#part 1 is coming soon!!

[walnutmistjamie]

Jamie being cute (3/?)

[icewindandboringhorror]

HAPPY 16TH BIRTHDAY!!! To this elderly bapy boye!!! he...!!!

[wyvernity]

wip posting just to get something out there, and it's def a mixed bag!! the only thing more inconsistent than my posting schedule is my art style RIP

[zepskies]

✍🏽 Writing Update

Hi friends!

If you follow this regularly scheduled program, you'll probably already know that I'm gearing up to start posting the new Russell Shaw (Tracker) series that will continue A Line and a Half, called Every Second Counts (next week!).

I also have a three-part story coming up for the Midnight Espresso-verse! ☕

It's going to see the return of Carter, the reader's ex-douchebag boyfriend. This will also be part of the "fix it" to 15.20, and will take place in that episode. (Thank you @siampie for stoking the flames of this idea!)

I'm still debating on when to start posting this one, either alongside or after Every Second Counts, but we'll see! Just wanted to let you guys know that it's coming up. 😘

Dream With Me

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized!Reader (Latina)

Summary: When your ex-boyfriend calls for help on a case, you have a tough decision to make. But Dean isn’t going to let you do anything alone. (AKA: The last hunt you, Sam, and Dean will ever go on together.)

👀 Sneak Peek:

Part 1 - "On the Drop of a Dime"

“Look…I’m the Job, you know? What the hell would I even do if not this?” he says.

You reach for his hand and lay a kiss over his knuckles. You know he thinks being a hunter is all he’s good for—all he’s equipped to do. You also know that he’s so much more than the Job. 

“Dean, you’re one of the smartest, most resourceful people I know. You can…restore cars, build cars,” you suggest. Your excitement grows as you brainstorm for him. You tap on his thigh.

“Oh! You could open up a bar. Call it the Roadhouse, after the one your friends had. Or hey, we could open up a bakery. We’ll sell pies and flan and whatever the hell else you want me to make.”

You say that last bit with a giggle. It earns his smile, but you know, looking into his eyes, that he’s not convinced. You grab his hand again with both of yours.

“Come on, Dean. Dream with me for a second,” you implore. “I know we could do this. We could…we could have a different life. A peaceful life. We could have a family.”

Dean sighs, glancing down at his hands. They’re calloused and scarred, and he has the memories to match.

Coming on 6/30…

[mrfrogz]

Mistletoe (Sova x Gender Neutral Reader)

Hey guys! Time to bless(or curse) everyone with my second oneshot on here :) I did write this a long time ago, but better late than never lol. Again, it was first posted on my Ao3 so if you're interested please click here! As a side note, I'm sorry if any of the Russian translations are wrong, I used Google Translate. This oneshot will have a part 2 (a very spicy one at that) but I'm not sure when I'll post it :( But I hope you guys enjoy the part one! ____________________

Sova recently gained an injury on a..less than successful mission with Kingdom. It was a minor one, there was no need to worry about his life. However, it left him out of the action for at least two weeks. You, being more of a "behind the scenes" person than a fighter, kept Sova company. So far one week had passed and you two became closer than before. You and Sova were always friends, but now with you occasionally tending to his injury and always keeping his spirits high, you two got even closer.

It was the start of his second week in recovery when you had decided to teach Sova all about the classic Nintendo video games. Considering he never got free time and whenever he did, he was busy tinkering with his bow, you thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to help him relax. You had gone over the classic Mario games and were about to start on the first Zelda game when you two decided to take a break for lunch. You had been cooking for the both of you but today Sova wanted to go out; he would pay, of course, he never let you or anyone else pay for that matter. You were zipping up your boots and Sova was putting on his jacket when he asked…

"любовь, where's your favorite place to dine?" Recently, he's adopted that nickname for you. You had no clue what it meant, and he wouldn't tell you. He did, however, reassure you that it was something very positive and he smiles each time he calls you that. So, that was good enough for you. For now.

"Sov, I've already told you that we can eat wherever you want. You're paying for it after all!" You smiled up at him before standing. He had asked you that multiple times already, clearly not backing down.

"I know that, but I want you to enjoy it as well." Sova opened the door for you, gesturing for you to walk through with his other hand. You did so, while shaking your head playfully.

"As long as I'm with you, I'll enjoy it." It was a bit more forward than you intended but you still meant it. You could've sworn you saw Sova's pale face go a bit pink, but you shrugged it off. After a few minutes of silence, with Sova realizing you truly didn't care where the two of you went, you had arrived in the busy downtown. It was cold out, as it was right in the middle of December. It wasn't snowing yet, however yesterday's snow was still all over the place: the ground, buildings, cars. Wherever it could get, the snow was there. You were shivering slightly, despite the hat, gloves, and jacket that Sova insisted you wore. You didn't do so well in the cold, Sova was the complete opposite. Sova glanced at you, frowning seeing your nose slightly red.

"Are you okay, любовь?" He inquired, taking off one of his gloves and cupping your cheek. He was feeling how cold your face was. You couldn't help but flush from the action, avoiding his piercing eyes. Sova just frowned more, rubbing your cheek gently with his warm fingers. "We should get you inside, Y/N. You're freezing."

You gently shook your head, not wanting the feeling of his rough skin on yours to go away. Instead you smiled unsurely. It was true; you were freezing, however you didn't want to go anywhere Sova didn't want. "I'll be alright, don't worry about me." He merely scoffed lightly and grabbed your hand, pulling you into the nearest restaurant. Which actually wasn't a restaurant at all. Instead, it was a small café. You relaxed at feeling the warmth from the heating system. You felt a lot better already. Sova smiled seeing you relax, gently letting go of your hand once more. You had to hold in a frown at that action, wanting his touch once more. You had a hard time admitting it to yourself, but you had grown a small crush on the Russian man standing next to you. You had tried to convince yourself that it wouldn't become anything more than a stupid heat-of-the-moment thing, but his caring and protective nature just made you fall deeper and deeper into his spell.

"Y/N!" Sova called, already sitting down at a table. You shook off your thoughts, making your way to your seat across from him. "Lean forward." He said, providing no other explanation. You were taken aback, raising your eyebrow.

"Excuse me? Why?" You replied, not moving. You took your gloves off and set them on the table, seeing Sova abandon his.

"I wanna feel you." Sova remarked, not seeing anything wrong with that sentence. You, however, having read many a fanfiction choked at that statement. Your mind immediately went to a different place, and your face flushed once more. However, this time it was bad enough that it spread to your ears. Sova, not realizing the implications he provided, tilted his head slightly. "любовь, why is your face red? Are you alright?"

After you calmed down your thoughts, you nodded your head a bit. "I-I'm fine Sov…here." You leaned forward a bit, not bothering to ask for more explanation. He smiled softly and gently stuck his hand out, feeling your forehead and then your cheeks. Without fail, you flushed once more. However this time, you managed to look Sova in the eyes. As he cupped your cheek, the two of you made eye-contact.

"You feel much warmer now, Y/N. I'm glad." After a quick second of you two staring at each other he brought his hand back down. Sova then looked around a bit before standing up. "милый, what do you want to drink and eat? Like I said before, I'm paying." You tilted your head slightly at the new nickname.

"That ones new…what does it mean?" You asked, ignoring his own question for a second. "And hot chocolate and a bagel please," Then you responded. You could see his blue eye gleam for a second before he smirked. That smirk that made your knees weak.

"Darling." He said blatantly before walking off to get in line, leaving your face red once again. You shook your head. He didn't just say that, right? Surely you must just be imagining things. Still, you couldn't get the way he said that out of your mind. Darling. And he was saying that to you! Unfortunately, this train of thought was interrupted.

"любовь! Whipped cream or no?" Sova asked, looking over at you from the line. You nodded your head shyly, embarrassed by your own thoughts. Sova also nodded in response and turned back to the cashier. You were easily brought back into your thoughts though. Why did he call you darling? Was it just a friendly term in Russia? Or…did he…No, he couldn't. You weren't brave enough or 'cool' enough for him to share the feelings you have for him. Or so you thought.

"He keeps making my head spin…" You mumbled, looking down at the table, running your hands through your hair. Unbeknownst to you, a certain tall Russian archer was staring at you, wishing he was the one running his hands through your hair. He cleared his throat once he made it to the table, setting your hot chocolate and already cream-cheese filled bagel down in front of you. This took you out of your thoughts and you looked up. Smiling, you said, "Thank you, Sov." He smiled back, with a slight nod of his head. He went back to his side of the table, setting down his cup of coffee.

"Of course Y/N, anything you want I shall get you." He laughed afterwards, but you couldn't help the faint blush that formed on your face. Sova took a long sip of his coffee, and you looked down at your bagel.

"Did you spread the cream cheese for me?" You asked, looking back up at Sova. It seemed his pale skin went faintly pink, just like earlier. You were surprised by this, because you really thought he didn't share any feelings. Maybe it was just a fluke…

Sova finished sipping his coffee and shyly nodded his head. "I did, милый. I hope you don't mind." He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. You felt your body heat up. There that word was again. Darling. You avoided looking at Sova as much as he did looking at you.

"I-It's fine, I really appreciate it." Still, you smiled as some form of thanks. The two of you finished your drinks, laughing occasionally at some joke one of you made. It was nice, escaping the cold and enjoying some quality time. It almost, felt like a date? No, you were just making things up. After you finished and put your gloves on, Sova stood up. He extended his arm for you to take, smiling.

"Shall we?" He asked and you took his arm, nodding your head.

"We shall." You two started walking out of the café like some Victorian couple, until Sova suddenly stopped. He looked up and a smirk slowly made its way to his lips. You tilted your head and looked up as well, raising an eyebrow.

Sova spoke up after a minute. "омела…Mistletoe." He looked back to you, smirking and gently cupping your cheek in his gloved hand. "May I kiss you, любовь?" He asked in a soft voice, looking into your eyes.

Needless to say, you were in shock. The moment you've been dreaming of is finally happening and you stared at the other's lips. "W-Why?" You asked, biting your lip.

Sova tilted his head and chuckled nervously. "Why? What do you mean, why? I want to kiss you, and we're under mistletoe. I thought..that's what happens?" He asked, seemingly just as confused as you.

You avoided looking at Sova, afraid he was just doing this because of some tradition. "I-If you don't wanna kiss someone, you don't have to even when under mistletoe." You explained, a little disappointed that he might not actually want to kiss you.

Sova chuckled softly and shook his head. "I do, I do want to kiss you." He gently stroked his thumb against the softness of your cheek. "I have, for a while I must confess. But I was afraid of coming on too strong."

You raised an eyebrow, a bit amused that he was afraid of coming on too strong. "And calling me darling isn't too strong?"

That earned another chuckle out of the Russian man standing before you. Luckily, nobody came in or out while the two of you were having this moment. Talk about buzz kill. He shrugged, "Friends can do that, right? I hear people say it all the time, I figured it was subtle."

You shook your head with a smile and gently flicked Sova's forehead. "Sov, no. It makes me flustered every time, you think I took it as something friendly?" You asked. "But then you just treat me as a friend so.." You trailed off.

"I suppose so..But I don't see you as just a friend. You're someone who I want to love. When the Earth turns into a frozen wasteland, I want it to be you who's by my side." He smiled. "So, let me ask you again. May I kiss you, любовь?"

You just nodded your head, going on your tip-toes in order to reach Sova's lips. He gently connected your lips to his, being so gentle and soft with his motions. All of the butterflies in your stomach exploded and you melted into Sova's hands. One arm of his moved to the top part of your waist and you could tell he was smiling in the kiss. It was truly a magical moment between the two of you. After what felt like a glorious eternity, Sova pulled away.

"You're a very good kisser, милый." He smirked softly. "I should've asked sooner, if I was to experience heaven without ever dying." He flirted, followed by a soft chuckle.

Your face, naturally, flushed and you avoided eye contact. You let out a nervous chuckle, and your heart was beating a million miles an hour. "Let's just leave before we block someone's way out, okay?" You said, opening the door and walking out with Sova following you, snickering under his breath. He grabbed your hand and held it, smiling.

"Does this mean you'll be my date to the Christmas party?" He asked, squeezing your hand gently. "If so, what color do you want to show up in? Brimstone told me that all the couples are gonna show up in matching colors."

You pretended to think about it, tapping your finger against your chin comically before breaking cover and laughing. "Yes of course I'll go with you! And what about green? It's my favorite color." You smiled.

Sova nodded his head. "Green..okay, I'll have to remember that. But thank you for going with me." He brought the back of your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it even if you were wearing gloves.

"Of course, who else would I go with? After all, you're the first one to make out with me in a café. Yoru was a close second." You joked, shrugging nonchalantly.

