#poison is circulating in his body

[makedonsgriva]

SQQ is really going to these lengths to save LBH… all the while saying that he doesn’t like LBH or has any feelings for him like idk man

[beloveds-embrace]

Dukedom au masterlist (yes i need to update it ik) and we will not talk abt the abrupt ending 😭

The grand ballroom of glittered with the light of a thousand candles, their flames dancing across marble floors and golden fixtures hung from the ceilings. A symphony played softly in the background, a perfect complement to the hum of ongoing conversation and chatter. You stood at the center of it all, draped in a gown of midnight blue silk, embroidered with silver thread that mirrored the stars. A gift from Simon, one that had you staring at the beautiful dress in awe.

Tonight, you were the very image of grace and poise.

Your face and movements are calm and collected, hiding what you truly feel beneath. Lately, whispers of dishonor had begun circulating; rumors that your husband had fled a border skirmish back when he’d been deployed, abandoning his men, yet had paid for the matter to be buried. Vile lies, born of cowardice and malice. John’s name, his reputation, and the honor of your house were at stake; disloyalty towards the empire was seen as treason, and that was unforgivable.

You would not allow it.

The first spark of rage had ignited the moment you’d overheard the vile accusations from another lady, one of your more arrogant rivals who had laughed snidely. From there, the rumors spread like wildfire, poisoning the halls of the court and society.

But you were no stranger to such games like these. Tonight, after much planning, you’ll put an end to this farce.

You began with your loyal ladies-in-waiting. Each one owed their position to you, and in return, they offered their unwavering loyalty. “Listen carefully,” you instructed them during a private meeting in your sitting room, the door locked behind you. “Go into the court, the markets, the salons- anywhere whispers thrive. I want names, places, and patterns. Who speaks these lies, and who listens too closely?”

They curtsied and departed without hesitation, melting into the bustling world outside of the manor. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to your maids and house staff. Servants were the lifeblood of any noble house, privy to secrets thought hidden.

You met with them personally with Kyle’s help, ensuring they understood the stakes. “Speak subtly,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Let it slip that those who spread these rumors do so for their own gain, that there’s no substance to the rumors. Plant doubt. Create cracks.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Kyle nods his head, hands on your waist. He leans down, and kisses your forehead, and you smile all sweet and pretty at him. “Whatever you want.”

While you wove your network of spies, John watched quietly from the shadows of the manor. Though he trusted you implicitly, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of awe and unease. He didn’t want to doubt you, but he worried nonetheless for you.

In his study, he sat with Kyle.

“How’s she faring?” John asked, puffing a cigar as he leaned back in his chair. Papers were scattered on his desk, though they didn’t require immediate attention or replies. Pressed close to Kyle, bodies warm, he didn’t want to go back to working for now.

Kyle hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She’s… efficient, John. The staff is utterly devoted to her even without my help. I’ve seen no signs of hesitation in her plans.”

John chuckled dryly, though there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I am not surprised. She’s scarier than any battlefield, Kyle. And they love her.”

With the groundwork laid, you began preparing to host a big gala at the manor. Invitations were sent far and wide, carrying the promise of exquisite dining, captivating entertainment, and the opportunity to curry favor with one of the most powerful families in the region.

None dared refuse.

Johnny worked tirelessly to ensure every detail of the menu was flawless, and though he would have helped anyways, he still enjoyed all the kisses he got as reward from yoh. “You’re pilin’ it on thick, Duchess,” he remarked one evening, wiping his brow as he inspected a rack of lamb. “Even for you.”

“This isn’t just a party, Johnny,” you replied, humming. “This is war.”

“War it is, then. Anything for you, bonnie.” he muttered, diving back into his work with renewed determination. After a very heated look from you that had him preening, though; he looked handsome in his element. And you’ll make sure to really show him your appreciation for all his hard work later, in the privacy of your rooms.

At every other gala and gathering, you moved through the crowd like a dancer with a purpose. You guided conversations subtly, planting seeds of doubt and faltering those who tried to be a bit too brave- and your reputation as a “people’s princess” helped so greatly. Your allies- the few you trusted among the nobility-played their roles perfectly.

Simon, especially. You had specifically asked for his help, curled warm and cozy on his lap one night. He’d kissed you breathless and told you he would always be there for you.

“Lord Marcan, was it?” Simon mused during one party, his glass of whiskey balanced effortlessly in his hand. The others immediately listen to him; though he isn’t the most talkative noble, his words carry weight. “I’ve heard some interesting things about him. Did you know he’s deeply in debt? I wonder how far a man would go to escape ruin.”

The other nobles exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. You watched from a distance, satisfied as Simon delivered the blow with effortless charm.

Your web was nearly complete, each thread pulling tighter around Lord Marcan- the instigator of the rumors- until he had no room to maneuver. At the final ball of the season, the one hosted by you and John, you made your final move.

You descended the grand staircase as the guests gathered, your presence commanding attention. At your signal, the servants unveiled a surprise: a performance of actors reenacting a scene from an old skirmish. But this was no ordinary play; it was a dramatized retelling of that battle, one that highlighted John’s bravery and leadership even when Lord Marcan had tried to say John had fled that day.

The crowd was entranced, all earlier doubts finally wavering and shattering. You saw Marcan shift uncomfortably, his face pale as his lies unraveled before him and eyes turned towards him in disgust.

From the balcony above, John watched with Simon and Kyle at his side. “She’s terrifying.” he murmured, though his voice carried a note of awe.

Simon smirked. “You married a bloody tactician.”

Kyle simply nodded. “She fights for you, for us, John. And she wins.”

By the end of the evening, Lord Marcan was a broken man and his wife, Lady Marcan who had laughed at you by the rumor, was seething. Their allies abandoned them, their name tarnished by his cowardice and deceit and her aftions.

And the rumors about John’s supposed abandonment of his men? Gone.

That night, as you removed your jewelry in the quiet of your chambers, John approached you. His hands rested on your bare shoulders, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’ve been busy, beloved.” he said, his voice soft but laced with admiration.

“I did what needed to be done.” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I know you could have simply challenged him to a duel… but we didn’t have full confirmation it was him who started. I had to do it this way.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re terrifying, love. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

From the shadows of the room, Simon leaned casually against the doorframe. “She’s not wrong, John. Best keep on her good side.”

Johnny’s voice echoed from the hallway as he came by with a tray of food. Kyle comes as well, carrying glasses of wine. “Aye, and keep feeding her. Keeps her from plotting.”

Kyle sighs, though he has a smile on his face as he sets the glasses down and instead comes to help you. “…he isn’t exactly wrong. You were incredible…. And scary.”

“Perfect, in other words.” John hums, an eyebrow raising. You do not have enough time to ask anything before he and Kyle are gently turning you around on the seat, face to face with John who kneels down. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for us, my Duchess. Let me take care of you now, hm?”

“John…“

“No more words, my love,” he shakes his head, Kyle’s hands reaching to unlace your dress, your corset, until your breasts spill out. John doesn’t even seem mildly bothered by the layers of your skirt, flipping them up until you are indecent in front of your men and he is face to face with your panties. The way they look at you, so much want…

You don’t mind. The slick spot forming speaks more than enough anyways.

“Tonight,” John murmurs, kissing your inner thighs. “Will be all about spoiling you, wife.”

[arc-misadventures]

A Hero's Rewards?

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

Jaune recognized that sound.

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

The monotonous tone of a heart rate monitor.

Well that was a good thing to hear; It meant that, Jaune wasn't dead.

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

But, it was bad news nonetheless.

"Beep... Beep... Beep..."

Jaune hated that damn beeping sound!

Jaune pushed the nuisance aside... He was alive, and he was awake. Now he needed to get up. He didn't want to stay 'asleep' on this bed, seemingly dead to the world. He wasn't buried yet!

~~~

Jaune opened his eyes, they felt heavy. He licked his fingers as he cleaned the gunk from his eyes. He blinked his eyes before shaking his head, banishing the weariness away.

Jaune looked at his left arm, noticing the, IV in it. Looking upward to see a the IV bag, and the infernal heartrate monitor beeping along. Jaune pressed a button on the side gurney, raising his bed upward from the waist, putting him in a more comfortable, sitting position.

Jaune turned his neck from side to side, letting out a pleasured groan as he heard a series satisfying clicks from his neck, letting the tension in his body fade away.

Jaune turned to the side, and looked at more of the buttons on the panel next to him, and pressed the, 'help' button, and waited.

He looked around his room, as he waited for the doctor, or a nurse, whoever it was that would come. Jaune noticed that he was in a small room; there was no windows, so he expected he was probably kept in the room in the medical wing in, Atlas Academy. To keep him safe no doubt due to his rank as a, Specialists.

The time on the clock read: 13:29 hundred hours. Jaune now knew the time he was, but now the question was: What day was it?

~~~

The door opened, and Jaune saw a man with silver streaks in his hair wearing a white coat, and deep blue scrubs enter the room, and behind him a woman with with warm brown hair in light blue scrubs also came in. The man looked at him, and his rather blank expression opened into a wide smile as he approached him.

: Mr. Arc, my name is, Dr. Dusan, and this here is, Nurse Haizea.

Haizea: Hello, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Hello.

Dr. Dusan: I must say I am most happy to see that you are awake. We were quite worried you would take a while to wake up because of the poison in your veins. If you had been injected by that scorpion faunas's poison when you were in a more relaxed state of minf, and body, you would have been relatively fine. However, because you're adrenaline was spiked from the fight, the poison managed to circulate through your blood stream faster than we would have liked.

Jaune: Was I in any risk of dying?

Dr. Dusan: No, you weren't in any risk. Luckily, you were brought here to the, Atlas Academy medical wing quite quickly, so we managed to administer you some antivenom rather quickly. Not to mention your impressive aura reserves help heal the puncture wound, and slow down the poison as well.

Jaune: My aura fought off the poison?

Dr. Dusan: To an extent: You're aura managed to slow down the poison, buying you time. But, a persons aura is not capable of curing poisons once they've entered your blood stream.

Jaune: Ahh, that makes sense: Aura is more of a barrier ones applies to ones self after all.

