied, scanning their surroundings, their eyes sharp. "It’s not just the rogues. This forest has its own… rules. Keep close, and don’t get separated. Trust me on this."

Price nodded, sensing the gravity in Foxy’s tone. He knew they wouldn’t give that kind of warning lightly. "Stay sharp, all of you. Eyes on each other."

Their surroundings grew darker as the trees thickened, the mist swirling around them like a ghostly veil. Even Ghost felt unnerved by the strange silence. The usual sounds of forest life—birds, rustling leaves, snapping twigs—were absent. It was as if the forest itself had been subdued.

As they descended into a small hollow, Foxy stopped suddenly, raising a hand. The team froze, their eyes darting around as they tensed, prepared for anything. The silence pressed in on them until the faintest of sounds broke it: the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. Foxy’s ears twitched, and they turned to the team with a serious look.

"We’re close. They’ll have scouts positioned around here," Foxy said, barely above a whisper. "They’ll spot us if we’re not careful."

"Can’t we just go in and give ’em a surprise?" Soap asked, his voice tinged with frustration, but a look from Price kept him silent.

"No. We’re outnumbered here," Foxy replied, a hint of exasperation in their tone. "This isn’t a game, Soap. One wrong move, and they’ll know exactly where we are. We have to play this smart."

Soap glanced away, chastened but still visibly restless. Ghost noticed and placed a hand on Soap’s shoulder, a rare gesture of solidarity. "Listen to Foxy. They know this terrain better than we do."

Soap took a breath, nodding, and gave Foxy a slight, apologetic smile. "Fine. Lead the way, Foxy."

A smirk tugged at the corner of Foxy’s mouth. "Glad you’re finally seeing reason," they teased, though the tension in their posture remained.

They led the team forward, moving with caution. Each step was calculated, each breath measured as they descended further into the underbrush. The forest was dark and thick, and the weight of the silence pressed down on them, more oppressive with each passing moment. Finally, they reached a small rise overlooking a clearing, and there, gathered near an abandoned structure, were the rogue hybrids.

The rogues weren’t just the chaotic, disorganized troublemakers Foxy had described before. Their formation was tight, disciplined, as if they’d been waiting for an ambush. Some had weapons, crude but effective, and their eyes glinted with a dangerous focus.

Foxy tensed, their eyes narrowing as they took in the rogues below. "They’ve gathered more than I thought," they whispered. "This is going to be… tricky."

Price glanced at Foxy. "What’s our best move here?"

Foxy hesitated, their sharp eyes calculating. "We need a distraction. Something that’ll draw their attention, just for a moment. Once we have that, we can move in and neutralize as many as possible. But it’ll be risky."

"I’ll go," Soap volunteered, the gleam of a plan in his eyes. "They won’t even see me coming."

Foxy looked at him, assessing, and then nodded. "Alright. Just don’t get yourself killed."

Soap grinned, giving them a quick wink before slipping down the incline. His movements were quick but controlled, every step soundless as he made his way toward the rogues.

Ghost leaned in, murmuring to Foxy, "We trust you to lead us here. But you need to know we’ve got your back too."

Foxy looked at him, their usual playful demeanor softened. "I appreciate that, Ghost."

In the clearing, Soap was nearing his target, a lone rogue standing a few paces away from the others, back turned. In a fluid, silent movement, he lunged, his hands closing around the rogue’s weapon and pulling them backward, rendering them unconscious before they could make a sound. The team waited, tension thick as Soap disappeared into the shadows again, inching closer to the heart of the group.

Suddenly, a sharp voice rang out from the clearing. "Well, if it isn’t the little fox," one of the rogues sneered, their voice thick with disdain. "Did you think you could just wander back in here and claim territory?"

Foxy’s jaw tightened, and they whispered to the team, "Stay low. This one’s trouble."

The rogue leader, a tall figure with dark, matted fur, looked directly at Foxy, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and disdain. He took a step forward, his voice carrying through the clearing. "Thought you could come in here and take control? You’re delusional."

Foxy’s eyes narrowed, their hand hovering near their own weapon. "I didn’t come to take control. I came to stop you from destroying everything."

The rogue leader laughed, a guttural sound that grated on the nerves. "You think you can stop me? You and these… pets of yours?" He glanced at the rest of the team with a sneer, clearly unimpressed.

Price’s hackles rose, and he took a step forward, his voice a low growl. "You might want to rethink that."

The rogue leader’s gaze flickered over Price, then over the rest of the team, and something changed in his expression. He took a step back, as if reassessing the threat before him. "So you brought a little pack with you," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but the unease in his voice was unmistakable.

Foxy smirked, their confidence returning. "Did you really think I’d come here alone?"

The rogue leader scowled, his expression darkening. "This isn’t over, Foxy."

Foxy’s expression hardened, their voice steady and unyielding. "No. It’s just beginning."

At that moment, Soap gave the signal, and the team moved in, a coordinated, seamless assault that caught the rogues off guard. Ghost’s panther-like reflexes kicked in, his movements swift and deadly, while Gaz swooped down from above, his talons aimed with precision. Price kept close to Foxy, covering them as they fought their way through the chaos.

The battle was quick but brutal. Foxy moved with a ferocity that surprised even them, every strike aimed with a deadly accuracy. They fought side by side with the team, their movements in perfect harmony, as if they’d been fighting together for years. In that moment, any lingering doubts about trust dissolved. They were a team—a pack.

As the last of the rogues fled, Foxy turned to the team, their eyes shining with a fierce pride. They were bruised and bloodied, but they stood tall, unbroken.

Price stepped forward, nodding approvingly. "Not bad, Foxy. Not bad at all."

Foxy smirked, wiping a bit of blood from their cheek. "I told you I could handle myself."

Soap clapped a hand on their shoulder, grinning. "You did more than that, Foxy. You saved our hides back there."

Ghost inclined his head slightly, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like you’re one of us now."

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Foxy felt a warmth in their chest—a sense of belonging. They looked at each of them, their expression softening. "Thank you," they said quietly. "For trusting me."

Price simply nodded. "We’re in this together, Foxy. Let’s get moving."

And as they left the clearing, the fog seemed to lift, the forest somehow less foreboding, as if it too recognized the bond they’d forged that day. They weren’t just a group of individuals anymore. They were a team. A pack.

—————

End of Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[momolady]

Sirion the Vampire

-Patreon - Ko-Fi - Commissions - Masterlist - 3K words - Trans-Male Reader x Male Monster Forbidden Love - Elopement - Vampire Feeding - True Self

Taking hold of that hand, you held it close, unafraid of the dark and certainly not worried about the cold. You looked into the darkness of his eyes, assured of what he said. 

“Then let’s go.” Your breath came out in thick, curtaining billows. “Take me there, we can’t leave soon enough.”

A smile spread across his face and he leaned in to kiss you. You had vowed long ago you would go anywhere with him, do whatever it took to stand by his side. When he saw you, truly saw you, there was no turning back. Forever you two were locked together.

The night you ran, he made quite the grand spectacle of it. Of course Sirion had to let the whole world know, that was never a question in your mind. He took you from your home, glaring deep into the eyes of your family who had been holding you captive in your own home all this time. He stared at them, wishing them to burst into flames, but instead he let them live, peacefully as you had requested. Even as your father’s old gun rang through the streets, all you wanted was for them to be left alone

The carriage was an ornate one, one harkening back to the old days when the vampires had once ruled this land. There were no windows, so you could not see outside to where you were going. But there were jewels, or at least where jewels had once been. The empty settings seemed to plead for something to hold. The seats were luxurious, silk and down you assumed.

“It will take us a while to get there,” Sirion murmured. 

You looked up from your exploring, catching the somewhat grim look upon his face. He raised his hand, showing the blood on his palm from where you fathers’s bullet grazed him.

Jumping up from your seat, you rushed to his side. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It is nothing to worry about,” he growled as you sat beside him, peeling away his cloak to inspect the wound. “I will heal fast. After all, at the moment, I am still full of you.”

Placing your palm over the wound, you glared into his eyes.

Sirion laughed. “Don’t give me such a look.” He languidly placed his hands over his face, hiding but a slip of his eyes. “Not when we should be celebrating.”

You huffed. “You haven’t rested either.”

Placing his long, heavy arm around you, Sirion pulled you in close. “I was far too excited.” He relaxed his body as yours drew closer. “It will be just us now. No hiding, no secrets, no shadows.” His eyes gazed up to the roof of the carriage where a starry night scene was painted. “A place of moonlight,” he breathed.

You were exhausted as well, and resting your head upon his chest was the most sumptuous pillow you could find.

When you woke, the carriage had stopped. You raised from the seat, rubbing your eyes as you gazed around. Outside you heard voices, Sirion’s was among them. As you opened the door and peered out, you saw a dark, endless scene of pillars and dark. The air was musky and cold, and echoes of water were all around.

“There he is.” Sirion’s voice guided you to his visage, standing in the light of a torch. “Come,” he beckoned to you. “They will be taking care of you.”

“For what?” You frowned, looking at the tall, pale woman before you and her short, somewhat hairy companion.

Sirion held onto your shoulders and chuckled. “To prepare you for your new life, of course. To be my groom.”

Your heart pounded, taking another look at the couple before you.

“I’ll be fixing your hair,” the man said and spit to the side.

The woman smirked, amused by the man’s behavior. “And I have clothes for you, Sirion requested a lavish wardrobe for you, my lord.”

The pulse of your heart was likely noticed by everyone in your presence. “Really?” You looked up at Sirion in awe.

“Really,” he chuckled. He pushed against your back. “They will take care of you, and I will rest.”

You followed the man and woman, taken to a bunker-like building. Inside was lavish in a pauper type of way. Things that had once been grand mixed with others that looked stolen or upgraded. 

The man had you sit in a chair while he took out a glimmering silver razor and scissor set. In a rage, your father had lopped off your hair, leaving it uneven, in hanging chunks, and skin close patches. You were relieved to feel the hairy man’s scissors snip away and the cold of the razor against the back of your neck.

Meanwhile the woman pulled out a trunk, an extra package set aside upon the top which she opened. Inside was a dark red and black suit. The material looked familiar to you, but you couldn’t place it.

“There now,” the man turned you in the chair. “How does that look?”

The mirror was broken, but you still appeared in it just fine, unlike the man and woman. Your hair was masculine, swooped to the side and the flowing front tucked behind your ear and the sides shaved short due to your fathers assault. It was how you always wanted to look. You looked like the man you knew you were.

“That’s amazing,” you whispered, touching your face.

The woman then approached from behind. “And your new wardrobe is even better!” She said excitedly. “Come, come, you must get dressed.”

The man walked off, going to prepare something in the corner while the woman dressed you.  She took note of the bite mark on your thigh, giving you a wink and a smile. She dressed you in the fine suit, making sure the hems set right and everything fit. 

