#object land emerald

[t4x208]

me giving object land love and support part 1

[cosmictheo]

𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦

(gif credits to @peace--n--love)

— summary: ao'nung calls you the way neteyam usually calls you, which makes him feel jealous and insecure, but that finally pushes him to confess something he has been feeling for too long. — pairing: neteyam x female!na'vi!reader — word count: 2k —warnings: pure and comforting fluff, ao'nung being ao'nung (an idiot), love confessions, jealous!neteyam, neteyam being the purest and most beautiful angel.

* Neteyam is aged up, for obvious reasons, of course; he is 19 years old. * Sluyang means flower.

neteyam's playlist i made for inspo

writer's note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

You liked to observe the beauty that Eywa gave to Pandora, you were still surprised by how beautiful the forest and the places it could hide, even after having grown up there and having been all those years among its leafy trees, even so, the forest hid secret and beautiful places, worthy of being seen and found by only those chosen ones.

Your mother was sure that you had a special connection with Eywa, practically since the day you were born and opened your eyes for the first time, green as a pair of emeralds. She told you that you had come into the world for a purpose, that you were Eywa's chosen one, in fact, those were her last words to you before she passed away in your arms, haunted all her life by an illness from which she never got better. And since then, Jake and Neytiri had taken care of you, accepting you into their family as if you had always been one of them. You soon became close to their children, especially with Neteyam, as you were close in age.

And because of that special fascination you had for the forest and nature in general, Neteyam made a habit of always bringing you things from his many explorations and hunts, things that reminded him of you; flowers, leaves and even rocks, bright and beautiful, out of the ordinary, that stood out among everything else, just like you.

“You don't have to, 'Teyam.” You always said every time he came to you once again with a new gift. But he would simply shake his head, offering you a charming and gentle little smile, ever so kind, ears slightly bent and gaze so bright every time he met yours that it seemed to dazzle you, leaving you completely mesmerized.

With a coy smile you tried to avert your gaze from his, analyzing the object now in your hands. “Really, it's not necessary.”

“I like to do it.” He would simply reply, seeking your gaze with his big, captivating, coaxing eyes, as if it were something insignificant, something that didn't matter, something that wasn't like the nicest thing anyone had ever done for you. And you would do nothing but grin at him. You couldn't stop smiling, your cheeks felt almost numb, but you were happy, content, he made you happy. And you knew that this, in the long run, would bring serious consequences, not so good, you supposed.

And now, in the huge ocean, when you thought nothing would surprise you anymore, Eywa seemed to turn every assumption you had upside down. Jake had taken you with him and his family to the place where the Metkayina Clan lived, leaving the Omaticaya behind, leaving the shelter that the forest offered you, to now be surrounded by the ocean; salt water and sandy land.

They had been kind enough to accept you into their home and to show you their ways, noting the great difference from your own, but, apparently the younger members of the clan were not as friendly to strangers as the older ones.

Ao'nung had been rather harsh with you, especially Kiri, whom they had addressed as a freak, as they had nicknamed her, and from there, the problem grew larger, for you and Lo'ak had taken up against them in her defense.

“Look at her.” Ao'nung called out, following Kiri like prey, looking at her with big, disgusted eyes. “Is she a freak or something?”

“Don't call her that.” You stated in a not at all friendly tone, scowl and defiant eyes looking up at the chief's son, pointing at him with your index finger and thus causing him to move backwards. “You have no right to call her that, did you hear me? The Chief's son or not, I'll kick your ass.”

With a tilt of your head, you stated the threat, making him snort ungraciously, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“For such a pretty little girl, you sure have a big mouth.” His big eyes narrowed as he spoke, demonstrating a smug attitude as he heard a couple of snickers from his little friends at his words. “You are one of us, little flower. Why you waste your time hanging out with these aliens?”

“Hey!” Lo'ak exclaimed, appearing at your side, fists clenched and face angry. “Don't call her that, get away from her!”

“Please, leave us alone.” Kiri grumbled behind your back, hearing how now, you were the target of annoyance from the little group.

Your mouth hung open wide, totally offended now, feeling the fury shake your body from head to toe, your tail wagging angrily as you lunged at him at the same time you heard an 'oh uh' from Lo'ak.

But your movement was halted as you watched as a body larger than yours stepped between you and the bully, leaving you in view of nothing but a broad back you knew all too well and blocking Ao'nung's smug, sneering face from your view.

“That's enough.” Neteyam said in a stern tone, deep voice and tense body, always as diplomatic and calm as ever, braids moving under the command of the wind and his head, which rose slightly, giving him a more stern and much more menacing stance. “As long as we are here you will treat my family with respect and call no one by other than their names.”

His head moved so that he could look at the faces of the little group that had formed, friends of Ao'nung, as silly as he was, apparently, but who, in Neteyam's presence, seemed to have been brought back to reality and put back in their places. They were not so foolish after all, they knew that against him they would have no choice but to flee. Cowards.

“(Y/N) is just fine for you, got it?”

“Whatever.” Ao'nung replied, rolling his eyes and starting to walk, bumping his shoulder against Neteyam's as he walked past him, his eyes met yours for a couple of seconds and he offered you a smirk, making you grunt and by the time you could take a step towards him, a hand found itself on your forearm, stopping any act of violence you had planned to do.

“Cowards.” Kiri spat, rolling her eyes.

When you looked back, Neteyam was looking at you with eyes, dark, but now filled with concern, his fingers barely caressing your skin before he pulled away from your arm.

“Are you okay, syulang?”

You rolled your eyes, sighing heavily. “I'd be better if I'd beaten that skxawng—”

“Hey.” He interrupted you, noticing how your ears were still bent and your tail twitching behind your back and he laid both of his hands on your shoulders now, in an attempt to reassure you, giving you delicate petting strokes. “It's okay, it's all over now.” His gaze traveled to his siblings behind you, moving his head and face transforming to one of authority, chin up. His voice came through loud and clear, almost scolding. “Home, now. You've had a lot for today.”

Lo'ak lifted his hands, looking incredulous. “But they were bugging-”

Neteyam was quick to interrupt him. “Home. We will talk to father later.”

The younger boy let out a snarl and without further ado, began walking back to where his family was staying, followed closely by Kiri, who kept a glum face, arms crossed over her chest.

And now, all of Neteyam's attention landed on you, as it naturally did, as his body always seemed to do instinctively, even though he didn't even intend to, he always focused on you, as if you were the center of the universe, the sun of his world, the core of his heart, the magnet of his mind and the horizon of his eyes. He saw you. He had always seen you. And practically everyone in his family knew, perhaps everyone on the whole planet, except for you, of course.

Neteyam had expressly refused any offer or even, even idea from his parents to find him a Tsahik as his position as the future leader of the clan, it was his duty and it behoved him to follow to the letter the duty that rested on his shoulders as the future chief, but now, all that had been left behind with his leaving. Now all he cared about having was you. All that mattered was you.

With a beautiful sunset behind him, he began to speak to you once again, hands gently running over your shoulders and arms, becoming more attentive, affectionate, but still concerned. His brow furrowed slightly and you knew immediately that a scolding was coming now. “What were you thinking, hm? Fighting them all?”

He was always like that with you, especially when you were alone together. Neteyam never felt he was enough for his father, and he too never seemed to be satisfied of him, let alone see all that his son did for his family, for his siblings and for him, but with you, with you everything was different, he could be different, he could be himself and he knew that was enough for you, you made him feel enough, you made him feel special.

“If that's what I had to do for protecting Kiri, Lo'ak and their family's honor, of course.” You answered immediately and with your words, sounding so sure and affirmative, Neteyam felt his heart be flooded with a most familiar warmth, an emotion quite well-known to him whenever you were near him and said things such as those, always putting others before yourself, putting the welfare of his family before yourself.

A smile tugged at Neteyam's lips, admiring you with bright, big eyes, his hands trailing down your shoulders, sliding down your arms to your hands, taking them between his own tenderly, fingers toying with yours absentmindedly as he watched the clear size difference.

“He called you little flower.” Neteyam stated after a silence of a couple of seconds, twisting his head. His jaw was clenched and ears barely tilted back. “I call you that.”

You bit your lower lip, holding back the smile that threatened to curve your lips at his clear display of jealousy. He was upset about it and you had to reassure him. Your fingers caressed his wrist, tracing imaginary lines down his forearm. “I like it better when you do it.”

“I sure hope so.” He smiled again and tugged on your hand, inviting you to walk with him, both of your hands tangled between his arm, and he didn't waste a second in drawing you to him. “I want to show you something.”

. . .

Neteyam had found the spot walking along the local beach, it was a bit far from the place where his family was staying and it was far from the town in general, but that made it a perfect location. It was a small bay, surrounded by coastal vegetation, a couple of palm trees and soft silky sand, but what was really amazing, was the glows of bioluminescence under the clear ocean water, algae of all colors, small animals swimming, with the sunset light bathing exquisitely over the turquoise sea.

It was beautiful, of course. But your reaction at the sight of it was even better; mouth half-open, eyes huge and amazed, face in wonder.

“'Yam… it's beautiful.” You murmured in a soft, barely audible tone of voice, but he was right next to you, as close to you as possible, so he could hear you perfectly. His fingers were intertwined with yours and he pulled you with him across the sand to the perfect place to sit.

“Yes it is. I found it as I was passing by... I immediately thought of you.” His gaze lowered with a hint of embarrassment flashing across his pretty face. “I know how much you love nature, all the things our great mother has given us, so, I thought, you would like it.” He stated and then shrugged, attitude becoming quite braggy now. “I've seen more beautiful things, though.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing your shoulder against his in amusement as you wrapped your arms around your knees, admiring the scenery in front of you. “Don't lie now.”

“I'm serious.” He laughed, looking up at you, analyzing every expression on your pretty face. “I'm no liar, you know that.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning your head so you could look at him now. “Really, huh? So what have you seen? What possibly have you seen prettier than this?”

Neteyam smiled thinly, stirring his arm lightly, his hand passed down your back, resting on the sand, fingers fiddling with it. “Something prettier than this?”

“Hm.” You hummed, looking at him curiously.

His ears perked up, gaze dropping to his lap, steeling himself inside, trying his hardest to calm the nerves that were practically eating him alive. And then, he moved his eyes up your body, until he met yours. “I'm looking at it right now.”

Your breath hitched and your mouth parted, feeling your body freeze. Your arms fell to either side of your body, adjusting your position.

“Nete…” You whispered in a shaky voice.

“Yes, sluyang?” He tilted his head softly. “I'm being honest.” He swallowed saliva, his hand trailing up your arm, caressing your shoulder and tracing your jaw, down to rest on your cheek, fingers tracing every inch of skin he could, arranging your hair and tucking it behind your ear. “I've always seen you as the most beautiful thing…” His lips trembled, faltering for a few moments. “I see you, (Y/N).”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his, nuzzling his nose against yours. “I see you too, Neteyam.”

He closed his eyes too, caressing your face with his. “When that idiot called you flower and treated you that way… like you were nothing.” His hands cradled your face now, and you rose up to face him, completely silent, breathing agitatedly. He was breathing in an agitated way too, looking frustrated, disturbed. “I was furious. They should respect you. Every one of them should know that you are mine and they should treat you as such, as my equal, as my mate.”

You opened your eyes to find his eyes already on you, your fingers stroking his arms subconsciously. Your lips brushed his as you opened your mouth to speak in an agitated voice. “I want to be yours, Neteyam.”

“I can't pretend anymore.” He declared between shaky breaths, gaze traveling between your eyes and mouth as he shook his head. “I don't care what anyone else says, I don't want anyone else. I have already chosen. I just want you, (Y/N)... I was made for you.”

“Then just take me.” You murmured against his lips before joining them with yours in a needy, agitated kiss that felt as if everything at last, made sense, as if life had been created just for this moment, as if you had been brought to life just this moment, for each other.

It felt as if all the constellations had aligned for you, as if you had all the stars just for you, and that was given just once, you knew. Everything made you feel as if Ewya had created you for each other. You were made for each other and perhaps the Great Mother had aligned the whole universe for it, for you.

“I am yours.” He promised. “I always have been.”

Your legs tangled between his as you landed on his lap, being drawn in by his arms chaining themselves around your body, massaging your waist, tattooing his touch on your skin.

“Forever.”

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (8/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, fingering, mutual masturbation, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"You are pathetic, like all your kin. Thank the gods you don't make me warm your bed, but your child asks about you and I don't know what to answer. That her father would rather spend time with whores in King's Landing than with his own daughter?" She heard her mother's hiss as if from afar, seeing darkness all around her, recognising in the vague outline of objects that she was standing in the corridor, by the door of her chamber.

How old could she have been then?

Had it really happened, or was it just a dream?

For some reason, her head hurt a lot.

"The Red Keep is no place for a little girl. Should I take her there to watch the lords around my brother fucking kill each other for power, let them marry her off to the first better rich old fool?"

"Would you rather she live without a father? Will you flee from that duty too?"

A long, uncomfortable silence ensued, which after a while was broken by the bitter, disappointed voice of her father.

"She resembles you too much."

She opened her eyes, feeling that the light was blinding her. She muttered, twisting on the soft bed, hearing someone's conversation fall silent a moment later.

"My Lady?"

She glanced sideways at the figure of the Maester leaning over her, his hand touching her head.

"Thank the gods, the fever has subsided. How do you feel?"

She swallowed hard, trying to remember what had happened and where she was, confused and frightened, feeling like her skull was about to explode from the pain.

And then she remembered.

His full lips pressed against hers, his hand between her thighs.

And a dim memory of what followed, the blow and her fall, his voice in the darkness, his hot breath on her face, the outline of his jaw in the candlelight, his sticky, hot kiss.

Sleep, little sister.

Your brother will stay by your side.

She sighed, tired and resigned, recognising that this was surely just a dream, her desire for someone to be there for her, to care and look after her.

She wondered if Lady Floris felt satisfaction now.

She knew she had partially earned it – despite knowing her cousin was betrothed, she did not push him away when his lips pressed against hers and his hand went under the fabric of her robe.

She acknowledged with surprise that she did not resent her.

"My head hurts a lot." She confessed at last, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

The Maester nodded in understanding, handing her some herbal infusion in a cup.

"Drink this, my Lady. It will soothe the pain. You should spend the day resting." He said.

They both shuddered as the door to her chamber opened: her cousin stepped inside dressed in an emerald tunic, his hair slightly damp, as if he had just taken a bath, tied back with a black ribbon.

"Leave us alone." He ordered, looking at her calmly with a gaze from which, for some reason, her heart beat harder.

"Your Highness." Said the Maester and bowed, disappearing after a moment behind the door.

Prince Aemond approached her lazily and surprised her as he sat on the bed beside her, leaning towards her, his hand touching her forehead as if he was checking something.

"Throughout the night, your body burned with fever. Thankfully, it's waned." He murmured, saying it more to himself than to her, sliding his fingers down her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek.

She felt a pleasant warmth in her lower abdomen as she realised that what she felt was not a dream.

He had really stayed with her.

She swallowed quietly, unable to look away from his gaze, her hand involuntarily touching his wrist.

"Will your betrothed forgive you?" She mumbled out, the guilt she felt like a needle stuck in her heart.

She didn't know this girl, but she had taken something from her.

She blinked as her cousin grinned broadly, a glint of madness in his gaze from which her heart pounded harder in her chest, the space between her thighs pulsed greedily around nothing.

"She is no longer my concern." He whispered, forming the letter o out of his mouth as if he were mocking, amused by the situation.

She looked at him for a moment and shook her head, not understanding what he was trying to say.

"What do you mean?"

"I have broken our betrothal. Just moments ago, at a meeting of the Small Council, I introduced to the assembled guard who was assigned to you, and whom Floris dismissed. No one else walked down the corridor, as they would have been spotted by the other guards. Her jealousy was a danger to the Crown. What if she thought she should also attack my sister, Helaena, fearing that I might also cohabit with her? My brother agreed with me that she could not remain in the Red Keep and left it at dawn today." He hummed, clearly pleased with himself, trailing his fingertips along her neck – his words made her eyes widen in disbelief.

He had simply sent her away.

Had this been his plan all along?

Had he kissed her then, in the library, hoping Floris would see it and do something ill-considered?

She didn't know why she felt an unpleasant stab of disappointment and regret, her eyebrows arching in sadness as she lowered her eyes, trying not to cry.

"What's that look? Hm?" He asked, catching her gently by the chin, lifting her face towards him so that she looked at him again.

"I admire how thoughtful everything you do is. Every step, every detail. Every gesture and sound." She whispered, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in her throat, fighting not to show him weakness.

"You think I planned this." He concluded, cocking his head to the side. "I wish I had. But you must believe me, dōna hāedar, that it was merely a matter of coincidence."

Dōna hāedar.

Sweet little sister.

"Lord Baratheon will not leave it like that. He will break the alliance." She whispered, and he snorted, leaning towards her, sinking his hand into her hair.

"So I'll take Vhagar and explain the situation to him. Mmm, I could take you with me – you would present to him the injustice that has befallen you at the hands of his daughter, and then you would warm my bed in one of the chambers in Storm's End." He said lightly, as if he thought that, indeed, this was a great plan with a guarantee of success.

"You would force him to listen to what you are doing to me." She sighed as she felt his thumb run over her lips, parting them, sinking his finger into their fleshy, moist structure.

She shuddered as his hand slid down to the material of her nightgown, untying it, a moan of surprise stuck in her throat as he spread it open, exposing her bare breasts.