Sova rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by your joke. "Yoru? What did the 'oh-so-great shadow walker' try on you? Makes sense he didn't have the balls to kiss you though, he's nothing more than a трусливый." He scoffed, mumbling what you assumed were curses in Russian.

You playfully ruffled Sova's hair, standing on your tip-toes as you did so. "Oh hush, he didn't do anything. I was just messing with you. You're the only one to have kissed me out of the group." You reassured him. "And I hope it stays that way." You smiled.

Sova seemed to regain his confidence with your reassurance. "Of course it will! I've just caught the prized prey, I'm not letting you go until I take my last breath." He smiled back, giving your hand another gentle squeeze.

You raised an eyebrow. "I'm your prey, huh? I always knew you had a primal kink." You joked, laughing softly.

Sova merely smirked and hummed softly. "Oh, you have no idea little one."

[simpscripts]

Say My Name ( Bernard the elf x Reader)

Part 1 of Naughty or nice series, Smut next chapter, 18 +, Nsfw, Brat reader, afab reader, she/her reader pronouns

Summary: You decide to skip out on work and mess with your favorite head elf.

The snowy village was peaceful as you sat outside the small cocoa cafe waiting for your drink. You loved this blissful moment in the last moments of November before the holiday season swept everyone into a frenzy. From your spot you can see the front of the workshop, plenty of elves coming and going with a few loitering outside in groups planning their game of tinsel football. A few shops also had some elves bringing out their big Christmas decorations out early to start prepping. It was calm and happy, no stress yet with all the hope and excitement of the month to come. This moment was special and warmed your heart. A moment you doubted the others even noticing it happening every year like clockwork.

The calm was a nice ritual but is only one reason why you snuck out of your office. You knew here soon it would be too busy for you or any other elf to be anything less than perfect at your jobs. So one last opportunity to hopefully mess around with the very busy head elf you loved to tease was the top priority right now.

You take in the calm while you can though, knowing sooner rather than later he will come find you. The waitress comes by delivering your cocoa and you take a moment to admire the whipped cream and sprinkled mug before taking a sip. The cocoa warmed your veins, sugar giving you the energy you’ll need here shortly. Then you heard his voice clear as a bell from across the square.

“Not now, Curtis!”

Looking up you spot him charging down the steps of the workshop, head flicking frantically side to side as Curtis ran alongside him, desperately trying to keep up. Curtis spots you first and freezes to watch this play out, quickly giving up whatever purpose he needed Bernard for. You watch with your head resting on your palm until you see the head elf himself freeze as he spun around and catches your gaze from across the way. You reach your other hand up to give a simple wave and a cheeky grin, which is all he needed to push himself out of his trance as he continues his path over to you.

“You’re supposed to be working, not drinking coffee, does Santa pay you to drink coffee?” He says sarcastically after he stopped his march and crossed his arms.

“Oh, hey Bartholomew.” You toss to the side without taking your eyes away from the beautiful whipped cream towered mug in front of you.

“Bernard.” He spit out with a curt click of his teeth. “You have several reports I have yet to see on my desk, and you didn’t request a break. So you need to stop drinking your coffee and Get. To. Work.”

You smirked to yourself, taking a short sip of your mug letting the tall tower of whip cream coat your upper lip and skin. You loved riling him up, and it was so easy to do with him. His eyes scrunched up, his voice cracked with the volume he reached sometimes, and his cheeks became flushed the angrier he got. You had a tiny tree you decorated in his honor on your work desk with each little bobble a different shade of red for each stage of his anger.

“Don’t get your stockings in a twist there Bernie.” You smiled before turning to face him. Your chest always bubbled in excitement when you see him in his usual grumpy stance with hands on his hips. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, or you wanted a new red ornament to adorn your tree to commemorate another special memory between the two of you, but you knew you were going to try to push him to his limits today.

“And you do know it’s hot chocolate not coffee right? You should really get those old eyes of yours checked out.” You finished with licking up the whip cream before letting your tongue drag slowly back inside your mouth.

Your cheeks burned with happiness watching his eyes narrow in on your action, his face flaring a shade darker, and chest rising with deep breaths that flared his nostrils. Your whole body already wanted to celebrate but you had to keep it cool to push him to his breaking point. So much restless energy flowed through you already that you have to push it all down to wiggling your toes excitedly inside your plush boots.

“My name is Bernard, we have known each other for centuries, and we are the exact same age.” He grinds out once more, voice raising in pitch. “You will give me the production and quality reports I need by the end of today or else Y/N.”

“Or else what, Baxter?” You beamed up at him, realizing that he has inched closer to you and now towers over your sitting form.

“For the love of snowballs its Bernard! You need to get back to work, respect your superior elf by calling me my correct name, or I will bring you straight to Santa and let him deal with you.” He starts leaning down to get in your space.

You watched as the light snowfall collected on his hat, tips of his ears, and nose. Your own nose tickled at the soft minty breath that fanned across your face as he spoke, it warmed your heart a bit more knowing he indulged in some candy canes in secret today. You have caught him in the past hiding around corners to have his candy breaks, scrambling to hide the evidence whenever you jumped out.

Your breath always hitched a bit whenever he heated up like this and you craved it. This was still just a small altercation and you couldn’t wait to push and push until he popped like a jack in the box.

“Make me” You quickly stuck a finger into the mug and scooped a bit of the whipped cream before smashing it into his nose and dragging the cream covered digit down his lips, chin, and neck. “Barney.”

“For Frosty’s sake!” He snaps before roughly grabbing your waist and with a surprising amount of strength that makes you yelp, he pulls you over his shoulder.

“Jeez calm down Blaine, and theres really no need to drag Frosty into this, the poor snowball has been through enough.” You chirp as he bounces you along through town towards the workshop. Despite all the fun you’re having, you still take the opportunity to hide in his curly hair to avoid the stares of all the other elves. The younger ones were drawing more attention to you with their snickers and ooo’s. Most are acclimated to this sort of reaction when the two of you are involved together but with the war path he carves through the snow paved town they knew you were being nothing short of naughty.

“Isn’t Santa supposed to be gone taking Ms. Claus on a trip before the holiday season?” You mutter out, anything to distract yourself from the knot in your stomach. Every part of your skin tingled like frost in the way his arm wrapped around your waist, fingers kneading into your stomach. His other hand clung to one of your legs just above the knee to keep you from fleeing or kicking.

“He got back this morning and has had plenty of time to unpack. Now he can deal with you.” He grounds out, voice evident of his growing frustration.

“Jolly old Nick loves me Bailey! That big old softy can’t even hammer a toy correctly in fear of breaking it.” You yelp out an oof as he jostles you around roughly at yet another nickname you’ve presented.

“Luckily as top elf I can and will break it as long as I have his expressed permission to do so.” His hand flexes around your leg once more, sliding a bit more up the leg as he tries to get a better grip with your wiggling.

Your thighs instinctively clenched and your gut was pulsing from the way he grabbed onto you. You were faced once again to acknowledge the slight crush you’ve been harboring for centuries. Your mind is running laps in this close moment, nose being overwhelmed with his slight cinnamon scent as he pulls you through the workshop. You no longer care about the stares as your mind drifts off to fantasize and think about the surprisingly strong elf carrying you.

You’re more than guilty for stirring up trouble for him just to have the chance to speak to him. Although you report to him its usually just a brief moment of contact before he zooms off to be the strict, serious, and hardworking head elf he takes prides in being. The more you teased him, skipped out on work, and lead him on a series of chases meant the more time you got to spend with him.

You prided yourself a bit on helping him earn his strict reputation, most of the elves being scared straight just by seeing his most strict moments when he reprimanded you. He wasn’t just a hard gumball all the time though. He only gets so worked up because he cares, more than any elf you ever met, about Christmas. His bossiness just came with a deep need of it all to go right but you could always see the care behind his actions despite his angry tones and fell more in love every time.

Even with your bratty elf behavior he always gave you a beautifully wrapped gift every year. Always hand made and always perfect. Whatever current hobby you indulge in, books you are reading, or food you craved he always got something completely perfect for you. You hoped it was a small sign he didn’t truly harbor any frosty feelings towards you.

Your mind started twisting from nice to naughty fairly quick the more his hands squeezed. Now most of your wiggling was to shake away the tingling need begging for attention which only caused him to squeeze more.

Suddenly he pulled you back to the ground right in front of ‘the big mans’ ornate wooden door. Your heart clenched as his hands pulled away from your hips, your dreaming hazed state hoping it wasn’t just you imagining his fingers lingering for a moment. You didn’t have to endure the madness of his skin leaving yours though, as he quickly wraps his hand around your wrist and leans down to stare you in your eyes.

“You have been acting up nearly every day the past month so you are going to go in there and tell him everything you have done.” He clipped through some heavy huffs most likely from caring you the whole way.

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m 200 and why do I have to be the one to tell him?”

“Because I’m head elf and my seniority means you have to listen to everything I tell you to do.” The more he bosses you around the more your mind clouds with dirty thoughts of listening to some different commands from him.

Without giving him a response you knock on the door and walk in with the call of puppets screaming to enter. You quickly bounce in as nice as sugar, twirling the bells adorning your skirt, and toss a wave towards Santa. Bernard marches in and stands tall right in front of Santa’s desk, ready to exert his rank. You happily slide up next to him and give him a small jab of your elbow.

“Uh oh.” The puppets immediately call seeing you and Bernard enter, causing Santa to laugh brightly.

“Oh Ho Ho, its never a good sign that both of you are here.” Santa chuckled, sparing a glance at Bernard and raising his eyebrows at the state the elf was in. “So what squabble brings the two of you here again?”

“I’ve been nothing but Jolly to him I swear Santa.” You smile brightly before leaning in. “And can I just say that you look positively glowing with that tan. We should put you at the top of the tree this year.”

“Rednoser.” Bernards quickly coughs out before looking to the side and up.

“Carol killer.” You snip back at him just as quickly under your breath.

“Blizzard box” He shoots back.

“Tinsel tool!” You raise your voice as you both continue slinging insults.

“Toy Twat!” He pivots his view from Santa to stare you down.

“Stocking sniffer!”

Both of you start raising your voices in unison, throwing insults and yelling every thought that can cram its way out of your throats. The volume in the room triples as the puppets start mimicking your fighting and start smacking each other with rolling pins.

“Hey stop it, everyone stop right now!” Santa’s voice cuts through, lacking any real bite but filled with exasperation. Every one takes a moment to collect themselves as Santa stares at both of you while rubbing a hand through his beard.

“Oh boy, those were some new ones. I really hope the younger elves don’t hear those.” Santa hums to himself quietly for a bit in contemplation before sighing and leaning back in his chair.

You shoot a quick glance at Bernard a shoot him a smirk as Santa makes a series of contemplating noises as he rubs his temples.

“Bernard do I really have to deal with this, I just got back and haven’t even taken my boots off, and I need to check on Mrs. Clause.” Santa huffs out in a plea.

“Of course not Santa, I just need your permission to deal with her.” Bernard easily slips back into his head boy pose.

“Alright but it’s officially Christmas season and I really need you both to work together so please go easy on her. Oh and go somewhere private, I don’t need the rest of the elves distracted by your boxing match or to hear your colorful language.” He ends with a chuckle.

“Of course, thank you very much Santa.” Bernard quickly nods and grabs your hand before pulling you out with him.

“And Y/N don’t try to shove a snowball down his pants again!” Santa calls out quickly.

“No promises!” You shout back before stumbling to keep up with Bernards pace.

The march to presumably his office is quiet besides the thud of shoes on the floor as he pulls you down hallways. His silent anger was frightening you just a bit so you decided to poke the bear a bit more for a reaction that would end this silence.

“Brad you really need to slow down!”

His grip on your hand tightens but for now he keeps quiet.

“You heard Kringle, you should be nice to me. I think your heart may be two sizes too small Ben.”

Again no response and the silence was starting to gnaw at you. You were desperate to be acknowledged by him, anything was better than silence.

“Bill? Did you hear me?” Nothing, the fear and guilt start climbing your throat.

“Bob?” Your hands are getting sweaty.

“Benedict!” You finally scream while taking note of how fast your approaching his office door.

“Son of a nutcracker!” He finally screams out, yanking open his door and pulling you in quickly.

“You know my name Y/N! You snarky sarcastic sadistic snowflake! We have know each other over 1,000 years and you still don’t call me, your superior, by my proper name!”

You relished in a brief moment of happiness when he spoke again but it quickly corrupted to a warmth spreading through you again as he paced in front of you. Every time he spared a glance in between each turn of pace his eyes bore into your own, melting away your resolve and making your legs shift under his gaze.

As he slowed his pacing down he leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply as he glared at you. Every muscle in his body looked tense as he awaited whatever snarky comment you were constructing in your mind. Usually your quick wit would take over but your eyes stayed glued to his teeth gnawing on his lip. You sat back against his desk unable to speak, pushing yourself up to sit on the flat surface.