“Perfect! The measurements were precise.” She moved you to the mirror again, showing you yourself. The suit hugged what it needed and hid what you didn’t want. You looked like the vision you saw in your head, the one that never had appeared to you before. Tears came to your eyes.

“I knew it! I did it!” The woman clapped her hands together then turned to the man, taking from him a silver clutch. She opened it, showing you the needle inside. “Sirion will know the rest,” she whispered to you. “He always provides.”

Still in tears, you weren’t sure how to respond.

The man and woman finished your meeting by giving you food, which seemed a bit jumbled, but you were hungry so the meal didn’t matter.

Afterwards, you were presented to Sirion, whose grin could have matched yours. He ran up to you, scooping you up and tossing you about in the air.

“My dashing prince!” he announced loudly and proudly. “Look how you shine!” He hugged you to his chest, his long fingers grasped around your head. “I knew you were meant for the finery of the vampires.” He smoothed his palms down your collar. “I had her make this from the suit I was wearing when we first met.”

That’s where it seemed so familiar! You beamed from ear to ear, even larger than before. “I love it,” you breathed into his chest. “Thank you!”

He stroked your hair, feeling the closely shaved sides with a delicate touch. “From now on, you will be seen. I promise. Where we are going, you will only see your best self.” He then laughed. “We don’t use mirrors much, but I have one just for you.” He bent down, kissing you. His lips were cool, but you had grown to love that feeling.

Once in the carriage again, Sirion had you in his lap, his hand in your pants touching you, feeling your desire from him grow.

“Seeing you like this, it makes me feel alive again,” he chuckled into your ear. His voice was breathy, deep, full of longing. “I cannot wait for us to make love for the first time.”

You moaned, fidgeting a bit in his lap. His fingers curled, eliciting a deep moan from your lips. “But we have.”

“Not like this,” he growled. “Not in freedom.” His fingers were slick, making wetter sounds as he moved. “I doubt I can hold myself until we reach safety.”

“You don’t have to,” you gasped. “We can-” You kept losing your breath from his touch. “We can do it now.”

Sirion breathed something of his old language into your ear. “I would enjoy that very much.”

Enjoy the rest as a free member over on Patreon!

[coffeeghoulie]

Ghostober Day #29: Phone/Video

Much thanks to @kroas-adtam for putting Ghostober together <3

Pairing: Mountain/Dew/Aether

Aether sets some rules for Dew when he goes off on tour without him. Mountain finds a work around. Inspired by this post by @forlorn-crows

Explicit, 4k. Contains possessive Aether, anal sex, masturbation, mentions of piercings, stomach bulge, begging, and aftercare.

Divider by @wrathofrats <3

Aether wakes slowly, as he always does. His bed is too empty and too cold, but he still snoozes his alarm three times before he notices he has messages. He grumbles, still half asleep, pawing at his nightstand until he finds his glasses. He unlocks his phone as he shoves them on.

It's been hard, to say the least, being without his pack and without his mate at his side. He's never been away from Dew for more than a week before. Human technology makes it a little easier, but texts and calls barely hold a candle to the bonfire that is having Dew in his arms, in his bed, at his mercy.

Aether hadn't thought it fair that Dew would be in the company of their entire pack (minus Sunny, who'd be staying behind with him), all of them in close quarters and hopped up on adrenaline and constantly, perpetually horny. Dew's loved by the entire pack, but he's Aether's before he's anyone else's.

So he'd set some rules. Dew hadn't thought they were exactly fair, but a few orgasms had changed the tune he'd been singing.

Aether had been, quite smugly, saving every picture Dew had sent him over the last few months. Various hotel rooms, his bunk on the bus, the bathrooms and showers backstage at several venues.

Dew's spindly fingers in focus. Sometimes glamoured pale, sometimes soot gray and clawed. Covered in pearly, sticky cum, sometimes even with his stiffy still in his grip, just as messy.

"If I have to get off only to the thought of you for the next few months, darling," Aether had crooned in Dew's ear the night before the fire ghoul had left for tour, "Then you can only get off to the thought of me. Nobody else, alright, love?"

And to this point, much to Aether's delighted surprise, Dew's been a good boy (He really shouldn't be surprised. He's been Aether's good boy for a very long time, and Aether's put in a lot of effort in making him a good boy). He's sent Aether a picture of every single time he's cum to the thought of his mate and his hand.

If he's lucky, if Dew has the energy and the privacy to do it, Aether gets a video instead. He's never cum faster in his own hand than hearing his mate's breath hitching, whiny begging through tinny speakers, pleading his mate to let him get off. How much he needs it. A mouth, a cock, a cunt, a hand that's not his own, fucking anything, please Aether. But Dew's always good for Aether, follows his rules to the letter.

With the timezone difference, between his pack touring and him being back at the main Abbey, Aether often wakes up to new material to hoard in his spank bank.

He doesn't have to report to the infirmary for another hour and a half; plenty of time to squeeze one out. He blinks as he puts on his glasses. To his surprise, and his half-chubbed cock's dismay, there's no new messages from Dew.

There are, however, several text messages from Mountain.

Sweet Thing <3: you asked me and cirr to take care of the pack while we're away, and he's been really worked up the last couple of days so i thought i'd take care of him.

Sweet Thing <3: don't worry, i made sure he didn't break any rules ;)

Sweet Thing <3 sent a video attachment (816 MB)

Sweet Thing <3:you know what, maybe don't watch this if you're not alone. have a good morning, nova!

Aether opens his phone, opening his messages. They're all timestamped from about half an hour ago, the middle of the night for his pack, but just before sunrise for him.

The video attachment's thumbnail is black. Aether feels his curiosity piquing, glancing around his room like anybody'd be listening in. He's probably just paranoid, the band ghoul wing pitifully empty barring him and Sunny, but he grabs his earbuds just in case. He props himself up against the headboard with a grunt, blinking the last of the sleep from his eyes as he clicks play on the video, unmuting it.

The screen is dark, the phone camera-side down somewhere. The first thing Aether hears is Mountain's voice. "Oh, come on, droplet. You won't get in trouble. I won't let you."

Aether's heart sings when he hears Dew's voice, even though it's a little standoffish, nervous. Breathy in a way Aether's intimately familiar with. "He, shit, explicitly told me I wasn't fucking allowed to, Mount."

Mountain's laughter, warm and rumbling. "There's a way around it, droplet. You needed this, and he left me and Cirrus in charge. I'm taking care of my pack. I don't care what he told you."

Aether's tail bats against the mattress, a low growl building in his throat, a completely useless threat display for someone who's across an ocean at the very moment. He's not an idiot. He knows what had been happening while he slept. His mate, underneath another ghoul despite explicit instructions. Another ghoul butting his way between them. Even if it is just Mountain.

"Are you sure, Mount?" Dew's voice sounds small, nervous. The soft rustle of fingers through hair.

"I promise, droplet."

The camera pulls back as Mountain picks his phone up, struggling to focus until Mountain manually does it. Instantly, the anger roiling in Aether's gut quenches at the sight of his mate. He's beautiful, body on full display, little obsidian horns shining, copper hair splayed out on the pillow under his head. It glints in the yellow lamplight, molten metal.

There's a blush already on his cheeks, spilling down his sternum, staining creamy pale skin. Aether's eyes rake down Dew's body hungrily. He's seen Dew, mostly just like this, through a screen, but he's greedy for every glimpse he can get.

Mountain rumbles appreciatively, tinny through the speakers, as the camera pans down to the sharp lines of Dew's hipbones. He's already ruddy and leaky, his cock stiff and shiny. Dew's fingers curl into the bedding, blinking doe-eyed up at the camera.

"Mount," he breathes, narrow chest heaving.

"Lucifer, look at you," Mountain says. Aether can't see his expression, but he knows intimately what he looks like when he's hungry with lust. The earth ghoul's even fallen into bed with the two of them, multiple times. Aether feels himself pulse in his flannel pants. He ignores it for now. Knows he's got better coming soon.

The camera shifts, Mountain nudging Dew's skinny thighs open. Even through the screen, Aether can see the glint of slick between his legs. His mouth waters, sense memory reminding him exactly what it to press his tongue to that tight little hole. He feels the jealousy reignite in his ribcage, that Mountain can, if he wants, drink from the source, while he has to settle with memory.

"So wet, Dew," Mountain groans, sliding two fingertips from his taint down to his hole, sliding in to the third knuckle with no resistance. "Tell me who got you like this."

Dew's brow furrows, confusion dancing in those candlelight eyes. He whines as Mountain's fingers don't move, just still inside of his ass. "Mount-"

Mountain tsks, pulling his fingers out as Dew reaches up to him in protest. They shine in the lamplight. "No, I didn't get you like this. Who got you like this? I know you know who did. Tell him."

Slowly, through the haze of lust and nerves, realization burns into Dew's expression. His eyes glance up to the camera. "Aether," he moans, and a bolt of heat shoots straight to Aether's balls. "Aether got me like this, I'm wet for Aether, I'm wet for you."

Aether shoves his hand down the front of his pants, giving his bulge a squeeze to ease the sudden pressure. He can't tear his eyes away from his little mate.

He watches Dew yelp as Mountain gives him his fingers back, prepping him quickly but thoroughly. Through his earbuds, Aether can hear just how wet Dew is, stomach swooping at the obscenity.

Mountain pulls his fingers out, wiping his slick onto the scratchy hotel covers. Aether almost growls at the waste, but then Mountain's cock is in frame and Dew whines, eyes wide. "Mountain," he breathes, voice hitching as he glances down.

Aether considers himself well-endowed, in the humblest way a ghoul can be, thick and heavy. But Mountain blows him out of the water, long and veiny and difficult to take on the best of days. But he's seen at least most of the prep Dew's gotten, and his fingers tense around his phone at the idea of Dew taking him like this. Carved open and used.

"Tell me what you want," Mountain says, and Aether tears his eyes away from Dew for a moment to watch the earth ghoul stroke himself, spreading what's left of Dew's slick over himself.

"I want Aether to fuck me," Dew whines, hips nudging up. His little cock kicks against his hip, smearing globs of precum into the hollow of his hip. "I want my mate's cock. Aeth, I want you."

Mountain sighs endearingly, his other hand settling on Dew's hip. "I'm not Aether, firefly, but we can pretend for now, can't we?"

Aether curses, shoving his flannel pants and boxers down, his own cock springing up and smacking against his belly before he can get his hand on it. He hisses through his teeth as he squeezes the base, and he misses what Mountain says next. A bead of precum wells up in the slit.

He watches Mountain nudge the ruddy head of his cock against Dew's taint, sliding down to his hole. All three ghouls hold their breaths.