"– I am a free man now, hāedar –" He gasped, leaning lower – her hands clenched into fists on either side of her head as the tip of his pink, wet tongue ran lazily over her hard, puffy nipple. "– and as your big brother, I have precedence in your bed –"

She threw her head back with an innocent, girlish moan as his lips clamped around her nipple, sucking on it gently as if he were a baby – her hands in some involuntary reflex entwined in his long white hair, pressing his face against her breast, feeling the shudders and pulsations surging through her cunt each time his tongue rolled around the sensitive spot.

"– ah –" She gasped, involuntarily rocking her hips, feeling this kind of sensation for the first time in her life – she didn't understand what purpose it was supposed to serve and she felt exposed, but on the other hand what he was doing was wonderfully pleasurable and exciting, her body responding to his caresses eagerly.

She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back her smile of satisfaction when his hand, clenched earlier on her breast, slid down her stomach lower, pulling impatiently at the material of her nightgown, searching blindly for the warmth between her thighs.

They both moaned, and her fingers pressed his face tighter to her body as his fingertips dug into her dripping folds, swollen with desire – her legs bent at the knees spread involuntarily, shamelessly asking for more.

He released her breast from between his lust-swollen lips and looked at her as if he had completely lost his mind, his gaze dark and shining as he lay down next to her on his side, guiding her hand to the twitching bulge in his breeches exactly as he had the evening before.

She didn't know why she was so willing, why when his forehead pressed against hers and their lips found each other in a passionate, loud kiss, filled with their sigh of delight, her fingers undid the buckles of his tunic and untied the material of his breeches, reaching fearlessly for what lay beneath them.

He closed his eyes and sighed, his body shuddering as he felt the gentle touch of her smooth hand on his erection, hot with desire, throbbing all over under her fingers. His free hand in some subconscious, helpless reflex sank into her hair, his lips melting with hers in a sweet caress seemed to seek reassurance that this would remain their secret.

The tips of their tongues licked against each other with their grunts of delight as his hand sunk into her leaking, silky cunt, circling around her small, delicate pearl while hers trailed over his throbbing manhood, teasing it.

He was hard as a rock.

"– squeeze it –" He breathed out into her mouth between one click of their wet lips and the next, taking his hand from between her thighs for a moment, clearly wanting to show her what he meant.

She opened her eyelids with difficulty, dulled by the sensations and his slick tongue sliding between their kisses down her throat, peering curiously at what she was touching. He stopped the caress for a moment, their faces pressed together, their gazes directed downwards.

"– here – right here – just like that, all the way to the top –" He whispered in a voice trembling with desire.

A quiet, helpless groan broke from his lips, enveloping her in the warmth of his breath as she obeyed him, clasping her fingers at the very base of his long, pink cock, squeezing it to the very tip of it, thick and smooth, dripping with his own wetness.

"– how is it possible for something like this to fit inside a woman? –" She mumbled and heard him smile, his hand returned back between her thighs, running warningly over her leaking slit.

"– I'll show it to you myself – one day –" He murmured, his lower lip running over hers in a gesture inviting her to another kiss, which she accepted with unprecedented eagerness, letting his hand sink into her hair to pull her closer, refusing to let her escape his starved mouth.

"– harder –" He demanded in a voice hoarse with desire between their loud, passionate kisses, and she smiled involuntarily under her breath – her hand, in accordance with his desire, clamped tighter on his root, causing him to let out a surprised, boyish moan from his throat.

Her heart fluttered harder in her chest at the thought that she didn't know he was capable of making such sounds.

So innocent.

Now, in this moment, he was helpless, vulnerable to hurt.

He craved.

And she couldn't waste this chance.

The space between her thighs was delighted with her plan, feeling his fingers circling around her swollen bud with cruel precision, their breaths heavy as their tips pushed against her entrance, opening her on their thickness.

"– lēkia –" She breathed out, a startled, sweet moan of euphoria bursting from her lips directly into his throat as his fingers forced their way deep inside her, only to slide out and repeat it all over again.

He sighed as she squeezed his swollen erection tighter in response – their hands found a shared rhythm, their hips rolling back and forth at the same time, their lips melting into hot kisses filled with excitement and impatience.

"– don't stop – mmm –" He purred into her lips, panting hard along with her, shivers of wondrous delight shaking her body again and again each time his fingertips hit the sweet spot deep inside her, from which she felt the tickle in her lips and nipples.

"– I – o-oh, gods –" She whimpered, feeling her inevitable peak approaching, his hand from her hair slid lower to her breasts, clamping down on it as if he himself was trying to hold back the inevitable.

"– go on – come on my fingers –" He exhaled, and those words were enough to make her body shake with a sweet shudder, from which a startled, innocent moan escaped her throat – she felt his fingers stop moving inside her, wanting only to feel her fleshy walls pulsing around their length, sucking them inside her.

"– hāedar –" He whispered and gasped all over with a sigh of relief when, after her next sure squeeze, his pearly, sticky release spilled over the snow-white material of her nightgown.

They lay like this, panting heavily, welted and sweaty with emotion, pressing their foreheads against each other, his hand lingering on her bare breast and deep inside her womanhood while her fingers stroked gently his throbbing, quivering manhood.

Despite what they had done, and that it was certainly a sin, there was also something innocent about it – their desires were pure and sincere, devoid of subtext, seeking only the release of tension, closeness and security.

When she opened her eyes she saw that his gaze was fixed on her chest, his lips slightly parted in a deep, uneven breath.

She thought he longed to do what he had always done with his lover – to sink his face between her plump breasts and allow himself to be embraced by her – but he knew that she knew his secret and that if he did so, he would expose himself to ridicule and confirm his brother's words.

She lifted her free hand and gently placed it on his, inviting him to sink his fingertips deeper into the soft structure of her bosom – he sighed when he looked at her, as if he didn't know what he thought of it himself, and after a moment he leaned down and nestled his face into the crook of her neck.

His hand remained on her breast – encourage by her gesture, he played with it between his fingers as her arms embraced and cuddled him into her, and he didn't push her away or say a word.

Looking down at her fingers sticky with his spend, her other hand combing lazily through his long white hair, she thought she had tamed not one dragon, but two.

They were both silent – there was something safe about that. It seemed to her that they both knew that whoever spoke first would show weakness – not of flesh but of character – and neither of them could afford to do so.

Desire was like thirst or hunger, obvious and needing no explanation, indicative of nothing more in fact it was.

It didn't need feelings.

"Criston Cole is gathering our army. He and my uncle will soon march for Harrenhal." He hummed, enveloping her neck with his warm breath, his hands closed over her breasts and her womanhood moved, stroking both places, making her shiver.

He shared his knowledge with her because he was proud of himself and felt a sense of satisfaction – he sought confirmation of his genius, her praise and understanding, her gaze of admiration that he so desperately desired.

Or was it a test?

Was he telling her this because he wanted to see if she contacted her father?

They both shifted position, lying on their sides, looking straight into each other's eyes – there was something in his gaze and grin that filled her with anxiety.

"Daemon is expecting our answer. What he doesn't know, however, is that Cole will actually head off to a different location."

She blinked, looking at him confused.

"Why?" She asked and sighed as he gently took her hand in his, looking at her in simultaneous concentration and excitement, as if he was delighted that she had asked about it.

She thought in disbelief that he was acting like a little boy.

He confided in her.

"– your smooth hand is Dragonstone –" He said, placing her hand on the bed and pointed with a circular motion of his finger to the sheet around it. "– all around it is the sea –"

"– this –" He murmured, his other hand sinking lazily into the skin of her exposed, bare breast, making her involuntarily clench her thighs. "– is King's Landing – and this –"

He whispered, slowly running his knuckles down her smooth stomach, a quiet sigh escaped her lips as his fingertips sank gently into the fleshy, moist folds of her soft womanhood.

"– this, dōna hāedar, is Harrenhal – everyone desires it, for it is the fortress that opens the way to the North – moreover, it is currently besieged by your father –" He gasped, teasing her throbbing slit with his fingers, causing her lips to part in a ragged breath, feeling the pleasant tingle of pleasure run down her spine.

She felt with shame that her nipples had hardened, pointy and sensitive, her little cunt all swollen from the waves of tickling ecstasy into which his words and touch had brought her.

"– this –" He continued, sliding his fingers, wet with her moisture up her thigh and knee. "– this is Winterfell – and with it the whole of the North –"

"– however, there is another important, inconspicuous place –" He said contentedly, returning his hands to her palm, his fingers running over her wrist. "– here is Rook's Rest – a small fortress that allows my sister-whore to cross to the continent – however, if you cut it off –"

He said and made a movement with the side of his hand across her wrist, as if he were cutting it off with a dagger.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest as she suddenly comprehended.

"– you want to cut her off from the land –" She muttered and he hummed, cocking his head, his lips curved in expression as if her words gave him satisfaction and tickled his ego.

"– does your brother know about this? –" She asked, and his expression changed – his jaw clenched in displeasure, his iris turned black, his brow straightened.

Her question frustrated him and destroyed his pleasant vision, she thought as he took his hands from her warm body.

"– Aegon did not devote his life to the art of war or the complexities of warfare – he preferred to drink and play with his whores –" He said with a wide smile that, if it were not for the look in his eyes, she might have considered joyful.

She knew, however, that he was furious.

She raised herself up on her elbows, letting the material of her nightgown slide even lower, exposing her shoulders and stomach.

"– don't do it – tell him –" She muttered, and he stood up, infuriated, and immediately tied the material of his breeches, displeased with the direction this discussion had taken.

"– I don't recall asking you for your opinion – it was a mistake to introduce a woman into these complicated, masculine matters –" He said coldly in a tone that suggested that one more ill-chosen word on her part and he would lose patience despite everything that had happened between them.

She, however, knew that what he was doing would sooner or later lead to a catastrophe of which she too would become a victim.

She had no intention of dying because of his pride.

"– your brother sees you as a threat – he is disturbed by your behaviour and is tense in your presence –" She said, looking at him pleadingly.

He, to her surprise snorted and laughed, looking down at her, a wide grin on his face.

"– he's afraid of me –" He said in a way as if it was his great achievement for which she should praise and kiss him.

She shook her head feeling that her face expressed terror.

"– yes, he's afraid of you – and that's not good information neither for you nor for me – gods, you can't let him stop trusting you – you're balancing on a thin line and forgetting that it doesn't matter if he fits the role or not, he's the King –" She said in a breaking voice, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

He stood over her with his lips slightly parted, breathing loudly, as if he was boiling inside, not knowing what to make of her words.

His gaze fled lower for a moment, to her breasts, as if her bared flesh and the memory of the pleasure they had given each other distracted him, and then back to her face.

He was silent.

He hesitated.

This was her chance.

"– I beg you to tell him – in the solitude of the chamber, so that no words are said in public – so that he cannot accuse you of plotting behind his back ��" She whispered, shifting towards him on her hands, settling herself finally in front of him on her knees, looking up at him pleadingly.

He swallowed hard and clenched his hands into fists, as if struggling to restrain himself from touching her – her gaze fled down to the material of his breeches, under which his manhood pulsed.

"– this fool will demand Harrenhal – he won't understand – he wants great fortresses and great victories, not realising that war is composed of cunning and guile –" He said quietly, looking her straight in the face, his lips parted as if he was thirsty and she was a fleshy, wet fruit.

"– so let's convince him together – I know how to speak to him – he enjoys me and my honesty – he'll feel he's making important decisions, even though they've long since been made for him –" She said, breathing hard as he did, feeling how much she was risking by conversing with him so directly.

She saw something sinister flash in his eye, his tongue running over his lower lip.

"– do you let him touch you? –"

She blinked and snorted in disbelief, shaking her head as if she wasn't sure if he had really asked about it.

"– no – his tongue doesn't burst in between my lips and his hand doesn't seek the heat between my thighs –" She said and they both fell silent, panting quietly, as if something in her words aroused both her and him.

They shuddered and pulled away from each other as they heard someone's footsteps outside the door – her hands immediately covered her shoulders and breasts with her nightgown, while he quickly buckled his tunic.

When a quiet knock sounded she glanced at him and only spoke up when he looked as if nothing had happened between them.

She thought with amusement that because of their elation, his hair didn't look as perfect as usual.

"Come." She called out, and a servant came in with a tray, saying that she had brought the morning meal for her as prescribed by the Maester.

Her cousin left without a word, letting her eat in peace, and she exhaled heavily, spreading a piece of bread with berry confiture, thinking she was treading on thin ice.

She was neither his lover, nor his sister, nor his servant, but a chaos of his desires and needs.

Gods, have mercy on me, she thought.

To her surprise, as she was being examined by the Maester, who was looking at a large lump on her head, the King walked into her room.

Aegon seemed pleased that she was alive and looked healthy.

"– ah, you're awake, cousin – great news – Baratheon's whore is on her way back to her home – my brother never liked to have his toys destroyed – and I will not allow any of my family to be harmed in this fortress again –" He said lightly, walking over to the table, taking one of the jars that contained the herbs brought by the medics – he shook it, raised his eyebrows in disapproval and set it down.

She did not reply, deciding that silence in such a situation was safer.

"– he was never able to hide his jealousy or his displeasure, you know – he was forever walking around with his mouth curved in disgust, proud and vain, with his nose in his big books, as if they would make his other eye grow back –" He muttered, pacing around her bed, looking around the room.

"– you're a dragon rider and my cousin, and he gave you such a small chamber – it's inappropriate – I'll assign you another, better one, with a view of the sea – Lady Floris slept in it before, but I think she won't haunt you in your dreams – you'll be content –" He said, looking at her, and she nodded and smiled involuntarily.

"– that's it – that's the spirit – I like it – you should see Sunfyre – have you ever been in Dragon's Pit? –" He asked, as if hundreds of thoughts were going through his mind at once, and he was unable to focus on any.

"– no, my King –" She replied softly and hissed as the Maester touched a spot on the back of her head that was all sore and swollen.

"– forgive me, my Lady –" He whispered, and she nodded.

Aegon didn't seem to see this and simply went on.

"– we will travel there this afternoon, by carriage, so as not to strain you –" He said and seeing that the Maester wanted to state with certainty that this was not a good idea he raised his hand in the air, showing him not to interrupt mid-sentence. "– the fresh air will certainly do her good, and we won't spend much time there –"

Whether she wanted to or not, she had to go.

She didn't do so reluctantly, though, for indeed, she wanted to see the other dragons and the great cave they lived in.

However, as soon as the carriage doors closed behind them she realised what the true purpose of this journey was.

"I want Daemon to answer for the death of my son and I need you to help me convince my brother that I should set off to fight with him. He doesn't agree and every time he does it, he humiliates me in the eyes of the Small Council." He said with regret and frustration, from which she swallowed hard.

Oh gods.

She looked down at her hands, feeling the panic rising within her, standing between them as if between two walls that were moving closer and closer, finally colliding with each other and crushing her at the same time.

"The King must remain in King's Landing. Without you there is no point in all this." She said, looking at him expectantly.

She clenched her hands on her knees when she saw that his jaw clamped shut in rage, his eyes red from tears as his fist hit the carriage wall with all its force.

"– he's my son – you don't understand it – you're not a mother – my children are my biggest pride – they are sweet, good and kind, and now – now my son is locked in a cold stone sarcophagus underground and he's probably scared –" He mumbled out, burying his face in his hands, as if he believed that a decapitated child could wake up.

Despite the absurdity of his words, her throat tightened in sympathy, tears of sadness gathered under her eyelids as she looked at his huddled, distraught figure.

"– he's not suffering anymore – he's in a place where no one can hurt him again –" She muttered, and he sobbed loudly, as if he was only now allowing himself to truly grieve.

She swallowed hard when he reached out his arm to her, placing his elbow on his knee.

"– can you hold my hand? –" He gasped, choking on his own tears, and she felt a single, heavy tear run down her cheek.

Her hand grasped his, and his fingers tightened on hers as he cried and cried and cried.

Some part of her felt the need to embrace him and comfort him, she feared, however, that he might take this as an invitation to something else, something she did not want.

She didn't desire him that way, and his brother's fury would be immense.

So she held his hand in hers until they reached Dragon's Pit.

Sunfyre looked like a dragon straight out of fairy tales told to children – slender, long, shining as if he were made of pure gold he looked proud and towering. She smiled when she saw that the beast had pressed its head against its master's chest, and Aegon kissed its scales as if his dragon was also his child.

Something moved her at that sight, at his genuine joy and laughter.

She realised with horror that his younger brother had never smiled.

Not really.

The journey back to the Red Keep passed as she listened to his stories about their father.

"My father, and your uncle mostly forgot about having more than one child. The fucking cunt of Dragonstone was his favourite. His heiress to the throne even though he had a first-born son, for whom, after all, he had opened the womb of his first, beloved wife. Apparently he did so against her pleas, and her cries were heard throughout the fortress. And yet, my mother and my grandfather say that I should follow his example. That he was a wonderful, merciful king." He said, looking at her with a smile full of amusement, however, there was something else in his gaze: pain and fatigue.

He had not slept well for many months and only found comfort in wine.

"And your sister-wife? What is she like?" She asked, though she did not know why.

Aegon fell silent and the amusement disappeared from his face – he stared blankly out of the carriage window for a moment, as if musing.

"Her person is an eternal mystery to me. I don't usually understand what she says. But she is gentle and kind. She does not humiliate me, although she, of all our family, has the most reason to despise me." He said finally.

She swallowed silently, thinking that there was something childlike and innocent in his words, sincere and helpless, a cry of despair and a plea for help that no one answered.

She wondered if he and his brother knew how much alike they were.

She wanted to say it and had it on the tip of her tongue, but after a moment she realised that her cousin would kill her if he found out that she had described his weaknesses to his brother.

