#or rat king if she knew what they were capable of

[sidesteppostinghours]

Orange and soccer ball for OC of choice?

afternoon glitchy, thank you for the ask! im gonna be spinning a wheel for this one >:]

🟠 Orange- What is a trait your OC hides about themself from others? Do they refuse to acknowledge it or begrudgingly accept it?

Cyrus- the easy answer to this question would be his soft spot and protectiveness for the people he cares about which he refuses to admit until it becomes a direct nuisance to him. there are so many ways you can push his buttons with that. the harder answer would be his steadily fraying sense of control. this is more a problem that i think would happen going into revelations, especially with the number of enemies and mistakes (read: genuine human connections) that hes been making as of late. his puppetmaster scar is Not happy but to be very fair, it could be way worse. he Also chooses not to acknowledge this, he likes to come across as flawless to himself and others.

⚽️ Soccer Ball- Who is someone that your OC believes in and roots for? Are they private about their admiration or do they make it well known?

Cecilia- herself <3

[brokenmenswhore]

betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 5

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aemond targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: dry humping

a/n: while everyone has been wonderful, i just wanna remind everyone that this is a fanfiction on tumblr.com. i care deeply about the things i write but at the end of the day this is fanfiction and it’s just not that serious. writing these should be fun, not stressful, so it’s not gonna be grrm quality storytelling, and that’s ok! we’re just here for a good lil time

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

Aemond had followed his brother to the streets, an urgent matter on his mind. He loathed his brother’s constant nonchalance, and was growing more and more frustrated with each step into brothel doorways, in search of the King.

He had yet to find the man himself, but instead found men of the King’s Guard crowded around a circular table in the brothel that held his own favor.

“Where is His Grace?” Aemond asked, approaching the table of drunken men.

“Not sure,” one of them began, “found this gorgeous dark-haired maiden a bit ago. We left him to his vices.”

The table erupted in laughter and cheer for their king, but Aemond felt a drop in the pit of his stomach.

He took a deep breath, almost incapable of asking the question for fear of the answer. “Did she appear Northern?”

The men quieted and exchanged glances. There was an unspoken understanding as Aemond flared his nostrils in annoyance at their disregard for their position. It would have made sense if Aegon acted so taken aback by the sight of you because it was, in fact, you, but none of them had considered such a thing.

Aemond stormed toward the bar, tended by the Madam, angry and in search of answers. He had no need to approach the Madam once he saw Aegon. He rushed toward his brother, pushing Aegon’s chest until he was backed against a wall.

“Where are you coming from, brother, hm?” he sneered, accusatory.

Aegon swallowed hard, unsure of what to do. He did not want to rat you out to Aemond, but he knew his brother’s senses were quick. One wrong movement and Aemond would instantly know your whereabouts.

The men of the Guard remained close to the action as the attention of the brothel turned toward the two silver-haired brothers. Despite it being their job to protect Aegon from the very harm his brother was threatening to inflict, no one dare go toe to toe with the one-eyed prince.

“Gentlemen, would you be so kind as to check the rooms?” Aemond directed toward the King’s Guard, still holding Aegon in place with a forearm across his chest.

Though the men worked for Aegon, not Aemond, they looked to their leader for permission, and could see who was truly in charge. Aegon was in no position to instruct them otherwise, so they did as they were told.

Moments later, three of the men came into view with a dark-haired woman, wearing only a robe, fighting with all her might to free herself from their grasp. “Is this her?”

You stilled, blowing the hair out of your face as you made eye contact with your alleged betrothed. You were tired, having just been with Aegon, and he was not the first of the night. Your body’s capabilities were being tested with each moment of fighting.

Aemond gave you a wicked smile, proud of himself for finally finding you after a month of tribulation.

“I see you’ve been keeping my brother company,” Aemond said.

You kept your head held high, brimming with confidence, but you stayed silent, the only noise coming from that of the spit flying in Aemond’s direction.

The room went silent, all the attention directed at the scene unfolding around the Targaryens. Aegon softly snickered, and Aemond dropped his arm from Aegon’s chest in an effort to divert all of his attention to you.

He took a step closer to you. “Your reputation was not falsified as you so claimed.”

“I never claimed as such,” you defended, “I am simply skilled at evading the truth around those who do not deserve to hear it.”

“It must be the truth, then, as only a true whore would fuck my brother the day before wedding me.”

“I never had any intention of wedding you, Aemond, as you very well know.” There were countless brothel patrons watching you, and you desperately tried to sway the subject away from your whoring. Luckily, your retort did so.

“You are to return to the Red Keep with me and be grateful that I will accept your hand in marriage in the morn,” Aemond stated.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Since when are you so confident, Aemond? In a battle with my tongue, you know yours will lose.”

“Maybe so,” he responded, unsheathing his blade and pointing the tip in your direction, “but there is a battle I assure you I can win.”

Aemond knew you had always desired to learn your way around a blade, and was taunting you on purpose. You refused to give him the satisfaction of the reaction he so craved.

“All of this just to wed me? Do you fancy me so?” you jested.

Aemond took a deep breath in preparation to speak again. “Mind your tongue when there is a blade pointed to your throat.”

“Or what? Off me here, My Prince, lest it be the only way to still me.”

Aemond suddenly became viciously aware of the attention of the surrounding patrons. You had him in a chokehold. With your statement, the only way he could win this argument was to murder you in a cold blood right on the brothel floor, and he would not do such a thing, no matter how fervently you patronized him.

He was speechless. He could not think of a single worthy retort, neither in speech nor in action. He kept his sword raised, but the fist around the hilt began to shake in anger.

You turned your attention to the man still against the wall, who’s attention never diverted from you, as he cleared his throat. “Rather inappropriate to argue this out here, do you not agree?” Aegon chimed in.

“I am not returning to the Red Keep, Aegon, and you yourself spoke that you would not force me to.”

Aegon sighed in remembrance. “Do you truly wish to return to Winterfell?”

“More than anything.” I wish for Winterfell more than I wish for you. You were not sure how seriously you meant it. Aegon was right, things were different, but you could not lose focus. Not now.

Aegon looked to his brother, then to you, contemplating his options, before saying the only thing that could truly surprise you.

“I shall prepare you passage for the morn.”

✶

It was nearly impossible to fathom that after all the crown had put you through, they would allow you to return to Winterfell, all because of the King’s affections and guilt. You debated if the gesture of passage was honest up until the moment the cold air hit your skin, and you knew you were home.

Cregan lifted you in his large arms, swinging your frame around in glee as tears pooled in his eyes from pure relief and joy. He inspected every inch of your body and asked you several times if you were okay, and what the crown had done to you.

You promised him you were alright, and you were, until he rushed off to inform Jacaerys of your return, and the reality of your past actions dawned on you.

How would Jacaerys react if he knew what you had done with his usurper uncle? Would he still vie for your hand?

You paced nervously in your chambers that Cregan had left untouched, anticipating the moment you would have to face your true betrothed.

You had every intention of confessing. You truly did. However, every thought cleared from your mind the moment your chamber doors swung open. Jacaerys was out of breath, having rushed straight to you, but the moment he saw you, he stilled.

You spun around, startled by the noise.

“Y/N.”

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to say.

“Y/N, holy shit,” he said, rushing over to you and enveloping your body in a tight hug. He kissed the top of your head, holding it against his chest as though he would never let you go.

“I missed you,” you strained through his tight grasp.

Jacaerys pulled away, but only to move his hands to either side of your face. He wasted no time placing a kiss on your lips, much more fervently then he had the first time you two had done this.

You reciprocated immediately, your only thought being him. You pressed your body even closer to his, comfortable feeling his touch for the first time in a long time. He felt like home.

“Jace, I-“

“Sh,” he stopped you.

“I just-“

“Shut up,” he demanded, eager to continue.

You gave in and continued to kiss him, allowing him to back you into your bed. Your knees buckled and you fell backward as Jacaerys leaned over you.

It was only then that he pulled away and caught his breath. “We are not wed yet, I can’t-“

“I do not care that we are not wed,” you stated, confident.

“I do not wish to defile your honor.”

You sighed. If only he knew. “I have no honor around you.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, and you slowly began to drop the shoulder of your dress, exposing more skin in an effort to coerce him into action.

“I cannot,” he repeated, sitting down beside you in defeat.

You contemplated if you wanted Jacaerys bad enough right now to risk telling him that you had no honor left to defile. “We are to wed in a matter of days, Jace, what difference is it if you take me now?” you questioned.

“It is not proper, it-“ his voice trailed off, the sentence lost halfway down his throat.

You leaned toward him, propping a leg upward and swinging it over his waist, allowing you to sit on his lap and face him. “I truly do not give a damn what is proper. I want you to fuck me, Jacaerys.”

He was notably taken aback by your candor and confidence, but his strength was wearing thin, and all he wanted to do was ravish you. He missed you so, and now that you had returned to him, he was desperate to claim you as his.

He tilted his head upward and allowed you to kiss him again, and you pushed his chest backward until his back was flush against the mattress. You held the back of his head to ensure his lips stayed connected to yours, instinctively toying with the strands of his curly hair.

He began to buck his hips upward, searching for any friction as he grinded his hips against your own. He let out a soft whine into the kiss when you began to push down against him, intensifying the friction.

You rocked your body slightly back and forth, and Jace threw his head back against the sheets as his hands found their way to your hips, gripping desperately, and most certainly gripping hard enough to leave a bruise.

Suddenly, your chamber doors swung open again with no regard for your current predicament.

“Tell me this is a cruel jest from the crown. Tell me!” Cregan bellowed, completely ignoring your position and marching over to you, slamming a piece of parchment down on the bed next to where your body met Jace’s.

Jacaerys shot upward, and you grabbed the parchment, standing up and beginning to read the words.

“Who sent you this?” you asked.

“It matters not who sent it,” Cregan seethed, “is it true? I do not have the patience for more lies.”

“What’s going on?” Jacaerys chimed in.

“Cregan, you cannot seriously-“

“IS. IT. TRUE.”

“I-“

You were speechless.

“I knew it. I fucking trusted you, Y/N. I was going to marry you off to the heir to the Iron Throne and the entire time you’ve been fucking the whole of the North like some common smallfolk whore.”

“Do not dare speak to me as such, Cregan, I am still the Lady of this house and I will not be patronized-“

“Patronized?! You fucked the usurper king and yet your concern is your own ego?” Cregan spat.

Your eyes widened. “It says as such?”

“You did what?” Jacaerys chimed in.

“Tell him,” Cregan said, his tone low as he stepped closer to you, nearly poking your chest, “wit your way out of this one.”

You had never seen your brother so truly angry with you. You had of course had your fair share of disagreements and spats, but he had always opted to trust you above all else. News that he was incorrect in doing so, and that you had been lying to him despite it, angered him more than anything could.

You turned to Jacaerys, who was seated on the edge of the bed, hands firmly planted on either side of his body as though he were anticipating the need to rise at any moment.

“Let me explain,” you pleaded, “I-“

“Tell me you did not give your maidenhood to my uncle,” Jacaerys nearly begged.

“I did not,” you said, and he sighed in relief, but you continued, “I have not had my maidenhood for some time now.”

Cregan was seething, his nostrils flaring in anger as you turned toward him.

“Was it the one eyed prince, hm? Is he the one who sent you such writings?” you asked.

“The man may be a cunt, but I cannot fathom what reason he would have to lie so drastically,” Cregan responded, confirming your suspicions.

Jacaerys could not stop staring at you. He was subconsciously waiting for you to say this was all a cruel jest and move on, but only more hurt followed.

You turned back to Jace, taking a deep breath before finally admitting the truth.

“Aegon and I have shared intimacies, as I have with several men.”

Cregan threw his hands up in the air and turned around, stomping out of the room. He did not want to hear anymore, and he was so angry that he knew it would be best for your safety if he was not around you.

Jacaerys slouched in his seated position. His elbows rested on his knees as he rested his head in the palm of his hands.

He tried to speak several times, but only small sighs and gasps left his lips. He was rendered speechless. He did not even know how to move.

“Please say something,” you pleaded, showing an ounce of weakness for perhaps the first time.

He did not speak.

“I still very much wish to marry you,” you added.

Jace lifted his head to look at you, his eyes red and his features unreadable. “I cannot imagine what you could possibly do to make me not want the same,” he started, “and I can forgive you for hiding this part of yourself, if you choose to be honest with me now. But my uncle-“

“I know,” you cut him off, “I know.”

“Why?”

You sighed. You did not have a proper explanation. You simply did it because you wanted to and it felt right, something you feared Jacaerys would not understand.

“Your uncle and I have grown rather fond of one another, if I am to demonstrate candor,” you explained, seeing no point in holding anything back now, “but it does not diminish my fondness for you.”

“And Aemond? I would rather you have affection for Aegon, he is a genuine idiot, but Aemond-“

“I have not slept with Aemond.”

Jacaerys took a sigh of relief. He meant what he said: he would rather you have bedded Aegon than Aemond. Aegon slept with many women, and Jacaerys could not see how such an intimate act could truly be intimate with him. He believed that sex was not about connection for Aegon, but rather purely sexual. Though it still hurt, Jace remembered your confession of having been with several men, and hoped Aegon was just another one of the many.

Had you been with Aemond, however, it would have meant that Aemond had won. At least, that is how Aemond would have taken it.

“So you-“ Jacaerys swallowed, preparing his next words, “the rumors are true, you do work in brothels? You’re a- a-“

“You can call me a whore, it is not the dirty word that many make it,” you said, sitting down next to Jace and taking his hand in yours.

“Why?”

“I quite enjoy pleasure, as does everyone,” you said, happy that the mood was calming down, “I am simply not inclined to care about duty above it.”

“And Cregan did not know?”

“No one knew, though evidently the whole realm has had their suspicions.”

“How long have you-“

“Since before Aegon. A while.”

“So you are rather experienced, then.”

The statement-question caught you off guard. “I would say so, yes.”

“So you are well versed in pleasure.”

“I would say so, yes,” you repeated.

Jacaerys looked into your eyes. “I am trying desperately to be angry with you, but I cannot act like this does not excite me.”

Rarely did someone say something that truly blindsided you with surprise.

“You are not angry with me?”

“I am hurt you bed Aegon, but I will learn to move on from it. You whoring, however- I understand it should anger me, I truly do. Yet I cannot seem to make it do so.”

“I do not believe my brother shares your same sentiments.”

“Cregan is hot-headed, he will forgive in time,” Jacaerys tried to assure your nerves. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“How did you return? Why did they let you back?”

“Your uncle granted me passage,” you answered.

“Why?”

“I ask myself that same question every few minutes,” you admitted.

“It is not because of his affections toward you?”

“You do not have anything to worry about, Jace.”

“My uncle is not chivalrous, it is unlike him to-“

“You need not worry, Jacaerys, please. No matter how I got here, I am here, with you, and Aegon remains in King’s Landing.”

Jacaerys took a deep breath before standing up and holding out his hand toward you. “We have a wedding to prepare, do we not?”

You smiled and placed your hand atop his.

✶

It felt like it was happening all over again.

You and Jacaerys rushed outside to see the wings of the majestic beast ruling the skies. Despite her feet planted atop the castle walls, her wings continued to flap, a way of ensuring she caught the attention of everyone in Winterfell.

The beast was unmistakable. She was the most beautiful dragon in all the realm, and her scales glistened like the sun. You had never seen her in the flesh, and even from a distance, she was breathtaking. So breathtaking, even, that you had not noticed the absence of her rider from her back, and could not find him moving around her body. He could be anywhere.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Cregan shouted, stomping out into the courtyard beside you.

“I- I don’t know,” you responded, honest.

“I thought we were done with this, sister,” he said, accusatory.

“As did I,” you shot back.

You waited, watching Sunfyre in awe and hoping her rider would soon make himself known. He did not know his way around Winterfell, and without the company of Sunfyre, he could be anywhere.

It was unlike Aegon to go anywhere without guarded accompaniment. Being here was a risk on his life, as he was not as skilled in combat as his brother. You could not think up a single reason for him to be in your home, unguarded.

He was unmistakable himself as his silver hair shone in the sunlight. The people of Winterfell were still, unable to look away from the man adorned in green as he spotted and approached you.

He stopped a few feet away from you, and Cregan leaned forward, but you held out an arm to still him.

Aegon bowed.

Aegon, the usurper king, bowed to no man. But he bowed to you.

“What do you want, Aegon?” Jacaerys called out.

“I see you have returned safely,” Aegon said, keeping his attention to you.

“You should not have let me go if your only intention was to repeat history and force me back,” you said.

“I wish not to force you,” Aegon said, “I wish for you to choose willingly.”

“Choose what?”

“To come back with me.”

You laughed. You could not help it. It broke the tension a bit, luckily, but it was not intentional.

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because I am asking you to.”

“You are not my king. You cannot decide these things for me.”

Aegon took a step closer to you. “Tell my little nephew what we did.”

“He is already aware.”

