#perhaps at the cost of some of my sanity

[nekky-nek]

Low effort meme with high stakes Text free version below if y'all want to make your own sillies

[cultivating-wildflowers]

💜

[tinietaehyun]

Join Me, Won’t You?

[MarchHare!Hueningkai x Lost!Reader] [One-Shot] [Wondrous Tales Series]

Pairing: MarchHare!Hueningkai x Lost!reader

Genre(s): Fantasy, dark fantasy, supernatural, dark romance, action.

Contains: Profanity, manipulation, coercion, mentions/implications of death or injury, sedation, binding, possessive behaviour, suggestive themes, dialogue-heavy.

Links: Masterlist || Wondrous Tales Masterlist

Note: Thanks for the patient wait! <3

Summary: Gasping and panting raggedly for breath, you seemed to have done good by sliding down the fluorescent tunnel as a last resort! The King’s guards almost caught you!

What a maniac he was! How could someone be so obsessive? Your heart rate slows as you peer around, huh, this area seemed secluded. You deem it should be safe to take some rest here. Right? Goodness, you couldn’t trust this place at all! Little by little you feel your sanity tearing away.

“Oh? Who’s wandered into my little grove? Another guest for my tea party?” Your head snaps up seeing a tall man, with a coy grin as he clicks his tongue, walking towards you, “Oh you must be the pretty little guest I’ve heard so much about…oh then, join me, won’t you? For my little tea party?”

You had a feeling you couldn’t refuse even if you wanted to.

Coughing and spluttering as you clamber through the tunnel like your life depends on it, you finally spot a halo of light towards the surface. With a rush of adrenaline surging through your veins, you make your way upwards and heave yourself above just as you hear the final chunks of soil crumble and fall sealing off the burrow.

Fuck. You sit on the fluffy purple grass panting heavily as though you had run a marathon. Sweat drips down your forehead to which you wipe off with your arm and you grimace feeling your lungs burn and legs ache; you look at your arms and legs seeing the scratches and dirt.

That was terrifying! You almost got buried alive! After a few minutes, you compose yourself and stand up wearily attempting to make sense of your new wacky surroundings. Muttering, you begin to walk around, “The fuck am I going to get into this time?”

Your eyes are drawn to a bright yellow arrow on a sign board. Several actually, of numerous colours all pointing in one direction. You gaze below seeing haphazardly hanging bunting and old party decorations which seemed to be decaying into the ground. Broken tea cups, paper plates, napkins.

Goodness… A shudder goes through you. Surely…you hadn’t truly ended up at the Hatter, did you? You wanted to avoid that madman at all costs from what you heard about him!

You eye the arrows again, it was perhaps best to never follow them, after all in Wonderland, nothing is as it seems. You peer at the bright pink bushes and grimace, maybe you could stray off the path a little. Pushing through the bushes, you begin to make your own way through this new space.

You weren’t exactly sure if this was a good idea or whether you were just getting yourself even more lost. But anything was better than Yeonjun! What a maniac he was! How could someone be so obsessive? After a few minutes, your eyes widen seeing an opening in the foliage and you push your way through with a glimmer of hope. You once again spot the sun stuck in the same spot in the sky, painting the opening with an oddly comforting golden hue.

Your heart rate slows as you peer around, huh, this area seems to be secluded. You deem it should be safe to take some rest here. Right? Goodness, you couldn’t trust this place at all! Little by little you feel your sanity tearing away.

You regard a mossy boulder beside a broken sign which seems to read “This Way!” Your heart drops. Another sign? Even though you strayed off the path…? This place was horrid!

Your legs were beginning to hurt even more; just a little break, that’s all you wanted. You decide to settle on the boulder with an exasperated sigh; your hand rests on your forehead as you pitifully attempt to relax in the godforsaken place.

After a mere moment of silence, a bright voice destroys your peace, “Oh? Who’s wandered into my little grove? Another guest for my tea party?” Your head snaps up seeing a tall man, with a coy grin as he clicks his tongue, walking towards you, “Oh, you must be the pretty little guest I’ve heard so much about…oh then, join me, won’t you? For my little tea party?”

Regarding him with a blank gaze, you remain silent and stiff. He tilts his head before letting out a cackle which startles you. His eyes…they twinkle with mischief, his wide smile. His umber hair sprawls haphazardly over his forehead, sharp, chiseled features which had your heart fluttering. A red diamond on his left cheekbone catches your eye. His jawline dangerously sharp with thin lips that always seemed to be in a permanent coy smile. Who was he?

The vibrant grass bristles as he takes a large step forward. You note his formal attire, indeed suitable for a tea party. A white satin shirt and beige waistcoat with brown rabbit ears embroidered below one of the breast pockets. A rabbit? Another one? A small black iron key, tiny in fact, hangs like a charm on his necklace.

The mysterious man seems to enjoy your expression of confusion as you regard him intently as he grins, “Does my appearance, please you so, precious?” He skips on over and your eyes widen as he brazenly looks you over, walking around you and observing you from all angles as if you were some museum exhibit.

“Mm,” he hums, intrigued and your breath hitches as his gloved hand grips your chin tilting it up. Goodness, he was comically tall, even from where you were sitting or were you just incredibly short? You stand up instinctively and grimace, seeing his towering height.

The male smirks, his thumb brushing over your lower lip as his eyes gleam flirtatiously, “Hm, well, aren’t you a pretty thing? A sight for sore eyes even, the last one was so dreary to look at, you know? I’m glad there’s still pretty ones like you that still stumble in here.”

You pry his hand off, shoving it away with a glare, “Who are you and what do you want?” A blatantly loud cackle escapes his lips and his eyes widen manically, “Oh come on! It’s always the same question with you guests! Lighten up! Why always think so pessimistically, precious?”

Snapping, you respond, “Oh I don’t know, maybe getting hunted down by the King of Hearts? Seeing someone innocent get dragged away to be beheaded? Not knowing any way out of this deranged place?”

He goes momentarily silent placing an almost sympathetic hand on your shoulder, leaning down with a frown and you wearily lean back before he startles you with a loud guffaw. You turn around with a grumbling mutter; you weren’t going to waste your time.

A yelp escapes you as a hand grips your shoulder and abruptly spins you around. You crash into a firm chest, your nostrils filled with sweet scent, hints of ginger, peppermint, maybe caramel?

You tilt your head upwards to see him with a bright smile unfazed by your attitude. His fingers slide down your arm before interlocking with yours, “Oh precious, don’t be like that. It hurts my delicate feelings, you know? Don’t tell me you plan to leave without attending my tea party.”

He sighs dramatically, “It’s been ages since I’ve had anyone but the Hatter attend my tea party and the Mice of course. I think even once the Caterpillar did, only once. He didn’t really like the pranks I played, but that’s besides the point.”

Before you could respond to the barrage of words that made absolutely no sense to you, he interrupts with wide eyes and a gasp, grabbing your wrist and dragging you with him.

“Hey-!“ you struggle helplessly, your feet skidding and stumbling in the grass. His grip is unforgivably tight and he seems to overpower you with ease as he resumes, “How so, so, so, rude of me! I never even introduced myself to you precious, goodness it’s been so long since I’ve entertained a guest, I’ve apparently forgotten my manners! Forgive me.”

You grit out, “I don’t care- let me go!” He releases a delightful chuckle, ignoring your struggle and plea with a blissful expression, “In Wonderland I am the March Hare, or more personally, Kai.” Briefly, he peers over his shoulder to see you still pulling and tugging against his hand and he snickers, “You’re quite adorable when you struggle like that, you must have really gained the King’s fervour.”

You stiffen, heart racing, how did he know? Kai smiles widely, “Oh don’t panic, you’ve come to the right place, that pompous ruler of ours never attends my tea parties no matter how many invites I send him. Hmph, perhaps he prefers the Hatter’s more grand-scale tea parties. Huh, or maybe it’s my games he doesn’t like. Whatever, I don’t really care for his presence.”’

“Now that I think about it, it really has been a long time since I’ve had a guest. The King is so, so, selfish! He kills those he doesn’t like? Why not just send them my way? I’m not mean like him, so you don’t need to worry.” His words begin to blur out as you try to register the onslaught of information.

A giggle escapes his lips, “I’m just a lonely Hare, always having tea alone with occasional mice and egregious Hatter. How boring, you’d think I’d have gone insane?” Kai bursts out laughing, startling you.

Wasn’t he already insane? Goodness if this is supposed to be sane here, then what was considered insane here? You grimace and your eyes widen as you take in the new surroundings.

A shriek escapes your lips as you see several clothed mice scurry past your legs and you stumble into Kai’s back. He chuckles, “Oh it seems you’ve spooked the mice. Or, they’ve spooked you,” another crazed little laugh leaves his lips. Kai picks one up by the tail shoving it in front of your face making you scream and stumble back. What the actual fuck?

He cackles at your reaction, “Not a fan of mice? What a shame. Imagine how I feel then?” He carelessly tosses it down with a squeak and you flinch. Oh god, what have you gotten yourself into?

Kai leans down with a deep gaze, “But it’s okay, I’ve got you now, to entertain and not these pipsqueaks I call guests! You, you, you, are much better, aren’t you, precious?” A wave of unease and fear runs through your body. You had to get out of here. Surely, nothing could be as bad as the King of Hearts?

With a grand spin and skip, he snaps his fingers and as if by magic, several twinkling lights and little lanterns (with unfortunate fireflies trapped inside) begin illuminating, giving the area a warm glow. Your eyes process the tea party set up.

There was a long mismatched table set, beneath a whimsical tree with vibrant, oversized flowers, wrapped with various string lights and colourful bunting. The tablecloth is a patchwork of different colours and patterns which clash. The tea cups are an assortment of shapes and sizes with a grand teapot with its spout shaped and painted like a purple elephant’s trunk. What the hell?

The chairs are quirky, unstable, some that wobble and the legs twist into weird shapes. There’s an eclectic mix of wacky treats, most notably the enormous scones, cakes with impossible layers and…giant sandwiches? Fucking hell, you’d believe you were on drugs if it weren’t for everything that happened earlier!

“Like it?” Kai asks, over-excited. You grimace, “It’s certainly…something.” Rolling his eyes, he grabs your arm, dragging you towards one of the chairs and you hiss, “Wait-!”

He pulls out a chair and gestures with a tilt of his head to sit. You huff, “No way.” Kai grins at you, placing his hands on both of your shoulders, “I’m all for playing hard to get, I can work with you, precious.” You yelp as he shoves you down onto the seat and pushes the chair with you on it against the table roughly, rattling everything on it making the remaining mice scatter.

Kai pushes several plates of food and some cutlery towards you and brightly hums, “Eat, eat, up! You need energy.” Looking at the food, your stomach doesn’t rumble, in fact, you feel sick.

“Oh precious, are you worried I poisoned it? I get it, your fears are justified. The King likes to do that doesn’t he? Remember I'm not cruel like the king?” His assurance doesn’t seem to alleviate your anxiety at all.

You murmur nervously, “Really, I’m not hungry.” He takes one of the cupcakes on the table, peeling off the striped wrapper and takes a massive bite; the chocolate smearing on his lips. After swallowing, he wipes his lips with a pink napkin, “See? Nothing happened to me? Tastes really good, precious.”

You gaze down at one of the plates presented and see a slice of chocolate cake and some biscuits on another plate. Meanwhile, Kai takes the liberty to pour you some tea in a comically large cup. This all feels disorienting to you. He urges once more, “Go on, don’t be shy, eat away, to your heart's content. Come on! Don’t make me say it thrice!”

With shaky hands you pick up the cake slice, you bring it to your lips. Kai watches you with great anticipation and you bite down. A burst of rich, creamy chocolate flavour bursts in your mouth brimming with ecstasy. Fuck, it tastes so good! What the hell?

Kai’s lips form a sly smile, “Oh? I saw that twinkle in your eyes. You like it, don’t you?” You shake your head, your mouth still full with cake. This damn cake!

A grin forms, “Oh? Are you embarrassed? I’ll have you know, this cake was once the favourite of the King. But he stole my recipe and now makes it at the palace,” Kai huffs.

You take another bite and he coos, “Just like that, you have no idea how happy it makes me to spoil my dearest, pretty guests.” If there was poison in this, no doubt it tasted good. Well, if there was one way to go out, this would be it. But oddly enough, as you continue to eat, nothing happens. So you take more, a biscuit there, a bite of a scone here, a touch of cream, a cupcake, some toffee and a sip of tea.

Your stomach feels full, incredibly so. In fact you hadn’t eaten since you arrived. How was everything on this wild table so good? Kai had helped himself to his own food alongside you, talking on and on, badmouthing the king, the Hatter and the mice.

Yawning, you sigh, feeling tired. Perhaps you’d gotten carried away with your food fest. Shit…did you over indulge yourself? It had been awhile… and it tasted so good. It’s not so wrong is it?

“And then I said to him..” Kai’s voice becomes muffled and your vision darkens as your eyes flutter shut. Just… a little nap.

Kai stops talking and peers at you fondly. “What a pretty sleeping face, it touches my heart.” He walks over cupping your cheek and he snickers seeing the slight smear of frosting on your lips and he wipes it off with his thumb. “How endearing, indeed. I could just eat you up, precious.” He takes another moment to gaze over your features, lingering a little longer on your parted lips, before shaking his head with a smile.

How quaint indeed…

A warm fuzzy feeling envelops you and you smile at ease. Was this all just a horrific nightmare? Were you finally going to wake up back in your bed at home?

With a croaky groan, your eyes flutter open, light filling your gaze. You peer around and go to move when you feel a constraint against your wrists, they’re bound together. A shriek escapes your lips, “What the fuck? What’s this-?” You regard the pink silk ribbon tied around your wrists with delicate care with a pretty bow on top.

It may not have been poison but it was a sedative! Shit. Your head pounds as you see double of everything, as if one wasn’t enough for your overstimulated brain!

A laugh reverberates and you turn your head to see the March Hare in all his glory with a gleaming, illustrious smile, as he tugs at the hem of his gloves. “Ah, you’ve awoken, precious. How soundly you slept, I could get used to seeing such a sight daily.”

You snarl, “You maniac! What have you done?” He snickers, “Oh? What’s with the sour mood? Woke up on the wrong side of bed?” You snap, “Oh fuck off! Release me, I’ve indulged you haven’t I? I ate your fucking cake and desserts, what have I done to deserve this?”

Kai pouts at the use of your profanity, “Ah, ah, ah, no improper words at my tea party, this is a place of decorum after all. Only the Hatter’s Parties are so frivolous!”

You sneer, “Oh tying your guests hands together is considered decorum now, is it?” Kai snickers leaning down behind your chair, his lips close to your ear, “Be thankful I didn’t tie your legs together too. But hm, you raise a point. One that I won’t take into account, because,” he walks to the left of you with an extravagant wave of his hands, “My party, my rules!”

You seethe and he coos, “Oh don’t look at me like that, you’ll make me like you even more! How cute you look when you’re so frustrated!” His words send a tornado of anger surging through you. The sheer audacity of this man!

Rolling his eyes, he teeters as he walks around the table, “Anyway,” he snickers, “I didn’t kill you did I? Poison you? Stab you? You should be thanking me actually! If I were the Hatter, I’d have you hanging upside down on that tree over there gagged and swinging like a pendulum on a grandfather clock.”

You shiver at the thought, holy shit. This was insane! He hums, crossing his arms, “After all, I like my share of fun. What makes you think I’d just be content at seeing my little guest eat away? Sure that’s enlightening, but I want,” he approaches you once more, leaning down, placing his hands on either side of the armrests of the chair, caging you in, “…some real fun.”

His eyes beam into yours sending a dark shudder through you as his lips morph into a manic, just a little too-wide of a grin, “You can give me that can’t you? You’ve been good for me so far, haven’t you? You won’t die. None of my guests die! Well, unless they try to leave and break the rules I set, then let’s just say, I… put them out of commission for a while!”

Out of commission? Break the rules? Leave? What the fuck! Oh, he was deranged in his own twisted way. You definitely had to get out here!

Kai frowns, stepping back with a huff, “You don’t get it do you! Everyone always tries to leave! So that’s why I’ve bound your wrists! I give my guests so much freedom and it always backfires!” His eyes widen immensely as he grasps your shoulders shaking you with ferocity, “You can’t blame a Hare for becoming lonely? I just want someone to have tea and play with!”

For the first time you see hesitation, panic, anxiety in his brown eyes, causing your breath to hitch. “You’re different right? I can just tell, you’re not like the other pathetic losers that come here! You made it past THE Red King of Hearts, you’re definitely special!” His rambling makes your head spin.

“You liked the desserts and food right? I can make more. The fun will never end! We can play all my games, and it won’t even have any dire consequences, I just want someone to entertain me. I know you might be a little angry…but I'm sure you’ll calm down soon enough, won’t you?” He splutters with a manic gaze, shaking you further and you yell, “Stop!”

Kai freezes, breaking out of his rambling and manic muttering to peer into your frightened gaze and he coos softly, “Goodness, look at me rambling again, my apologies, I do this quite often with those I’m comfortable with. I- I- promise I’ll try to keep it in check.” He laughs brokenly, “Ah, you’ll have to get used to that. Don’t want you getting sick of me, would we?”

Too late for that, you think. Wait…get used to it? You stiffen. He wouldn’t let you leave. Like forever?

“…So I can’t leave your tea party?” You stammer. His brows furrow and he smiles, “Why would you? I’ve got everything here? And who knows when the next guest will arrive? The King probably wouldn’t even let them come here. Or they’d be stupid, and die on the way. Why take my chances when I have you already?” He speaks as though none of his words were deranged.

Shakily, you utter, “But…my home? I don’t belong here. I picked up that invitation by accident!” You splutter further, panic running through your system, “T-Think about it, always having the same guest, you’ll get bored of me, like you got bored of the Mice and the Hatter!”

Kai remains silent for a moment and a smirk appears on his lips as he suddenly cups your jaw, “Aw, are you trying the king’s method of reverse psychology? How adorable.”

Your face pales and lips quiver, “K-Kai, please. You have a heart, you’re sane right? You’re better than the King in all respects, you’ve treated me well and haven’t hurt me so far? Please,” you plead in desperation.

He clicks his tongue, “Tsk, tsk, none of that from you. Keep those pretty lips sealed, won’t you? I’ve finally got the one thing I’ve been wanting for a long time and you think your meager pleas will melt my heart and I’ll just let you go so I can be in solitude once more? Please!” Kai lets out a crazed laugh throwing his head back and clutching his stomach.

“Oh precious, no one’s really like you at all! Here you are, legs unbound yet you’re asking me so politely to leave instead of bolting off with tied wrists!” Kai cackles. Your shoulders droop and you frown.

You weren’t stupid, you knew you could run. But you didn’t want to find out the horrendous consequences of such an action. After all, he said he doesn’t like breaking the rules.

“I’ve got so much in store for you, if you managed to surpass the King, then your brain up there must surely be big, hm?” Kai grins, pressing the tip of his index finger to the center of your forehead and you flinch.

Muttering under your breath, you say, “I just want to go home.” Kai freezes and a dark expression crosses his face, “Home? Don’t be daft. This is your home now. Why in Wonderland would you return to that dismal place you call home? Tell me does your home have Giant Tulips and Neon Roses? Games galore?”

You snap, “I’ve had enough!” Your voice cracks, “I’m exhausted.” He groans dramatically, “Oh don’t be like that, you just woke up! I’ve worked so hard to set up some games for you. Well, that’s the one thing I can be better at than the Hatter at.”

“Games?” You sigh with a shriveled expression. You didn’t want to play his stupid games. With a mighty clap of his hands, he starts, “So! Let’s play!” Your mind whirrs, you had to get out of here, otherwise you’d be perpetually stuck here! Think, think, think Y/n! He resumes over-excited, “The first game is Shrink Maze!”

All of a sudden, dozens of dressed-up mice climb the table and push all the cutlery, napkins, holders, plates and dishes into what seems to be a maze. What did you just witness?