She had to balance the two of them so that they both loved her.

In some way.

When they returned to the fortress she immediately headed to her chamber, dreaming only of a warm bath.

As she stepped into her small room she reached into the back of her gown, grabbing the ties of her bodice, and opened her mouth, wanting to call out to a servant to help her.

"Where have you been?"

She looked back, terrified, clutching at the heart that had stopped in her throat hearing his cold voice – she saw his silhouette sitting on one of the chairs like a statue, his face stony and blank, his gaze dark.

Exactly as it had been when she had first seen him.

"With the King." She replied truthfully, reaching her fingers trembling with anxiety into the back of her gown again, pulling at the thin, bright ribbon, causing the whole dress to loosen.

She saw his lips tighten in fury, his nostrils twitching in a deep breath as if he was trying to control himself and not lash out at her.

"For what reason?" He asked further, tilting his head in curiosity, his wide grin indicating that he was on the verge of exploding.

"He wanted to show me Dragon's Pit and Sunfyre." She said without lowering her gaze, knowing that she could not show him fear.

She jumped up and took a step back, terrified when he suddenly burst from his chair with such fury that she only had time to snort for air and he was already at her side, grabbing her aggressively at the waist, slamming her body against the bedpost.

She sighed, resisting him passively as his free hand lifted the material of her skirt with a sharp movement, her hand gripped his wrist as his fingers sank into her womanhood and pushed against her slit, causing her discomfort and pain.

"– no – it hurts when I'm not prepared –" She exhaled, looking him straight in the eye.

They both breathed hard as something like satisfaction flashed across his face, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk full of contentment at the realisation that she wasn't wet.

That she didn't desire his brother.

He took his hand away and let her go, taking a step back and looking at her for a moment in silence.

"Mmm. I have come to you with another matter. From now on, our lessons will be held in my chamber. I wish to ensure that no one will…disturb us." He hummed softly, suddenly completely calm and pleased, the fingers of his hands rubbing against each other as if he was excited by the vision.

She sighed quietly, leaning the back of her head against the wooden column, feeling her cunt pulsate all over at the subtext she heard clearly in his words.

"So that no one disturbs my education, as I understand it?" She asked quietly, his gaze fixed on her hot and filled with something combining lust and madness.

"Indeed. What I wish to teach you requires much concentration and the privacy of the chamber." He said, and she felt her lips part wide in a thirsty sigh.

The corner of her cousin's mouth twitched in a grin, as if he remembered something, and then he moved towards the door, glancing at her over his shoulder with an expression from which a shiver ran along her spine.

"Wear the same robe as the last time. And let your hair down."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: Alchemy

Some scholars say alchemy comes from the Greek cheo, meaning “I pour” or “I cast,” since much of alchemy has to do with the working of metals.

But many believe the word comes from the Egyptian Khem, meaning “the black land” (land with black earth), and see that as indicating Egypt as alchemy’s place of origin:

The Arabic article al was added to Khem to give alchemy.

Alchemy is an ancient art, at the heart of which lies the manufacture of a mysterious substance called the Philosopher’s Stone.

Later, as the science (some call it a pseudoscience) progressed, the article was again dropped, to become chemistry.

Alchemy certainly is the early history of chemistry.

The Philosopher's Stone - the highly desirable and legendary object that is said to transform base metals—such as lead—into gold.

However, the gold in this instance symbolizes not just the valuable metal, but enlightenment and eternal life, and Alchemists are concerned with their own spiritual and personal development as well as the pursuit of the seemingly unattainable goal.

The Chinese differentiate these different kinds of alchemy as nei-tan (the alchemy of spiritual transformation) and waitan (the straightforward “lead-into-gold” type).

The motto of the Alchemists is Solve et Coagula, meaning “Solution and Coagulation.”

The work of the early Alchemists was necessarily a secretive and clandestine matter, and its secrets are still held within a rich encrustation of symbols, pictures, oblique references, double meanings, and riddles.

Alchemical symbolism features animals, birds, colors, and parables as well as archetypal symbols such as the Cosmic Egg.

The key tenets of alchemy are encompassed in something called the Smaragdina Tablet, or the Emerald Tablet.

The tablet is said to have been found by Alexander the Great in the tomb of Hermes Trismegistus (Hermes the Thrice Great) who is the founder of all things alchemical.

The Alchemical Tradition exists/existed in Ancient Egypt, China, and India, but its most recent incarnation was in medieval Europe.

Those who dabbled in alchemy include the famous and the infamous, such as John Dee (astrologer to Queen Elizabeth I), Paracelsus, Albertus Magnus, Christian Rosenkreuz, Nicholas Flamel, and Isaac Newton.

Some of the chemical treatises are befuddling to even the most learned of scholars, but the very word “alchemy” is almost in itself a symbol, conjuring up images that are magical, mystical, and marvelous.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[donelywell]

ANGEL ISLAND October 2

As soon as they land on the previously floating island, Knuckles clocks Sonic in the face, making him drop all of the Chaos Emeralds he has.

Once Knuckles spots how dull the Emeralds are, he yells a storm at Sonic. Sonic crankily yells back that it’s all Eggman’s fault that this happened, he just fell for his bait. Knuckles laughed at this, calling Sonic feeble minded, but Sonic retorts that Knucklehead has fallen for his lies way more times than he has. Chip looks confused and scared as the 2 go quickly from fighting words to fists and kicks. Tails just looks tired, quickly breaking up the fight by reminding Knuckles that they’re here because he sent him a call about the Master Emerald acting strange.

While waiting for Tails to finish running a diagnosis on the Master Emerald, Sonic got bored and challenged an arm wrestling competition with Knuckles. After the arm wrestling, Sonic goes off and gives Chip a tour of Angel Island.

>Minigame

(You play as Sonic arm wrestling Knuckles, Chip is the referee.

The objective is to be faster than Knuckles can react when Chip says 'Go!' If you're faster than Knuckles' reaction time, then you win! If not, he absolutely destroyed you at arm wrestling.

And there is no cost to entering the mini game, but there is a risk/ reward situation.

If you win, you collect the rings Knuckles drops from the damage, if Knuckles wins, you lose some rings from taking damage.

You can enter the mini game at any time outside of playing acts after you make it to Angel Island.)

Tails and Knuckles go to the Master Emerald Temple to run a diagnostic. Turns out, the Master Emerald has power, but it seems to be locked away for some reason. So it’s basically just a glowing gemstone at the moment, unless you have a connection with it like Knuckles, but it only sounds like muffles to him at the moment.

Knuckles realizes that Tails is worried about something else, but he’s not sure what. But instead of asking and possibly making the kit uncomfortable (like he has done before), he just simply pet the kit’s head and purrs (Knuckles' purrs are very low). It always seems to help him relax.

> Angel Island Day Act 1

(Sonic just runs around Angel Island, use this as a way to help adjust to the controls)

Meanwhile, Sonic and Chip are having a tour of the floating island, with the final stop being one of the many Chao Gardens there. Chip immediately takes a liking to the place, and the Chao like him too. They all eat plenty of fruit and play around until Sonic gets a message from the communicator that it’s time to head back to the Temple.

When Sonic and Chip return, they catch Knuckles and Tails trying to find a way to recharge the Chaos Emeralds. The theory is that when the Chaos Emeralds are recharged, the Master Emerald might unlock its power and connections again.

Knuckles tries to remember an ancient writing he read once while patrolling Angel Island years ago, but Eggman destroyed it when he crash landed on the island back in Sonic 3 & Knuckles. He does recall something about Gaia healing the Emeralds though. Sonic pops in saying he heard Eggman talk about the ‘Gaia Manuscripts’, but he isn’t too sure since he was in a lot of pain at the time. Tails has a bright idea.

Tails races back to the Tornado, explaining that he met a Professor in Spagonia who specializes in researching the Gaia Legends, if anyone can help them with this predicament, it’s him. Knuckles and Chip straggle behind, with Knuckles grumbling that Tails should really stop getting these traits from Sonic. (Knuckles joined the party!)

Apotos

Spagonia/ Mazuri

[llondonfog]

Wailing about “you love me so you’ll love my child” but w melleanor and silver

"—and do not let Vanrouge within twenty meters of the kitchens, is that clear, Counselor? Inform the kitchen staff that they have my exact permission to maim him on sight with the nearest sharp object. Oh, do not duck your face like a quivering kitten as if I cannot see that grimace, Counselor— that man has survived much worse and scraped through with life and limb and still persists to terrorize us all with his presence, isn't that right, my dear one?"

From within her arms, Lilia's child coos and babbles something far more intelligent than her trailing, fretful advisors back at her, and she taps a dark painted talon delicately against its plush cheek in fond agreement.

Lilia's child.

Meleanor rolls the words silently within her mouth, holds them there to taste the strange, but pleasant, flavor of their meaning.

Of all the fae in all their lands, who would have ever dared to dream that Lilia Vanrouge would take to a child like a fish to water, or a fledgling to the skies?

She can still hear him now, grumbling and griping so about the burden of children, their helplessness and neediness as unnecessarily weak creatures. In a rare form of mercy, not once did she pry— for how could she, when she knew the answer even if it was not in specifics? When fae were perishing at the hands of humankind's avaricious cruelty, how could she dare chastise him when she was so certain that Lilia's bitterness only existed towards himself?

Her hypothesis had been proven correct when her most trusted General had been present for Malleus' hatching, a softness that she had only seen once before smoothing the harsh lines of his battle-weary gaze. Perhaps she had the right of bias; it was only correct that anyone melt at the sight of her darling son, chirping and mewling miniature fonts of emerald flame.

But that softness had reappeared tenfold when Lilia had knelt before her in the privacy of her chambers where no other fae save for two were ever allowed, revealing the swaddled contents of his cloak with a desperate, fervent need for approval.

He woke for me, she remembers her oldest friend confessing in a voice choked with awe and an emotion that had nearly frightened her (her!) with its intensity. Meleanor, do you understand what this means? He is the son of our enemy, lost and forgotten by time, and he woke for me.

Oh, she had understood as perfectly then as she does now. It was for that reason alone that she had stayed her hand from where it had been readied to smite the child from Lilia's arms, to strip it from existence out of fear that it had somehow bewitched the one fae with more reason to detest humanity than all the rest.

True love was so rare in this world; it had taken her centuries to find her heart's desire. How could she wrest that from Lilia, as he kneels before her and bares his soul, staring down at the sleeping infant cradled in his arms with a delicate strength she did not know him to possess and the dazed look of a parent struck with the dazzling knowledge that the child they hold is more perfect than any creature alive on the earth?

She could not— the proof of which rests in her arms and happily teethes on strands of her gleaming hair, warm and soft and heavy in the sweet way of babes.

"And that is why we cannot allow your pathetic wretch of a father to ruin the celebration of your first blessing, isn't that right— Silver?"

[novankenn]

What kind of drunk do you think Salem is?

Interesting... I wonder? MWHAHAHAHAHA let my brain CREATE!!!

/==/

Cinder's face was ashen with dread. She had just received a notice from Watts, that their Queen... Salem would be visiting to "inspect" Cinder's operations in Vale. Only one problem, aside from the fact that evil incarnate was going to be dropping in for a friendly visit... Salem apparently had arrive and has been in Vale for a full fourteen hours!

Cinder pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, trying to calm herself down as she picture whether she was going to immolate Watt's balls or his hair first. The sound of her scroll ringing, drew her from her pleasant plotting of Arthur Watts demise.

Cinder: Roman? What are you...

Roman: I found your boss lady...

Cinder: What? Where? How? WHERE?

Roman: Ah... which of those questions do you really want answered first?

Cinder: WHERE?

Roman: Junior's Club.

Cinder: Say what?!?

Roman: She's at Junior's Club... (hung up on)

Cinder: EMERALD! MERCURY! TO JUNIOR'S NOW!!!

/==/

It took the trio ten minutes to get from the safe house to Junior's. The bouncers well aware of who they were stepped aside instantly to let them enter. Inside they found the place packed with costumed party goers...

Mercury: Well that accounts for the lack of city wide panic...

Cinder: Just find her and start BEGGING as soo as you do!

Emerald: Uh... um... Cinder?

Cinder: WHAT?!?

Emerald: Over there...

Cinder followed the direction of Emerald's outstretched hand and blanched. There straddling the knees of a young blond man was her boss... the Queen of the Grimm.

Mercury: Is she letting him do body shots?

Cinder: Preposterous! She would never...

Emerald: Yep! That was a booby-shot if I ever saw one.

Cinder: Ah... urkk... arrrr... let's... let's go.

The trio shouldered their way through those party goers that stood, or rather danced between them and their destination. Cinder ground her teeth as the closer they became the more truthful Mercury's observation was. Salem, the Queen of the Grimm. Evil Incarnate, an Immortal Witch of unparalleled power was allowing some blond haired buffoon to pluck shot glasses from between her breasts with his... mouth.

Salem: (hic) Soooo... much (hic) funny! (hic)

????: (hic) you... you... (hic) is beau... beauti... beautiful! (hic)

Cinder: Ahem! Miss...

Salem: CINDY! (hic)

Cinder: ...

Mercury: ...

Emerald: ...

Cinder and her associates watches as Salem, Evil Incarnate struggled to rise from her perch on the young man's lap, only to stumble and pull the young man from his seat and send them both crashing to the floor... and erupt in a fit of giggles and laughter.

Cinder: Cindy?

Mercury: ...

Emerald: ...

Salem: (hic) you... you... (hic) were... were... um (hic)... um...

????: right? (hic)

Salem: (hic) Yeppers! (hic)

The highly intoxicated pair struggled to their feet, and stood there grinning drunkenly at each other as they weaved, totally ignoring the presence of Cinder, Emerald and Mercury.

Salem: Dances (hic) Jauney? (hic)

Jaune: (hic) Okay! (hic)

Cinder: ...

Emerald: ...

Mercury: ...

The pair vanished into the crowd on the dance floor.

/==/

Seventeen hours later, Cinder and her team were forced to exfil Salem from not only the motel room she had shacked up in, but also Vale's proper. The whole ordeal throwing Cinder's careful preparations out the window.

/== 3 Months Later ==/

Mercury is sitting with Jaune at a "Noodles are Us" stall. The two having become fast friends after the events of that fated night.

Mercury: So how was she when you met her?

Jaune: Sad, lonely. She needed someone to talk to, and cheer her up.

Mercury: Oh... cheer her up? Is that what you kids are calling it?

Jaune: (blushing) I said I was...

The clatter of a something plastic landing on the counter interrupted Jaune's rebuttal. He turned his head and smiled.

Jaune: Cindy! Would you like to...

Cinder said nothing but pointed to the counter and the plastic object she had tossed there. Confused Jaune picked it up... and then fainted.

Cinder: Please pick him up, and bring him with you. We're leaving.

Mercury: Huh? What's going on? What about the plan?

Cinder: Cancelled. Now please pick up the Queen's "Baby-Daddy" and let's get out of here.

Mercury: ...

/==/

Utter & Complete Insanity Story Collection

/==/

A/N So I think I went off the rails here... and missed the mark... but ENJOY!

[disgruntledexplainer]

Deltora, a subversion of fantasy tropes (or perhaps more accurately going back to it's roots)

@yellow-eyed-green-crocodile OK, here we go.

Deltora Quest is a children's book series. It consists of 16 books, though it exists in an expanded universe which contains another 12 books, not counting Tales of Deltora, Secrets of Deltora, and Monsters of Deltora (as well as the little-known extra book The Land of Dragons, which contains about half of what's in Tales of Deltora plus 3 additional stories which you can't find anywhere else).

The books were written during that time when Scholastic was doing it's darnedest to get kids to actually pick up a book and read. You know, the era of Animorphs, Secrets of Droon, and other books like that. Pre-harry-potter stuff. But deltora always stuck out as somewhat... odd.

For one thing, the setting. Deltora is a land absolutely INFESTED with horrifying monsters. we're talking lovecraft-level stuff. indeed, these things are so powerful that going toe-to-toe with them in conventional combat is laughably absurd. I mean, just look at this thing:

each of those little globes is a stomach the size of a PERSON. a sword ain't doin SHIT against that thing. and it wasn't even the primary monster from the book it came from. do you know what was? THE SAND IT'S STANDING ON. YES, THAT ENTIRE DESERT IS A SINGLE MONSTER.

there are also dark sorcerers, capable of, for example, turning an entire town into a fetid swamp in a split second, and deflecting any weapon directed at them. the main villain is a sorcerer of such incredible power that he makes zeus and odin look like chumps.

in order to defeat these creatures, the main characters are consistently forced to use their wits instead of their weapons.

but this isn't what I am writing this post about. every fantasy book has monsters of some kind. probably. no, what REALLY stands out about the Deltora Quest series is the BELT.

this is the Belt of Deltora, a composite magic item formed from 7 gems, each linked to the power of the land, bound together by a belt made by a simple blacksmith who united the seven tribes of deltora and became it's first king. it is considered the single most powerful mystical object on the continent, and uniting it is Deltora's only hope for survival.

except from a generic fantasy perspective, it kinda sucks.

in most generic fantasy settings, the characters are attempting to accumulate magical power which they can use to engage their enemies directly in combat; alternatively, they may be trying to build a big enough army or something similar. but the gems don't work like that. lets take a look at what the gems can actually do, shall we?

the Diamond: Gem of Strength or Fortitude, can give physical strength, fortitude, and courage to the wielder, as well as the ability to cure diseases in the person who touches it. it punishes those who attempt to take it in a dishonorable manner with misfortune. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal Diamond Dragons, and a nearby dragon of it's type boosts it's power, and vice versa. it also has this weird synergy with the topaz where the topaz can summon the strength of everyone who believes in the wearer (in a metaphorical sense) and the diamond transforms that belief into physical strength.

the Emerald: Gem of Honor, dulls in the presense of evil or at the location of a broken vow, is a remedy for sores and ulcers, and is an antidote to poison for whomever touches it. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal Emerald Dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa. Note that out of all the dragons, emerald dragons are arguably the biggest and most powerful. It might have other powers as well, as it's potential isn't as well explored as the other gems.