Aegon was taken aback. He did not expect you to be as genuine in honesty as you were in bickering matches.

You could see sadness and pain behind Aegon’s eyes. You two truly did share a genuine connection, and he was incapable of understanding why he couldn’t just get whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. You were his exception to everything, and that was one of the best things about you, but also one of the worst.

Jacaerys did his best to look intimidating as he narrowed his eyes toward his uncle.

Even now, you could not help but take pity on Aegon. You did care about him, and it was a constant headsplit having to choose between two people you truly cared for.

“Stay for the wedding,” you suggested, the words leaving your lips the moment the thought popped into your head. There was no time for you to process it or think it through.

“Y/N, you cannot seriously-“

You cut Jacaerys off: “I am serious. Stay, Aegon, in good faith.”

“My mother will be in attendance and will not-“

“Jacaerys, please,” you stopped him.

“I cannot,” Aegon said, looking at the ground beneath his feet. The cold was staring to effect him, and his nose and cheeks were turning red.

“You can.”

“This is not a good-“

“Cregan, I can handle this.”

“No you can’t,” he sighed, matter-of-factly.

“I would happily accept lodging for the night. I think it best for me to return to King’s Landing in the morrow,” Aegon decided, defeated and incapable of fighting you.

You could not argue with his decision. It was a selfish offer to make on your part, and you only suggested it because you wanted both him and Jacaerys around.

You desperately wanted this to end well. It was only recently another Targaryen man had directed his dragon into your home, and that ended horrifically.

It was a paralleled situation, as if nothing had changed, only much had. Too much. There was no going back. You wanted to marry Jacaerys, but you could not send Aegon back to King’s Landing and pretend he did not exist.

Aemond could not do the same for you, either.

He loathed some parts of you, but they were the parts that acted as a mirrored reflection of himself.

He could not shake the feeling that he had met his match. He knew that the moment Aegon let you go, you would marry Jacaerys instantaneously, and the prospect of a pairing between you two would be vanquished. However, that did not mean he did not care for you, deep in the depths of his soul.

No one had ever posed a challenge to the great Prince Aemond One-Eye. You were the only one who could outwit him, who could speak to him as if you were not scared of him, and who could see straight through him.

He had worked his entire life to build himself into a lethal weapon, but you refused to see him as anything but a person. It drove him mad, but he knew that it was what he needed.

He did not care that his brother had had you. He did not care that Jacaerys would have you soon. He told the realm you were to be his, and he hated not staying true to his word.

He tried to cleanse the thought of you from his mind during the council meeting he attended, but unfortunately, the men of the council had other ideas.

Aegon had been gone for four days now.

You and Jacaerys were under the impression that he had left the morning after he had returned, but he was not in King’s Landing.

“My Prince, you must retrieve your brother. He is erratic and impulsive, I fear he may not leave on his own, and I fear he may only worsen our relationship with Winterfell.”

“You expect me to fly to Winterfell? Again?” Aemond asked, raising his voice on the final word.

“He will sabotage Jacaerys’s wedding, and you know it. We do not need anymore familial strife, Aemond,” Alicent tried to level with her son.

“It is not wise for it to be me.”

“Who else?” Alicent asked, “there is no one else.”

Aemond took a deep breath. He did not want to repeat history, but he had no choice. “Very well.”

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming @callsignwidow @velvetcrowbarcherry @kravitzwhore @darlingisntit @not-neverland06 @albionfay @cluz1babe @flusteredmoonn @sab-falco @ajanauia @lycaonpictusphotography

[waterproofhamster]

*insert Cool title :3*

This was meant to be for tkl tober but school robbed me of time (and memory) 😔 So have this probably-very OOC piece of writing hehe :D

Lee!Alastor Ler!Lucifer Not radioapple

The hotel was arguably much better ever since the rebuild.

 Bigger, more fancy-looking! No more random rats nests, or falling chandeliers. It was great! It was so much warmer, thicker windows, halls lined with cozy carpet! (Though still enough wooded floors for Nifty to mop).

 Angel had thought of the idea of putting more TVs in places. That was a popular thing, these days.

 Obviously, Alastor was entirely against it in every way, though he did make one valid point: Vox could use that to spy on them, or even break in. 

Charlie didn’t quite know why he would do that, but she also knew that Alastor and him did not like each other. It seemed rivalries that Alastor had could be a threat to the hotel. 

Which wasn’t ideal, to say the least. So, Charlie got her dad to help them out, enchanting the couple of TVs they got with some angelic magic that should protect them from hacking and hold back the overlord’s abilities. Doing the same to the residents’ other devices.

Not that Alastor trusted that that would actually work.

He knows what that impulsive artificial-brained thing was capable of.

However, there was an issue with the new hotel! 

Lucifer. 

Or maybe Alastor. 

Yeah, definitely Alastor.

Lucifer had decided to move in, wanting to support his baby girl in every which-way possible! 

Obviously he’d still be busy with ‘Important things!’, (and his duties at King, even if no one actually knew what they were).

Alastor (for some reason) has zero tolerance for the King, acting as normal until the blonde breathes too loud. Or really just breathes. 

Charlie had inquired, wanting to sort it out between the two, Alastor giving no real answer. 

He seemed to love being an inconvenience when it suited him. 

It was just a normal day for the deer. Quietly humming as he cleaned up the mess his breakfast made before Nifty could see, not that it bothered her; he just hated the little dear fussing over some bloodstains when she could be exterminating a bug infestation a few floors up.

Not that they had those anymore. 

That’s something that bothers him. 

The hotel was just too tidy. 

Too neat.

Too put together.

He would often see the girl bored, running out of things to do.

If he could defeat the smile on his face, there would be a frown. He promised her a nice place to stay with lots too do! He just couldn’t break that. 

He had finished cleaning the blood stains, summoning some water to splash on the floor. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him to let out a content hum. 

He was about to continue on when his door dramatically burst open, Lucifer standing there, something he couldn’t quite see in his hand. 

He looks… angry? 

“YOU!” The blonde spits through his teeth, clearly trying to suppress the fumes hidden in his tones.

Huh, it wasn’t exactly like The King to start one of their disputes. 

“What is it you want? I have more crucial things to tend to.”

He didn’t, he just knew he would take as much advantage of this moment as he could.

“Oh?” Lucifer steps in, closing the door, surprisingly more gently than someone so apparently angry would. Marching over to the deer, just in front of him. “Not before you tell me why THIS is headless!” He shoves his closed hand in Alastor’s face, opening his hand to reveal a little yellow… thing? 

“Excuse me? Do enlighten me, what may that yellow chunk be?” He chuckles a little, studying the deformed plastic in front of him. 

“You know exactly what this is!”

Lucifer retorts, snatching it away from his eyes, almost like the deer had lazers in them that would dishevel the poor thing any more. 

When Alastor raises an eyebrow, ever so slightly tilting his head in confusion, the King sighs. 

“It was my new creation.” He stares at the sad little blob in his hands,

“That little thi-”

“EXCUSE ME!” 

Lucifer cuts him off, not wanting to listen to whatever he was going to say.

“It would’ve been more than a ‘Little thing’ if you hadn’t taken it’s head off!”

Had he? Alastor couldn’t remember. He fairly doubts the severed plastic circle looks anything like what it started out with.

“Calm yourself, I’m sure that cat just toyed with it a little. I certainly haven’t come across any of your toys, let alone behead one,” He’s starting to regret wishing for him to get riled just a moment prior.

“Keekee? Now you’re just blaming anyone but yourself!” He huffs, 

“Well since your brain seems to be rotting along with your smell, THIS was a duck, before you destroyed it… Ahem! It had a top hat, and a bowtie,”

“Lucifer, I have no clue what-”

Alastor interrupts, but Lucifer is right back at him.

“And it had button eyes with yellow pupils.”

OH! That thing. He didn’t know ducks wore clothes these days.

“Oh, yes, I suppose I do know what you’re talking about..”

“AHA!” Lucifer suddenly bounces, Alastor jumping a little in surprise.

“Why did you DESTROY it?”

“It was looking at me an uncomfortable amount. You should’ve taught that thing better manners,” Lucifer gasps, 

“It was plastic!” 

He goes to hit Alastor’s arm, Alastor moving said arm at the same time, going to take the duck (?) thingy. Lucifer hitting his side instead. 

Despite there being atleast three layers in between his hands and his skin, yet he still felt himself straighten up instantly, hand flying back to cover his side,

Lucifer pauses.

Did he hurt him? 

But, the hit was too light.

Then.. why did he.. Oh.

OH!

It hit him, his clueless gaze turning to eyes full of mischief, a wide grin (not as wide as Alastor’s) creeping onto his face

“Waitwaitwait- You’re ticklish?!”

For being a radio host, Alastors not typically lost for words, but right now he internally flushes, tripping over his next phrase, knowing all the letters have to be carefully aligned, all said with certain effects to each syllable. But, in his brain trying to quickly figure out a sentence, it also realises that silence would equal to an almost definite wrecking. So, what does he put together with that knowledge?

“No.”

Well, he’s in for it! 

“Oh, you are so!” 

The broken duck was forgotten, disappearing into thin air with a little Pop And Alakazam™! 

The blonde jumping towards him, planting a tight squeeze to either of his sides, earning a radio feed back screech as he stumbles backwards,

“Lucifer! Get OFF OF M-”

He starts, antlers beginning to grow, before promptly slipping on the water he placed for Nifty, landing to the floor with a thud. Antlers immediately shrinking back to their original small form, along with any real hope of getting out of this.

He stares at Lucifer smirking at him, quickly taking advantage of his position, jumping ontop of him, pinning him down by the waist. 

“Lucifer, I took that hideous possum’s head off, yours will be next if you do not get yourself OFF of me in the following ten seconds.”

Lucifer just giggles. Maybe Alastor’s whole ‘threatening thing’ worked on other demons. But, he is the King Of Hell, why would he listen to some pompous sinner? 

So, he does what any normal being would! Take advantage of the moment!

He squeezes his side once again, a little   -POP-   coming from the demon.

“Sorry, Bambi, no can do. And, it was a duck!”

He squeezes up his side, watching Alastor’s face scrunch up, pressing himself against the wet floor. As if that would save him.

“I didn’t look much like-”

He’s cut off as he feels a little drag go down his stomach, static sounds starting to loudly whirr and pop around them. 

That was, until, Lucifer dipped his hand under his coat, his stomach getting light scribbles. 

He breaks, a little snort alighting from him, directly followed by little chuckles and giggles.

“Aw, that was so sweet! Does someone have a ticklish tummy?” He coos, dragging his words into baby-talk, watching the demon squirm under his claws,

“Yohou, shut it!”

Alastor was not pleased with the childish treatment, Lucifer just seemed to feed off of that. He playfully gasps,

“how dare you! And for that, you’re going to get the real ‘Tickle monster treatment’”

He casually tosses at him,

“Excuse me-”

He barely got that out before instantly being covered in fluttering fingers,

It would seem: ‘Tickle monster’ was the correct statement.

[thetomorrowshow]

apologies

empires superpowers au masterlist (currently out of date)

a story that takes place during chapter 10 of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, anxiety, food

~

“Hi, Major!”

Jimmy starts, looks behind them.

Blossom is standing on the curb across the road, opening up a mailbox to remove the contents.

Scott waves back cheerily, one hand still unlocking the front door. “Hey, Blossom! Your garden looks so cute today!”

“Scott,” Jimmy mutters, tugging anxiously on the hem of his own hoodie. “Scott. Can we please go in?”

“Aw, thanks! Hi, Major’s roommate! How are you doing?”

That’s Blossom. He can’t—he looks over at Scott, silently begging him to unlock the door and let him in so he doesn’t have to answer.

“We’re both doing wonderful,” Scott replies, in lieu of Jimmy saying anything. Blossom smiles widely, and Jimmy’s close to actually tapping Scott on the shoulder because they’ve been standing there with the keys in the lock for what feels like hours and he really doesn’t feel comfortable making small talk with Blossom, of all people.

“Scott, please,” he whispers, and Scott finally notices his distress and pushes the door open, stepping aside to let Jimmy in.

Jimmy pushes past him, uncaring of how rude it probably seems, as Scott calls another pleasantry across the road.

It wasn’t his first venture out of the house, but only his third, and he’d been on edge the entire time at the hardware store, had barely been able to give his opinion on the paint swatches he was supposed to be looking at.

They’re painting his room, as much as he insists he’s fine with the white walls. He’d decided on a pale green eventually, and now he sets the two cans of paint down on the dining room table and puts his hands beside them and just tries to breathe.

He’s fine. It’s fine. He lives in a neighborhood of superheros, of course he’s going to run into them at some point. It’s unreasonable to think that he can live in total isolation and still get better.

He’d just prefer they were strangers.

The front door closes. “Jimmy?”

Jimmy doesn’t look up, just presses his hands harder into the table. “I’m fine,” he lies, voice shaking.

Scott sounds unsure when he next speaks. “Was it—was it just someone talking to you? Or was there something else?”

There are some things that Scott will just let go. Things that he clearly doesn’t know how to handle, so he doesn’t push and accepts that it’s something Jimmy isn’t capable of and they leave it at that.

This is clearly not one of those things.

“I’ve hurt her,” he manages, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Both recently, and . . . before. I’ve—I’ve hurt all of them, Scott, I’ve hurt Pearl and Gem and the Mad King and—”

“Do you want to sit down?” interrupts Scott, and Jimmy nods gratefully and lets Scott take him by the arm and lead him to the living room sofa.

“Jimmy,” Scott starts, glancing uncertainly at him, “they don’t . . . Blossom doesn’t know, you know? Most of them don’t know who you are.”

Most implies that some of them do, and that does little to calm Jimmy’s nerves anyway. The facts of the matter are that Jimmy’s hurt a lot of people whether he meant to or not, and some of those people just happened to be well-loved and extremely powerful superheroes, and if he tries to apologize and explain to any of them, he’s more likely to be killed or jailed than forgiven.

“Who does know?”

Scott bites his lip. “Gem, for sure. She knows just about everything, actually, and she’s a very forgiving person and is fine with it.”

Gem is one of the people he’s hurt the worst—he remembers hurting her so badly back when she first became a hero that she was out of commission for weeks.

He needs to apologize in person.

“And because Gem knows, fWhip knows, and maybe Mythics and Pearl, considering whatever weird friendship they all have.”

Great. That doesn’t make him panic any less. He knew that Mythics knew the connection between Solidarity and the Canary due to less than fortunate circumstances, and he’d had a hand in kidnapping Gem so that makes sense anyways. fWhip doesn’t particularly like him, but if he hasn’t said anything then hopefully he doesn’t have to reach out. Pearl is an unknown.

“Oh, and Joel, of course,” Scott waves off, and Jimmy frowns.

“Joel?”

Scott blinks, his face falling. “Forget I said anything?” he tries half-heartedly. Then he shrugs, grins at Jimmy. “Eh, you would’ve learned it eventually. That’s the Mad King, he helped a lot in getting you and Gem out of there.”

Okay, that’s not . . . that’s not too bad. His memory is, admittedly, blurry, but he can vaguely recall the Mad King turning up at the end of . . . that day.

At least it’s not the entire city. Jimmy knows that Scott had had to pull some pretty powerful strings to arrange for his identity to be kept a secret, which he’s forever grateful for. It’s just utterly terrifying, knowing that there are so many people who do know who he is, and those people just so happen to be those wronged by him.

He clenches his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “I need—I need to apologize to them. If I can.”

Scott doesn’t answer at first, just surveys him with an unreadable expression. “You sure?”

Jimmy nods. It’s absolutely terrifying, but he has to do it—just like how he still has to apologize to Lizzie.

Maybe apologizing with other people, for less important transgressions, will make the eventual confrontation with his estranged sister easier.

“Well, there’s actually a neighborhood barbeque this weekend,” Scott offers, and there’s something—there’s something sly in his voice, something suspicious, but Scott’s face is open and innocent when Jimmy meets his eyes. “Masked, of course. We could go to that, and you could see those people in person.”

Already, a pit in his stomach opens, dread spilling out of it. It’s Tuesday. That only gives him a couple of days before he has to see these people. Barely any time to plan anything, barely any time to try to find the words that he’s been searching for for the past five weeks while he postpones Lizzie’s visits.

Scott’s been talking a lot lately about spontaneity.

Jimmy used to live his life based around spontaneity.

Maybe he can just . . . be spontaneous again. It’s been so long since he didn’t have a schedule (even if it wasn’t one that he planned out), so long since he just rolled with the punches.

Maybe this will be good for him.

-

Jimmy’s precisely thirty seconds into the barbeque and he knows it will not be good for him.

It’s being hosted in the Mad King’s backyard, just down the street, and he and Scott are early enough that they’re the second to arrive, just after Blossom.

“She’s usually on time to stuff,” Scott whispers to Jimmy as they help the Mad King—or, Joel—lug coolers out onto the patio. “Gem is too, but if she’s bringing fWhip along she’ll be late.”