Dew and Mountain must be having a discussion with expressions, or thoughts, because Dew nods and less than a split second later, Mountain's pushing in. Dew's face melts in pleasure, candlelight eyes rolling back into his head, mouth falling lax and open.

Aether bites his lip hard, squeezing his cock hard so he doesn't spill over himself already. A quick check reveals there's still twenty minutes left of the video. He can't cum yet. He can't tear his eyes away.

Slowly, glacially slowly, Mountain presses in. Dew takes his bottom lip between his fangs, biting down hard to hold back a mewl as his body splits open around him. His hands curl into fists, white knuckling the comforter under him. Aether tentatively starts to stroke himself just as slow.

It feels like it takes forever, but eventually Mountain's hips kiss the backs of Dew's thighs, both of the ghouls groaning as he sheathes himself.

"Fuck, nova," Mountain rumbles. "He's so fucking wet and hot. Squeezing the fucking life out of me."

Aether growls, but Mountain keeps talking. The camera focuses on where their bodies meet, and Aether can see Mountain's thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. "Fuck," he grunts, jerking himself off a little faster, pulling the foreskin back from the head.

"You doing alright, droplet?" Mountain asks, petting up Dew's flank, trying to soothe him from the intense stretch.

Dew shakily nods, his narrow chest heaving. It makes his nipple piercings glint in the lamplight. Aether wants nothing more than to tweak them between his fingers. Or maybe suck on them. Taste Dew's skin and metal. "Just- just gimme a second. Please."

"Of course, Dewey," Mountain assures him. "You're being so good. Gonna take care of you. Gonna be a good packmate and make sure you're satisfied the way I know Aether does."

Aether rucks the hem of his shirt up. He doesn't want to risk staining it with cum. With the way Dew cries out, it's very much a possibility he's going to blow early in a way he hasn't since he was fresh Up Top.

He watches Dew breath shakily, eyes glancing from the camera, past it to Mountain, and back. He looks almost shy, innocent. Aether's reminded viscerally of the first time they'd slept together, the first time Dew'd had sex in his brand new vessel Up Top, laid out on his back in Aether's bed. His balls ache, but he wills himself not to cum. Mountain hasn't even started moving yet.

Dew rests a hand over his sternum, feeling his own fluttery pulse and breathing. It smooths down his chest, pausing for a moment to tweak and tug at his own nipples. The noises he makes are liquid arousal shot straight into his veins. "'M ready, Mount," he says, voice steady despite the way his chest heaves.

He can't see it, but Aether imagines the crooked smile Mountain gives him. "Alright, firefly. Remember, this isn't me."

Dew nods shakily, shuddering with a moan. "Right, it's Aeth."

"Put on a show for him, Dewey," Mountain says, pulling out and sliding back into Dew with a gut-punched groan.

Aether can't look away from him, the way his eyes roll back the same moment as his dick kicks hard against his hip. It's pink and ruddy and sticky-shiny already. He mewls, sharp and whiny, his entire posture melting with relief as Mountain starts to fuck him nice and slow and steady.

Dew's hand slides down past his chest, fingers skating over the coppery hair trailing down from his belly button. His fingertips rest just millimeters from the head of his dick, toying with the pool of pre. Aether tears his eyes away for a moment to watch Dew's lashes flutter at the stretch of the cock inside of him.

They widen suddenly as Mountain pushes in a little more forcefully, staring up at Mountain before locking onto the camera. Aether feels pinned like a particularly interesting moth.

"I- I- Mount, I can feel him," Dew breathes, his hand pressing down onto the flat plain of his belly, no doubtedly feeling Mountain's cock inside of his body. Mountain rewards him with another shove of his hips.

Aether curses as the two of them groan, tinny through his earbuds. A facsimile of the real thing, but Aether cannot afford to be a chooser right now. Besides, it's going straight to his dick anyways.

He strokes himself, feeling the roll of his piercings against his hand. There's lube in his nightstand, but he can't be assed. Aether just stops for a moment to spit in his palm, using that to ease the way.

Mountain picks up the pace, long fingers wrapped tight around Dew's hip. The camera stays steady as Dew wails, scrabbling at the covers. The force of his thrusts shoves Dew higher and higher up the bed. The cheap hotel bedding rustles as Mountain pulls Dew harshly back onto his cock, Dew's wail sharp and loud.

Aether has to fight to keep his eyes open, feeling his cock pulse against his palm as he jerks himself off. The image of his mate getting fucked within an inch of his life is sending him hurtling towards his own orgasm and he doesn't want to cum yet. But in the darkness behind his eyelids, Dew's cries, the slick sound of Mountain's cock spearing into him, the squeak of the cheap bedsprings all go straight to his balls.

"Droplet, what did he tell you that the rule was?" Mountain's voice, strained around the edges, cuts through it all. Aether watches Dew's eyes cloud with confusion, head tipped back and exposing the column of his throat.

Mountain doesn't stop fucking him, one hand bodily moving him up and down his cock. It takes Dew a solid minute to actually get the words out.

"He told me- fuck!- He told me I- shit- He told me I had to cum to the thought of him!" Dew cries out as Mountain slams into him. "I couldn't cum for anyone else! Had to be me getting off to him."

"And you're thinking of him right now, aren't you?" Mountain prompts. Dew's eyes roll back, hand still over the flat of his belly. His dick jumps, blurting out more pre. "What he's doing to you?"

Dew moans, sharp and airy, and Aether almost drops his phone. His own cock throbs. The mess of spit and pre is spilling over his knuckles as he squeezes a little tighter. Aether's callouses rub just right, a bite of friction.

"He's fuckin' me," Dew slurs, squeezing his eyes shut. "Aether's fuckin' me." Mountain's hand tightens around the meat of Dew's skinny thigh. Aether growls possessively at the thought of it bruising. Another ghoul's mark on his mate's body.

"No," Mountain chides softly, tone juxtaposed by the force that he fucks him with. "He's back at home. We're sending him a little treat for him to wake up to. To show him that you're following the rules."

Dew starts to moan again, but Mountain moves the camera down to where he disappears into Dew's body. It's slick and obscene, shiny in the light, and Aether strokes himself at the same brutal pace Mountain sets. He wants to close his eyes and imagine his fist is Dew's ass, that the sounds Mountain's drawing out of his mouth are because of him.

But closing his eyes means that he won't see Dew's hand wrap around himself, squeezing his little cock as his balls start to draw up to his body. So he keeps them open.

"That's it, firefly," Mountain groans, the camera starting to shake as they both lose themselves in chasing pleasure. "You're being so good for your mate."

Off screen, Dew yelps as a thrust drags along a sensitive spot inside of him. More precum spills down his ruddy shaft. It drips over his knuckles the same way Aether's is right now.

"You're going to cum, not because of me. You're going to make yourself cum," Mountain says, growling like a rockslide. "You're following his rules, he's so lucky he's got such a good, obedient mate."

Aether moans, nothing to muffle the noise. Not like he cares. He's watching Dew fall apart around Mountain's cock. Nothing else matters. He tries to ignore the burning jealousy in the pit of his chest. This is the best wake up call he's gotten in months.

"Fuck," Dew hisses, spindly fingers wrapped tight around himself. "Right fucking there, Lucifer, Mount!"

Mountain growls, low and dangerous. He freezes, drawing a pathetic whimper from the little fire ghoul under him.

The camera jolts up to Dew's face, teary and jaw lax with pleasure. "Mount-" he starts to whine, looking past the camera, but then Mountain's other hand comes up to grab him by the jaw. Dew's gaze is forced to the lens, and Aether nearly cums then and there at the dazed look in his eyes, only a thin copper ring remaining of his irises.

"What did I say, Dew?" Mountain rumbles. "Who are you getting off for?"

Aether watches enraptured as the gears turn in Dew's fucked out mind. "Aeth," he whines, eyes struggling to focus on the camera. "Aeth, please."

And if that doesn't make Aether's balls draw up, his mate begging for him. Saying please without it being dragged and forced out of him.

"Cum for your mate, Dewdrop," Mountain orders. "Look at him and make yourself cum for Aether."

The camera pulls back just in time to capture Dew's hand moving frantically over his cock before he cums all the way up to his pierced nipples. His candlelight eyes roll back with a whimpered cry, and that's all Aether needs to follow him.

Aether shouts as his orgasm hits him like a bus, release thick and hot where it shoots over his belly, dribbling over his knuckles as he works himself through it. His head swims.

Mountain pulls out, and Aether is too out of it to care if he came or not. When he watches this back after his shift, maybe he'll pay more attention, but he could not care less.

But the camera focuses on Dew's teary, blissed out face once more. "Tell him thank you, droplet. Show him."

Dew smiles, eyes half lidded. "Came for you, starshine," he slurs, trying to catch his breath as the aftershocks wrack through him. He holds up his hand, covered in spend, and starts to lick it up.

The video cuts off. Aether pants, his release cooling on his belly and his knuckles as he tries to catch his breath. His head spins. He plops his phone against his chest, letting his eyes shut for a moment.

"Infernal fucking Majesty," he curses the moment he has the breath to do so. He presses the little star on the hotbar at the bottom of the screen to save it to his favorites before he even thinks about getting up to clean himself up.

He gives himself three minutes to catch his breath before he gets up. The cum cooling on his belly is starting to cake in his thick happy trail, and it's beginning to get uncomfortable. He gets up with a groan, figuring he'll just shower it off before he has to go to work anyways. He's got an hour before he has to clock in still, he's got time.

When Aether finishes washing up, he heads back to his bed to snooze for just a little bit before he actually does have to get ready to work. His phone screen lights up with a notification and he rushes to grab it.

Sweet Thing <3: Rise and shine, nova

Sweet Thing <3: We're about to go to bed, but he'd like to talk to you if you're up and have the time

Aether scrambles for his earbuds again. He can't hit the video call button in Mountain's contact information fast enough. Mountain answers on the second ring, hands too big for his phone even in half-glamour.

He sees the same shitty hotel bedding, reflecting the yellow lamplight off of it. Some garish yet forgettable wallpaper, a cheap headboard. And there in the center of the screen, Dew and Mountain. They've cleaned up since whenever the video had been recorded, their hair damp and braided back. Aether recognizes the shirt Dew's swimming in as one of his own. They both look exhausted, Dew especially. He nuzzles into Mountain's chest, one orange eye peeking half lidded at the phone screen.

It widens when he sees Aether on the screen, a little bit of nerves and a lot of fondness in his expression.

Aether smiles, big and genuine. "Hi, baby," he coos, a little bit of the weight on his heart easing. "I hear you'd like to talk."

Dew nods, almost imperceptibly, and Mountain smiles, petting over the fire ghoul's back with a broad hand. "Did- you watched it." Dew says, voice almost small. It's such a difference from his usual little spitfire that Aether's head spins. He wants nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms.