After a few moments he pushed off the wall and approached you, step by step. Finally his legs stopped a breath away from your knees, so close the fabric of his pants brushed past your skin as he shifted his weight back and forth. He breaths out a huff, lowering his eyes to be at level with your own, and boxes you in with his hands resting at either side of your thighs.

Your lungs ceased working, time froze as you waited for him to talk. You’re left with endless amount of time focusing on how cold the room suddenly felt, goosebumps pricking your skin and air bubbles clogging the back of your throat. Your pelvic floor was clenching and it caused a pressure too sharp and needy for you to handle, and you’re quickly trying to unclench and relax.

“What do I have to do to get you to respect me?” His voice came out low, frustrated, and coarse.

Before you knew you even opened your mouth, the words tumbled from your lips. “Make me.”

[flowercrowngods]

shattered on the cliff’s edge, trapped by the tides

Summary: Steve Harrington, disgraced and disowned by his father for moral insanity, has been haunted by eerie dreams of a mysterious lighthouse ever since he was a little boy. His lighthouse quickly turns from recurring night terror to gruesome reality when his superior delegates him to fix the broken light and be the new keeper.

With only his clothes and a pocket watch that only ever shows the correct time twice a day, Steve makes his way up north. Robin, his wife for appearance’s sake, said to meet him there. But Robin never makes it, and Steve soon finds himself trapped in cold, whispering loneliness.

The locals claim that the lighthouse is haunted, cursed, and Steve — followed and plagued by terrible murmurs urging him to leave while he can, and faced with what can only be the ghost of a former keeper — is inclined to agree.

part 1 | part 2

or: read on ao3

[arcanegifs]

Caitvi Scenes: 9/? ↳ "I'm sure our daughter could use some rest after her adventures?"

[sturnsyaper69]

Too much for you.

☆~ Chris and y/n meet for the first time at a carnival, were chris, and his brothers Matt and Nick were meeting up with a group of friends that brought more of their friends along. Later in the night, you and Chris build a strong bond, and you end up losing your viginity to each other that night. But you never thought you would see him again. Right?....

Warnings: swearing, smutt, pet names, virginity loss, drinking, drugs, unprotected sex, p in v, making out.

ALSOO BEFORE YALL START THIS IS MY FISRT SMUTT PLEASE GO EASY ON ME ALSO NOT THE BEST AT SPELLINGG

Your eyes light up as you step foot in the carnival. Your vision is filled with flashing lights and loud music screams and sounds of people having fun. The air was warm and smelt of corn dogs and cotton candy. "Holy shit this place is fucking huge" Cody let's out loudly. Cody has been your friend for as long as you can remember since primary, but oh, was he a character. he loved girls smoking and sex and he wasn't afraid to hide it. I giggle at his remark as he smiles at me. "So y/n what ride you eyeing up?" I point at a roller-coaster and begin yapping about how fun it looked "and- Cody Cody?" I say turning around to see him eyeing up a girl in a revealing outfit I roll my eyes "well looks like I found my ride for tonight" he says winking at me before walking over to her "Hey baby" his voice fades into the distance "okay nick texted and said there paying now" Kaleb says Kaleb is also gay say I asume him and nick would have somthing in commen. "Good I don't wanna wait here all fucking night" Rebecca snarls "oh shut up they won't be long" mya whines in meet with my other friends giggling and talking.

"Oh there they are," Kaleb says, putting his phone away as they approached us. I stare at them, walking over it was dark, and I couldn't see their full faces. "Oh my godd kalebb," nicks whines, giving Kaleb a big hug before chris and Matt dap up tjay and Cody basically most of the boys there. I have met Nick but not Matt or Chris before. I smile at Nick and hug him "hii nickk, I love you outfit." He smiles and looks at me "thanks y/n your fit look so cute!" he says smiling before wondering off. I see Matt walking up to me and I smile the lights bright so I see his face he was very handsome I mean nick was so they all where probably. He smiled and me. "Hey y/n? Is it?" Matt asks, giving me a hug "yeah! It is, and Matt? Is it chris?" I say giggling, not sure "yeah it's Matt. " Haha, he giggles before being called over to Rebecca. I hear a whine in the distance.

"Hmm?" The lights turn off, and everything goes black again. I see a figure walking up to me. "Oh hii nick is that you I can't see anything" his figure walked up to me stopping in front of Me he was tall and had a wide frame in golfing mine as he moved towards me as soon and I saw his figure I knew it wasn't nick or anyone I already mett "it's chris sweetheart" my heart kind of skipped a beat at his voice I gain my words back "ohh right sorry my mind went blank" I say giggling as he moved closer to me "oh its fine just a mistake" he say hugging me tightly. He smelt fresh, clean and had a fucking delicious Cologne on. I felt him breath in heavily he almost whispered slightly "mhm you smell nice, like candy " he says, chuckling slightly breaking the hug as he took a step back the light slowly turned back on and I almost fucking collapsed. He was the hottest boy I had ever seen in my life. His eyes were an icy blue, and he had perfect lips that sat so nicely. I wanted to kiss them right then and there. He had a silver chain that sat under his neck. His cheek bones tense as his eyes widen. His eyes trace over every inch of my face. He swaolled deeply as his Adam's apple strained through his neck, and his jaw clenched. I looked away, trying not to make the situation awkward, but he didn't look away from me. I felt his eyes scan me like lasers, that burnt right through me. "Fuck." He mutters just quiet enought for me to hear "what's wrong.. I know this is kinda awkward" I say looking up at him seeing him walk closer towards me "nothing I haven't been better your.... so beautiful" I blush slightly "thanks you chris you are very handsome yourself" I smile cheekily "come on let's go on a ride" he says smiling taking my hand as we giggle and run towars the rides.

Hours go by of me and chris having fun and building connections. We all leave and are in the nearly empty parking lot. "That was fucking amazing" nick says to the whole group "I don't know about you guys but tonight's just getting started "Matt say while holding Rebecca's waist before kissing her neck "yeah im not going home anytime soon" chris chimes in smiling at me "I mean Im down for yall to sleep over?" Kaleb says "YESSSS" Nick yells, and the whole group yells in excitement. "yayyy, you can sleep over, chriss!!," i say exited "YAAYYYY" chris says, tickling Me slightly, going hyper like he did all night. We all hope into our car, and Nick chris and Matt go into there's. "See you soon y/n" chris says smiling at me, as he hops into his car. We arrive home, and we all hope out. It's clear Matt and Rebecca are love birds, and they rush inside making out and go into Rebecca's room, slaming the door shut. I turn to chris and luagh he rolls his eyes "disgusting" he says pretending to throw up. I laugh at him "your so funny, chris," I say, and I walk up to the door as he holds it open. "After you malady," he says before walking in after me.

It's getting late, probably about 12:50, but you and Chris are still hitting it off. You guys have a lot in common, like loving animals and music taste. You guys watched the conjuring and ate a bunch of snacks. It's now 1:49 a.m., and you guys just stopped playing gta and fortnite. I luagh at one of his jokes as he smiles at me deeply "you know I really Like you y/n I feel like we're really building deeper connections" chris say meaningly I smile at him warmly "me too Chris I really love your personality and skmthing about you is beautiful. Not just on the outside but the inside, too. " Chris's eyes widen, and his hand rests on his chest."Whoa. No one has ever said something , meaningfully to me. Thank you so much, y/n." He smiles beautifully his teeth white as pearls as he stands up "arnt you getting tierd" he yawns "noo but we can go in my room if you want" I say "yeah im not tierd I just want to go to your room" he giggles.

Me and chris are lying on my bed when his phone dies he puts it on the dresser "tonight was fun as fuck" he says turning to me "yeah it was and it seemed like Matt and Rebecca really blew it off" I say smiling at him "he giggles "yeah she definitely blew it off" he laughs "so immature" I say nudging his giggling at his joke. After a while of silence "y/n"

"Yes chris?"

"Can I ask you a question. A personal one."

I swallow deeply, looking at chris to him, already looking at me. He smiles softly before his face drops back to a serious look.

"Yeah what is it"

"Have you ever.. like, have you ever had sex?"

My eyes widen as he says this. I stutter, "I never have.. have you?" I say, looking at him

He's already staring at me I turn away once again trying to avoid making ot awkward but his I can feel him staring at me "No I haven't ither" he says still staring "look at me y/n." I turn back to him being meet with him burning gaze "can I ask you a question" I say staring ar him "yeah you can ask me anything" he says staring intensely at me "have you ever kissed a girl before" he smirks and chuckles "yeah I have alot actually" he winks at me "what about you?" I smile slightly."No one, I've never really done anything like that. " he looks at me."What about porn. Do you watch it?" He says with his hand holding the headboard. His expression looked restless, and he never took his eyes off me. "I mean sometimes," I say, biting my lip giggling "whoaa dirty girl," he says, nudging me as he moves closer to me. "y/n." "Yeah.." I say, looking up at him. His lips above mine. "Do you want to lose our virginitys to each other?" I can't say anything but moan in response. He smirks and his lips come crashing down onto mine as he collapses ontop of me his legs squirm recklessly as his tounge plunges deep into my mouth cuasing me to moan loudly but he keeps going grinding his tounge on mine enjoying himself. His lips moving with mine I grind my tounge onto his and he groans his eyebrows furrow and he moans into my mouth and his hands touching me all over. he breaks the kiss gasping for air "baby tell me what to do to make you feel good" he says taking his shirt off then mine admiring my bare skin. His fingertips run along my cool skin. "Just please touch me please" I say begging him my hands all over his chest as he growled he dropped low and kissed my stomach making me whine my body covered in goosebumps. He stared up at me as he slowly took my pants off then my underwear leaving me in just a bra "come on sit up let me see your beautiful body" he says unhooking my bra with one hand as his other one support my back. My bra dropped leaving me fully naked. He groaned as he kissed my nipples I whined and squirmed. I felt a cold hand trail down my theigh near my aching core. gasping and whining as he sucked on My nipples his fingers trailed over my wetness and I moan his name loudly never feeling this amazing before "tell me when it feels right baby" he says before kissing me on the lips once more slowly pushing a finger into me as I moaned loudly "mhm I know sweet girl I know" he says before slowly pumping in and out of me a girn on his face as he sees how in control he is of me. My mind is blank and the air is getting harder to breath each thrust. And before I know it im screaming as he's kissing my neck giving me hickeys, ilwhile finger fucking me roughly and 2 of his long thick fingers stuff fucking raw. "Fuck.... chris I I'm gonna c-cumm" I whine as he pulls his fingers out of me I look up at his as he frantically unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans and boxer revealing his large hard cock. I moan at him as he pulls me to the end of the bed and smacks my theighs "open up honey I've watches enough porn videos to know what to do baby" he winks before lining his dick up to my wet pussy "tell me if it hurts too much okay gorgeous girl" he say kissing me on the cheek as I nod. He pushes the tip in as i whine softly biting my lip he pushing deeper chasing me to squirm moaning. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. I'm limp and mouth wide open as I groan before moaning as he slowly starts moving the pain turns into good as I let out moans loud satisfied moans "mhm f-fuck" chris stutters his hands tremble as he grips the side of my hips "ahh this feels s- fuckk" he picks up speed and soon feel a knot in my stomach as I my moans become louder and louder before. "Fuckkk I'm cumming so hard for you chris" chris groans and spills into me with a loud groan and unsteady breaths and he shakes and brings me into a kiss as we both make each other feel good.

Chris pulls out with a grunt before laying beside me breathing heavily and kissing me on the cheek wrapping his arms around me "ill never forget you y/n"

3 years later....

Part 2 coming soon....

GUYS I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT FUCKING MAKING THIS AND I GOT LAZY BUT ILL POST PART 2 TOMORROW PLS COMMENT IDEAS IM NEW HELP

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew) Chapter 9

Word Count: ~10,044

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood

Description: Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact

The finale.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

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131 AC- Kings Landing

War is inevitable. Peace does not last forever. It can not. The nature of man will not allow it. The very nature that brings about men’s volatility and propensity for violence. Conflicts always arise. Old grudges are hard to forget. The sins of past wrongs bubbling to the surface. Our emotions can not be so easily pushed to the side. They can only be repressed for so long before we must give in. The cost being too high to not do so.

Nothing in life is without its costs. We are in a constant battle of give and take. When we do not get what we want we become hungry. Greedy for what we feel is ours. Seeking glory and redemption no matter the cost or the burden. Seeking to protect what is rightfully ours. Though the matter of what is yours or mine is a subjective one. Entirely fueled by our boundless wants.

Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

Such is the case with war. Those who yearn for power claim it through less-than-honorable means. Harvesting the seeds of discontent that were planted eons ago. The starving man can not help but feast upon its ripe flesh. Curing its weary soul and broken body. What is honor compared to desire? For he is hungry and has long since been denied. Envy makes bastards of us all.