Gem doesn’t arrive at six on the dot, so Jimmy assumes fWhip is coming along. Joy.

It’s not a large group that’s gathered in Joel’s backyard by the time a half hour has passed, but there are several unfamiliar faces—or, masks, rather. Scott mentions that they don’t necessarily all live here, but there are many upstart heroes in the city and inviting them to neighborhood events is a way to show that the city-sponsored ones recognize the good they do.

He mostly sticks to Scott’s side, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie, tugging at his mask every so often. It feels like everyone at the party is watching him, knows who he is. There’s no way they don’t recognize him. There’s no way they don’t see his hair combined with his frame and mask and see the Canary or Solidarity.

“Hi, Major’s roommate,” Blossom greets him cheerfully when he and Scott make their way to the drinks table. She’s getting herself some lemonade; Jimmy fills a red solo cup with water and holds onto it to try and stop his hands from shaking so much.

“Hey, Blossom,” Scott says for him, picking up a cherry tomato from the vegetable spread someone had brought and popping it into his mouth. “I’m not sure I ever thanked you for catching my shift last week. Did anyone give you any trouble?”

“Not at all! I think they knew that I was around, and I wasn’t playing games, Major,” Blossom teases. Scott scoffs.

“Yeah, right. More like they decided to go easy on you.”

“Hey, TJ, right?” someone says loudly from behind him. Jimmy jumps, spins around to be face-to-face with the Mad King, a mask crooked over his eyes and a plain apron thrown over his jeans and t-shirt.

“I—uh—”

The Mad King jerks his head toward the grill. “Don’t freak out or anything, just wanted to ask for some help.”

Jimmy glances at Scott, who gives him an encouraging nod, then follows, feeling almost as though the Mad King is leading him to the gallows.

Which is entirely overdramatic, especially since the man helped rescue him in the first place.

The Mad King hands Jimmy a pair of tongs and a plate of hot dogs, explains the segment of the grill he ought to put them on, and tells him when to rotate them, even as he seasons burgers already on the grill and flips them around. Jimmy’s not quite sure what’s happening—he’s never used a grill before, so he isn’t sure if Joel’s cooking is anything particularly talented, but he’s impressed at least.

“How’ve you been holding up?” The Mad King asks after a moment, voice low. Jimmy blinks.

“Um. I’m—well, I’m here?”

Joel snorts. “Yeah, I thought that was kind of weird, really. What’d Major have to do to convince you to come to the superhero barbecue?”

At some point while crossing the yard, Jimmy had set down his cup. He wishes that he still had it, so that both his hands could be occupied. Instead, he stuffs one in his hoodie pocket, and very carefully turns a hot dog with the other.

“I want to apologize,” he says eventually. “I—to the people who know who I am. S—Major said, like—like, Gem, and fWhip know? And maybe Pearl? But I don’t know . . . I don’t. . . .”

“Know how to, like, start a conversation like that?” Joel suggests, and Jimmy nods. Joel clicks his tongue. “Go for it blunt. ‘Hi, my name’s TJ, I beat you up a couple times. How ‘bout we let bygones be bygones, yeah?’ Like that.”

“Absolutely not,” Jimmy says instantly, horrified by the idea. “I can’t just—I need to do it right—”

“‘Hi, Gem, remember when I kidnapped you and submitted you to torture? That’s my bad. Want to play pin the tail on the donkey?’”

“Oh my gosh—”

“‘Oh, fWhip! Yeah, I’m the guy who broke your back. Good times. How’re the kids?’”

“You are something else,” Jimmy manages faintly, setting the tongs down to bury his face in his hands. “Does he really have kids? Did he really break his back?”

“Pretty sure he didn’t break his back, you know, but yeah, his back got broken. Not sure about the kids.”

“I’m never going to get through this,” Jimmy mutters, slightly hysterical. “I’m going to die here. I’m going to panic and break something and then Scott will send me away and—”

“Hey, hey, secret identities,” the Mad King chides. Jimmy presses his fingers into his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing. After a moment, there’s a heavy pat-pat on his shoulder that he just barely doesn’t flinch away from.

“There, there,” Joel says awkwardly. It’s out-of-place enough that Jimmy laughs a bit, sucking in a long breath.

When he can, he lifts his face, picks the tongs back up, returns to watching the hot dogs cook. He glances around, checking to see if anyone’s watching. Everything’s going as normal, nobody seems to have noticed—even Scott, across the yard and lightyears away, is just laughing at some joke Pearl made.

“Sorry,” Jimmy says. Joel chuckles.

“How about you just start with apologizing to me?”

Well, the Mad King is on his apology list. But though he’d just been talking with him, though the conversation even seems almost friendly, Jimmy’s suddenly sweating from everywhere, heart jumping into his throat.

He has to do this.

“I’m—sorry,” he ekes out. He sets the tongs down, then doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and picks them back up. He avoids making eye contact with the Mad King. “For—for all the times I hurt you as the Canary. Or as Solidarity. I wasn’t—things weren’t going great. And also that time I hit you with a trash can.”

“Twice,” Joel points out.

Jimmy swallows. “Yeah. Twice.”

“Those are probably done, by the way,” Joel says, holding out the plate. Mechanically, Jimmy layers the hot dogs onto it.

“Honestly, TJ?” says Joel, flipping a burger and setting another one on the plate. “I’m really surprised you’re even here. It’s been, what—five weeks? Six? Since you got here?”

Jimmy nods.

“Right. Well, if I were you, I’d—I’d be bloomin’ terrified. I wouldn’t have even left my room. You just being here—even if you don’t talk to anyone else—that’s huge, in my opinion.”

Jimmy nods again, glances over to Scott, who is now alone. He starts to sidle away—he isn’t sure how to end conversations, really, he hasn’t had much practice and Scott never minds it when he just heads out to avoid the ending part, but Joel holds a hand out, offers him a small grin.

“And thanks. I accept your apology,” he says, before waving Jimmy on. “Go on, have a good time. Or don’t, more likely. At least eat something, yeah? Lizzie would kill me if she knew you weren’t eating.”

Jimmy doesn’t process that until he’s halfway across the yard, but when he does, he freezes in his tracks.

And it kind of makes sense, when he thinks about it. He’d witnessed the Mad King in battles teamed up with his sister, and they’d both gone with Scott to rescue him.

He tables that for a later date. Maybe Scott knows something about it. He doesn’t really want to strike up another conversation with the Mad King just to ask about it—as nice as he is, he is a little disconcerting.

Jimmy continues toward Scott, only to freeze again when someone taps him on the shoulder.

He spins around, and—fWhip.

fWhip offers him a toothy grin. “Hey, Major’s roommate, yeah? How long have you guys . . . you know. . . ?”

Jimmy stares back, mouth slightly agape. One of the people he definitely has to talk to, and the anxiety in his chest is bubbling up past boiling point.

fWhip’s grin fades. “Right. Um. Anyway, my sister and I—that is, Gem—we were wondering if we could chat with you for a quick minute? I promise we won’t keep you from Scott for very long.”

Which is an odd thing to say, but not exactly wrong. Jimmy thinks for a moment longer—for all he knows, they’ll lead him to a back alley somewhere and beat him up—but he’d deserve it, really, so he decides to go along.

Gem is waiting just inside the house, leaning against the kitchen counter. She smiles wryly, waves a little bit.

“Hi,” she greets him. “Are you still the Canary, or just Solidarity?”

Jimmy winces. “Er, neither,” he says stiltedly. “Just—just TJ. If that’s okay.”

“You weren’t mind-controlled, were you?” fWhip says bluntly. “The Mad King always said you weren’t. And—”

“TJ,” Gem interrupts. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. Mythics told us how badly you were hurting, and we never even noticed anything was wrong. It’s made me rethink my approach to being a hero. I want to help people, but I think I made things worse for you, and I’m sorry.”

Jimmy blinks. Tries to process that.

She’s apologizing to him? But—he doesn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve it when he’s the one who hurt her over and over before he was even Xornoth’s, then kidnapped her and subjected her to torture.

His head feels a bit like it’s spinning.

“I mean, I’m not gonna apologize,” fWhip says, shrugging. “But no hard feelings, yeah? I think we’ve both been in some pretty bad situations recently. So yeah.”

Jimmy swallows a few times. At least fWhip hadn’t apologized, he’s not sure what he would’ve done if he had.

“I’m sorry, too,” he forces out. “I shouldn’t have—I hurt you, both of you, a lot. You didn’t do anything.”

“It’s fine,” Gem says at the same time that fWhip says, “Thanks for apologizing.” They exchange a look, then both turn back to Jimmy.

“I know Major pretty well,” Gem says. “I trust him to be a good judge of character. I look forward to getting to know you, TJ.” She smiles warmly, then slides past him and out the backdoor.

“I don’t really trust you,” fWhip says. “Or Major, really. But I trust Gem. So, just . . . glad you’re reforming and all that. See ya.”

And then Jimmy’s alone in the kitchen, and that hadn’t exactly gone as anticipated. It hadn’t gone at all like anticipated, actually.

He’s going to need a couple of days to come to terms with that.

Jimmy heads back out, making a beeline for Scott. This time, nobody pulls him aside, and he can get all the way to him with no issue. Scott raises an eyebrow, but Jimmy shakes his head, so Scott just points him to the grill.

“Go get something to eat, yeah? We can leave after that if you aren’t comfortable.”

Joel shoots him a grin when he takes a hot dog, and Gem passes him the mayo at the condiments table, and Blossom corners him by the chips to ask him if he and Scott have seen the latest episodes of some unknowable TV show (and when he says they haven’t, she gushes about it for a good ten minutes while he tries to eat, frequently giving him strange looks whenever she brings up the main character’s romance).

It’s a lot. It’s inevitable that something goes wrong—and it does, but nothing big, just Jimmy trips over a small crack in the patio that quickly becomes a very large crack as the corner of the paving splits off.

He looks over at Joel, who shrugs, then back to Scott, who calls out an apology to Joel. And that’s it. Joel turns back to his conversation with Pearl and that’s it.

For the first time that evening, the knot in Jimmy’s chest loosens a little bit.

And if he can handle this, then talking to Lizzie will be a piece of cake.

[dreamfyre03]

A Dragon's Love

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death

Chapter 16: Grief and Dreams

Daenys sat in her room reading another book Jace had brought her, this time, a novel about a princess who fell in love with a dashing prince, but was stolen away by the evil sorcerer. It was quite engrossing, and she almost didn’t hear when the door opened, and Rhaenyra entered. “Sister.” She greeted her, surprised. “Daenys.” She stood across from her. 

“Have you come to kill me?” She asked her. “Despite my earlier outbursts, for now, your life is safe. You are better off to any of us alive than dead, and I’m no kinslayer.” Her sister replied. “Then why are you here?” “To give you a chance. The first strike has been landed against the greens, justice for their crimes. You can escape their fate, if you swear allegiance to me as your Queen.” Daenys felt fear creeping up her spine at her sister’s eerily calm voice. 

“Rhaenyra… what have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything. Daemon, however, has many friends, people in all places, in King’s Landing.You might be especially interested to know her a butcher they call Blood, and a rat-catcher they call Cheese.” She revealed. Daenys imagined the worse praying that her siblings were alive… Aemond… 

“My son’s death has been avenged, sister. A life for a life. A son for a son.” She said in a menacing fashion. 

She felt a ringing in her ears, and her heart hammering in her chest. The realisation hit her so hard it physically sucked all the strength out of her body that kept her standing. Daenys fell to her knees, as a sob overtook her. Aemond had no sons. Which could only mean…

No. 

Not sweet Jaehaerys. Not the little boy she held when he came out of her sister’s womb, smiling and giggling happily. Not Helaena’s pride and joy, and Aegon’s little miniature. 

Daenys felt the last thread of hope in her snap, letting out a guttural cry as she mourned the loss of the nephew she loved as her own son. “He was a child, Rhaenyra! An innocent child!” She screamed, not even feeling the stone floors bruising her knees. “So was my son!” Her sister shouted back at her. “But this is war, and war is not fair sister. You have a choice. You can choose your rightful Queen, or you can leave see what awaits you if you lay your life down for the Usurper King.” She said, shutting the door behind her as she felt. 

Leaving Daenys there, wailing and crying on the floor, nothing but a ball of grief on the ground, truly and utterly broken. 

She laid there on the floor for hours, not even registering the soft opening and closing of the door, and Jace’s voice that softly called out her name. She felt numb, lifeless. She knew Rhaenyra would want some form of debt for Lucerys’s death, but never did she think her sister was capable of masterminding the death of an innocent boy. The war was raging for probably a month, but to Daenys it felt like an eternity. Perhaps it was her grief, or her captivity talking. She felt like the days before her father died were nothing but distant memories. Dragonriding with Helaena, drinking and laughing with Aegon, poor Daeron, she wished she had more time with him, and Aemond, her beloved Aemond. It wasn’t until she felt her body being raised up and she saw Jace’s face did she register his presence. “Please talk to me, can you hear me?” He asked nervously, and she felt a cool hand touch her cheek. 

“He was just a child, Jace. Barely a boy, still so much like a babe. He still slept with his sister. When he was a babe, when he first said my name, he called me ‘Dany’. Just like Aegon did when we were children.” She didn’t know why she was rambling on like this, but surprisingly, Jace just sat next to her on the ground and listened. “Alicent was overjoyed Aegon had an heir. But Helaena, my sweet sister, she was just happy to have a child. She was so young when she had him, but I saw in the childbed, the moment she held him, there was nothing but love in her eyes.” Jace took her hand in his reassuringly, and in her grief she didn’t give the gesture a passing thought.

“Aegon was terrified to hold him, and Jaehaera. But when I finally convinced him to, it was as if all the pain in his heart simply melted away, and he felt genuine, true happiness in those moments. And now, that sweet child, a ray of light in his parents’ lives, is gone. Gods know I would have traded my life for his in a heartbeat.” 

“Don’t say that.” Jace spoke softly. She turned to look at him. “I would. I wish Rhaenyra had chosen to take my life to settle the debt, than his. I would have laid my life down smiling. I have spent my life trying to love my family, protect them, with what little power a woman has, and I could not help him. I left to go North to give them all a better chance of staying alive, and it has all been for nought.” 

Jace simply kept holding her hand, and Daenys had to ask. “Did you know?” “No. I had no idea until we received a raven from King’s Landing, announcing the death of Prince Jaehaerys, and proclaiming Prince Maelor as Aegon’s heir.” 

“I suppose you are glad, your brother’s death is avenged.”

He sighed. “Killing a child is not justice. Only killing the man responsible is.”

Her mind instantly went to Aemond, Daenys had no doubt he was blaming himself entirely. She needed to feel his arms around her, she needed to cry and grieve in the arms of someone who loved those children as much as she did.

“Please, eat, and get some rest. I’ll come back to see you in the morning.” He said, getting up, and helping her to her feet. She rose and went and sat at the table, where a plate of food was, she didn’t even recall hearing or seeing a servant come in. 

Before he shut the door, he turned around and called her. “Daenys?” She looked at him.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

.

.

.

“You mother would be livid if she knew you were in my rooms at such an ungodly hour.” “Ah yes, but she won’t know, will she, sweet sister?” Aemond grinned as he watched her sitting up on the floor in front of the fire in her room, letting the heat warm her skin as they shared a bottle of Dornish wine Aegon left in her rooms earlier that day. Her skin was flushed from the heat and the wine. Her hair was slightly tousled from being roused from sleep, but she didn’t mind. He had a nightmare, and couldn’t return to sleep, so he sought her  out instead, needing her presence to clear his mind. The firelight on her skin made her appear like a goddess radiating the beauty of Old Valyria, and when she drank again, and passed the bottle back to him, his eye couldn’t leave her frame as he watched her slip her sage coloured robe from her shoulders, exposing her pure alabaster skin to him, her shoulders bare but for the straps of her nightgown. Her wine stained lips curved into a kind, empathetic smile. “Do you feel better, brother?” She asked him softly, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair. 

“Mmm” was his only response, as his eye closed, relaxing into her touch. She giggled, the wine’s effects beginning to show. “Aegon will be jealous when he learns I’ve taken his drinking partner.” Aemond said. She laughed. “I suppose you’ll have to learn to share me.” “I don’t think I could ever share you with anyone.” The wine loosened his tongue, and he realised his words, worrying that they would perturb her, but she simply gave him an affectionate smile, and shifted over to lie into his chest, and he tried not to look down her nightdress, but couldn’t resist the urge, and glanced downward to see the curve of her breast. “Well, you’ll have to learn. I received a letter from Daeron this morning.” “Mmm” “He’s excited to return for my name day. I told him he should come for yours instead, it’s only a few moons after, but he aches to return home.” “I would imagine so.” He couldn’t resist the urge and took advantage of their wine induced states, and pulled her closer to him, keeping his arm on her waist. She was so warm, and soft, and-

Aemond woke with a start in his bed, his sheets soaked with sweat, and Daenys’s name on his lips. Even in sleep, she haunted him. But he felt it was a blessing that she haunted his dreams, at least that way, the gods let him see her face. 