“Well done little ladies and gents,” Kai titters. Reaching into his pocket, he brings out a tiny vial filled with purple liquid. “Drink this nifty little thing and you’ll become the size of a mouse. Convenient right? I always did like becoming a tiny, put the entire world into a new perspect-“

You had it! All games had prizes! You just had to beat his games and make sure he had no way of refusing you! Your eyes scan around as he rambles on. There was a small iron gate with a faded red arrow. Through the foliage you see the billowing checkered valleys that lay ahead. That had to be your way out! It had to be, either way it was a chance you were willing to take!

Kai’s eyes narrow as he sees your line of sight and he leans down with a smirk, “Ah, ah, ah, looking to escape are we? That’s the Hatter’s territory precious, I don’t think your mind will handle his insanity.”

Oh whatever, yes, yes, you got the drill by now. Who said you actually had to meet the Hatter? You’d take your chances; you made it this far haven’t you? But you had confirmed one thing. That gate was indeed the exit out of the Hare’s Tea Party Grove.

He hums amused, “Even if you somehow staggered over there without me seeing, you’d only find it locked and the key is only in one place that only I know. So…too bad!” He lets out a wavering guffaw making you flinch.

You hum defiantly, “Your games. I’ll play. On one condition. A winner’s reward.” Kai tilts his head intrigued by your proposition, “Oh? Feeling cocky are we? What makes you think I’d agree to such terms then, precious?”

“You like games, and I’m sure after this long and many guests. You like winning them. Outsmarting your guests. Outwitting them. Seeing them struggle,” you firmly speak, gazing into his eyes with a racing heart.

“Huh,” he muses, folding his arms, eyes twinkling in amusement, “Very astute of you to observe such a thing. I do. I do like winning. I do like seeing my guests fumble about and lose.” With a shaky breath, you proclaim, “If I lose, I’ll stay. I’ll stay with you. Forever. We’ll have tea forever. If I win..”

He sharply interrupts you, “Which you won’t-“ you interrupt him back, “If I do, then you’ll grant me freedom. The key to that gate over there.” Kai throws his head back laughing; his fist slams on the table making the mice squeak as he finds your words the funniest someone has ever uttered.

“You’re bold, you know that? No wonder you made it past the King.” Your jaw clenches and your hands become clammy. Bite the bait! Kai utters with a sly grin, “Fine, I suppose I do love to win. I’ll bite,” he leans down startling you, “The bait I mean, not you. Unless…” “No-“ you sharply utter with a glare making him cackle.

“I do look forward to seeing you fumble and flap about.” You scoff, “As if.” With a leap behind you, he pulls you up, “Up, up, up, I’m getting bored from all this talking. As I was saying, Shrink Maze! See this lovely maze my mice friends have set up for you. You have to make it through to the exit.”

You glance at the maze. Seemed easy enough, you already had found the way out, simple. You could win this easily. All of a sudden, he grabs your jaw and presses the vial to your lips, “Spit it out and I’ll dislocate your jaw open into a permanent laugh,” he warns.

Your eyes widen, body tensing as the sickeningly sweet liquid slides down your throat. A tingle appears in your fingers and soon spreads like wildfire across your body. All of a sudden you feel lightweight and you find yourself tiny falling towards the now ginormous table, screaming.

Kai cackles, catching you in his hand and you tremble seeing his sheer size and dark gaze, “How cute you are, I could just crush you in the palm of my hand. Smoosh.” He drops you down onto the table and the monstrously sized cups, plates and decorations tower over you. You couldn’t see shit now! You didn’t even memorise the maze, fuck!

With a twisted smile, “Go on now, make your way through the maze.” With shaking limbs, you walk into the maze. Okay… you do recall having to take the first right and then one left, but that’s about it. So, you do just that. As you’re at a junction, you freeze hearing a terrifyingly loud squeak.

Kai’s voice resounds, “Oh sorry, I forgot to mention, the mice will be playing too. I did tell them that they’d get a nice chunk of cheese if they caught you, so I do apologise if they are tad aggressive, precious.” Thudding footsteps resound and you release a piercing shriek as you see a furry enemy turn the corner towards you sniffing and squeaking.

Fuck this! You hiss seeing your bound wrists, it made running so much harder! With your utmost you go straight, take a left, another left and another right. You had no fucking clue where you were heading? Another set of footsteps vibrate the table and tears brim your eyes.

Kai grins, “Oh dear, seems you’re at a dead end. Should I point them in the right direction, they’re only a wall away from you precious?” You snarl pint-sized, “Shut up!” Another squeak resounds.

You had to be quiet, they hadn’t found you here yet. You wrack your brains viciously. You peer up seeing the gargantuan decorations and chairs, back at Huening Kai. Hm, if you took into account their positions. Kai was East, you were the closest to him, so you were on the East of the maze. The exit was near the third chair of the table. Yes, yes! Maybe you could do this!

With your body and mind working overtime, you use the position of the humongous furniture, items and surroundings to help locate yourself and find your way through.

A shrewd shriek echoes and you scream seeing another mouse charging towards you from the right and your eyes flick around. You were this close, you were not going to let some furry nuisance ruin that! You couldn’t lose no matter what! The billowing napkin catches your eye and with speed, you grab it and hoist it above you charging towards it, the cloth flapping and puffing under the wind. The mice adorning an apron squeaks, eyes widened with confusion and fear and scurries off. Despite its size, it was still a skittish mouse!

A disapproving click of the tongue is heard from above - Kai. You let out a delirious laugh, your idea was stupid, stupid enough to work in this dreadful place!

“Ugh, how dreadful. Stupid mice,” he mutters with an irritated glare. Running, you take another right; the third chair now towering over you. It was right there! You grin widely seeing the path only turn right and with all your might you sprint.

The exit appears and you rush past with a foolishly wide grin as you peer up at him panting and sweat-ridden, “Done!” Your heart slams against your ribcage, legs burning and lungs on fire.

With a roll of his eyes, he picks up a green-rimmed tea cup and your eyes widen as he hovers it over you and a few drops fall on you causing you to shriek. A familiar tingling sensation appears and in the blink of an eye you find yourself back to normal size. Kai snarks, “A growing potion brings things back to regular size. Sorry, I suppose you are a bit soaked. Not many have made it past, so huh, good job.”

You grumble and he muses suddenly cupping your jaw to face him, “Though the sight of you soaked isn’t too bad either.” Glaring, you mutter, “I won. Next game.”

Kai grins, “Eager are we? You truly are different from the other guests. It really does make me want to just keep you all to myself, I bet we’d have so, so, so much fun together!” He pushes you to sit down with an excited flurry and Kai smiles at you, “Let’s talk.” You deadpan. “No, I mean, that’s the game, precious. Come on keep that pretty head of yours up to speed!”

You scoff at his remark and he grins sitting down opposite you, “What is the colour of the wind?” Your brows furrow. The fuck? He snickers at the bamboozlement on your visage.

“Give me an answer that satisfies my two questions and we’ll progress to the next game!” Kai chuckles loudly before he groans, exasperatedly, placing a dramatic hand on his forehead, “Give me a boring one and I’ll just consider that you lose.”

“That isn’t fair! You just won’t let me win!” You grit your teeth, this game wasn’t objective at all! You could be however creative you wanted and he could deny you all he wanted! This sly bastard!

“My Grove, my rules, precious, now stop pouting and start thinking!” He giggles. He really was determined to get you to stay; you gaze into his eyes, a spark of hesitance. Ah, ha! He didn’t like the fact you traversed the maze. That you won. That you had the possibility to escape. You’d sown the seed of doubt in his mind.

The gate. You just needed the key to the gate. If you could just find it. “Tick-tock!” You snap, “You didn’t mention a time limit?” Kai smiles mischievously, “Did I not? Whoops, well there is now, I’m sorry precious.” You glower at him, “Secondly, there is no time here!” He pouts, “Don’t ruin the experience, precious, here I’ll count then. Twenty, nineteen..”

You release a frustrated groan. The key. Fuck! You needed to keep him occupied. An answer he likes, something nonsensical, not logical perhaps?

“Uh…” you pick your brains. “Ten, nine..” he grins. You splutter, “The c-colour of the wind..” you eye the fluffy marshmallows on one cupcake, “is a thousand fluffy marshmallows and- and, forgotten rain..bows?” You finish unsurely.

Kai registers your answers before cackling maniacally, “Oh my goodness!” He shakes your tied hands over-excited, “Wonderful, wonderful!” His eyes meet yours with a twisted pleasure, “You are perfect to play with. Perfect. You just get me!” Remaining silent, you give him a glare making him laugh once more.

He leans forward gripping your wrists more tightly, “Mm, I did adore that nonsensical answer but you already won once right, so? Mm, no. You could have been even more nonsensical.” You snarl, “You-! This is unfair, completely unfair! How can I win then?”

He shrugs, his fingers reaching up to nonchalantly fiddle with his shirt collar, “Not my problem precious. Why would I help you leave?” You sneer, “I think you’re just afraid that I’ll escape.”

Kai painfully tugs at your bindings with a manic gaze and tilt of his head as he grits out, “One loss is already too many in my head. I don’t like, don’t like it at all. Also, I’d prefer to not let my pretty little guest win her prize of freedom. So, suck it up, precious and do what so say, when I say it, or I’ll just make you play for eternity.”

Kai’s fingers move up to fiddle unbothered with his necklace, the tiny key swiveling between his fingertips with ease. Wait. Your heart drops to your stomach as realisation fills your senses. The key! The only key here you’d seen was that key around his neck. Or were you just thinking a little too outside the box? Maybe you didn’t have to go through all this horseplay, no, you could just take a shortcut!

Gears in your mind grind and rattle. He did not underestimate you, that much was clear. He had changed his games up so much so that there was no way to win! You had to grab that key, and make a run for it! Huh…but the key was tiny. How could it fit in that gate’s keyhole?

“Hello?” Kai’s voice and sudden hand on your jaw breaks you out of your trance, “I’m waiting, don’t tell me I’ve melted that pretty head of yours into mush already?” You scoff shaking his hand off, “No. Hit me with the next question.” You just had to keep him occupied as you think of a way to get that key.

Kai grins widely, “Hmm…If a teapot…could sing, let’s say, opera. What genre would it perform?” As if to mock your predicament, he grabs the teapot and tilts it into his cup pouring more tea. What the type of question was that?

You snap, “You’re insane.” He giggles frantically sipping his tea, “Why thank you. Everyone always calls the Hatter insane, but sorely underestimate my abilities!” You seethe at his irritatingly charming smile.

“Just- Just give me more than twenty seconds this time, please,” you plead, feigning desperation. He tilts his head and coos, “Aw, that’s cute, I like the tone you get when you plead, fine, I shall allow it.” You have to refrain from sneering - he only allowed it because he was going to reject whatever nonsensical answer you came up with!

Your gaze flickers over the assortment of items on the table, lingering on the sharp knife beside the cake. The very cake that sedated you. Shit, you couldn’t even get him to eat it, he wasn’t stupid. Your eyes settle on the green-rimmed teacup, the growing elixir. Your eyes widen, the key- you could grow it back to original size (well, if your hypothesis was correct!)

It made the most sense, what place was more safe to keep the key than next to his own neck, shrunken down inconspicuously? You smile extra wide and he raises a brow, “What’s gotten you so happy, precious?”

“I’ve found an answer that I think you’ll like a lot,” you stand up. A sly smirk lines his lips, “Oh really? I have terribly high expectations, you know. Do enlighten me then.”

You brush past him with a calm gaze as you walk towards the teacup with the elixir. “The genre it would perform would be teatime tragedy.” Kai’s smile falters and he grimaces in disgust, “That’s your answer? How boring.”

You shrug, “Really?” Despite your bound wrists, you hook your finger into the handle of the teacup and raise it precariously. “It’s about the dramatic tales of an evening tea party that goes terribly,” you throw the teacup at him and his eyes widen as the liquid splashes across his face and torso. You finish, “Wrong.” With a bright hum, you gleam, “Like that.” Kai’s eyes snap to meet yours infuriated, “H-How dare you, such insolence! At my tea party? I’m the host!” You snap, “And I’m the guest!”

“Following my rules,” he argues flagrantly, “I did. I answered your question,” you grit out. He snarls displeased by your sudden defiance and your eyes sparkle as you see the key on his neck grow slowly. You had to make sure he didn’t notice!

With a rough tug, his fingers wrap around your neck and your lips part in surprise, hands against his chest. “Don’t test my patience precious, no matter how much you play, I won’t ever, ever let you win. Got that? Get that drilled into your lovely little skull.”

Your gaze meets his, breaths tumbling out. His body heat seeps through your clothes. His face was even prettier this close. His sharp nose, infuriated eyes, high cheekbones, a man sculpted by the gods themselves. Too bad he was a maniac, you’d have fawned over him in the real world. You see his eyes flicker to your lips back to your gaze, “There’s just something about you. I don’t like. At the same time, I don’t hate.”

So close. The key was so close. You almost flinch when his other hand moves a stray strand of your hair out of your face and delicately cups your cheek, “Such a pretty face, pretty eyes, cute nose,” his thumb tugs down at your lower lip making your breath hitch. Kai takes notice, smirking, “Such irresistible lips, that spew such irritable nonsense.”

“And you don’t?” You counter back breathless. Kai chuckles, “I do, but it’s better when you do it.” You lean closer, “Really? Do I win then? Could you just let me have this second win?” You plead. Kai clicks his tongue with a condescending grin, “Mm, you know I can’t do that, even when you beg so pretty, precious.”

Well, who needed his permission anyway? With a sudden jump, your hands clamp over the key and with a rough tug, you run past him. He screeches in agony, the friction of the necklace against his skin and the sound of it snapping from the sheer force of you pulling it off his neck. You peer down, the key was indeed large enough!

“You-!” The March Hare snarls enraged as he sees the key. He lets out a deranged laugh, “You clever, clever, little thing! So you figured it out all this time huh? You never planned to indulge me at all!” He lunged forward with an arm outstretched. You shriek, kicking one of the chairs in his direction to hold him back a little longer. You could NOT afford to drop this key!

Bolting towards the gate, you pant madly, you could do it! You were so close, so close- your fumble with the key inserting into the keyhole trembling. Quick, quick, quick!

“You misbehaving brat, after all that hospitality-“ you scream as you feel his hand on your shoulder and you twist yourself around head butting him in the face making him groan. Blood drips to the ground from his nose, sliding down his lips and chin as he coughs.

Tremoring, you twist the key, it doesn’t open, “Fuck!” You scream. You twist it the other way and you hear a rusty click followed by a groan as the worn gate slowly swings open. As you go to sprint, Kai’s hand grips the back of your shirt with frightening strength. Fear envelopes your gaze, adrenaline pulsates through you.

So you do the one thing that comes to mind, with your leg, you kick the gate backwards to a close and a painful string of curses leaves his lips as the heavy gate slams onto his arm with a sickening crunch, releasing you. Kai bellows in agony, falling to his knees; the surge of pain bearing too much for him, perhaps even a fracture of his arm.

He sneers, panting like a rabid dog, “That cursed little-“ Kai’s lips form an eerily wide grin as he yells out, “It’s a death s-sentence for you now precious! Oh I hope the Hatter treats you even better than I did!” A deranged laugh leaves his body as he clutches his arm, throwing his head back as tears run down his face.

Indeed the March Hare would spiral further into the abyss of insanity and isolation once more it would seem.

If only your hands weren’t tied together, it would have made this entire thing easier. You sprint, your calves searing and beginning to seize up, fuck, you couldn’t afford to look back. What if he was still chasing you? You shudder, powering through. You needed to find a way to cut this ribbon off, it was beginning to hurt your skin!

After what seemed like forever, you finally slow down into a jog and then finally a walk. Your limbs tremble from exhaustion. The foliage around you seems to morph and you begin seeing various trinkets scattered around the blue and purple plants. Where was this absurd place? Surely you couldn’t have ran into the Hatter already?

Walking cautiously, you peer around. All of a sudden a raspy voice startles you and you spin around trying to locate it, “Well, well, what’s this? A new guest? It’s been so long, dear.” It chuckles, “Up here.”

You tilt your head up and your eyes narrow as you finally see a large bluish-purple caterpillar lounging in the trees, with a lazy smile and hookah in one hand. It was incredibly camouflaged - holy shit!

“What’s with the bound wrists? Asking for a death sentence? If the Hatter finds you like this, he’ll have a real jolly time with you.” You feel nauseous at the thought and you awkwardly ask, “Ah, you wouldn’t mind untying me, cutting this off would you?” It heartily laughs, taking another breath from its hookah.

“I don’t know, why should I?” It muses, its many arms moving. You sigh exhausted, “Please, please don’t make my life anymore difficult than it is. You know what, never mind, I’ll find a sharp rock or branch or something.”

Before you walk off, it scuttles down making you grimace and reaches around in the messy foliage bringing out a small blade, with a swift slice, the ribbon comes undone and your hands are free to move. Eyes wide, you thank him, “Why? You just said-“

“I know, I know, yes, yes,” it rolls its eyes and you cough as it blows the purple fumes into your face. “I can’t help but feel pitiful for the poor souls that end up here. Far too much effort really, to survive here,” It groans, stretching. You inquire, “Well, uh thanks anyway. You…wouldn’t happen to know an exit by any chance?”

The plump caterpillar snickers, “An exit? In Wonderland? Oh dear, that’s not easy to find.” You deadpan, “So you know where it is, and the fact it does exist.” It muses grinning, “Well observed dear. Indeed, it’s in Cheshire’s Forest. On the outskirts, though, only one person’s made it that far.”

You frown, “One person?” It nods, “The others well, let’s just say Cheshire doesn’t make it easy. He knows everything about Wonderland. But no one knows anything about him.” You shiver. What an enigmatic figure…

“Though, you could say he’s the sanest of the lunatic bunch here. Oddly. After all, in a land where madness reigns, only the sane can ordain,” it utters and you blink. You think your brain has quite literally fried beyond comprehension.

“Uh, well anyway, thanks I guess. I’ll be going,” you mutter. You’d probably rest somewhere first, then try to head to the forest. The caterpillar hums quizzically regarding your retreating figure, “Follow the path where the shadows dance, and you’ll find the Mad Hatter’s chance.”

You scoff with a smirk - yeah well, you’d avoid it then. No way.

Too bad you didn’t catch the rest of the line, oh well, the caterpillar didn’t really care enough to stop you. You’d die of insanity by the Hatter’s hand or Cheshire - it didn’t matter.

“Avoid the path with all your might, and you’ll find yourself with quite the fright,” it muses, completing the line, “Oh dear, well they made it this far, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Taglist: [open]

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[deathbxnny]

So tumblr decided to screw me over and posted the ask too early, which made me delete it in panic and lose the original ask. However!! I thankfully saved the first part of the ask, so here it is:

May I please request Yanqing learning to play a flute because he heard his s/o singing and wanted to be able to join?

Sorry again to the Anon. I also added/changed up the idea a little, so I hope you guys like it!!<33

Content: Established relationship, reader is a singer, teen reader, Jing Yuan being a smug menace, kind of unserious, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns!

((Not proofread))

The trouble of young love. (Yanqing x GN!Reader)

"You... want to learn how to play the flute?" Jing Yuan muttered in near disbelief, his brow raising high as he gazed down at the determined boy, who gave him a simple nod of approval. "Yes. And preferably, by the end of this week." He stated as though it was the easiest thing in the world to simply just learn an instrument in under a week. The general unfortunately didn't doubt that Yanqing genuinely believed that, however.

Jing Yuan blinked in surprise before glancing around quickly in thought. Was this another prank of his? No, it definitely wasn't that simple.

"... And why?" "Oh well... uh..." Yanqing nervously pulled at the collar of his uniform, suddenly slightly flustered and unwilling to share what had gotten him so awfully motivated in the first place. Not that the older man really needed to hear it, as he already had an inkling on what, or rather who, it could be. "... Does it even matter why? I've just been feeling very... musically inclined lately." Jing Yuan snorted at that despite his better judgment, which made Yanqing scowl in offense.

"I'm having a hard time believing that, Yanqing."

The blonde crossed his arms in defiance. "You're not even taking my request seriously, Master." He said, watching as said man leaned back in his chair and near mockingly crossed his arms as well. "It's not that I'm not taking this seriously... it's just that you've never had an interest in such artistic things before." He clarified, even if Yanqing knew better than to believe that it was just an innocent inquiry. "Besides... learning to play a flute is the same as wielding a sword. You need alot of time and patience to hone your skills. A week won't suffice." "And if it is?"