Lapis Lazuli: Gem of Luck or Providence, protects the wearer from evil and brings good fortune. also may have some subtle effect on the weather, though that hasn't been confirmed. it is arguably the most powerful of the gems for the protection it provides, but the nature of it's power is ill defined, and certainly outside of the wearer's ability to control. It also allows you to detect the location of the Opal as if it were a compass, and is more powerful when in close proximity to it. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate and heal Lapis Lazuli dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa. If the opal has it's power boosted by a nearby opal dragon, the Lapis Lazuli's power is also boosted if they are close to each other.

Topaz: Gem of Faith, can allow the wearer to make contact with the spirit world during a full moon. the character can see ghosts, and sometimes the spirits of the hallowed dead (those who are in heaven) will appear to the character and given advice, those this is extremely rare. It also clears and strengthens the mind and protects the wearer from the terrors of the night (also ill-defined). It's powers are all strengthened during the full moon. It can allow the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal topaz dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa.

Opal: Gem of Hope, has the power to give glimpses of the future and can enhance the wearer's vision, and it can also fill the wearer with hope for the future (which helps counteract the panic that the visions of the future often produce). It can detect the Lapis Lazuli like a compass, and is more powerful when in close proximity to it. It allows the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal opal dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa. If the Lapis Lazuli has it's power boosted by a nearby lapis lazuli dragon, the opal's power is also boosted if they are close to each-other.

The Ruby: Gem of Happiness or Love, it grows pale in the presense of evil, or when misfortune threatens it's wearer. Can be used in conjunction with the emerald to fully distinguish between danger, evil, and vow-breakers, since their powers overlap a little. It wards off evil spirits (also ill-defined) and is an antidote to snake venom, and also apparently repels snakes and venomous creatures in general. It allows the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal ruby dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa.

The Amethyst: Gem of Truth or Wisdom, changes color in the presence of illness, pales near poisoned food or drink, and guides the wearer toward sincerity, security and peace of mind (AKA calming the wearer when touched). It also boosts the power of Toran Magic. By A LOT. It allows the wearer to telepathically communicate with and heal Amethyst dragons, and a nearby dragon of that type boosts it's power, and vice versa.

True, this is a lot of variety in powers, but with the exception of the Diamond most of this is pretty useless in combat. Especially given that the sorcerers in this world can do things like call lightning down from the sky, or create and control thousands of soldiers made out of goo. And compared to the combat capabilities of end-game weapons of other setting? it's chump change. it should be noted that the gems DO NOT allow the wielder to control dragons, only telepathically communicate with them, meaning that the King of Deltora must still negotiate to get any help, and the Dragons are rarely cooperative, even in the face of their own extinction. The gems don't give you the ability to control the elements, warp space and time, kill with a thought, fly, or turn into a glowing giant (whatever the anime adaptation might say to the contrary).

No, what the gems allow the user to do is: keep a level and clear head, detect potentially dangerous situations, and heal people of ailments.

but here's the thing; given what I said about the monsters in deltora, any of the spectacular kinds of magic would be pretty much useless. The Shadow Lord is beyond anything any mortal is capable of fighting; he has integrated his twisted will with the spirit of half a continent, and has experimenting with new and more twisted kinds of magic for thousands of years. Frankly, even by the standards of most "dark lords" like Sauron, Melkor, and Galbatorix, he is unimaginably powerful. a direct confrontation with him is laughable.

so then, why is the Belt considered one of the most powerful objects on the planet?

Well, because what it grants isn't power.

it grants FREEDOM.

freedom is defined as "the power, rooted in reason and will, to act or not to act, to do this or that, and so perform deliberate actions on one's own responsibility. By free will one shapes one's own life. Human freedom is a force for growth and maturity in truth and goodness[...]" -Catechism of the Catholic Church section 1731

in other words, Freedom, properly defined, is not the ability to do what one wants; that is power, not freedom. Freedom is the ability to do what one NEEDS to do. Freedom to protest. Freedom to preach. Freedom to worship. Freedom to defend oneself both physically and legally. These are freedoms.

Now lets look again at what the belt enables one to do. It allows one to clear and calm one's mind and strengthens one's will, heals, protects from certain kinds of danger, and allows one to heal others. These are not powers, they are FREEDOMS.

oh yeah, and I forgot one more of these freedoms:

WHEN ALL THE GEMS ARE PUT IN THE BELT TOGETHER, THEY PRODUCE A MAGICAL SCREEN WHICH BANISHES DARK MAGIC AND THOSE WHOSE SOULS ARE TAINTED BY IT.

it is not combat power, but it is a power FAR GREATER THAN ANY COMBAT POWER COULD EVER FEASIBLY BE

In a sense, this subverts normal fantasy tropes by going back to its roots. When JRR Tolkien wrote the Lord of the Rings, he wrote a book about simple working class and middle class people defeating an evil by DESTROYING POWER (with a One Ring being a kind of stand-in for power itself in all it's forms). yet, it seems that every writer since has taken a look at his work and gone "look at all this cool world-building and monsters and magic! but the protagonists and themes are kinda lame. I KNOW, i'll REPLACE those complex and nuanced themes with EDGY GRIZZLED WARRIORS AND POWER-HUNGRY SORCERERS, and make the story all about CONSOLIDATING AS MUCH POWER AS POSSIBLE TO DEFEAT SOMEONE WHO HAS ALSO CONSOLODATED AS MUCH POWER AS POSSIBLE, BUT IN AN EVIL WAY. sometimes they even have their characters performing actions which are completely morally bankrupt (razing cities, killing civilians or surrendering enemies, etc), and justify it because "main villain is worse". because in other words, most fantasy writers decided to completely rip off all of tolkien's world, down to the very creatures that inhabit it, but HORRIBLY INVERT the themes

Meanwhile, Deltora seems to do the opposite. It doesn't copy Tolkien's world. there are similarities; the Shadow Lord is kinda like Sauron if you squint a little. but the world is populated with plenty of creatures that don't line up at all, and even those that are similar are only superficially so. meanwhile, Emily Rodda (the author) took a look at Tolkien's themes, smiled and nodded, and proceeded to ELABORATE UPON THEM. The kingdom of deltora fell because the rulers detached themselves from the needs of the common man and physically separated themselves from them out of cowardice. the shadow lord twists and destroys nature to produce his horrific experiments which mirror in many ways modern genetic engineering. the battle is won not through force of arms, but through planning, cleverness, and uniting the tribes under a common cause.

there are other things, like how each gem corresponds to one of the seven virtues, or how so much emphais is put on using logic to solve problems, and similar things, but this post is long as it is, so i'm going to stop here.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 2000

Warnings: none

Part XXII | Part XXIV

The first night sleeping alone in your cottage didn't turn out well. Horrors of your past reappeared and you had to again watch getting your mother killed. It was that kind of dream you couldn't wake up from even though you wanted to, and you probably made too much noise.

"Y/N," slightly hoarse, but soft voice called for you, cold and wet snout touching your face. "Y/N."

Even without opening your eyes, you knew who it was. Hot tears slid down your face, uncontrollable sobs the only sound breaking the silence of the night. The nightgown soaked in cold sweat, stuck uncomfortably to your body. You were trembling. One heavy paw touched your forearm, then gently embraced you. The snout sniffed your face and cheeks, licking your tears away with small cat-like licks.

You moved closer to him, hiding your face in the fur of his neck as you held onto him. He didn't speak, your name and a few short simple words were the only thing he managed to say so far. But under your cheek you heard the frantic beats of his heart. He was probably worried. Your throat was sore as if you screamed for a long time. You must have scared him.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed. He shook his head and made a small whimpering sound. Tamlin moved, carefully climbing into your bed. The old bed creaked under his weight. He was so huge that only a small space was left on mattress for you. You two had to huddle together to fit in, but you didn't mind. He tugged you closer, holding you with paws as best as he could in this form, you hugged his torso.

This helped, his closeness and warmth scared the fear away and eventually you calmed down enough to fall asleep again, lulled by the sound of his rhythmic heartbeat and deep breaths.

You opened your eyes and looked around the foggy rose garden. You knew this place, you already visited it once in your dream. Without hesitation you headed to the pedestal where you found Tamlin last time. This time it was empty. You wanted to call out his name, but your throat closed up and no voice came out. You tried it again with the same result.

You slowly twisted around, hoping to see him somewhere nearby, but instead your eyes landed on a sprawling tree with low branches. It definitely wasn't here last time. There was something you couldn't explain, that drew you to the tree and so you followed your instinct. The tree seemed to be very old, its trunk was covered with soft green moss. Sighing you ran fingers over it and a few drops of a dew rolled all the way down to your wrist.

"Why are you crying, Y/N?" Well-known voice came from somewhere behind the tree. You hurried there, expecting to find him sitting down between roots. What a disappointment when you didn't find anyone. Did he play a hide-and-seek with you?

"Why are you crying, my pretty rose?" A hand reached down from a branch above your head, his long fingers wiped a tear off from your cheek. Your gaze snapped up in surprise. There he was, half lying half sitting on the branch, looking down at you. Tamlin looked sad, his emerald eyes dimly shining in the shadow.

"You're awake," you breathed out. His face still reminded a cold stone of statue, but there was a hint of life in his eyes.

"Have somebody hurt you?" His mind seemed to be just as hazed like the last time, but at least he was awake now.

"No.. it's just.. a memory.."

"Memories," his glazed eyes were gazing to the distance straight through you. "I have a lot of painful ones. Like the day you left.."

"I've returned," you squeezed his hand lingering on your cheek. "Do you hear me? I'm here with you now."

"No one comes back to me.." his voice was deep and cold now. You wanted to object, but the dream faded away.

You woke up in embrace of strong arms holding you on a naked broad chest that gently brushed your cheek with every breath. You were still tired. Sleep was the only thing you craved now, luring you to the world of dreams once again. You closed your eyes, pressing into the warmth of the smooth skin.

Wait!

Your eyes snapped open wide, your hazy mind cleared.

Hands? Chest? Skin? Could it be?

You abruptly sat up. Tamlin groaned in his sleep, his face half hidden under the messy strands of blond hair. His hands reached for you, trying to pull you back down.

"No, Tamlin, wake up," you pushed against him, overexcited with the sudden improvement.

One emerald eye cracked open a bit, gazing up on you. With another groan his long form curled around you, naked as the day he was born. You gasped, your face, ears and even neck set ablaze. You tried to avoid looking down where you could feel his manhood pressed to your hip, the thin nightgown hardly a barrier between you.

"Tamlin," you stiffened. His name came out in a high pitched tone.

Finally, he woke up. As soon as he noticed the state of his body, he fled from the bed and taking the pillow with him, he pressed his back against the wall and the pillow to his intimate parts. He watched you startled, trying to find his voice.

"It's okay," you stuttered, looking everywhere but him. "I ..saw nothing."

He blinked and fought a smirk that threatened to spread on his face. "I know," he rasped. Even though he could speak again, it seemed to cause him problems.

"Do-does it hurt? I mean your throat," you asked. Meanwhile you took a spare blanket from small basket at the foot of the bed, offering it to him. He accepted it with a small smile. You turned to the window and looked out to give him privacy. It was cloudy and windy morning, although you didn't notice any of it. Your mind kept swirling around the expanse of smooth skin you just saw and quite impressive length you felt.

"A little bit." He touched your elbow. Carefully you looked back at him. The blanket was wrapped around his hips, too low and showing too much of his skin, but it was better than before.

"I'll brew you a tea that will make you feel better. When Lucien comes I'll ask him to find you some clothes, but until then this have to be enough."

"Thank you."

His eyes roamed over your body as if he saw you for the first time after a very long time. You felt too underdressed and too self aware under his piercing gaze. You crossed arms on your chest in a poor attempt to hide at least something.

You cleared your throat. "I-I think I should change," you choked out, nervously fidgeting.

However Tamlin didn't move a bit, his eyes still fixed on you. You swallowed hard, your heart rate increasing. He took the last step that separated you, and swept you into a tight embrace. Your lungs filled with a rain and earthen scent, the most comforting smell ever. Pressing his nose to the crook of your shoulder, he shakily inhaled.

"It's really you," he murmured. "I thought I just dreamed you out."

Your heart melted at those words and you hugged him back. "This isn't dream. I've returned."

He stilled. "How long can you stay?" he whispered, his voice dull.

"As long as I want," you laughed.

His body relaxed. "Thanks the Mother," he sighed. His embrace tightened so much you couldn't breathe.

You patted his shoulder. "Tam, I can't-.."

"I'm sorry." His grip little bit loosened. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah."

His fingers tangled in your hair, stroking them lightly. "I missed you," he rasped after a while.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I missed you, too," you whispered in a small voice. "So many things happened.."

"Did.. did he treat you well?" You knew who the he was.

"Well, yes. They all were kind to me. My brother especially." There was probably something in your voice that wasn't so convincing. You felt a small sting at your back as Tamlin's claws came out.

"Uhm, I apologise," his hands fell down from the small of your back, untangling from your hair and he stepped back hiding them behind his back. You stopped him, pulling on his wrists and entangled your fingers with his. It felt so right that you had to smile. He seemed to be confused.

"I hoped you would come to see me," you swallowed, smile disappearing.

"I-.. I couldn't," he looked down to his bare feet, ashamed.

"I know, so I came to you."

Tamlin kissed the back of your hand, pressing it to his cheek. "I dreamed about you often. So often that I sometimes couldn't tell the reality from dream," he admitted.

"I had a few vivid dreams, too. They helped me at times."

He frowned. "Helped?"

"Yes, I didn't remember a thing until recently. It was hard to adjust to so many strangers and unfamiliar house and everything at first. It got better when Rhys helped me with the memory loss."

A muscle twitched in his jaw. But before he could say something, the door downstairs opened and closed.

"Are you awake yet?" Lucien called. "I've brought some fresh bread for breakfast and even picked up some of those herbs you use in tea."

Tamlin gave you a tight smile that promised you would continue another time. You nodded.

"Give me a minute," you shouted. Tamlin left your room, so you could change. You thought he would go down to talk with Lucien, but when you opened the door, he stood there waiting for you.

You found Lucien seated at table, swaying on the back legs of chair, hands behind his neck.

He turned to you with fox-like grin, some teasing remarks already on the tip of his tongue. When he saw frowning Tamlin with hands crossed on his bare chest standing behind you, his eyes widened. He lost balance and fell down, hitting his back and head hard enough to see stars.

When he was getting off the ground grunting, you started to laugh, immediately followed by Tamlin's deeper laughter. Lucien muttered something about naked beasts, gentlemen and ladies and winnowed away. In few minutes he returned with arms full of clothes. While Tamlin dressed in your room you prepared breakfast. Lucien, of course, helped you.

"How did you do that?" he muttered with undeniable interest.

You shrugged. "I did nothing. When I woke up in the morning, he was already.. back."

"I knew that you could help him, but I've never even imagined that he could improve so fast. He was.. completely gone. At this rate I think soon I'll be able to return to my friends. They already miss me, you know."

You wished you could say something, but there was nothing. You've grown fond of him these past few weeks. He was easy going person, chatty, funny at times, it was hard not to like him. But he had his own life to live. You knew he wouldn't stay forever.

"What is that face for," he teased you. "Already miss me?"

You rolled your eyes and grinned.

Fortunately, Tamlin was back and could speak again. You wouldn't stay alone with nothing to do and haunted by your past.

A single thought of your High Lord and the sight you got that morning made your pulse quicken and cheeks flush. When he returned dressed in simple green trousers and white shirt you almost spilled the tea you were setting on the table. You wondered what had changed. Why your body started to react to him like this so suddenly.

Unable to come with any explanation, you seated down and stuffed your mouth with bread that Lucien brought. The three of you ate in unusual silence.

Taglist: @impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot @acourtofimagines @harahettania

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 9: Why Don’t We Go There]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (+18), beef cattle, drugs, alcohol, smoking, Walmart, vegan baking, David Archuleta, mental health struggles, pregnancy, pigs, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, Jace acting vaguely human, angst, Southern Baptists, Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

Word count: 8.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ @helaenaluvr​ @hiraethrhapsody​​​

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The last day of summer, the first day in Kansas City: emerald seas of soybeans, cornstalks taller than you are, massive tractors rolling laggardly on the shoulder of the road, red-tailed hawks perched on utility poles, cloudless cerulean skies, sunlight that beats down like soft rain. There is a long, rambling dirt driveway that leads from Route 210 to your parents’ farm. When you climb out of the Escalade, you cannot hear traffic or voices or some playlist of bygone pop hits or ice cubes jangling in misty glasses or the roar of jet engines. You can hear only the sounds of the Midwestern earth: wind in the leaves, cicadas humming, the distant mooing of black angus cattle. For a moment, Comet Donati just stands there breathing in the unhurried, golden air like the atmosphere of a new planet, their lungs acclimating, their eyes wide and peering around. Where have we landed? Any signs of intelligent life?

There are footsteps and then the squealing creak of the screen door as your dad throws it open. Along with your parents pour out five Australian cattle dogs. They bark uproariously, herding the new arrivals like errant calves. Aemond laughs and crouches down in the dust of the driveway to pet them. Rhaena screams and clings to Luke.