[mschupacabra]

❤️🐐

tagged by @asprinklingofleaves for the FIRST LINES MEME: “List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!”

Tagging: @modisalive, @bambeptin, @sparky-cryptidcrafts, @verntheauthor, and anyone else who feels comfortable enough to participate in this game.

Fanworks: 

1. [The Multiverse’s Loneliest Repairman - Marvel] 

The most painful part of rekindling a relationship was realizing all the little qualities and quirks he missed the first time around.

Harry was more interested in athletics than he was in academics. If Norman had paid more attention the first time, perhaps he could have nurtured that talent and helped him on his way to becoming a star athlete. The way his son talked about different sports teams demonstrated an aptitude for a field Norman had previously disregarded as worthless. Truthfully, when Harry had begun to perform miserably in school, Norman had given up. He had given his son all the support he needed to be successful, sending him to the best schools; their family had so many resources at their disposal. He couldn't understand why his son underperformed in everything he had a headstart in.

2. [Summer - Marvel] 

The natural landscape of the earth had been sidelined to make way for the sidewalks and roads. Any trees or shrubs allowed to stay remained at the edges of his sight. They were still lovely in the summertime: lush, dark green, and at their peak richness. Whatever bloomed were hardy bushes– roses mainly, the state flower. It was the transition period between two seasons, before the arrival of the oppressive summer heat and after the torrential downpour of spring. Peter had stuck himself onto the side of a pedestrian bridge, mask rolled up to his nose, glumly starting on his bagel. It was pretty pathetic that he’d been looking forward to it all day. He could have moaned at the taste of the cheese spread hitting his tongue but thankfully bit it back, letting the pleased sounds die in his throat. On the second bite, he did actually make a sound.

3. [Malunion - Generator Rex] 

As a rule, it was white pieces that moved first in the game of Chess.

'Better you than me,' she thought without real pleasure at the raw screams flooding the hall. Only a tortured expression of agony carried the weight needed to pierce through the thick walls. It was agony and it was fear; the terror of a man who was going to die, but could not so much as think of death because the pain wouldn’t let him.

4. [Brown Eyes - Generator Rex]

Rust ate at the inside of the walls, the stench of corroding metal putrefied the prison cell’s little space. He tried not to dwell on the burning in his nose; while difficult to ignore, it was bearable. Instead, Caesar directed his thoughts toward more productive avenues, the only thing he was left capable of doing. Isolated from his team, his only company was thought, which he considered a small mercy. It was not that he needed the mental escape. To pretend that his circumstances were different would do him no actual good. Never once in his life had he ever tried fooling himself about anything. He appreciated the straightforward truths of reality that many often saw as cruelty. He knew better. Fact was benevolent enough not to lie.

5. [The Other Brother - Generator Rex]

Caesar was a huge freak. Sometimes his behavior was just too much to bear– like his annoying tendency to lose his disgusting lab rats in the house. Inevitably, his stupid rodents would find their way into other rooms, tearing through electrical wiring, books, and clothing. Rare were the days Rex didn't have to watch his step in fear that he'd crush one, but the temptation was certainly always there.

6. [Las Mañanitas - Generator Rex] 

"This is the morning song that King David used to sing. Because today is your birthday, I’m singing it here for you. Wake up, my dear, wake up! Look at what has already dawned...”

The lights were abruptly switched on, making him squeeze his eyes shut tighter. He was roused from his sleep much earlier than he would have ever voluntarily risen. In annoyance, he tried to go back to sleep and blot out the sound that was irritating his ears. Rolling over onto his stomach, he yanked a pillow over his head to hide from the brightness of the room. His sleep-addled brain could barely process that he was being sung to. The lyrics were just noise to his ears; it was too much noise for the early morning.

7. [Say it with Flowers - Generator Rex] 

The chores given to him that day were completed. Six's lessons were finished too. He was often left unable to concentrate on the academic aspects of his studies when so much energy went dedicated to his combative training and on the island’s maintenance.

8. [SoulMates AU - Generator Rex] 

She found out at midnight; although, she had already been somewhat aware from her observations of others. Her peers had a preoccupation– a fixation spread onto them by fairy tales. She had not caught the social contagion and likely never would. The dynamic shared between her own parents proved how inconsequential it all was.

9. [Circadian Rhythms - Generator Rex]

Never could he recall being so fond of little silences. If anything, the quiet had previously unnerved him. Perhaps being trapped beneath the Consortium’s thumb for so long had given him a better appreciation for moments of peace. There were no competing voices present to command him and drown his own thoughts out. All of his monitors at his desk were shut off and the morning was nearly still. It was a bit too early for work to begin. The only agents ready for work had delivered White Knight his breakfast.

10. [Caesar’s Personal Dumpster - Generator Rex] 

The Null Void was a sea of endless horror. Its most defining quality was the abject lack of hope that could never exist in such a place of despair. The Plumbers had no problem throwing in whoever they considered to be the worst the Universe had to offer. They left them there to rot and forgot about them until the end of time. But even the universe’s worst rejects struggled to endure the hellscape for the rest of their lives. And humans? They could go mad.

11. [He Who Fights Monsters - Generator Rex]

The color white had a pristine quality that made Providence Headquarters appear tidy, neat rooms disguising the state of disarray they were attempting to manage quietly. Black Knight knew the truth. The Consortium wouldn't have considered promoting her if there wasn't a mess left for her to clean up. That was who she was, a failsafe for the moment White Knight slipped. Losing one of the Consortium's assets officially landed him in their superiors' little black book. She couldn't say she was pleased, but couldn't deny the amusement she took from hearing that White had fallen short of their expectations.

Original Works:

1. Cascabel - Unpublished Draft

Summer had bid the wood goodbye; warmer colors were swept in by the winds of Autumn, contrasting the cool air they arrived with. September showered the little apple orchard with brittle leaves, blanketing the floor in amber and red foliage. Fruit that had not yet been stolen by the swallows was slowly spoiling off of its branches, pelting the ground with an abundance of half-fermented apples. Amid the yellowing grass, a small body began nodding off after having taken advantage of such easy access to food. Fresher fruit was always difficult to obtain when a number of birds wouldn’t hesitate to tear smaller, fragile creatures to shreds. It wasn’t impossible to reason with them. Corvids and owls especially loved to haggle but because of the danger they posed, not many dared.

2. Untitled - Unpublished The only thing pretty about the face staring back at him was the fact that it was being reflected off of the shiny side mirror of a beautiful car. It was a black convertible, one of those sleek Impalas with a retractable roof he would only ever have the privilege of brushing clean. Though beautiful, it was in horrid shape. The door was riddled with small, dime-sized holes. He didn’t know how a car could get so wrecked to shit, but he didn’t ask questions-- not because the customers were all shifty fucks. Even if they hadn’t been, he plainly didn’t care. He was too tired, too ready to drop dead to be wide-eyed and curious. Maybe that was healthier.

He was among the living, he guessed. 

3. Goat - Unpublished

To keep the meat from rotting, the store was kept at near-freezing temperatures. She could see her breath from her unmasked lips ghosting in front of her like the spirit was leaving her body. When she moved near enough to inspect the display case of meats, the warmth from her breath made the cool windows fog up, too. Behind the glass sat a selection of beef, chicken, pork, and fish in orderly containers within the refrigerator. Death was not very romantic; the butcher’s shop was proof. The entire shop smelled like raw animal carcasses, sterile cleaning products, and faintly of blood. Certainly, it was true that death could be brutal and violent; red stained the butcher’s cutting board as he did away with the head of dead poultry in the back room.

The movies and books had it wrong, though.  

Romantic?

No.

As messy and painful as death was, it was very simple: one moment you were here and then you weren’t.

My favorite opening Line: I like the way I started Malunion, but it’s difficult to pick a favorite because I only remember being stuck trying to figure out how to start.

Recurring Pattern: When I don’t know how to begin, I tend to describe the environment, which I didn’t notice before. Thank you for tagging me in this game to give me a chance to reflect. 

[matcha-chai-latte]

And that’s what saddens me. Soo-won is a subtle psychologist and he understands people very well. He seems to see right through them and understands what they are at their core, despite how they put themselves on the outside. He nailed it with multiple people. And yet he missed that with Yona. But it is also true that the circumstances were always against it.

He even says it after seeing her show her capabilities in previous scenes, so there clearly was that nagging thought in his head. Yep, and he didn't see that until the very moment he killed him. Lol.

And that’s why I even touched this topic about him ignoring her good sides and about prejudice. Even after being kicked out, when she openly demonstrated her skills, determination and achievements, he continued looking down on her up until the battle with South Kai. But yes it’s true that he had COUNTLESS reasons for that and I don’t blame him.

I think Il's whole ideology about her being a supreme god of everything or whatever and Su-Won's distaste of it wasn't making it easy to recognize her outside of that.

Absolutely.

Again this isn't confirmed, but he may have been less willing and inclined to accommodate Yona and recognize any potential she had after what happened to his father.

Also true. He was very moved when he heard his father swear loyalty to his weaker brother and the country despite loosing the wanted throne. Soo-won’s world was turned upside down when this weak, unworthy brother simply stabbed his father in the back after this. And so this incident of betrayal and his father's instructions about friends and emotions came together in his head. Then he also found out that his mother ratted him out to Il. He formed a whole new view on close people. He definitely has severe trust issues and was inclined to believe that Yona and Hak would betray him too or turn away from him.

but then it turned into him wondering if Il and Yona both thought he was unpleasant.

Yes, and that’s why he wouldn’t talk to Yona about the country, but about dresses and dancing instead.

Yeah, I would at least think he could have tried to confide with Hak about the wrong ways Il ruled, since Hak was the big brother type and had a thick skull and mental strength.

Su-Won's wrong assumption about Hak's loyalties to only Yona, and by extension Il.

I’m not sure about Hak. Even now, after so many events, he is still the last one to understand the reason for Il being killed. In his internal thoughts, he still NEVER acknowledged Il as a bad king. Yona thought her father was a cowardly king even before her exile. When she heard people talk about him, she instantly understood what kind of king Il was and accepted it. I’m not sure Hak gets how much in the wrong he’s been this whole time. And Hak also did hear what people and other generals thought about Il and his reign. He knew but never acted. Would Hak let go of his ignorance if it was Soo-won who told him that?

And if Soo-won confessed his thoughts about Il only to Hak, I don’t think he would ever go against Yona and Il, no matter how reasonable Soo-won’s arguments would be. Hak loved Soo-won, that’s true. They were like brothers. But from how I see it, for Hak, between Yona and Soo-won, Yona was still the priority.

So yeah, even if Soo-won somehow could change what happened, I 100% understand why he didn’t, there are too many reasons. Same for Yona. But when it comes to Hak, honestly I have mixed feelings. Someone under this post very accurately expressed that Hak was a dreamer and lived in his ideal imaginary world, convincing himself that everything would be fine as long as his loved ones were fine (especially Yona).

Hak and Il were kind of alike in a way. Il dreamed of a world with no war or weapons, where everyone is happy under the protection of gods. Hak dreamt of a world where Soo-won eagerly marries Yona to make her happy, he himself becomes Soo-won’s right hand and all three of them stay together, fighting for the good. Knowing what the reality was, what is this if not a mere figment of fantasy?

I myself wouldn’t call Il “cowardly”, that’s not it. In fact, he was a strong-willed idealist. However, a mere ideal in one’s head has no value without real actions. Il was more useless and passive than cowardly.

Hero vs Villain

The Antagonist Soo-won in the manga is the "I'll save the world for you" type of guy. Basically every hero ever. He loved his dad, so he became the king who saved the Kingdom just as his dad wanted him to.

The main protagonist Hak on the other hand is the "I'll burn the word down to save her" type guy. Classis villain. He killed anyone trying to harm Yona to save her life on the day of the regicide. He would kill anything and anyone for Yona.

Yet, we love Hak and Yona, cheered for their growth and development and was appalled by Soo won's betrayal. I just adore how Mizuho Kusanagi plays with perspective. Akatsuki no Yona was a villains perspective all along. From the beginning, she was the spoilt princess of a selfish king leading a kingdom to ruin. Hak knew this, being a generals son, he was very aware how how things were outside the castle but he didn't care, if it meant Yona would be happy.

[lost-between-letters]

Falling Asleep Next To You

Pairing: Crowley X Reader (she/her)

Requested by: anon

Written for: my 300 follower celebration

Warnings: none, maybe some playful insulting

Word Count: 752

Summary: Crowley wanted her to come to bed. He had some convincing arguments

"Love do I have to burn that book?" For all that she knew, Crowley could have materialised out of thin air right in front of her.

Y/N was fairly sure he did not. She was also fairly sure that she might die of a heart attack if he kept scaring her like that. Or kill him if he came anywhere near her book.

With a hand on her chest, Y/N looked up to stare him down. Nobody touched her book. Not even the king of hell. "I will stake you if you- what is that?"

... Who was wearing a thin worn shirt and sweatpants. What universe was it again?

Crowley scoffed. "It's one in the morning. We spent multiple nights together, you should know that I own different items of clothing, mouse."

"Is that a pajama?" Y/N wanted to know, completely disregarding the truth in his statement.

She stood by her words. Crowley barely ever left his suit for any other item of clothing - if he got out of it, it was usually because she tore it off of his skin.

Another indignant huff pushed Y/N out of the more pleasant memories. "I came to get you to bed. It's well past a reasonable time to sleep."

"And you say that because?" Y/N asked amused and finally put a bookmark between the pages.

"Because," Crowley emphasized the single word as if Y/N was being unnecessarily dense, "I'm tired and wish to go to sleep with you now."

Huh? "But you don't need to sleep."

"My God, woman!" Crowley threw his hands in the air. He was very obviously barely stopping himself from turning her into a rat.

Not that he would actually do that. Y/N was pretty confident that he would not change her appearance. He liked the current one far too much. Also, it was very funny to watch Crowley get increasingly annoyed with her.

"Aren't you representing the very opposite of Him?"

"I love the feeling of falling asleep beside you, you wretched soul!" Crowley exclaimed, rolling his eyes. Then, clapped once, what made the book disappear, and held out his right hand for her to take, "now would you have the kindness to accompany me to the lavish bedroom I have arranged for both of us upstairs? It would be a shame if the bed doesn't get slept in at all."

Yeah as if he could just throw around those confessions and expect Y/N to be casual about it. It had taken her about a year to upgrade from sleeping together to grudgingly admitting that Crowley was actually capable of loving another being more than himself.

And now he just threw something like that at her?

Fingers snapped in impatience cleared the giddy fog in her mind at least a little bit. "Do I have to carry you?"

"I wouldn't complain if you did," Y/N said, hiding the sentimental emotions behind flirtations.

Only that she didn't expect Crowley to actually take her up on it. Before she knew what was happening, she was hanging face first over his shoulder, felt his every step pounding through her body. Very romantic.

Crowley kept muttering half hearted insults under his breath that Y/N knew he didn't mean in the slightest. So she just shot back as good as he gave and laughed loudly.

Deposited on the bed like a sack of potatoes, Y/N rubbed her back accusingly. "That could've been gentler."

"Scoot over my love." Crowley kicked off the house shoes (and God, did she wish to have her phone now, that was the fucking cherry on top. Dean would never believe her if she told him about the outfit) and climbed into bed next to Y/N.

The lights dimmed itself and the mood shifted accordingly. Only when solely the soft light of the moon illuminated the covers, Y/N realised how tired she really was.

Her eyes were dropping shut before Crowley had pulled the blanket over them completely. Warm arms were wrapped around her torso and she felt herself being pulled onto his chest.

"Tired, are we?" The tease was still very much there but something else - something fond - was now underlying the words.

Y/N merely hummed and rested her hand on his stomach.

Crowley sighed quietly and readjusted their position until he was comfortable. "Goodnight my love."

"Love you," she mumbled and stretched just enough to kiss the skin above the collar of his shirt.

To the steady rhythm of Crowley's breathing under his ear, she fell asleep.