Jaune reached up with his left arm, and scratched the back of his head. This was an action that made him pause, and look at his shoulder.

Jaune: I was stabbed in my left shoulder... shouldn't my arm be in a sling, or something?

Dr. Dusan: Normally yes, but by the time you arrived the wound in you shoulder was already closing because of you aura. Hell, I reckon there's not even a scar on you by now.

Jaune pulled down the neck of his medical gown to look at his shoulder, looking for a puncture wound.

Jaune: I'll be damned... there isn't one...?

Dr. Dusan: The marvelous of, Aura.

Dr. Dusan smiled as he walked over to, Jaune, while, Nurse Hiazea pulled a cart with even more instruments on it.

Dr. Dusan: Now that we have you awake we'd like to run several tests, just to make sure you're doing alright. Any questions?

Jaune: Only two: How long was I out, and when can I get out?

Dr. Dusan laughed as he grabbed a light, and shinned it into his eyes.

Dr. Dusan: Well, you've been out for a day, and a half

Jaune: A day, and a half?! Damn... His poison did a number on me...

Dr. Dursan: Well, that was just your body telling you it needed time to recover. Alright, watch my finger, Mr. Arc.

Jaune kept his eyes on the doctors finger as he ran through several more tests before he made a happy grunt as he walked away from, Jaune.

Dr. Dursan: You're looking quite healthy, Mr. Arc. You should be able to leave sometime tomorrow. We're just going to keep you here overnight just in case. In the meantime... Nurse Haizea?

Haizea: Yes, Doctor?

Dr. Dursan: Can you take a blood sample? I think it's best we make sure to check, and see if all the poison is out of his system.

Haizea: I'll take it to the lab as soon as I take a sample, Doctor.

Dr. Dursan: Thank you. Well then, call us if you need us, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Will do doctor.

Dr. Dursan waved goodbye as, Nurse Haizea pushed a stool over, and her cart, and sat down putting on some gloves before placing a rubber band around his arm.

Jaune: Uhh... Nurse Haizea?

Haizea: Haizea is just fine.

Jaune: Okay. Haizea, did... did anyone come to see me while I was out?

Haizea: Oh, yes! The entirety of the, Specialist team came to check on you, several times actually.

Jaune: Really?

Haizea: Oh yes! I even saw, General Ironwood come by to check up on you with, Specialist Winter Schnee!

Jaune: Really? W-Was there anyone else...?

Haizea: Mmmm... Oh! I heard, Robyn Hill came by to check up on you as well. That was a surprise.

Jaune: Well that's a surprise... Anyone else?

Haizea: Mmm... Nope. That's everyone.

Jaune: I see...

Haizea was about to break open a needle, but stopped as she heard his disappointed tone.

Haizea: Was there... Was there someone you were hoping to see?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: No... No I wasn't...

~~~

Clover: Jaune! You're awake!

Jaune stopped lookin at his scroll as he saw, Clover, and the rest of the, Specialist's members enter his room.

Jaune: Hi, Clover, hey guys. What brings you here?

Marrow: Here to check out on you, Mr. Hero!

Jaune: Hero? I don't think killing someone, even a monster like, Tyrian makes me a hero.

Elm: True, but he's talking about how you saved, Robyn Hill.

Marrow: Yeah! You came in like a knight in shining armour, and saved the poor damsel in distress!

Jaune just stared at, Marrow as he seemingly swayed side to side with a goofy grin on his face.

Jaune: Is he... Is he drunk?

Elm: A little... We were at the officers club celebrating your victory when we got the call that you were awake.

Jaune: And, how many did he drink?

Vine: One.

Harriet: Man's a total light weight.

Jaune: Evidently.

The group shared a small laugh at, Marrow's poor expense.

Jaune: So... did I miss anything when I blacked out?

Clover: Not much. After we got your emergency call, we rushed to get there, but you already killed, Tyrian. But, you were poisoned so we called for a medevac to get you here. After that, it was nothing, but a simple clean up job.

Vine: We secured the area, and allowed the medical staff to take his body away.

Elm: A few of them got hurt by touching his poison by accident. But, why was his tail a prosthetic?

Jaune: Ahh... I met him in the southern parts of, Mistral a year ago. When he was there, Ruby Rose cut off his tail. Somehow he got a prosthetic tail, we should check in on that. Someone was skilled enough in bio-mechanics to make him a stinger. It's only a question of what else they could do.

Clover: Hmm... Yeah we better take a look into that.

Vine: His scroll is being hacked as we talk. Once that is done, we'll get plenty of information to find out who made it.

Jaune: We can only hope so...

~~~

Ironwood: Ahh, Mr. Arc it's nice to see you doing so well.

Jaune: General?!

Jaune was in the midst of his meal as he pushed his tray on a table to his side, whipping his mouth of any crumps left there. The General walked into his room, pulling a chair next to, Jaune's bed as, Penny pulled up behind him.

Ironwood: At ease, Mr. Arc.

Jaune rested in his gurney as he the general took a seat next to him.

Ironwood: How are you feeling, Mr. Arc?

Jaune: I'm feeling fine, Sir. A little restless honestly.

Ironwood: Ha, I understand that... I always felt restless whenever I was stuck in a hospital too. Now then... About you killing, Tyrian Callows... Tell me what happened.

Jaune had assumed that this wasn't a social call, but that he wanted to hear a report on how, Jaune dealt with, Tyrian Callows.

Jaune: I was on the walls of, Mantle, inspecting how the construction of the fortifications were coming along.

Ironwood: And, how are they coming along?

Jaune: Certain sections of the wall are ahead of schedule, while others are just on schedule. I hypothesize that if we place the ones who finish ahead of schedule on the other sections of the wall, we could be finished the whole wall by at least a week at the earliest. Allowing the, Engineer Corp to resume work on your, Secret Project.

Ironwood: My, 'secret project?'

Jaune gave, Ironwood a confused look as he gave him one in turn. The pair shared a confused look for a moment before a sudden realization dawned on, Jaune's face.

Jaune: Ahh yes... I refer the, CCTS Project as, 'Ironwoods Secret Project,' or anything else that sounds similar to that. I've been doing that so no one knows what we are up to. I've ordered the various, Engineer Corp officers to refer to it as such to keep it a secret.

Ironwood: Ahh... Clever. I should have made a note of that to my other officers myself. Well done, Specialist Arc. Now, please continue.

Jaune: Thank you, Sir. While I was reading a report on progress of section, Gamma 7, I noticed a dip in the work during one day. Apparently, members of, Robyn Hill's supporters came to the wall, and caused a disruption.

Ironwood: What did they do?

Jaune: They just pestered the workers, demanding to know why it took you so long to order the reconstruction of the wall.

Ironwood: Because we were busy with the, CCTS Amity Project.

Jaune: I know that, Sir, and you know that. But, they, everyone else cannot know about it. My run in with, Tyrian Callows was an example enough of why it needs to be kept secret. Who knows what could have happened if, Salem learns of it before it is completed. Sir, we must keep a tight lip about it.

Jaune had started to become suspicious about, General Ironwood's attitude when it came to the, CCTS Amity Project. As he feared, and as he had warned others, General Ironwood had become obsessed about the completion of it. And, Jaune knew he had an itchy trigger finger, and someone needs to take his gun away from him before he started shooting.

Ironwood, stared at, Jaune until he leaned back in his seat as he nodded his head in a reluctant agreement.

Ironwood: You're right, we need to keep a tight lid on this... Continue, Specialist Arc.

Jaune: Yes, Sir. After I learned this, I learned about a rally, Robyn Hill was holding, so I decided to go there, and make sure nothing happened. While I was there I was accosted by, Robyn Hill, and she demanded to know why I was there.

Jaune: I explained that I was there to keep the peace. That I didn't want to hear about another incident like the one that happened at the wall the other day. She was the one who told me why her supporters were there. She also made it evident that it was her supporters that that dispersed the crowd, and sent them home. Besides being put slightly behind schedule because of their delay, no other incident has occurred.

Jaune was telling the truth, is was a bit of a lie since it didn't happen in that order, but it did happen. Ironwood seemingly bought it, as he nodded his head for him to continue.

Jaune: As I said, I decided to stay at her rally to keep a close eye on things to make sure nothing happened. And, while, Robyn was giving her speech, I saw a suspicious individual making there way towards the stage. He had a similar profile of a person I've seen before. So, I made my way to cut them off, and when I got in front of them...

Ironwood: You found, Tyrian Callows.

Jaune: I found, Tyrian Callows. Yes, Sir.

Ironwood: Qrow informed me of your interaction with him in, Mistral. He told me his niece, Ruby Rose cut off his stinger.

Jaune: Part of it yes.

Ironwood: And, someone replaced his stinger with a biomechanical tail... One strong enough to pierce your armour plating... We must look into this; Only a few people in all of, Atlas are capable of building biomechanical limbs... but, to make a scorpions stinger...? This a most disturbing development.

Jaune: I agree whole heartedly, Sir. An investigation must be launched into, Tyrians prosthetic stinger, at once.

Ironwood: And, it will be done. Penny?

Penny: Yes, General Ironwood?

Ironwood: Send a word to the engineer division, and your father. Tell them to start investigating that prosthetic tail, at once.

Penny: At once, Sir!

Penny saluted the, General as she seemed to send a message using her internal components to her father, and Engineer Corp. Jaune didn't like this unknown factor; Atlas was a city of technology, and science, and if Salem had a capable enough individual to make a prosthetic tail for a scorpion faunas, then what else were they capable of?

Jaune: After I intercepted him, we engaged in combat; I was stalling for time so the civilians could escape. Luckily they started running the moment I drew my blade, and tried to kill him. While we were fighting I saw him break away from me, and attack, Robyn Hill.

Ironwood: So, Robyn Hill was his intended target then.

Jaune: It would appear so. While, Tyrian was fighting, Robyn. I noticed his hand was glowing this dark purple, and, Robyn's side was glowing a faint lilac. I realized that it was, Robyn's aura, and Tyrian's semblance was to make holes in peoples aura so he could land a fatal blow.

Ironwood: You noticed all of that with just a single glance?