Jing Yuan now grinned in amusement, having expected to be challenged on this. He supposed that this would make for a good teaching lesson in the long run and whilst it may not be the most responsible thing to do, he decided that this would also serve as a form of small punishment for disturbing his "work" in the grand office.

Ah, young love... truly a troublesome thing.

The older man figured that he was doing all of this for you only. Yanqing mentioned your fear of singing in front of large crowds before, and therefore, it didn't come as a surprise that he wanted to do everything in his power to make his lover happy. In a way, it made the general proud to see the boy slowly grow into a young man... even if it came at the cost of his sanity at times. You had changed the lieutenant of the cloud nights in many ways. Some good and some awfully questionable, to say the least. But he figured Yanqing would learn such things on his own in due time.

"Consider me defeated." "And I get a raise to my allowance?" "Perhaps I'll consider it, depending on how well you play." That's all Yanqing needed to hear, the excitement and fire that burned in him at the prospect of not only beating his own master and then also getting more money to share with his dear dove made him immideatly turn and filter out of the room with no further comment. Unknowing of the perilous path he'd have to take in order to learn the art of this instrument.

He was confident that he could make it in under a week so that he could accompany your singing during your first ever stage performance in the grand theaters of the Luofu, which is the whole reason he wanted to learn how to play the flute in the first place.

It couldn't be that hard after all, right?

---

Well, after a good 5 days of relentless training, he still couldn't play more than notes akin to demonic screeching. The general was fair enough to lend him a fancy flute from his own youth, alongside a guide and a couple of traditional music sheets. And yet, it all ended with him laying sprawled out on top of them, the instrument carelessly tossed onto a nearby pillow, whilst he stared up at the ceiling with a deadpan.

Perhaps he truly had underestimated the sheer power of the flute.

But he couldn't claim defeat. At this point, it had become something personal. A challenge that neared one of life and death. If he lost now, then the general would bring this up for centuries to come, and Yanqing did not want to live through that personal hell. Sighing deeply, he rubbed his tired eyes.

Surely, there had to be something he was doing wrong. And yet he just couldn't figure out what it was. He hadn't slept or rested properly in days either, having been too focused on this life changing mission that he just had no care for anything else. But the self-doubt was beginning to creep in, and he didn't know if he was more upset at himself or at the general. He simply wasn't as talented as you were musically.

And just as his eyes were beginning to flutter shut in defeat, your melodic voice breathed life right back into him. He inhaled deeply, quickly drapping a couple of blankets and pillows over the flute and music sheets before he quickly summoned a sword to act as though he was polishing it. Entering the room with an obvious air of worry and nervousness, you gave him a weak smile.

"Yanqing." You hummed gently, perhaps even nearly shyly as you approached him and took a careful seat next to him. His hand reached out and pressed it's palm against your warm cheek, a tired smile gracing his lips. "Hello there, my dove... it's late out. Why are you here?" He asked, nervous that you'd notice the golden flute that was sticking out from behind a pillow a couple meters away. But thankfully you only had eyes on him, as you fidgeted with your hands.

"The last rehearsal is tomorrow... and I'm starting to have doubts... especially after I heard the rumor regarding the general and the Master Diviner attending the performance as well! I didn't know it was going to be such a big thing..." And it wouldn't have been if Yanqing never mentioned a word of it. He should've guessed that his master would eventually figure out his plans and attempt to get first row seats to view his defeat. Something about it filled him with strong determination, the need to win resurfacing in his heart. If not for himself, then you.

"Don't worry about it. Just focus on your singing, and I'll take care of the rest." He said, a serious look on his face that made you raise a confused brow. Yet you thankfully didn't dwell on his cryptic words any further due to him swiftly changing the topic to more mundane things to keep you distracted.

He eventually walked you home, your hand in his, the sun having set completely hours ago. It was a calming moment that refocused his mind and soul on the task at hand, which he ofcourse immideatly resumed once he returned to the estate. It didn't matter to him if he had to stay up 2 more days for this to work.

He'd play the most beautiful sounds on the flute to accompany your singing and if it's the last thing he did.

At this point, he was perhaps just doing it to wipe that smug look off of his mentors face.

---

"Alright! All done... you look great, (Y/N)!" One of your friends grinned as she fixed up the last details on your rather lavish performance clothes. You tried to weakly smile back, unable to help the deep feeling of fear that ran through you. "Is the theater room full already?" "To the brim! And the General and Master Diviner have also arrived just now... man, it's a real fullhouse tonight." She trailed off, missing the way all color seemed to leave your face.

You had hoped that it was a simple rumour, but after sneaking a peek from behind the curtains into the grand hall, your fears truly did come true. Jing Yuan was casually leaning back in his seat as he conversed with Fu Xuan about a topic that made the woman deadpan at him in annoyance.

This is definitely going to be a disaster, you concluded with an affirmative nod.

"(Y/N)? Please get in formation. The performance is just about to start." The director whispered to you when the lights dimmed and you were pushed towards the stage. Your heart was beating against your chest, your mouth feeling dry. How were you supposed to do this? You couldn't do it. The fear was too great.

And it didn't help that Yanqing was nowhere to be seen in the crowd.

Gulping as the music started, you shakily opened your mouth when suddenly the most melodic symphony of a flute accompanied your at first trembling voice. You blinked in surprise, eyes glancing over to see your lover resting atop a fake tree as his fingers moved along the instrument. Finally understanding everything, you turned to the audience with newfound confidence. Your voice traveled throughout the entire stadium and bewitched it's listeners. No one could look away if they wanted to.

And by the end of the performance, no one could stay seated either, as they cheered and clapped loudly... except for Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan, who still looked hardly impressed next to the general. They watched as Yanqing approached you with a wide smile, your arms immideatly wrapping around him in sincere gratefulness. Giving the man an expectant look, the Master Diviner crossed her arms with a frown.

"Well? What type of teaching moment was this supposed to be?" She asked, not being convinced of his ways of teaching at all anymore. Jing Yuan kept staring ahead, a calm and victorious smile on his lips whilst he watched you and Yanqing happily talk on stage. "That he should learn how to be patient and not overdo things that take time, unless he wants to reap the consequences." Fu Xuan raised a brow, obviously very much unimpressed. "You do realise that this just proved to him that he doesn't need to do that?" "Ah no... he won't do it ever again. Just wait." He simply replied, his grin widening when Yanqing's face dropped. There was a pause... before the boy suddenly just finally collapsed into your arms and chaos broke out.

Fu Xuan gave Jing Yuan a near horrified glance, the older man only continuing to smile in content.

He did try and warn him after all.

Alrighttt... I hope this was fine, Anon!! I once again apologize for accidentally deleting your request and hope this was okay enough to make up for it!!<33

[merakiui]

Mera Mera Mera Meraaaaahhhhh!

I am so down bad for the octo trio and am even more in love when it's stepcest, sorry your honor I'm a freak. 😔🤚

First the yan Floyd step-son! He's gonna show his mama that he's got his papa's genes too. And now that Papa is outta the picture, Floyd wants first dibs before he has to share with his silly brother. Spoiled boy wants to give only the best.

Then Ebb and Flow! When Jade said "Your not her only brother." I screamed internally and how he insinuated that he's dipped his wick when shes been sleeping! And since Azul grew up with these weirdos has he been treated to the similar teasing (but where they are kinda mean about it. 'You know we've noticed you staring Azul. We get that she's nice looking but watch those eyes. Just because we're a little freaky doesn't mean we're open to sharin' her.' [not that Floyd or Jade for that matter wants to...but just dangle the bait in front of Azul] kinda vibe.) I need to save this fic (among some other of your works) in my kindle to revisit because they have stuck themselves in my braiiiiiin!!!

AAAA yes yes!!!! I love Octavinelle stepcest. We will be freaks together, sweet anon. („ᵕᴗᵕ„)

Stepson Floyd who has always been so spoiled... making sure to give you the railing of your life now that he has you all to himself and no longer has to hold back (temporarily because Jade will want to have a go with you very soon). He's just so obsessed with you. He loves his mama to pieces!!!!

Ebb and Flow!Jade with the secret somno reveal...... oooooo he's the worst!!!! So sneaky... and if he knocked you up it'd seem like something careless Floyd would do (never Jade; certainly not! He's a good boy. <3)...... Jade setting his brother up for trouble while having plenty of fun with you when you're asleep. You're none the wiser, but your body seems to know something because you've felt so warm around Jade lately...

Oh, they are so unfiltered around Azul. The twins openly discuss how pretty you are in very non-platonic ways and Azul has to listen to these weirdos carry on about whether or not they think you'd spit or swallow their cum, what positions would be best to really have you screaming, if you'd let them mark you up. T_T they're both so shameless. Poor Azul... he just wants one cute café date with you, but he knows that will come at the cost of his sanity. It's an impossible battle... maybe the twins are willing to let him experience just a crumb of you, but if he gets too close they'll happily intervene and remind him he's just the childhood friend. Nothing more.

Maybe you and Azul sneak off to kiss and hold hands in private,,, secret relationship.......... which isn't so secret because the twins probably sniff the two of you out very quickly. ^^;;; still, it's fun to imagine. orz perhaps you have most of your "dates" at Azul's house without the twins. Sleeping over at his house and the two of you have to be quiet so you don't wake the house when you get nasty under the covers hehe.

[joezworld]

Christmas Story

Merry Christmas you guys.

Christmas Day

Morning broke over one of the most subdued Christmases Tidmouth sheds had ever seen. 

For most of the engines, it had started early: 

Gordon had vanished before the sun, taking some morning train - which one it was, nobody was quite sure; the limited-service Christmas day timetable was a baffling mystery that only became clear on the day of.

Edward, who woke at five-thirty in the morning out of habit, had elected to leave the shed while silence still reigned. Whichever train Gordon didn’t take, he did. 

James and Delta woke together as twilight began to dapple the sky, and slipped out of the shed with a bare minimum of noise or fuss. Where they went off to was anyone’s guess. Oliver, who missed their departure despite being awake, could only guess. They’d said something about the harbour?

That left just the three Westerners in the room. Oliver was the only one awake, and he regarded the scene with worried eyes. Bear and Duck hadn’t exchanged two words since Bear’s new “paint” had been applied, and he did not want to be around to hear what they said. Shortly before seven thirty, an inspector groused his way in, looking for an engine willing to run a P-Way service down the Little Western to finish up the various issues with the line, and Oliver jumped at the chance.

That left just two… 

-

Bear awoke to the morning sun finally making an appearance. The shed appeared to be empty, but… 

There was a quiet clatter to one side, and he lazily looked over to see Duck’s crew staring at each other in accusation while an oil can rolled on the ground. 

Bear didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything he particularly wanted to say. 

“Um.” Unfortunately, Duck did. “Bear. About…”

“Duck.” Bear cut him off. “I understand your… position right now, or at least I think I do, but I don’t want to talk to you right now.” He sighed deeply. “Or perhaps for a while. Maybe you should try this again later.”

There was a quiet sniffle from the tank engine, who then departed with a minimum of noise or fuss. 

Bear didn’t feel a bit of bother about how he made his fellow engine feel, and that bothered him more than anything else. 

-

Eventually, a crew came for him. It was pushing ten in the morning, and he set off with a strange working: an empty coaching stock move all the way to Kirk Ronan. 

“There’s a guaranteed connection with the ferry from France,” his driver explained. “Usually there’s another train, but not today.”

“Damned Christmas timetable…” 

“You know,” the man continued. “It’s strange. Gordon was supposed to take this train, but he insisted on having you take it. Couldn’t begin to imagine why.”

Bear rolled his eyes. “It’s easy work. This is probably his idea of a Christmas present.”

“Who knows?”

-

Bear didn’t put any more thought into it, and brought the train into Kirk Ronan right on schedule.

The ferry, a big red and white one named Chartres, was already there, moored tightly to the dock, and absolutely festooned with lights and decorations. «Joyeux Noël, mon petit ami!» She boomed. “It is a time of joy and happiness, no? Where are all the decorations?”

Bear looked around; the ferry terminal was quite drab - he remembered hearing something about the snow being worse along the coast. Maybe they couldn’t decorate. “They must be saving them for next year!” he said, trying to seem upbeat. 

The ferry made a noise of assent, and then any chance for further conversation was lost as a flood of passengers made their way down the boarding ramps and into the coaches. Soon afterwards, the train departed back the way it came, express service to Tidmouth station. The ferry heralded their departure with an earth-shaking foghorn blast, and then they were into the distance. 

There were almost no other trains on the line, and Bear had plenty of time to think. Goodness me. It really is Christmas, isn’t it? I made it through the month, and all it cost me was one friend, most of my sanity, and my identity. 

He laughed bitterly to himself. This is a terrible Christmas. 

As he went further down the line, another thought came to him. I can’t believe I let them use this paint on me. I thought blue was too much? This itches!

-

The train arrived at Tidmouth a few minutes ahead of schedule, just as the clocks struck noon, and Bear was surprised to see that there was a “restricting-diverge” signal ahead of him. “They’re sending us around the loop?” 

“The loop”, a section of line that Gordon had famously been mis-routed down once (James still needles him about it, once in a great while), was not actually a single line, but was rather a series of feeder tracks that connected the various dockside industries with the harbour itself, as well as the big station. In the early 1900s, some bright spark (probably Sir Topham Hatt, although the Dry family had significant involvement in the development of Tidmouth’s dockyards) had realized that making a full “loop” to connect both sides of the big station to the docks may be beneficial, and so many of the lightly built industrial spurs were connected into a rambling branch line that snaked through Tidmouth’s waterfront before ducking underneath the high street in a cutting, eventually meeting the Little Western just outside the station’s “rear”. Doing this added almost fifteen minutes to a journey, and so it was restricted to only the most dire of emergencies (or if you really irked the signalman). 

As Bear trundled over, under, around, and through Tidmouth, he had the distinct feeling that he was being played with. There weren’t any signals out of order, he wondered. Why am I going this way?

He got his answer soon enough, as he eventually entered the station through the Little Western’s platforms, gliding to a stop about three-quarters of the way down the platform. 

To his confusion, he was not the only engine there:

Duck and Oliver were face-to-face on the platform to his left, and each looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. 

Gordon was parked directly in front, with a worryingly inscrutable grin on his face. 

Toby was parked next to Gordon, and looked like he was only now understanding what was going on. 

In the background, Truro had been pushed just inside the station’s glass canopy, clearly so that he could hear what was going on. Amusingly, he also wasn’t meant to interrupt whatever was going to occur, as there was a red-and-white checkered tablecloth shoved into his mouth to gag him. Even better, nobody had bothered to set or splint his nose at any point. It looked like it really hurt. Shame about that. 

Alongside the porters and other staff meeting the train, there were several members of the station staff lining the platform, each in their “dress” uniforms, complete with shined shoes and buttons. 

Finally, and perhaps most concerningly, the… Yugoslav-Mexican band that the Fat Controller had sourced was tuning their instruments on the platform next to Gordon. 

-

“Do I even want to know?” he asked Gordon as the passengers poured out of the train. 

“Just go along with it,” Toby said, looking resigned to whatever was about to happen. 

“Brother Toby,” Gordon chided. “Is that really the tone you wish to take in front of the initiates?”

“Gordon,” Toby began. “You are treading upon a line that I didn’t even know existed three minutes ago. Get on with it.”

“In due time…” Gordon said beatifically. “Once we have privacy.”

And so they waited for another ten minutes while the passengers departed. Everybody except Gordon felt increasingly awkward as time stretched on, but eventually the last stragglers had made their way to the waiting room doors. Once they swung shut with a solid click that could be heard four platforms away, Gordon cleared his throat. “Let us begin.” 

Bizarrely, the stationmaster then stepped forward. He was dressed up even more than the other station staff, and was wearing white tie, complete with a top hat. He was holding a pad of paper in his hands - while they’d been waiting, Bear had seen a glimpse of it, and it looked like it was some sort of speech-  oh no.

“OYEZ! OYEZ! OYEZ!” The stationmaster bellowed at the top of his voice, scaring everyone except Gordon and the band. “WE NOW CALL TO ORDER THIS EMERGENCY SESSION OF THE EXCEPTIONAL AND MOST RESPECTABLE GRAND OLD ORDER OF THE LONDON AND NORTH EASTERN RAILWAY!”

“The what.” Someone said. It might have been Bear.

“TO START THIS SESSION, WE TURN TO THE HONORABLE MEMBER FROM THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY, WHO HAS BEEN GRANTED POWERS PLENIPOTENTIARY DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES!” 

“Granted what.”

“From where.”

Gordon had the audacity to look like something normal was occurring. “Thank you, sir,” he said with remarkable aplomb. “Ordinarily, these sessions would begin with a great deal more pomp and circumstance, however in light of yesterday’s events, I have elected to set those aside in order to get down to business.” 

He looked around the station, ignoring the absolutely baffled looks being sent his direction. “Since the year nineteen hundred and twenty three, the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern has claimed, in due time, every locomotive who has ever rolled out of one of our most esteemed workshops. Under the banner of the North Eastern, and our numerous predecessor railways, countless deeds of mechanical excellence have been performed. Mountains have been moved, cities have been evacuated, and nature herself has been tamed by our steel and metal, brick and stone.” 

He paused his stentorian address for a second, again surveying the increasing bafflement, before continuing. “To serve under our flag was to commit yourself to greatness, in one form or another. And for the last sixty-one years, this has been enough; we have recognized greatness, and greatness has come unto us.”

“However!” he exclaimed with great drama. “Recent events have forced a change in our calculus. Before this day, we have only ever accepted locomotives from our own workshops into our ranks - our own kind. Before today, that was seen as sufficient. No more!” 

He again surveyed the room, and Bear got the distinct feeling that Gordon wasn’t actually looking at faces at all. He tried to follow the gaze and found it lingering on the ‘GREAT WESTERN” insignia on Duck and Oliver’s sides, and the Western Region crest on his own, just visible under the paint.

He began to get an inkling of where this was going…

Gordon continued. “We had never felt the need to expand our own ranks before this day, because we had committed an act of hubris. We had assumed, like children, that all other railways within this great nation behaved in the same way as us! That they recognized greatness within their own ranks just as we did in our own.” 

His face turned serious. “This was an error. One that we shall never make again.”

Behind him, behind all of them, City of Truro’s eyebrows began to knit together. Clearly Bear was not the only one thinking along these lines. Something was mumbled against the gag. 

The next few sentences felt shouted, despite Gordon never raising his voice. “Over the month of December nineteen eighty-four, it has become known to us that City of Truro, the so-called “Greatest of all Westerners”, and the de facto leader of their kind, is nothing but a duplicitous charlatan! A murderous brute, who uses subterfuge and dirty tactics in ways not seen since modernization some twenty years past! He is no better than the worst examples of diesel-kind!”

There was a muffled shout from behind Gordon. It was ignored. 

Gordon continued. “But lo! He is the public and private face of the Great Western! One hundred fifty years of history, resting squarely upon his deceptive and ill-tempered buffers! Truly he is the worst of us, and is unfit to lead his clan.”

There was yet another muffled noise. Truro might actually be biting on the tablecloth now. 

“However, we are not in the position to make decisions for another railway, let alone one as ancient and prestigious as the Great Western.” Gordon intoned. Bear didn’t like the sparkle developing in the blue engine’s eyes. That could only mean trouble. “But, we can make amends in our own way!” 

Bear’s train of thought screamed into the station, brake-blocks smoking. Oh he is going to, isn’t he?

“HONOR GUARD,” roared the stationmaster. “PRE-SENT!” 

Someone had actually gone to the trouble of painting a coal shovel gold. Truro sounded like he was going to eat the tablecloth. 

Then the band started playing. It was, after a moment of harmonizing, a very jaunty version of Pomp and Circumstance. 

Bear was actually going to go insane. 

He’s going to do it. He’s going to induct me into the damned LNER like it’s going to make things better. 

The porter carrying the shovel turned on his heel and marched over to Duck and Oliver, marching like this was a drill exercise at a military academy. All three Western engines blinked. 

“Now,” Gordon said. “With the aforementioned facts now known, I, as the most honorable member from the Great Northern Railway, do hereby nominate Oliver to be enjoined with our ranks, and formally inducted into the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern. Brother Toby, as the Right Honorable Member from the Great Eastern Railway, will you second this motion?”