"Yeah, darling, I saw. And thoroughly enjoyed," Aether laughs, though not unkindly. "Just got back from the bathroom. You made a mess of me. Thank you for cumming for me."

Dew smiles, that little mischievous spark that Aether loves dancing in his eye. "Sorry for breaking the rules, Aeth, I'm glad it made up for it."

Aether laughs, and he can hear Mountain's rumbling chuckle. It moves Dew bodily, and that smile falls from his face like water draining in the sink basin. "Aether? Mount?"

"I wasn't going to mention you breaking your rules about getting fucked by the others, my darling, this seems like it was our dear Mountain's idea," Aether coos, dark and almost dangerous. "But making up for it? We'll see about making up for it when you come home."

Dew shudders, eyes going wide. Aether cannot for the life of him hide the way the thought makes him grin.

"Get some sleep, baby boy. You two've got a long day tomorrow," Aether says, wicked grin fading into something genuine and fond. "I'll call on my break. I love you two."

"Love you too, nova," Mountain says, flashing a boyish smile as he pulls Dew closer to him. "Have a good day at work."

"Good night, Aeth," Dew whispers. "I love you too. Can't wait to get back."

"Neither can I. Sleep well, baby boy."

Aether hangs up, already thinking about what he'll do when Dew comes home.

[gingernut1314]

Turkey and Cheese ch. 2

Summary: On the run from enforcers, you collide straight into someone in your rush. Someone whose seafoam eyes take your breath away and all you want to do is spend a little bit more time with him.

Content: female reader x Silco, pre-season 1 arcane, first meeting, gendered terms, reader has water manipulation powers, young Silco, young reader, you share a stolen sandwich with Silco, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: They characters will age up, but the plan I have set up is reader meets Silco and the others when they are all still teens so there is only going to be like...one or two more chapters as teens and then we're getting aged up. I hope you all enjoy!!

↞ to The Water's Cold Embrace Masterlist | Arcane Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠

You got too much joy picking on the Enforcers that hang around the bridge that separated the shining city of Piltover and the not-so-bright Undercity. You stole their lunches and their coin, called them every name under the sun, and threw rocks at them from dark corners. 

It pissed them the fuck off making it prime entertainment for you.

Your guardian, Janna, disapproved of your shenanigans. The lectures were too long whenever you were caught. Lectures about reasonability and grace and blah, blah, blah . 

So, to avoid such mind-numbing lectures, you waited until Janna disappeared for days on end to let chaos ensue.

And this fog-heavy day was one of those days.

Your stomach growled, clenching and twisting in hunger as you knelt on top of one of the run-down tenement houses near the bridge. You watched four Enforcers walk out of the broader toll house, switching posts with the other four Enforcers standing before the bridge. 

You had been watching them for most of the night, counting and double counting how many Enforcers were on duty. You counted nine in total, which was one less than there had been last time you’d done this. 

Someone must be sick or had been fired or, maybe, they were dead. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter one bit to you. All you cared about now was earning a few coins and getting a homemade meal from someone's spouse for a late dinner.

You rushed into action after one last scan of the area, before rushing across the roofs. When you came to the end of this line of tenements, you hopped down onto the fire escape below, a small grunt escaping your lips before starting down the rusting stairs. 

Once on the ground, you yanked your hood up and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to keep a low profile as you walked the short distance across the recently redone cobblestoned road. You disappeared into the large shadows the street lamps cast, walking along the smooth wall of the tollhouse.

“Beth just got accepted into that fancy college she wanted.” A gruff voice filtered out from a small, open window. 

“Well, shit--” Was the last of that conversation you heard as you climbed up a ladder around the back of the building. 

You stayed crouched low as you made way to the vent in the center of the roof. You had used this vent for years, but, as you quietly pulled the metal covering off and lowered yourself into the vent system, found it might be one of your last times. 

You were getting too big to fit in the vent.

This was a child's game, as unfortunate as it was to admit, and at the ripe age of fourteen, you were no child anymore. 

“We’ve been saving up--” And blah, blah, blaaahhhh . 

Enforcers rarely had anything exciting to talk about. It was always about someone's family or about whatever game they had gone to watch. It had nearly sent you into tears as you crawled through the vents. 

Where was the excitement? The danger? 

Didn’t Encforcer beat Undercityians up for fun? 

You finally made it to the vent in the locker room area. It was bland and hardly fit hardly enough lockers for every enforcer stationed here, but to you, it was a gold mine. 

You opened the vent, placing it slowly on the other side of the vent shaft, and hopped into the room, hitting the ground on near-silent feet and a held-in grunt. You waited a few seconds to see if anyone had heard you before starting on opening each locker and taking as many coin potches as you could find. The only good thing the last locker had to offer was a piece of gum instantly shoved into your mouth. 

Just as you opened the fridge and grabbed someone's paper bag lunch, the door opened. 

Your blood went cold. You've been caught one too many times over the years, but each time it happened it never helped ease your nerves. 

A younger-looking Enforcer saw you instantly, his eyes narrowing in something like confusion. You didn’t recognize this Enforcer from past interactions, so you assumed he was new. 

“Hey! Who the hell are you?” 

“No one.” You pulled on the most innocent look you could muster, hiding the lunch behind your back. “I think I might have taken a wrong turn.” 

“A wrong--” The Enforcer then saw the open and ransacked lockers. It clicked then, what had happened here right under his nose. 

Before the Enforcer had time to speak, you pushed past him into the small hallway. 

“Hey!” He shouted after you but you were already booking it into the office area where six enforcers sat. They noticed you almost instantly, rising from their seats in the blink of an eye. One tried to grab you, but you twisted out of his way and dodged another on-coming man. 

The front door open with a bang and all but threw yourself into the street, your gum falling from your mouth in the process. 

“Grab her!” One of the enforcers shouted, singling the four others standing before the bridge. Those four were too far away to do any grabbing, so you didn’t feel the need to be worried about them. 

You ran downwards, toward the looming city you called home. As you ran closer and closer, the air seemed to get thicker-- dirtier than that of the air by the bridge. This wasn’t anything new to you, your throat and lungs taking less than a second to adjust to the polluted air. 

The continuous shouting from behind let you know that the Enforcers were still hot on your tail. You would either lose them eventually in this maze of run-down buildings and streets or they would give up, finding they didn’t want to venture as far into the city as you were going to take them. 

Time would only tell which it would be, so you pushed yourself harder. 

You made the first sharp turn into a familiar alleyway, an enforcer that had been getting too close to you tripping and falling into a couple of barrels full of fish. You gave a sharp laugh, looking over your shoulder to watch that scene unfold in your utter glee.

And just as you made to turn back around, you collided into something solid and bony.

You and the person you’d just hit at full speed went tumbling to the ground, each giving own round of curses. 

A pair of blue-green eyes halted your escape. A pair of eyes that took your breath away…well, maybe it had been from the impact but your breath was differently stolen and these eyes--eyes like seafoam weren’t helping.

The blue-green eyes were attached to a thin, sharp face covered in skin that looked like it hardly got out in the sun. 

Though everyone down here always had that “hardly seen the sun” look about them. 

This guy was very attractive. Too attractive some might say. 

So attractive it almost had you forgetting about the four enforcers running after you. 

 The blue-green eyes narrowed up at you, completely pissed off. 

“Get the hell off--” 

 “She’s in there!” The enforcer that had just fallen into fish guts shouted to his coworkers. The boy’s eyes widened and he looked past you to find what you already knew was coming into the alley. 

“Do you have a canteen?” The boy snapped back to you, anger written clear on his face. 

“What? No--” You gave him an eye roll. 

Who didn't carry a water canteen with them? 

Well…you didn’t, but that was beside the point. 

“A flask?” You tried again.

“You ran into me and brought enforcers with you and you're asking me if I have a--” He gave a startled sort of sound as you began patting him down. You’d grown tired of his rambling. You found a flask in his jacket in an inner pocket and gave a little sound of triumph. 

“Thank you!” You sweetly spoke, pushing yourself off the guy who looked so bewildered by you it was cute . You turned your attention back onto the four enforcers blocking the exit. 

“Thought you could get away with it this time, girl .” One of them hissed through his mask. You recognized this man to be Rufus, an Enforcer that had been stationed on the bridge the longest. 

“But whatever did I do, sir? ” He gave a growl, taking a step forward that was meant to be threatening. 

“Give it back and we’ll forget this ever happened.” You knew that was a lie. As soon as you got close enough, they’d grab you and throw you in jail. 

“Promise?” Rufus was growing impatient, you could see it in his brown, tired eyes.

“ Promise .” He grit out. This made you smile. 

“Alright, mister.” You pulled the flask out from behind your back then. “Catch!” And the flask was tossed Rufus’s way. 

You let your magic flow through your veins and felt for the water in the alcohol. 

Rufus caught the flask with ease. He looked from it to you. 

“What is--” With great effort, you made the little bit of water in the alcohol explode. The flask broke into pieces, shooting up into his eyes. He gave a scream and that was your queue to leave. 

You snapped around, finding the boy standing there, shock on his face. He had a lean build and was very, very tall. It just added to his overall attractiveness. 

Focus!  

“Time to go!” You swiped the fallen lunch off the ground and grabbed for the boy in one go, pulling him further down the alley.

It only took the boy a moment to regain his right mind and in a split second, he was the one pulling you along.

You followed the boy, climbing up on top of the dumper closest to the broken fire escape. You let go of his arm so he could launch himself at the escape, slamming into the railing with a bang. Once he was over the rusting railing, you were quick to jump and slam into the escape.

The boy grabbed your wrist once your two feet were safely on the other side of the railing before continuing to drag you up stair after stair until you made it to the roof, which someone had been trying to grow some kind of plants on. Just with a quick glance at the spotting plant, you could tell it wasn’t going very well. 

Shouting from the enforcers below had you wiggling out of the boy's grip and looking over the edge, finding one had climbed up onto the dumpster while the others looked defeated. 

“If it's any consolation, you’ll be feeding a poor underling for a day or so.” You shouted down to them, waving the bag mockingly.

“Don’t think this is over, girl!” Rufus spat. You only gave him a cheeky smile. 

“Tell your wife she makes the best turkey and cheese sandwiches. I’ve been looking forward to it all month.” Rufus gave a growl before storming out of the alley. Slowly, the other enforcers followed after him, throwing you dirty looks as they left.  

The boy grabbed you then, whipping you around to face him. 

You weren’t always the best at figuring out how people were feeling, mainly thanks to being raised by a seemingly emotionless wind spirit, but you could tell in a moment this guy was angry. 

“If this is about your flask, I’m--” The guy was quick to not let you finish. 

“What the hell were you thinking, bringing enforcers to the Lanes?” He snapped. You merely gave him a very slow blink.

“I’m fully prepared to buy you a new one.” You finished, earning a frustrated growl from the guy. 