General Taglist: @immrbrightsideeee , @fandomfoodiedancer, @lovesfandoms, @nyotamalfoy, @stixnstripesworld , @foxyjwls007 , @amythedoctor , @alexxavicry

Crowley Taglist: @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes , @mother-dragon-and-her-hatchlings

Join a Taglist

[fanficsfromyesteryear]

Hi! Can I request headcanons for dating marcus (deadly class)? Thank you

HEADCANONS FOR DATING MARCUS LOPEZ ARGUELLO

A/N: Just a head’s up, I got a little carried away, so this is kinda long lol. Also, sorry this took forever! I’ve been suuuuuper busy lately :/ I almost had it done before work picked back up, but I couldn’t figure out how to end it. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

Before the two of you started dating, Marcus had no idea that you liked him, and for good reason

You did such a good job with hiding your feelings that sometimes even you forgot they were there, which was kind of the whole point

With girls like Saya and Maria around, sending out mixed signals and dropping subtle hints that they liked Marcus, too, it was intimidating

Add Marcus’s constant cynicism about love, and life in general, into the mix, and it was clear the chances of him actually liking you back were next to nothing

So, you knew it was probably for the best to move on

You used the “if you ignore it, it’ll go away” approach in the hopes that if you simply didn’t acknowledge your feelings, the problem would disappear

All this did, however, was create a whole new issue

Somewhere along the way, you’d begun to take the thought process of ‘ignoring your crush’ too literally

You and Marcus were best friends, so when, out of the blue, you stopped talking to him, he could tell something was up

He had no clue what, though

Naturally, he assumed it was something he had done

Marcus started asking around among your mutual friends to see if they knew anything, but they were all just as out of the loop as he was

You hadn’t told anyone about your repressed feelings for Marcus, and you had no intention of letting the secret slip any time soon, but accidents happen

The truth came out one night during a game of truth or dare when you were up on the roof smoking with the Rats

Your confession came tumbling out quicker than you could even think about reeling the words back in

“You hear that, Romeo?” Billy asked, elbowing Marcus in the ribs. “Y/N’s got the hots for you”

All Marcus could do was laugh nervously as he looked down at his feet, refusing to meet your gaze

To your relief, no one brought it up again for the rest of the game

When the next day rolled around and your crush on Marcus still wasn’t the topic of conversation, you started to think that you were in the clear

Maybe they’d all been too stoned to remember when they’d woken up that morning

Your hopes were shattered by the late afternoon

As you left the bathroom, Marcus spotted you from across the hall

He quickly rushed over and caught you by the elbow, dragging you back through the doorway

“Relationships aren’t really my thing,” he said

Marcus sounded like he had more to say, but before he got the chance, you cut him off

“It’s fine,” you said. “I get it”

“No, no. I mean, I like you, Y/N, really. I just don’t wanna mess it up”

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face even if you tried

“You’re not gonna mess it up”

Before either of you could say more, the bathroom door opened and Petra walked in

She glanced between the two of you knowingly

“Hate to break this up, but if I hold this piss in any longer, I’ll explode”

With that, she pushed past you both, effectively ruining the moment

It didn’t take long after that for you and Marcus to make your relationship official

‘Official’ is a bit of a loose term in this case

For the most part, both of you kept the fact that you were dating fairly under the radar for fear of what others would do with that information

In a place like King’s Dominion, something as small as caring for another person beyond using them as an ally was seen as a weakness that could and would be used against you, and the last thing either of you wanted was to be put in a situation where you were pitted against each other

Of course, there were several instances when one (or both) of you nearly blew your cover

Such as in Martial Arts class

Instead of fighting you, Marcus would try to cop a feel

You’d quickly smack his hand away

“Miss De Luca’s right there!”

“She’s not looking”

In defense of both of you, though, a class in which hormonal teenagers are asked to pair themselves up and wrestle is practically an invitation to break the ‘no sex’ rule

The other classes you shared weren’t any better

Master Lin caught you and Marcus staring at each other instead of paying attention on multiple occasions, earning both of you a smack from his cane

Although Marcus was somewhat known for his smart mouth and talking back to authority, he knew better than to challenge Lin, not mention that if he did, he’d risk exposing the two of you in the process

So, Marcus bit back his insults and held in his tirade until the two of you were safely locked away in his dorm room

“He had no right to hit you like that”

“I’m fine,” you assured him, shoving another tissue up your nose to stop the bleeding. “Besides, he does it to everyone”

“That still doesn’t give him the right”

“Next time, I’m gonna stick that cane right up his ass”

Marcus wanted to shield you from all the violence at King’s, but when it was coming from teachers, there wasn’t much he could do about it

If it was a fellow student pushing you around, on the other hand, there was no holding him back

You loved how protective Marcus was of you, but sometimes you worried that he’d get carried away

Marcus always made sure you were never around to witness the fights take place, but the scrapes and bruises on his face that hadn’t been there when you saw him that morning were all the proof you needed

In such cases, you would insist on patching him up afterwards

The first few times this happened, Marcus was embarrassed by all the attention you were giving him

After a while, though, he grew to love the feeling of having someone fuss over him, especially if it was you

It was nice to have someone care about him for a change

You weren’t much of a fighter, but making sure he didn’t get Tetanus was your way of looking out for him

When you and Marcus weren’t getting into trouble, you were actually a pretty cute couple

Your roommates became accustomed to the two of you being a package deal, which often meant sneaking into each other’s rooms after lights out

Sometimes, it was to make out, but other times, it was so you could have late night conversations that you didn’t get the chance to have during the day

The topics of these conversations varied—they could be deep and philosophical (which was Marcus’s favorite kind), an opportunity to open up to each other about yourselves and your pasts, a time to plot someone’s death (usually only theoretically), or simply joking around

After especially long days, you would accidentally drift off in the middle of these nightly chats with your head on Marcus’s chest, but he never minded

He’d pull the covers up on your side and wrap his arms more tightly around you

While both of you were perfectly capable of pulling all-nighters, whenever you fell asleep, Marcus was never far behind

The sound of your evened-out breathing was like a lullaby to him, so it was safe to say that his sleep schedule drastically improved after the two of you started dating

You’d found that you slept better with Marcus, too, so on the few nights you spent apart, you’d doze off listening to the mixtapes he’d made you in your Walkman, which were full of your favorite songs and songs that reminded him of you (though, these had quickly become your favorites, too)

It was rare that the two of you weren’t together, though

Even during the day, you and Marcus were practically joined at the hip

At lunch, you would hold hands under the table and share food

Of course, this always opened the door for plenty of teasing from your friends, especially Lex

“While you’re at it, why don’t you chew the food up for each other and pass it back and forth like little birds?”

“Fuck off, Lex”

It was always in good fun, though

Actually, the other Rats were relieved when the two of you finally got together because the weird tension that had been brewing leading up to that point went away, meaning group hangouts could carry on normally

They could overlook you sitting in Marcus’s lap if it meant you weren’t being distant and secretive

Just like they pretended not to notice when you showed up to class wearing each other’s blazers by mistake after spending the night together

Or walking in late looking ✨especially disheveled✨

All in all, you and Marcus are King’s Dominion’s cutest couple™️ that only, like, five other people know about, but still-

[ninhaoma-ya]

Chapter 1064 — Egghead’s research stratum

Or, ‘Keep still my beating Heart’ because puns make the world go round.

So much info about the Heart Pirates! And a new name!

But to start form the top. Or the cover story.

Kuzan is officially a Blackbeard pirate, in the ink. I do wonder about his motivations. What drives him now? And what did Blackbeard make him do to prove his ambition in joining them? He must have he his reservations as well when a former admiral turns up on your doorstep with a ‘I wanna join’-note tacked onto his penguin.

And speaking of Penguin…

You get the page because look at that!

The beautiful perspective of Blackbeard on top of Doc W on top of Stronger!

Helmsman has a name! ‘Hakugan’ is either a snow goose or a sort of peony. With the Hearts animal theme, I’m going with the goose.

Shachi and Penguin have a mission! A purpose! Great combat and swimming skills!

I also really enjoy sneering Blackbeard, with his very piratey ‘you bilge-sucking’ rats’ there.

‘No-one told me..’ indicates extensive research into fruit powers, which isn’t that surprising since his crew hunts powerful Devil Fruits. But Blackbeard is a strong opponent: he is surprised, but adapts to the situation at once.

Can somebody please animate this?

Doc W’s fate is still (literally) up in the air while flee focus on..

..Bepo of the Sensitive Ears and Jean-Bart of the Iron Heart! Such great teamwork!

Another page because look at that Law.

So cocky. So capable. So ready to throw down.

And menacing Blackbeard, in it for all he can get!

But it doesn’t look good for Law.. I do trust his resilience and adaptability. And if nothing else, some catching up with Koby and Pudding in Blackbeard’s cells could be something. Pudding might have a rubbing of the Poneglyph and Law could be the key to keep block her third eye and ability? Who knows, but I’m here for the ride!

Can I just post the whole chapter, page by page?

This explains the Hearts fighting style and rise to fame. Also: “who knew they were so strong underwater?”

They have a submarine. Made for underwater shenanigans. It would be weird if their main strength wasn’t under water.

And Pudding! Still no clear yea or nay for the fate of Big Mom and Kaido, as the dialogue shows.

But also: if Pudding is there, then Kuzan is there and I foresee an ice age..

But back to Egghead!

[picture of old geezers and young Bonney removed due to limitation on picture numbers]

Is Jinbe old or young? And those alternative Luffy and Chopper are uncanny when you’ve seen the SBS-versions.

And it’s infodump time!

Jinbe, Jinbe, Jinbe. After all your own experiences with the World Government, don’t you think that might be, you know, propaganda? Especially with, I realise you don’t see due to narrative purposes, Kuma being drawn in a similarly exaggerated way as for example Fukurokuju described Luffy and gang in Onigashima.

Why would a king have ties to the Revolutionaries? And why would the WG employ such a person as a shichibukai, even if he agreed to being a Guinea pig? A shichibukai still has a lot of freedom and they could just have imprisoned him on Egghead instead.

My theory: Kuma wanted to reform his country in a more democratic direction, the WG didn’t like that, deposed Kuma through a banana-like coup* and he became a pirate. He might have the same physical anomaly as Blackbeard which made Vegapunk interested, and he might have been the one to persuade the WG to let Kuma run lose to… test the cyborg modifications in the field?

And Bonney might have been too young to understand what really happened: she looks doubtful but still defends her father.

*Look up United Fruit and South America if this is an unfamiliar reference

NO. THE HUMAN BODY DOESN’T BEND THAT WAY.

You can’t see both boobs and ass at the same time. Not without some serious spinal injury, at least.

Okay, Vegapunk’s lab looks really cool. And there has to be some Feature(TM) to the boots, they’ve been so very visible the last few chapters. Can they fly?

So much is happening: disaster-dad-Sanji, Ken-doll-Usopp (why Oda, he has the body! Let him flaunt it!), Wind-Up-Franky…. and Robin does look cool, although trousers would be a bonus.

And the connection between Vegapunk and Dragon is confirmed! Can’t wait to hear more!

I wonder if Vegapunk realises he’s become old and wants to go out with a bang, if he knows about he CP0-mission or both?

Great chapter! I give it a heap of plot and a sprinkle of intrigue.

[lokisprettygirl]

Love is Selfless, It's Kind (Loki x Female Reader) (Part 49)

Summary : Love is Selfless, it's kind. Love is Patient, it's sacrifice.

Warning : I'm sorry? 🥺

Taglist : @colifower  @rinacreateart  @christineblood  @the-wounded-healer05  @lokiprompts  @geeky-politics-46  @sharklover927  @virtualstrawberrydinosaur  @huntress-artemiss  @rat-p1ss  @snigdha-14 @daddylokisqueen

"I know what my husband has done Loki, and he's definitely going to atone for his crimes" 

"You know?" Loki asked frigga, shocked by her revelation "I had a feeling that something wasn't right, so when king Armano visited yesterday, I made myself invisible and heard their conversation" she teared up as she finished her sentence and loki hugged her to comfort her "But you'll always be my son, never have to doubt my love for you, I only want what's best for you" she kissed his forehead and he nods 

"For a second I did, but y/n made me see that I'll always be your son, not laufeyson or odinson but I'll always be Loki Friggason" they both looked at you and you teared up as well, you wished that it didn't have to be like this , that Odin wasn't such an asshole but the reality was different. 

"Now, tell me where is Aliksia, Loki, you didn't harm her, did you?" Loki looked at her suspiciously as she asked, he wanted to tell her everything but his gut said otherwise "Can we talk about it after the feast mother?" He told her and she nodded. 

"You two get there and I'll be there shortly" loki grabbed your hands protectively as he walked you out of her room. And then he dragged you into a secluded chamber, at first you thought he was going to make love to you or something because he was looking at you up and down very intently "Something wrong baby?" You asked him and he teared up as he looked at you,

"That's not ma, that's not frigga we just met" your eyes widened as you heard him, how could it be? That seemed like frigga but anything is possible here "What are you trying to say lo?" You asked him and he hugged you tightly "The way she asked about Aliksia, that won't be her first concern if she actually knew the truth, and this dress" he eyed you up and down again "Ma, would never choose this shade of green, she knows my favourite one" he whispered, the colour of the dress was the first thing you noticed as well.

"Lo where is she then? And who the hell was that?" You asked him confused and scared, you were Also worried about frigga.

"Probably Odin pretending to be mother, and if that's the case he must have entrapped ma somewhere, must have used some sort of dark magic" he looked extremely worried as he said that. Odin is officially a loco in your mind , what the hell is wrong with this dude?

"I can't trust anyone, don't leave my side even for a second, I can't believe I left you alone in the bath with the maids" he cupped your cheeks and you pulled him closer to you. You hate seeing him like this but there's not much you can do except comfort him. 

"Baby baby baby, calm down okay, i'm here and he can't hurt me when I'm with you" you caressed his head and he hid himself in the crook of your neck "For a second I was so relieved that we had mother by our side but it was truly a wishful thinking"

You held him as close as you could, now you were scared about everything happening around you as well and you worried about his safety too, if Odin was so powerful he was capable of doing anything and loki, as strong as he was, you had a feeling that Odin was up to something.

Loki was so cautious about imminent dangers around him but he never thought Odin could play such a move, he needed someone to be by his side, if Odin gets warrior three by his side, and attacks him or something there's no way he would be enough for all of them. He grabbed your hand quickly and he walked you through the bifrost again, he needed to send an urgent message to thor via heimdall. 

But as you two reached there, heimdall was nowhere to be found and you found frigga instead "Going somewhere my son?" She asked him as she smiled devilishly and loki got you behind him as he kept his arms wrapped around you

"Where is ma? Did you hurt her?" He asked the figure pretending to be frigga and she smiled "You were always the clever one loki, your intellect matched mine far greater than thor and you could have done so much more, but you chose this ugly mortal to bind yourself with?" She yelled and okay that's officially not frigga you guessed. Loki's jaw clenched as he heard him insulting you. 

"I would never hurt my wife loki" as soon as he finished his sentence he transformed himself into Odin and you gasped even though you saw it coming miles away, then you saw the warrior three entering with lady sif and loki was outnumbered "You never cared about me did you?" Loki chuckled and Odin snickered in response "I do, that's why I'm going to spare your life and kill that mortal" 

Loki pushed you away from him and he used the protection spell on you, he has been working on it for so long, you found yourself captured in a green orb and you couldn't get out of it, neither anyone can harm you as long as you were in there. "You really thought allfather would allow a pathetic conniving snake like you to sit on Asgard's throne?" Sif chuckled and he just glared at her. Arguing with them was such a waste of time, then the warriors three tried to attack him but as strong as they were loki was a sorcerer and they were no match for him, he dodged their attacks and even managed to harm them efficiently but he couldn't escape from Odin.

You were so scared, not for yourself but for him, Odin was much more experienced and had powers Loki couldn't even think of "You won't get away with this, mother will never forgive you for this you bastard" loki yelled at him as they fought each other using magic. 

Loki was getting tired, he was exhausted and he was getting weak, he didn't think through this, he didn't think it would get to this so soon, he wasn't expecting this at all, Odin attacked him with gungnir and stabbed him right in the chest, he fell down as he bled, you yelled and screamed but he couldn't hear you from inside the orb, it was transparent though so you could see the love of your life bleeding and you were so scared of him dying. He can't leave you, he can't leave you like this. 

Then Odin made one last move as he hit loki on the head with his staff, and he dropped down on the floor, his eyes met yours as he fell on his front, he teared up as he did, he brought his hand forward as if he wanted to hold you, he wanted to hold his princess but he couldn't, he failed you again, he was going to lose you again, they would never let him live happily with you, they would Never allow him to live a peaceful life. He didn't even get to say goodbye to you, or tell you how much he loves you. He shouldn't have come here, he should have just disappeared with you.

The memories of his life with you flashed through his head all of a sudden as if someone replayed everything and showcased his life with you but in reverse, he saw how he proposed you , the vacation you two went onto, and when you accepted to be his forever and ever, when he hurt you after he came back from Asgard but you still forgave him, when he showed you his frost giant form and you accepted him without hesitation, how you stuck around for him during the case, how you shielded him from the abuse he faced and protected him, the way he fell so hard for you in such a short time, the first time he made love to you, the way you smothered him in affection, the first time he kissed you and shared his feelings with you and how he held you as you made the tea for him, the first time he ever saw you in the store as you approached him to help him, you helped him and loved him since the very first day.

Love is Selfless, It's Kind

He saw everything and He didn't want it to end, he wanted to give you a long happy life, you were meant for each other, you were his and he was yours. His princess, his future wifey, the love of his life, the mother of his would be children, he wanted to see them, his little family, He wanted to go to bed tonight with you in his arms, he wanted to see your face first thing in the morning tomorrow, he wanted to keep you safe but he failed again. He failed.