“Gordon, I-”

“Will you second this motion?”

A sigh. “Yes, I will second this motion. As the… righteous and honorable member from the GER.”

“Thank you, Brother Toby. The motion has been seconded!”

“Gordon, I-”

“Thank you.”

Gordon turned his attention to the “honor guard”, who dropped to one knee next to Oliver’s buffers, and laid the shovel gently across the nearest one. 

Bear momentarily managed to tear his eyes away from the spectacle, finding Toby in the sea of insanity. Is this happening? He mouthed. 

Yes, this is actually happening. Came the response. 

“Oliver!” Gordon boomed, snapping Bear’s gaze back to the insanity occurring in front of him. “Your years of loyalty and honorable service have not gone un-noticed! For too long you have labored away without reward, without the fruits of your own labours. For your tireless service to your railway, your own kind, and to yourself, you shall be honored. Do you Consent to be joined to the Order of the London and North Eastern? Do you Swear to follow and uphold their Ways, ahead of all others?”

Oliver looked absolutely dumbstruck. “Uhh… I, uh….”

“Say yes or we’ll never be done with it!” Toby hissed. 

“Uh- YES!” Oliver squeaked, suddenly realizing that he wasn’t in a position to say no. “Yes I do!”

Gordon looked immensely pleased with himself. “Then I dub thee ‘Brother Oliver’, and formally induct you into the Order. Welcome.” 

Oliver looked overwhelmed, a feeling that Bear mirrored, especially once the “honor guard” stood and marched over to Duck with precise marching steps that wouldn’t have been out of place in a military drill. 

Duck looked… well he looked almost vacant, staring off into the middle distance as events happened around him. It took little intuition to figure out where he was looking: there, in the middle distance, was City of Truro, furiously raging behind the tablecloth. 

The shovel was laid on Duck’s buffer, and the whole process began again. Gordon began an even longer and more pompous sounding prattle about Duck’s service at Paddington, how he’d dispatched Diesel, and how he’d managed the Little Western in the years since. There wasn’t a mention of how he’d acted during the last month, but even the most uncharitable part of Bear’s mind couldn’t really square a month’s worth of inaction against a half-century’s worth of work. 

There is no way I can be agreeing with Gordon on this. The big diesel thought to himself. He’s insane. He’s trying to… show up Truro by ‘adopting’ us. 

Gordon had launched into an identical spiel about “Consenting”, but Duck had barely let him get the word out before saying “Yes.” in a quiet but undeniably firm manner. 

Gordon managed to keep his surprise contained to an upward quirk of his eyebrows, but everyone else, Bear included, were thoroughly shocked. 

What? I would’ve thought that he wouldn’t… couldn’t… I mean, it’s the Great Western, that’s his life!

Duck didn’t take his eyes off of Truro the entire time. The forcefully silenced engine was turning a worrying shade of purple.

Bear had a sudden moment of understanding. But it’s his life… as defined by Truro. 

He doesn’t want this anymore than I do. Truro isn’t god. He’s not Brunel. 

But he is the Great Western. 

He looked at Truro, who was again trying to eat or spit out the tablecloth. A group of porters carrying a ladder, a shunter's pole, and some amount of canvas were approaching him menacingly. 

And if that’s the Great Western. 

He looked at Gordon, who was finishing Duck’s “induction” with a mix of surprise, seriousness, and well-earned pomposity. And that’s the LNER…  

Then… Maybe…

The “honor guard” turned to face him.

Gordon’s speech was shorter than his praise of Duck, but longer than Oliver’s. “Bear! Your continued service to this railway has not gone un-noticed! For over twenty years you have taken on every job asked of you with a dignity, grace, and competence that has made you not only a sterling member of this railway, but of your class as a whole. It would be my honor to induct you into the Grand Old Order of the London and North Eastern Railway!  Do you Consent to be joined to the Order? Do you Swear to follow and uphold their Ways, ahead of all others?”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yes, I do.”

----

Later that night

“I’m sorry,” Edward stared in a rare moment of bafflement. “The Grand Old Order of the what?” 

“There’s no such thing.” James said firmly. “Do you think that he’d talk about anything else if there was?”

"I’m well aware of that," Edward said, still deeply confused. "The Southern and LMS had elite, secret brotherhoods, that's well known. I'd never heard anything about the LNER, and if Gordon hasn’t said anything before now…”

BoCo smiled faintly. "There might not have been one before last night," he said, "but if Gordon says there is one, then I think it exists now."

"That's rubbish," scoffed Delta. "How can you have an LNER order with Gordon, Duck, Oliver, Bear, and Toby? That’s over fifty percent Great Western."

"If Gordon's started it, every Eastern engine still around will hear and want to be in on it by the end of the month."

"Well, maybe so."

"Blimey.” James said, looking suddenly pensive.” This is going to be a whole thing, isn't it?"

“Oh yes,” Edward agreed. “In fact, I’d say that there’s a decent chance he’ll try to induct us next, so everyone be on your guard if you care about your old allegiances, or at least the appearance of them. 

Bear listened to them with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean? I thought he was trying to get back at Truro?”

The other engines looked at him funny. 

“What?”

“Did you not get it?” Delta asked, in a tone that implied that she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “This isn’t about Truro, this is about Gordon.” 

“What do you mean?”

The other engines looked at each other. 

“Bear,” Edward began. “Gordon doesn’t care about Truro in that way. I can’t say his exact reasoning for letting him witness the whole event, but I daresay it wasn’t anything more than kicking an engine when he’s already down. That ceremony, on the other wheel… wasn’t about Truro at all.”

“Then what was it about?” 

“You!” several voices said at once. The other engines looked at each other, before James of all engines spoke up. 

“Bear, Gordon’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot. And he thinks, because he’s an idiot, that he can only care about someone if they’re…” he searched for the right word. 

“Related?” BoCo said after a second. 

“Not the word I was looking for but close enough.” James continued. “He doesn’t think he’s allowed to care about you unless you’re… related to him, somehow. Or at least that it’s not proper. Stupid Londoner nonsense if you ask me, but he tries to care anyways, which means that when someone like you gets bossed around and treated like yesterday’s ashes by the… what’s the word?”

“Embodiment?”

“Yep that’s it - the embodiment of your railway, he doesn’t think he can help because… “well that’s a Great Western issue”.” James could not imitate Gordon at all but he did it anyway. “And so when he has to do something - and trust me somebody was going to have to do something about that berk - he’s going to get…”

“Inventive?” 

James glared at Edward, Delta, and BoCo. “Would you three like to say it?”

“No, I think you’re doing a fine job.”

“Nope.”

“You’ve got it under control.”

James sighed deeply, and opened his mouth to say something more, but was cut off by Bear. “So, wait. Gordon did all that because he… cares about me? Us?” 

“If you must know,” Gordon’s voice rang out as he backed into the shed in a flurry of smoke and snowflakes. “I did it because you would otherwise be forever yoked to that infantile and childish railway and its monstrous figurehead. By “staking a claim” in you, for lack of a better phrase, you are once and forevermore freed of any association with that brutish monstrosity.”

“And the fact that you now have a guilt-free reason to be nice to him is just a perk, hm?” Delta said smugly. 

“Delta,” Gordon said as he was turned on the turntable. “If you would like for me to have a ‘guilt free reason’ to be nice to you, all you have to do is ask. 

“I like my heritage.” She said, all too quickly. “Really!” 

Gordon laughed regally, and backed into the stall between Bear and Edward. “Yes, I’m sure. The offer will stand, however.”

His crew hopped down and began cleaning out his ashpan. Bear took the momentary clatter to whisper to Gordon. “You really didn’t have to do that, you know. I could’ve handled it.”

“I did have to, actually.” Gordon said just as quietly. “There is a time for passivity, and a time for action. The instant he laid buffer on you, the time for action was upon us.”

He said it so firmly, so utterly final, that Bear’s response died in his throat. Gordon looked at him for a second, before turning his attention to the other engines. 

Bear sat there for a while, absorbing his words. My god. They do care about me.

[sssammich]

day 2: romance

you can also read the fic on ao3

the rest of sctober prompts: crepe AU: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 day 19: hazy, day 22: art, day 24: enchanted, day 30: magic

--

Now, here's the thing. Lena is a reasonable woman. She's a woman of many, many means and has more money that even God knows what to do with. So she doesn't expect much, save, perhaps, for some respect and authenticity. 

But even that seems like asking for a lot tonight. Especially when she peers over her wine glass over at her date in front of her—a man who sounded perfect on paper (which, in retrospect, was probably where this slow demise of a date began): great job, good looks, decent upbringing—and knows there's clearly been a miscommunication of sorts.

His nervous energy, she can understand. His overcompensation, even more so. Yet that manifests in rude manners as he interrupts her, arrogance in not-so-subtly considering her position as a CEO, and his tired misogyny in his expectations of what his paying for dinner truly affords him.

So she waits for him to finish talking, as he's monopolized the last ten minutes talking about some financial tech start-up for fish or something or the other. He FINALLY glances at her, flashes what she can only assume is his most winning smile. Which is the only thing she was waiting for, frankly, before she scoots her chair back and subtly waves at a server who already seems to have her coat at the ready.

"Whoa-wait, where are you going? They’ve barely served us the apps."

She smiles down at him, though her eyes are sharp and narrowed. "Riveting as you may think it is to listen to you, I'm going home and having a very lovely evening with my vibrator. I believe I'll have a much more fulfilling time with it than with you."

His jaw drops slightly, sputtering out sorry excuses for words, his face going through a roller coaster journey of expressions—a considerable improvement from the smarmy smile he'd been presenting her since she first saw him. She can even see how his cheeks and ears redden at her comment, could have possibly considered it cute if he was even an ounce less of who he was. The look on his face is almost worth the stress of what little of this dinner has already cost her sanity and time. She turns to the server beside her just as he helps her shrug on her coat, his face the poster of professional decorum, except for the slight twitch from the corner of his lips that betrays him slightly. 

And just because she can, Lena rummages through her clutch and pulls out a few hundred dollar bills, where she throws a couple on the table and rolls one to insert in the server’s breast pocket. 

She leaves without a single glance back despite feeling all eyes on her.

When she exits out of the restaurant, her driver is already waiting for her at the front. She takes a deep breath and exhales before walking up to him and dismissing him for the night, telling him that she’ll find her way back just fine. She walks away with a final greeting and heads towards the direction of the park.

Lena reaches the edge of the park where she finds a slew of food trucks lining the curb. Most of them have some customers in line waiting except for the bright yellow one parked at the very end. Typically, Lena would hesitate approaching a food truck without customers as that is surely cause for concern. Yet the name ‘Love is Crepe’ seems to call to her, perhaps fitting of the night she’d just endured. 

She stands just to the side of the awning with a gaze towards the menu, determining if she should treat herself to both sweet and savory crepes. She decides she deserves to indulge herself. 

Yet when she walks up to the front counter, she realizes there’s a handwritten sign that notes: 

SOLD OUT 

THANKS AND SORRY :( 

-crepe mgmt

She can’t help the amused smile on her face even if she finds herself disappointed in not getting any crepes, after all. She’s just about to turn around when she jumps at the sound of someone yelping in surprise behind her. 

“Oh!” 

She turns around and stops in her tracks when she finds the most attractive woman she’s ever laid eyes on carrying three different bags of food from what appears to be the other food trucks. It takes her a second to process that she should speak, yet her eyes can’t help but glance at the blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, the sharp jaw, the perfect curved lips, and the blue of the woman’s eyes behind black rimmed glasses. Her gaze dips to the womans’ biceps, the t-shirt sleeves folded up to her shoulders, straining slightly under the weight of the bags she’s carrying. 

Lena clears her throat. “I—I thought you were open, but I see you’d sold out of everything.” 

Despite being the one to have been caught surprised, it’s the blonde woman who’s standing stock still in front of her, surprise slapped on her face. “You’re Lena Luthor.” 

This time, it’s her turn to be shocked. “Oh, um, yes.” 

The woman shakes her head and quickly drops the bags on one of the tables parked right in front of the truck. “Oh my golly, I’m so sorry, that’s—well that was very impolite of me. I’ve just–I’m a big fan. I, wait-no. I mean, I am. I totally am, but like, you’re you, I mean—hang on. Um, wait.” The woman then puts her hands on her waist, and positions her body so she’s properly facing Lena before taking a deep breath. “You want crepes?” 

Lena’s brows furrow in amused confusion even as she slowly nods. Something about the way this woman stumbles through her words and her movements has Lena endeared, and so she responds, a slow smile already forming on her lips. “Yes, but I see you’re sold out.” 

“Oh, right. I am, but I—” the woman pauses and puts a finger up, a frenetic energy about her, before rushing to the back of the truck. Lena hears rummaging and movement, until the woman pops her head out of the front window, crumpling the piece of paper notice as she slides the window to the side. “I can—I can make you one crepe. Like a malnourished crepe because it won’t have as many strawberries or Nutella, but I can make it. Do you still want it?” 

She’s poised to decline, not wanting to interrupt this woman’s night, but the expectant and almost eager way the woman is staring down at her from the window, hopeful and anticipating, has Lena nodding her head before she can even gather her wits about her. 

The woman is overjoyed, so Lena believes she’d given the right answer. Something warm buzzes inside of Lena when she witnesses the woman’s bright smile before she disappears from the window. 

Lena takes a seat right by where the woman’s food is, a small frown forming when she realizes she’s more than likely interrupted this woman’s dinner. Yet, the woman seems more than happy to work in her truck, so with hesitant resignation, Lena just waits. 

Before long, the woman comes out and personally puts her plate right in front of her with a set of plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin. “You didn’t have to do that,” she comments, even as her mouth salivates at the smell of the dish in front of her. 

“It was no trouble at all.” Then the woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, unless you wanted it to go. Oh man, I didn’t even ask. Did you—” 

But Lena just shakes her head. “Here’s fine.” 

The woman beams at her, and Lena briefly wonders how it feels for people in this woman's life to constantly be on the receiving end of such a bright and warm smile. Lena’s frown forms as she watches as the woman then takes her bag of food off the table. 

“Won’t you join me? Since I so rudely interrupted your dinner.” 

“But you’re Lena Luthor.”  

She smiles at that. “And you are?” 

The woman’s mouth opens, shock evident on her face, before it transforms into a smile. “Kara. You can call me Kara.” 

“Well, Kara. Won’t you join me?” 

There’s the smile again as Kara wordlessly nods, and sits herself directly across from Lena. She waits until Kara empties out all of the food from her takeout bags, the spread fully taking over the table they’re sitting on. Kara nudges the containers her way, prompting Lena to quirk a brow. 

“Please help yourself.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.” 

She responds with a smile in kind and digs into her crepe, enjoying the flavors of her sweet crepe. “This is really quite delicious,” she offers, meaning every word. 

Kara shyly ducks her head even as she smiles proudly. “Thanks! It was slow going for a while, but my friend Nia mentioned that I should put myself in the videos so they could connect with me and not just the crepes. So I guess they’ve been able to see that I really care about the food I make and the videos have been going viral.”  

Lena tilts her head in observation, thinks to herself, I don’t think it’s just the crepes they’re looking at.  

Suddenly, Kara’s mouth drops and her cheeks redden. Belatedly, and much to Lena’s horror, she realizes that she’s said her thoughts out loud. This time, it’s her turn to cover her face. “Oh god, I’m sorry. That was—” 

“Thank you, Lena.” 

“You dropped the Luthor.” 

“I realized I’d said it twice already, I feel like I’ve hit my quota of full naming you for the day.” 

She laughs at that, though a sense of self-deprecation leaks out despite her best attempts.  “Thank you for not shunning me away even knowing who I am.” 

A crinkle of concern appears between Kara’s brows and Lena wonders, not for the last time that evening, how it feels to see that regularly. 

“The only Lena Luthor I know is the one who has tirelessly made the Children’s Hospital the best one in the country so my niece Esme can get the care that she needs. So, I’d say you’re the last person I’d shun away.” 

Kara’s stares at her intently, gratitude written all over her face. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” is all Lena says, not wanting to overstep by asking more questions. She and Kara are basically strangers, and she wouldn’t want to make her uncomfortable. 

“Besides, who shuns away pretty ladies?” Kara says with a shrug before popping an entire potsticker in her mouth. The two of them sport identical rosy cheeks when Lena catches up to Kara’s words just as Kara seems to realize exactly what she’d said. 

“Well, thank you, Kara.” 

Kara tilts her head and smiles, making a show of swallowing the potsticker that Lena giggles at, and shifting her glasses back up on her face. “Anytime, Lena.” 

She can’t help but compare the woman in front of her to the man who’d attempted to wine and dine her earlier tonight. How their eyes shared the same shade of blue, yet Lena thinks she’d happily lose herself in staring at Kara as she listens to the other woman talk about food.

She does just that when they spend the rest of their time in companionable conversation, Kara urging her to try the dishes that litter their table. Before long, the first hour rolls into one, then two, until she glances up and finds that the other food trucks are beginning to break down for the night. 

“Oh, I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time,” she says when she wraps her coat tightly around her. “You now have to stay longer to clean up.” 

But Kara waves her off just as she finishes cleaning. “No! Please! You’re the one all dressed up tonight. I hope I wasn’t keeping you from anything.” 

“God, no. If anything you were saving me.” 

Lena thinks she notices Kara standing up a bit taller. “Bad date?” 

“Terrible. Perhaps romance is simply not in the cards for me.” 

“I don’t believe that,” Kara says, with a shake of her head. “You’re too amazing to not find someone who’ll appreciate you for who you are, Lena Luthor.” 

“Careful, you’ve exceeded your full naming quota.” 

“Forgive me just this once?” Kara bows her head slightly, a teasing smile on her face.

“Only if you take this.” Lena then proceeds to take out a couple hundred dollar bills and tries to offer it to Kara. But Kara covers her hand and closes it for her, the bills clutched in her fist. She is now fully aware of the warmth of Kara’s hand on top of hers, the softness of it on her skin. Now that she knows this, she’s not sure she can go back to not knowing. To not knowing who Kara is, really.

“Absolutely not! Tonight’s on me. Plus, that was not a true trademark Love is Crepe crepe, okay? I can totally do better. No, I will totally do better!” 

“Is that so?” 

“Yes! Why don’t you come back tomorrow, and I’ll prove it to you.” 

Lena’s heart flutters at the idea of seeing Kara again. “I suppose I can settle for that.” 

“Good, it’s settled. So see you tomorrow?” 

“See you then.”  

She doesn’t linger for too much longer, hailing a cab and staring out the window until a waving Kara disappears from view. 

When she gets home, Lena opens her phone and calls her best friend.

“Oh, Sam. I think I’m in love.” 

“The date went well?” Sam asks incredulously from the other end of the line. 

“Oh god, no. The date was a disaster, I never wanna see that guy ever again.” 

Sam laughs. “Okay, then if not him, who? Start from the top, babe. What’s his name?” 

Lena closes her eyes, images of Kara’s beauty filling her mind. Of their dinner together, of the meandering and rich conversation they had tonight. Of the way Kara laughed with her whole body, and smiled with her whole face. 

“Well,” she begins, unable to wipe the large excited smile on her own face. “Her name is Kara.” 

[hayanwulf]

Maybe something about Stephen being secretly an autistic and he have an sensory overload. Tony discovers that Stephen is autistic

Sorry if you don’t understand English it’s not my language.

The thing Stephen really loved about magic was, it could be very soothing to his senses.

Especially Earth’s natural eldritch fields that he could sense all the time, no matter where he was on the planet. It had become a new constant in his life, one that he greatly enjoyed, like listening to the constant hum of rain against the window — soft, steady, and endlessly reassuring.

And when he wielded that magic, allowed it to flow through his veins, it was like a cat idly brushing its warm fur against his offered fingertips, neither too demanding of his attention, nor overwhelming him with its own.

At the cost of sounding doltish, magic felt, well, magical.

More often than not, when he did not have any other duties, he could be found meditating by the Window of the World, lost in the rhythmic ebbs and flows of the magic as he allowed himself to be a conduit to. Nothing quite managed to calm his senses as effectively as listening to the light hum of magic did.