“Belmont! Bel, you git down!” your dad scolds, pulling her away from Rhaena by the collar: pink, so everyone knows she’s a girl. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart, she don’t bite none.”

“Unless you’re a cow, of course,” your mom adds, tittering merrily. She starts handing out glasses of sweet tea, already dripping with condensation. Outside it’s 80 degrees even.

Your dad whistles as he studies Aemond’s scar, his sightless left eye like a pool of blue fog. “That must’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Jeff!” your mom objects mildly; she abhors swearing.

Aemond considers your dad: a man who doesn’t flinch away from him, who doesn’t bury truths under the cover of night. “It did.”

“My uncle came back from ‘Nam with something like that. Was never right again.” He taps his own skull. “You must be tough as nails to be carrying on like you are, son. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

“Jefferson, please!” your mom says.

“The man’s been to New Jersey, Carol! I think he’s heard worse words than bitch and damn!”

“Her name’s Belmont?” Rhaena says, frowning nervously at her canine tormentor: rust-orange, brown-eyed, tail wagging eagerly at the prospect of making new friends.

“You betcha.” Then your dad informs Aemond: “That’s Lone Jack you got there.” He points to the remaining dogs. “And the others are Carthage, Kirksville, and Island Number Ten. We call her Tenny.”

“They’re all named after Civil War battles,” you tell Comet.

“Civil War battles in Missouri,” your dad says. He turns to his guests. “Were you aware that over 100,000 Missourians served in the Union Army? Ulysses S. Grant’s first military assignment was in Missouri. He met his wife Julia here.”

“Daddy, they’re English. They don’t know what the Union Army is.”

“Were they for or against staying colonies?” Aegon asks, and Criston covers his face and groans.

Your dad spots the motorcycle Aemond rode here from the airport, weaving between the Escalades until Criston stuck his head out a window to yell at him. “Lord almighty, is that a Gold Star?! Made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company?”

“Yes sir,” Aemond says, smiling down at a delighted Lone Jack and scratching his long pointy ears.

“An ingenious piece of machinery! ‘55?”

“1960.”

“Remarkable.” Your dad admires it. He’s wearing red flannel, Wrangler jeans, the UChicago hat that you bought for him your freshman year of college.

“We’ve been told you don’t eat meat,” your mom says to Aemond, with a gentle, sympathetic tone like she’s conscious of some bad luck that’s recently befallen him: a grim diagnosis, a storm that carried away his house. “So I’ve got some chicken soaking in buttermilk to fry up for supper.”

Aemond chuckles uncertainly.

“No, she’s serious,” you tell him. And then: “Mama, we went over this on the phone. He’s vegan. That means no animal products at all. No meat, no poultry, no fish, no dairy, no eggs, nothing that came from an animal.”

“Well I’ll be, what the heck does he eat?!” your dad says. “Carrots? Acorns? Sticks and leaves? He can graze out in the pasture if he likes.”

“We’ll find you something,” you promise Aemond.

Your dad surveys Aegon (white cargo shorts, neon pink tank top, sparkly matching Crocs) and then Jace (black skinny jeans and a violet sequined blazer with nothing underneath except a mosaic of tattoos). “I suppose you two will be wanting to share a room. Well, it ain’t my place to pass judgement, I reckon. But I don’t want to overhear nothing that couldn’t be done in church.”

Jace is confused. “Huh…?”

“No, Daddy, they’re not gay.”

“What, me?!” Aegon exclaims. “Gay?! For Jace?!”

Jace says: “Sir, if I ever start looking at Aegon that way, I give you enthusiastic permission to take me out back and shoot me dead like a horse with a bum leg.”

Your dad guffaws, a deep gruff rumble like an earthquake. “I don’t think I could oblige you, buddy.”

Your mom gestures to the front door. “Y’all go on in and make yourselves at home. We got a few extra bedrooms and a nice big den if anyone’s willing to sleep on a couch. But be warned: you’ll probably end up having a dog or two snuggled up with you.”

“We are guests here!” Criston shouts at the band as they begin dragging their luggage inside, suitcase wheels bumping up the creaking wooden steps of the wraparound porch. “You will not humiliate me! You will not break things! You will not cause any problems whatsoever or you can stay at the Hilton with the security guys and I’ll have them handcuff you to a bed!”

“He will,” Aegon warns the others. “I’ve seen him do it before. To…um…somebody.” He disappears into the five-bedroom farmhouse: mint green paint, white accents, two rambling stories plus an attic and a cellar.

Criston waves to the security detail as the Escalades turn around in the driveway—stirring up dust like a parched cough of earth—and then head back towards Route 210, towards the light pollution and acclaimed barbeque joints of Kansas City. Now Aemond is standing by the barbed wire fence of the pasture and looking longingly at the black angus cattle grazing on tall swaths of windswept, green-gold switchgrass. Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville are all bounding around him hoping to elicit praise and scratches. Tenny has taken a liking to Baela and follows her and Jace into the house. Belmont, still held captive by your dad, whines and struggles.

“Aemond, you can’t pet the cows,” you say. “They’re beef cattle. They spend most of their lives out in fields, they don’t get handled very often, they’re not used to people. They can be aggressive.”

He is disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“You can pet the pigs though,” your dad says.

“Pigs?” Cregan perks up. “There are pigs?”

“Sure are. Well, they’re pigs now…come Thanksgiving, they’ll be hams! Hahaha. They’re right ‘round the back of the house. You’ll show ‘em, chickadee?”

You reply: “Yeah, Daddy. I’ll show them.”

As the rest of the band claims sleeping spots and unpacks their suitcases inside, you lead Cregan and Aemond—and Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville, all blue speckled with random splatters of white markings like stray dabs of paint—to the pigs. They have a large, muddy enclosure surrounded by a wooden fence that stops at your waist; pigs, fortunately, cannot really jump. They immediately come trotting over to their visitors, tails swishing and snouts twitching, spewing a chorus of guttural oinks. Aemond leans down to pet them, beaming, then takes a Ziploc bag of raw cauliflower out of his jeans pocket and starts dropping pieces into the pigs’ gluttonous, slobbering, gaping mouths.

“Wow,” Cregan says. He’s grinning broadly, something that’s rare for him. He slips out his phone and starts taking pictures. “Iris is going to love this.”

On the second floor of the farmhouse, a window slides open. “Aemond!” Aegon calls. “I need help! It’s an emergency!”

“What’s your problem?” Aemond snaps.

“Tell Jace I need the bigger bedroom!”

“Please go away.”

“Aemond! Do not betray your favorite brother!”

“Hey!” comes Daeron’s muffled objection from inside.

“Aemond! Threaten to break Jace’s face again!”

Aemond exhales in a loud sigh and then makes for the house.

Still taking pig photos, Cregan glances over at your belly: ten weeks. Not enough to be properly showing, but enough that you can feel a difference, an extra inch here and there, a heaviness that settles in you like stones plinked in a jar. Your parents don’t know. Nobody knows but Aegon. “So,” Cregan says. “Have you told Aemond yet?”

Your attention jolts to him, a lightning strike, a surge of adrenaline. “What?”

“I remember what it looks like when someone’s trying to hide the fact that they’re pregnant.” He smirks. “And I remember that night at Club Camelot.”

People are going to start figuring it out eventually. Aemond is going to figure it out. “Do you think he’ll take it well?” you ask hopefully.

“No,” Cregan says.

In your chest, a sinking like dead weight: “Oh.”

“But he’ll probably come around to the idea eventually.”

After he’s said something unforgiveable. After he buries another knife in me, spilling blood and scraping marrow. You stare down into the pigpen, observing them root around for remnants of cauliflower and blink their awfully intelligent eyes, too clever for the fate they’ve been assigned.

Cregan lights a cigarette and puffs on it, taking advantage of a rare moment out of Criston’s line of sight. “When I first found out about Iris, I did not behave in a way that I would consider to be honorable. But fortunately, nature gives everyone time to adjust to these things. I had my head right by the time she was born. If I had to guess, I’d say it will be similar for Aemond. Then again…” He takes a deep, meditative drag. “I’d like to think I was never as fucked up as he is now.”

You study Cregan. “So you’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you too. You haven’t been partying as hard. A few vodka shots, a secret cigarette on occasion. But no more disappearing with Aegon to do lines in the bathroom or arranging drop-offs with drug dealers.”

He shrugs. “Someone has to be the adult. Someone has to help Criston look out for the others. It used to be Aemond, but not anymore. He’s different now. One day he’ll figure out where he’s supposed to be and he’ll stop touring with Comet altogether. So I’m going to do it. There are people who need me.”

“Comet is your family,” you say. “Just as much as your mother and siblings and Iris. They love you. They belong to you, and you belong to them. And that will never change.”

He smiles; his greyish eyes are teasing but kind. “Good luck, Stargirl. You need it.”

“Thanks, Cregan.” And together, you leave the pigs and join the rest of the band inside.

Your parents’ farmhouse, the same one you grew up in—a different world, a different you—is painted in shades of gold: late-afternoon sunlight, chicken thighs and drumsticks browning in canola oil, mashed potatoes wet with cream and butter, corn cut from the cob, an enormous pan of baked macaroni and cheese, homemade rolls, a butterscotch pie cooling on the windowsill. You find a vegan alternative for Aemond in the pantry: a box of Barilla spaghetti, a jar of Ragu marinara sauce. Criston insists on cooking it so everyone else can enjoy their supper. Cregan asks your parents about tips for raising pigs; Rhaena asks about the history of the farm; Aegon eats butterscotch pie until he has to roll out of his chair and lie sprawled on the hardwood floor for a while, Australian cattle dogs licking at his pink palms and cheeks. And when Aemond finally receives his spaghetti and marinara sauce, you think: That’s the same thing he was eating in Rome. And you remember the razored sting of the comet tattoo, the nightscape motorcycle ride, the incomplete truth about Aegon, the realization of what you felt for his scarred, perfect, brilliant, haunted younger brother.

“I didn’t know the weather would be so nice here,” Baela says as she scoops herself a third helping of macaroni and cheese. Tenny lies by her feet under the table, her muzzle resting on her paws.

Your dad nods, but his words hold a warning. “It can turn quick.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He could be a stay-at-home dad,” Aegon suggests. It’s the next day and you’re up in a hundred-year-old white oak tree, killing time until the Escalades arrive to shuttle Comet to soundcheck and their first of two shows at Arrowhead Stadium in downtown Kansas City. You’re sitting on a colossal, sturdy branch only four or five feet off the ground, your feet dangling; Aegon is a few limbs above you, alternating between swinging like a monkey and lying on his stomach so he can peer down at you with those large, oceanic eyes.

“No. If he chooses to, sure. But not because he has no other options. A baby is not something to paper over a quarter-life crisis with.”

Aegon thinks, then is struck with inspiration. “He could work for your dad on the farm!”

“The beef cattle farm?” you say. “You want the traumatized vegan to spend the rest of his life as a cog in the blood-drenched machine of American industrial agriculture? Besides, I’m sure he hates Missouri.”

“I don’t know, I mean I thought I hated Missouri too. But lowkey it kind of slaps.” Aegon closes his eyes and smiles as the warm, sunlit breeze breathes through him, tousling his hair. It’s long again, it’s almost down to his shoulders. He smells like sunscreen and Axe body spray and the homemade waffles your mother made for brunch, soggy with dollops of butter and a river of amber-colored maple syrup. Something’s missing. It takes you a moment to realize it’s the scent of beer. Your parents don’t approve of drinking, the house is bone dry. Aegon hasn’t complained about that yet, a miracle, Moses turning the Nile to blood. Maybe Missouri is good for him after all. “How’s Starbaby?”

“Good, I think. I’m not nauseous anymore. Now I’m just super hungry and horny.”

“Oh my God, you can’t say stuff like that around me, now I’m having immoral thoughts.” He squeezes his eyes shut, frowns mournfully. Goodbye forever, pornstar pussy. “When are you going to tell Aemond?”

“Soon,” you say noncommittally, like a coward. Not a coward: someone who’s been hurt before. Not just hurt: slaughtered, buried, exhumed, robbed for the jewels on the bones of her fingers. You’re finally whole again. You’re in no hurry to imperil your resurrection. “Cregan knows.”

“Rhaena knows too.”

“What?!”

“She asked me in Dallas, but she waited until I was sloppy drunk first. Smart girl. I tried to deny it, but honestly she already had it figured out.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “If you wait much longer you’re going to lose control of this thing. It’ll get to Aemond before you can. And I think it will be worse if he finds out from somebody else.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll tell him, Aegon, I promise. Before Comet flies out of Kansas City.” They’ll be leaving you here, though no one except Aegon and Criston know that yet. Their private jet will take them to New Orleans, and then Miami, and then all the way to South America: Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Now someone is trekking across the field behind your parents’ house and towards the centenarian white oak tree. It’s Jace. He’s wearing a rather understated outfit today: a lavender polo, denim shorts, boat shoes. His dark curls whip and tangle in the wind.

“Ugh,” Aegon says once Jace close enough to hear. “Why don’t you go try to pet a rage-filled, 2,000-pound mound of unprocessed cheeseburgers?”

“I’m here for my complimentary therapy session.”

Aegon stares at you. You stare back. The only sounds are made by the earth and the sky and the animals, air in the leaves, the low mooing of cattle. You both wait for Jace to rescind his request. He does not. At last, you relent. “Okay. Fine. Aegon?”

“You want me to leave you alone with this inked-up ogre?”

“Confidentiality is important. I’ve always given it to you, Jace deserves the same.”

“Does he really?” Aegon flings back; but he obediently climbs down from the tree and walks to the farmhouse. Your parents have no booze, no internet, a landline telephone, and a single tv with basic cable. Everyone else is in there playing Uno, doing animal-themed puzzles, and baking apple cider cookies in honor of the first day of autumn. You’d think Comet would be losing their minds after adapting to months of nonstop, breakneck excitement, but they seem to be enjoying themselves. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You don’t miss the jet, you don’t miss the bars or the five-star hotels, you don’t even miss your apartment in the city that is still being sublet by some grad student with a Flemish Giant rabbit. You wonder if you ever wanted to leave the farm at all, or if you only wanted to leave the way you felt about yourself the last time you called this place home.

Jace grins and hauls himself up onto the tree branch to sit beside you. “Want to see my new tattoo?”

“Comet has definitely already been to Kansas City.”

Still, he’s acquired one, left wrist, black ink: a single star the size of a quarter. “For you, Stargirl. So I don’t forget about you. So I don’t lose you in the sea of gorgeous women I have marooned myself in.”

“It looks like a pentagram,” you say. “That’s appropriate, since you’re basically Satan.”

He’s not offended. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to talk about?”

“I already know.”

“Do you really?”

“You’re happy, but you feel bad about it. You wanted to be the leader of Comet, but you wish it could have happened a different way.”

Jace opens his hands and offers you a crooked, wry smile. “I might jibe at Aemond, but I don’t hate him. Why else would I let him knock out four of my teeth without expecting any penance in return?”

“No, you certainly don’t hate Aemond.”

“And what happened to him…it sucks. I mean, obviously, it was life-ruining for him. Not ruining, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure he’ll get a new life someday. But it wrecked him in ways I’ll never be able to understand.”

“You’ll have to let him go when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, unusually somber, gazing out across the field of white wild indigo, prairie dropseed, blue star, yarrow.

“And if Baela gets into ballet school, you’ll have to let her go too.”

Now Jace turns to you, startled. “I can’t. I’d miss her.”

“Yes, but you aren’t right for her. Sometimes we have to give people the freedom to realize they want something more than us. It’s the greatest act of love we can do for them.”

He laughs, a disdainful little snort. “That’s what everyone says. If you love someone, let them go. But then nobody ever really does it. They cling and they manipulate and they beg. Nobody helps the people they love leave them. Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret.”

Please don’t let that be true. Please don’t let Aemond regret meeting me, touching me, maybe even loving me. “Why do you think that is, Jace?”

And he says, like it’s obvious, like you should already know it: “Because letting go is too fucking painful.” He hops off the branch and drops into the tall grass below. Then he extends a hand to help you down. “Come on. I bet those apple cider cookies are ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You see glimmering dresses, incandescent string lights, neon signs, the winding reptilian sheen of the Missouri River in the distance, faint dots of stars muted by the city’s synthetic luminance. You taste your faux Bramble: ice, cranberry juice, a sliver of lemon on the rim, sweet and tart and cold. The speakers are thumping out Prayin’ For Daylight by Rascal Flatts. Aegon is in neon yellow. You almost wore the same, but the flowing yellow gown you bought in Reykjavik suffered an unfortunate Australian-cattle-dog-related incident before Comet left your parents’ farmhouse for the concert. You opted for the short sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars instead…and hurried out the door before your parents could catch a glimpse of your comet tattoo.

“No way!” Baela cries as she checks her phone. “Look, look!” Liam Payne has just posted a selfie on Instagram. Cuddled up next to him on a beach in Ibiza is Shelby, tan and with her long blond waves flying everywhere. The comments are a smorgasbord: Cutest couple EVER! Aww, did you and Aemond break up again :( Enjoy your vacay, girlie! Guess love really can’t conquer all. You are stunning, Shelby! I’m still hoping you guys get back together. You deserve better! What is Aemond even doing these days?? Is this why Comet took A Girl Named After A Car off their tour setlist :(((

“Damn, poor Liam,” Daeron says. “Should we warn him?”

Aegon replies: “Bruh, this is so tragic. That dude has enough demons already.”