Jaune: I'm a analytical strategist, Sir. I often have to make, and notice several things within the space of a single breath.

Ironwood: I see, continue.

Jaune: Well, to keep him away from her I threw my sword at him. I know it was a dumb thing to do, but I needed to make him keep his distance from her. But, at the cost of making this opening, he jumped me, pinned me to the ground, and stabbed me with his stinger.

Jaune: I remember crying out in pain as the poison in his stinger made my shoulder burn. But, after that, ho got off of me, and tackled, Robyn hill to the ground, and he was about to kill her. We he did that, I suddenly got a massive surge of energy, probably by an adrenaline rush. But, I rushed over, grabbed, Tyrian from behind, and I...

Jaune: And, I snapped his neck...

Ironwood: And, what happened after you killed, Tyrian.

Jaune: I... I don't remember last thing I remember is throwing, Tyrian's body to the side, I think I said something... and, then... nothing...

Ironwood: Well, based on the report we got from, Robyn Hill, she said you fainted shortly after killing him.

Jaune: From the poison no doubt.

Ironwood nodded his head as he made to stand, putting the chair back in it's place.

Ironwood: Well, your account correlates with what, Robyn Hill said. Well, then... Did you get all of that, Penny?

Penny: Yes, sir! I have already uploaded this conversation to the central computer.

Ironwood: Good, very good. Well, we have much to talk about later about this incident, but for now; Rest, and heal up.

Jaune: Will do sir.

Ironwood: I will see you later, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Sir.

Penny: See you later, Jaune!

Jaune: Bye, Penny.

Jaune waved goodbye to, Penny who left with a wide smile on her face. But, as the door closed, he knew she would be the only one of them who would come to see him. The rest, wouldn't know, nor care.

~~~

Winter: H-Hey, Jaune...

Jaune's focus on the video on his scroll was cut short as he saw, Winter Schnee poke her head through the door to his room.

Jaune: Winter? Please, please come in.

Winter: T-Thank you...

Jaune was a little confused; He could see a faint blush on, Winter's face, he'd seen, Winter blush before, and he thought she looked absolutely adorable when she was blushing. But, was she acting shy, and nervous towards him, or was there something else that was causing her to blush?

Jaune: Are...? Are you okay? You seem nervous.

Winter: Is there a problem with that?

Jaune: Kinda... I've always seen you as someone with complete control over your emotions. To see you nervous about something is just... weird...

Winter: Ahh well... I...

Winter walked over to his bed, and took a seat at the end as she nervously brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Winter: Are you okay... Jaune?

Jaune gave, Winter a cautionary once over; her nervousness was infectious. But, the blush across her face was most certainly quite captivating to gaze upon.

Jaune: I'm okay. A little drossy, but otherwise I'm fine.

Winter: But, you got stabbed by, Tyrian's stinger! You got injected with his poison! And, you're just fine?!

Jaune: I am. I activated my semblance when he stabbed me, I super charged it so it slowed down the poison, and close the wound. See, there's not even a scar...?!

As a testament to her skills as a, Huntresses, Winter moved closer to him, without him even noticing her move, and grabbed his face within her hands.

Winter: Jaune... This is serious! You got stabbed, you were poisoned, you could have died! Why are you not taking this serious?!

Jaune: Winter...

Jaune: I know I got stabbed, and that I was poisoned. I remember the burning sensation in my shoulder when the poison flooded my views. I remember the fear filling my soul as I thought I would die by that physco's hands. But, I refused to die there, and I refused to let that thing be the one that ends my life! So, I'm sorry if it seems like I'm making light of what happened to me, Winter. But, I'm a, Huntsman... It is my duty to fight, and if needs be die for the innocent. Be that civilians, my fellow, Specialist, or you, Winter.

Jaune looked into, Winter's eyes as tears started to fall down her angelic face.

Winter: Y-You would die for me...?

Jaune: No... I would live for you, Winter.

Jaune thought it was a cheesy line, but it was the truth, he would die to protect her, but he knew that would make her sad. And, after seeing, Winter cry for the first time, and he didn't want to see those tears fall down her face once again.

But, as, Jaune thought of this he noticed the smile spread across her face. He was about to comment about her smile, but the unexpected happened.

Winter pulled his face to hers, and kissed him. Jaune could feel her warm lips clash with his own. It was a kiss of passion, desire, and warmth. A kiss someone who had been holding it in gave their lover. And, as their kiss broke, they were left gasping for air.

Jaune looked at her radiant face, a smile that radiated the nights sky with it's radiance. Her eyes, sparkled with starlight as she lovingly stared at him. And, the blush that exploded across her face was oh so cute.

Winter: Oh, I?! I-I-I?! U-U-Uhhhh?!

Jaune: Winter...? Are you...

Winter: Oh what is that? General Ironwood is calling for me! I gotta go! Bye, Jaune.

Within the blink of the eye, Winter was gone. Leaving, Jaune behind in a dazed, and confused state. As he tried to gather his thoughts he came to a simple question.

What's with all the woman in his life grabbing him by the face, and kissing him? He wasn't that dense anymore, right...?

~~~

"Nock, nock nock."

Jaune: Hmm? Come in.

: Hi, Jaune.

Jaune R-Robyn?! W-What are you doing here?

Jaune was enjoying his supper, relatively; it was hospital food after all, nothing to write home about. Jaune didn't expect to have visitors during supper, much less, Robyn Hill. Jaune whipped his mouth with a napkin, and placed the tray on the table to his right.

Robyn: Why am I here? Oh, well... I'm here to check up on my savior.

Jaune: Savior? Oh come on, I was just doing my job, no need to look at me like that.

Robyn: Oh, why not...? Can't a girl see the literal white knight who saved her from a vile monster as her savior~?

Robyn started walking towards, Jaune's bed. A noticeable sway was to be found in her hips, and the lint of a sultry tone in her voice.

Jaune: Uhh...? I wear white armour... I'm a knight... I did save a girl from a vile monster...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Okay, you can call me your savior, but not like... Not like that...

Robyn: Oh come on, Jaune...

Robyn then slid on his bed, her butt resting against his hip.

Robyn: Can't a girl have her fun?

Jaune: That depends, are you being serious with me, or is that a mask I'm looking at?

Robyn's warm smile faltered before a weary smile took it's place. She looked away from him as he hand found his, and tightly grasped it.

Robyn: Jaune... Who... who was that person...?

Jaune: ...

Jaune looked at her before he looked away, his mind searching for an answer that she would find satisfactory, whilst keeping things secret.

Jaune: His name was, Tyrian Callows. A psychotic scorpion faunas who wanted you dead.

Robyn: But, why?

Jaune: Your death, Robyn... it would sow division, and chaos between the people of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Robyn: But... who would want me dead?

Jaune: I can't tell you that.

Robyn: W-Why not?!

Jaune: I can't tell you.

Robyn: Why won't you?

Jaune: I can't tell you, Robyn.

Robyn: Why won't you tell me?!

Robyn grabbed him by his shirt's collar, screaming at his face all the while she was crying.

Jaune looked at, Robyn's face, watching at the tears fell down her caramel skin. Jaune looked into her eyes, watching as they quivered before him as her tears continued to cascaded down her face. And, Jaune came to the realization that this wasn't about, Robyn's desire for the truth. No, this was for something else entirely.

Jaune: Ahh... you're scared, aren't you, Robyn

Robyn's eyes widened in shock as, Jaune struck the nail on the head with a hammer. She let go of his shirt, she was about to get off his bed, but, Jaune kept her in place as he cupped her cheek with his hand.

Jaune: Hey, look at me...

A reding blush crept across, Robyn's face as she bashfully tried to keep eye contact with, Jaune.

Jaune: There are things I cannot tell you when it comes to, Tyrian. Many things I will not tell you for your own good, Robyn. But, I promise you this, I will protect you from those things.

Robyn looked away from, Jaune, the blush on her face deepening as he spoke those sweet words to her.

Jaune: You said I was your white knight when I saved you. Well, let me be that white knight for you, let me protect you from the monsters in the world. And, I promise you, Robyn, I will keep the monsters at bay.

As, Jaune finished talking, Robyn had whipped away her tears as she smile warmly at, Jaune.

Robyn: Do you promise to, Jaune?

Jaune: I give you an, Arc's word, Robyn.

Robyn: An, Arc's word? what is that?

Jaune: Simple: An, Arc gives their word to you, and an, Arc never breaks their word.

Robyn, laughed at that. the smile on her face growing ever more radiant.

Robyn: That's cheesy.

Jaune: It does, but it made you laugh.

Robyn: That it did...

Robyn reached into her coat, and pulled out a small flat box, and handed it to, Jaune.

Jaune: What's this?

Jaune opened the box, and found a silver badge; It was shaped much like, Robyn's pendant, but instead of a robin with it's wings in the air, it was a falcon.

Robyn: A-A lady's favour...

Jaune: A lady's favour?

Robyn: Y-Yeah... I read about lady's giving their knights tokens... of favour.. and what not... I-I saw this as a good thank you for... for saving me...

Jaune: Ahh... so I am you're knight then, aren't I... My lady?

Jaune shot, Robyn a teasing smirk, a smirk that fell as she looked at him misty eyed. Jaune was going to ask him what was wrong, when she suddenly grabbed his face, and kissed him.

Jaune could feel the warmth, the passion, and desire from, Robyn's lips as she deepened the kiss. They stayed lip locked until, Robyn ended the kiss. A radiant smile that could light up the nights sky came from her blushing face.

Robyn: I will hold you to that, my valiant knight.

Jaune: I uhh...?

Robyn kissed his cheek as she got up, and made her way to leave.

Robyn: I hope to see you later in, Mantle, Jaune. There's a lot of people who wish to thank you.

Jaune: Oh... o-okay...

Robyn: I'll see you later, Jaune~!

Jaune: Bye...

Jaune watched as, Robyn left. His fingers running across his lips, stunned that he had been kissed twice in the same day, by two different woman?!

His mind ran wild trying to comprehend what had just happen, but his concertation was broken as he heard laughter from his left. As he looked over to see red sitting on a counter.