The last thing he saw was you and him slowly dancing in your living room. Your home with him. A day before you both decided to break up for the world, he saw you and him giggling as you both moved and kissed each other whenever you could, so happy, so loved, so safe with each other, lost in your own little world, the world that wasn't out to get to him and his princess. That was the last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness. Before he lost you.

You saw Odin raising the staff again and he was going to hit Loki, this time he won't survive it. You knew it and your heart broke all over again, all he needed was love and acceptance and he found it with you, why won't he let him live? What did he do to deserve this? Is this how this was going to end? With him losing you? With you losing him forever?

But before Odin could hit him again, he was shoved backwards  by an invisible force and he hit a wall, and then you saw her, frigga. She was here, she was here, but she was too late. She made Odin unconscious with her attack and she instantly went to check on Loki, you saw a bunch of people running towards him as they picked him up and then they took him somewhere, he was covered in blood but you felt lifeless instead. You were still in shock with everything that has happened in the last few moments.

Frigga used a spell to break you out of the orb somehow, of course she knew how to do that, she helped Loki with the spell, she hugged you tightly, you could hear her voice but you were still in shock and that's when your body finally gave up and you fainted. 

When you woke up, you screamed loudly, the thought of Loki's Bloodied body never leaving you "Where ..where is he ..please take him to him..please please please" you yelled and then you saw jane and thor, she hugged you and she tried to calm you down.

As soon as frigga found out that you woke up she came to check up on you "Where is he, please tell me he is okay, I can't.. please" you wailed like a widow who just lost her husband and she tried to calm you down, her heart breaking at the sight of you "He's okay, healers worked on him, his ability to heal kicked in but he is still unconscious" she told you and you looked at her shocked. He's okay, he's alive. 

"What, what happened to Odin" you asked her and she looked at thor "Odin will spend rest of his years in asgardian cell, his powers have been taken" she told you, you looked at her saddened face, he's her husband, you can't comprehend how she must be feeling "and sif, and those three traitors, what about them?" You asked her again and she told you that they will have the same fate as Odin and you sighed, this is what loki wanted, then gone from your lives "Thank you, you saved his life" you told her meekly and she hugged you again "I should have known, I was so blind before, I should have seen this, I always told loki that his father always loved him even if he didn't say it but I was wrong and my little prince had to pay for this" 

You wanted to comfort her but you were in no state to do so, you just wanted to see him "We also found your mother, we are sending her back to midgard so she could be punished properly" thor said to you and you nodded, you didn't care about her at all in the moment "Please take me to him" you asked her and she took you to the healing facility of Asgard, you found loki all wrapped up in bandages and his head was wrapped too but you could see him breathing and it was enough for the moment, you didn't leave his side after that, you stood next to him and you kissed his forehead whenever you could, you needed to water the plantie, or it will die. You still had some time before the day ended so you were not worried.

He would be so happy when he wakes up, now you both can leave this place and go somewhere quiet and peaceful like he wanted to, you couldn't wait for him to get up, you needed to smother him in affection. After watching him almost die, you finally understood how it must be for him to see you go through that not once but twice. But he never let go, he might have lost his way and he got scared but he always looked out for you, always kept you close to him.

Love is Patient

You needed to drink water so you stepped outside of the facility and you found frigga, so she offered to bring you some, as she left a healer ran towards you  "Prince Loki is in a conscious state now and he's asking for his girlfriend?" He said all confused and you smiled, you ran towards the room and you saw him as he sat up, he smiled a little as he looked at you

"Oh god you scared me lo, you scared me so bad, we are okay baby, everything is okay now I promise " you hugged him carefully to not hurt his wounds and when you pulled away he looked at you confused 

"Umm I'm sorry kind lady but where is my girlfriend? Is she here?" He asked you and you took a step back in shock, his girlfriend? Does he not recognise you? It can't be right? It must be a joke.

"Your girlfriend?" You asked him and he smiled a little as he thought about her.

"Yes, Carla, is she here?" 

It's Sacrifice

[amethystmpress]

DAENERYS APPRECIATION MONTH 2021: ↳ Day 15: Most Anticipated Meetings (Dany & Val Parallels) art by @the-lady-rae

"I would choose freedom over comfort every time."

She raised the harpy's fingers in the air... and then she flung the scourge aside. "Freedom!" she sang out. "Dracarys! Dracarys!"

──────── Willing to sacrifice as much of themselves as they are capable of to protect their own, including giving up their own freedom through marriages.

“Let me help.”

“You have. You brought me Tormund.”

“I can do more.”

“You are welcome to come meet her."

Val begged the king to spare him. She said she'd let some kneeler marry her and never slit his throat if only Mance could live.

[Dany] had tried to do what she could for them. She had sent them healers, Blue Graces and spell-singers and barber-surgeons […] Every day she sent them what she could […] today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself.

Dany could only sit and watch. "Ser," she said to Barristan Selmy, "is there no more we can do?"

No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry.

Dany’s hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the silver’s head. “Make them stop.”

"The rest, with me." They passed other women being raped. Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it.

"You cannot claim them all, child," Ser Jorah said, the fourth time they stopped.

──────── Dressed for "battle" before meeting Selyse to help Jon gain her support & descending to the fighting pits, both reluctant but willing to do what they must.

“I must see Queen Selyse.” He turned to Val. “My lady. With me, if you please.”

“The crow commands, the captive must obey.” Her tone was playful. “This queen of yours must be fierce if the legs of grown men give out beneath them when they meet her. Should I have dressed in mail instead of wool and fur? These clothes were given to me by Dalla, I would sooner not get bloodstains all over them.”

“Even if the pits must open, must Your Grace go yourself?” asked Missandei as she was washing the queen’s hair [...] "Khaleesi, which tokar will you want today?" asked Irri.

"The yellow silk." The queen of the rabbits could not be seen without her floppy ears. "And over it, the long red veils." The veils would keep the wind from blowing sand into her mouth. And the red will hide any blood spatters.

───────��� Bold, unafraid, and confident in rising to defend their people's freedom + ensuing threats from people who can't handle it.

“Free folk do not kneel,” Val told her.

“Then they must be knelt,” the queen declared.

“Do that, Your Grace, and we will rise again at the first chance,” Val promised. “Rise with blades in hand.”

The queen’s lips tightened, and her chin gave a small quiver. “You are insolent. I suppose that is only to be expected of a wildling. We must find you a husband who can teach you courtesy.”

"You were wise to sit and speak, Khaleesi. You shall find no easy conquest here."

“Good. My Unsullied will relish a bit of a fight.”

"Do you imagine that Yunkai will open its gates when my Unsullied are butchering you beneath the walls? “

“Woman, you bray like an ass, and make no more sense.”

“What you are,” said Prendahl na Ghezn, “is a horselord’s whore. When we break you, I will breed you to my stallion.”

Her dragons had roared as one in that moment, filling the night with flame. The slaves are rising, she knew at once. My sewer rats have gnawed off their chains.

──────── Princesses who take action, confront things head-on, and don't let old knights spirit them to Asshai.

They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

All her life Viserys had told her she was a princess, but not until she rode her silver had Daenerys Targaryen ever felt like one.

"I had to save him."

"We could have fled," he said. "I would have seen you safe to Asshai, Princess. There was no need…"

"Am I truly your princess?" she asked him.

"My… queen," Ser Jorah said, going to one knee. "Come east with me. Yi Ti, Qarth, the Jade Sea, Asshai by the Shadow. We will see all the wonders yet unseen, and drink what wines the gods see fit to serve us. Please, Khaleesi."

"I must," Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. "You do not understand."

──────── Sharp minds, sharp knives, even sharper tongues.

“Best steal her quick, before Toregg wakes up and takes her first [...] She won’t mind. Will you, girl?” Val patted the long bone knife on her hip.

“Lord Crow is welcome to steal into my bed any night he dares. Once he’s been gelded, keeping those vows will come much easier for him.”

"No woman has ever forgotten the Titan's Bastard [...] Little girl, another woman once tried to geld me with her teeth. She has no teeth now, but my sword is as long and thick as ever. Shall I take it out and show you?"

"No need. After my eunuchs cut it off, I can examine it at my leisure."

──────── Too clever for the likes of you and me.

“Har!” laughed Tormund Giantsbane. “Don’t bandy words with this one, Lord Snow, she’s too clever for the likes o’ you and me." [...] She had proved that by finding Tormund where seasoned rangers of the Watch had failed.

"The Stormcrows do not stand alone," said Prendahl.

"Stormcrows do not stand at all. They fly, at the first sign of thunder. Perhaps you should be flying now."

──────── Dealing with flattery.

When presented to Val, the knight sank to one knee to kiss her glove. “You are even lovelier than I was told, princess,” he declared. “The queen has told me much and more of your beauty.”

“How odd, when she has never seen me.” Val patted Ser Patrek on the head. “Up with you now, ser kneeler. Up, up.” She sounded as if she were talking to a dog.

There are pleasure houses in Lys and Tyrosh where men would pay handsomely to bed the last Targaryen."

"It is good to see you know who I am," said Dany mildly.

The merchant prince leaned across the table. "Let us speak instead of love, of dreams and desire and Daenerys, the fairest woman in this world. I am drunk with the sight of you."

She was no stranger to the overblown courtesies of Qarth. "If you are drunk, blame the wine."

──────── Others sharing and stealing Jon and Dany's babies, and how women should have dragons since they make men sweeter, especially crows.

“Have you been trying to steal my wolf?” he asked her.

“Why not? If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much sweeter. Even crows.”

But as Brown Ben was leaving, Viserion spread his pale white wings and flapped lazily at his head. “He likes you, Ben,” said Dany.

[...] When Brown Ben left, she lay back on her cushions. “If you were grown,” she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, “I’d fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag.”

If her dragons discomfited Daario Naharis, he hid it well. For all the mind he paid them, they might have been three kittens playing with a mouse.

“My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen.”

[...] She pointed to the lumps of blackened flesh the dragons were consuming, bite by bloody bite. "I would call that proof of his sincerity. Daario Naharis, have your Stormcrows ready to strike the Yunkish rear when my attack begins."

──────── Dripping in white with their cuddly companions, belonging together.

Then Ghost emerged from between two trees, with Val beside him. They look as though they belong together.

Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well… but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

She called her people together and mounted her silver mare. Her hair [worn in braids] had burned away in Drogo's pyre, so her handmaids garbed her in the skin of the hrakkar Drogo had slain, the white lion of the Dothraki sea. Its fearsome head made a hood to cover her naked scalp, its pelt a cloak that flowed across her shoulders and down her back. The cream-colored dragon sunk sharp black claws into the lion's mane and coiled its tail around her arm.

──────── Lonely, lovely, lethal.

All the same, the wildling princess was not beloved of her gaolers. She scorned them all as "kneelers," and had thrice attempted to escape. When one man-at-arms grew careless in her presence she had snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the neck. Another inch to the left and he might have died.

Lonely and lovely and lethal, Jon Snow reflected.

Xaro took another bite, chewed, swallowed. "Daenerys, sweet queen, I cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to bask once more in your presence. A child departed Qarth, as lost as she was lovely. I feared she was sailing to her doom, yet now I find her here enthroned, mistress of an ancient city, surrounded by a mighty host that she raised up out of dreams."

The fat man grew pensive. "Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself.

──────── Dany shares similarities with Dalla, Val's sister, and also suffered immeasurable loss delivering her child. (Dany could be like a sister to her... 🥰)

“Are you the wildling princess?” Shireen asked Val.

“Some call me that,” said Val. “My sister was wife to Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. She died giving him a son.”

But in the Red Waste, all her joy had turned to ashes. Her sun-and-stars had fallen from his horse, the maegi Mirri Maz Duur had murdered Rhaego in her womb, and Dany had smothered the empty shell of Khal Drogo with her own two hands.

──────── Regarding prophecy.

"She sees things in her fires... Kings and dragons."

"Fire is a fickle thing. No one knows which way a flame will go.”

Dany knew how it went with prophecies. They were made of words, and words were wind.

──────── Unwittingly developing affection for kiddos they care for.

“Only for a time. You will return. For the boy, if for no other reason.”

“Craster’s son?” Val shrugged. “He is no kin to me.”

“I have heard you singing to him.” “I was singing to myself. Am I to blame if he listens?” A faint smile brushed her lips. “It makes him laugh."

One of her young hostages brought her morning meal, a plump shy girl named Mezzara, whose father ruled the pyramid of Merreq, and Dany gave her a happy hug and thanked her with a kiss [...] Two of Dany's favorite hostages served the food and kept the cups filled—a doe-eyed little girl called Qezza and a skinny boy named Grazhar [...] "They are very sweet, the both of them," Dany assured her. "Qezza sings for me sometimes. She has a lovely voice."

──────── Mommies of monsters 🥺

"He is a sweet little monster."

"Monster?"

"His milk name. I had to call him something. See that he stays safe and warm. For his mother's sake, and mine. [...] How fares the little monster?”

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters.

[bloededhoine]

world building cause twn doesn't part 12: the hen ichaer

i realize i've been mentioning the hen ichaer without really explaining it, and for that i apologize. but without further ado, let's go

colour code cause i fucking love colour codes - already happened/introduced, probably s2, important background info, stuff that might be in the prequel, extras

series masterpost

general

the hen ichaer is basically a magical gene that originated with the elven sorceress, scholar, and princess, lara dorren aep shiadhal

it can lie dormant or inactive for generations, but when someone is an activated carrier of the gene, they are called a source

sources have an insane capability for magic, it's so intense that without instruction they are a huge danger to themselves and/or others. remember pavetta's betrothal feast? hurricanes should not happen indoors

same thing with ciri's sonic scream.

obviously, the hen ichaer is highly weaponize-able, but it's difficult to put this into theory since the magic is so strong that it can easily kill the person who carries it

most important is that the hen ichaer can open ard gaeth, the gates between worlds. you may remember that the witcher is a multiverse, and the continent is just one of countless worlds

aen elle

the aen elle, elves who live in another world called tir ná lia, controlled at least one gate that they used to get slaves from other worlds

however, this was before the hen ichaer was seriously studied. unicorns are also capable of opening ard gaeth, and were present in tir ná lia, so the aen elle would kidnap them to be used as their world-hopping-genocide key. yeah, the aen elle are seriously fucked

the king of the aen elle was named auberon muircetach, and he was very well known for his wars with the unicorns, who weren't too keen on being enslaved for the purpose of conquering other worlds

the hen ichaer came into play when auberon noticed that his daughter, lara dorren, had pretty intense magical abilities. like, ard gaeth opening abilities.

auberon, lara, and a few other elves began studying the gene and trying to figure out how it works and how to use it.

through this study is how we got the title aen saevherne, which is used to distinguish an elven mage with extensive knowledge of history, science, magic, and, most importantly, the elder blood.

both lara and auberon were aen saevherne, as was lara's husband-to-be, avallac'h, and avallac'h's foster son, caranthir ar-feiniel

ithlinne's prophecy

ithlinne aegli aep aevenien was an elven prophet known for her incredibly dark prophecies that she delivered at totally random times. how dark were they? ithlinne's prophecies were almost exclusively about the death of all humanity and/or the end of the world. she was fun at parties.

anyway, when we talk about ithlinne we really only mean one specific prophecy, aen ithlinnespeath. to be confusing it's usually referred to as ithlinne's prophecy

here's the prophecy itself:

Verily I say unto you, the era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard. The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt: Tedd Deireádh, the Time of End. The world will die amidst frost and be reborn with the new sun. It will be reborn of Elder Blood, of Hen Ichaer, of the seed that has been sown. A seed which will not sprout but burst into flame. Ess'tuath esse! Thus it shall be! Watch for the signs! What signs these shall be, I say unto you: first the earth will flow with the blood of Aen Seidhe, the Blood of Elves...

what does that mean? well, the white chill (aka the white frost) is a massive ice age that has been approaching the continent for years. don't believe me? the white frost has destroyed countless worlds in the past, and it literally cannot be stopped. the only way to save the world is by the power of the hen ichaer.

here's a perfectly frightening visual of the white frost

ithlinne didn't elaborate on the how, but we now know that the only to survive the white frost is by finding a new world and massively evacuating the continent through ard gaeth, which can only be opened by the power of the hen ichaer.

genetics

clearly, the hen ichaer is important enough to literally save, or end, the world, but the aen elle did a famously terrible job of studying it. like, you'd think they'd be good at that, but no. to their credit, it is a bit complicated

first, there are multiple types of elder blood genes, the main gene, the latent gene, and the activator gene. to actually show the powers of the hen ichaer, someone would need to either have one latent and one activator, or the main gene.

let's go back to secondary school biology for a second, remember punnet squares? these fuckers

the letters in a punnet square represent a genotype, or the two alleles that are inherited from the parents. phenotypes, on the other hand, are what you see on the outside. for example, a genotype would be Aa but a phenotype would be brown eyes.

while the main gene is a simple dominant allele (shown by a capital letter on a punnet square), both the latent and activator genes are semi-dominant, meaning that when they meet they create a new phenotype: the innate magical ability that makes you a source.