“Good luck, Liam,” Luke says, toasting his Mai Tai against Aemond’s fully-alcoholic Bramble. “Thoughts and prayers.”

“Maybe he’s dumb enough to sign up to be her boy band baby daddy,” Aemond quips. You and Aegon exchange an uneasy glance. Then Aegon gets an incoming FaceTime call. It’s Taylor Swift. He beams—he lights up, he glows—and rushes away to find a quiet spot where he can talk to her. Criston chases after him, extra vigilant since Aegon’s overdose in Las Vegas.

You gulp down the rest of your not-cocktail cocktail. The bartender calls over: “Another cranberry juice, ma’am?”

“Cranberry juice?!” Daeron says. “That sounds…healthy?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Baela asks you. It would be a rude question if you didn’t know each other so well. Though not quite as well as she thinks. Cregan and Rhaena peer awkwardly down into their glasses, eyebrows raised.

“Because. Um.” You hesitate. Aemond looks over at you curiously. “I’m an alcoholic.”

Baela blinks. “You’re what?”

“Um. I was developing an alcohol problem so to be safe I stopped drinking altogether.”

“How mature of you!” Rhaena chirps, then drags Baela towards the dancefloor. Luke and Jace go with them. Daeron and Cregan depart to charm some potential paramours: a flock of Kansas City University students for Daeron, a bachelorette party of flattered, giggly soccer moms for Cregan. You procure another cranberry juice from the bar and then return to Aemond. You are alone together, a strange combination of adjectives: solitary, secretive, appreciated, known. You migrate towards the edge of the roof and sip your matching drinks, wearing your matching black clothes, wind in your hair and the sounds of late night traffic on the streets below.

“So this is the place,” Aemond says, playful, wistful. “Where you and Aegon…met.”

“It feels so different now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look out over the city, breathing in humid night air and a verdant, ancient wildness. “You know how when you’re a kid, you’ll go somewhere and it feels endless and magical, and then you go back five or ten or fifteen years later and you’re disappointed? Like, that’s it? Is this even the same place?”

He swigs his Bramble. Ice clinks; the glass is frosty in his hand. “I know what you mean. But it hasn’t been that long. A little over a year.”

“I guess I’ve changed.” More grounded. Less restless. Less aimless. More pregnant.

“I hope Comet hasn’t traumatized you.”

You laugh, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only two people at this rooftop bar, in this city, on this planet: one river blue eye, one pool of sightless otherworldly mist. He hasn’t worn sunglasses since Shelby’s deportation from the band’s retinue. “Not yet.”

He is mischievous. “There’s still time.”

Not much of it. Aemond’s iPhone rings, Mr. Brightside. He checks it. “Is that Shelby offering you ten thousand blowjobs if you take her back?”

Aemond smiles. “No. It’s Helaena.” He answers and puts it on speakerphone. “Hi, LaeLae. Can I call you tomorrow? I’m at a very loud, very crowded rooftop bar.”

“With her?” Helaena asks, delighted.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Call tomorrow. I wanted to tell you about the praying mantis I found in the garden. Check the weather. Goodbye!” She hangs up before Aemond can.

“Weather…?” he muses, then shakes his head and slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. He returns his attention to you. “Ten thousand blowjobs, huh? I think I’d rather have another ten minutes in a bar bathroom.”

You are so game. It’s humiliating how game you are. Dear Starbaby, today I had slutty bar bathroom sex with your slutty dad, the same place I hooked up with your super slutty uncle. “Really?”

“No,” Aemond says sheepishly. But the corners of his lips are curled up in fond nostalgia. “That’s not my usual style.”

“What is your style?”

He drains his Bramble and turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You want few things more. “Yeah.”

You leave your empty glasses on a tray by the edge of the roof. Aemond lets Criston know that you’re taking one of the Escalades back to the farm. Aegon pauses his conversation with Taylor Swift just long enough to wink at you. No need for condoms, he mouths with a grin. And then he shouts, as the opening notes of Starboy blare from the speakers: “Stargirl, it’s our song!”

The Escalade makes one pitstop: the Walmart just off Route 210, the same one you always shopped at growing up. Aemond piles the requisite ingredients for vegan chocolate chip cookies in the screechy-wheeled cart, flour, baking soda, salt, white sugar, brown sugar, dark chocolate chips, rice milk (Aemond swears it tastes like Rice Krispies), vanilla extract, coconut oil. You wander down the aisles together talking, joking, finding excuses to touch each other, hands on wrists and collarbones and waists.

As you scan the items at one of the self-checkout kiosks, two guys buying frozen pizzas and White Claws peek over at you and start snickering. You grab snippets of their conversation like fireflies from the air: critiques of your body, critiques of your soul. You ignore them. This happens sometimes when you’re home. Someone from high school will recognize you, someone will remember.

Aemond is staring at them. Not staring; glaring, seething, mentally splitting flesh and dislodging teeth.

“Aemond, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m not upset. Just ignore them.” He walks away from you. “Aemond, don’t!”

He grabs the closest man’s shoulder and spins him around. “You got a problem?”

Both men gawk up at him, mouths hanging stupidly open and eyes inane like fish. The one he’s clenching sputters: “I’m sorry, are you…are you…are you Aemond Targaryen?!”

“I’m the guy who’s about to go to prison for second degree murder if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He puts both hands in the air. “Hey man, I am actively shutting the fuck up. You have a nice evening.”

Aemond releases the man with a shove that sends him staggering back into a rack of tabloids. He returns to you, puts the bags in the cart, starts pushing it out to the parking lot.

The man turns to his friend. He is starstruck, elated. It might be the best day of his life. “Bruh, I just got assaulted by Aemond Targaryen…!”

The Escalade glides through the dark to your parents’ farm and drops you and Aemond off in the dirt driveway before zooming back towards the city. Aemond insists on carrying the shopping bags…but he doesn’t go inside. He stands near where his Gold Star is parked and gazes up at the night sky: moon, stars, the hazy white shadow of the Milky Way, all unmarred by the arrogant, buzzing radiance of electricity.

“Aemond?”

“You can see everything out here,” he says. “Maybe Kansas isn’t so bad.”

“Missouri.”

“Missouri,” Aemond agrees. “But you’re still the best thing about it.”

You smile. “I don’t know the names of any of those constellations.”

He points to show you. “Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Perseus. Draco. Hercules.”

“Heroes,” you say.

“And animals.” He ascends the steps of the front porch. They creak beneath him, weight that will soon be gone, to New Orleans and Miami and South America and God knows where else.

Your parents are watching the 11:00 news in the den. The weatherman is issuing tentative warnings for tomorrow. Summer is gone, storms are coming in. They politely ask what you and Aemond are up to and then try not to look repulsed when you mention vegan cookies. You’re actually pretty excited; you love cookie dough, and because it will have no raw eggs in it, you can eat as much as you like without endangering Starbaby.

On the kitchen counter is the same CD player that your mom has owned since 2008. You press play on whatever she has currently spinning around in there. MercyMe? TobyMac? Danny Gokey? What you hear instead is Crush by David Archuleta.

“That’s a throwback,” Aemond notes.

“My parents love David Archuleta. He’s Christian, he’s cute, he’s gracious, he doesn’t swear. I remember them incessantly calling in to vote for him when he was on American Idol. They put in a prayer request at church to help him win the competition. I guess God used his executive veto power.”

“Do they know he’s…?” Aemond draws an invisible rainbow in the air with his fingers.

“No, they don’t use Google.”

“We won’t tell them. He needs the record sales.”

You and Aemond mix the cookie dough and then portion it out on a baking sheet. He slides the sheet into the oven, sets the timer, and then notices the reserve of dough you’ve left in the bowl. You dip your pinky finger in and then lick it slowly, savoringly: sweetness, chocolate, fats obtained without the sacrifice of a soul.

“Looks good,” Aemond says, a little hoarsely.

You swipe your index finger around the curve of the bowl and then offer it to Aemond. He holds your hand still and licks your finger clean, his tongue dragging over your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms, heat stirring up everywhere. You’re transfixed by him; you can’t stop watching. Then he closes the gap between you and cups your face in his palms and kisses you, not in some glittering city or on a stage or for an Instagram post but in the kitchen of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, the home of nobodies. His lips are sweet, swift, seeking more. He only pulls away when the noise of heavy footsteps approaches the kitchen.

“Smells great in here, chickadee! Even if they are vegan cookies.” Your dad says the word vegan like someone else might say the name of a tourist destination halfway across the globe. He can’t quite get the pronunciation right. His eyes snag on the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Lord almighty, what is that on your back?!”

Your comet tattoo, that’s what. “Uh, Daddy—”

“It was my idea,” Aemond says quickly, seamlessly. “They’re my lyrics. Lyrics I wrote before the accident, I mean. And I was feeling just…purposeless, and useless, and really doubting myself. She wanted to show me that my work still mattered. So when the band was in Rome, Jace got a tattoo and I suggested she get one too. It’s entirely my fault.”

“Huh,” your dad replies uncertainly. “Is that right? Well, I suppose there’s not much to be done about it now.” He chuckles and moves your hair so it’s covering your tattoo. “Let’s not mention it to your mother. She’s already got high blood pressure. Say, can I try one of them cookies when they’re ready?”

Criston and the rest of the band arrive back at the farmhouse just as the cookies are coming out of the oven. Miraculously, no one is drunk enough that your parents are aware of it. Everyone samples the vegan chocolate chip cookies and agrees that they are nearly as delicious as the cruelty-enhanced version. You and Aemond watch each other from across the kitchen that’s now crowded with people, hearing them but also not, wanting more and knowing you can’t have it, here in this place with little privacy and very few remaining secrets.

Comet scrambles to get ready for bed, racing to claim bathrooms and banging on doors to peer pressure people into finishing their showers faster. Back in your bedroom, clean and alone and wearing an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, you rearrange your pillows over and over again and try not to think about the band leaving in two days. Strangely, you don’t really want to go with them; you don’t want to board the jet, you don’t want to sightsee, you don’t want to be surrounded by people ingesting poison in all its forms. But the thought of being away from the band—from Aegon, from Aemond—is impossible, unbelievable, horrifying. You’re humming something as you crawl into bed. You don’t even realize what song it is until you’re under the covers and sinking into sleep: The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.

You’re only asleep for ten or fifteen minutes. When you wake your eyes are watery and you can’t remember your dream—you almost never can—but you know that Aemond was there. Now he’s here in your room as well. He’s gently stroking your cheeks, your forehead, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he’s murmuring, only a silhouette in the darkness. But you would recognize him anywhere. “You had a nightmare. You were crying, I heard you.”

“Were you lurking outside my door or what?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he asks: “What were you dreaming about?”

“You.”

And when you reach for him, he meets you without hesitation, his hands in your hair and his lips on yours, blankets thrown aside, his weight between your thighs, your fingertips ghosting against his face, reading his past and future like braille. He bites your lower lip, nips at the curve of your jaw, kisses a path down your throat like the contrail of an airplane. You yank off his t-shirt. He lifts away yours. He’s touching you everywhere, fingers beneath your pajama pants, smothering his moans against your neck so no one else will hear.

He whispers breathlessly: “I don’t want to rush this time.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me.” Forever, I hope. And then: “Can I turn on the light? I want to see you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. And then he reaches out to click the lamp on. The nightstand is cluttered with your souvenirs: refrigerator magnets, snow globes, figurines, cosmetics, snacks, crochet celestial objects, the frisbee from New Jersey, your plushie sika deer nestled together with the hammerhead shark from the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay. In the weak golden lamplight, you study Aemond like a painting, a marble statue, a comet you’ll only see once in a lifetime.

You say, softly like a prayer if you believed in such things: “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to see you too. Your clothes are gone, every scrap of fabric and concealment; if he is cognizant of any minuscule changes in your body, he is not suspicious of them. Now he is bare for you as well, now he is pushing your thighs apart so he can marvel at you, taste you, drench his mouth and chin in your wetness, bring you to the edge of a cliff with no bottom, no rocks to rupture against. Now he is inside you, tremendously big but also careful, listening to you, watching every line of your face, slowly, so exquisitely slowly, his tongue darting between your lips and his palm against your cheek. And you remember how Aegon felt—always so simple and yet transient, soothing and welcome but never necessary—and Aemond could not be further from that. Nothing about what you have with him is simple. It is profound and intense and singular, and the thought of it not lasting forever is agony.

Afterwards, he retrieves his vintage metal lighter—small, square, Targaryen etched into one side—and a shimmery gold pack of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his pajama pants that are crumpled on the floor. He lies on his back and takes deep, drowsy drags, smoke like opaque morning mist in the air, one arm draped across you as you rest your head on his chest, lungs and heart and bones and blood.

Secondhand smoke isn’t good for the baby. You get up out of bed and sneak across the treacherously creaky hardwood floor. “Let me open a window.”

“So your parents won’t know?”

“Yeah.” You push the window open and then turn to him. “You should stop smoking. It’s really bad for you.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “Why would I care about that?”

“It’s bad for the people who love you too.”

He looks at you for what feels like a very long time. “Come back,” he says at last.

You do: to Aemond, to his warmth and lust and tenderness, to the space he occupies that will soon be empty like the vast expanses between comets, between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I would like to say something.” You rise from your seat at your parents’ long dining room table, perfect for hosting judgmental-church-people gatherings and family reunions. Lunch for Comet Donati is steak and baked potatoes, lovingly prepared by your mom just before she and your dad left in their Ford F-150. It’s Sunday, and your parents will be at church socializing with their friends until late afternoon. Aemond is suffering through another meal of boxed spaghetti and Ragu marinara sauce. He doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite; not for food, anyway. You take turns glancing at each other and then looking away, smiling, flushing. Now he is intrigued by your announcement. His brow knits into thoughtful little grooves. The Australian cattle dogs scuttle around under the table for scraps. The television is on in the den. A tornado watch has been issued for the greater Kansas City area; no big deal, they get alerts like this once or twice a week here sometimes. It rarely amounts to carnage. Outside the sky is a tumultuous grey but not especially sinister at the moment: no greenish hue, no cloud rotation.

“You agree that Aegon hooking up with Taylor Swift would be disastrous for everyone involved,” Jace jokes.

“No, I know what it is,” Aegon says. He pokes at his baked potato with his fork, melancholy.

“I want to thank you for giving me this amazing opportunity,” you tell Comet. You have perhaps not dressed for an occasion of this significance: flip flops, a tie-dye One Direction hoodie, an old pair of shorts you found in your bedroom dresser. You like the way Aemond watches you when you wear them. “And I’ve experienced so many things, and learned so much from all of you, and I sincerely hope that we’re going to be in each other’s lives forever. But for right now…for this tour…Kansas City is my last stop with Comet.”

“What?!” Baela cries.

“No!” Rhaena gasps, her dark doe-like eyes glistening.

People are asking you why, people are asking you to reconsider. Aemond only stares, a sharp hostile look, menacing like storm clouds.

“I really, really appreciate everyone’s concern. But it’s been over three months, and this was never intended to be a permanent arrangement. Right, Aegon?”

“Right,” he reluctantly agrees.

“And it’s time for me to figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I can’t just follow Comet around the world forever.”

Cregan nods to Criston. “Did you know about this?”

“I did, yeah,” Criston confesses. “We finished up the paperwork last week.”

“But we’re going to miss you,” Baela says. She sounds shockingly close to tears. Jace tries to soothe her and she shrugs his hand away.

“I know,” you concede. “And I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll still talk all the time, and I’m always willing to help you guys with anything, and maybe in the future I can visit—”

Aemond stands, his chair squealing against the hardwood floor, and flees from the dining room.

“That went well,” Jace says.

Aegon points towards the doorway Aemond left through and asks you: “Do you want me to…?”

“No, I’ll do it,” you say, and go after Aemond. He’s outside by the pigpen, his hair and t-shirt whipping wildly in the strengthening gusts of late-September air. Sparse raindrops fall from the sky. The pigs are agitated, pacing, oinking, scampering in and out of the shed they have for shelter. Aemond is smoking, embers glowing on the end of his cigarette; you purposefully stand upwind from him.

His voice is stunned and dazed and beneath that dangerously angry. “You’re leaving the tour.”

“Yes.”

“When we get on that jet tomorrow, you’re not going with us.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you told Aegon and Criston but you didn’t tell me.”

“I had to tell Criston. And Aegon…” What can I say? What is the truth? “Aegon is easier to talk to about things like this.”

“So you feel like you can’t talk to me?” Aemond demands.

“Well, yeah, because sometimes you’re kind and patient and the single most incredible man I’ve ever met, and then something rattles your demons awake and you’re this…this…this vengeful, mistrustful, irrationally insecure person, and I can’t do anything right because you’ve already decided what my intentions are.”

“I want you to stay with Comet,” he says suddenly.

“I can’t, Aemond.”

“In Tokyo you asked me what I want, so now I’m telling you. I want you to stay.”

“Why, so you can sometimes love me and sometimes hate me, and refuse to build a new life for yourself, and relive what happened at the Budokan over and over and over again because that’s the background noise of everything you do now? Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “So we can figure things out.”

“I’m figured out, Aemond! You’re the one who isn’t and I can’t help you anymore, you have to do it for yourself, you have to want it!”

“You’ve never wanted to stay with me. You’re a liar, you’re a user. I’m glad Comet could fill that gap in your resume.” He takes a forceful drag and exhales smoke that the wind snatches away. “All you do is keep things from me.”

Venomous, violent disappointment blooms dark and scarlet in your veins. “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You watch him, mourn him, commit him to memory for when you can’t see him anymore, every thread of him, miraculous and doomed. Saint Jude, you think, a man your parents as good Southern Baptists do not pray to. You tell Aemond: “You’re a lost cause.”