Pyrrha: Oh~? Things are getting interesting, aren't they, Jaune~!

Jaune: O-O-Okay! I knew, Winter had a crush on me! But, I had no idea, Robyn liked me too! You can not hold that against me!

Jaune had expected many thing to happen when he came to, Atlas. Killing one of, Salem's minions was something he had hopped to happen.

But, to have two separate woman kiss him, and proclaim their love to him, in the same day!

Well, who exactly could have expected that?

[anachronismstellar]

Hear me out;

For your SQH with tattoos post, what if he implemented tattoo spells or smthn into PIDW bcs he was a fan of FMA or smthn. It is a vry Airplane thing to do, trust.

Anon I'm listening loud and clear and I need this ASAP because I bet he did exactly that, he slapped some poor wanna be villain with talismans tattoos or some shit to make the villain look edgy and I bet the villain got his tattoo from a demon clan in the south or something, the point- THE POINT IS.

(oh God this is becoming a filet God save me-)

Mu Qingfang is the only one who knows about the tattoos and he doesn't approve not because he doesn't like the vibe (he kinda thinks is hot as fuck) he doesn't approve because "Heavens knows what they put in the ink and which needle they used, Shixiong!"

But with the amount of layers a peak lord has to wear, no one finds our for a long loooooong time.

Hell, Mobei that has walked into Shang Qinghua doing the weirdest shit didn't know about the damn tattoos.

Until. UNTIL.

Wife plot 397.

What is wife plot 397? No idea, Airplane doesn't know either, but the think is that it ends up with him soaked to the bone and the water has poison because of course it does so he has to strip all his robes and he has to do it fast or he can say bye bye to his skin and bones which makes him naked in front of Mobei with only Cucumber's fan (that is going to be burned later urgh Airplane you will pay for this!) saving the last dignity that he might have-

Uh. It should be more yelling. Why is everyone so quiet?

"What?"

"What?! What happened to your arms?!" Because of course Cucumber is the one who snaps out faster, but without his fan to cover his face his blush is there to anyone to see. "Are those tattoos?! Airplane what did you do- what are they for?!"

Binghe is drinking vinegar and doesn't know if he will have to kill his shishu because he had to dirty Shizun's eyes with by being shamelessly naked like that or if he should stare at Shizun's face and see if he likes the tattoos- should he get tattoos? WHAT IF HE GOT SHIZUN'S NAME IT WOULD BE SO ROMANTIC-

Meanwhile Mobei. Oh poor Mobei.

Mobei-Jun's brain has left the building, struggling between wanting to hide Qinghua's body from everyone's eyes but also wanting to take him and pin him down and lick all the drawings and bite them until Qinghua begged for mercy or-

"Oh, yea, I forgot about these uh. They are to help me with strength? Also they help to circulation of qi, and another things" and he won't anything else because if Cucumber finds out he got a FMA Scar wanna be tattoo he will be dead, he will be murdered by Cucumber-bro fan somehow.

..... and that's what I have for now because is almost 4 am DJSBAKDBSKDJSK

But feel free to take the idea and run with it!! I just want more BAMF!SQH fics in the world ;; he deserves it poor little meow meow

Thank you for the ask anon <3

[bronze-and-silver-keys]

I just realized the fifth trial of v3 could have gone COMPLETELY different in my ghost au oh no

// SPOILERS for Danganronpa V3

I rewatched the trial recently and just got to the end when Kaito exits the Exisal to stop everyone from reaching the wrong vote, and it got me thinking.

We aren't completely sure whether Kokichi was killed by the hydraulic press or by the poison. It could've been totally possible for him to succumb to the poison while he was laying on the press waiting for it to lower.

We have no idea how long it actually takes for the Strike-9 poison to circulate through the body, and after Kaito and Kokichi switched places, he could've succumbed to the poison while Kaito was getting back up to the controls and setting back up to lower the press.

It's totally possible for him to have died of the poison and for Maki to be the actual Blackened, but as the player we had no way of confirming his cause of death. Not even Monokuma knew because the cameras were disabled! That was the whole shtick of the case! Monokuma relied completely on Shuichis deduction for this, and he concluded that Kokichi was killed with the press.

BUT in ghost au, we WOULD get confirmation of the killer and victim but not until that moment that Kaito exited the Exisal.

Kokichis ghost could've been hanging out in there through the whole trial until that point and exited with Kaito to see everyone's expressions up close. No one would really have made the conclusion that killers see their victims ghost until they became a Blackened themselves, but Kaito didn't know that so he wouldn't have been off put by not seeing Kokichis ghost. Dude was scared of ghosts after all so it would've sent him into a panic attack anyway.

But imagine when Kaito exits the Exisal and Kokichi's bloodied ghost follows, only visible to Maki. Imagine her shock when she sees both of them still supposedly alive in front of her. Imagine the rage that would boil her blood and send her bolting over to Kokichi to try to strangle or stab him, reaching out for his spindly neck to take him down-

Only for her to phase right through him.

She falls to the floor, to her hands and knees and is hit with an entirely new shock at the realization. Oh. Oh no. Shuichi and Kaito are moving to help her up and pay no attention to the bloodied Kokichi standing beside them, asking her if she's okay after tripping like that.

That's why Gonta was acting so weird in the previous trial, saying that Miu was still with them and even more confused about why there was a trial being held. They dismissed it as her being with them in spirit, but the others had no clue how literal that was.

Kaede didn't kill Rantaro, but if she had, it would've been a dead giveaway if she was freaking out about a ghost.

Kirumis spiral at the end of her trial was probably driven by Ryoma teasing her with the occasional quip until she lost it.

Korekiyo has probably seen enough ghosts to last a lifetime, so two more would've been nothing.

Only when Gonta had killed Miu did things click.

Maki would look at Kokichi in abject horror, and he would stare back with the exact same expression because this would completely ruin his plan. She would absolutely take the chance to give up her own life to save Kaito. She had done it so many times throughout the trial already, but that was just denial. Denial that Kaito could've been dead and that she could've been the one that killed him.

The trial would drag on for longer, and Shuichi would reach the same conclusion that killers saw their victims ghost. Kaito's skin would go cold because, if that's true, then why couldn't he see Kokichi? He was supposed to be the Blackened. Not Maki. Not Maki.

Maki and Kaito would argue for both stances, desperate to save the other, until Monokuma confirms that, yes, the Blackeneds can see the ghost of their respective victim, because hey, Tsumugi has been able to see Rantaro this entire time. On the cameras, the other culprits have been talking to themselves after killing their victims, but not in a mental spiral. More of a conversation with the dead body before them, except the victim was responding.

Maki would be executed because of this, and Kaito's moral would tank because he a) just lost the love of his life, b) survived when he wasn't supposed to and c) all of that work, all of that planning Kokichi had put into this trial to end the killing game once and for all was completely wasted. He would go numb. He was ready to give up his own life for this, but Maki didn't deserve this. Maki was supposed to live, not him. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. The only thing trusting Kokichi got him was the love of his life dying before his very eyes when it was supposed to be him.

Oh God now i wanna write a fic where this happens

[cavalorn]

Eye of newt and toe of frog: what was really in the witches’ cauldron in Macbeth? (CW: torture, death, historical racism, historical antisemitism, animal and human body parts) Ever since Scott Cunningham first made the following claim in the 1980s, there has been an increasingly widely circulated belief that the ingredients of the Macbeth potion were not grisly animal parts at all but merely herbs and plants, concealed under code names:

“every ingredient (Shakespeare) lists as being in the witches' pot refers to a plant and not the gruesome substance popularly thought”

This proposal had not appeared at all in analyses of Shakespeare prior to Cunningham’s Magical Herbalism: The Secret Craft of the Wise but is now extremely popular, especially the often-cited proposal that ‘eye of newt really meant mustard seed’. Lists of ‘herbal codes’ circulate online, purporting to explain all the different ingredients of the Macbeth potion away as plants. Witches, according to these lists, were grossly misrepresented. Their grisly concoctions were nothing but herbal mixtures.

Code-names and substitutions have certainly played a part in magic in history. Cunningham was familiar with, and makes reference to, the Greek Magical Papyri in which a famous list of secret substitutions is given. For example, ‘the tears of a Hamadryas baboon’ are to be taken to mean ‘dill juice’. The concept of a secret herbal code in which grisly-seeming or mythical ingredients are in fact plants – and only the enlightened few are aware of this - was therefore not a new one.

Was Cunningham correct?

First let’s look at the historical context.

Shakespeare wrote Macbeth under the patronage of James VI of Scotland / I of England. The King was paranoid about witches, was personally present at the interrogation of at least one, and wrote a book called Daemonologie all about them. The depiction of witches in Macbeth would have needed to flatter and support the King’s personal convictions. These fictional witches are therefore evil through and through, and we should be suspicious of any interpretation that seeks to lessen their horror.

Other plays were written around the same time that feature witches in similar roles, such as Jonson’s Masque of Queens and Middleton’s The Witch. We will come to those in due time.

Let’s examine the evidence for Cunningham’s claim, line by line. Round about the cauldron go;

In the poison’d entrails throw.

Right from the start, we have a reference to ‘poison’d entrails’. This immediately tells us that the ingredients are characterised both by being poisonous or venomous in nature and by coming from living creatures. Herbs and plants do not have entrails.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights hast thirty one

Swelter’d venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

The first ingredient is, quite plainly, a living toad. Specifically, it is a toad that has been secreting venom over a period of time.

The choice of a venom-secreting toad as the very first ingredient cannot have been a coincidence, seeing as the King had himself interrogated an accused witch who had been put to torture, and who had ‘confessed’ to collecting toad’s venom in order to use it in a sorcerous attempt against the King’s life.

The alleged witch’s name was Agnis Thompson, and the King interrogated her in 1591. His account of this is written up in his book, Daemonologie. Agnis Thompson 'confessed' to having taken a black toad, hung it up and collected the venom that dripped from it over three days in an oyster shell. This venom was supposedly intended to be used in a spell that would bewitch the King to death, 'and put him to such extraordinary paines, as if he had beene lying vpon sharp thornes and endes of Needles.'