You liked what he had going on--this uptight, angry, authoritative thing. You liked it so much it made you want to tease him to no end. 

“Why I’m trying to get a child to see reason--” 

“Whoa there.” You held a hand up, further cutting him off. “You’re like--what, a year older than me?” He narrowed his seafoam blue eyes at you once more.

“You can’t be older than twelve.” 

“Nope! Fourteen.” The guy rolled his eyes.

“A child.” 

“Alright, mister-high-and-mighty. How old are you then?” 

“It hardly matters.” Your mouth fell open in disbelief, but before you could nag him anymore, he continued. “You realize they will be back.” You pulled out of the guy's grip again and began walking across the roof. 

To your surprise, the boy followed. 

“The reason I pick on those buffoons at the bridge is because I know their threats are empty.” You opened the brown paper bag and rummaged around until you found a foil-wrapped sandwich your stomach had been growling to get a bite out of. “Especially Rufus.” You took one of the halves out and extended it to the boy. “Want some? It’s the good stuff.” He looked it over for a moment, eyes still narrowed. 

You could tell he didn’t want to take it from you, not when he still looked so annoyed at you…so you gave it a little wiggle that pulled a sigh from his mouth. 

“Thank you.” He took it from you, his eyes finally softening. His fingers brushed the tiniest bit against yours, but it was enough to send sparks running through your every last nerve. 

You watched the boy as he took a bite from the sandwich. Watched as his eyes widened the slightest bit. It was so slight most wouldn’t have noticed, but you had been watching him too intently. 

“Right? It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” You gave him a bright smile. One you rarely ever gave--one that was genuine --before chomping down into your own half.

You hopped up on the edge of the roof, which overlooked the whole of the Lanes. From up here, you could spot the tops of the highest buildings and the smoke billowing up from the mines beneath the city. Smoke that danced and twirled upward, illuminating the lights shining from across the city. In the day, the smoke would cast the sky in murky shades of gray, depending on how bright the sun was shining. 

It was quite beautiful, despite its run-down and polluted nature. 

It was still your home. 

“I didn’t mean to bring the enforcers here…but maybe I gave someone the chance to get across that golden bridge--for them to seek their fortune or a fresh start.” You looked back to the boy who had jumped up onto the edge with you. He turned his gaze towards you, scanning you over with seemingly all-seeing eyes. Eyes that made your skin seem to burn.

“Is that what you want?” The question shocked you.

In The Lanes, most didn’t get too close to one another. Not unless they had to. It was a very lonely world, but you endured.

“No,” You scoffingly said. You wouldn’t even last a day over there. You were too wild, too much a part of the Undercity. You gave the boy a look over of your own, though much less all-seeing as his had been. 

“What about you?” You cautiously asked. Though you didn’t at all mind sharing things about yourself, you didn’t know how this guy was. All you knew is you enjoyed his company….and you didn’t want to be alone all over again quite yet. 

“No,” He replayed, looking back over the city. “There’s too much potential here.” 

You liked that. You liked that a lot . 

You took another big bite from your sandwich, letting the night air fill the quiet between you two. 

You swallowed, glancing back over him as you worked up the courage to speak again. 

And once that small bit of courage was wrestled up, you told him your name.

The boy turned his eyes back on you, his longish brown hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He seemed to hesitate too for a moment.

“Silco.” He spoke before finishing off his half of the sandwich. 

You liked his name. You liked it almost as much as you liked his face. 

“How did you manage to make my flask to explode?” You smirked, turning away from the boy, Silco , once more. 

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” Silco gave a laugh. It was a tiny huffing one, but a laugh nonetheless. 

You liked his laugh. You liked more than his name and face.

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[k-evans-reads]

The Spare

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Summary: When Princess Rosie unexpectedly is thrust into a political tour of the country, a working-class Air Force Captain is assigned to be her pilot. Although the princess is unhappy about the decision, she realizes she’s stepping into unknown territory when the unexpected happens

Intro l Main Masterlist | The Spare Masterlist

By @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

Word Count: 5,672

The door shut firmly behind the Princess’ Private Secretary, leaving the four highest-ranking members of the Royal Family in the oversized room alone. An uneasy silence lingered past the echo’s reverberation, only adding to Rosalie’s anxiety. She shifted on the plush cushion, running her hand along and smoothing her skirt as she cleared her throat and looked towards her father, asking, “What did you hear from the doctor? Do they know for sure what’s going on?”

The prim-and-proper King was unusually disheveled, wearing a wrinkled dress shirt, bare feet, and unstyled hair. It was always ingrained in the Royal Family from a young age that they were to uphold the image, the one of privilege, beauty, and elegance. She could still remember from a young age the uncomfortable hours on end she’d stand straight at parades, waving and smiling at each cheering member of the public as her feet ached and cried for relief. But as the years went on, the more strict the rules would become. Seeing the vast juxtaposition of the way her father looked now only reminded her how serious this was.

Her brow arched as she took her father’s appearance in more - the heaviness in his expression, the rigidity of his frown, the hunch of his shoulders. “They’re still looking into things further but what they know for sure is that it was a heart attack,” King Joseph began, pausing as his eyes danced over the portraits of their ancestors hanging from the walls around them. Then, Rosie felt a pang of sympathy as the familiar mask slipped over Joseph, as if an outsider or staffer walked into the room - the way the tension and strain left his body in a microsecond as he sat up straight, his frown leaving his face. “They think I’ll be fine but I probably do need some time to recover.”

A soft tut echoed from her mother’s lips - one that barely toed the line of daring to challenge him - before Genevieve gently corrected his words to their children, “No, they told him he had to have time to recover.”

Rosie’s head turned to look at James as he opened his mouth, but then took a beat then let out a breath as he delicately asked, “So what does that look like?”

The tension returned to Joseph’s body and in Rosalie’s stomach as reality set in for everyone. Everyone knew that this was a lot more than just a family worried about their father’s health, it meant so much for them and the country and she couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as he answered, “Probably a month off completely.” The King admitted unhappily to the Prince and Princess. Subconsciously, her posture straightened as his eyes landed on her, and she avoided the desire to avert her eyes under his occasionally-scrutinizing gaze. “Which would mean that I do need you to take over my duties during that time, and Rosalie, I will need you to officially take James’ spot on the tour. I know you were hoping that you wouldn’t have to fill in but I am going to need you.”

“It’s fine, we want to do what we can to help you recover,” she began, pausing as she struggled with how to word her concerns. Navigating a relationship with her father had always been a little bit difficult when they had moments that were more normal and familial and others that were all business. Royal life may have been hailed as glamorous and exciting, but Rosie knew how complicated and burdensome it could be. At times they felt like a real family, loving and caring for one another and having honest conversations but other times, they had to stay restrained, knowing that no matter what, the crown always came first. The truth of the matter was that - at times - her father’s role and actions intimidated her. Rarely did she have the loving paternal figure at her side as a child, more often under the care of the Palace nannies while her parents fulfilled their roles. Her thumbs itched to fiddle nervously but she restrained herself, instead finally asking, “What are we going to do about touring the coast with all the protests going on? Are we cutting that out?”

The King nodded, his lips pursed as he sprung into what was likely an already prepared response, “Well I think-”

But Genevieve rested her hand on the King’s arm, causing him to cut off as she reminded him, “No, you need to let James decide. He’s the one who’s taking on your duties, remember?”

A huff of air left his lips as he nodded shortly. “You’re right,” he conceded. “James, what do you want to do?”

The eldest was quiet for a long beat, his fingers tapping lightly on the plush arm of the couch. He stared straight ahead as he thought, his eyes landing on one of the portraits as well until his gaze turned to her, asking, “Rosie, do you have thoughts?”

A smirk appeared on her lips as she looked at James, catching the amusement in his eyes at the action. “Cancel the tour and don’t make me go,” she muttered playfully, ignoring the frustrated sigh from both of her parents.

“Very funny,” James chided, lightly elbowing Rosie in the hip as her father stared at her plainly.

But Rosie shook her head, her eyes staring at James. “You know I’m not kidding,” she reminded him. She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes quickly moving over her father before she looked at James again, remembering her earlier conversations with him about their younger sister. “I do terrible on these things anyway, I think Annie should go instead.”

Quickly, the King interrupted the siblings, declaring, “That’s not happening, Anneliese is too young and inexperienced.”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Rosie thought back to how different things had been for Annie as compared to herself and James’ childhoods. While Rosie and James spent much of their adolescence bouncing in and out of boarding schools, then stepping into international tours accompanied by the King and Queen, Annie had it different. She often was left behind at home, seen as “too young” while her siblings juggled their prestigious and elite schooling with the duties of active royals, despite their adolescence. There’d always been this double standard, and while she would do anything to keep Annie as far from the machine of Royal life, she wished she had the same choice for herself.

James simply arched an eyebrow, looking at the King and reminding him, “Aren’t I making the decisions here?”

But Joseph scowled, pointing out, “Well I haven’t heard you make one yet.”

Several beats of silence passed, the tension rising between James, Rosie, and Joseph. Finally, James huffed out a breath, running his hand over his shirt. “….Rosie you have to go,” he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

There was silence for a moment and Rosie could see how pleased James’ decision made their father. But despite that, she could see the struggle in James’ face as he contended with putting his sister or her duty first. “If we cut out the coastline visits though, then it would only be a month,” she began quietly, watching James carefully. “We would avoid the protests, and then I’d be back and dad can do the rest once he’s better. This seems like a great solution.”

Both father and son rolled their eyes at Rosie’s insistence in getting her way. She was steadfast in the fact that for four years now, she’d done more than her fair share of public service - spending more time on airplanes, trains, ships, and in cars than in her own bed. She’d missed so much, she missed her friends, getting to focus her efforts on her charity outreaches, and getting to see Annie grow into the young woman she was now. But despite that, it seemed no one else realized the toll covering for James and Joseph had taken on her.

“More like a great way of you getting out of this,” James retorted, his voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire next to them and the echo of footsteps passing by outside the closed door.

But Rosie’s brows furrowed at James’ words, frustration rising as her opinion continued to be ignored. “When James got back I was supposed to finally get a break,” she reminded them, her voice quiet but firm. And that had been the deal - she had graduated from university, then was thrown into four years of public duty with no downtime to breathe, all so James could serve in the Air Force. Any time she brought up needing a few days to herself, it had always been “Once James is home, you can… you’ll have all the time you need.” It seemed as though that promise was not only empty, but had been forgotten.

But the look in her father’s eyes showed Rosie that he remembered that promise - and yet he was continuing to break his word. “I’m sorry Rosalie,” he began, pausing delicately before adding, “But the positive of me being less visible while I recover is that it gives you the chance to be more involved.”