“And you’re a nobody.”

You turn away from him like ripping a page in two. You don’t want anyone to see the tears welling up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks, marking you as someone who was weak enough to believe you could save him. You know that’s not the way it works, you know people have to be willing to accept the truths you help them uncover like prehistoric bones. Still, you believed in him. Why? Why?

Because I wanted to. Because I love him.

Your flip flops pound against the soil of the driveway, raindrops leaving spots like freckles, dust flying everywhere. You swipe at the tears that blur your vision. When you are far enough away that nobody can see you from the farmhouse, you rest your trembling hands on your belly. The life in progress there is half-built of Aemond, you carry pieces of him around with you like coins jangling in you pocket. You can’t forget him. You can’t forgive him. It shouldn’t be possible to be so close to somebody and yet so far away.

There’s no one out on Route 210. Your flip flops cross from a dirt road to black pavement. You lose track of how long you’ve been walking. Five minutes, ten minutes, it doesn’t matter. What are minutes when your mind is years away?

How will I keep Aegon in my life without tabloids finding out about the baby? What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?

A vicious wind, so strong it snaps branches from trees and almost knocks you over. And then you hear it, that sound that every inhabitant of the Lower Midwest knows: a deep rumbling like a train. You peer up into a sky that is dark and murderous and glowing a strange sickly green. And above your head, spiraling with increasing speed: a funnel cloud, an emergent tornado.

~~~~~~~~~~

Criston is herding everyone towards the cellar, bellowing, waving frantically: Aegon, Luke, Rhaena, Jace, Baela, Cregan, Daeron, five yelping Australian cattle dogs. Through the window, they can see the tornado approaching the farmhouse, a column of shadowy atmospheric fury, unpredictable and unstoppable, here and then gone, the meteorological version of a comet.

Aemond slams the door as he sprints inside from the field behind the house. He breaths heavily, his chest heaving as his clear right eye studies the band’s panicked faces. “Where is she?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘where is she’?!” Aegon pitches back. “She was with you! She’s with you, right?!”

Aemond looks at Aegon, looks through the glass at the tornado, grabs the keys to his 1960 Gold Star off the dining room table.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re running, but you can’t see; there’s dust and debris everywhere, there are pieces of trees and fences careening through the air, when you breath you choke on airborne earth. The wind keeps pushing you off the road and then you have to fight your way back. You have to find your parents’ driveway. You have to get to the house. The sun is gone, and the roaring like a freight train is louder, louder, louder. And now there is another sound too, a different sort of growling, mechanical and familiar. Punching through the haze like a bullet, Aemond and his Gold Star screech to a stop beside you.

“Get on!” he screams over the storm, then helps drag you onto the seat behind him. You link your arms around his waist and then you’re flying together, just like Rome, just like before Reykjavik or Paris or Singapore or Tokyo or East Rutherford or Las Vegas or any of the other cities happened, back when you believed you could cure him like a witch with a spell, back when you wanted him in a way that was unburdened by truths you wish you didn’t know.

The Gold Star rockets by trees, utility poles, fence posts seconds before they are ripped from the ground by 200 miles per hour winds. Aemond steers roughly onto the dirt road of your parents’ driveway. You cling to him, breathing him in: smoke, cologne, memories, nightmares, dreams. In the rearview mirror is a maelstrom of dark, churning grey peppered with wreckage.

Something collides with the motorcycle, a fence post, a tree limb, you don’t know, it doesn’t matter. The Gold Star is knocked off the driveway like a bloodied tooth from a jaw. You sail off of it as it begins to roll; you hit the ground hard on your back, loose a pitiful wounded howl, try to start crawling towards the farmhouse.

“No, stay down, stay down!” Aemond is saying over the roar of the tornado. He covers you, he shields you, he pins you to the ground, he puts his hands over your eyes. The last thing you see is the Gold Star lying on its side a few yards away, its wheels still rotating. It’s over 400 pounds, too heavy for Aemond to lift even if you helped him, even if that couldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby?? Your own hands go to your belly. You try to ascertain if the heat throbbing in your back has traveled anywhere else, reached with blood-red, needle-sharp talons to your child, to your future.

The wind is letting up; is that your imagination? No, the tornado is receding, the debris fall to the earth, the deafening runaway train made of rogue air evaporates. Cautiously, Aemond rises from you. When you look at him, the right side of his face is riddled with shallow, bleeding gashes; but his eye is mercifully unharmed.

“Aemond,” you say, pained, reaching for him, trying to clean the blood from his face with your sleeves, a hoodie with some boy band on it, men you don’t know and don’t care to meet, fantasies that pale in comparison to the reality that stains you like rust.

“I’m fine, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so…”

They come stampeding down the driveway: Criston, the rest of Comet, the barking Australian cattle dogs.

“Oh my God, they’re alive!” Jace exclaims, and soon everyone is there, surrounding you and Aemond like a circle, a ring, an orbit, something that goes around and around and might fade but never ends.

You aren’t worried about the baby. There’s no cramping, no pain except the throbbing in the curve of your back, blood loosed and then trapped, indigo bruises tattooed under your skin like ink. You press your palms to the earth and brace yourself so you can stand. No one is helping you get up; why is no one helping you? Why are they only staring, gasping, covering their mouths with shaking hands?

“You’re bleeding,” Aemond says, a panicked voice through fog. Slowly, like trying to run in a dream, you look down. There are thin rivulets of scarlet snaking their way down your thighs, calves, shins, ankles, painless ruinous tributaries, constellations unraveling until the patterns cease to exist, no myths, no monsters, no men, just senseless pinpricks of distant light you’ll never know the names of.

“No,” you whisper, like you can stop it from happening if you refuse to believe it, like it’s a mistake you can talk yourself out of. You gaze up at Aegon. Knowledge flies between you, something shared like an heirloom or an oath.

“Call an ambulance,” Aegon says to Cregan. “Tell them that she’s…” His eyes dart to Aemond and then back to you. “Tell them to hurry.”

Aemond is holding you, he is touching your face, he is asking: “Are you cut, do you need stitches—?”

“I’m alright, it’s nothing, it’s—”

“What are you talking about?! It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding, why are you bleeding?”

“Aemond, it’s nothing—”

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you!”

“It’s just…” And a sob breaks from your throat, and your words are brittle and splintering, and you can’t lie to him anymore. You’re out of time in so many ways. “It’s just the baby.”

[drmapzo]

Hello, everyone!

The adventurers have followed the river just as they were instructed and they are nearing their destination: a land where it's always snowy and cold.

But the terrain is a treacherous one and the creatures that live in these mountains are not exactly the most friendly. Still, these experienced heroes will stop at nothing to go to their objective.

The creature tokens for this map are an Ahool, an Eternal Guardian and a Lizardfolk Noble. Emerald tier gets the Lizardfolk Noble while Diamond tier gets all three. In addition, Sapphire tier gets extra creature token variants.

You can see a preview of all of this week’s Patreon content here.

Thank you very much for taking a look and be sure to check out my Patreon where you can pledge for gridless version, alternate map versions as well as the tokens pertaining to this map.

[uselesseaweedbrain]

Supercorptober - 11. Emerald

***************************

Emerald. The core of her home planet, her energy supply and the last thing she ever saw of her dying world. 

Until Lex Luthor found it and used it as a weapon against Kal, bringing Superman to his knees on national television.

The people closest to your heart are the ones most able to hurt you, Kara knew. But she didn’t know it applied to objects, too. 

She didn’t know how everything she had ever loved could suddenly turn into a weapon against her - her planet’s core, a torturous poison, her baby cousin, a grown-up stranger, her lovely aunt, a world conqueror, her noble parents, genocidal criminals, her adoptive sister, slayer of Astra. 

But for a while, things had settled and Kara had slipped into forgetful bliss.

And now- now Kara knew she was stupid to think the curse could have ever stopped.

***************************

“You’ve made Kryptonite?” No, not you, not you, too. Anyone but you.

“You will hand over the formula to the DEO, and destroy any remaining Kryptonite, and you will never make it again.”

Supergirl had overcome the Worldkillers, Lena had promised to tell her about any further Kryptonite synthesis, and the story had stopped there.

****************************

“J’onn? J’onn, this is Agent Danvers. I think we have a problem. Kara is not acting like herself. In the beginning, it was harmless, but she’s starting to scare me, and she won’t talk to me-“

“”

“Yes. Yes, okay, I’ll try to localise her and keep you posted.”

“”

“Thank you, J’onn.”

****************************

Kara landed on Lena’s L-Corp balcony late into the night, having ditched her comms and her usual suit to avoid Alex’s relentless tracking. 

She was dressed in a black fitted suit inherited from her aunt, her blond curls sharp against the dark material, the glowing red vein in her neck starkly visible in the dusk’s feeble light.

Lena heard a knock on her balcony’s door and her heartbeat sped up.

Supergirl. Her first reflex was to snark, but the hero looked different, less polished, more angular and threatening than Lena had ever seen her - truer to herself, Lena thought.

So Lena opted for the safe approach, rising from her leather chair in a smooth motion and opening the balcony door.

“Supergirl. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I would like to talk to you, Ms. Luthor. Privately. There are things that you need to know, things that I want to tell you, but I am being watched as we speak. So, if you would allow me-“

“You want to fly me.”

The black-clad hero nodded, and Lena’s face hardened.

“I don’t trust you, Supergirl. You have never treated me fairly, and I do not feel comfortable putting myself in your hands.”

The blonde’s lips pulled into an appreciative smile, and Lena felt shivers run down her spine.

“Very well. Then I assume you have secluded and protected spaces at your disposal?”

Lena acquiesced slowly, obscuring the windows of her office with a command muttered under her breath. The balcony’s door closed automatically, and Lena led the blonde outside her office, stepping into the corridor and pressing her hand against the wall three times.

Green light pulsed under the CEO’s fingers and a portion of the wall pivoted open, revealing a sizeable, empty room, without windows or furniture, the walls blank to the naked eye.

The walls closed behind them and Kara’s X-Ray vision was obscured completely.

Lead.

“This space is safe, Supergirl. You can speak freely - whatever you would like to say.”

The hero hummed, facing the CEO and standing straight. 

“Safe for whom?”, she wondered out loud, but Lena scoffed and Kara waved her hand dismissively.

“Forget it. I did not come here to fight.”

They were standing face to face, the lack of furniture depriving them the luxury of sitting down.

“Very well. The first thing you should know is that I was exposed to red Kryptonite.”

Lena’s eyes widened imperceptibly, her lips quickly pursing in distaste as her left eyebrow rose.

“So you came all this way to accuse me, is that it? Even for you, Supergirl, this seems extremely convoluted.”

The blonde chuckled. “This is not it, Ms. Luthor."

“Then, what is it? Has the DEO proved its incompetence again? Do you need a cure that they cannot provide?”

“Oh, no, I don’t need a cure. The symptoms are not physical - red Kryptonite affects brain chemistry and reduces inhibitions to a level close to zero. And I didn’t come to accuse you. I know exactly who the culprit is - a stupid man named Maxwell Lord.”

“Then, what did you come here for?”

“How interesting,” Kara mused, as she started slowly circling around the CEO.

“What is?” Lena inquired. 

“You don’t seem afraid of me at all.”

“This version of you is actually easier to deal with than your usual self-righteous self.” Lena admitted, and Kara’s laugh rung out in the empty space.

“Tell that to my sister.”

“You have a sister?”

“Lena, Lena, Lena. Are we still playing this game?”

“What game?”

“The game where you pretend you don’t know who I am, and where I pretend you’re not smart enough to have already figured it out.”

“I- I don’t know what you are talking about, Supergirl.”

“Really, now? I don’t blame you for not wanting to see - I treated you horribly, after all, but I think we both deserve some honesty. So, let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

Kara stopped in front of Lena, executing a bow reminiscent of medieval times, and raised her head as she spoke. 

“I am Kara Zor-El, heir of the El family and last daughter of Krypton. On this planet, I am known as Kara Danvers or Supergirl - though both are but shallow facets of a role I was forced to play.”

Lena stood for a moment, her lips parted and her brow furrowed, her green eyes pensive and guarded.

“Why are you telling me this now? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop trying to protect Kara Danvers. I want you to stop being afraid around Supergirl. I want you to hold me accountable as both my selves. I want you to know me and I want you to have me.”

Lena shook her head. “This is the red Kryptonite talking. Supergirl would never say something like this, would never endanger or entrust her identity to a Luthor-“

“I am not them, nor am I simply the sum of the two. I don’t need to be protected - and I am done hiding from you.”

“How can I trust anything you’re saying? How can I trust that you’re not manipulating me again, telling me what I want to hear?”

“You can’t. You can't trust me, and, quite frankly, you shouldn't. But you can trust yourself. Trust your darkness, calling mine.”

Kara took one step closer. Lena didn’t move. 

“Your instincts when they tell you I won’t hurt you.” 

Kara took one more step, getting dangerously near.

“You can trust your gut when it feels more at ease with Kara Zor-El than it ever did with Supergirl.”

Kara raised one hand and caressed Lena’s cheek, swiping her thumb gently on Lena’s lower lip, leaving a trail of goosebumps and a galloping heart in her wake.

“Your lips when they beg for my touch.” 

Her hand slid down on Lena’s hips.

“Your skin shivering under my fingers.”

Her movements halted and her voice became a murmur. 

“You can trust how much you want this,” she whispered against Lena’s lips.

And Lena surrendered in a breath and a surge forward, her lips crashing against crimson steel, her hands roaming the leather clad shape with barely concealed hunger.

Red pulsed on Kara’s throat and Lena kissed it, following the ominous light up to the goddess’s jaw, nipping and biting at the invulnerable skin as Kara slowly sunk to her knees for her.

*********************************************

[leighsartworks216]

How the LADS men would react to some of my favorite games

All x Reader (separately, and it's not the main focus)

Picking out games for them all was kinda difficult, bc I have so many favorites and I wasn't sure what they'd react to or how they'd react. But I'm pretty happy with these

Based on this post

Warnings: crackfic (kinda?), one horror game, slight angst with Zayne, swearing

Word Count: 1,123 (oh hell yeah)

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (Psst fill this out to be tagged in future fics! - Updated to include Xavier)

Xavier:

I think Xavier would love The Outer Worlds

I mean,, it’s a game that takes place entirely in another solar system where you crash land in an escape pod on a strange planet and gotta figure out how people here work without letting them know you’re “not from here”

They literally call the player “The Stranger”

I think he’d love looking up at the sky in game

Every one of the sky boxes is gorgeous but Emerald Vale especially

I think he’d find a safe area in game and put it on just to stare up at the sky (and fall asleep too)

Tries to choose the best outcome for every situation

Which means fucking over the government and not feeling an ounce of guilt for it

But fucking over the underdogs even for a minute feels awful

Has to ask you which choice is better or how to get the best outcome

Scarily good at fighting with melee weapons

Esp considering the heavy reliance on guns

Accidentally min-maxes the characters

He’d also love Coffee Talk

The music is so calming he usually ends up falling asleep to it

Spends a lot of time and consideration into every drink

Draws a little bunny in the lattes every single time

Probably accidentally clocks the plot twist of the game on the very first run

Tries making you the drinks irl and uhhhh he shouldn’t

-

Zayne:

Of the games I’ve played, I think The Silent Age would be very interesting for him

Helps solve the puzzles (even if you’ve played it before)

Says he finds the art style to be “charming”

Sits through every piece of dialogue no matter how long and doesn’t go forward until he comprehends it

Gets so concerned when Joe starts coughing

Generally doesn’t like seeing the bodies

It makes him unsettled and has him thinking about those he’s lost to such gruesome deaths

The twist at the end absolutely fascinates him so much

And the SECOND twist pulls him out of it

Was lowkey hoping it would be something more… fantastical

But does have to admit that horror in the now-mundane is interesting too

I also would LOVE to watch him play Ace Attorney

Could you IMAGINE???

“This is illegal.” “I know, but so is murder.” “They don’t cancel out, you know.”

“If somebody on the witness stand is overreacting that much to one small detail, I think the judge should be a little more concerned about it.”

He’d kinda love Miles Edgeworth ngl

Understands exactly what he means with the entire “unnecessary feelings” business

Wishes the autopsy reports were more in depth, for his own amusement

Accidentally says “objection” when you’re trying to lie to him about not taking care of yourself

Can’t live it down for the next week, at LEAST

-

Sylus:

Little Nightmares, straight up

He finds the concept absolutely fascinating

Doesn’t play, but enjoys watching you play

“Careful, kitten. His long arms almost grabbed you.” “YES, THANK YOU, I NOTICED.”

Loves to see you so panicked and freaked out

Laughs if something small makes you jump out of your skin

But he does try to comfort you after chase sequences when it feels like you’re having a heart attack

Pulls you into his lap and promises to protect you

Will not complain if you choose to stay there for the rest of the game

Helps you solve puzzles if you’re struggling with them for too long

But he always asks to know if you want the answer

He doesn’t need you pouting and upset just because you couldn’t figure out how to do something relatively simple

Warns the twins not to scare you for a while

For their own safety tbh

You have a gun and you WILL use it

He’d also like watching you play Animal Crossing

You can and will bully him into joining

Will catch the scary or difficult bugs for you if you’re struggling