But the thing Stephen really hated about magic was, it could be very, very abrasive to his senses.

More specifically, the magic outside of Earth. The unique magic fields of the endless number of dimensions connected to Earth. They weren’t excruciatingly unpleasant, per say — except for a rare few that literally seemed dead set on trying to burn Stephen’s insides for simply standing within their dimension’s bounds — in fact, the magic and atmosphere of most dimensions was rather tolerable. It was the fact that he had to visit them often, for one reason or the other, that made it a lot more unpleasant.

And he had to visit them very often. Maybe to banish some extradimensional creature back to its home. Maybe to hunt some ingredient or a long-lost relic. Maybe for god-forsaken diplomatic negotiations which he really, really wasn’t cut out for.

Like this one.

Sitting at the dining table with Ataraxia Dimension’s Royals as they discussed the renewal of their alliance pact with Earth, Stephen internally cursed Wong for delegating him, of all people, for this task.

The dimension’s foreign magic constantly prickled at his skin, like the scratchy seams of a particularly elaborate outfit. The smell of their food was some odd mix of freshly gutted fish, petroleum jelly, and acrylic paint; entirely unappetizing, even if he knew, factually, that everything here was edible for his consumption. The agender heir of the Queens unabashedly flirted with him, hovering near his seat every chance they could get and leaving lingering touches on his arms and shoulders, the unprompted contant making him want to flinch and squirm away.

Oh, and the cherry on top: Ataraxians naturally had a very sharp, trill voice.

Everything felt too much. He was at the cusp of losing his sanity.

“Master Strange, won’t you feast? Is the food not to your liking?” One of the Queens asked, having noticed that he hadn’t even touched the contents on his platter. Her voice was shrill — as was every Ataraxian’s — as she spoke in her native language.

Language that Stephen had to translate with the use of a spell.

Spell that needed to be powered with magic.

Magic that circulated through the air around him, foreign and chafing, chilling him to his core, making him want to shiver every time he drew upon it.

And he drew upon it. Again and again and again.

Too much.

“Ah, no, it is perfectly fine,” he told the royals. It’s perfectly fine, he told himself.

The words tasted bitter as a lie, the thoughts pungent as rotting flesh.

“I was simply wondering if I could have some wine to accompany this fine feast?” he added, making up the lie on-the-spot. Well, perhaps not entirely a lie, as he had had their equivalent of ‘wine’ before, and had in fact quite liked it.

By any luck, they would serve him the same thing Wong had once treated him, and this entire dinner would be a little less unbearable.

Not that luck was ever known to favor him very much.

“Of course,” the other Queen intoned, and gestured at one of the servants. The servant in question had barely taken two steps when the Princex perked up.

“Ah, allow me,” they chirped with an extra cheery voice, which really only sounded extra shrill to Stephen’s ears, and he dug his nails into palm to stop his hands from flying to his ears. The agony that shot up his damaged nerves was a way better source of pain than branding crescent marks into his palm could ever be.

Too much.

The Princex flicked their blue hand in the direction of Stephen’s glass. Stephen barely suppressed a flinch as he felt the magic weave so goddamn close to him, filling the glass up with a rich, violet colored liquid with a fruity scent.

Stephen closed his eyes, clenching his fist tighter.

By the Vishanti.

Wrong color. Wrong scent.

What he’d had with Wong one exhausting night in the Sanctum kitchen had been a different shade of violet — a hint more of blue in it. It had smelled less like an ester from a chemistry lab and more like sliced pineapples draped with jasmines.

Too much.

He opened his eyes, staring down at his drink.

It was the same thing he’d had before. He knew it was. It just had a slightly different recipe or manufacturing. Which, of course, was to be expected.

It didn’t help. Because he knew it would taste different, howsoever insignificant the difference.

But he didn’t have a choice, did he?

He swallowed, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in his gut, and thanked the Princex. He picked up the glass of wine, and looked up at the two Queens.

They were staring expectantly at him, likely waiting for him to begin.

He took a deep breath, suppressing a wince as the slightly off-set scent invaded his nostrils. It’s fine, he told himself. Maybe if he told himself enough times, he’d start to believe it.

It’s just one dinner.

One dinner in exchange for another century of peaceful relations. He could manage that much, for his world.

He closed his eyes and took a sip of the wine.

And nearly choked as the thick, cool liquid slid down his throat; the consistency off, the taste off.

Wrong Wrong Wrong—

He quickly separated the glass from his mouth. Some liquid escaped his lips, trickling down his neck before he could’ve gotten his hands on a tissue, making him hyper-aware of the cold, damp trail it left on his skin.

Too much Too much Too much—

The sound of shattering glass was near-deafening to his ears, his now empty hand shaking violently midair. More voices immediately echoed through the hall, sharp and piercing. Stephen couldn’t make out what words were being said, if any. He had let go of the translation spell. He doubted he would’ve comprehended the words even with the spell.

He stood up, feet staggering. His heart thundered loudly in its cage. Everything was too bright, too loud. The smell of the banquet stabbed into his nose, the magic left scorching blisters against his skin, the taste in his mouth a sickly sweet.

Stop, stop, stop, make it stop—

One last time, he drew upon magic, and called forth the path that would lead him home.

Between one moment and another, the feel of Ataraxian magic against his skin was replaced with Earth’s natural eldritch magic. Magic that was familiar, gentle, soothing—

Except, it wasn’t.

It burned. God, it burned.

Like the raw feel of touch against a freshly acquired wound. Like torching a skin that had already been abused with fire.

And his ears. His ears hurt. It was too much noise, and his ears hurt. Why was it still noisy? He had left that place behind to come back home, hadn’t he?

Then why did everything still hurt?

Stephen let his knees crash to the harsh, cold floor, and screamed.

He couldn’t be sure how long the agony lasted. It certainly felt like forever.

It was drowning and barely making it to the surface, allowed to take one life-saving gulp of air, before being pulled down again. It was spiders and ants and centipedes crawling on every inch of skin, feeling every individual appendage of the crawlers as they touched blazing nerves.

And when he finally felt like himself again, when his head was finally above the water and was allowed to breathe normally again, the magic around him was no longer overwhelming. It ebbed and flowed, in that pattern he was oh so familiar with, and he focused himself on it, drew stability from it.

He blinked, no longer staring blankly into the dimly-lit surrounding, but taking it all in, letting the familiarity, the safety of it all wash over him. The space around him so silent that he could hear his own breaths. It felt a little unnatural. This space was neither supposed to be so silent, nor so devoid of light.

His face was mushy and sticky from tears, his eyes unpleasantly puffy. The skin at his neck burned, as did his hands; he must have tried to (literally) peel his skin off again.

He was wrapped up snugly in something heavy and warm. At first he had figured it must be the cloak — they had, since choosing him, learned how to help him in such scenarios — but as he looked down at himself, he found himself wrapped in a nice, large blanket. The cloak was still underneath it, wrapped snug against Stephen, letting him trace his fingers over their velvety folds to distract himself from the ache of his damaged fingers.

And he was no longer on the cold floor, but a cushiony couch — the couch that Tony always kept around in his workshop.

Speaking of the man himself...

Very slowly, he turned his head down, to where Tony was kneeling by the couch on the cold floor, his eyes glued to Stephen with rapt attention.

He had sat there the entire time.

God, he’d witnessed the entire thing.

Stephen’s muscles tensed as a wave of embarrassment crashed into him.

Of course he had. Stephen had been the one to stumble into his workshop through a hastily drawn portal, only to be even more overwhelmed by AC/DC playing on full blast. And now he’d watched Stephen breakdown like.. like that.

Stephen’s heart raced as he tried to figure out, how much did Tony know? How much had he figured out?

What did he think of Stephen, now, having seen him break down so pathetically?

“Cheesecakes? How do you feel?” Tony asked in the quietest voice, as though afraid of startling Stephen into fleeing. He reached out a hand, gently resting it over the thick blanket covering Stephen.

Stephen fixed his eyes on that calloused hand. He needed to move his hands, or pace, or something. But the blanket was.. he didn’t want to leave it. So he settled for running his fingers over the Cloak.

Ignoring Tony’s question, he instead asked in a partially hoarse voice, “How did you.. know the blanket would help?”

Tony shrugged. “Peter gets overstimulated too often. These help, got them specifically for him. I keep one on every part of the compound, just in case.”

An uneasy feeling twisted in his stomach. He hadn’t known that Peter had sensory overloads. He really should’ve figured that out himself. ‘Too often’. Vishanti, how bad was it?

He would need to talk with Peter, later. Offer his help to the kid.

Tony slowly rose from his place on the floor and took a seat right beside Stephen.

Stephen looked away. He didn’t want to look at Tony’s face, too afraid of what he would find there. He had done it, he had made an irreparable mistake. Yet again. This had to be a new record, how to ruin personal and professional relationship as quickly as possible.

What a fool, he thought to himself. Just one dinner. Couldn’t sit through one god-forsaken dinner.

Centuries of peaceful relations and allianceship, and he had managed to single-handedly flushed that all down the drain and make their planet an enemy of Ataraxia. And now he had opened the can of worms that was his issues, to Tony. It was only a matter of time before he, too, would flee, realizing that he couldn’t put up with Stephen and his issues.

Some sorcerer he was.

Some boyfriend he was.

“—phen, Stephen!”

The call shook him out of his head, and he found his wrists held hostage by strong but careful hands, close to his neck where he had tried to peel his skin off again. Fresh tear marks streaked his face, trickling down his neck to soak his robe. The blanked was half unraveled.

“You’re spiraling again, Sweetcakes,” Tony whispered.

Stephen tried to hold back a whimper, couldn’t help but lean into Tony’s gentle touch. He didn’t know how Tony did it. He had never quite liked being touched, but with Tony he couldn’t help but crave that touch, that always reminded him of home and safety.

Would he lose that tender touch forever, now?

“Shh, hey, Sweetie, talk to me. What happened?”

Stephen choked on another sob, unable to look Tony in the eyes as he so carefully maneuvered Stephen’s hands down, his calloused touch gently massaging Stephen’s fingers. What could he even say anymore? Everything had already fallen apart. So he said the only thing that made sense.

“I messed up.”

“Okay,” Tony said. An electronic whine echoed behind them, and Stephen looked around to find Butterfingers hovering behind the couch with a glass of water — when had she arrived here? — which Tony took from her claws, and brought closer to Stephen’s lips, just gently holding it close, not yet forcing the cool glass against his mouth. “How about you hydrate yourself first, and then we’ll talk about what is it so that we can figure out how to fix it?”

Stephen’s eyes flitted to Tony’s face, those honey-gold eyes still fixated on him; then to the hand that still held on to Stephen’s, massaging back and forth in an easy rhythm, then back to the offering of water inches away from his mouth.

It was so hard to decipher what was written on Tony’s face. It shouldn’t be. It really, really shouldn’t be. They’d been together for nearly a year now, why hadn’t Stephen learned it all yet?

Emotion lodged in his throat, threatening a new wave of tears to fall from his eyes. He screwed them shut, squeezing a few tears out anyway.

Tony wasn’t even going to ask him what all of that had been? Why Stephen had acted half insane just a while ago? Tony had to have realized that it was nothing like a normal sensory overload, right?

Does he even know..? Stephen swallowed thickly. He had to, right? He must, he wasn’t a genius for nothing.

But..

Stephen opened his eyes, taking in the man sitting with him, still holding the glass of water ever so patiently, his attention single-mindedly focused on Stephen and only Stephen, as though nothing and no one else existed in this world.

But even if he knows, he doesn’t see me any differently.

The glass of water forgotten, Stephen threw off the thick blanket and threw himself on Tony, wrapping his arms around his genius. Tony set the glass down to wrap his own arms around Stephen, warm and strong, feeling like home and safety.

Stephen chose to believe that the emotion in Tony’s face was love.

[hatsunemitskislobotomy]

“ 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨,

𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥 ”

┊❛ 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙪𝙥 𝙤𝙛

𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 ❜┊

“ 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘥 ”

❀° ┄───╮

its my little meow meow’s birthday 🥹

no hate but like lowkey if gege put me jjk kenny would’ve had to box it out with me before getting his grimy brain fluids on my pookie bear

matter of fact throw gege in the ring too— he still hasn’t payed for his crimes either

╰───┄ °❀

he felt filthy.

the taste wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard he tried.

“curses taste like a rag that was used to clean up shit and vomit.”

mission after mission.

day after day.

was this really how he was supposed to go on? being a sorcerer was a thankless occupation that was at the cost of his sanity.

his morals could only do so much to keep him from coming undone, a fraying thread— slowly unraveling to reveal something sinister.

and the taste— god he couldn’t get rid of the taste even if he wanted to.

satoru had asked him if he lost weight not too long ago, to no one’s surprise— swallowing curses does ruin one’s appetite.

sometimes he felt like he’d skip meals after a mission for weeks at a time, his companion practically begging him to eat.

he couldn’t say that this week would be any different. he just wanted to be home and away from it all, in the arms of his beloved no doubt.

————————————

with a click of the lock, he pushed open the door, dragging his feet.

immediately he was hit with everything and nothing. his senses went blank save for his hearing and sight, he was taken aback and then he remembered.

“hey sugu…” a pretty little head peeked around the corner

“is this your doing…?”

she smiled sheepishly before fully emerging from behind the corner, a steaming mug in hand.

“i’ve been working on it.”

her cursed technique, she was always humble about it. it wasn’t as flashy as his own or satoru’s, she’d argue that it wasn’t nearly as useful like shoko’s.

but at this moment, he couldn’t disagree more.

“i’m going to bring back your smell, yeah?” she murmured softly, passing the mug to him

and slowly his smell did come back, revealing the steaming mug to be the dark roast coffee— perhaps the one satoru brought back for him on a mission abroad a few months back.

the smell was overwhelming considering it was the only thing his brain could process, but not in a bad way. almost as if it was ridding him of the foulness that plagued him a mere few minutes before.

“y/n i—“

“you must be exhausted.” she cut him off with an apologetic smile

“i uh.. started a bath for you, some bath salts are in there to help— should be enough time for you to relax and then i’ll bring your taste back so you can drink your coffee.” she fidgeted, a habit she’d do when she rambled

his tired eyes couldn’t help but soften.

“you didn’t have to.”

“i see how missions take a toll on you suguru…”

“it’s my duty—“

“but at what cost?”

his eyes snapped down to hers. all this time he thought his inner turmoil, his resentment and bitterness that was festering— he thought he kept it well away behind his morality and sense of duty… and she just saw through it so casually.

she could see him.

his throat went dry as he tried to speak, she just offered him a smile.

“it’s the least i can do— now stop second guessing whether you deserve it, the water’s gonna get cold.” she mused before taking the mug back and disappearing further into the small apartment

and as much as he’d like to stand there and process, that bath sounded really nice.

————————————

he stayed in that bath until the water became lukewarm, she really had a knack for aromatherapy. the bath salts left a eucalyptus scent wafting through the bathroom as the water relaxed his aching muscles and the unrest in his mind.

he had dressed into something comfortable before emerging from the bathroom, pajama pants and a plain long sleeve, his hair out of its neat bun instead the raven tresses still dripping a little bit of water down his back from his lazy towel drying.

the rest of the apartment smelled warm and cozy, it usually smelled like this anyways but with his sense of smell heightened he could appreciate it more.

he made his way to the living room where she sat couch, waiting for him with another steaming mug of coffee.

“come, sit down here.” she tapped the spot with her foot

he took the invitation in stride, nestling on the floor with his back against the couch as he sat in between her legs.

she handed him the cup of coffee before trailing her fingers through his hair, gently working out the knots. he took a sip of the coffee, his senses finally allowing him to taste the bitterness of the drink.

he could stay like this forever.

“do you want to talk about your day?” she hummed

“there’s nothing significant about today, just another mission.” he murmured against the rim of the cup, staring into his drink that reflected his eyes

“you can’t say nothing significant happened today!”

he tilted his head up only to be met with a frown.

“what do you mean…? it was just another mission day…”

“can’t believe gojo was right about this.” her frowned deepened

“am i missing something…?”

“your birthday silly!”

he blinked a few times.

his birthday?

he checked the date on his phone, his lips forming a little ‘o’ at the calendar staring back at him.

so it was that time of year again?

“gojo said that you have the tendency to forget but i didn’t think he was serious.” she pouted

“now why are you upset?” he reached up from his position, resting a hand on her cheek

“because it’s your birthday— stupid higher ups made you go on a mission on your birthday!”

well when it was put like that…

“gojo and shoko wanted to throw you a surprise party after your mission but i remembered how overwhelmed you get sometimes especially after dealing with curses… figured a party was the last thing you wanted to come home to.” he couldn’t help but smile at the little detail she picked up

“they still plan to come by later with takeout and cake… but i suggested that you had some time to decompress and recuperate first and they were on board.”

“i don’t deserve you.” he blurted out

“well that’s too bad, i think i’m quite comfortable where i’m at.” she chuckled lightly, tapping the side of his face affectionately

“you’re always taking care of people, who’s gonna take care of you?” she let out a sigh, her gaze shifting downward in a pensive state

“y/n..”

“let me do this for you okay? then you can push me away and be your broody self—”

she felt the words die in her throat as she felt his grip on her arm.

“can i be greedy for a moment?”

“it’s not greedy if it’s for your sake.” she frowned a bit

he took that as a sign when he got up, with his knees to the ground he still managed to hover over her sitting figure on the couch. his rough hands cradling her face like precious treasure.

despite her eyes widening in surprise, there was no hint that she wanted him to back off.

“can i be greedy?” he repeated hoarsely, his breathing stilled after realizing their proximity

“with me, you can be as greedy as you want.” she whispered

and he was more than happy to oblige, feeling and tasting her warmth as he pulled her in, capturing her lips with his in a slow, sweet kiss.

all he could taste was her sweetness that complimented the coffee taste that still lingered on his own lips. a comforting contrast to the nauseating and despicable taste of his reality, a piece of his own little heaven, his sanctuary.

and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“happy birthday suguru.”

[aemondsquill]

Love in The Dark

Evil!King! Aemond Targaryen × Fem!Reader

Synopsis: what if aemond becomes king? And what if he's completely evil?

Warnings: Aemond is straight up a villain, murder + mass murder, imprisonment, heavy angst, major character deaths, lmk if I missed any

Things were quiet in the Red Keep after Aemond was crowned King. Servants and guards kept their eyes to the ground whenever they were graced with the King's unfortunate presence, terrified they too would be burned for glancing at him wrong.

One year into his rule, Aemond proved to be a fearsome King, not only to his enemies but to the very citizens of his kingdom. Mass graves were dug and subsequently filled with anyone deemed traitors to the Crown. Men, women, children. King Aemond's lust for blood was insatiable. It is often whispered that he murdered his own nieces and nephews after his brother, Aegon, disappeared from the Realm. Rumors say he fled across the Narrow Sea to escape his responsibilities. Perhaps he was the only Targaryen with sense.

The anxiety and paranoia are no strangers to the royalty of the Keep either. If one was to watch Aemond's Queen closely they could see her fingers tremble in fear constantly. His beautiful bride is often confined to her chambers with illness thought to be brought on by the stress of having a tyrant for a husband.

The Queen had become a former shell of herself. While she still dressed in finery and had not a hair out of place, her eyes were dull and lifeless. They were constantly rimmed red from the weeping. Behind her back, the nobility dubbed her "The Weeping Lady", as she was frequently seen wandering the vast, cold halls with cheeks wet with tears. The chill in the halls was a more welcome and tender presence compared to Aemond's.

Another day in Court meant another day witnessing Aemond's depravity. It was difficult to admit just how dashing he looked upon the throne. The Conqueror's Crown sat upon his long white tresses. His eye held no emotion except a dash of madness deep within the violet iris. His body was adorned in a rich velvet tunic of black and green. The Weeping Lady stood a few steps below him, spirit broken and heart aching at the injustice.

"Take his hands." The King ordered his guards coldly. The nobility watched on as this poor commoner begged and pleaded against the arms of the guards. His wails echoed in the throne room.