it gets a little less scientific here so bear with me; this new phenotype is so powerful that it sometimes creates a whole new genotype. so instead of having one activator gene and one latent gene, the two would merge and you'd be left with only one (very powerful) main gene. this is the only single gene that actually has magic and it's a dominant gene, so you only need to have one to have the power.

but, the latent and activator genes don't always combine. you still have the full powers when they stay separate, but it is then less likely to pass the hen ichaer your children.

complicated? very much so. but in practice it's a lot easier.

for simplicity's sake i'll call the activator gene g/a, latent gene g/L, main gene g/m and a regular nonmutated gene g/r. to be a source, the genes you inherit would be g/a g/L, but they may combine to be just g/m. your average person would be g/r g/r and a carrier would be either g/a g/r or g/L g/r.

clearly, this makes tracking it pretty messy, since generations of people can be carriers without having a single source

tracking the hen ichaer

for now, let's do what those elven sages couldn't and track then hen ichaer, starting with lara dorren

eventually, lara met an exceptionally talented human mage, cregennan of lod, and they were lab partners (oh my god they were lab partners) in the study of the hen ichaer.

eventually, lara met an exceptionally talented human mage, cregennan of lod, and they were lab partners (oh my god they were lab partners) in the study of the hen ichaer.

for all the studying, lara and cregennan's own genes have always been something of a mystery. elven mages don't tend to have any issues with using themselves as lab rats, so it's entirely possible that lara and cregennan, knowingly or not, mutated their own genes in their research.

ultimately, it doesn't matter what lara and cregennan's genes originally were. by some happy little accident, the two eventually ended up with at least one activator gene and at least one latent gene between them.

later, when lara and cregennan made their own happy little accident, riannon, she inherited one of each gene (g/a g/L), making her a source. however, riannon's genes did not combine as the elves expected, which made her a little harder to study.

riannon eventually met king goidemar of temeria (g/r g/r), and they had two children named fiona and amavet. i'll start with fiona, who the aen elle managed to figure out had the latent gene, making her g/L r

fiona ended up having a baby with king coram II of cintra (g/r g/r), they named him corbett, and he inherited fiona's g/L and one of coram's g/r.

the aen elle lost track of the hen ichaer when they studied riannon's other kid amavet. see, amavet was kind of a whore. he had twins, muriel and crispin, with the married countess anna kameny. obviously, these children weren't legitimate, and when the angry count kameny murdered amavet a few months later, he was officially childless

the elves did, however, manage to figure out that amavet had riannon's g/a gene and goidemar's g/r gene. anna kameny was just g/r g/r, and crispin ended up being g/r g/r as well. destiny does favour the hen ichaer, but sometimes it's just not meant to be. muriel, on the other hand, did inherit her father's activator gene and was g/a g/r.

let's hop back to corbett, fiona and coram's g/L g/r son. he and princess elen of kaedwen (g/r g/r) had a son, dagorad, who got corbett's latent gene and one of elen's regular ones, meaning he was g/L g/r

muriel married robert of garramore (g/r g/r), and their daughter adalia, the dramatically posed lady right there, had the same genetic combination as her mother, g/a g/r

this is where it gets even weirder

the lovely adalia married dagorad. her second cousin. they shared riannon as their great grandmother. feel better in the fact that it was not intentional, adalia's mother, muriel, was not officially riannon's granddaughter. no one would have even known, but adalia's g/a met up with dagorad's g/L in their daughter, calanthe

for the first time since riannon, the hen ichaer was back, and calanthe's parents genes combined to give her g/m g/r

while it took generations of destiny and accidental incest to make the hen ichaer happen again, now that calanthe had the main gene there was a 50% chance she would pass it to her child, which, of course, she did

calanthe and her husband roegner (g/r g/r) had pavetta, who inherited the g/m from her mother. no one knew about this until pavetta literally created a source hurricane, and was already pregnant

pavetta and duny's (g/r g/r) daughter, ciri, inherited the main gene from her mother and was a source.

sources

it's important to note that a source is not necessarily an incredibly powerful sorcerer, merely a person who has the genetic predisposition required to channel very intense magic

sources, like anyone else, can be bad students, allergic to potions, or just generally averse to magic on all levels except heredity. there is also no way to guarantee that even the most willing source will be good at using magic, in fact it's far more common that they will be really really bad at it. sources are extra susceptible to the chaotic state of magic in the world, and many end up pretty seriously harmed by it.

magical talent tends to make itself known in very emotional situations, like the death of a parent or a war. the same applies for sources, but they have an extra rule: their full powers are off limits until they lose their virginities

now, netflix has not mentioned that rule to be true or false, but i'm going to think of it as strictly book/game/etc canon, because ciri is 10 years old when netflix shows her using her source powers for the first time

the virginity rule makes things even more complicated, as customs about premarital sex are pretty strict in the witcher world (well, among nobility), and the dudes didn't seem to have fast reflexes. what i'm saying is that getting pregnant the first time you had sex was not uncommon. sources couldn't even use, and likely weren't aware of, their powers until they were already passing them on to another generation.

and even still, there is no guarantee that someone who is a source will ever actually show their powers. calanthe had the genetics, but she wasn't a mage. what happened? we don't really know. after calanthe married, cintra was pretty peaceful; there were no invasions or massive upheavals that could put enough stress on her to show her powers. plus, her parents didn't know she had any magical powers, so they didn't give her the training that would develop them, and she was a very level headed person who would likely be unaffected by many of the things that would make another source lose their shit.

[awanderingtortoise]

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

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

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame.  Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol.  “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot.  Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

[neonponders]

I never thought I’d write a court jester!Steve x King!Billy fic, but here we are. I entirely blame @ghostofjellyfishforgotten and @drinkingbeerfroma for this 💋

The original king!Billy and jester!Steve fics are here~ (this is a gift for Ghost and meant to be read in tandem with their fics 🌹)

Drinkingbeerfroma’s fanart is here~​​ (the enabling source, send them some love 🌹)

P.s....you can probably tell how much of The Witcher: Blood and Wine influenced this for me lol Ch. 2 coming soon! Or, you know, some time!

Read on ao3.

• • • • • • •

Billy strolled into his royal chambers with a tune on his lips. Usually the rustle of clothing, the scoot of furniture, reacted to his whistle so that he could meet his jester right at the door. Or by the bed.

Then again, Steve did wander. Perhaps that’s why he worked as a jester: always the desire to move, to fidget, and it had lent into a natural proclivity for acrobatics.

Billy had never much cared for the athleticism of the job. Not that it wasn’t impressive, but the stunts were the bottom of his jester’s abilities. His Steve.

Steve, who was nowhere in the expansive rooms. Billy huffed a sigh through his nose. He began loitering around, investigating what his jester had left behind and what it could mean for where he’d gone.

Except…he’d left everything behind. Billy’s gaze locked on the sapphire and green velvet of the suit he’d gifted Steve himself, now left in a rumbled state on the bed. The gleaming silk fibers moved with the midday light of the window as Billy circled around the bed to touch them, as if to test that they were real. The fool as good as lived in the king’s royal chambers by this point, so he opened the dresser beside the large writing desk and—

Steve’s original suits and garments sat in the drawers, untouched. The yellow shirt Billy had torn—twice—until Steve left it in disrepair, tired of mending it. The red and purple suit which he’d first strolled into court wearing. His blue boots. The red boots. The god-awful yellow boots to go with that shirt apart from how stained they were from daily living.

What the hell is my fool wearing? Billy mused in disbelief, his amusement only checked by worry.

Amusement that snuffed out under the weight of a paper he finally saw on the desk itself. Both of Steve’s jester hats stood on either side of it, crowning the white square to garner Billy’s attention. More than once, Billy had marveled at his jester’s ability to read and write. This was not one of those times.

Majesty,

An emergency called me home. Nothing to worry about. I’ll return soon.

Yours,

Steve.

Billy read those four lines over and over again, worry tussling with indignant rage, and then confusion. He wanted more out of a note from Steve, which ought not be the prior concern in his mind, but there it was.

Why not address me by my name? This note is for me, nobody else. Who did you fear seeing it? In my own chambers? We’re far past courtly manners.

Largest understatement of his entire reign, but whatever. More annoying and concerning details eclipsed Billy’s focus.

He had no idea where ‘home’ meant for Steve. His Steve. Billy’s pride ordained that Billy is his home; what other place—or person—could have the audacity to yank his fool right out from under him?

Billy’s voice roared down the corridors outside his chambers. His staff was certainly used to making haste in their duties, but this was something else. The king had lost something precious to him, and hell would shiver until he had it back.

It is both a blessing and a curse that the lesbians in his court did not fear him.

“Would you shut the hell up?” Heather barked, swinging out of her room fully dressed in robes but hair a disaster. “Some of us like to do our own fucking now and again.”

“Where is Steve?” Billy growled, damned note in hand. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning,” she sighed with a tone that Billy did not understand until she added, “When he left with Robin. He warned me that you might be grouchy—”

“Grouch—” he began to seethe, but Heather took the paper right out of his hand to give it a look.

“He said he left you a note, your majesty,” she purred through a voice he now noticed to be quite raw. Overused. Her eyelids hung low like she was drunk, or three orgasms gone to the wind.

This only abated Billy’s nerves slightly. Steve genuinely left on his own?

“Where is home?”

Heather frowned at the lines. “For a musician, he isn’t great with words.”

“HEATHER.”

“Same home as my lady, Robin’s. They complain about their corner of the kingdom often enough,” she retorted while surrendering the note as if it had caught flame. “Good grief. How many months has it been? You really don’t pay attention. Your majesty.”

He grimaced pointedly at her lackadaisical manners this morning, but snatched the page up. The sour expression did not fade as he asked, “Who are you fucking if Robin’s not here?”

Heather’s groggy eyes rolled. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself many times over. You’re not the only one around here with an abundance of energy.”

Fuming and feeling too hot for his clothes, Billy marched back to his chambers, yelling orders about a horse.

* * *

More than one person urged against this decision. The more people who tried to talk him out of it, the more disheartening the whole point of secrecy became. Then again, roaring for the whole castle to hear, might not have been the wisest start.

So he sent a rider in one direction, on some pointless “errand for the king,” while he road in another.

It had been a long time since Billy wore commoners’ clothes. He also did not usually go clean-shaven, but he was a different person now. A lone rider on the king’s road, journeying his way to the edge of the kingdom. Two advisors had urged him to take an entourage, at most his best guardsman—but Billy is the best guardsman. First knight and crown prince under his father, The Tyrant. Every dawn stolen from him until the late king’s passing, utterly devoted to training hard, practicing consistent, and never, never losing.

Until the old bastard finally croaked from pneumonia. How simple. How mortal. And ironic, considering his playboy—rat of my blood—heir paraded around with open shirts whenever he was off duty. Constantly challenging gods and climate to do away with him whenever they wished.

The gods took a different king, though. Billy is the monarch now, and for a while, he will be nobody. A fool searching for his fool, and it was not lost on him how ironic his own death might become. But traveling alone on his own roads did not deter him. He’d been on these highways many times—hell, he’d even been assigned to designing and monitoring the reconstruction of the kingdom’s infrastructure.

His last steps on these roads occurred during the funeral tour for his father. An obnoxious tradition, but he’d made the journey in his first month as king. He wondered if anyone would recognize him now. He’d grown his hair out, and so often adorned his face with nothing less of stubble; often indulging in his own shaving kit to manage his facial hair himself and styled it differently whenever he wished. He liked the way lovers shivered against him when he touched their skin. When the lion pressed his lips against the lamb’s pulse.

He liked applying creams to Steve’s inflamed, beard-burnt skin.

He sighed over his horse’s even, medium paced trot. He was a fool, indeed.

* * *

The only thing keeping Billy from scolding himself for knowing so little about his jester, was the fascination of where he came from. Lady Robin entered court to jeers and teasing over her humble, bumpkin origins—before she rightly debated and venomously talked her way around every gnat who dared flaunt a lower intelligence over her.

Billy knew she and Steve got along, but not how much they had in common. Originating from one of the farming districts was one thing, but specifically the dairy and vineyard region proved a fascinating piece of information.

As well as a gorgeous journey. It took a day and two nights, but forests soon exhaled into rolling hills for lines of grape trees, pastures for cattle, sheep, and goats. Billy knew he was getting closer to the center of it all because grapevines began to line the road, with signs every couple of miles encouraging travelers to eat their fill, along with a number informing how far they were to more accommodating civilization.

The smell of shit and manure dampened the experience, but Billy could not claim ignorance over how his own city smelt during the summer. Even under royal decree that half the fleabags leave the capital in order to minimize summer fever and pestilence, the place still reeked.

The road began to veer down into a lush valley of hills; below was the bustling city of this region, and above stood a number of large homes. One ought to have appeared bigger than the rest, but such shared opulence suggested a wealthy middle class instead of one lord standing above them all. Economically, this was healthier. Socially, Billy felt utterly foreign to this hierarchal shape. His court was an uneven, pyramid hourglass. With himself standing on its point, a bloated pool of lords and deceit, then a strangled middle class before an even bigger pool of lower class just trying to feed themselves. It is a shape which cannot hold itself up, and yet he tirelessly managed it.

It’s not my fault, he defended to nobody. It’s what I inherited.

He pat his horse’s neck, feeling the silken grey fur that drew passersby’s glances. He had a beautiful mount: a grey so vibrant she looked blue under storm clouds. His saddle and bridle were humble; couldn’t very well walk around with his embossed leather saddle or a bridle glittering with the king’s golden medallions on every buckle.

When a woman gazed a little too long at him instead of his horse, Billy eased to a stop and smiled charmingly. “Excuse me, where might I find the House of Buckley?”

She adjusted the basket in her arms to hold it on her hip while she swayed coyly. “Peach-colored house on the hill, sir. May I ask what business you have there?”

“Visiting a friend.” Unless she’s in disguise too.

“Best to wait until evening time. Everyone’s in the market or out in the fields right now.”

Billy tilted his head at her. “Buckley is a noble house.” Nobody is working in the fields from that family—

Then she laughed. Laughed. “Are you from the capital?”

Billy’s charm faltered on his face, but he picked it back up easily enough. “Thereabouts. Why?”

“Because people from the capital believe everyone’s rich. Rich enough to sit or poor enough to not own a chair. We all work here, and we’re all in the market or the fields. I can tell you which are Sir Buckley’s, though.”

The little twit liked being a know-it-all, but it served Billy a great deal to be given the tour. Here, property decided who reigned, and property came in the form of land, livestock, or both. With that came a handful of useful names: Buckley, Hagan, Harrington, Wheel—

Billy’s eyes widened like a cat’s pupils dilating on prey. “STEVE!”

Because…there he was. His Steve, strolling right up the cobbled road from the hills and into the market with a donkey loaded with grape baskets beside him. He hadn’t heard his name, giving Billy the time to absorb every new detail about the man who vanished from his castle.

The white, puffy shirt held close to his body with a waistcoat. High-waisted trousers made his legs look long and lean over workman’s boots. He shoved up the colorful fabric ties around his biceps, holding up the shirtsleeves but failing due to all of the sweat from a day in the sun. A belt sagged a little diagonally around his hips, on which such things as pliers, shears, a garden knife, and a pair of leather and canvas gloves waited for use.

Steve took off a large sunhat and set it on the donkey��s head, combing both of his hands through his voluminous, brown hair—

“Steve!”

Billy began to walk his horse in that direction, having long since dismounted for the courtesy of his guide, but now the latter gripped his arm in warning. “That’s Lord Harrington to you.”

Billy blew a raspberry right into the air, scoffing, “Excuse me?”

The woman rolled her eyes so hard, she would have been thrown into a stockade for behaving like that to—well, to a king. But she let go of him and went on her way, leaving him to his fate.

So off he went. Billy walked his mount over to where a collection of people were attending to the donkey and the grapes, and Steve nodded in discussion with an older man.

“Lord Harrington, I hear?” he crooned in greeting.

Two heads rotated toward him, and Billy felt rather smacked in the face by the matching eyes and nose. Father. This is Steve’s father.

Lord Harrington. Twice over.

Steve’s features opened with shocked eyes and a dropped jaw. His eyes darted to his father’s frown, and Billy quickly backpedaled, “I apologize. I know the younger, but not the older. My name’s Billy Hargrove.”

He’d bowed his fair share as a knight, though the gesture felt far removed since he was out of practice. Never the less, Steve gaped at his king bowing slightly at the hips and extending a hand for Lord Harrington to shake.

Thing about being king, not many people actually know the monarchy’s family name. They knew William the Second. William of the Grove. Some whispered the Second Tyrant, but only because Billy was still young and new to being king. They were waiting for him to prove them right.

Lord Harrington shook his head with a glance at his son. “You didn’t say anyone was coming with you.”

“I didn’t think anyone was,” Steve answered bluntly, but he picked up the gist of Billy’s disguise easily enough. “Billy’s been a big help to me in the capital.”