Were envy and greed the reason why it had all come to this? Peacetime at long last ending across the Seven Kingdoms in the wake of Viserys death. Petty grievances and blood feuds perhaps killed it. It had been a slow painful death as was the late kings, but he had found relief in his departure from this mortal plane. That would not be the case for the Kingdom he had left behind.

For the first time since the dreaded bloody reign of Maegor the Cruel war was on the horizon. There was no stopping the not-so-distant sound of swords being drawn, shields clashing upon the battle, of dragons roaring above them, firing down upon them. There was no stopping it all. Not unless something drastic were to happen, but the balance was rapidly tipping in favor of the Warrior. One could only accept their fate and pray to the Gods that they would be spared. War was what was coming for them all.

“We hold twelve full-grown dragons to Rhaenyra’s five.” Daemon's voice reigned around the small council chambers that were already beginning to take on the image of that of a war room.

While the lords and ladies of court celebrated Aegon II's crowning, the prodigal son succeeding his father upon the Iron Throne, his chief supporters were called to the small council's chambers. There was too much to be done to leave it for the morrow. Drinking and feasting would be postponed. Their guests could enjoy the merriment for now. There was too much at stake. Too much that could go wrong. Too much that had already done so.

The king himself had chosen to sit in on the council meeting. His presence at his council was a shock though not necessarily an unwelcome sight. Some measure of duty must have snapped into him from his crowning. The adoration of the people was more sobering than any tonic that Grand Maester Orwyle could concoct and give to Aegon. He was king now. For the first time in Naerys nephew's life, he had a true purpose.

All eyes were upon Daemon as he lectured the council. Even Ser Otto who listened to the Targaryen man with a clenched jaw, but otherwise he too let the Rogue Prince lead on. A certain stilted truce had been erected between the two men. A common goal did wonders for their ability to tolerate the other’s presence though both took to glaring at the other in scorn when his head was turned. It was hard to forget the history that stood between them. Naerys strongly suspected that if given the chance they would strangle each other.

Nonetheless, the Hand of the King had offered Daemon a position upon the small council. His pick between his old position of Master of coin or Master of ships. He could be by the king's side, but it was the wrong king.

He declined both. For accepting any post would mean leaving Dragonstone in the care of Daenys and Aemond for the foreseeable future. Their daughter was more than capable of ruling in his stead. She had been groomed as heir since she was four name days old and by all accounts had the makings of a thoughtful and firm steward.

However, baseless as it may be, Daemon did not fully trust their new good-son with the sole care of their daughter nor did he see him as deserving of the position. The boy had been corrupted by his grandsire. He was not to be trusted. Who knows what he might do if he was not there to watch over her. It was a matter that Naerys would put aside to deal with later. They had more pressing concerns to deal with.

Aegon’s crowning, though successful, had almost been overshadowed by Rhaenys and her dragon. Uninvited guests. Crashing through the Dragonpit with no care for the small folk or its other occupants. It was not them who she spared. No, it was the king himself this time. A warning. He would not be so lucky the next.

“My niece will want to claim Dragonstone for her own.” Naerys recalled how Daemon and Otto spoke with hushed voices earlier that day. The older man walked beside them as they made their way out of the now-ruined Dragonpit back to their wheelhouse. Her husband’s grip on her loosened somewhat, but he had not let her go.

Rhaenys' stunt had shocked him enough not to. He kept her arm and hand resting in his, rubbing circles into the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. She had to confess, it had been a comfort.

The Rogue Prince had tried to grab ahold of Daenys as well, but the girl remained glued at her new husband's side. It was a battle he folded to Aemond with a clenched jaw. There was not much he could do on that front anymore. Their daughter was undoubtedly not just theirs anymore.

Daemon cast his violet gaze down at Naerys. Giving his niece-wife a small smirk as she had shifted where she stood. He knew exactly who would put it into Rhaenyra’s head to make way for Dragonstone. Sixteen years of marriage would tell him if nothing else. Ser Otto no doubt had his suspicions as did the rest of those present. It was more than obvious.

Naerys was the most likely person to aid in her aunt's ill-timed escape. She herself would not correct their assumption. The princess had intended on smuggling Rhaenys out of the Red Keep. Albeit under a different set of circumstances, but she was in part to blame for her flight. They all might have paid the consequences for her sentiments had not the elder princess exercised caution or her husband acted with haste.

Dragonstone had no dragonriders to speak of upon its shores then. They had an urgent need to remedy their seats' present circumstances. It would not do to let such an asset fall into the hands of Rhaenyra and her ilk. The small island presented too much of a temptation, a goldmine for her to turn a blind eye to.

“It is what I would do.” Rhaenyra would grieve for her father that could be sure. Her greatest supporter. The man who put her before all others was lost to his sick bed, but she could not grieve long. With Rhaenys flying for Hide Tide, they could be sure that the older princess would inform her that Dragonstone’s Lord and Lady were presently absent from their keep. “Naturally, she’ll try to install Jaecerys as Prince of Dragonstone.”

Driftmark was only a half-hour flight from Dragonstone. It did not take a military strategist to see that the Black Queen had a chance. A small window of opportunity that she would not be able to miss. Could not miss it. The island after all possessed an edge Rhaenyra desperately needed if she were to turn the odds in her favor.

Four unclaimed dragons called Dragonstone their home. Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost, Cannibal, and Vermithor. The first three were wild, having never been claimed by man, but the last, though not wild, had not been claimed for near on thirty years. For his last rider had been no other than Naerys' great grandsire, the Old King Jaehaerys.

Silverwing would often wander off to coil herself around Vermithor in his cavern beneath Dragonmont where he had taken up residence, but he was a fearsome thing. It would be a difficult endeavor to tame all the dragons wild and old alike though not impossible.

Riders would of course have to be procured. Dragonseeds were not so hard to find. One need only look for their silver heads, or their many shades of violet eyes, or both, upon the shores of Driftmark, Dragonstone, and the alleys of Kings Landing. The Targaryen’s had always been more than generous with their favors and amorous attention upon the small folk of the realm. It was a gift to bear the fruit of a God. Or as close to it as mortally possible.

The capture of Dragonstone could easily turn the tide of the war in Rhaenyra’s favor if she moved quickly. If she had enough sense and foresight to employ its treasures to their fullest extent. The Greens had precious little time before the Realms Delight would gather her strength and strike. They could not lose their advantage to the hands of the would-be queen and her allies.

The castle had been left in the care of Maester Orlys. The kindly old man was as loyal as they came. As were the rest of their household and islands’ occupants, including a small garrison numbering less than five hundred. Daemon had always inspired a certain level of loyalty in his men, from his time as lord commander of the city watch to now. Always rallying their spirits.

Their soldiers would defend the ancient Targaryen seat in their prince and princesses name, but what was their loyalty to the might of a dragon? Or better yet two full-grown dragons? The Blacks would take the island under threat of their queen's house words' reigning true.

Daenys volunteered to journey back to father's seat. She was to be Lady of Dragonstone after him. The island was her home. The young princess would not see it fall into her cousin turned half-good-sister's clutches. She had been born on its smoky shores and she would rule over them when the time came. Why should she not insure its safety?

Her father was needed in the capital and he would not want her mother out of his sight. The two rarely parted from each other. He would not wish for her to defend, but they did not have much choice. Aemond had his mission at Storm's End. As much as she loathed to be parted from her husband so soon after their nuptials, Daenys was well-equipped to handle the issue on her own.

Helaena, who had looked and sounded more than elated at the prospect, extended her own services. “Two dragons are better than one and Dreamfyre is swift as is Moondream.” Neither her good sister's parents nor her brother would allow Daenys to go by herself. The little queen would more than makeup for her brother’s temporary absence.

At any rate, the she-dragons, apart from Daeron's Tesserion, with rider and dragon alike gathering support in Oldtown, were the fastest dragons in their possession. Both were lithe nimble things that would take the new queen and her good-sister to Dragonstone before Rhaenys or Rhaenyra could rally their own dragons and ships to make way for the fortress.

Truth be told, Naerys thought that the young queen was a great deal overwhelmed with her newest occupation. Helaena had always been a girl who preferred the close intimacy and company of those she loved best. Not unlike her good-aunt.

Her ladies, her family, and her non-human companions shined brighter in her violet gaze than all the dazzle of court. She had never taken to the spotlight as her sister or even her now good sister had. The now queen would have made an excellent lord's wife. Somewhere in the Reach or the Westerlands mayhaps.

She would have done well to marry into her mother’s house. In the comfort and safety of Hightowers towering stonewalls. There was much entertainment and less idle tattling to be found outside the barrier erected by her crown. Alas fate had other plans for Helaena.

Although it was done with care, Aemond shot down his sister's assistance. “You are needed here sister. Kings Landing can not be left without its own protection.” In her own words, just as Dragonstone would be better off with two dragons instead of one so would the capital. “I shall journey with my wife.” The pale girl’s eyes lost some of their brilliance, but she conceded with a small nod of her silver head.

The one eyed prince would give Rhaenyra more of a pause than either Daenys or Helaena. She would hesitate to strike Dragonstone with her half brother and his dragon upon its shores. Slow and old Vhagar might be, but she had seen war. She was the largest dragon in the world and though her rider was untested in battle, he was a force to be reckoned upon dragonback with or without a sword in his hand.

Of course his business at Storms’ End could not be delayed. With Daeron away in Oldtown gathering the support of the Reach lords alongside their cousin Lord Ormund it fell down to him to insure an alliance with the Storm Lords. He was to propose a betrothal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and his younger brother on his behalf.

Time could not be wasted on the onset of war. Aemond could only stay long enough to cement his wife’s position on Dragonstone before taking to the skies for the Baratheon seat. He would only be gone for a few hours, but that would be more than enough time for Rhaenyra to try something if she was alerted of his absence from his Daenys’ side. His wife would have her fathers guards, but Aemond, as men often want to mark their territory, wanted a man of his own with her.

The prince asked his grandsire for leave of Ser Criston. He was a valued friend and mentor. It was clear to all that he trusted the Dornish knight with his own life. He would be up to the task of guarding his little wife while both himself and her parents were away from Dragonstone. Should the need arise he would be able to whisk her away to safety.

A resounding no was the answer to his request. From his goodsire and grandsire and surprisingly Naerys. The first and viewed the knight with the utmost distrust. His wife was prone to agree with him. While she did not think she did not believe him to be a malevolent man as her husband would describe, she did not believe that he would do all in his power to defend her daughter if it came to it.

Thankfully, Ser Otto had need of him. As the new Lord Commander of Aegon’s Kingsguard Ser Criston could not leave the capital. Not while their new king's reign remained tested and the exact whereabouts and plots of their enemies were yet unknown. Aemond was given his uncle Ser Gwayne Hightower instead.

Though he was no Ser Criston he was a worthy and honorable knight. Unlike in the case of the Dornish knight, his regard for his nephew extended to Daenys. He viewed her as her mother’s daughter rather than her fathers. The issue was settled when no objection was given. While it pained him to admit to it, viewing him to be over familiar when it came to her, Naerys knew that her husband trusted him enough to see to their daughters welfare. For a short while at least, Ser Gwayne was safe from Daemon’s suspicion as long as he kept to his person and minded his post.

“Helaena mentioned a beast underneath the floorboards.” Daenys had leaned in to not so subtly whisper to her mother on the walk up the hill where Vhagar and Moondream rested. Apart from Naerys and her husband, who were to see the newlywed’s and the Hightower knight's departure, the rest of their party had gone back to the Red Keep.

The now queen in question had always been a unique child. Insects called to her more than people, even animals. Dragon dreams. A gift to some or rather a curse for others. She was a sweet girl, but it was clear that the Dreams had taken a toll on her.

Giving the appearance of a half-scattered mind. Daenys the Dreamer had been half made they say. Prone to getting lost within the rich fancifulness of her imagination rather than the solid reality that stood in front of her. Her imagination was what ultimately led to House Targaryen’s continued survival. Past the doom and beyond.

“Nyke gaomagon daor pendagon bona ao istan se cause hen skorion massitas? Muñnykeā. Nyke pāsagon ziry istan va moriot meant naejot massigon.” I do not think that you were the cause of what happened mother. I believe it was always meant to happen.

Naerys felt her face heat up as Aemond and Daemon guffawed at Daenys remark. Ser Gwanye could neither speak nor understand Valyrian, but he seemed to infer what had been said when he added his own chortles to the fray. Whatever doubt they had at her part to play in the incident vanquished. If both Daenys and Helaena could see what she had inadvertently caused, there could be no uncertainty.