Bones crunched painfully under the dull blade of the axe. His skin split more and more under each wack. Blood poured out onto the red-stained floor of the throne room. It took the axeman four sloppy strikes to remove the peasant's hands from his body. It is rumored that the axeman is nearly always inebriated. Doling out vile punishments cost him his sanity so he fell victim to the drink. The deafening sobs and screams pierced the stifling atmosphere. Lords and Ladies averted their gaze to the ground, some attempting to cover their ears and hide their tears.

The man is dragged out and his cries follow him.

Several hours of Aemond's depravity occurred before court was adjourned. The Queen fled to her chambers immediately, trembling and nauseated. She knew she had to pull herself together before secretly visiting her mother, rotting in a cell deep below the Red Keep.

----

Two heavy coin purses weighed down her pockets as she descended down into the Black Cells. The coin purses would grant her entrance passed two guards who kept a watch out for nefarious activities. With the coin, they looked the other way once per week and allowed the Queen to visit her mother.

----

"Hello, sweetling. It's been too long since you have graced me with your presence" muttered Rhaenyra. She stood up from the darkest corner of her cell and made her way to the little opening in the door.

"I apologize, mother. It's been difficult to leave without my husband noticing as of late" the Queen replied. Her gaze was sorrowful as she took in the dilapidated appearance of her mother; once dressed in the finest satins and silks money could buy, now reduced to rags. Once pristine white Targaryen locks were now grayed and filthy from the grime of the cell. Her eyes of lavender were lackluster and tired, tired of being reduced to a common criminal rotting in a cell while a usurper warms her throne. Her cheeks were gaunt and it was evident that malnourishment was ravaging her body. No amount of sweets snuck in by her daughter would aid her ailing physique.

"Are you tending to the sores, mother? I will have to bring you more medicine during my next visit" pondered the Queen. Her mother shook her head, "tis nearly impossible to do so in this fucking cell" she growled.

"I know. I'm sorry. You know that this was not my decision. He will not hear my pleas, not even for his own mother" I whispered.

"Your cunt of a husband is blinded by his rage and greed. He has already caused the downfall of our great House. The guards speak of his depravity. Has he been cruel to you as well, my love?"

"He has not been cruel to me. More indifferent most of the time. Rarely he is as he was when we were first betrothed; sweet and attentive. I cannot bear his touches, not after witnessing such monstrosities" the Queen whimpered. Tears leaked down her cheeks and her chin quivered. Memories from their time as new lovers flooded her mind. He was so sweet. Bringing her flowers and sweets, hiring harpists to serenade her while he was away. His tender touches and warm eyes full of adoration slowly burned away with the weight of the Conqueror's Crown.

"Not even the Mother will have mercy upon his soul. His crimes are heinous. Sweet girl, it pains me to even ask this of you, but it is for the good of the Realm and for you. His actions reflect on you, should there be an uprising by the smallfolk, you'll burn with him" the Queen shook her head, knowing what her mother was about to ask of her. "Mother, I cannot. Please do not ask this of me. I do not have the strength! I still see flickers of his old self in his eyes! He has time to change!" The Queen begged, now sobbing.

"Flickers will not save him or you! Do not let the love you used to feel for him blind you so! He is cruel! He murdered his own nieces and nephews! And Luke..." Rhaenyra choked back a sob of her own at the mention of her sweet son.

"Aemond will be your reckoning. Do not be so stupid to stand by this man. He is no longer the Aemond you love, you lost him a long time ago. Do the Realm and your family justice! The gods will forgive you" Rhaenyra spoke. The Queen wept, frustrated. How could he put her in this position? He promised to be the Protector of the Realm and instead he is destroying it.

"I know you will do what is right. It is your duty as queen, my love."

------

The conversation played in the girl's mind over and over. Devastation and exhaustion plagued her. The fireplace in her chambers did nothing to warm her bones as she stood gazing into the flames. Maybe her husband held enough tenderness in his heart to leave with her. Escape this hell like Aegon had.

Tired, she sat upon the settee and poured a chalice full of dornish wine, as was her nightly custom. The wine dulled her senses and often lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep. This was the only time she could escape the horrors of her reality. Just for a moment, she could be free of the grief.

Aemond's heavy footfalls startled her out of her trance. She immediately sat upright, tensing in his presence.

"Drinking again, wife?" He regarded her coldly. Her insides felt like they had chilled at his words.

She sighed dejectedly, "yes, it appears so. It seems to be my only comfort as of late." This was the most she had spoken to him in weeks. He approached her and took the chalice from her fingers and knelt in front of her.

"You worry me sometimes, my dear wife. I fear you're falling victim to the drink, as my drunken brother had." Weeks of little words spoken between the two and he chooses the lecture her on her drinking? She felt her insides boil at the thought. Rage was cracking the surface of her grief, rearing it's ugly head for him to finally see.

"I hate you." She muttered. Aemond lightly flinched back, surprised.

"You do not mean that, wife."

"I. Hate. You." She spoke louder. The anger quivered her voice before she continued, "you are not the man I married! You are not the good, benevolent king you promised you would be!" The couple stood together abruptly. He took a few steps back at her outburst and she followed, shoving him as hard as she could. He grabbed her wrists and held them to his chest to quiet her assault.

"You are cruel! You have murdered innocents, your own family! You have betrayed me in the cruelest way and I cannot stand by and watch you destroy us!" Her chest heaved with the weight of her words. "I can no longer bare to even look at you! I'm repulsed by the man you've become! I drink myself into a stupor every night just to cope with your actions! What you have done is unforgivable. The gods will see that you burn in the deepest pits of the seven hells." The words tasted like venom on her tongue. They had festered inside of her for too long.

Aemond's eye widened in horror and shame. What had he done? How could he have lost himself to madness like this?

In his eye, a flicker of the man she adored came to the surface. Large tears threatened to spill out of him.

"I do not know what has happened to me, my love" he muttered with disdain. "The crown has poisoned my mind beyond repair, I fear. I cannot quench my blood lust." A sliver of hope shot through her chest. Was she finally able to get through to him? Perhaps she could convince him to run away with her...but she knew running away with him would be impossible after his atrocities.

Any hope was quickly dashed and his face hardened. Any semblance of her Aemond was gone forever.

"You have the soft heart of a woman. You do not understand the responsibilities that come with the crown. This fire within you was sparked by your mother, no doubt. I know of your little visits and I turned a blind eye to them, a mistake clearly. I will have you bound to this chamber." King Aemond spoke with finality.

"No! No, please, husband! Do not do this to me!" She begged as panic bloomed heavily in her chest, "I do not wish to be a prisoner to my own husband!"

She grasped her hands in his own. "Please, I will do anything. Do not take my freedom. I'm sorry for the words I have said. Please."

"I will have your mother executed in a fortnight. I cannot have her poisoning your mind against me." The Queen fell to the floor and shrieked. Aemond walked out of the room, leaving her to her grief. The sound of her sorrow threatened to shake the very foundation of the Keep.

----

A week had past since her outburst and Aemond was true to his word. She had not left the confines of their apartments, surely her mother thought her dead.

Aemond would still enter the chambers every night, the couple moved mechanically around each other in complete silence. They did not look at each other and even when they slept they huddled to the farthest edge of the bed away from the other.

It had been another day when the chamber maid whispered to the Queen, "The princess Heleana has perished in her cell, my Lady."

The Queen collapsed without a sound. The anguish rendered her mute. The tremors in her hands increased tenfold.

-----

The Weeping Lady held a correspondence with this chamber maid, Lyra. Each day Lyra would bring her meals, run her baths, and scheme with the Lady.

"King Aemond counts the silverware, my Lady. He fears that you will attempt to harm yourself." The Queen sighed in disbelief. How ironic it is of him to worry about her safety whilst he wreaks havoc on King's Landing.

A thought beamed into her head.

"Lyra, strap a kitchen knife to your thigh. He will never look there!"

And so Lyra, the ever-faithful chambermaid, found herself waddling through the kitchens holding the Queen's dinner on a silver tray. King Aemond's eye surveyed the platter before deeming it acceptable. Lyra let out a small sigh of relief once out of his sight.

-----

"You have done good work, Lyra. This is for the good of the Realm, I promise you." The Queen handed Lyra a large sack of gold. "Take this and leave tonight. The Keep will descend into madness on the morrow."

"What will happen to you, my Lady?"

"Do not worry about me, my dear. I will be fine."

Lyra felt the weight of the bag in her hands. Decorum forgotten, she sprung forward and embraced the Queen tightly. Both women sighed at the warm contact. "Thank you, my Queen. I pray the gods will watch over you during your quest."

The Queen lead Lyra through a small portrait that held a passage behind it. Through which, Lyra would taste her freedom.

---

It was late by the time Aemond entered his wife's makeshift prison cell. She was soundly asleep huddled on her edge of the bed. He stripped himself of his tunic and leather pants and slipped into his sleeping clothes.

The Queen awakened at the intrusion, but stayed silent. Nerves rattled in her chest as she knew what was coming. Still, she waited for what felt like hours until he had fallen asleep.

Guilt wracked her mind at the thought of her husband. Her good, kind husband who loved her dearly at one point now replaced with an unfeeling specter.

Her thoughts raced with images of their wedding ceremony. In true Valyrian tradition, they bound themselves to each other forever with their blood. After tonight, a piece of her would be gone forever. Her strength diminished with each passing memory.

She thought of their shared kisses, so sweet and tender. His plush lips were so warm upon hers and his tongue would move so delicately around her own.

Tears welled in her eyes and the knot in her throat threatened to choke the life out of her. She was grieving for a husband she lost long ago.

Her fingers shivered as they caressed the handle of the blade secured under her pillow.

With the handle firmly in her grasp she sat up and looked over at her husband, resting so peacefully. His brows were unfurrowed, erasing the scowl that seemed to be permanently fixed to his face. He looked so innocent, so much like the man he used to be.

-----

The first thing Aemond noticed upon his awakening was the shivering figure straddling his hips. It took him a second to realize it was his beautiful wife.

The second thing he noticed was the anguish on her face. Eyebrows contorted to show the pain she was in as tears fell from her eyes. She attempted to stifle her sobs under his gaze.

Aemond eyed the blade pointed between his fourth and fifth rib. His wife's hand was tembling.

"I know what you must do, little wife."

The pet name twisted her stomach painfully. Her Aemond had surfaced for the final time.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, my Aemond." She whimpered, "I do not wish to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me, sweet girl."

His wife leaned down and pressed her lips against his, earnestly. His lips were soft and warm against hers.

Aemond held her hand that grasped the blade and pushed it into his heart.

"I love you, I'm so sorry."

"I love you."

--------

King's Landing erupted in celebration when word traveled that the King had been murdered in his own bed. Soldiers could not contain the sheer excitement the smallfolk displayed at the news. Riots broke out, fires burned within the Keep. Calls for the Queen's head were heard. None would find her.

-----

Across the Narrow Sea, weeks later, a small ship would arrive at the port. A young pregnant woman would step off with the aid of her mother and their auburn-haired companion.

[aeipathism]

I have seen multiple people conflate the veil with the status quo and it really is starting to make me question my sanity a little.

like. that's not. the veil doesn't represent some normalized thing. it's integral to the world state. we're defending the veil because solas doesn't really care who has to die to rectify something he did far too long ago to just clean reverse now. and it's not like just something that would affect thedas. it would affect spirits ans creatures of the fade also? like badly?

which isn't to say there isn't reason to find a way to safely remove the veil etc etc. there's a place for that also. but yeah like violently tearing it down at the cost of thousands of lives on top of the irreversible harm it would do to a majority of spirits is bad. we know it's bad.

I know fandom is allergic to nuance, especially dragon age, but it's one of the things I've seen enough times to start wondering if maybe I'm the wrong one here.

but if your take away from the themeing and writing of veilguard was maintaining the status quo... I think.... perhaps... it went over your head. like really high up there.

[risualto]

I’ve just picked up Pillars of Eternity and I’m having a blast with it so far! For the NPC POV exercise, maybe your favourite NPC from the first game?

*shows up a month and a half late with a chai latte* Eyyyy I bet you forgot you sent this ask. I didn't forget about it. I just got busy at work. And then I did write about half of it, but had to force-restart my computer in the middle of it due to a graphical glitch and lost everything. So, ah, take 2.

Each kith who speaks of the new Watcher of Caed Nua, with the exception of those who the Steward knows will never speak well of another unless it earns them coin or favor, says that she is benevolent. Gentle. Good-hearted.

The Steward...well. To say that she fails to understand where the sentiment comes from would be a lie. The Watcher's actions speak to goodness. Or, noblesse oblige, at the least. She personally sees to the petitions the Steward puts before her, and even if it costs her weeks of time or chunks of her coffers, the Watcher does her best to give, whatever it may take, to resolve the request favorably. For a woman who may have precious few seasons remaining to bask in sanity, the Steward understands this is a precious gift.

But being quite aware of any and all who contact with the stones that she herself designed, laid, keeps, and inhabits, the Steward thinks that she, perhaps, has touch with something the Watcher's magnanimity belies. The pale elf Watcher, she hears petitioners say, has a countenance as youthful and sweet as the first sweetheart snows. The Steward remembers the year an attendant fell and cracked his skull hurrying across the courtyards, unaware of the ice beneath.

Sometimes, when the Watcher is alone, her fingers brush the faded fineries that cling like spiderwebs to the inner keep, where petitioners do not go. Sometimes, she simply stands in one of the restored wings, and something in her feels sick. The Steward cannot see her eyes, but she feels the Watcher's gaze upon the skeleton which houses the Steward's heart and soul. It is as covetous as it is disgusted. The feelings mix unpleasantly, like sunshine and fruit flesh.

Whenever a visitor of some status visits the keep, if the Watcher is there, she holds herself perfectly stiff and proper, but the Steward feels the pressure of those gentle, cold fingertips on the arms of her throne like acid. It is a vitriol buried so deep that the Steward has often wondered whether the Watcher herself knows why she is left so hollow in the end.

Perhaps, the Steward thinks, the Watcher is too stubbornly malleable and sacrificing to acknowledge how deep the cracks go. Or, perhaps, the ice under the snow is a bitter-wrought, hand-laid last line of defense between the outside world and the ravenous depths of her fraying soul.

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x La Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 2.5 ✦ 」

---

Part 1 Part 2 [Part 2.5] Part 3 Part 3.5

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

Warnings: just me messing with Signora's lore because I can~

Word count: 1.3k

---

And so, with Columbina serenely laying on your lap - and Scaramouche and Ajax's intimate gazes dispelling a part of those doubts that had haunted you for half a millenium...

a glimpse of your past was finally unveiled.

"Rosalyne and I were only half-sisters, and it sprouted a seed of discord between us before I was even old enough to understand what family meant. Albeit, what really drew us apart in the end was my father... or rather, the crime that he committed against the divine."

Twiddling with the warm, red crystal in your hands brought you no comfort - only reminded of a life time's worth of regret.

"A crime that manifested as the Pyro Vision I'm now holding. You could say it's... a symbolization of the Lohefalters' curse. But I was the one who made it possible, and what followed..."

You shook your head. "Well, I'll start from the beginning?"

"Our mother, Freya, a Mondstadter, once met a traveling alchemist from an unknown land. Papa and mama shamelessly fell in love, even though she was married with another man and had a young daughter. After she became pregnant with me, an illegitimate child, Rosalyne's father soon found out and they got divorced. She then married my father, and we all took his surname."

The looks in their eyes revealed that La Signora's colleagues had truly known nothing about her past.

But now, all they cared about was yours.

"Papa was quite fanatic when it came to his alchemic research, and one thing fascinated him above all else: the nature of Visions. He'd become particularly obsessed with a certain thought... could Visions be created alchemically and thus acquired without the blessing of the gods?"

A pained look flashed across Scaramouche's face - maybe one day he'd share why.

"Seeing as he was an outlander, the favor of the divine would never fall upon him in such a way. Maddened, he set out on a journey to achieve a Vision, not as a gift from the gods, but by making one himself."

Columbina tilted her head. "And... did he?"

"It sounds crazy," you sighed, "but he did. He managed to create an artificial Vision. It cost him his sanity and so much more, but regardless; decades of endless research and a myriad of sacrifices materialized in the form of a gemstone - a bright red crystal with a faintly glowing Pyro symbol in its core."

Your next words gained a spiteful undertone, not unnoticed by the others.

"But, he needed a test subject to confirm that this counterfeit Vision was applicable. That was me. Not just because he was insane, but because I was a fool. I only had to promise that I'd never tell the rest of my family, or anyone, about how I had received this 'acknowledgement' from 'Celestia'."

Ajax had an unreadable expression on his face - pity with a hint of disappointment and anger, perhaps.

"You agreed, then?" he asked.

"I was nine years old and rather naïve, so yes." You frowned. "But even as I grew older and understood better, on some level, I still accepted what papa had done..."

Scaramouche crossed his arms.

"But, surely... you didn't do this just to please your parent?"

"No," you shook your head, "or maybe that was a part of it as well. I couldn't say."

Yet someone saw right through you, as always.

"It had something to do with your sister, I presume?" Columbina's voice was gentle, like a mother

Ah, there it was - the void in your heart left behind by a broken kinship with the only sibling you ever had.

It was... more painful than you admitted.

"...I knew my Vision was a fake, but even so, it made me feel special. I'd always felt meritless, living my life in the shadow of the oh-so brilliant Rosalyne, who was both beautiful and academically talented. I... I was never looked at with such admiration."

"Although," your lips curved into a rueful smile, "ever since that day, I had something that she didn't - a Vision - and it harrowed her proud heart. Thus, a mutual feeling of jealousy grew between us, creating a rift that we never tried to overcome."

You shook your head. "At least I never did."

But a question still remained in the air, one that you were consciously avoiding for the sake of the horrible things that had once happened and could yet again occur because of it.

You didn't want to betray or hurt anyone, and even more than that, you wanted to protect yourself.

Yet the other Harbingers cared about you in such a strong, unconditional way, and you had started to harbor these strangely intimate feelings for them as well.

Perhaps you... really didn't need to hide anymore?

Columbina had sat up next you and now pulled you to lay on her lap instead, as she softly spoke:

"This Pyro Vision... you called it a curse - the Lohefalters' curse, or perhaps yours, but what makes you say this, I wonder? Was the cost you had to pay for this power much greater than you have let on, my angel?"

Scaramouche was staring at you intently. "I think we'd all like to know that."

You averted your gaze. "Even if it only gets darker?"

Ajax smiled, uncertain yet encouraging. "Even so."

"I... see. Well, if I had known that my broken relationship with Rosalyne wasn't even a foretaste of this horrible curse that I would end up carrying for centuries... that what papa had done would end up destroying things far, far more precious than just my family, I... I would have done differently, I'm sure of it..."

You sighed. "It's too late for amends, though. And this is all I have to say. For now."

No one was left satisfied by this, not even you yourself.

Their first instinct was to somehow confirm whether you had been telling the truth, having sensed that you were probably quite an adept liar (when you wanted to be).

But your reserved yet sincere eyes didn't invite any distrust.

Childe looked sympathetic, though there was a nuance of something else behind his cerulean gaze. When he smiled at you, the mannerism lacked his usual assertiveness.

"I... see. I'm... at a loss for words here, girlie."

The thought of you carrying these grim secrets all by yourself made the ginger Harbinger feel strangely protective of you, and he wasn't the only one - albeit the other two did a better job at hiding it.

Damselette's expression was curious yet enigmatic, indicating that she'd perhaps already figured out much more than you had told them.

Behind her innocent, uncaring demeanor, Columbina was a very shrewd person.

"Our little angel never ceases to fascinate~," she chuckled, caressing your hair.

The Balladeer's displeasure was evident.

"Ha!" he scoffed. "You've got some nerve, disclosing something of this gravity and then conveniently deciding to leave the rest of our questions unanswered. Moreover, with each secret you reveal, another one just takes its place."

Scaramouche's tone now took a softer hint - then again, maybe you just imagined it.

"Who am I to judge, of course... but isn't centuries of hiding enough, Twelfth?"

Though his opinion was harsh and undisguised, it had voiced the truth you wanted so hard to admit, but just couldn't. You found this... soothing, in a way.

As flames flickered in the fireplace, your heart wanted to stay here with them for a little while longer - each of their gazes embracing you very differently but all in a way that made you feel warm and safe; something quite rare in Snezhnaya.

Yet, with a cryptic smile, you stood up and walked away.