“How so?”

Billy’s brows lifted, but before he could provide a veiled innuendo, Steve chirped, “Roommates. Got me a job. Kept me fed.”

“I did my best,” Billy crooned. He watched Steve’s apple bob in his throat.

Lord Harrington, with his similar, albeit shorter and silver, hair and weathered skin opened his arm to gesture Billy up the road. “You’ll be our guest, then. I’ll show you along. Are you staying at the inn?”

“No, my lord. I’ve only just arrived.”

“Very good. This way. Steve, remind Roger about the textiles. We’ve sheared the animals twice already this season. He needs to either wash it or sell it. We can’t hold onto it or else it will mold and be useless to barter.”

Billy peeked at Steve, who similarly veered to go on his separate way. He met Billy’s gaze for the briefest second, and he looked…not entirely happy to see Billy.

The king did not like that at all.

* * *

Billy looked around the Harrington estate, taking in every detail that Lord Harrington granted him. He had yet to see an inkling of whatever this emergency could have been to rush Steve out of the capital. Out of Billy’s bed. It made sense, now, why he had left everything behind, since he had a home and full wardrobe waiting for him here. Billy had not seen a glimpse of Lady Buckley, though.

People are supposed to ask my permission to leave, damn it. Or at the very least, inform him first. Not skip town like bandits.

The Harrington house looked out over the estate’s vast hills of grapes, goats, and sheep. It would have been endearing, the farmers using their canes to nudge the goats along the alleys of vines so they could snack on fallen grapes. Endearing, if Steve had been the one to show him all this. Billy wanted Steve next to him on this veranda—if it could be called that. The house and its balconies overlooking the city and hills were much smaller than his castle’s, of course.

Billy did not stay long in his rooms—room. Just a room. You certainly acclimated to luxury, he reminded himself. One of his first orders in the castle had been a complete renovation to his chambers. He would not live in his father’s rooms. Those were turned into a storage branch of the castle, and Billy had several walls knocked down to make way for the new royal apartments. Let the old bastard haunt the broom cupboards.

Billy trotted down the narrow stairs into what felt like an abrupt arrival at the dining room. Further down in the house would be the kitchen but there was a smaller, stewards’ pantry, of sorts, in which a woman stood and rotated upon hearing him. It took a second, but Billy remembered to bow.

“Am I correct in addressing the lady of the house?”

“You are,” smiled Lady Harrington. It came as no surprise that she looked at least ten years younger than her husband, but the blonde hair did catch Billy off guard. She offered her hand, which he took and kissed its back.

“For some reason, I didn’t think Steve took after his father so much.”

“In looks only. He has all his personality from me.”

Billy rocked a little on his heels, humming an acknowledging sound. He certainly did not voice his amusement that she might’ve just revealed more about her marital bed than she meant to. He simply replied, “I believe it. May I ask: Steve and Lady Buckley rushed out with hardly any explanation. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything’s no more out of the ordinary than it usually is,” she began, returning to her task of preparing what looked like a fruit-soaked wine for their dinner. She sliced up apples and peaches with a curved blade and a practiced hand. “However, our ordinary can be quite sudden and busy.”

A different hum came from Billy’s chest at that. “I understand. Is there anything I can do?”

“Well, if you’re offering, you can half those grapes right there.”

Billy sent the wooden bowl of fruit a dubious glance and then laughed breathily, “I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” she smiled. “For now, you can help me prepare the wine.”

A long dead growl moved through Billy’s mind. Woman’s work—

Stay dead, tyrant, Billy hushed with finality. He accepted the spare knife from her and did the task he was given. She couldn’t know that he was who he was, after all. No one in this town apart from Steve knew that Billy could supply the money, machinery, and manpower at a moment’s notice for whatever reason they might need—

Chatter and laughter moved like a reverse echo outside the house, blooming quickly until, of all people, Robin Buckley herself clapped on the stoop of the Harrington’s side door. Open as it is for the breeze to come and go, she waltzed right in, and stopped at the sight of Billy. Her laughter cut off only to be replaced with, “You!”

“Me,” he threw right back. He raised a brow at a woman of the royal court wearing trousers and boots.

Lady Harrington chimed, “Oh, so you are friends.”

Billy peered back at her. “Was there any doubt?”

“Oh, dear, you look like you’ve never worked a field in your life.”

Billy had never heard his jaw hit the floor until that moment. Robin’s chuckle arrived beside him as she ripped off a handful of grapes for a snack. “When did you get here?”

“Not an hour ago.”

“You could’ve stayed put.”

“You’re enjoying this,” he growled, hoping that she heard his meaning through the words. I’m still your king even if no one here knows it.

She smirked, hearing loud and clear. “Steve gave me the heads up.”

He matched her smile, tone dripping with charming venom. “And where is he?”

She shook her head at him, cooing a tone that was both soothing and condescending. “He’ll be around. You’re in…his house, after all. Thanks, Anne.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” came Lady Harrington’s reply, but Billy hardly heard it.

He was in Steve’s house. A lord’s house. Lord Harrington’s house…and Billy was just some nobody.

Robin really was enjoying this too much.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 127: Out of the Fire

At first James thought the concussive, ear-splitting shrieking noise was coming from him. He knew he wanted to scream, but the air felt lodged in his throat now, because he couldn't see Sirius! Had he been vanished into an unknown abyss for dying in this future!?

They were in a very dark room and something massive was moving about, a sunset was forcing painful light into their eyes from cracks around the edges of heavy curtains only illuminating movement but no distinct shape. The rank smell of several unidentifiable things left him gasping and wheezing and he just kept flailing madly around, he wouldn't stop until he found him!

Something painfully tight latched onto his neck and forced him to bend over double, he shrieked in fury, trying to pull away and blindly going for his wand, but he couldn't find it! He must have dropped it when he landed-

"Prongs, stop, moving," Remus hissed in his ear with more stress than he ever would have believed him capable of, hand probably white-knuckled on his neck, he was holding so tight and suffocating him a bit, but it was obvious Moony didn't dare let up.

Heart still thudding, the maddening scene of Voldemort murdering his brother slowly ebbed from his eyes to really take in their surroundings.

Buckbeak finally began to calm now that all racket had deceased, but he was still clicking his beak in fury even as all of them edged as far away as they could bent double. He was standing much taller than usual, and James's eyes finally adjusted to see him perched on a bed. There was fresh hay and sawdust all around, plus a bag of dead rats sitting where the pillows should, leaning against a wooden frame like a mock bag of feed. There were deep scratches in the posts, ruining whatever design had once been inlaid, like Buckbeak often rubbed his sharp beak against it. The real problem of why he didn't go back to his meal came apparent when they saw all the blood around him wasn't from his food, but a deep cut in his front leg.

Sirius finally came into view, and James breathed in relief and tried to move towards him, but Remus kept him in the forced bow with bruising force as Padfoot began gently, "hey there buddy, wow that looks like a problem. I bet it hurts, how'd you manage that huh? Come here Buckbeak, come on, I promise I'll summon up whatever your favorite is if you let me have a look."

Maybe it was the gentle tone, maybe it was the familiarity of the person even if he was several years younger, in Remus's opinion it was just Sirius's innate ability to soothe anyone if he wanted to with that natural charisma when he unleashed it and nobody could resist. Regardless, Buckbeak finally folded his wings and made a pitiful cooing noise as he nudged his head against his shoulder and shuffled forward on three legs while Sirius kept up his inane chatter and carefully climbed up beside him, never moving to fast.

There were already some bandages and cotton balls waiting open and ready at the foot of the king sized bed, Sirius ruddy hoped someone was up here helping the poor thing out. He could now only wish it was himself though, it would be the most useful thing he'd ever done in his life at this point instead of- nope! He was doing it now, taking every care to keep chatting with the hippogriff as he cleaned the wound and wrapped it up tight. He didn't dare draw his wand to try anything else, these beasts were notoriously shy about magic in their presence.

The others began cautiously rising back to normal, and Buckbeak allowed it as Sirius began hand-feeding him from the bag of rats. His tail was still thrashing, binocular vision able to track everything on both sides of his head, but he remained at Sirius's side standing on the bed rather than trying to chase them off, which would do no good, he'd already seen Evans try the door out of the corner of his eye.

James tried edging forward, but Buckbeak spat a dead rat in his face, tearing up his bedding with his good claw as he heavily pawed the ground. Sirius reached up and pat his beak while catching James's eye with the most comforting smile he could offer. "Relax Prongs," his tone was still more honeyed than it had ever been speaking to his best mate, he usually reserved such a thing for teachers he was trying to flatter out of detention. It never worked on anyone but this hippogriff before. "I'm, I'm fine-"

He couldn't keep lying, his voice shook and his fingers began to tremble and the restless animal easily sensed his distress and began ruffling his feathers in unease. Sirius quieted himself and began running his hand along the gray feathers now, stopping to scratch in between the shoulder blades and the back of the neck, those hard-to-reach places that had him almost cooing with content and finally relaxing into him.

No, he was not fine. Of all the trouble he'd ever caused his friends, this was by far the most grievous one yet, now with Harry added to the mix! His godson, his poor godson forced to see this, live Voldemort's pleasure of murdering him! All because he couldn't do one stupid thing right and suck it up in this house. Perhaps he should take a page out of Wormtail's book and start distancing himself from them, give them all a break from his never ending catastrophes!

They watched in distress as Sirius worked himself up to a silent storm, he was clearly making the animal ill at ease as well no matter the affection given, so when Smith grabbed the book up off the ground and began reading, both startled badly yet again. Buckbeak threw his wings to their full extent and shrieked at her while Sirius flinched and had no time to duck, earning the retaliation of being thrown into the heavy curtains and sent them all on top of him, throwing the rest of the room into sharp relief.

Out of the Fire, into the frying pan, Remus finished in his head as he and James rushed forward to help untangle him while the powerful horse legs kicked wildly at the wall, sending a splintering noise in the very foundation while the bellowing shrieks began again.

Alice dropped the book and immediately bowed in apology, mildly appeasing the hippogriff enough he didn't lunge off the bed to attack her at least. He still didn't seem able to settle though, making a keening noise of longing and clicking his beak as he began pacing restlessly on the bed.

It was the most splendid thing in here. The midnight walls had silvery threads in the design up to the ceiling like veins that seemed to seep right down to the canopy that was torn to shreds, but the grandeur ended there. Regulus had only been in here once to even know such a thing was in his parents' room, otherwise it was unrecognizable as all of their things had vanished. They were forbidden from entering, but obviously that hadn't stopped Sirius's purge of the house, which of course made perfect sense why Sirius had put his ruddy pet up here.

His brother smiled, just a bit when his mates got him back on his feet and he realized the same of his own destruction. Regulus longed to throw at him it was doing shit like this why he brought so much of his own troubles on himself, he'd never really tried to make peace with mum and dad. Instead he seemed to go out of his way to do things they dislike just to complain that they hated him.

Regulus cringed at the idea of going back and attempting the same. He'd never be so blatant and in their face at it as his brother, but he didn't much like the idea of them shouting at him the way they did Sirius if he told them he had other plans for his life. He still longed for some kind of peaceful balance.

Potter and Lupin both seemed reluctant to let him back out of arm's length, but the creature refused to settle until Sirius got back on the bed with him and snapped dangerously at anyone who tried to join him. Sirius offered him another rodent carcass and waited until he'd gnashed away at it before nodding back at Smith with that calm aloof air once more he was so familiar with, it was impossible to tell what he was really thinking when he shut down like that, just how they were raised. Mother may actually be proud of him at that moment.

Now his idiot brother was going to die because he'd been in this house too long and refused to listen to anyone, but at least he'd have someone around to notice like Harry and Lupin. The shock of it all felt like an insulting blow to his world view. Sirius was going to be murdered for doing the opposite of what he'd done, was there really no right answer?

She began again in an attempt at a soothing tone like his, and though the bird head was tossed in agitation, he didn't throw his companion aside again but allowed the noise as it did him no harm and her voice was very soft, with fear. She read with dread of poor Harry's panic as he tore off for the Hospital Wing for McGonagall, who wasn't there. She'd been transferred to St. Mungo's.

Harry only had Snape to turn to for help, and that idea didn't seem to be occurring to him as his friends caught up and he had to explain the whole maddening concept to them.

Regulus listened with pity for Harry having to live through this, but something else was ebbing to the surface as he watched the Potter in here. Envy. Sirius kept looking to him, offering him that carefree smile as he kept patting at the beast and even winking at Lupin like this was some joke, making silly faces and even starting to hum a tune under his breath as he continued scratching at the animal, and when he wasn't doing that he was just the haughty Black heir. For all anyone could tell his godson was out having a picnic with him. It was a very good farce a lesser person would have fallen for.

Sirius didn't even look at him. Not to gloat this was the proper way to go against the Dark Lord, not to sneer and mock him for being up in this room he shouldn't be or even to have a laugh about it. He'd known for a very long time now James Potter was his brother's equal in a way he never could be, but this hadn't felt quite so insulting until this very moment where he clearly wasn't even going to be a passing blip as his brother was probably over there pondering what his last thoughts would be.

Frank had his hands on Alice's waist as she read, holding her close as her voice trembled for Harry's pain. They didn't even know Sirius, not really, they felt they had a better understanding of the man he'd become through Harry than the teenager who seemed so determined to ignore the proceedings.

Their aching sympathy though didn't dim their downright confusion at the circumstances. He caught Lily's eyes and saw the same confused expression as she watched him, Hermione's pertinent questions that had no effect on Harry had the three of them very worried something about this wasn't feeling right.

Sirius shouldn't have been leaving this home for this plan to be possible, but this was the same man who'd broken out of Azkaban, that part wasn't so unbelievable no matter who told him what. Why would You-Know-Who need him to get this weapon though? That was a very stumping question, and one they hoped they weren't privy to. If Harry dipped back into the other's mind and heard, the answer would give no relief to these transgressions.

Ron's answer was, plausible, but one look at Regulus didn't make it hold much weight. He'd been killed very soon after his entrance, it seemed laughable he'd even been in You-Know-Who's presence, let alone had some key of knowledge.

Ginny and Luna arriving stopped the impending argument, Harry was so desperate with anger by now that it was a miracle a plan was agreed by all to use Umbridge's fireplace to check this out.

The only one he spoke to for his troubles was Kreacher, laughing about the entire painful situation. Sirius really wasn't there, and now they may get a live version of hearing the great and mighty Black turn out like them if he was tortured while Harry was forced to watch. Neville now being in the very room with them nearly made reality splinter before their eyes.

Lily finally dragged her eyes off of James Potter's white face and buried her own away in her hands so she didn't have to see his reaction when Harry finally remembered Severus Snape was a member of the Order. She didn't even believe anymore he would have helped Harry, she didn't believe much of anything anymore. Here she was, nearly crying in sorrow for these two and only able to imagine her poor son losing someone again, and hating her best friend, what on Earth was this future? How could it be possible something like this could exist?

Something in her sparked traitorously as she looked back up when she heard him lying to Umbridge. Veritaserum was far from the only truth serum, and for him to pretend he wouldn't have any others was laughable. She turned mechanically back to Potter to see his silent screaming was still in full blast, but his wand was in Lupin's hand and he didn't even seem to care. Even the simple fact that he hadn't a reaction for Severus and only had eyes for his best friend felt right to her. If he'd gone about insulting him now, at a time like this, she'd know he was heartless. Instead she was now reasonably confident, almost hopeful again that Severus really was still in the Order for Dumbledore's secret reason rather than any plot of You-Know-Who's. Sev had no reason to lie to Umbridge and help Sirius anymore than he would Harry, but that's exactly what he was doing.

Harry seemed to miss this revelation, he watched his potions teacher go with the purest loathing once more, and she couldn't blame him, after everything Snape had done to her boy. She wrapped her arms around herself as if torn in two. Was this just another false wish then? She still wanted to see in him that childhood friend? It didn't excuse what he'd called her, but maybe if he really saved Sirius Black's life it would show he wanted to change...

Alice nearly shrieked and wanted to throw the book away from herself when Umbridge's next solution was to use the torture curse on Harry. Buckbeak was still no calmer in the heavy environment and glowered at her, but Sirius was quick to keep his attention, a murmuring promise of more spoils for him as soon as he could. He was starting to lose his composure though, they could all see the cracks now. He wasn't even looking at his best mate anymore, his fingers were trembling in the soft texture and his hair was covering most of his face.

The two had once been each other's salvation in escaping Hogwarts, Sirius fought the mad desire to try so now. Throw open that window and ride off into the sunset on the back of the hippogriff, maybe animals could come and go from this nightmare.

He knew he couldn't though, he felt like a coward for even thinking it. His friends might be better off without him, but damn it all, even Hermione was coming up with quite the story to Umbridge's face and got Harry out of that situation, the three of them heading off to the Forbidden Forest! If that girl, who hadn't even wanted to help him moments ago, thinking Harry was having some nightmare, could manage that, he'd suck it up and be there for them any way they wanted him.