“Do stop fussing kepa. You look so grim.” Daenys laughed lightly when her father placed a kiss into her curls after she had saddled her dragon. “My husband will see that I am comfortable before he leaves and he won’t be gone very long.” It went without saying that Ser Gwayne would deal with both Daemon and Aemond’s ire should anything happen to the young princess.

Daenys then went to place a kiss upon her mother's cheek as Naerys pulled her in for a hug. Letting out another round of laughter at her mother's tight grip. “Don’t fuse either. I shall see you both soon enough.” The newlyweds and Ser Gwayne, who climbed upon Vhagar’s back with some hesitation after his nephew, were off to Dragonstone.

With both Aemond and Daenys away securing Dragonstone and Storm’s End the present agenda rested on their strengths and allies in relation to Rhaenyra’s. The chief among them being their dragons.

The loss of Meleys was a greater inconvenience than her rider. There was always a danger that came with the opposition gaining an additional dragon, but they held both more dragons and dragonriders than Rhaenyra. They were at the advantage in the skies as Daemon had reminded the council, but he, and Aemond, would hesitate to send either herself or Daenys ride into war. In all likelihood they would not need to.

The Blacks' five dragonriders comprised mainly of the would-be queen's children. They all knew that Rhaenyra, like her uncle and second brother, would be reluctant to send any of her boys into battle unless need demanded it. Jacaerys and Lucerys, who while were more than adequate riders, were learning the commands and capabilities of their beasts as well as themselves. Joffrey's dragon was too small to be ridden into war. Rhaenys would no doubt hesitate to send her granddaughter the Lady Baela into battle as well.

Lady Rhaena had no dragon to speak of. Only three dragon eggs, given to her from one of Syraxes clutches that had all yet to hatch. Though the sweet young lady did pray to the Gods every night that she would be made a dragonrider as her mother the late Lady Laena had been. To join the fold beside her grandmother and elder twin. Naerys had heard that the youngest Lady Strong could seldom be parted with her eggs.

Dragons of course were not the only way to win a war. They were an advantage sure enough, but they were to be the last option on both sides. They brought more danger than they were worth many times over. For when dragons dance, the destruction can be endless.

It could not go without saying that the Rhaenys' escape had left them with little time to execute the Greens' more diplomatic plans. Plans which depended a great deal upon the older princess’s temporary captivity within her guest quarters. It was a setback, but not one that they would not be able to recover from.

Ser Otto had sent a raven to Driftmark for its maester. A man, who in addition to studying as a novice alongside Grand Maester Orwyle many ages past, was a great friend of Naerys' late uncle Ser Vaemond. So much so that he often sought his counsel ahead of that of his own brother. Of course, this tendency to seek guidance in the form of Hide Tide’s maester was helped by him being a blood relation to the Velaryon knight's now widowed lady wife.

When an acolyte takes his vows and forges his chain to become a maester, a degree of impartiality is expected to follow. One’s previous allegiances to their house, their name, and the lands from which they come from must fall to the wayside, but the call of blood is a hard bond to break. He had been shown to hold his lord's brother’s opinions and interests on matters relating to the Driftwood throne. The maester kept council and advised his sons in the wake of their father's untimely end.

Driftmarks maester would have alerted Ser Vaemond’s sons of recent events in the capital upon receiving the hands' letter. A king had been crowned. A king who was sympathetic to their woes. Knowing all too well of the plight of the rightful heir against that of their enemies.

Offering the hand of friendship if needs be. The need only to embrace said friendship and a hand would be lent to place one of Naerys' cousins upon their rightful throne. However, with Rhaenys traveling back to Driftmark they could no longer be so sure that their friends would be able to act on their good faith.

With good weather, the Queen Who Never Was could be back on Driftmarks shores by the day's end. Meleys was older now, but she rose to the task when needed. There could be no doubt that Rhaenys would alert Rhaenyra of the Greens' treachery and treason. Of the danger that would soon be upon her and her sons. Bringing her a worthy ally and a much-needed dragonrider. However, the situation at present was temperamental.

Naerys could not doubt that if she were to transport herself within High Tides' white stone walls she would find a den of discontent. Unease brewing from an unwelcome guest upon its shores. An interloper. Filling up every chamber within the castle. Waiting. Building up dread until the cup would overflow.

What was supposed to be a time of triumph had become a time of mourning for too many reasons to name. They had been made a fool. The sons of House Velaryon. The blood of the seahorse and old Valyria. The rightful heirs of their uncle’s throne. First Ser Vaemond and now they too were being pushed aside. Their pain was being paraded over by a feckless woman and her bastards.

If nothing else, the disquietude should unsettle the Black queen. She was an island surrounded by enemies. It did not occur to her that she had made a mistake coming to Driftmark. She had thought herself safe even with her sole advocate, the formidable Sea Snake lying in his sick bed. She had another that would scare off the monsters for her a thousand leagues away within the Red Keep, but he was dead now. Gone to the seven hells. If Rhaenys did not make it back to her husband's shores in time, Rhaenyra could find herself fighting her own battle within her chosen place of refuge.

A series of what-ifs had overtaken fate. Naerys cousins’ would not speak a word against Rhaenyra and her sons for fear of the king's might and reach, but their silence would only last for so long. They would not forget who made them so low. Never mind if it happened a day ago or ten years.

If Ser Otto’s letter was received before Rhaenys arrival it would only take to gag and bound the would-be queen and her sons. Delivering them to the Red Keep. To Aegon to do with as he pleased. All would be right with the world then. Driftmark returned to its proper heirs. If not, a fight would commence for another day.

“Our support lies heaviest in the south.” Ravens had been sent to houses small and great alike throughout the Seven Kingdoms but had yet to receive replies in mass. It was the early days yet. The lords of Westeros waited to see where the deck would land.

The Riverlands were divided at best. It had always been that way. The support of the Reach and the Westerlands were all but guaranteed. Aemond was dealing with the Stormlands. The North was unlikely to join their cause, but they were unlikely to be of much help to Rhaenyra either.

Winterfell and the lords of the North were a long way away from Driftmark much less Kings Landing and as the Starks' house words do so dutifully remind both friends and foes, winter is coming. With the heavy snows of winter, the journey south would be a long one. The fighting might be down before Lord Cregan Stark ever reached the neck. The Vale was without a doubt lost.

“Perhaps we might send the princess to parlay with Lady Arryn?” The new Master of Coin Ser Tyland suggested, but he backed into himself once Daemon began to glower at him from the opposite side of the small council table. “Or mayhaps a messenger or a raven might be better suited to offer terms of friendship.”

“Jeyne Arryn would sooner see the Prince of Dorne as king than Aegon.” Jeyne Arryn’s blood was Rhaenyra’s. Enmity remained well within the lady’s mind. Her opinion of Daemon remained sour. He was reason enough to side against the Greens. The Rogue Prince had twice done her kin over. Leaving Rhaenyra to fend for herself. Turning his back to her when she needed him most. The business of him marrying his daughter to the son of a traitor would further leave a foul taste in her mouth.

Lady Arryn neither trusted Ser Otto nor Alicent to keep her interests at heart. They had crowned an unworthy man, a usurper, all because he had the luck to be born with the right appendage betwixt his legs. She herself had to contend with countless attempts to unseat her as Lady of the Vale from her own less-than-worthy male relations. If they were to send an envoy it would be a wasted effort.

“We should send an envoy to Hide Tide.” Daemon turned to Ser Otto. “Before we do anything. We might be able to settle things peacefully.” Ser Otto held his tongue though he did narrow his eyes at the Targaryen man's suggestion. “She’s at a disadvantage.” War was a last resort or rather it should be, but for the Hand, Naerys had found that he believed war to be their only option. They were dealing with an unreasonable foe blinded by her emotions and entitlement.

“She has the support of House Velaryon and House Arryn at the least.” More houses were soon to follow. “She is not so weak.” Ser Otto said as his light eyes flitted to the map spread out in front of them. “The princess will not give in so easily.”

Rhaenyra was a proud woman. If she believed herself wrong or denied what was hers she would not give up. From where she stood, damn the laws of men and Gods alike. Her father had seen to such. The Iron Throne was hers. She would not turn her back upon it now. Or ever if she had the means to. She would fight. For as long as she could, but no one fights a war which they could not win.

“We still might reason with my aunt.” Rhaenyra had the support of House Velaryon, but without them, even with her four dragons, she would surely lose. No allies would come to her rescue if the Velaryon’s left her out to dry. Taking away her support would stop the chaos before it began. If they were to take away the Velaryon’s and their fleet, this war could be over by the end of the day.

Rhaenys did not want war herself. Not truly. Not a woman who had sacrificed her own crown near thirty years past to prevent one, but what could they offer her? She sided with Rhaenyra for her granddaughters. For their just due. Naerys did not doubt her aunt's words. Everything she did was for them. They could not offer her eldest granddaughter the crown, but perhaps they might offer Lady Baela Driftmark to rule over in her own right. By all the natural laws in the land, it should be hers.

“Rhaenys has made her decision.” The dowager queen kindly reminded her. Painfully so. The Dragonpit would take weeks to repair from her choice of action. Alicent gave her a soft smile and pulled her brown hand in her pale one before turning to face the rest of the council. “My good daughter has not. We might still reason with Rhaenyra. We offer her fair terms. Jaecerys will be the lord of Driftmark after Lord Corlys if he so wishes.”

It would anger Naerys' cousins, true enough. Though it was a necessary sacrifice for the time being. Surely a future betrothal could smooth things over when the time came to. War was too much of a burden to give into her cousin's demands as honorable as they may be.

“Lucerys a Lordship of his own. Joffrey may become Aegon’s cupbearer or Aemond’s squire at Dragonstone or your own Daemon.” Her husband snorted, throwing his violet gaze at the king's mother. However, he did not say anything against the proposal. Ser Otto looked as if he too wanted to object, but he once again stayed his tongue. The Hand of the King was increasingly becoming outnumbered.

“They all will be welcomed at court.” She gave a pointed look to her father who stiffened in his chair, “and they may keep their titles. On the condition that Rhaenyra journeys to Kings Landing, bends the knee, and swears loyalty to our king.” Alicent turned her eyes toward her son in acknowledgment. Aegon’s violet eyes seemed to liven at the image that his mother painted. “She is Viserys' eldest daughter. Not his son. It is time she recognizes that.” If Naerys' cousin were to give in she would stand as no threat. The once crown princess had bastards for heirs. She was a woman. She was not a threat.

Ser Otto conceded as did the rest of the council. The right course of action dictated it. Diplomacy demanded it. If there was any way to solve this matter civilly then by all means. The dragons may not dance yet. They must first exhaust all of their options before declaring war upon Rhaenyra and her allies. Only then if she rejected their offer of a truce. Their offer of kinship, would they have no choice, but to pursue less than peaceful measures.

It had been ten odd years since Naerys had last stepped foot onto Driftmarks shores. The castle remained unchanged. She wondered if it was even a possibility that it ever could. Some things were stuck within the ages. Remaining a static fixture in our memory. Hide Tide stood as a reminder of youth. An echo of a distant past. Of the joy and naivety she had in it.

The people, however, were a different story. Hide Tides' occupants were more changed than the castle in which they resided. Very much so. Seasons came and went and they were weathered by the passing storms of time. Weary from the days that stained and left their mark upon their skin and in their eyes. The hauntings of past lives and lost chances.

Rhaenys and to Naerys' shock her uncle Lord Corlys were waiting for them. Her mother's eldest brother's umber complexion looked dull in the dusk from his sickness. His neck had been wrapped in gauze. He should be resting, but the man had become especially obstinate in old age. No warm words of welcome were exchanged between the two factions upon the beach where they had landed Caraxes and Silverwing. The only greeting they received were weary looks. Her aunt would not fully meet her eye as she looked on ahead past them.

“Where is Princess Rhaenyra?” Ser Otto was the first to speak. His raspy voice sounded out over the crashing waves. Naerys and her uncle-husband were well suited to offer terms of alliance to Rhaenyra, but the older man had insisted upon journeying with them. His trust in Daemon was fickle at best and Naerys relationship with her cousin was less than idyllic. If they were to choose diplomacy, the occasion called for a steady hand to guide them which is what the Hightower man believed himself to be.

Lord Corlys lips parted in reply, but then there was no need to supply an answer. A roaring could be heard above them. Syrax’s. On top of the golden she-dragon sat Rhaenyra wearing her fathers crown.

Rhaenys was not the only one to have made a half-mad escape from the Red Keep during Aegon’s coronation. Ser Errk had turned his white cloak. At least in service of the new king. The last anyone had seen of him was brother seeing him off Blackwater Bay aboard a ship to Driftmark no doubt. To his queen. He had taken Viserys crown with him that now rested on top of the Black queen's white head. If Rhaenyra could not have the crown of the conqueror, her fathers would have to do.