Whether sharing a part of your past had been a mistake, or the first step toward some kind of redemption, you couldn't yet tell. But it was clear that it had set into motion something irreversible.

It was only a matter of time before everyone would know...

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XVII): Anti-Hero.

Imagine Aemond is the King of Westers when you, a Greyjoy, rebel against his rule on behalf of a pretender to the throne.

Warnings: lots of drama, angst; smut, fluff ending like always.

***

•I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser. Midnights become my afternoons when my depression works the graveyard shift all of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room.

Just as Aemond lands, rain begins to fall. Storms usually bring bad omens, but he takes his time in going back inside. He knows he’s expected and yet the prince has no need to rush inside.

His hair is soaked as well as his leather robes. Nevertheless, he acts as if he’s been barely touched by the foul weather. Iron doors are pushed so Aemond walks inside. The moment he does Ser Criston Cole greets him.

“I salute you, lord. It appears you bring me bad news.”

“Has my grave look delivered it?”

Aemond doesn’t show him any emotion.

“The king lays in his deathbed and has requested your presence.”

Tragedy has marked the few years since his older brother won his crown upon the longer period of time spent fighting Rhaenyra and her children. Madness followed when sweet Helaena went on her free will to the grave once the twins were bitterly deprived of their lives.

Because Lucerys had to be avenged for what Aemond caused. Their mother, some would whisper, did not last longer either. Victory came when most of the greens were buried and the blacks were dead and gone.

Now all that has remained is Aemond, recently a widower after his lady wife, the unpopular Alys Rivers, died in childbirth, preventing the greens to continue their lineage since their unborn child never breathed their first breath.

He tries not to dwell in the dark waters of the past if he does not wish to be drowned in the worst depression that could make any sane man sink into it.

But a path of blood has led him to this moment. One that he always desired. At what cost, though?

“I shall see him. No need to show me the way.”

Ser Criston doesn’t seem pleased with the cold remark of the prince who has been like a son to him, but the knight knows his place and lets him be.

Aemond soon takes the stairs and in this state, he walks to his oldest brother’s privy chambers. Once he gets in, unannounced, the silver haired prince is surprised by the bad smell that comes in.

It’s the smell of death.

“Brother”, the ghostly, pained voice reaches his ear in a most unpleasant way.

Aegon II is prostrated unhealthily in bed, the opposite of what his young self used to be. The weight of the crown costed much, but no price was high enough to restaure his sanity, health or, worse perhaps, his glorious past. In his eyes, there is nothing but the disgrace of another kinslayer, consumed by remorse.

A terrible sight to behold.

“My king”, he bows his head.

“Even in my darkest hour you are tied to formalities”, Aegon snarls in disdain. “It should have been you here, not me.”

“Time has always been a great thief, on that we agree, but do not think the shadow of death will not be casted upon me”, responds Aemond in a whisper.

“I should have been wiser”, says Aegon with eyes blurred by tears. “The older I grew, poorer were the decisions made.”

Aemond doesn’t know what to respond, opting for silence. In truth, he’s always been more of a soldier than a general. Always one to follow orders than give them. Or perhaps the civil war has led him to shape this perspective of himself.

“What good is there to think of what should or could have been done? The past is there for a reason.”

“How can you be so cold?!”

“I am being reasonable, logical even. Where is the need of being sentimental when pointing facts?”

“The woman whom you fought so hard has died! And here you are!”

Out of respect for the dying king, Aemond doesn’t pick this battle to fight. Not again. Not now.

“The crown is yours to use. But there is one thing you must be told before I’m gone…”

Aemond steps closer now, accustomed with the bad smell. The heat of the fireplace seems unwelcoming now that he’s friends with the cold.

“Yes?”

“Not every kin has perished in the war”, he murmurs.

“What the hell are you talking about?”, this is the first time in a while that Aemond has shown some emotion.

Aegon smirks at his brother, pleased to get him some reaction.

“Two of Rhaenyra’s sons are living”, but for some reason the dying king thinks it’s not his problem to give Aemond their whereabouts. Or perhaps this is remorse for all that he’s done.

Who knows? Who could tell what’s in his mind?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”

“I am not”, and as if he is suddenly tired of living, Aegon coughs.

Aemond spots blood in his brother’s mouth, but by now his heart and mind are divided in between genuine concern over Aegon, his last remaining family, and the whereabouts of possible pretenders to his throne.

“Aegon…”

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, brother.”

That being said, Aegon’s life has been turned into nothingness. The old king is dead. Long live the new king.

***

• I should not be left to my own devices. They come with prices and vices. I end up in crisis (tale as old as time). I wake up screaming from dreaming. One day I'll watch as you're leaving 'cause you got tired of my scheming (For the last time)…

You stand in black leather robes by your father’s side the moment a messenger enters the great salon. Outside waves hit the shore violently, announcing a tempest that has been forming in the past twenty and four hours. Clouds have been obscuring the skies, but only by this twilight they’ve been producing electric sounds.

A lightening is heard.

“Well, lord. Under hospitality laws you are welcomed in this household”, says the chieftain of the House Greyjoy. “What news do you bring us?”

The messenger inspires some sympathy in you. He’s younger than your youngest brother and appears to have been made of summer. He knows naught of the perils that coming to Pyke might indulge him. But to his fortune Lord H/N Greyjoy is the head of the House at the moment, which means that he knows the aforementioned laws and would never harm a messenger.

“We have a new king”, by his accent you know he comes from a mid noble house of King’s Landing. “Aegon, second of his name, has died and transmitted the crown to his successor. His brother, lord Aemond Targaryen, is now the new king.”

“Ah”, says Lord H/N, playing with the knife. “A usurper following another usurper. Why does he care about us, often ignored by most Targaryens? Is he familiar that our laws somewhat differ even though we have been paying tribute and homage to them for a while?”

The poor messenger is sweating cold. You think wise to interfere when Lord H/N smiles benevolently.

“Young man, as bad reputed as my house is, we are honorable. At least I like to think my kin and I are. The laws of hospitality mean a great deal to us. But I appreciate the message you delivered us. I presume this means Lord Aemond is expecting that we submit to him as our overlord and king.”

The boy swallows again in relief. You see he’s considering correcting your father for the misuse of titles, but opts not to ruin his fortune.

“Aye, lord. The time to pay homage is soon.”

“Indeed it is”, your father strokes his chin. “These are the days I miss King Viserys. Many took him for a fool, but peacekeeping is the product of hard work. This is what made him a good king. And His Grace respected us, the houses that made his reign proper to rule.”

Then he stands, indicating the time to talk has come to an end.

“Tell lord Aemond that we recognize no king but the one who attends the name of Aegon III, son of the formidable Lord Daemon Targaryen and the queen who should have been, Rhaenyra.”

The warning is done. When the messenger leaves, you pity the poor lad’s fate. As you see the wind whirling against the sea, you say:

“The bad omen is sent by the God.”

It’s your elder brother, your father’s heir, who says:

“What do you understand of such things?”

You shoot him a gaze as if you are speaking with someone whose comprehension equals that of an ant.

“Great tempests like the one that’s been forming is hardly favorable. It is known.”

“A bad omen for the self pretentious new king”, you hear your father correct you. “This is our God preparing us for war.”

“War”, your brother repeats. “Was it necessary, father? We do not know whether the offspring of Queen Rhaenyra are alive.”

“They are”, lord H/N says in a tone that makes clear he knows many more things than he’s letting show. And here is how the schemes begin. “However, we must test the new king’s forces.”

Looking at you, his favored daughter, the head of Pyke says:

“Take with you a great number of men. You do well in tempests like this. The new king will assemble his army, but he’s not foreseeing our attack against his shores, assuming we are going to Lannisport again.”

You nod, unquestioning. Another brother, however, meddles:

“Is it prudent to underestimate the usurper, sire? He collects epithets that make quite a powerful sobriquet.”

“Words as those are meant to break fools by creating unreasonable fear of a man who is just that: a man.” And giving you a look, he says: “You may go.”

You hide away your fears, taking his orders. Unlike your brothers, you don’t question your father and you have no taste for blood. Though sensitive you may be—grieving the loss of your sister springs ago when she was forced to marry a green partisan only to die in childbirth and that of your mother by melancholy made you deal with your rage through violent seas—, you hide away your true self off the eyes of others.

Despite the beauty that brings admirers to your side, iron is set above it so though you never caused any death directly, you had enough power to bring it—which only means how fearful to some you can be, not to mention the protection and favor you have of the family.

Now here you are with the men under heavy rain. It’s time to scheme. Despite the bad feeling you bear with you—the fights you won previously during the civil war for the blacks usually occurred in calm sea, not amidst violent waves—, what else is there to do but to obey your father and overlord?

You turn at the ship and instruct your loyal men to follow you. But you do not enter in it before praising the God you serve and yelling after taking a long sip of wine:

“What is dead may never die!”

***

• It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me. At tea time, everybody agrees. I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Aemond’s coronation may have happened with no issues, but brought vices of temper that were not sufficiently tamed during his days of prince. One of which was the obsessive search for the lost sons of Rhaenyra.

Amidst this inconclusive search, the wolves of Winterfell are threatening to revolt at the same time the Krakens of Pyke delivered the message of subtle warning of war.

In spite of the circumstances, he is more than acutely aware of the fragile state of his kingship. This is the time to show his subjects he is not like Aegon.

Nay. He is better.

All the whilst the whereabouts of his nephews remain inconclusive and unknown, Aemond concentrates in issues that expect pragmatism of his part.

The North can still be dealt with the use of diplomacy and he sends his Hightower cousin to Winterfell with gold and an arrangement that works for his cause—presumably a match between a daughter of Lord Cregan and his envoy himself since Aemond has no desires in remarrying.

However, the Greyjoy assault assumes preoccupying colors. What could possibly lead an old house to open rebel against his rule?

“This is easy to resolve”, he shares his thoughts with Ser Criston Cole. “Their fleet will burn with fire and blood.”

Aemond does not fantom how the glory of his moment, albeit with a bloody path that brought him there, can be eclipsed by the refusal of a general acceptance of his rule.

Leaving personal vanities aside, cleaning his judgement of probable vices, the new king understands that the civil war of years ago has not yet been put to an end.

As he watches from the Red Keep the storm outdoors, calmly and steadfastly, a part of him comprehends that he may not be the best loved king time has witnessed and the pen of the maesters registered, but duty is what will always impel him to do what’s best.

If those will not see it through his good, may they see through his worse.

*

You cling onto optimism under the advantage that this is a surprise attack well coordinated, not a spontaneous sack in search for gold, nor an occasion fighting with random pirates.

This is not, however, a mere thirst for adventure being satisfied. The purpose, although ignored by you in great measure, is bigger than what your reason can conceive.

Perhaps you lack ambition to fight your wars, to be manipulated by your father like your brothers accuse him of doing—but what other choice do you have? He’s never treated you unkindly nor forced you upon an unwanted marriage, giving you liberty to do as it pleased you as long as you’d not forget your duties to your house.

You had your mother and your sister to tame your worse tendencies—whether to be slaved by the passions of the flesh or under the sins of pride—, some of which you’ve learned to repress. Now, however, you are where you belong. In the midst of chaos.

You do not like to fight it or to shed blood. To waste lives is a purpose you take no pride of. But leading others to it… or letting them choose to do what circumstances impel them to do so… this is what you are born to do. This is what makes most men fear you, comparing you to your father.

But they don’t see that, underneath this iron, there lies something pure and good. Sensitive. Aiming to be seen, aiming to be truly free of the duty that ties you to your family.

For however loved or useful you may be to your father, you are still under his command. Even here, even now.

However, it would have been prudent to question it, to have followed your instincts. For you have forgotten, or perhaps not have been told, that a storm never stopped King Aemond of flying his great legendary beast.

Waves clash against the ships, threatening to drown the men in them, or perhaps, as you hopefully attempt to see, leading you all to your destination.

But you miss a great shadow following above clouded skies. The night looks longer and deadlier, specially when it’s heard a roar right when a lightening bolt hits the ocean.

It doesn’t take long before you and your men pale as a shadow of the largest creature you’ve ever put your eyes on is casted upon the ship. You yell orders to separate the ships, with each carrying a beast to put it down.

The rain is too strong now and thus muffles your commands. To worse all, fire comes from above. Two of your ships are gone. You try not to succumb to your fear, soon leading the ship yourself. The desperation of your men is heard, but you try not to let the sound shake your core to join them in frustration.

Some of them opt to jump into the arms of the Drowned God and you cannot blame. But as you try to flee out of the dragon’s grasp, to your dismay you spot an outstanding number of fleet coming to your direction.

You flush violently.

“Fuck, we are ruined! This mission has been…”, your voice dies out. What is there to say? Has your father sent you to a trap?

“What should we do, lady Y/N?”, the second in command asks you.

“Never surrender”, your pride takes the iron shield back to surface. “If we must die, so be it.”

Aemond, however, has other plans. Despite burning and leading his own men to suffocate your rebellion before it reaches land, he wants to imprison the leader of it, which means you.

Soon, your ship is bombarded—and you watch as the king’s men slay all of yours, but you.

“Why are you sparing me?”

To no avail you seek death or protest. As if you are nothing, Lannister men hold you tight, removing you from the wrecked ship. By then you do not know whether you are weeping or the rain is washing your face. What difference is there?

You understand death is coming to you soon or later. Realizing that gives you strength, but paradoxically descend into melancholy.

***

• Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby and I'm a monster on the hill too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city, pierced through the heart, but never killed…Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism like some kind of congressman? (Tale as old as time)

Aemond’s victory upon the two threats against his rising reign leaves him comfortable to deal with upcoming events. Whilst there is no indication that only the names of his nephews are alive in the memory of his enemies, with no bodies found he focus in the real threats and these have been placated.

But curious in meeting the leader of what he judges to be a piracy house, he expects to see you soon. Barely he knows, as well as you, what will result of this.

In the meantime, as comfortable as you are in new robes and in fancy quarters of the Red Keep, protected from the storm that is still daunting outdoors, you have your nightmares to deal with.

The sounds of the men screaming as they either embraced death willingly or were deprived of their lives with inutile resistance bend you to your tears. Never before you felt so weak for loving the sea, the wilderness in it.

What hurts more is the realization you were not born to be a soldier. A part of you always expected to be equal your brothers, but your failure shows precisely that you are not like them.

Lost in your contemplations, you are trying to think of a solution about leaving the place when you are surprised by the presence of no one but the king himself.

Aemond has no time to waste in delegating useless tasks that he can do it himself. Thus it is this anxious warlord comes to the chambers he located you.

Whilst he stands there, you and him share a silent stare. The silver haired prince is significantly taller than you, possessing, as you first notice, a long sword in his right side and a dagger in his left. The idea that he came protected to meet you almost makes you smile.

“What reason is there to your lips twirl in a smirk? You have no reason to commemorate”, his husky voice assaults your troubled mind, forcing you to focus on him.

“You came alone to meet me, lord king. Armed. Do I pose you enough danger for that?”

Aemond takes a seat before you. His good, lilac eye studies you intently. Despite feeling crimson paint your cheeks, you do not look away.

“You think too high of yourself, lady Y/N Greyjoy. I suggest you to know your place.”

You fold your arm, mockery rising to your eyes.

“Please, lord. Enlighten me what place is this when you have no morals to speak in such terms.”

Aemond is patient. And unlike many of the men that crossed your path, not tempted to easily demonstrate or slip into his temperament.

“I wear the crown and impose a defeat on your feeble attempt to overthrow me, lady Y/N. It is unwise to dictate the rules of this game.” And then he adds. “A game that you perhaps have not been prepared to play. Has your good father not instructed you on it properly? By the sounds of your defeat, I guess not.”

You clench your jaw. Despite the broken pride and the heat in your throat that might vert in unwelcoming tears, you hold back the instinct of throwing your hands around this king’s neck and break it.

But you’ve never been one back to violence, have you?

“Has the cat eaten your tongue?”

You stand at last.

“Why coming to insult me so freely? Kill me if you must, lord king. One less enemy to humiliate!”

Aemond too stands, hands contrived in his back.

“Nay”, he speaks in almost a whisper. “The rules are not yours to dictate. Besides, with your supporters dead, I have a guess that your father will not come for you.”

With a side smirk, he leaves you. Victoriously so. And as he closes the door, there locking you in, the prince hears your screams.

*

But he wonders what to do with you. This is not a typical rebel, nor a natural leader who easily inspires dissent. A soldier. The word brings him back to his memories when, as the right hand of King Aegon, his brother, he did what you are doing now. Obeying orders.

Intrigued by this comparison, he goes back to your quarters after he finishes dinner. Unannounced, he surprises you combing your long y/c hair, wearing a white night gown. As you readily stand before the noise of opening door, he sees not only fear behind your eyes… but comes to notice the strong firm breasts the silk poorly disguises.

However, to his own sake he best not to look too much in you.

“What are you here for, lord king?”, you ask away, throwing robes over your shoulders. “I-It’s too late for a visit and I shall not be your whore.”

Your words, much to your dismay, make him chuckle. Aemond pulls a chair and there sits, holding your uncomfortable gaze still.

“Despite the inappropriate hour, I had to speak with my lady”, says he.

“What for?”, you retort, still at a corner like a frightened animal.

“I will do no harm to you, Y/N Greyjoy. I am not my brother”, he clenches his jaw, waving his hand dismissively. “All I want is talk. You have my word.”

You hesitate and Aemond sees distrust in your eyes. He doesn’t blame you for this behavior. Now wondering what he’d do if his sister’s forces had captured him many moons ago, he comes to think he’d behave similarly. If not more rudely.

Eventually you cede and take a distant seat of him.

“Well?”, you say, anxious. “Speak your terms.”

“I did not come to bargain”, Aemond smirks. “Why, as a victor, would I do so?”

“I am not your trophy, lord king”, you frown your eyebrows in clearly displeasure. “Either send me home or execute me. Other possibilities are out of consideration.”

Aemond is entertained by how your pride takes the reins of the situation. Ignoring what you just said, he proceeds rather cautiously.

“You are a soldier.”

On that you don’t see it coming. You tilt your head and had not it been for a few scars over your eyebrows and on your neck, besides the calloused hands, he’d take you as a princess.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Patiently, the king explains.

“You were following orders to bring your men here. When we captured you, I’ve already had some informations about you. You are the only daughter of Lord H/N of Pyke, but hardly as skillful as your brothers… at least where bloodshed is concerned. You have a tender heart and even when you sack or pile you tend to have mercy on your enemies.”

You look at him in between astonishment and embarrassment.

“You planted a spy at my father’s household.”

Aemond’s lips twitch in a smile.

“You are clever, my lady.”

You feel a strange urge to weep, but you blink a few times, refusing to cede to it.

“I will not ask why. You’ve been counting on that, haven’t you? But seeing I am useless to my father, why keeping me here at your mercy?”

“I do not think you are useless to him. On the contrary”, Aemond rests his hand over his knee. “I know how cherished you are for him.”

“You are using me to bring out my family and defeat it publicly. My House will stand, lord.”

“There are many ways a House can perish, lady. But this is not about it. Disregarding what you may have heard about me, I was a soldier like you. Obeying orders blindly without questioning. However, I was born to hold a sword. You, perhaps, to command.”

Silence hangs in between the two of you. Aemond sees the value you have for your family, but what surprises him is that you don’t share the perspective.

They see the beauty in you, not the iron that lies underneath.

A thought he doesn’t find convenient to share. He stands, having collected enough for his judgement.

You watch as he stops by the door. He knows you have the urge to beg him to spare your family. It is an instinct that many would have in your position. But because you know that he studied you well, you say nothing.

You turn your back on him, disappointing your captor for sparing him of temperamental exhibition.

***

As days turn in weeks, you have been forced to deal with eminent loss of the main purpose that has led you there. Serving your family has not only brought you disgraces or exposed your fragilities to your enemies, but comes to nothing when no news of your father or brothers searching to avenge you reach you.

“A soldier is replaceable, whether by blood or not”, says Aemond.

This evening you two are dining together at his privy royal chambers. You realize the king is a lonely man with unseen scars. Like you.

“You have offended my honor and disgraced my pride”, you speak softly as you take wine to your lips. It’s sweet and part of you wishes it to be poisonous. “Until when do you intend to break my spirit?”