It is worth noting at this point that the King also recorded his belief that the Devil causes witches to "joint dead corpses, & to make powders thereof" which are then used in spells. This belief can also be found in Daemonologie.

So in the very first ingredient that goes into the cauldron, the live toad steeped in its own venom, we have an immediate disproof of Cunningham’s claim that ‘every ingredient refers to a plant’, along with a clear reference to the King’s own personal lived experience and profound beliefs concerning witches.

It ought to go without saying that King James VI/I was a deluded bigot who had innocent women tortured and put to death in service to his twisted agenda, but let’s say it anyway.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

As with ‘entrails’, the use of the term ‘fillet’ leaves in no doubt that we are dealing with a dismembered living creature. A fenny snake is simply a snake from the fens.

Convoluted attempts have been made to identify ‘fillet of a fenny snake’ as a plant of some kind, but given that Cunningham’s claim has already been disproved, there seems no point in not taking Shakespeare at face value.

Eye of newt

Let’s get this out of the way: there is zero historical evidence that ‘eye of newt’ ever meant ‘mustard seed’. There are no herbals that give this as a name – not that were written prior to the 1980s, at any rate. The obvious conclusion is that it is modern lore created in sympathy with Cunningham’s claim. The ‘mustard seed’ interpretation is all over the Internet, of course, because sites typically copy one another without bothering to look for original sources.

(I would like to say, for the record, that if I assert here that ‘no historical source says X was ever used to mean Y’ and anyone later provides a historical source that unambiguously DOES say X was used to mean Y, I will print this article out and eat it. With mustard.)

Assertions that eye of newt meant mustard seed usually also assert that it was a popular component of witches’ spells. In fact, Macbeth is the one and only historical instance of ‘eye of newt’ appearing as a spell component. It is famous because the play is famous, not because it was in widespread use. The idea that it was a codename for some other ingredient thus appears even less credible.

Other attempts to interpret Shakespeare according to the Cunningham agenda include the rival claim, sometimes seen, that ‘eye of newt’ actually meant a type of daisy. Just as with mustard seed, there is no historical evidence at all to support this.

We should perhaps expect to encounter multiple claims as to the ‘real meaning’ of the potion ingredients, because the point of these claims is not to provide a definitive substitution code that was actually used by practitioners of the past, but simply to repeat the insistence that Shakespeare’s words do not mean what they say.

It is, of course, possible to assert that the enlightened ‘mustard seed’ interpretation has simply been handed down secretly through the years from witch to witch, never once appearing in print until the 1980s when such things could at last be shared openly within the hallowed pages of Llewellyn books. Claims of this sort are unanswerable.

Incidentally, the typical construction for plant names is not ‘B of A’, but ‘A’s B’ or simply ‘AB’, as we find with names like day’s eye (daisy), baby’s breath, coltsfoot and foxglove. If Shakespeare’s spell had run ‘breath of babe and eye of ox / foot of colt and glove of fox’ then we would be having a very different conversation.

Tongue of dog

This ingredient is the first one where the Cunningham agenda might seem credible, if it had not already been disproven by the very first of the ingredients. There is a herb called ‘houndstongue’, Cynoglossum officinale, which is also known as houndstooth and dog’s tongue.

Was Shakespeare referring to a herb here, then, rather than the tongue of a literal dog? Given the anatomical specificity of some of the later ingredients, there is no reason to think so. Animal tongues have played a part in magic for centuries. The Epistula Vulteris (800 CE), for example, proposes putting a vulture’s tongue in your shoe to make enemies adore you. The 16th century Tree of Knowledge instructs the reader to take the tongue of a hoopoe and hang it on the right side of the body, close to the heart, in order to defeat anyone in court.

Wool of bat

Despite this ingredient being relatively innocuous – ‘wool’ could theoretically be harvested from a bat without harming it – attempts have been made to identify this as moss, or even as holly leaves, via a convoluted train of association that links the shape of bat’s wings with the shape of holly. No historical sources give ‘wool of bat’ or ‘bat’s wool’ as a term for a plant.

Toe of frog

Some modern sources assert that ‘toe of frog’ refers to the buttercup, possibly because the Latin name Ranunculus means ‘little frog’. One is left to wonder what part of a buttercup the ‘toe’ might refer to.

Unfortunately, no historical sources give ‘toe of frog’ or ‘frog’s toe’ as a term for a plant.

Adder’s fork

At first sight this looks like another possible point for Cunningham. Adders have forked tongues, and there are several plants that bear the name ‘adder’s tongue’. However, there is no evidence of the use of the specific term ‘adder’s fork’ to refer to a plant.

We would also have to explain why, given that these ingredients are demonstrably not being presented in an overall context of plant symbolism, any of the plants known as adder’s tongue would be intended here over the surface meaning.

Blindworm’s sting

The ‘sting’ (fang) of a venomous snake, or possibly a slow-worm, which are ironically not venomous. This ingredient is probably intended to pair with the last one: they are both from the mouths of reptiles.

No historical sources give ‘blindworm’s sting’ as a term for a plant.

Lizard’s leg

The leg of a lizard.

No historical sources give ‘lizard’s leg’ as a term for a plant.

Owlet’s wing

The wing of an owlet, or baby owl.

No historical sources give ‘owlet’s wing’ as a term for a plant. (I am getting as tired of typing this as you probably are of reading it.)

Scale of dragon

An ingredient that at first glance appears to buttress Cunningham’s claim, because unlike the others it cannot possibly mean what it says. Dragons don’t exist. However, ingredients that use the term ‘dragon’ in their naming do exist, such as ‘dragon’s blood’.

Excitingly, there is a plant known as the dragon’s scale fern, Pyrrosia piloselloides. Should we concede a point to Cunningham here?

Unfortunately, I do not think we can. The dragon’s scale fern is native to Singapore and was first catalogued by Carl Linnaeus in 1763. There seems no way that Shakespeare could possibly have heard of it. Moreover, ‘dragon’s scale’ is merely an English translation of the term ‘sisek naga’. I’ve been unable to find any use of the name ‘dragon’s scale fern’ in English prior to the 20th century.

Did Shakespeare mean a literal dragon, then? Considering his plays involve literal ghosts (e.g. Caesar, Banquo, Hamlet’s father), literal monsters (Caliban) and literal witches with the power to ‘hover through the fog’ and summon storms at sea, we needn’t worry about Shakespeare depicting things which we now know to be impossible. So yes, literal dragon’s scale. Tooth of wolf

It is tempting to identify this ingredient as the herb houndstooth, but the problem there is that houndstooth is the same as houndstongue, for which see ‘tongue of dog’ above.

No historical sources give ‘wolf’s tooth’ as a term for a plant. Witches’ mummy

Either ‘the mummified flesh of dead witches’ or ‘mummified human flesh, as used by witches’. Bizarre though it may sound, mummified human flesh was used for medical purposes before and after Shakespeare’s time. See Sir Thomas Browne, Hydriotaphia, 1658: ‘The Egyptian mummies which Cambyses spared, avarice now consumeth. Mummy is become merchandize, Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams.’

No historical sources give ‘witches’ mummy’ as a term for a plant.

Maw and gulf

Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark

The mouth and stomach of a shark.

No historical sources give ‘shark’s maw’, ‘shark’s gulf’ or ‘shark’s stomach’ as a term for a plant. There is a succulent called Shark's Mouth Mesemb that is native to South Africa, but given the additional description lavished on the shark – ‘ravin’d, salt-sea’ – it seems pretty obviously a literal shark.

Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark

Here we come to our first actual plant ingredient, which is named as such. Do please note the significance of ‘digg’d i’ the dark’. It’s not just hemlock, it’s hemlock that has been gathered in the ‘proper’ way. Where literal plants are concerned, the time and method of harvesting is magically significant. This suggests that far from everything in the spell being a plant as Cunningham proposed, the actual plants involved are special and treated with particular care.

Liver of blaspheming Jew

Exactly what it appears to be, disgusting historical antisemitism and all.

Gall of goat

The gall (bile) of a goat. (Goat’s gall and honey were used as a treatment for cancer in Saxon times. Who knew?)

No historical sources give ‘goat’s gall’ or ‘goat’s bile’ as a term for a plant.

Slips of yew

Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse

Another actual plant ingredient, named as such. Just as we saw with the hemlock root, when the spell calls for actual plants, the witch is careful to specify the method of gathering. ‘Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse’ means that the yew was peeled off in slivers during an eclipse of the moon.

Nose of Turk

The literal nose of a literal Turkish person. My suspicion is that this mocking of foreign people and their religions was deliberate pandering to the King, almost to the point of pantomime.

Tartar’s lips

See above.

Finger of birth-strangled babe

Ditch-deliver’d by a drab

The severed finger of a baby strangled at birth, having been born in a ditch to a sex worker.

There is a Korean succulent called ‘baby’s finger’ but there is no hope whatsoever that Shakespeare could have meant something so innocent.

Tiger’s chaudron

A tiger’s entrails. Derives from the exact same source as ‘cauldron’, so Shakespeare was frankly cheating a bit to use it as a rhyme here.

No historical sources give ‘tiger’s chaudron’ or ‘tiger’s entrails’ as a term for a plant.

A baboon’s blood

Curiously, ‘the blood of a Hamadryas baboon’ is one of the ingredients in the Greek Magical Papyri which is deemed to be a code name. Unfortunately for Cunningham, the ingredient it is a code name for is the blood of a spotted gecko, bringing us all the way back to lizard’s legs and newts’ eyes.

It’s worth noting in passing that Shakespeare wouldn’t have been familiar with the Papyri Graecae Magicae, given that they weren’t rediscovered and republished until the 19th century.

In any case, no historical sources give ‘baboon’s blood’ as a term for a plant.

In summary, of the twenty-three ingredients that go into the witches’ cauldron:

two – yew and hemlock - are unambiguously plants and named as such, with the method of gathering described

two – tongue of dog and adder’s fork – resemble extant folk names for plants, i.e. houndstongue and adder’s tongue

the remaining nineteen are all animal or human body parts, or in the case of the toad, the entire animal

Cunningham does not seem to have considered that disguising innocent herbs with grisly sounding names would have invited trouble rather than deflecting it. For example, even if ‘wool of bat’ had been a codename for moss, no practitioner with an ounce of sense would have referred to it as such when they could just call it moss. Gathering moss might be eccentric; gathering wool of bat could be seen as diabolic.