Doesn’t need to look up any guides to find the real artworks

The very second he can get his hands on the cat cap, it’s going to you

Might ask what color you want, but he’s more likely to pick it for you so its a surprise

Wraps it up too

“Sweetie, I got you a gift.” “Awe, really?.... Really, Sylus?” “Put it on, kitten.”

Luke and Kieran have their own town

It’s extremely flushed out and scary how impressive it is

Runs turnips with them so you have nearly a billion Bells to spend on anything you want

He lets you design his house, even if you make it silly

-

Rafayel:

Tell me why my first thought was Pokemon Art Academy

He would love it tho

Sitting on the couch together, watching over your shoulder as you follow the tutorials to draw the Pokemon

They turn out like shit but he claims to love them

Passing it over to him is a bad idea, but he won’t stop whining until you do

Creates an entire masterpiece

That creature is in a damn candid shot, shaded and everything

You should have known it was a terrible idea to show him the game

When he doesn’t feel like painting or just needs a break for his mind, he’ll play it

Honestly I see him at one of his own exhibitions, standing in the corner and playing it

Thomas complains to you about it all the time

Rafayel texts you about how much the Pokemon miss you and want you to come over :’(((

Beats the game

Somehow

Not just the lessons either, literally every single drawing they give you to do, he does it

When you look at the gallery, you can see when you stopped playing and when he took over

He’d also love Little Inferno

Sings the jingle all the time until you’re threatening him to shut up

Doesn’t honestly understand the appeal at first

He can literally make and control fire, why can’t you just give him some stuff to burn and he’ll do it for you

But he slowly gets the appeal

Especially when the batteries explode

Hates the pooping cat plushie with a passion

“If that thing ever shows up in a claw machine, we are NOT getting it.”

He either fully completes the game, combos and all, or he gets to the second catalog and gets bored, no in between

Will happily watch you play tho

Loves the way you focus on trying to decipher the clues for the combos

No shame, WILL be looking up the combinations and WILL spoil them for you just to bug you

May plan a date around throwing shit into a fireplace and watching it burn in real life

There’s a fire extinguisher nearby, just in case

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44

[kj-yikes]

11. Emerald

(on ao3 here)

Kara could get lost in those emerald eyes.

Wait, what?

This is Lena Luthor. Brother of Lex Luthor, notorious hater of Kryptonians. Also, notably, a woman.

Kara's straight. She knows this about herself. She's only ever dated men. None of them had ever worked out very successfully, but… that was mostly because Kara could never truly be her whole self with them, to protect her identity. She's straight.

Kara's eyes can't help but wander over Lena's curves as she hangs up her bag. Lena is objectively beautiful, Kara reasons. Looking at objectively beautiful people is nice, no matter who they are or what gender they are. Kara is just appreciating Lena's natural beauty, the cut of her jawline, the lithe hands that fuss with her bag, the way her skirt hugs the curve of her bum—

Ahem.

"And Supergirl was there, too," Kara stutters. What is going on with her today?

Those emerald eyes land on Kara again, and her stomach flip-flops pleasantly. Her body tingles and heats as those eyes appraise her.

"And who are you exactly?" Lena's red lips form a small smirk as she crosses the room to pour a glass of water. The click of her heels send a shiver down Kara's back.

Crap. "I'm Kara Danvers. I'm not with the Daily Planet, I'm with Catco Magazine, sort of," she manages weakly.

She's making an excellent first impression. Rao.

But why does Kara care so much?

"That's not a publication known for its hard-hitting journalism," Lena chuckles, settling behind her desk. "More like 'high waisted jeans, yes or no?'"

"I'm just tagging along today, so…" she cuts off lamely. Her cheeks heat, and a thrill shoots down her when Lena notices and smirks at her.

Kal takes control of the interview while Kara tries to calm her beating heart. Could a Kryptonian even have a heart attack on Earth? When she sees Kal pull down his glasses to scan the room out of the corner of her eye, Kara hastily does the same. The room is clean — Kara never thought it wouldn't be.

Kara hears Lena plans for her company, to do good, and believes her. She sounds so sincere, and her emerald eyes shine with something Kara recognizes — that hazy reconciliation of loving your family but wanting to be better than their choices.

Kara feels a surge ofemotion through her body when Lena says, "I'm just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah," she says instinctually. Something magnetic pulls to keep her eyes connected with Lena's. Lena holds her eye contact for a moment before turning back to Kal. She shares a drive with Kal and moves them out of her office too soon after.

Kara finds herself wanting to linger as Kal walks to the door, but instead she just says awkwardly, "Good day," and follows him out.

As they leave L-Corp, Kal seems determined to be skeptical of the youngest Luthor, but Kara will have none of it.

She just has a good feeling about Lena Luthor.

[sonicexelle-junkary]

Bitter Blood [A HungryHero.EXE fanfic]

“I can't wait to gut you out.”

(CW: descriptions of blood, gore, violence, bad language, and death)

A day used to feel short. Days that, even if it were cloudy and dull, would feel as cheery and sunny as always. Short days. Hours that felt like seconds. Today those hours felt agonizing. The cloudy sky was cold. The air, suffocating. Even a minute now felt like weeks. These emerald hills, this world, it didnt feel the same anymore. Not without him.

Why…. Why was he there? Why was he right there? Right there in the line of fire! He didn’t need to be here! Why was he there? Was it because of him? Because hes a canibal? Maybe he thought that he needed to help protect his image and thats why he came. Oh god. No. No it could’nt have been his fault! No! No No its not his fault! Its not his fault! Its- .... Shadow... Its Shadow’s fault. Its all his fucking fault!

That god damn dark and brooding prick! He couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He had to say something. Had to open his fucking mouth! He made him doubt. Doubt everything that he had thought about him. Made him think that he wasnt the best older brother hes ever had. But, Tails was always independent, even if at times he had to rely on his friends. It was expected, he was a kid. But out of everything, everything that that little fox had went through... It wasn't him, he wasn't thinking clearly, that fucking mutant made him confused. Whatever he said to him, it didn't matter, he implanted that stupid little thought in his head! And now he's gone... Because of him.

“.... I think its time to pay ol’ dark and handsome a visit”

———————

A black hedgehog stood atop one of the many loops of green hills. The naturally generated loops ironically always seemed just the slightest bit unnatural. Even so, they made great viewpoints when sat atop their grassy caps. Shadow, of course, knew this, he would always take advantage of their beautiful viewpoints when he wasn’t in the cities. It, accompanied by the quietness of the stripped fields and checkered soil, waved a calmness over the hedgehog. He wished Maria could see this place the most...

His thick fur shot up, a feeling of dread overwhelmed his body. He was not alone. Something was coming for him. His eyes darted around the area, his ears scanning the area for any noticable sound. His own breath and heartbeat felll silent to his ears. All that was around him was the sound of the wind and.... The dark hedgehog moved to the side just enough for a blurry blue streak to whizz by, barely grazing his nose. It created a sizable crater in the ground once it landed. The force it must've had to create that would have killed him almost instantly if they had collided.

Shadow watched as a blue hedgehog lifted itself from the rubble, coming out with no more than a few scratches and missaligned quills. It was Sonic. The hedgehog’s green eyes starred daggers into his own. A silver object glistened from him through the dust of the crater, A weapon. He waisted no time, Shadow dashed away, over the green hills, as fast as his air shoes could take him. He had no issue with matching or even surpassing Sonic’s speed at times, but something about that stare, how much velocity he needed to hite the ground with that much force…

Shadow ducked as the blue hedgehog came from his path with the intent to kill, narrowly missing his skin. He was in front of him? How was that possible? How fast was this hedgehog? Shadow watched as Sonic skidded and pivoted on a dime, using his momentum to come right towards him. He was always more skilled at his pacing than he was. A wobbly misstep threw Shadow off ballance, and sent the two hedgehogs crashing into each other, sent spinning and tumbling down the barred hills. At the bottom, the black hedgehog kicked the blue killer off forcefully, throwing him to the ground a few feet ahead. The two were quick to hop to their feet and back into battle. Shadow took a fighting stance.

“Enough! Stop this, Sonic!” Shadow shouted “Nothing good will come out of anything that you are trying to do!”

“Yeah, that’s where your wrong, Shadow” Sonic said “something good will come out of this… for me!” The hedgehog pulled out the decently sized blade he had kept hidden. He stared at Shadow, holding it with the intent to kill

“You plan to kill me? Have you forgotten who I am?” Shadow raised his fists at the blue hedgehog before him, he barred his sharp fangs “I AM the Ultimate Lifeform! I was built to be an ultimate weapon, but chose to protect others instead! I AM made of love! I AM the true hero of mobius! And I am not afraid to kill you to protect the world i voued fifty years ago, Sonic the Hedgehog!”

Admittedly Sonic was hurt by shadows comment, but it didn’t break him. He rolled his eyes “yeah, but i think it’s gonna be a lot harder without this thing” he outheald a green gem that glistened the same colour as his eyes. It was a chaos emerald.

Shadow patted his sides “what? How did you-!”

“You see, here’s the thing Shad. Of the whole time we’ve known eachother, i want you to know… I was holding back!”

Instantly the speedy hedgehog was gone, and just as quickly Shadow’s guard was up. If Sonic really wanted to kill him, he needed to be close. It didn’t seem like he was using chaos control, if he was then he could pick up on his chaos signature. Given enough foccus and it would be easy to track him. No, He could just faintly hear his footsteps, smell that sickly sweet iron smell that accompanied him. He was fast, faster than anything shadow had witnessed. he seemed as fast as super sonic. But he hasnt used the chaos emeralds. Has he really been holding back this whole-

A knife held sloppily, but with enough force could kill, grazed Shadows cheek as he narrowly doged another one of the blue hedgehogs attacks. “He’s to fast!” Shadow panicked eternally. He barely dodged another quick strike from the blade, it grazed off a few hairs of his fur. “I need chaos control if I can get a chance to-“

Shadow was spun like a corkscrew in the air and slammed hard into the grassy ground with a deafening thud. His ears rang from the force, he could have sworn he had a cuncussion. The blade plunged into his side and dragged across his stomach. A loud and horrid scream came out of him as Sonics eyes carefully watched the blade glide across his dark body, now stained with his green blood. He tried to move his foot up to push the hedgehog away, but it was quickly slammed back down to the ground with enough force that it should’ve broken it.

“FUCK!” Shadow yelped at his injuries. He bared his teeth and cursed at Sonic. “You’re fucking derranged-!”

Sonic grabbed him by his chin and brought him close to his own face “AND YOU’RE A FUCKING MURDERER!” He screamed.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“THEN WHY IS MY BROTHER DEAD, SHADOW? EXPLAIN THAT!”

“I-it was his choice! He could have left at any time! He could have not been there at all! But he came and he stayed because HE WANTED TO STOP YOU!”

A blade pierced through shadows hand. “DONT TALK TO ME LIKE YOU KNOW HOW HE IS! YOU WERENT THE ONE TO RAISE HIM!”

“AND YOU DO? YOU JUST CANT ADMIT THAT HE WOULD EVER BETRAY YOU-“ shadow screamed again, the knife turned in his palm.

“I’VE BEEN WITH HIM HIS WHOLE LIFE! SINCE HE WAS THREE GOD DAMN YEARS OLD! I HAVE BEEN THERE EVERY TIME HES NEEDED ME! I HAVE DONE MORE FOR HIM THAN YOU COULD EVER DO!” Sonics grip tightened on shadows face. His sharp fangs barred, all to the back hedgehog. “AND YOU! YOU JUST COULDNT KEEP YOUR STUPID PRETTY FACE QUIET LIKE USUAL, YOU HAD TO SAY SOMETHING! HAD TO MAKE HIM DOUBT ME!”

Shadow whimpered. He glowered at the cannibal “And so what if I did? None of this would have happened if you had just learned some self control! All of it... It’s all your fau- AUGH!”

Sonic plunged the knife into shadows shoulder, digging it in all the way to the handle “WHO WAS THE ONE WHO IMPLANTED THAT THOUGHT OF DOUBT IN HIM? WHO WAS THE ONE WHO USED CHAOS SPEAR? WHO WAS THE ONE WHO CAUSED THAT SCAFFOLDING TO FALL OVER? TELL ME SHADOW! TELL ME!”

Shadow shut his eyes and inhaled. The throbbing pain in his hand, his foot, his shoulder, his stomach, it all made him want to throw up. He shook as he glared at Sonic. “He was there because of you…”

—————-

The cannibal on top of him stared, stared directly into his eyes. His expression looked almost deprived of any emotion, but he was furrious. furrious and oh, so hungry. He craved for this black hegdehog since the day they met again in that cave. The blade slowly pulled out of the hedgehogs shoulder, dropping to his side. He leaned in close, close enough for Shadow to see his enlarged pupils and smell that scent that was sickenly sweet and iron-like from those who were his last meal.

“I can’t wait to gut you out.” The words came out of him were bone chillingly calm. Not even a cent of attitude or emotion that usually accompanied his tone. He was calm, those words were calm, but they were drenched in crazed anger.

He slowly raised the knife, preparing to strike one last time. Shadow needed to act now if he wanted to survive. A hit in the right place, with enough force, it will kill him. He didn’t have much chaos energy to use, and the adrenaline was waring off faster… fuck it. In a flash, the black hedgehog teleported away. Not far though, he could only make it a couple of miles. He gasped and clutched his gaping wound. Luckily the cut didn’t go to far deep, but still, he was pouring out blood. He held as tight as he could to lessen the bloodflow.

His vision was unfocused, he was becoming lightheaded from the blood loss, he needed help, but he needed to recharge his energy, and with his injuries it would take him longer than ever. Still, hes going to keep going. Shadow clutched his wound tighter as he slowly made his way across the hills that were now stained with his blood, whining as every step with his foot felt like needles shooting into his skin. Before, they could have beat eachother to a stand still, now... He looked back to see if Sonic knew where he went, chaos snap was not the best at hiding a signature. And perhaps, maybe Sonic did, as shadow saw that blue cannibal stare in his direction. or maybe at him.

“I’ll see you later, Shadow the Hedgehog” his voice echoed through the hills.

Shadow panted, a knot appeared in his throat. He gritted his teeth. “Go to hell, bastard.”

[wilbyowo]

I’m not an author by any means, and i haven’t written anything in months so this may read badly or not make much sense but i tried to finish off a fic based on Fenrir and Cliff’s first meeting. I discussed them and built them up with a friend, cliff is a farmer from before the world died, he sounds similar to Big macintosh from Mlp. Fenrir is supposed to have quite a deep voice, a lot of Bass, he also has something similar to a Norwegian accent. Enjoy!

Sheep in wolves clothing

It started with a dull noise in the distance. Cliff was gathering whatever he could get, climbing into this building had caused him to cut his hand, and now he needed to find some kind of bandage in all of this mess. He’d looted all the cupboards, and tried to enter a few rooms but the damp air had made it both uncomfortable to try and stand in there, and dangerous as he was sure he’d seen black mould growing on one of the walls.

The noise was growing louder. Was it an earthquake? Or was one of the nearby office buildings about to give way and collapse? It wouldn’t be the first time, at least this time he wasn’t in it when the supports decided to keel. Cliff moved over to the window to peer out, golden light flooding his eyes as he attempted to see what was going on. It was a beautiful day. Years ago he would have been out in a field sitting within the familiar seat of his old Tractor, or making sure his old Sheepdog got her daily exercise quota met. He could almost smell the field, his old work clothes and the meals he used to cook as he felt the warm rays dance on his skin. His eyes closed as he allowed himself to bask in the memories.

The thumping stopped. Had the building collapsed already? Where was the noise?

Cliff opened his eyes, and the sun was gone. Something was coming towards the window, and he only had a moment to jump backwards as a massive object crashed though the remains of it’s wooden frame, flinging splinters left and right, before hooking and pulling the wall off. Cracking concrete and framework scraped his eardrums as he shielded his face, landing on his ass with a dull thump.

There was a faint crash below and then silence, the world seemed to still and the sun did not return.

“Oh no.” A voice rumbled above, the feeling of bass vibrating in Cliff’s chest as he moved his arm and stared at whatever- whoever- was speaking to him.

His heart stopped and everything went silent. Two sets of eyes glowed with an emotion he couldn’t place, focused on him like emerald lasers, all belonging to the same monster, its teeth peeking out from between lips that were easily wider than he was tall. A mess of thick brown hair that greyed at the roots framed its too-human face as it loomed, blocking out the light and filing Cliff’s vision.

A giant, and the biggest one he’d ever seen. He remembers when they first awoke, and how any survivors avoided the monsters, usually in vain as the beast’s sense of smell seemed to catch everyone off guard. And soon Cliff would likely join them.

It felt like a standoff between a mouse and a cat, both staring each other down and waiting for any movement to spring a chase into action. Cliff wasn’t gonna make the mistake of breaking eye contact, and he was fully prepared to sprint if he had to.

“Fuck…” The air vibrated with the sound once again as the monster’s scarred lips moved.

“You’re human. I don’t see much of you anymore.”

Cliff was stumped. It was trying to talk to him, like it wasn’t planning on killing him like many had done before him. Judging by the scars, this behemoth was not a stranger to a fight, so why was he trying to talk like it was mentioning the weather?

“You’re injured?” It questioned, tilting it’s head like a confused dog, the mane of brown hair tangling over parts of it’s head

Cliff had no idea how to respond. Truthfully, he wasn’t injured, but he didn’t know if the Giant was trying to trick him, or if it was genuine. He opted to stay silent.

Brows furrowed and the beast chewed its bottom lip.

A hand came up and toward him, Digits thicker than the trees gripping onto his leg and pulling him forwards before he could even react. The rest of its massive, Calloused palm soon wrapped around him, constricting his arms like a snake, and he was plunged into darkness, feeling the vibrations of footsteps that covered ground faster than he ever could. He just pictured home, sunny fields surrounded by woodland, and prayed to any god that would hear his plea.