“I wish to speak to my uncle.” Rhaenyra kept her eyes trained upon Daemon as she climbed off her dragon to face them. Only briefly strained her lilac gaze down at Naerys. She looked the part of queen. Had made her entrance as such, but she was ever herself. Queendom would only make her more so. “Alone.”

Daemon made to answer her. Something crude judging by the smirk upon his pale brow, but Naerys beat him to it. “Go with her kepus.” She met her cousin's narrowed stare with one of her own. A crown upon Rhaenyra’s head would not change her. Her father’s death would not bring her humility, but their was something upon her pallid visage that did show a chink in her queenly armor. She would not deny her closure. Let this be the last of it.

Daemon did not listen to his niece-wife. “My wife can wait in the hall dear niece.” He sneered at the realms delight as he grabbed Naerys small hand. Her husband pulled her along towards the castle without sparing the Black Queen a second glance. Rhaenyra fummed, but she held her head high when she saw her cousins’ dark amethyst eyes turning back to glimpse at her.

The rest of their party attempted to follow them, but guards blocked a positively vexed Ser Otto and his men from doing so. The Lord and Lady of Driftmark scampered off when they were back behind the safety of their stone walls.

They came to a standstill at the heavy oak doors leading to her uncle’s Great Hall. Her husband placed a kiss on her brown forehead smoothing back her silver coils before pushing her towards a bench outside of the hall. Her cousin took care to slam the door shut after Daemon went through.

Naerys did not know how long she remained sitting on that bench. Time seemed to become immaterial.There was nothing to mark it by. She did not worry herself with her thoughts. There wasn’t much Rhaenyra could do or say that would move her husband. There was no harm in leaving the two alone. Good may in fact come from it.

Her cousin cherished their uncle’s opinion above all. She was obsessed with it. If anyone could make her see sense it would be he. She heard no noises coming from behind those shut doors. Not until she heard a loud bang. Dread made her pull open the door. The scene she walked into was a half-surprise.

Daemon and Rhaenyra stood on opposite sides of the long table which occupied the center of the room. Much like a map of the Seven Kingdoms was spread out on top of it. Naerys' husband was leaning over a chair. Seemingly trying to control his breathing. Her cousin stood pacing around her side of the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Whatever queenly veneer she had slipped out from her.

“Leave us.” Rhaenyra turned her head to hiss at her. For a brief moment, Naerys was transported back sixteen years. Back to Dragonstones shores. A distant memory of her happening upon them when she went to fetch a book she left in the painted table’s chamber. She had told her the same then.

Naerys was frozen. Trapped in time. Mayhaps people change less than the chambers and halls in which they take up, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. She herself needed reminding of that. Her husband's voice snapped her back to the present.

“Do not listen to her little one.” Daemon breathed harder than he would have had he been sparing with his men around their training yard. He held out a white hand for her to take. His face had lost what little color it had. still leaning over the chair as he motioned her to him “Come here my sweet girl.” He kissed her forehead again before burying his face into the top of her coils when she had reached him. Drinking her in. He seemed to calm somewhat. “That’s a good girl.”

“Kepus.” Naerys tried to begin, but he only buried his head into her neck. The princess sighed as she brought a hand to run through his silver strands. Grazing the scars that ran down his neck. She would let herself bring him comfort once more. Questions on what had upset him could wait for when they were behind the safety of their own walls back at Dragonstone.

“Sweet kind Naerys, you’ve done everything that’s been expected of you.” Her face had turned sour. As if she had bitten into a lemon cake made without sugar. She spoke through clenched teeth. It was a wonder how they did not break from the strain. Her lips screwed up into a frown. “Everything apart from giving our uncle sons. I guess your womb is where it all comes to rot. You were never worthy of that.”

“You are a placeholder.” Rhaenyra continued on. Hurling half-truths in rapid succession. Her mask was put back into place. The appearance of ease. Of self-surety, but her eyes, the eyes always tell. Frustration. Neither darkness nor truth, but her displeasure was unrestrained. “That’s all you really are Naerys. My replacement. He couldn’t have me.” She would never let her forget that. My father wouldn’t allow it, so he took you.”

Why was she still here then? There was no need to have her still. If she had overstayed her welcome there was nothing tying him to her. Apart from what her dear cousin did not want to name. Daemon loved her. He was not an easy man, but she pleased him. She was sorry for it. Naerys pleased him beyond measure and that was what haunted the would-be queen. She made him happy as he did her. It was unexpected, but she would not feel ashamed for it.

“Rhaenyra, dear niece I couldn’t have your father.” Daemon let out a snigger that resounded around the room. No longer leaning upon Naerys to stand. while placing a hand to stroke down her arm. “We could have been each other’s everything had circumstances been different.”

Rhaenyra blanched at their uncle's words. Her thin mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish. “I even pictured Viserys in your place on occasion when we fucked. Naerys was the first time I hadn’t the need to.” Rhaenyra collapsed into a nearby chair. Naerys herself felt as if she too might collapse at her husband's admission had he not held her up rubbing circles into her back to calm her.

“You’ve bewitched him!” Naerys could not help but laugh at the utter ridiculousness of it. She had no tricks up her sleeve. No wiles which to capture him by. She had been a girl ten and five when she had married Daemon. Whatever she had done to make her husband care for her she had done unknowingly. One could not take what was freely given.

The anger came then in Rhaenyra’s pale glower. A frown dropped across her brow as her eyes darkened. A spark. Lit by scorn. By rejection. “Do not take it as a compliment dear cousin.” She spat the next words at her. Leaning over her chair to do so.

“I chose her.” He removed himself from his wife’s side to stride over to where Rhaenyra sat. “She does not know her power over me. She does not know she wields such a thing.” Rhaenyra sank further into her chair at her uncle's approaching form. She recalled the last time she had stoked his temper. Her dress's neckline covered the evidence of it. “Naerys did not climb into my bed in the middle of the night to seduce me away from you.” It had never been about her. “Have you actually ever loved anyone Rhaenyra?”

He came to a stop to bend down to meet her cousin's eye, but the woman avoided him. Taking to staring at Naerys instead, before Daemon yanked her head to face him. His eyes were grim. “I have already told you that if you had her you would understand. She’s given me more than I deserve.”

He reached out to take her wrist in his hold. Her cousin struggled against his strength, but he only tightened his grip. “She would have given me a son, but what good is a son without her?” Rhaenyra wasted no time in snatching away her hand when Daemon released his grasp. “I admit I am a selfish man, but I would do everything for her.”

“Nyke sorry ziry gaomagon ao.” I am sorry he used you. Naerys spoke out. Having to take a breath to steady herself. Both sets of pale violet eyes turned to face her. “Nyke sorry syt bona.” I am sorry for that. Her cousin was a victim in her own way. That could not be denied. Her husband had greatly misused Rhaenyra. He had used and discarded her when he had seen fit. More than either suspected. She knew her uncle. He would never apologize for it.

“Yn nyke emagon dōrī ōdrikagon ao.” But I have never hurt you. She had not made him do the things he had. Daemon was his own person and he had chosen to bend to her. He chose her own on his own violation. He had strung her cousin along, but Naerys was not the cause of it. The Rogue Prince had started his games long before her husband had set his gaze upon her.

“Nyke emagon dōrī jeldan ao ōdrikagon.” I have never wished you harm. Despite everything she had done to her to the ones she loved, Naerys could only feel pity for her rather than true contempt. Tried as she might to rid herself of the sentiment she could not hate her. To do that would mean she resented her. Rhaenyra had nothing of value that she wanted except for her surrender.

“Ziry does daor emagon naejot mōris bisa ñuhoso.” It does not have to end this way. Honey words. The call to kinship. The Lady of Dragonstone could not forget why they were here in the first place. Peace. It was for peace. It was up to the would-be-queen. They could avoid the destruction of their house. If she bent the knee to Aegon and gave up her claim to the Seven Kingdoms. She could live a life here among House Velaryon. Make her court there or wherever she wished. “Ao kostagon sagon dāez Rhaenyra.” You may be free Rhaenyra.

For all her posturing, Rhaenyra was not a warrior queen. She rode a dragon, but she was no Visenya. She was not even Queen Rhaena. She was a princess of leisure. Preferring the comforts of court and its admirer’s than the endless toil of battle. She was not a political woman either. She was no more suited for war than she was to sit upon the Iron Throne after she waged it and paid the price in blood she did not have.

Rhaenyra glared at her. A shadow blotted her face. She sensed her pity and she did not want it. Pride. It would keep her cousin from doing what was right. Her conceit would not fall today. It would be her undoing.

“You are considerate to try little one, but Rhaenyra is just as mad as her father.” Daemon removed himself from looming over the Black Queen, sauntering over back to Naerys. “Believing in dreams.” Letting out a chortle at her cousin's sullen expression. “Even if that prophecy my brother obsessed over is true, we are all the conqueror’s blood. It could mean any one of us. In case you have forgotten, my wife has given me a child. My blood, my grandson shall sit upon the Iron Throne.”

He grabbed her hand before Naerys could process the meaning of her uncle's words. So much had been said she felt as if she was being thrown from one revelation to the next. Barely keeping a hold onto her head. “If all you wish is to talk of is riddles, then there is nothing left to discuss.”

Daemon gestured to the Dark Sister at his side.“I could end it all here. I’d be doing the realm a favor but for the love I bore your father. I spare you this kindness. Let it be my last.” He left the chamber doors wide open as they made their exit. Storming out the castle at double the rate which they had entered into the halls of High Tide.

“You shall do as you please Lord Hand.” Daemon snarled as they passed Ser Otto. He had been proven right. The Hightower man’s eyes gleamed beneath his solemn face as he gave the signal to his men to move out. Naerys' husband helped her onto Silverwing before mounting Caraxes who was just as tempestuous as he rider. They took flight for their smoky shores without another word exchanged.

Dragonstone was quiet when they arrived back. Their welcoming party consisted of Maester Orlys and a couple of servants. The genial old maester informed them that Aemond had not yet returned back from Storms End. Daenys had retired to their new apartments in the Sea Dragon Tower far enough away from her parents in the Stone Drum.

That did not stop Daemon from ordering a servant to fetch Aemond as soon as he arrived so that he may enlighten him of the outcome of his mission. “It can wait kepus.” Naerys uncle’s mood remained foul, but that did not mean that he needed to bother the boy. It would be well past a decent hour whenever he and Vhagar landed. Whatever business he had with their good son could wait until the morrow.

Both he and their daughter deserved the night to themselves. He did not argue with her, but being reminded of their daughter's recent nuptials seemed to set him off further. Leading him to march up to their chambers while whispering curses under his breath.

Naerys could recollect that Daemon had kept her in their bed for a week after they had wed. He had not even loved her then. Of course love had very little to do with attraction. “I believe I have broken you.” He had laughed then when she frowned in confusion as she pulled slightly off his chest after their lovemaking.

She had been mostly frightened of him and the emotions he invoked in her. Emotions he likely shared. “Issa iā sȳz run dōna riña.” It is a good thing, sweet girl. He pulled her back down to lay her on top of him, lining her heat up again with his hardening member. Bringing the back of his rough hand up to caress her face. “Pāsan emā pryjatan nyke tolī.” I believe you have broken me too.

Naerys called for a bath to be brought for their chambers. It had been a long day. The first of many to come. They could worry about what would happen in the coming weeks tomorrow. For now, they needed to rest. They would be no good in the agitated state they were in.

The steaming water calmed their nerves. They sat in quiet contemplation. Daemon had taken to pulling her onto his lap after they had finished bathing the grime of the day off of each other. Resting his chin on top of her head. Stroking a warm hand up and down her bare arm while the other took her hand in his to play with her fingers. Naerys closed her eyes daydreaming of a not-so-distant future.

“It shall be nice to have children running around here again.” Daemon hummed in reply kissing her forehead. Naerys recalled that even in the darkest days when she was laid up in bed the little patter of Daenys feet and her laughter bouncing off their walls had been the most blessed sounds she heard. It had kept her sane in spite of her failures. “Future kings I suppose.” She would not pressure him for an explanation, it would come naturally.

“Aegon is not worthy to sit upon the throne.” Her husband looked at her as if it was obvious as she turned her gaze up to him. He was right about Aegon himself, but their nephew's line did not end with himself.

“Aegon has sons.” Jaehaerys and Maelor. Sweet little cherubs. They held their mothers' temperament rather than the impudence of their father. With the proper training, Jaehaerys could be an honorable heir. “Our nephew is healthy.” Their king was a lustful drunkard, but he otherwise was in perfect health.

“Men die every day as do children, especially in war.” Daemon breathed into the shell of his niece-wife’s ear. “In any case, they would need a regency.” It would never come to that. They both knew it. The lords of Westeros would rather seat a grown man upon the throne than boys even in peacetime. It was why during the Great Council Ser Laenor was passed over in favor of Viserys claim. “We would need a strong king to lead us.”