Some commentators have taken the view that Shakespeare might have been using ironic humour, by listing ingredients that were grisly sounding but also folk names for ordinary plants, intending the audience to pick up on his clever references. The audience would, so the theory claims, have recognised the wordplay because the folk names would have been in common use at the time. This theory falls apart, however, simply because the vast majority of the ingredients were not folk names for plants, and only two can possibly be considered such. Even in their case it is necessary to use some creative interpretation.

There is an additional problem with the ‘secret herbal code’ hypothesis. Cunningham’s core argument is that ‘witches, magicians and occultists wished to keep secret the most powerful of the old magics’, hence the use of codes. And yet, the arguments advanced for which ingredient represents which plant are based on common folk names, not secret lore unavailable to the masses. One cannot draw a link between ‘tongue of dog’ and the herb houndstongue, insist that the parallel is obvious, and then claim that this was a secret code.

To use the Papyri Graecae Magicae as an example of a genuine secret substitution system, ‘a physician’s bone’ is code for ‘sandstone’. There is no conceivable way a person could have inferred the real ingredient from its code name. And yet, the supposed herbal codenames in Macbeth are all based on inference, such as ‘finger of birth-strangled babe’ being taken to mean ‘bloody finger’ and thus ‘foxglove’.

Media magica in other Jacobean dramas

As mentioned above, it was not only Shakespeare who wrote plays in which witches prepared concoctions that contained human or animal body parts. However, only Shakespeare seems to have been singled out for his alleged use of secret herbal code names (which, as we have seen, does not bear scrutiny).

Ben Jonson’s The Masque of Queens was written for King James VI/I and was first performed in February 1609 (three years after Macbeth) in honour of the King’s eldest son, Prince Henry. Like Macbeth, it flatters the King’s obsession with witches by featuring a gathering of them. They discuss the ingredients they have gathered, such as:

I have been all day, looking after

A raven, feeding upon a quarter;

And, soon, as she turn'd her beak to the south,

I snatch'd this morsel out of her mouth.

This hag has snatched a morsel of human corpse that had been cut into four pieces (as in ‘hung, drawn and quartered’) out of the beak of a raven.

Just as in ‘Macbeth’, we then hear of a miscellany of gruesome ingredients, such as the bitten-off sinews of a hanged murderer, the fat of an infant, the brains of a cat, frog’s blood and backbone, owl’s eyes, viper’s skin and basilisk’s blood, none of which can possibly be taken to be codenames for plants. Moreover, we are fortunate to have Jonson’s own notes on his work, in which he laboriously details the sources he used and the practices he intends to depict:

But we apply this examination of ours to the particular use; whereby, also, we take occasion, not only to express the things (as vapours, liquors, herbs, bones, flesh, blood, fat, and such like,

which are called Media magica) but the rites of gathering them, and from what places, reconciling as near as we can, the practice of antiquity to the Neoterick and making it familiar with our popular witchcraft.

Jonson’s representation of plants is of particular interest here. He has one hag declare: And I have been plucking, plants among,

Hemlock, henbane, adder's-tongue,

Night-shade, moon-wort, libbard's-bane;

And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.

And offers the following explanatory text: Cicuta, hyoscyarnus, ophioglosson, solanum, martagon, doronicum, aconitum are the common venefical ingredients remembered by Paracelsus, Porta, Agrippa, and others; which I make her

to have gathered, as about a castle, church, or some vast building (kept by dogs) among ruins and wild heaps.

Just as with Shakespeare’s mention of hemlock and yew, there is no suggestion of code names.

‘The Witch’ by Thomas Middleton was also performed by the King’s Men. It, too, depicts witches in exactly the way the King expected to see them depicted. For example, Hecate says to Stadlin: [Giving her a dead child's body] Here, take this unbaptised brat.

Boil it well, preserve the fat

The subject of herbs comes up in this graphic exchange: STADLIN

Where be the magic herbs?

HECATE

They're down his throat:

His mouth cramm'd full, his ears and nostrils stuff'd.

I thrust in eleoselinum lately

Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soot-

You may see that, he looks so b[l]ack i' th' mouth-

Then sium, acorum vulgare too,

[Pentaphyllon], the blood of a flitter-mouse,

Solanum somnificum et oleum.

Middleton even brings a comic touch to the loathsomeness of the witches’ concoctions. Almachildes (who has brought the witches toads in marzipan as a gift) is invited to dine with them, and responds

How? Sup with thee? Dost think I'll eat fried rats

And pickled spiders?

Conclusions

The witches depicted by Shakespeare, Jonson and Middleton for the entertainment of King James VI/I are shown employing animal and human body parts as well as plants in their spells, in accordance with the King’s personal beliefs and with the playwrights’ understanding of magic as depicted in such texts as Cornelius Agrippa’sDe Occulta Philosophia.

There is no evidence to support the suggestion that any of the ingredients named are meant to be taken other than literally. They are not codenames for plants. Eye of newt in particular is not a folk name for mustard seed and never has been.

Scott Cunningham’s assertion that “every ingredient (Shakespeare) lists as being in the witches' pot refers to a plant and not the gruesome substance popularly thought” is simply wrong.

Although Cunningham was wrong, and may well have known it, his motivation is understandable. Modern witches are revolted by the idea of body parts being used in spells and wish to distance themselves from it. The ‘herbal code’ interpretation provided a means to recast the horrific Jacobean witch (who did not exist outside of the popular and kingly imagination) as an enlightened and humane herbalist.

But if we allow ourselves to misrepresent Shakespeare in this way, we risk erasing the memory of the real victims: Agnis Thompson, the accused witch who was tortured into ‘confessing’ her use of a toad, and her fellows. Squeamishness must not be allowed to prevent us from confronting the uncomfortable facts of history.

[mitsuyeaah]

misdemeanour.

— ran haitani x f! reader

cw: nsfw (mdni), thigh riding, light bdsm (handcuffs), roleplaying (police officer!ran), mentions of alcohol use, pet names (princess)

a/n: inspired by that one ran photo that’s circulating right now. he’s so hot istg (*´꒳`*)

the loud bass of the music reverberated throughout the entire house, feeling every beat of it thumping inside your chest. you navigated through the dimly lit living room packed with sweaty intoxicated bodies, some of them moving against the music dressed in varieties of different costumes.

your friend, rindou, had hosted a costume party for his birthday. of course, as innocent as it sounded, the activities within the walls of his house were a complete contrast. It was wild to say the least. beer pong outside their lawn next to a keg stand, people doing shots at the kitchen island, couples making out somewhere private, people dancing in the living room, and more.

you were amongst the people doing some shots in the kitchen. your throat burned at the sensation of the hot liquid going down—tequila—, face scrunching at the bitter taste of the liquid poison. a round the kitchen island, there stood some of your close friends, rindou included.

there was one particular man that caught your eyes. The one standing right across you, dressed in a navy blue police officer uniform, topped with a police hat. his long two-toned hair were secured in two braids that cascaded down his chest. you noticed how the two of you seemed to always accidentally make eye contact amidst the chaos inside the kitchen. hisamethyst eyes lingering on yours a little too long before he looked elsewhere—you swore you could see a slight desperation in them. like he wanted something.

rindou had introduced the man earlier as his older brother, ran. he was indeed a gentleman, going even as far as extending his hand to shake your own.

throughout the entire time you were doing shots in the kitchen, you and ran had about more than 5 wordless exchanges through eye contact. you weren’t complaining though, he was very easy on the eyes but you just wished he approached you. “i’ll be right back! i need to go to the bathroom!” you yelled over the music, leaning over the table to let everyone know. “okay, you better hurry! we’re starting another round soon.” rindou yelled back.

you exchanged one last eye contact with ran, this time mustering up a small smile before leaving for the bathroom. you messily made your way to the bathroom, your head slightly spinning from the tequila shots. you managed to make it safely to the bathroom without tripping over anything or anyone by grabbing the walls for support.

after doing your business and washing your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror and fixed your appearance—noticing how the strap of your costume had slipped off your shoulder. if you were being honest, this devil costume you had on was half-assed. only because you didn’t bother buying a new one and instead wore the only costume you already had.

you cupped your cheeks and let out a sharp exhale, feeling the burning temperature of your skin due to the amount of alcohol in your system.

you closed the bathroom door behind you but before you could even take a step, you found yourself trapped between the door and the man you’ve been eyeing all night, ran. the back of your head rubbed against the cool surface of the door as you craned your neck to look up at the tall man.

he was indeed more beautiful up close. little specks of dark purple scattered around his lavender irises. his soft pink lips looking a little too tempting. “o-oh! sorry! did you need to use the bathroom?” your breathing became uneven as you held his gaze, waiting for his answer.

he gave you a saccharine smile as he let out a soft hum that only you could hear. ran shook his head ‘no’ and leaned in closer to your ear. his scent engulfed your nose, it was sweet yet musky, just how you liked it. “you’re under arrest for a misdemeanour for being too fucking hot..”

your breath hitched. you could feel blood rushing to your cheeks as his hot breath ghosted over the side of your neck, causing goosebumps. “wha—” “nuh uh.. place your hands in front of you like this.” ran jutted his hands out between you two, both his hands securely intertwined with one another.

doing so, ran skilfully secured your wrists together using the metal cuffs that hung from his belt loop. you slightly shivered at the cool sensation of it against your burning skin. before you could do anything, ran hooked a thumb on the chain that connected the cuffs and tugged your wrists above your head.

your hands were now bound over your head, resting against the door behind you. with one hand securely locking your hands above you, his free hand grabbed the baton, the tip of it resting below your chin to jut your face upwards.

“you think you can just walk around my house looking this delicious?”

you rubbed your thighs against one another, yearning for some kind of friction as you looked into his eyes. the desperation in his amethyst eyes mirrored your own.

ran noticed this and clicked his tongue. he swiftly pushed your feet apart to spread your legs and tucked his knee right at the apex of it, just where you wanted him. your breathing became erratic, your head spun at his strong scent, and you were wet.

how embarrassing, he hasn’t even done anything to you yet.