A scoff escaped Rosie’s lips and she didn’t care to stop it, letting her anger rise a bit. “What have I been doing the last four years, then?” She asked incredulously.

“You’ve been standing in James’ place and in his shadow but this is your chance to be Princess Rosalie, all on her own and be who you are, not fulfilling James’ role,” Joseph tried to reason with her, and she arched a single brow at him. Standing on her own, outside of James’ shadow?! As much as they all liked to pretend it wasn’t the case, she’d always been and always would be in his shadow. The first-born, golden child of Ellington. She’d never hold it against him, but she didn’t think there was a single conversation she’d ever had with anyone, whether other dignitaries, tutors, or acquaintances, where James wasn’t brought up despite his absence. When you’re constantly reminded of being the second-best, the spare, and the insurance when compared to the eldest, who had their own miserable circumstances as well. It was all impossible, and it seemed Rosie stepped on the Palace’s lines much more than anyone had in the past.

Heavy was the head that wore the crown, but the pressure forced upon Rosie seemed to rival it, even on the best days.

“I think we all know I can’t be who I am,” she started, her voice quivering in her rising frustration. She ran a hand along her skirt, fingers coming to rest on an errant strand of fabric that her seamstress evidently missed. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult, we just all know that none of this is me. I was happy to stand in for James while he did what he wanted being in the Air Force but I thought that it was finally my chance to have some space.”

James’ eyes showed the weight on him, the internal struggle between duty and family. He cleared his throat quietly before whispering, “It’s only two more months, Rosie.”

“It just seems like there’s always something else. You think it’ll be the end and then the rug gets pulled out from under you,” Rosie muttered, her fingers lightly twisting the fabric, careful to not pull it from the skirt.

Joseph’s expression seemed heavy, his eyes pointed towards the ground as a hand covered part of his face, deep in thought. “I know it’s not ideal, but we need you to do this,” he decided, eyes coming to meet Rosie’s before he gestured to James. “James is the ultimate authority on it though.”

The Prince nodded, his shoulders squaring resolutely. “We don’t have a choice. Rosie, it has to be you,” he agreed, his voice strained despite his confident demeanor.

Rosie shot a look at the silent Queen, her eyes watching the conversation between her husband and eldest children intently. As she met Rosie’s eyes, the young woman shot her a pleading look, all but begging her to speak up.

Their mother hummed, giving Rosie a tight-lipped smile. “I think there is a security risk though,” she conceded sweetly, and Rosie’s shoulders slouched as she let out a small gasp of relief as her mother - the normally silent, meek woman - spoke up on her behalf.

But James ignored the magnitude of the situation, simply stating, “Then we’ll get more guards and protection.”

Rosie didn’t suppress the eye roll this time, huffing as she did so. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. It had always been the King and Prince show - it always would be, that was simply the nature of their life. The heirs mattered above all else, and their opinions shaped the lives of every person in the family. But she had continually struggled with the idea of letting it dictate her life, she wanted nothing more than to have some semblance of autonomy, despite knowing it was never in the cards, at least not now.

But it didn’t mean James’ insistence didn’t hurt. She felt he always understood where she was coming from, always looked out for her and Annie. But now, she was really seeing James step into the leadership position for the first time.

“Or I just don’t go, just reminding you all that it’s an option,” she muttered, waving a hand. Her frustration was cresting as the two men ignored not only Rosie’s, but her mother’s points as well - points that in all honesty scared Rosie.

The situation outside of the capital of Ellington was tenuous at best. Tensions had been rising for months now, and while King Joseph’s decision to keep silent may have been smart at first, it had done nothing to turn the tide since. And now to be sent into the lion’s den in all honesty scared Rosie. She was no stranger to security protocols, risks, and threats, but this had much eclipsed any past risks Rosie knew of. Each member of the Royal Family was under a microscope, never deviating from an internal schedule, always accompanied by several security members. And that was just what Rosie knew - she was sure there was more she was not privy to that James and her father were aware of.

A sudden loud crackle of the fire brought her out of her thoughts to find James rising, moving to pour himself a drink from the carafe on the long table nearby. She watched the sharpness of his shoulders, the unfamiliar stressful strain as he moved, causing Rosie to arch a brow at the sight. “I have to be here to step up in dad’s place. Rosie, you’re going to have to get used to this more.” James spoke dismissively.

She couldn’t help but look at James, her brows raising as fast as her anger - reaching levels she never knew James could elicit. “I’m the one who’s been doing this the past four years, remember?” Rosie asked sarcastically, her voice anything but amused.

He avoided her eyes, a hand reaching to run down his face as he attempted a placating, “It’s only two more months…”

She pushed out a breath, ready to respond when a sharp knock sounded at the door. All eyes landed on the oversized double wooden doors as the King’s Secretary waited for any protest before the doors pushed open.

The sudden intrusion didn’t seem to take anyone by surprise, but Rosie’s brows quickly furrowed as the aide stepped aside to reveal Edward Henry - the Communications Secretary for the Royal Family - and quite honestly Rosie’s least favorite person, who was carrying a large stack of papers.

She’d long struggled with the ‘duty’ aspect of her birthright position, the responsibility forced on her by an institution when all she wanted was normalcy. But between a lack of a proper childhood, wanting a normal university experience, being outspoken by nature, and maybe having a few brushes with untrustworthy so-called ‘friends’, she’d landed herself on Edward Henry’s bad side… quite literally for life.

At her father’s warm greeting to Edward after his obligatory bows to each member of the family, Rosie’s frustration grew. She knew she shouldn’t have come - she’d had a bad feeling about this meeting ever since receiving word of it at breakfast. Her suspicions grew when she realized Annie was omitted from the group, removing what would’ve been Rosie’s only true ally from the room and all conversations. But now, to see that the intention was never to plan a tour or shift schedules around to accommodate the King’s sudden change in health…. It was to focus on her.

The Palace and Royal Family both had struggled at times with her, Rosie could admit that herself. She felt as though she could never do things right, never be the person they tried to mold her to be. She was rigid in ways the Institution needed her to be pliable, soft in the ways they needed her to be tough, and sour when they needed her to be sweet.

“You’re joking me right?” Rosie finally spoke, arching her brow at her father as he warmly shook Edward’s hand, seeing the label ‘ITINERARY’ scribbled across the files he began handing to her father.

The King’s face hardened instantly. “Rosalie, don’t even start,” he warned, holding out his hand for Queen Genevieve to greet Edward.

But Edward was unphased, used to her often brash ways. “Princess, we have your itinerary to go over and I’d like to discuss some different things we’d like you to incorporate in your speeches at each one. Also we have picked out which charities you’ll be endorsing along the tour,” he informed her, handing copies of the folders to her mother and brother before sitting in the empty armchair between the two occupied sofas. His hand moved to hand her a copy, but ceased when the furious expression on her face was noticed.

A bitter chuckle escaped her. “So none of this mattered,” she mused, frowning as she looked at her father pointedly. “No matter what I said or felt or even what James decided didn’t matter because everything was already decided on,”

But the man simply shrugged as he paged through the plans, brows furrowed while he sat down on the sofa again. “We had to make a plan,” he informed her, as if it was that simple.

With a roll of her eyes, Rosie pushed herself off the couch. “Fine, then make your plan. It’s obvious you don’t need me here for any of it,” she informed them, dropping her eyes as she moved towards the shut doors. She could hear the sharp breath her mother took at her outright rudeness towards not only Edward, but James and her father. A scowl crossed Rosie’s lips as her eyes prickled with tears and she focused on the sound of her heels as she raced to the door.

If anyone attempted to say anything or chastise her, she didn’t hear - nor did she care - as the door practically slammed behind her. The guards standing outside the door pointedly avoided her eyes, telling Rosie everything she needed to know about what they heard. She had already turned to leave the wing when that thought made her stop. Her lip was quivering as she met the older guard’s eyes - Albert, she reminded herself, he’d accompanied her to riding lessons as a young girl - and she was surprised when he silently led the other guard to stand across the hall instead without a word, giving her the encouragement she needed.

She stood just beyond the door, giving herself enough space to make an escape if needed, but close enough to be able to hear the conversation inside.

Despite her mother’s objection, they’d clearly moved on from her outburst as she heard her father speaking, his voice carrying easily. “James, there’s a lot riding on that tour. I don’t have to tell you with all the political tension going on and protests, everyone is going to be looking at this tour and how it goes.”

“What your dad is saying is you’re going to need to keep an eye on Rosalie,” her mother said, and Rosie’s brow furrowed. She’d been doing just fine the last few years - handling double duty without anyone batting an eye. Why is she all of the sudden not good enough? But she caught herself as she thought - remembering that the golden boy had been occupied with serving Ellington in the Air Force. They must’ve had to make due with “second-best”, and Rosie’s best was no longer good enough.

But she was surprised when James was the one to speak, defending her and saying, “She’s been in my place the last couple years though and she’s done fine.”

A bitter chuckle escaped Edward and Rosie wanted nothing more than to disappear at that second, admittedly it was all she’d ever wanted. “It depends on the way you look at it,” Edward pointed out.

But James wasn’t going down without a fight, pointing out, “Well the press love her. I mean, there isn’t hardly a week that went by that the people’s princess wasn’t splashed on some headline.”

The scowl returned and the tears threatened to leak from her eyes as Edward finally contributed, his voice like nails on a chalkboard to her as he said, “And that’s the problem. You may love Rosalie’s personality but currently she’s in line to the throne after you and represents the royal family. If she were the youngest it would be different but she has to start taking this seriously and be more neutral.”

She tapped her fingers against her side nervously. Rosie had always known that this was the opinion of her amongst those on the outside of the family, who worked to polish and prime them. They’d attempted to do so to her for years, but they’d always gotten along like oil and water. But to be confronted with this and to overhear this, to know her own parents felt this way, hurt.

However, a small flutter of hope settled in her as James again attempted to defend her, his voice unwavering as he said, “She’s right, she has stepped into my role the past couple years and done well.”

“We just don’t think she fully sees the weight of this because you’re the one who’s next in line to the throne,” Joseph admitted, and Rosie had to do everything she could to keep herself quiet.

Yes, James’ role was unique and seemed miserable in itself. He had no choice in his life, in his future, in anything - even more than Rosie. But to live this life solely being second-place, second-loved, second-everything to someone was a different kind of miserable. You couldn’t compare the two, but neither were ideal, and for anyone to try to frame it that way completely ignored everything both she and Annie had gone through.

The grating returned to Rosie as Edward - the absolute bane of her fucking existence - unnecesarily added, “Ellington has only ever had two Queens both of them knew how to fall in line. Nobody knows what to do with Rosalie and it’s not a great look for the palace.”

“People relate to her though!” James insisted, his voice rising.

“Royals aren’t supposed to be relatable, if they are, what’s the point of having them?” Edward challenged.