When Aemond raises his eyes to meet yours, your soul is perturbed. You wish you could look away, but not even vengeance is a scheme tolerable by your mind now.

“Despite the circumstances, I wish you had not seen me as such”, he speaks behind the glass he takes to his lips. “I believe there’s much to gain in here.”

“What’s there to gain?”

“Liberty.”

“By what means?”

No answer comes. As you now start to study him, you come to see him as not the villain many folks had moulded him to, but not the hero either. Somewhere in between.

Aemond doesn’t say. Silence again hangs in between you, but this time it has not the same shades of awkwardness.

By the end of the dinner, he is leading you back to your quarters. He sees that you still shake when he takes your hand.

“Lady Y/N…”

You look at him, deprived of your pride.

“Y-Yes?”

“This would all be different had you not openly rebelled against me on behalf of phantoms. I sought about the whereabouts of the princes myself and didn’t find them. Why letting yourself be the pawn of others game?”

You lower your eyes so he doesn’t see the depth of melancholy that has hammered these questions long ago, but the king lifts your chin, there gently holding it.

“What other choice did I have? You, of all, should understand what is like to be tied to the family. Have you never sacrificed anything for them?”

Aemond contemplates you in silence, words that echo that fatidic night where his mother claimed Lucerys’s eye for the loss he suffered.

“I have”, he admits. “More than you will ever know.”

A ghostly smile is seen forming shyly on your lips.

“Then we are not different. Soldiers, like you said.”

And then you stop by the door. Looking back at him, you find the king staring at you. Why, this time, does his intent stare shake you? Why do the parallels between you two bring something more?

Worse is, why does your prison doesn’t feel like one anymore?

***

Aemond leaves the council, certain that no more rebellions will spread. There had been no more words from Pyke, though he’s more than aware that the remaining of your brothers might attempt something in not a near future for he’s been informed that they plan another sack at Lannisport.

In that order, he instructs his spy to pay enough gold to have the Greyjoys protecting the bays of Westeros if they occasionally let go of supporting names that are nothing but a memory of days long put to rest.

However, a question remains: what to do with you?

***

You are allowed to walk freely through the castle. At first this intrigues you. As you love the unknown, you occasionally lose your fear as you start to explore this new environment.

But when going to the gardens and there spotting the sea, your heart aches. As you contemplate those calm waters, you wonder why your father had sent you in such a suicidal mission. He knew you had won previously in placid seas. It was never prudent to combat in ugly storms.

Such are your thoughts that you do not see him coming. Aemond has realized that for a long while he hasn’t come to enjoy a feminine companion, gotten now used to you.

Like a hawk in guard, he sets his good eye to scrutiny over you. This time, your beauty captivates his sight. Your y/c hair, falling down to the mid of your back, is only partially tied according to the local fashion; he notices it’s cleaner and better brushed too. As the sun lights on it, it makes it shine in almost a different shade of y/c.

The gown you dress is silk made and it slips delicately in your body, shaping your curves. Aemond’s good eye notices your hips, how firm they are. He thinks you look good in red and black, the colors of his house. This perception makes him smirk unconsciously.

Feeling you have been under observation, you promptly turn in defense mood, admonishing yourself for letting your guards down, until you see it’s the king, your captor, who’s been the observer.

“Staring is rude”, you do not know how else to greet him and curtsying is not an option; this means that you are subduing to his authority, and as much as you are thankful for his clemency to you, you still have your pride.

Aemond notices it, which amuses. Nothing different that what would have he done, had he been in your shoes.

“Not greeting your king properly is as well”, he remarks. “I thought that even the Greyjoys had some manners.”

You scoff at him in defiance.

“Who do you take us for? Barbarians?”

“No”, Aemond wrings his hands behind his back in his usual composed posture. “Only a folk who is often on combat with their own kin when not assaulting other shores.”

“Please”, you snarl in response. “Says the one who came to power after murdering a few of his own kin.”

Any sign of humor dissipates of the king’s eyes. Darkness casts its shadow upon his face and your smirk is instantly wiped off yours. You instantly regret saying it so, even though you cannot understand why.

“Do not speak of matters that you don’t understand”, the king addresses you in a cold tone.

“Then you should not judge a life that you never lived.”

No one admits defeat. Pride takes victory, thus separating one from the other. For the moment.

***

But your remorse begins to hammer against your conscience. You know if you wanted to make your way, you would. Perhaps seducing the king to buy your ticket to liberty.

As days turn into months and these begin to slowly turn into another year, no signs of the Greyjoys in avenging you shows that there is no point in going back home.

Have you been tamed? You fear to find the answer. It’s when you come for him.

“I need to find His Grace”, you ask Ser Criston, his closest advisor.

The knight looks down upon you and you detest to feel small by this man’s gaze. I’m still a Kraken’s daughter. But you keep the thought to yourself.

“He’s occupied at the moment.”

Sounds come from the king’s bedchambers and you narrow your eyes at what you hear. Why are you flinching upon hearing these scandalous noises?

You do not answer the knight. Lifting your chin, you storm out, perhaps prompted to do something very impulsive.

Which is, for now, getting yourself drunk. Now familiarized with the kitchen and collecting a few friends amongst the servants, you get yourself some good bottles to yourself.

“I do not think wise that you should drink alone, my lady”, a maid responsible to look after you named Gisla tells you concerned.

“Who cares if wine takes my breath away, dear? I am forsaken by all, a prisoner whose life turned into dust.”

As you lock yourself in your bedchambers, you get to wonder why the possibility that the king has found lovers to warm his bed should affect you.

Trying to dissipate these uninviting thoughts, you begin to unlace the gown he gifted you, ready to toss it in fire. Pouring wine in the glass, you try to release your caged spirit in the best way you can.

Now wearing nothing more than undergarments, you open the window in search of fresh air. Moon rises high at sky and when looking at the reflection it casts down the sea, melancholy strikes again.

Having calmed your temper, you start to reason with yourself. Who are you now? A memory that remains, a survivor long forsaken? As you taste the sweet flavor of red wine—Dornish, you are sure—you don’t see the king getting to your chambers.

Aemond is dressed in his usual robes, but looking somehow less than a royal. He throws his cape at the seat, his good eye scrutinizing over your melancholy. Almost twelve months have passed and somehow one remains unreachable for the other.

Under moonlight, he spots a free spirit caged. A woman born to rule, his other half in another life if defeat was meant to him. He did to her what others would do to him. And he realizes how unjust he was.

To secure his throne, he did what he must. But growing used to you, he refuses to let you go. The mere thought of you abandoning him is… unacceptable.

Nevertheless, the king wishes to compensate you. Desire arises, sparked by perhaps his utmost selfishness in keeping you with him.

Or perhaps you are only a gift by the Gods to put an end to this misery. His head is heavy with the crown he wears, a burden that tests his limits and feeds his ambitions.

Yet, all is set aside when he looks at you. Slowly he comes behind you. Sensing an enigmatic presence behind you, you abruptly turn only to find him this close to you.

“Lord king! Your Grace!”, you exclaim out of short breath.

“I see we are welcomed properly now, my lady”, he never noticed until now how deep your y/c eyes are, as if sea is calling him. “I have missed you.”

You scoff, trying to find a way out of his arms, but Aemond doesn’t let you to.

“Will you please let me go?”

“Nay. I was prepared to do so, but I am a selfish man, Y/N. I care about you.”

You clench your jaw, frustrated. So many men have been pushed away, despised and looked down by you, but this king… When you look up, you are trapped.

“You care not!”, your voice betrays your spiritual state. “You have been whoring!”

Aemond’s eye twinkles with amusement. He is now holding your wrists as he pushes you against the wall, his knee gently parting your legs. You feel a strange ache burning your womanhood, rising to your chest.

“What makes you think I was?”

His long, slander pale fingers wrap around your fingers, eyeing your chest with lust, perceiving the hardened nipples under the white nightgown you dress. Then he raises his eyes only to meet your inexpressible face completely red.

“I… It doesn’t matter how I think when it’s a fact”, you try to protest, but it dies incomplete in your throat the moment Aemond gently rubs his knee against your entrance.

You should not enjoy this, but by the Kraken, here is no ordinary man.

“And if it was? Why would you care?”, he is pleased to find some reaction in your eyes at the moment he speaks with his husky voice, a positive effect of him over you.

“I don’t”, you squeak as he continues doing what he’s been doing with his knee.

“Deny me, then. Send me away the way you sent your suitors all before”, Aemond defies you, aroused as you begin to rub against his knee, willingly this time.

Eyes locked in one gaze, no one is ready to surrender. Yet.

“My king should know better whom you speak to.”

“One day you’ll wake up with regrets if I leave.”

You move closer to take hold of his long face, fingertips daringly touching his cheeks, up to his eye—but despite your staring you don’t touch the eye patch. Letting them slip to his silvery hair, wrapping your fingers around his locks, pulling him closer to you.

“Will you dare to leave me, Aemond Targaryen?”

His eyelashes barely open as his lips remain close to yours, his left hand holding your waist as his right one leaves your neck, slipping vaguely and purposely over your breasts before resting over your waist.

“Will you stay, Y/N Greyjoy?”

When you dare to remove his eye-patch, Aemond surprises you by not fighting away your curiosity. Knowing how this means he trusts in you, it’s enough to knock down every other barrier you’ve held up to him.

“Must be exhausting to repress your sentiments to this anti-hero”, he stares at you intently.

“It is”, you gasp, spreading your legs as his hand finally moves under the skirt of your nightgown. But he doesn’t make to your core, not yet, which makes you mewl.

Aemond side smirks at you, waiting to bend you to his will. You barely breathe, but this time you turn the tables by letting another hand finding the way to his pants.

“My lady!”

“You did not take me as a damsel, did you?”, you chuckle, even though he sees you are misleading in your eyes.

In truth, as you feign a confidence you don’t have, all you did was having a limited experience with men. So you did know some things as he can tell by the form your fingers skillfully unlace his pants and…

“Shit!”, Aemond curses.

You giggle quietly, appreciating the mix of shock and libidinous in his wide-eyed gaze. It feels good to have his length throbbing against your hand, how you manage to have him under your control.

It feels so good to deflect him to you, to have captured your captor.

“Gods…”, his moans are sensually low, the pleasure stamped in his features making you wet in your legs.

What is meant to be an instrument of domination is now domineering you. And oh you want more… But then, you stop.

“Y/N…” Aemond groans in between annoyance and disbelief.

“I cannot do this”, you say, detesting to break the spell, but then…

He gives you a quizzical look, perhaps thinking many possibilities of why you are doing this to him after he let himself be so crudely open to you.

Precisely why you are surprising him again when you tell him.

“I am not your whore, Aemond. You either make me your wife and queen, or my life ends right here, right now”, you indicate with your head in direction to the opened window. “I am a Kraken’s daughter. I am the sea, I cannot be caged for longer.”

Maybe it’s the wine, but you are scarcely afraid of holding back a character that hasn’t fitted you for long.

“I grew to love you and even though I am forsaken by my family, more painful would be if I were deserted out of your heart.”

Aemond’s features sooth before your words. Indeed he’s been taken by surprise, a deed few would have claimed to do.

“You could have said this earlier”, says he, shortening the distance between you two, cupping your face with his. “I meant not to dishonor you, my lady.”

“I was afraid you would not…”

“…love you?”, he chuckles, resting his forehead against yours. “I fucking do. Hence why I said I’m not prepared to let you escape. I cannot do so. And I am ready to make you my queen.”

One smile is enough to firm the peace between hearts in array.

***

• I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror. It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero…

Aemond admires the wild beauty that sleeps next to his side. His queen, at long last announced before the whole realm notwithstanding the disapproval of his council, his wife.

He begins to kiss your face, before burying his face against your hair. No more sorrow when your sea salt scent envolves him in a jolt of happiness never before experienced… not before Alys.

No more past to daunt his heart and torment his mind as his tongue slips to your ear, biting your earlobe and sliding to your neck, his hand pressing against your waist. His eyes remain glued at your peaceful, serene face, despite the shivers that begin on your skin and, as he discreetly pulls off the blankets, sees the exposed nipples hardening.

Aemond is careful not to wake you yet. Admiring your nude frame as his lips move to your neck, he keeps in mind the events of the day before. No protest came from Pyke as one of them is crowned their queen. But you are still resented to write them letters, despite the efforts of your brothers in renewing a direct alliance with the crown—to the Lannisters’ preoccupation.

The king is not here to please anybody, but you. He recollects how beautiful you were in a green, silk gown, appropriated for summer feasts. His mother’s tiara was placed above your head, and your hair down reinforced your sparkling beauty.

As his mouth leaves bruises against your skin, you move lightly, making incomprehensible noises. Aemond smirks, slowly turning over your body, always careful when doing so.

Contemplating your nudity under his gaze, he recollects the night before—and the nights beforehand where he took you as his wife, never able to leave your body, remembering how you mewled under his touch, how humbled you were when you begged.

“My lady likes to be commanded in bed”, he said in the occasion.

“Only you has possessed this right”, so you snapped in between short breaths.

Smiling at the retrospective moment, his lips now move delicate to mouth out your nipples, finally awaking you as his fingers move down to your womanhood.

“Oh Aemond!”, you cry out in pleasure, eyes open with despair, as your body reacts like a big wave sets to hit the shore violently.

“Yes, my lady?”, he takes his time in each nipple until your cries get louder, all the whilst his now two fingers make way deep inside you, already familiar with the walls that clench around it, the spot that is soon making you call his name.

And then…

“I need you!”, you whimper.

Your wishes are prompted complied. What a good way to start your tenure, you remember thinking. When looking at you, Aemond Targaryen knows he is not merely a king, but a man who finally found love in his lifetime.

[comfortless]

"held back by a leash that no one’s ever thought to untie, constantly growling and leaping at anything that gets too close just to simmer down to whimpering and begging the second he’s pet just once" ??? 😩 This is so real and relatable (I'm crying in the corner of my room). Lord have mercy, I need to kiss every ridge and groove on your brain.

The way I giggled when you mentioned his fleshlight is crazy. I was actually thinking of saying something similar but then I decided against cause the message would've been too long. I was trying to decide if he would be the type of man to get one of those insanely realistic sex dolls. Maybe he felt particularly desperate to have something in his bed (something that can't just get their clothes and leave before he wakes up) or he would just be curious. If he actually got it, by being impulsive, now he has this thing in his house and kind of regrets it. Yeah, it's soft and doesn't look bad, but it definitely doesn't look like a real woman either. It gives him the uncanny valley effect and puts it out of sight for now. How would he even get rid of something like that? Is it recyclable?

I've got brainrot when it comes to this man, I know. I might start reading Letters to Milena by Kafka so I can yearn more accurately for a man that doesn't even exist. This time I have no nice poems to quote but I feel like Konig is very much Sleep token coded. Idk what type of music you like but their lyrics are yummy.

P. S. Your fics are like vitamin D + Omega 3 getting me through this shitty British weather with my sanity more or less intact. Lots of consensual kisses!

oh my gosh and you are more brazen than me because i thought the same, just… kept that to myself!

if he has the money why would he settle on some little silicone tube when he could at least have something to cuddle up with, too? it isn’t like he has visitors often (or at all), though there are some nights when he definitely feels pathetic and disgusting for having it: haphazardly shoves the doll in the closet and settles for his hand instead…

also much to ponder in regards to his impulse control…! for the most part, he probably considers himself to be pretty rational; reasons with every decision by thinking well, x happened so then comes y. his dating life is shallow at best and utterly devoid of anything at worst, it’s… reasonable that he would have some sort of outlet, even if he knows that buying the damned thing has basically sentenced him to never having any sort of stable relationship. if some sweet woman actually gave him more than just the time of day, if she actually wanted to be with him but… she sees that mimicry of a woman’s warmth lying in his bed? she’s either laughing at him or immediately making up some excuse to leave. and if that happens, then of course he’s got to find a way to get rid of it. he’s tossing it in a hole in his backyard or burning it. sorry environment. this is König’s world now and the sex doll can no longer be in it..!

he would never pull something comparatively ridiculous in his career, maybe a few mistakes here and there but he plays a character when he’s König. and König is all menace or indifference, never the pitiful thing that gets so wound up over his own purchase he’s got to destroy it at all costs. though in the time that he did have it… the soldiers around him are certainly aware that he had some ‘girlfriend’ he spoke rather highly of at home that always had her legs open for him. he never seemed in higher spirits, though…

Letters to Milena is sooo quotable for him. i will give you this one: “Auch ist es vielleicht nicht eigentlich Liebe wenn ich sage, daß Du mir das Liebste bist; Liebe ist, dass Du mir das Messer bist, mit dem ich in mir wühle.”

i have an entire ridiculous playlist that is just… all over the place with songs that remind me of him, perhaps i will give Sleep Token a chance and throw a few onto it! ^^ i am always looking out for König-coded songs… Never Land by Sisters of Mercy is possibly my favorite to suggest when it comes to him. <3 the full length is my go to but - a fragment encapsulates it almost as well!

burying you in a world of hugs right now, anon! pleeease send your weather my way! it is HOT here! your messages are vitamin C and a lovely cup of earl grey to me! <3 i am glad that you appeared!

[livingobserver]

Shit Show of Your Own Making....

I am a Political Independent. In the truest form of it (not the Bernie Sanders cloak form). Do we just sit on a political fence and just do nothing? NOPE! In fact as a part of the Majority of Voters..., the so-called" Silent Majority" I'ma about to jump off this here fence to the Right. Or..., perhaps better said..., Pushed to the Right by the incredible adolescent stupidity of the Left. That they actually celebrate. As are many Independents I speak with going to the Right. Whether Trump remains on the ballot or not. There needs to be strong pushback against the Insanity. To swing the compass needle back closer to the center. Where sanity is most found. Even if it means not being in complete agreement with some of the Right's insanity. Like an Executive Order by Trump to fork over hundreds of millions in Tax Payer Funding for...., Microsoft and it's A.I. development WTF? Why does Microsoft need hundreds of millions of Tax Payer Funding? it doesn't, that's just the cost of the Government entering into a Data Collection Contract with Micro-Daft. Truth be known. "The A.I. is your friend" and "If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear." While they themselves hide. Such is the way of Wolves in Sheep's clothing. But perhaps more fitting "Coyotes in Sheep's Clothing."

Anyway, I've looked, as so many Independents are now doing..., as to which side of this Cold Civil War, displays the greatest level of Common Sense as things are now, the way they are. If nothing else I am Pragmatic. In that regard Biden has lost the Independent support any candidate needs to win a General Election. Beyond Ballot Tampering. By either side. In this, Biden has already lost. Not just because we know that it is bat shit crazy (Unelected) jill Biden running the circus, but because of the effects and affects, of that circus. on us all. Rich, "Middle Class" (there's a broad term). Poor, Black, White, Brown, Yellow, Red, Green, Male, or Female, or somewhere in between Gay, Straight, whatever color of the rainbow is your favorite. As American Independents..., we shout "EHOUGH is ENOUGH!". If we must be made to be heard, then you WILL hear us. At the Ballot Box or Mail Box. You will once again hear the true Majority in America that has no corrupted Party Mechanisms, no Corrupted Party Leaders. The Majority that cast the votes to elect the last 5 or more American Presidents..., for better or worse, but always in hope of better. But what can we really do about the choices offered when we are purposely excluded from the Primaries and can only hope on, what your corrupted Parties are worth hoping through. 350 million + people in America..., and this is the best you can offer? This..., is what you worship? Don't come crying to me about a shit show when all you have to offer are the these two. You don't leave much choice between Trump and Biden. But, I can't be so much the Fool as to choose Biden. I just can't be made to look that stupid. I am an American first and foremost and I remember what is was like..., before being a Fool became so popular that things like 'The View' and MSNBC (MSDNC) and FOX (MSRNC) are applauded by the dumbest of the Sheeple. If this triggers you, no matter which side you worship..., then get off my fucking porch and don't come back till you're clear of the network and internet brainwashing. Till and if..., then, I'll not miss you. I promise you that. So very sick and tired of the STUPID and SHALLOW, self-inflicted blindness and it is self-inflicted if you've allowed it. Can you not think for yourselves? Can you not breathe without being told how to do so? I wonder....