“sorry..” that was all you could mutter. at this point, your mind was going absolutely crazy, you partially blamed the alcohol for it. ran clicked his tongue once again, “you’re going to have to do better than that.. princess.” his lips ghosted over the side of your neck, tongue casually darting out to give a few kitten licks here and there.

you let out a shaky moan, not caring if the two of you got caught. no one probably even cared, they were all too wasted to do so.

ran chuckled against your soft skin, this time his lips fully making contact with it—brazenly sucking and licking at it, pulling more sounds from you. he absolutely loved how you responded to his mouth. a loud whine escaped your lips as he started grinding his knee against your clothed clit, skilfully moving it to increase your pleasure.

“oh fuck! aah—ran!”

you couldn’t help but move your hips against his leg. you wanted more. ran chucked his baton away and opted for using his hand to hold your chin up—his lips trailing wet, hot kisses toward your own. you almost melted right then and there at the sensation of his soft lips against yours, moaning at how desperately it moved.

ran didn’t shy from shoving his tongue in your mouth and moaning against it. fuck, it was filthy but it was so hot.

your knees buckled at this, a funny feeling running up your legs as ran keenly explored your mouth. good thing his leg was somewhat supporting you, if not, you were sure you would’ve fell to the floor.

everything was a haze. your mind spun, heart racing, ears muffling out the loud music, you were only focused on one person. ran haitani. as if reading your mind, ran finally let go of your wrists, the burning sensation in your arms dissipating as you dropped them back down. although, they were still bound together due to the handcuffs.

you grabbed onto the collar of his costume to keep yourself grounded, gripping the fabric in your hands until your knuckles turned white. ran pulled away to catch his breath, chuckling breathlessly at the way you craned your neck forward, chasing the presence of his lips.

“mmm, be a good girl and keep fucking yourself on my leg, princess.” ran groaned, cupping your warm cheeks to meet your gaze. you looked up at him as your eyes brimmed with tears, brows furrowed in pleasure as your clit rubbed against the fabric of your panties.

you desperately rut your hips, chasing the high that seemed impossible to obtain. “ngh! ran please..” you buried your face on his chest, whining. it was unsatisfying. every time you thought you were close, the pleasure suddenly disappeared and you had to start from the bottom again. it was your first time riding someone’s thigh and it frustrated you that you couldn’t reach your high.

“should i help my princess out?” he raised a brow, placing both his hands on your hips. ran bounced his leg and grounded your hips on his thigh, guiding it back and forth. you moaned against his chest at the sensation. the pleasure you felt from this was much greater, your clothed clit deliciously rubbing against his leg.

your whole body was slumped against ran. limp, helpless and at his very mercy. you weren’t even moving your hips anymore, ran took full control of it’s movement. he rested his chin at the top of your head, hands still carefully guiding your hips against his bouncing leg. “ngh—ah! shit..” tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks as you shut your eyes closed.

you were so fucking close.

“that’s it, princess. you can do it..” you panted heavily as your sweaty forehead rested on his collarbone. you could feel the familiar bubbling at the pit of your stomach and the way ever single muscle in your body tightened.

ran noticed the change in your breathing, frequent short whines that ended in a small moan escaped your lips. “fuck, look at me when you cum.” with the energy left in your body, you lifted your head from his chest and looked up at him through your lashes—tears obstructing your view.

he cursed under his breath and brought a hand up, cupping your cheek and shoving his thumb in your mouth. you didn’t need to be instructed what to do, you swirled your tongue around his slender digit. moaning against the finger and you desperately sucked on it.

“such a naughty girl.. why don’t you cum for me? hm?”

you absentmindedly nodded at his command, your face contorting in pleasure as the knot inside your stomach finally snapped. ran removed his finger from your mouth and sealed the distance between the two of you, swallowing your moans.

your muscles stiffened and your eyes rolled back as you came, your fingers becoming sore form gripping at ran’s collar. ran didn’t stop moving your hips against his bouncing leg to ride out your orgasm.

fuck, you melted like wax against him. it was too good. ran shamelessly moaned into your mouth, mirroring the way you did to his own. several tears rolled down your cheeks as your cunt quivered in pleasure. you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath, your panties soaked and uncomfortably stuck to you.

“fuck..” you panted

“mhm, don’t think i’m done with you yet, princess. let’s go take some shots for now.” he kissed your forehead and untucked his leg from underneath you, earning a slight whine from you.

“careful, princess, you might get charged more than a misdemeanour. the punishment is much more severe.” he leaned into your ear and kissed at the sensitive spot just below it before heading over to the kitchen.

© mitsuyeaah

[dontbesoweirdkira]

“Did you sleep well? Don’t lie to me, I watched you.”

¡Yandere!Dark Raiden mk11

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy. I’m sorry I haven’t ever written Raiden and so if it’s a little off…no it isn’t. Lollll I’m going to replay mk11 so I can get more into his character. But there’s a serious lack of mk11 Raiden fics??? Like what is going awn??? Y’all don’t like granddaddy??

Warnings: Yandere/Toxic themes, mentions of kidnapping, violence, threats, sleep watching…

Requests: open 24/7

Masterlist

Raiden isn't someone who finds himself resting much of his own. There’s too many things that he has to attend to and so much of his time would be wasted if he slept most nights.

Besides who would watch over earthrealm and you if he was fast asleep…

Actually he just prefers to watch over you at night. Someone else can handle the latter but..you are far too precious for him to not protect.

Usually he’ll wait a few hours or so after you’ve finally dozed off. Giving you plenty of time to drift into a deep slumber so you cannot be disturbed by him, creeping into your bedroom.

It’s fairly enjoyable for Raiden to watch you rest. You are a very delightful sleeper. You don’t often move around or snore much. When you do make noise it is usually a sweet mummer or giggle.

It’s a huge contrast to during the day when you would be by his side. You were a very timid person and rather fidgety. Raiden understands just how intimidating he can be, but he had hoped you’d come around to it. That you’d understand his demeanor wasn’t personal against you.

He craves your affection and he’s seen how you truly are with others. He doesn’t mind your real personality, any more than the next man would. So if you’re worried he may think lowly of you for being energetic, he won’t. On top of that, he just doesn’t know how to be more inviting.

He absolutely despised how comfortable you were with other people compared to him. You’re not even this shy with his brother, Fujin.

Eventually Raiden had enough of it and decided to forcefully make you comfortable with him. No longer are you allowed out of his home or to socialize outside of him.

(Yeah that made you waaayy more comfortable 🙄)

He now has you all to himself and no one else has the right to your smile anymore.

Unfortunately though the only times you smile at now is when you are fast asleep, dreaming up your own perfect world.

Raiden didn’t mind this too much, it was enough for him just to watch over you. A little while longer and he’s sure you’ll get used to him.

The only thing that could make this any better is if he had the ability to see into your dreams.

What exactly were you dreaming of? Him? Tonight you seemed to smile more than usual, so delusionally he figured it had to be about him. Or maybe you’re thinking of the children you’ll have with the thunder lord.

He almost chuckled to himself as he proudly pondered the idea of the two of you teaching your children how to safely wield their powers. How cute it would be when they'd play tricks on you, of course he’d scold them but it would be kind of cute…

Before he could go any further into thought, your beautiful voice broke the silence—

“Heh…I wish we could have fun like this all the time..”

Could you read his mind? Were you dreaming about what he was thinking of?

The lord, becoming increasingly more intrigued by your dream, leaned in closer. Hoping for you to speak once more..hoping that it was true.

It would be just the confirmation he needed. You dreamt about a life with him, which means all of this was the right choice. You’re finally coming around sooner than he’d previously thought.

“Mmm..Johnny~”

What did you just say..?

Is that why you’re so happy tonight? It’s because of that imbecile??

Hearing you flirtatiously coo the other man’s name ‘Johnny’ was like poison to Raiden’s ears. Something sinister entered his body and before he knew it a fierce thunderstorm of emotions began to brew deep in his veins. Electric red currents started circulating his body as he stood up and towered over you. He tightened his balled fists until his knuckles grew pale white. With a tense jaw and a scowl that omitted a pure crimson color, he remained still. Not wanting to act out just yet in the height of his anger.

As much as Raiden was furious, he was also a devastated lover. You’ve betrayed him. He’s given you so much of himself only for another to occupy your mind…do you know just how much he’s put aside for you?? He’d risk all of earthrealm if it meant an eternity with you.

How DARE you…you will be punished for this. There was no way that Raiden would ever let these trifling feelings go without such.

And for that Johnny…..”Cage volume iii” isn’t going to be coming out anytime soon…

It was as if you could suddenly sense the shift of energy in the room. The warm, cheeky smile ran cold and a bolt of terror struck your core.

Tossing and turning, trying to get away from the darkness that started to overwhelm the dream, you cried out.

“….j-johnny…please help me. He’s going to find me and take me away. Please- that monster is going to get me—”

Jolting up in a cold sweat, your heart sank deeper into your chest after you noticed the narrow, crimson eyes above you.

Frantically you began to speak..

“R-Raiden?! What are—-“

“Did you sleep well? Don’t you even think about lying to me, I watched you.”

Raiden’s voice is as low as it was venomously commanding.

A beat, which felt like years, passed as you mustered up an answer to him. You were currently still too tired and distraught to even know what exactly pissed off Raiden.

“…I-I’m sorry Lord Raiden but I don’t really know what’s going on—“

“BE SILENT, Y/N!.” Raiden’s voice boomed throughout the entire tower, followed by a rumbling of thunder from outside.

From what was just a minute ago, a nice cool night turned into a heavy thunderstorm with heavy winds.

“You think of me as some kind of monster?!…” Raiden scoffed, his once balled fist turned into a sharp point of the finger.

“I understand that your feeble, human mind cannot even comprehend all of the things that I’ve been protecting you from…all of the devotion I’ve dedicated to you. But for you to blatantly disrespect your master is something I never expected from you.”

“ You’ve committed such disgusting sins….you need to be cleansed.”