There was a long silence and Rosie found herself stuck between wanting nothing more to leave and forget this all ever happened, just like she had so many times before in her life, and wanting to creep closer as the fear of missing something grew as the silence continued. Her mind was still racing, fighting against itself as she stood frozen with nearly trembling ankles when she heard James’ voice. It was soft, as if the fight had left him as he helplessly asked, “…So what do you suggest I do?”

“Just do what you can to help this tour go well. A lot hinges on this and her,” Joseph encouraged, his voice suddenly softer as well. A slight scowl graced Rosie’s lips at that realization, knowing that James often got a side of their parents that neither she nor Annie ever got. He’d gotten the most time with them - whether because of duty or love, it almost didn’t matter. She saw how much Annie yearned to have the relationship James had with them, and she found herself wishing for it at times too.

Her ear pressed closer to the overly-ornate wooden doors, yearning to hear more, but she wished she hadn’t as Edward explained, “What the Prince said isn’t wrong. The public is for the Princess, but in this tumultuous time, we need her to present more stability. People need to be comforted knowing that the royal family is stable and has the country’s best interest at heart.”

She stared at the floor, brows furrowing and confusion flooding her at those words. Unstable? Her? Sometimes she felt like the only sane person in this equation.

Her confusion was shared as James - his voice strong and firm - pointed out, “I don’t think Rosie can really be categorized as unstable.”

But Edward simply chuckled again, explaining, “Saying things off script in speeches or breaking social norms for royalty is viewed as unstable.”

“We just need her to be a constant unwavering person that people can look up to, especially when it got leaked about my health.” Her father spoke strongly. Rosie felt a pang of sympathy - if this heart attack had never happened, then maybe this wouldn’t be happening. But it all seemed too convenient, the empty promises of privacy and autonomy, the sudden return of James. “We need steadiness. This tour is what can bring it and allow everyone to see Rosie as the one to help bring it.”

“I know she can do it, I just wish she didn’t have to,” James admitted, and Rosie sighed at those simple words, knowing just how much honesty was behind them.

She wasn’t surprised when her father spoke again, his words reeking of lessons a life in the public eye and service had given him. “Our life is a heavy burden at times, but whether good or bad, the crown has fallen on us. That includes Rosalie and we have to make sure we steward it well, and that matters more than any of our personal feelings.”

Tears burned at Rosie’s eyes as the weight of what they were saying sunk in. She wasn’t stupid, she was painfully aware of her image and what people thought of her. Her entire life was dictated by it and what was or wasn’t on the front page of a newspaper. The past four years she had done everything in her power to push down who the real Rosie was, trying to step into James’ shoes to allow him to have the bit of fleeting normalcy they all craved but always seemed to elude them. It had nearly killed her to shove so much of herself down, but she had done it for her duty, her country, and - most of all - for her brother. But now to hear that it wasn’t good enough? It felt like rubbing salt in the open wound on her heart.

She had absolutely no idea what else they could possibly want from her short of ripping away every single part of her personality. And the worst part? It seemed fruitless. No matter what she did, it just always fell short. Her only saving grace that kept some hope alive inside of her was that James was back. He was her only shot at being able to get some of herself back that had been buried little by little.

Once Rosie heard the group stand and pleasantries being exchanged among her parents and Edward, she raced away from the door and down the hall, not wanting to be seen. She wiped furiously at her eyes as she grappled with the onslaught of information, but quickly had to push it from her mind as her assistant called out to her, plastering a smile on her face as Claire began to explain what they needed to do to prepare for the gala honoring the military that evening.

___________________________________________________

Rosie had kept the smile glued to her face all evening, determined to be on her best behavior. While she may have chosen the other option in the past - the “fine, I’ll be what you think of me” option - today, she couldn’t. If she did, she knew what was at risk, what was on the line, and she just couldn’t stomach willingly doing it tonight.

She’d made her rounds, thanked as many service members she could find, listened to as many stories as she could stomach, laughed as many times as she could without a hint of humor actually being behind it, and had finally escaped to the side room with Claire to fix the strap of her heels when James slipped into the otherwise-empty room.

She avoided his eyes with everything in her, instead taking a long sip of her champagne to quell her nerves when James came to stand next to her, his voice low despite Claire’s proximity.

“Rosie c’mon, I know you don’t want to do this. I get it. I wish I could give you a break but I don’t have a choice,” he pleaded.

Her shoulders hunched, knowing he was truly stuck. He had to live up to what their father expected - what everyone expected - but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to go against her big brother. “I know you don’t, and I don’t mean to make it harder on you. I just suck at all of this, James.” she explained.

“No you don’t. The press is for you, everyone loves you,” he reminded her, his voice soft and sweet. She appreciated the sentiment - but it felt empty to her after what she had overheard merely hours earlier.

“I just was hoping I’d finally have a break,” she admitted with a whisper, not knowing how to put it more simply than that.

James sighed, his frustration at the impossible situation evident. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he murmured, and there was no doubt in Rosie’s mind that he was honest. “I love you and you know I’m going to do what I can to make it easier.”

“I love you too and I don’t want to be difficult, I really don’t,” she explained, turning as Clarie finished and scampered back into the party, leaving the siblings alone with the guards standing by the doors. “I’m just… disappointed I guess and I feel bad because I don’t want to make this worse on dad or you. I just hate doing these tours.”

“I had an idea though,” James began, pausing as Rosie arched a brow at him. He took a deep breath, evidently steeling himself.“What if I asked my friend to be your pilot for the tour? You remember Chris, right? My best friend from the Air Force? He’s standing out there right next to the bar.” He asked, pointing through the glass doorway to Chris.

Rosie sighed, not feeling like any of this was a good idea - especially from James - after this afternoon. There was just too much going on, Rosie feeling like so much had been shaken today. “Can’t Martin do it?” She asked, her voice meek. She knew if she had to go on this tour, if she had to deal with the risks and the tensions associated with it, that comfort would do her good. And Martin - the longtime Palace Security Head, who all but attended all of her birthday parties growing up and was truly like a father to her, would fit the bill.

“I need to pick someone who can also be with you to certain events to be your security and we both know Martin is getting too old for that,” James explained, nudging her with his elbow. “C’mon, would I stick you with someone shitty? Chris is the only person who treated me like a normal guy. You’d get along with him great and I can trust him.”

“I just…” Rosie’s voice started to trail as the feelings inside her were unable to come out of her mouth.

James’ eyebrows arched as he reached out a hand to rest on her arm, softly prodding, “What?”

There was so much Rosie wanted to say, but she knew at this point it didn’t matter. Everything had been decided for her as it had been for so long and she just quietly admitted, “I just wish I didn’t have to do this.”

Although James moved to wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a gentle hug, Rosie felt anything but comforted. For years she had looked forward to James returning from the Air Force, especially with his voluntary choice to stay in the service for two years longer than was customary for royals. She remembered that call, James explaining that being in the Air Force was the first time he had felt normal, been treated normal, and felt like he had a bigger purpose and that he wanted to stay longer. Rosie knew it meant she had to step up to stay in his shoes longer than anticipated but she was willing to do it for him.

But it was finally going to be her turn. She was going to be able to pull back from the spotlight, disappear the way she had wanted to for so long and try to have some semblance of a normal life. All of that had been ripped away from her in what felt like an instant, prolonging and making her presence on the country even bigger which was the absolute opposite of what she wanted, but Rosie knew she didn’t have a choice.

Two months. She could do anything for two months. And then she’d be free.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi, I'm sorry if you talked about this before. I'm confused about the books consensus wrt making child vampires. Claudia is treated as an abnomination by other vampires and Lestat admits that he deserved to be killed for making a 5-year-old vampire because she never could be happy. And then Marius advices Lestat against it and regrets that he made Armand too young. But later he turns a 12-year-old and not only he's very well-adjusted as a vampire and seems to be happy but also everyone at the court just accept him and doesn't serm to have any problem with him. For me it's a proof that a child vampire can be survive. So what's the truth? Why is 12-year-old ok but not 5-year-old? Does it depend on the situation and under certain circumstances child vampires are allowed? (I know of Marius' excuses that Benji was ill but for me it doesn't change anything?). Thank you.

Hey!!

Oh, you’re absolutely right, it’s hypocrisy and… spite.

There‘s a good post about it here, for example

Marius... turned Benji and Sybille because HE did not want to care about/for Armand at that point (and not really before either, but I digress). I disagree a bit with the interpretation that Louis and Armand (and Sybille and Benji) formed a family unit there (in fact, I highly doubt that interpretation), nonetheless the point of Marius turning Benji and Sybille ostensibly for Armand as to so he did not have to care for his very distraught and hurt fledgling... still stands.

It might also be good to remember that Claudia was destroyed by the (remaining) rules of a satanic cult - yes, Marius had advised Lestat not to turn someone younger than Armand (who was canonically 17), but... that is not the same as the hard-rule of "or else". And the rules that formed Armand and a lot of covens for centuries were lingering, even at the theater. The rules of the "Children of Satan/Darkness" are their own beast, in the books there's only five, the show expanded those:

The court... now the court comes into existence at a point when the vampires have been "thinned out", and those left are more or less just happy to be there - a kind of "live and let live" mind set (by most) if you will. As such Benji's and Sybille's acceptance there was never really weird to me. I mean, there's also Notker's choir... of boys, turned before they would reach puberty to keep their voices. Like.... Benjis probably didn't even raise an eyebrow for older vampires.

Claudia's misfortune was not her age - although that also did not help, obviously - no, the ultimate problem was that she needed someone to help her, and that she came to Paris.

And Paris... well.

There's a reason why Lestat in NOLA said: "Paris? No."

[alexnamuu]

A conversation between Diomedes and Odysseus that I imagine they had at the beginning of the Trojan War, when they were getting to know each other:

— Well, well, if it isn't the youngest King who ruled Argos that this council of war has ever heard of! The disciple with the silver eyes blessed by Athena, the war cry that terrifies the enemies! — The man's melodious voice pulled Diomedes back to reality. The young king had to hold back an irritated sigh that he would let escape his lips showing his discomfort at having someone close to him.

It wasn't a good day, in fact, since he stepped onto the Trojan lands and instructed his men to start setting up camp, he had never had a good day. Diomedes was used to the patterns of war, the dried blood under his nails, the bruises his enemies were lucky enough to inflict, the calluses forming on his already rough hand, he should stop by the medical tent and see if he could get some blister cream or something, he would do that later.

— It is good to see you again, King of Ithaca— He made no effort to look at the man who sat beside him, his gaze continued to focus on the fire. He expected peace and quiet, but it seemed like Lady Athena wouldn't give it to him anytime soon.

—You were splendid on the battlefield today, a true veteran, far more experienced than any of us— He had been warned about the ruler of Ithaca having a sweet tongue to persuade any man to get what he wanted. This made Diomedes shiver just for being a target of this "get what he wants by any means necessary" guy.