Aemond. He was next in line and conveniently married to their daughter. An overstep that Ser Otto and Alicent had missed in their haste to secure Dragonstone for themselves. An advantageous position for an ambitious man. For a second son.

“As well as a strong Hand to lead our king.” Her husband let out a chortle at her musings. Aemond no more liked his new good father than Daemon liked his good-son, but he was not too fond of his grandsire either.

Daenys would no doubt convince her husband who was besotted with his little wife that her father would make an excellent hand should it come to it. Naerys did not wish for her daughter to find herself in the precarious position of queendom, but our fate is rarely within our control. The Gods have the final say.

“Viserys was a weak man little one.” He sighed into her hair. “I will not let my affection for him blind me to his faults.” More than brotherly love by his own admittance. Or rather more than brotherly worship. It had been an obsession. “He is the reason why we find ourselves in this mess. My brother was never meant to sit upon that damned throne. He let vipers rule his court for him.” Daemon would not allow the same mistake to happen twice.

“From my blood come the prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.” The riddle. The one that had caused her husband to spiral before she arrived. Daemon let out a snort. “The conqueror’s blood. My brother thought it referred to his line as does Rhaenyra.” Presumptuous given that neither he nor Rhaenyra were the only ones with the blood of the man who united the Seven Kingdoms running through his veins. The folly of their house. A lack of hubris. “It could just as easily be ours.” Their blood upon the Iron Throne. A call to right the past wrongs. The idea was too great to ignore.

“Ziry dōrī ivestretan issa.” He never told me. Daemon took to gazing at the flames from their chamber’s fire. Its light cast shadows across his pale face. He squeezed her hand. Bringing it to his lips to place a kiss upon the back of it absentmindedly. Giving her a half smile. “Hae baseless hae ziry istan ziry dōrī ivestretan issa se nyke istan zȳhon dārilaros.” As baseless as it was. He never told me and I was his heir. Dreams were not always so baseless. Naerys wondered if her uncle truly believed his own words. Surely he could not. His face was too troubled for him to believe it was pure conjecture.

A knock sounded at the door. Daemon barked at the poor soul on the other side of their door to bother them in the morrow, but the interruption came with urgency. Aemond had arrived back worse for wear. Rambling. His Hightower uncle Ser Gwayne had been the one to greet him. Whatever condition the young Targaryen Prince returned in had stoked his uncles’ distaste. The two quickly found themselves in a shouting match within the Painted Tables Chamber.

Daenys was called for and she had tried her best to diffuse the situation, but she could not make sense of it and had descended into her own mutterings. They did not need to be told twice when their daughter was in great distress. Daemon Hastily jumped from the bath helping his wife dress before grabbing Dark Sister. The two bound for their map rooms chambers across the Stone Drum that remained eerily muted.

The reason for Ser Gwayne's repulsion and their daughter's distress was apparent to the naked eye when they entered the chamber. “What have you done boy?” Aemond was soaked to the bone. Half drowned was more like it. Drenched by rain from the Stormlands and something darker. Crimson specks scattered across his face and into his long silver strands. He paced the room running his hands down his face while his young wife was comforted by her lady’s maid. Ser Gwayne stood.

“I was owed an eye.” His expression, red with irritation and rage, was as wild as the rest of him. Turning to face his good-fathers assessment. Rancor had clouded his judgment. The fury of a vengeful God. Or rather a young man who thought himself such. “The debt has been paid nuncle.” At the cost of their lives.

“Lucerys was there.” Ser Gwayne supplied with his hand still furiously rubbing his temples. Bringing up the other to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Delivering a message from his mother. He had left. The boy had left, but he chased him down.”

“I was owed an eye!” Aemond repeated. Daenys tried to go to him, but her mother held her back. Pulling her daughter's head to her side. Petting her silver strands like she did to soothe her as a girl. The young princess had worked herself into a frenzy. “I had every right—”

“Were you owed his life as well?” Naerys' husband met the younger man’s wroth with his own cold fury. The boy backed down some. Glancing at Dark Sister strapped to his good-fathers person. Aemond played the part of a God Daemon was every bit a malevolent Valyrian God of old.

“Aemond did what he thought was necessary kepa.” Only Daenys came to her husband’s aid. Breaking free of her mother's hold. The young girl put her hand in his. Her honey face was pale and her violet eyes were red-rimmed. The first blush of a new bride was gone.

Aemond had the veracious nature of a man of his house. Feed by the fire of youth. He did not know how to control his temper. Rash anger rather than reason Daenys had gotten her first taste of the violent passions that a man such as her husband possessed. A Targaryen man in his prime. Naerys herself had married one. He had mellowed over the years, but sleeping dragons do not lie dormant forever.

“He was her son.” Aemond went rigid at Naerys' chiding. Not expecting his good-mother's reprimand. It was as if his mother was in the room with him and not in her chambers in the Hands Tower oblivious to what he had done. “Rhaenyra would gladly die for any of her children.” Her cousin was many things, but she was a mother above all else. Naerys knew what a mother's love could do.

“As would I! As would your mother!” He was a boy beyond his depth. He was not a mother. He did not understand the depth of that bond. To carry and give birth to a child only to have him snatched away from you. He could not know. His half-sister would repay them in kind ten times over.

“A son for a son. That is what she will want. Do you have any idea of what you have done you half-blind fool?” It was Naerys who had to rest her hand upon her husband to calm him. To stop him from throttling their good-son. “Aōha mandia jāhor emagon aōha bartos valonqar!” Your sister will have your head boy! The Lady of Dragonstone thanked the Gods Daemon had the good sense not to reach for Dark Sister.

Understanding that her new husband provoked her father's ire and that nothing good could come from staying in his company, Daenys dragged Aemond to their apartments. Putting some distance between the two Targaryen men was for the best. Ser Gwayne rushed from the chamber to the rookery to inform his father and sister of the events that had unfolded tonight.

Rhaenyra would not stop until she had her fill. Her feast upon their innards. Until they felt as she did. They would know her pain. A mother's broken heart. The sound of Valyrian steel slicing through bone and flesh alike played in Naerys head. Dragons flames. Burning everything in their path. Colliding with each other in a crimson blaze beneath ash and ruin. Only blood would pay for what was spilled today. The price of vengeance.

Ao3 Link:

Tags: @misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bubblebuttwade @beggarsnotchoosey @m-indkiller @pearlstiare @green-lxght @lazypinkpig @mvrylee @janelei

[smile-files]

i think the main issue in arguing with zionists is that, well, they believe in zionism! if israel did deserve to exist, then the genocide and injustice in palestine could be argued for (not like it should be, but it certainly could) -- and zionists believe israel deserves to exist.

i, unfortunately, have a large amount of experience interacting (personally) with zionism and zionists. most of those i've talked to feel for the palestinians, and the violence they are facing, but they fail to realize (or they staunchly deny) the very, very active part israel and the IDF have had in that -- and how it's representative of what the nation has always done.

at the same time, they focus more on israeli hostages than palestinian ones -- and i know, of course, that these zionist jews i've interacted with are either israeli or have loved ones in israel, and so have a very personal stake in the safety of israeli hostages (which may very well be friends or family members), but i find it strange how much emphasis they put on hamas' cruelty in taking hostages while the IDF is doing the same thing (in essence; the exact details of who's doing it worse are important to note, but not relevant right now, because folks should realize that their side is being at least as cruel as the enemy's).

recently i was drawn into an argument with an israeli zionist (who, unfortunately, is very close to the action and tragedy by being israeli), and she was incredibly offended by my anti-zionism and my opposition to israel's abject cruelty to palestinian citizens, as it seemed (to her) like i was bypassing the cruelty hamas has enacted on israeli citizens -- which is very telling. i've noticed that we as jews have the tendency, whatever the situation may be, of focusing more on our pain than the pain of others, even if we are the ones hurting them. that person has every reason to be scared and hurt, and i'd be lying if i said her response wasn't at least somewhat sympathetic, but her pain in this horrible, violent conflict does not invalidate the pain on the other side. jews, throughout this recent crisis, have consistently not talked in depth about the constant losses in palestine -- am i suddenly being callous by focusing on those losses, and not our own? (YOUR PAIN AND THEIRS AREN'T MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE, YOU DOLT! sorry...)

because it all comes down to believing in israel! my mom has always told me about how beautiful it is there, about her time living on a kibbutz... and sure, it might be nice. i can't argue with that. but why is it that our nationalism for israel is so strong, so virulent? i have not seen patriots as loyal for any other country. and when you criticize israel, israelis feel like you're criticizing their entire existence -- and many non-israeli jews do, as well. because zionism has been built so deep into the modern religion! it's made to be a necessary piece! belief in it is the default!

and, from the inside looking in, i can't be surprised that many jews take anti-zionism as being antisemitic -- because, to them, israel and zionism stand as the pinnacle of safety and support for the jewish people. it is impossible to argue with them about anything above that base layer, as the base layer itself serves as a foundation: so long as a jew thinks that israel is right, deserved, and necessary, no proof will sway them into hating israel. it's just impossible, and that's very frustrating.

for me in particular, i find it very frustrating, as this single idea has turned so many people i know to support a genocidal entity. they believe in and support israel, so they stand with it now -- even if they condemn its current actions, they neglect how those actions are just an extension of its inherent existence -- whether they think israel's doing the right thing or wrong thing right now, they don't really care at the end of the day, because israel, to them, is necessary in keeping the jewish people alive. they stand with it, thinking that jews can only stand at all if they do.

but a genocidal crutch is no crutch at all: it only breaks us more. zionist jews make me so mad, and the worst part is that i could never express that to them in a way they'll understand.

[yeahiguess3232]

First time drawing the season 1 kids! They were forced into a group/family picture^^

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

[melodyatlas]

i know about the dating aspect but very little about the actual plot of the actor au show

what's it about?

ah see, the reason you don't know about the shows plot is bc,, ,, , neither do i

no, but honestly the original idea was for it to be a drama that centers around batman and the robins with the starting point either being when damian has already shown up, or perhaps right when tim is about to take the mantle so there can be the drama of damian showing up and making it a seasonal arc for him to integrate

the thought process in skipping over dick and jasons times as robin was simply logistics, i want a decent cast already there and established, but not too big of a cast so it can expand into later seasons

i also wanted the show to be a pick and choose of canon events, kind of a patchwork of things in various canons that i like or just find interesting, so the plots would be similar to certain comics but not necessarily the same (i haven't worked out any real timeline past a few notable events)

and that's about the only thing i rly thought of the show itself bc my brain was a little more focused on the actors rather than the characters. but since you've asked this i can't get it out of my head, toying with various ideas based on major dramas from our world

is it an insane run that lasts way after it should have died and has genuine cultural effects like supernatural? since i skipped over so much backstory does that get included as flashbacks a la the Lost format or more interspersed flashbacks? hell, do they release tie in novels or comics for the fans who latch onto dick or jason and want real stories from when they were robin beyond the necessary flashbacks for storytelling purposes?

i think ive officially decided the show starts out with tims origin, so damian wouldn't show up until season 2 or 3 (logistically it makes more sense to wait until s3 but it makes me sad to have him missing for 2 seasons lmao, so ill circle back to that)

this way we have a decent sized starting cast but not so large that we'd have to kick people off screen to make space for the characters that come later. this means ill actually make jasons debut as red hood is the main plot point for the first season, there's no pit madness here, and things definitely won't play out the exact same as the comics (though you wont catch me changing much about utrh here, just adjustments to make it more of a tv show thing) i will elaborate about this arc Very Soon cause im giving myself all sorts of ideas right now

and this got a little away from me lmao, ill be posting more details hopefully some time this weekend now that ive been giving it more thought 😂 (no actual writing yet tho as i have to wait for my temp computer to get that done, just more of my rambling like this 😅 and maybe some bullet point lists lmao)

[icycoldninja]

I would like two separate requests for Raiden's Metal Gear with a male reader with Wolverine's powers and a healing factor, and everything is another one from Deadpool. I would like to know what it would be like. I just watched the movie, and it made me think a lot about this headcanon.

OK, I'll write the wolverine one first and post the other one later. I'll tag you in it so you get the notification.

MGS2!Raiden x Wolverine-like!Reader headcannons

-You are quite grouchy. Raiden isn't sure whether he likes that or not.

-While your interactions can be rather stiff, at least you both know when to sober up and focus on the mission whenever a serious situation presents itself.

-Raiden gets used to your gruffness over time, even if you are a bit too brash for his liking--but what does it matter? A sharp tongue and sharper mind make for higher chances of survival.

-Raiden was scared of your claws at first, thinking you'd use it to kill him, but gradually warmed up to you.