—That's right, thank you— He didn't know how to respond to flattery, maybe that's why he fell for so few. The King (His name was Odysseus, from what he remembered) didn't seem to be bothered by this fact.

— Yes, a real standout, I would say, with my audacity, that you would only lose to Achilles! Or you could even surpass him.

— Be careful with your words, Laertiades — Achilles' sharp voice cut through the silence, it seemed that the Best of the Greeks would rather be somewhere else, but Patroclus, his friend and healer (maybe something more) seemed very happy to enjoy the campfire and chat with Ajax the Great, who was Achilles' cousin, and at the beginning of the war, Peliades didn't seem to want to be away from his closest friend— Or you will be without your precious tongue.

— Don't be so skittish, Peliades, it was just a foolish comparison, forgive me — He made sure to emphasize — But you were still magnificent, young Diomedes.

— Do you need something from me, Leartiades? — Diomedes didn't like mind games where he had to put his wits to work and try to decipher dirty tricks, not after a long day. He would prefer the silence and not having to talk for the rest of the night. So anything that would make Odysseus move away, he would be happy.

— Straightforward, isn't it? — Odysseus didn't seem to mind, staring at the helmet still in Diomedes' lap. — I need a favor from you, something small, nothing extravagant.

— I don't do favors — The young King said — Much less for strangers.

— Come on, we are war companions now and the same Goddess guides us, I think we are not so strange after all — The warm touch of Odysseus's palm came into contact with the skin of Diomedes's arm, a friendly, innocent touch, nothing more than a form of bargaining. But for Diomedes that was like a burning coal, the field reflexes came into action and he slapped the other's hand away from his arm. The most serious expression now on his indifferent face.

— Don't touch me, Laertiades — The young king's voice was low, threatening — And I already said, I don't do favors for strangers, much less those who have very big tongues and words that flatter too much.

Diomedes stood up with his helmet in his hands, putting on the piece that completed his armor, his eyes staring at Odysseus with cold indifference — Do not look for me to demand favors, King of Ithaca, from what I hear, you seem eager to get back to your wife and son.

Diomedes heard a provocative whistle, perhaps it had come from the mouth of the sweet Patroclus who was known for his good heart, but had his attractions for a good fight. He decided to ignore it.

— Gentlemen — He said in farewell, starting to walk towards his own camp. With luck, that would have been the only and last interaction with Odysseus and he would only need to see the man in meetings and on the battlefield.

The distant hoot of an owl was his doubt and likely his condemnation of what would come from then on. Odysseus' sweet tongue would still convince him of many things.

[maxdibert]

How do you think Severus would relate to a child of his own, if he had one? What kind of father do you think he would be?

There are so many possible answers to this question because it would really depend on the context in which Snape became a father (before or after the War), his child’s personality, and, of course, what his partner would be like. But, let’s assume we’re talking about a post-War Snape in an AU, because honestly, I can’t imagine canon Severus being a father in any way—it would literally be suicidal. Having a child would not only endanger his mission as a spy but also give his enemies perfect leverage to use against him. And he’s already suffered too much in life to throw in that level of angst. So, starting from a scenario where there’s no war and Severus can focus on being both calm and depressed (because he’d still be depressed, especially if he no longer has a clear purpose keeping him going), I don’t think the idea of fatherhood would really thrill him at first. It’s not like he’s someone who’s ever thought of having children, or at least he ruled out the possibility long ago. If he had a partner who wanted kids, I think he’d agree, but with a terrifying sense of dread about fatherhood because 1) his parental role models are terrible, and he never had a functional upbringing, and 2) he’s never really liked kids. It probably wouldn’t occur to him that maybe the issue is that he doesn’t like other people’s kids, but his own would be different. That’s why I think his partner would be a fundamental factor in this—supporting him throughout the process and keeping him grounded about his own traumas.

That said, I imagine him as a strict but supportive father, one who sets rules and commands respect but without using violence or verbal attacks on his children. He’d especially try to spare them the awful childhood he endured with his own father. But I still see him as the kind of dad who has rules and expects them to be followed, the classic type who cares a lot about grades and school behavior (he was a teacher for 18 years, after all). He’d probably see certain grades as failures if they didn’t meet expectations. He’d likely be a bit awkward with affection, although he’d find his own ways to make his children feel loved, valued, and accepted. He’d be a present father but would struggle to be fully emotionally open, though he’d likely improve this over time and with effort.

I also see him preferring to have daughters, or at least finding it much easier to bond with a daughter. I’ve always thought that it’s simpler for Severus to relate to women (Lily was his first friend, and the other person he spent time with as a child was Petunia, also a girl. As much as he picked on Hermione, he wasn’t as harsh with her as he was with Harry, Neville, or Ron. He seemed to have a fairly close relationship with Narcissa, etc.). Basically, most of the men in his life have been abusers (his father, the Marauders, Dumbledore manipulating and blackmailing him, Voldemort...), so he’s more at ease, or maybe just more himself, when he’s around women. I can see him thinking that he might not fully understand “girl stuff,” but that it’s better than having a son who’s into Quidditch and facing the prospect of not knowing how to deal with a boy who represents all the typical “boy” interests and behaviors that Severus doesn’t really embody. He’d probably have some anxiety over this—something common among men who don’t fit into stereotypical norms associated with their own gender.

Still, whether he had a son or a daughter, he’d try to provide them with a functional and stable home, where there’s affection and respect, allowing them to grow up with the security he never had. I don’t see him as an “easy” father because he has too much baggage, but he’d be aware of that baggage and try to address it when he realizes he’s messed up. He wouldn’t do that for others, but he’d do it for his children.

[melrosing]

this is really rambly but whatever im just talking

harrenhal bath scene for e.g. it's a confessional and a baptism. jaime reveals his deepest secret to brienne, she sits quietly and listens. it's a kind of cleansing: she knows everything else, but she doesn't know this. he's entirely bare before her, both figuratively and literally, and at the end he's effectively reborn in Brienne's arms, internally insisting upon his true name. it's more like a return to and a reclamation of that name, after having been known so long as 'kingslayer'.

and it goes w/o saying that GRRM is expressing here a pretty catholic sentiment - one achieved through confession and atonement:

[On Jaime] I want there to be a possibility of redemption for us, because we all do terrible things. We should be able to be forgiven. Because if there is no possibility of redemption, what’s the answer then? X

and like GRRM isn't exactly shy about highlighting the contradictions and hypocrisies of the FO7, knighthood and the KG - which ftr are tied up in each other. knighthood is sworn to the Seven, as a part of Andal culture that was carried over with the invasion, and KG sprouts from the ideals of knighthood, even whilst corrupting them further.

and I think the point in Jaime and Brienne's story is that the core tenets of knighthood do mean something, just as even a lapsed Catholic might appreciate the core tenets of loving one's neighbour etc, if not the religious practise. to be caught up in the terms and conditions is to lose yourself in what it's all meant to mean. Brienne once judged Jaime harshly according to the rules, but found greater understanding of him, herself, and the world around them by opening her mind to the nuance, and trusting in her own understanding. it's not that knighthood is a fundamentally corrupt concept, but that true knighthood is about understanding it as a broader worldview of care for those weaker than yourself, rather than a set of rules, or a status symbol.

i think FO7 (particularly following HOTD lol) often gets slated as the worst faith bc it so resembles western christianity and all its associations, and the zealots (and what they do to characters like Cersei, Lancel etc) represent the very worst of that faith. the other faiths have something more mystical and formless about them: the weirwoods are tied up with the magical core of westeros, r'hollorism is clearly fucking onto something etc. and they're more appealing in that sense.

but I don't think the FO7 is portrayed entirely negatively! the way our FO7 characters follow and ponder the Seven as they relate to themselves is a really interesting device for introspection. Jaime for example has always seen himself strictly as the Warrior - he doesn't care all that much for the FO7 more broadly, but this is the prism he's understood himself through since childhood - he's the perfect archetype. likewise, it's the prism through which he once understood Cersei (i.e. as the Maiden), yet this led instead to a reduced understanding of Cersei as an individual. Brienne meanwhile feels apart from both the Maiden and the Warrior - she fits neither. both in a sense reduce themselves in how they do or do not relate to the Seven.

but without getting into JB and gender again (cos I will), their stories are more a contemplation on the fluidity of the Seven. it's said repeatedly in the story that the Seven are one, and so it then seems quite contradictory that characters should asign themselves to one and not the others. neither Jaime nor Brienne are simply the Warrior or the Maiden, they can be both each to the other: there's a kind of synchronicity in this, in that neither is solely the protector, neither is solely the protected. through the true ideals knighthood, they are both to each other. what seems rigid as a concept is actually one that can be interpreted more freely, and reveal new facets of the self rather than shut them down.

anyway so as i say this is rambly but i guess my broader point is that JB are sort of an exploration of how faith does not have to be about shutting down parts of ourselves, limiting our worldview, and striving to live untainted, but forgiving and finding ourselves and each other. it feels familiar to me as a lapsed catholic MYSELF: a deep scepticism and discomfort with the rigid dichotomies that send you fleeing from it in the first place, but a sort of new inquisitiveness and warmth one feels when considering its core tenets on one's own terms.

who fucking knows what exactly GRRM's relationship with catholicism is (idk even what mine is), but I think through jaime and brienne you maybe get to see some of the better things he took from it, i.e. forgiveness, introspection, generosity of spirit etc. like if you do away with all the corruption and misinterpretation and you sit with just the core, I guess you are left with what Brienne strives for in AFFC. she is not fighting for any individual or institution, but purely what she has taken away from knighthood, and what she believes to be right and good. and Jaime, once disillusioned by the rigidity of it all, is inspired by precisely that

have we ever talked about the weird catholic undertones in jaime and brienne's storyline. like grrm idk if you even know you did this but from one roman catholic girly to another it is loud

[shi0n]

life is so hard for a wimp like me who was born into a family of warriors plagued by blood feuds

[pnfc]

i haint watched the dang chibisode and idk if ill actually watch it with sound on sdfjk but i have a hurt feeling about them casually imbuing perry with speech for a one off gag because the idea that he needs to talk to communicate is fake. we had 4 seasons of wacky magic hijinks cartoon where perry never needed verbal speech to communicate. they couldve done this gag at any point in the show but they didn't, and the fact that they didn't felt significant. perry's muteness is such a core part of his character, to me, to the way i conceive of him/write him. i don't wanna overreact to a goofy little side cartoon (even tho i'm doing it anyway) but it's still the characters, and it still upsets me! ok that's it i've said my piece

[moeblob]

Rice. From my plot that's literally just a game of chess. (he's a rook)

[ozonecologne]

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[cranberrymoons]

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