-He was shocked to discover you could regenerate, but realizes quickly that it's an incredible boon.

-While he'd hate for you to get wounded, at least he can rest easy knowing you can recover almost immediately.

-Admires your heightened senses. It makes going on missions with you that much easier since you can smell your target from a mile away.

-You're strong, very strong, and Raiden is thankful for that since he can rely on you if anything ever happens to you in battle.

-Since Raiden tends to focus on stealth and recon, it's nice having a powerful "bodyguard" at his beck and call who can dispatch tricky enemies, making a scene if necessary, as a diversion.

-But Raiden is still a capable man himself, (never forget he was a child soldier) so when the time comes, you two make an awesome power couple.

[primavera-weirdeggii]

Skizzleman Week day 2!

Prompt: Hybrid/AU (by @skizzlemanweek)

AU of my own creation: Cave Dwellers AU - continued from yesterday

With every step he took towards the blue-spattered crevice, his anticipation grew.

The rumbling noise disappeared after a few minutes, but the weird fog in his vision remained.

The blue substance was definitely coming from something within the crevice, and it appeared to be growing out in veins from wherever the source was.

Skizz crouched down just in front of one of the tendrils, poking it with the tip of his sword. The substance scraped away from where his sword drew its path.

“Huh.” He breathed.

He cautiously stood back up again, being careful not to jostle his shoulder too much. He tested his sore foot and found that it didn’t hurt as badly as it did before.

The blue substance appeared to have a texture similar to moss, or maybe mold. It didn’t look toxic or anything, but there was definitely an odd aura about it.

There was an odd aura about this entire caving trip. Skizz had never been this lost before, nor had he ever been this unlucky when it came to finding resources - and that’s saying something.

He can’t find the exit to this cave, so he might as well try to figure out what’s going on. The blue substance must have something to do with it, since he’s never been this unlucky, and he’s never seen the substance before.

Skizz ducked his head and walked further into the crevice. He found that it was basically a thin tunnel, which was completely covered in the blue substance. His iron boots squished slightly into the ground with every step.

As he went deeper, he began to see little white flecks mixed in with the blue. Eventually, he came across a patch of the substance with tentacles growing from it.

“Huh,” Skizz breathed, and then jumped as the tendrils suddenly waved as he spoke.

“Whoa,” he said again, and the tendrils waved and lit up a slight blue.

“This is cool!” He cheered, and the tendrils lit up, waved, and made a little noise.

Suddenly, something deeper in the cavern shrieked, and the same rumbling noise from earlier started up again.

Skizz froze as the fog thickened, and the rumbling seemed like it was coming from all around him.

The fog was so thick that he couldn’t see anything at all - not even his hand in front of his face. His breathing picked up, and he pressed his back against the wall.

The wall squished under his weight, and he threw himself away with a barely-repressed shriek, brushing away bits of the blue substance that clung to his clothes.

He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what was going on - Skizz was just gonna stand here and be silent until the chaos went away.

He wrapped his arms around himself, cringing in pain as he moved his injured arm, and waited.

Eventually the rumbling stopped, and Skizz let his arms fall away with a sigh.

“What are you doing?!”

Skizz jumped about a thousand feet in the air at the hushed voice. “What the— who’s there?” He called.

“Shhhh!” The voice shushed. “Get outta there man! You’re gonna summon the warden!”

“What the heck is a warden?” Skizz asked, keeping his voice down this time. He turned his head around, looking for the source of the voice. The fog was still thicker than ever, so his attempts were unsuccessful.

“Obviously you don’t know, you were literally talking to a sculk sensor…” the voice mumbled, a hint of snark in their tone.

“Quit judging me! Where are you even talking to me from?”

“I’m literally right above you, you can’t see me?”

“No! It’s pitch black in here!” Skizz looked up anyway, trying to see if he could find the person behind the disembodied voice.

“I can see just fine!”

“Then why don’t you come to me?” Skizz snarked. He was getting tired of this game - if this guy wanted something from Skizz, he should at least show himself.

“Fine.” Skizz heard the whoosh of air being displaced, and the soft squish of something landing on the blue substance. “Now are you gonna answer my question?”

Skizz turned to look at where he heard the person land, but could only make out a vague outline. The person had a bulkier build, and was shorter than himself, and Skizz could clearly make out the wings of a bat hybrid. Skizz blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision to no avail. “What question?”

The person sighed, and Skizz could practically taste the eye-roll. “Why you’re yelling in a warden’s den.”

“I was only yelling because I got hurt! And the tentacle-thingy was glowing when I’d talk.”

“The ‘tentacle thingy’ is called a sculk sensor, and setting them off can trigger a shrieker, which summons the warden.” The person explained. “Which is why we have to be quiet.”

Skizz blinked. “Was that the rumbling sound then? The warden?”

“No, the warden wasn’t summoned yet. The rumbling serves as a sort of warning. The first three rumbling sounds are warnings, and the fourth one summons the warden.”

This guy sure is saying some words, and Skizz can only understand some of them. “So, wait, what is the warden?”

Silence for a moment, where Skizz thinks he isn’t going to answer. Then, the mystery person speaks. “You really aren’t from down here are you?”

“No, of course not!” Skizz exclaims, throwing his arms out. “I’ve been running around this cave system like an idiot for hours! I got chased by spiders, shot in the arm, and jump-scared by some random guy-!” Skizz pointed at the figure, who twitched backward at the action. “-who started being rude for no reason and still won’t answer my question. So I’ll ask again. What. Is. The warden?!”

The word echoed in the confined space of the cavern, amplified by the close-knit walls. Skizz realized what he had done a second too late, as the tendrils on the sculk sensor waved and made a sound, and a shrieker screamed further down the cavern.

“Shit.” He and the person said at once.

Then the rumbling began.

Worse than before, the whole cavern began to shake. The fragile sculk vines shook and fell away from the walls with the intensity of the tremors, and what little he could see was quickly swallowed up by the thickest fog he’s ever seen. He couldn’t even make out the slightest shape of the bat hybrid’s body anymore.

On the other end of the cavern, something began to emerge from the ground. The sculk warped and bulged and squished around, as something unearthed itself.

Skizz could hear his heartbeat in his ears - or, maybe it wasn’t his heartbeat, but instead a horrific sound coming from something else in this cave.

He felt someone grab the wrist of his left arm and pull, and he hissed in pain as his injury flared at the treatment.

“We need to go. Now.” The voice hissed.

Skizz could tell this wasn’t the time to argue, and frankly, he was inclined to listen to whatever this guy would tell him right now. He’s injured, scared, and frankly, tired of being in this cave. He nodded, not knowing if it was safe to talk.

“The warden is blind, so it can only track us through sound and smell. I can get us out of here, but you’re gonna have to trust me. I know- I know that’s a big ask of someone you just met, but-“

Skizz slid his hand over the bat hybrids’, cutting off his rambling and giving a firm nod. This guy is the expert here, and Skizz knows when to give the authority to someone else.

The warden fully emerged from the ground - Skizz could hear it sniffing and groaning from here.

“Okay,” the hybrid breathed entwining their fingers, “hold on.”

Skizz squeezed the hybrid's hand and felt his other arm go around his waist, pulling Skizz to his side. Then, with a beat of the hybrid’s wings, they leaped up onto a ledge in the cavern, several meters from the floor.

The warden groaned as it wandered towards where they just were, sniffing the spot where Skizz had leaned against the wall - some of his blood must’ve got on the sculk from his sleeve.

The warden had tendrils on its head that were similar to those of the sculk sensor, and Skizz imagined they served the same purpose. The wardens rib cage was exposed, and now Skizz could clearly see the source of the heartbeat - the warden had a giant heart beating away in that chest.

The hybrid pulled on Skizz’s hand again, and Skizz turned to look.

The fog was less thick up here, and he could just barely make out the other person’s eyes. They were entirely black, no visible pupil or iris or anything. Just like, well, a bat’s eyes.

“C’mon,” The hybrid said. “We’re not in the clear yet.”

Skizz nodded, continuing to follow their lead. They pulled him by the hand along a narrow path carved into the ceiling. As they walked, Skizz let the fingers of his other hand drag against the wall, and he could clearly feel chips and scratches that could only have been made by a pickaxe.

The sounds of the warden got quieter the further away they went, and eventually the pathway turned away from the crevice and into the wall, presumably deeper into the general cave area.

Eventually, the blindness caused by the warden completely faded, and Skizz could get a good look at his companion.

The bat hybrid was wearing dark clothing with accents of a lighter color - it was still too dark to tell what. His wings were a dark brown, and his hair was a similar shade. Skizz looked down to their joined hands and spotted nicely manicured nails - or maybe just dull claws.

The warden was so far removed from them that it wasn’t even a threat anymore, but Skizz still didn’t want to let go of his hand.

“My name is Impulse, by the way.” The hybrid said, glancing back at Skizz as they kept walking, offering a kind smile.

Skizz returned it with a sheepish one of his own. “I’m Skizz. Sorry we got off on the wrong foot earlier, I was scared and didn’t know what was happening.”

“Don’t sweat it man, I understand. Just… maybe next time don’t scream at me while stood next to a sculk sensor.”

Skizz laughed, swinging their hands between them (and immediately regretting it when his shoulder stung from the motion). “No promises.”

[hiddenbysuccubi]

Joan woke up, a tousled disoriented mess. Her faux brown curls stuck in the half undone zipper of her jacket, her hoodie underneath wicking sweat as she had too many layers on - for wherever she was evidently lacked A/C. Her stomach lurched as if she'd eaten a pound of bad shrimp the night before and a sunbeam fell like a needle through her eyelids.

Her inner Buffy was nagging. 'Get up! Assess your surroundings! Remember anything from last night, God!'

She'd... she'd made it back to 1999, she giggled, hoisting herself onto her side. Almost missing a ratty blanket that fell from around her midsection. Patting herself down, she noticed that someone had unmistakably gone through her pockets. All that was missing though, were her pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She growled, and though wincing searched the dingy... motel? room she was in.

It smelled like... well she always smelled of leather and whiskey and smoke these days. But the blanket she pushed from herself as she crouched smelled like more.

"Listen, I'll help ya and keep you secret for now. That's me, saving the damsel in distress. But I'm no sodding white hat - I'll have you know. So you" Spike had pointed at her. "And me, are gonna have a little chat about setting my head right."

Then she'd... said something girlish like his head always feeling right and had asked him to spar, before passing out the second she stood up. Buffy put a hand to her forehead and laughed. A desperate, manic laugh. "Bloody hell, the bint's gone barmy." Huffed a voice from the other side of the door.

Joan couldn't stop smiling as she opened the door before the second knock, though tears streamed down her face making her look like a deranged raccoon.

"Always crazy, Spike. Thought that was your type?" Joan stated candidly, pulling the door farther open so that her guest could skirt the room around the sunbeam. Joan shut her eyes tight and tried to focus. "Time sickness. Been sick for a long time. Not myself - not this year's self - not next year's- please tell me you brought something to drink?"

Spike crossed his arms, not hiding the bottle in his hand well as he tried to ascertain her sanity. She didn't like that look.

Joan pouted. Something that was less creased and a lot more cute when Buffy'd... well when Buffy would pout. "Don't you of all people judge me!" She pointed a finger in his direction, staggering a little. "I don't need a soulless de-fanged Vampire being judgy mc-judge. I should know! I took down-" No, Buffy had taken down The Judge. "a list of people who can judge me, and you're not on it!" What she needed was her Champion. He'd be top of that list.

Spike continued to look at her like he was stuck with a nutter. Before deciding, with an eyebrow raised, to hand over the bottle.

Joan took it with a look so dirty it felt like she blamed him for all the woes in the world, and so wounded it felt like she was trying to say 'sorry' for all of it. After a minute of drinking, the woman seemed to calm and took in a deep breath, her eyes starting to focus.

"Thank you." She grumbled out, a bit more subdued as she handed the bottle back over. Then without preamble, she turned to the unused bed and took off her jacket and hoodie, sucking at her teeth as her hair was shorn by the zipper. "So. I can certainly help you get the chip out faster than you otherwise would, but there are other things I need first. I can't completely meddle with the timeline...." she trailed off as she replaced the jacket and wadded up the hoodie.

"Should I be worried that you're more lucid drunk than sober, luv?" Spike asked wearily, not disliking watching the brunette adjust her wardrobe.

Layers fixed, Joan turned back to look at him. Properly seeing him for the first time that day. She could see his jaw and cheek bones better in this lighting, his slender body, the promise of lean muscles beneath his sleeves. "It won't stand in the way of my mission. And it won't matter when I succeed."

She took two measured steps closer to him in the dark room, as his eyes trailed her.

"And why's that?"

"Because when I succeed, 'I' won't exist anymore."

She would stay with him there in his world down below