“Wha- Raiden? I-I don’t understand. What did I do?.” Your eyes began to swell with tears and your voice became an unsteady mess

Raiden sneered down at you.

“Hmhp. Your pleas will not save you, my love. When I’m done with you, Johnny’s name will be scrapped from your memory and you will learn how to become properly devoted to me….and only ME.”

[a-regular-amount-of-spiders]

When's The Last Time You Felt Safe (BirdFlash)

Birdflash Oneshot, 18+ Details Below

Caretaker Dom Wally, silly fluffy smut. Some Emotional Hurt/Comfort Dick winces as he tries to gingerly press an ice pack against his back, the top of his suit striped off on the floor. He’d been shot, luckily nothing that made it past his armor, but unluckily bruising the hell out of his back. He’s got green, purple, red, and blue dappled all across his body from the night, trying to get too many kids away from too many traffickers. His breath hitches as the memory of the limp bodies of the people he’d failed refuse to leave him. The mission had objectively been as successful as it could have been, but it didn’t feel like enough. He never felt like enough and he was just so very tired. Tired enough to miss the flash of red and orange as it blitzed into his room, but not so much that he didn't flinch as the ice pack was taken from him. He twisted around so quickly that his body screamed in protest, and he winced as he took in the concerned face of Wally, dressed in sweats and a soft shirt. You okay Rob?” Those verdant eyes stare down at him, the worry held within barely covering the steely stubbornness that lets Dick know that Wally won’t accept a lie right now. He shifts a bit uncomfortably, turning away, as though he could hide from the hurt festering in every grain of his soul these days. “You worry too much Walls.” He replies, instead of answering the question. Even looking away he can’t stand to lie to him. He hears the man sigh, and feels the air in the room circulate. When Dick opens his eyes, Wally is crouched in front of him, so he can make eye contact, resting his hands lightly on Dick’s knees. “Let me take care of you?” He asks, so earnestly that Dick feels guilty for the rush it sends down his spine, shame twisting in his gut immediately. Horrifyingly he wants to cry, as though he remembers how, and just let Wally bear the weight of the world for him. But he can’t, he couldn’t stand the guilt that would follow. Dick cannot allow himself to be selfish, it never ends well. So he swallowed thickly, and forced the correct words out. “You don’t have to do that.” Dick knows that’s what he’s supposed to say, which would prompt Wally, all midwestern politeness, to ask ‘are you sure’ and Dick would say yes, Wally would leave and he’d be all alone again, no one around, a poison no one wants- “I want to. Please let me.” Wally breaks the script, squeezing his knees and breaking Dick out of his thoughts. He’s saying “Okay” before he can even register that he’s spoken. But Wally is smiling so maybe that was exactly what he was supposed to say. “Do you want to be in something more comfortable?” He asks carefully, because Wally figured out ages ago that Dick got weird about touch sometimes, and now he always telegraphed, always asked. Dick hated it. He needed it, and he hates that he needs it. It was different when they were younger. He misses that. He nods though, because he never minds when Wally gets in his space, and he’ll be out of his suit before he can overthink it. There’s no one else who can do this for him, so he may as well take advantage of the times it is offered.

 Wally cleans up his things, and he thinks he hears his laundry starting which he’s been ignoring for two weeks now. Wally helps him change into sweats and it makes the heat of embarrassment swell in his chest, is he really this incapable? But there’s food in his lap and the tv is flipped on to a silly movie he’d mentioned wanting to see once, and Wally is asking if he can put some sort of ointment on his bruises so Dick doesn’t have time to dwell too deeply on it. He looks at the plate of warm pizza slices now in his hands, the box on the table from that place he’d found by the Titan’s Tower and always got for celebrations. “You ran to Jump City to get me dinner?” Dick mutters, unable to muster enough energy for incredulity just yet. “All things considered, that’s not very far for me” Wally replies, shaking the ointment in his hand with a raised brow. Dick nods, taking a bite of the pizza. It’s a comforting, familiar taste that warms his whole body. Nostalgia that chases the icy loneliness from the edges of his body. He scarfs it down quickly, feeling significantly better. He hadn’t realized how woozy and cold he’d felt until it went away. “Better?” He can hear the smile in Wally’s voice as he stands behind him, long fingers gently rubbing the bruise cream along the injuries spotting his back. Dick tries to pay attention to the movie, but the feeling of Wally’s hand skating so gently across his skin is better than any lullaby. A blanket is pulled over him, and the heaviness of the weighted fabric is soothing, but there’s a lingering self hatred lying in the shadow of Dick’s enjoyment. “Yeah” He responds, rough and quiet, feeling raw and shelled out. He shivers when Wally moves away. His friend plops down on the couch, propping one leg up so it’s resting against the backrest, and the other is hanging off the side. “C’mere Rob, I’ve got you.” Wally says, so painfully tender. Dick tips over curling against the lean line of his best friend, a long buried ache settling as those lithe arms wrap around him loosely. He shakes apart without a sound, he doesn’t know if he could make noise when he cried even if he really wanted to. Or if the strangled sort of way emotions tear out of him could even be called crying. Wally’s fingers card through his hair. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t press, doesn’t insist on seeing, but he doesn’t awkwardly turn away either. Wally comforts him in a way that helps, understands him in a way no one else ever bothered to learn. He’s a steady, patient presence at his side, and Dick can’t help but feel like an alley cat being coaxed from a crack in the wall. “A lot of people died today” He whispers into the fabric of Wally’s central city college shirt. The hand in his hair pauses, before continuing. So Dick keeps talking. “I should have found them faster. If I’d kept a better eye on my city then I would have known sooner and I-” He cuts himself off “I know that’s not reasonable. I know it won’t fix it. I just-” He wishes the crushing feeling would go away “I wish it got easier. I wish I didn’t feel this way every single time” Wally doesn’t tell him it isn’t his fault, doesn’t tell him he did his best, doesn’t give him the argument he wants and doesn’t need. Doesn’t give him the space to hurt himself on his own words. Instead he just holds him close, and says “I know, Rob” and somehow breathing gets easier. “You don’t have to stay.” Dick says, even as his arms wrap tightly around Wally’s waist. Even as he presses just a little closer. “If I leave, will you be able to sleep?” Wally asks in that measured tone, the one he uses when he knows the answer. Dick doesn’t answer, and feels petulant for it. He presses his face into Wally’s chest and cries more, letting his guard down for the first time in however long it's been since Wally stayed the night last. Dick cries, as much as he ever can, until he falls asleep, falling again, always falling.

Dick wakes up slowly, to the warm smell of a fresh made breakfast. He still feels like he’s falling until Wally's head peeks around the corner, hair a mess and grin wild, some dollar store apron tied with a messy bow. That’s when his body realizes that there’s someone here to catch him this time, that he was finally right to make the leap. He smiles back, hauling himself up to follow the delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen.

“You made breakfast?” Dick asks, despite seeing the huge spread across his too small dining table.

“Well I was hungry, and someone has got to take care of you” Wally’s voice is low in his ear and Dick shifts a bit uncomfortably. Why does he have to get so close when he says things like that? Next thing he knows, he’s sitting at the table, plate piled high with food, staring bewildered at Wally.

“I-” He blinks, adjusting to being moved somewhere by a speedster, “I can’t eat all these Walls.” He takes a bite of the pancakes, and groans “Nevermind, I’m eating everything at this table.”

Wally laughs “C’mon man, I know how to look after you by now.” His keen gaze suddenly makes Dick feel transparent, and a part of him frantically wonders why in god's name Wally has to talk to him like that, but he’s able to suppress his reaction with the ease of someone who’s been doing it since his teen years.

“You don’t have to help me this much, you know?” Dick protests weekly between bites. “No?” Wally hums noncommittal, pressing a glass of water into Dick’s hand. “And if I want to?” There’s something almost predatory about the way he asks it, but perhaps that’s wishful thinking. “Then…” He takes a sip of water  “Then go ahead I guess.” There’s a strange tension in the kitchen as he eats, Dick can tell Wally’s attention is more on him than on the food in front of him, which is making him feel a bit hysterical given that very little pulls a speedster’s attention away from their food. Wally’s gaze holds a weight to it, and Dick has to keep reminding himself that Wally is probably just worried. He resolutely ignores the part of his mind noting that he feels mostly alright now, and that Wally knows him well enough to see that. He finishes his food and tucks all his emotions in a box, standing and putting his plate away. The table is cleared and the dishes are done by the time he reaches the sink. He smiles at his friend, who still has that slightly too serious expression on his face that leaves Dick feeling off kilter, and on edge. He can tell there’s something being left unsaid, and Wally wants him to be fully aware of that. However, Dick can’t bring himself to ask. Irrationally and despite all insistence otherwise, he can’t prevent himself from being scared that if he asks, if they broach whatever conversation is hanging in the air, that Wally will put distance between them. He’s scared that Wally will ask for space, or tell him that he’s aware of and doesn’t share Dick’s feelings. That those feelings make him uncomfortable. Wally waits a moment, and can’t hide the disappointment that briefly laces his expression. Seeing that is like a lance, and Dick wants very badly to make it up to him, would that he knew the cause of the disappointment to begin with. “Wanna play a game or something?” Dick hedges, only relaxing when he sees Wally’s smile return. “How about you pick something to play, and I work out some of the tension in your shoulders and back? Your controllers have too much input lag for me.” Wally replies, following Dick into the living room, and watching him pick out a game. “Doesn’t every controller have too much input lag for you?” Dick asks, letting Wally pull him into the space between his legs, hands resting on his shoulders as he launches some game Tim had gotten him. “Victor made some specialty ones for me after I broke too many in the Tower. I think Tim has been making updated ones for Bart.” Wally massages his shoulders, head propped up on top of Dick’s so he can watch him play.

“Why don’t you run and grab them?” he replies, repressing a shudder as Wally’s hands smooth down his back, skillfully applied pressure releasing the long held tension in his back. Long fingers leave sparks of pleasant warmth in wake, overtaking the pervasive dull soreness. Dick is internally proud of his self control until those hands skate down his sides, grip resting firm on his hips so Wally can whisper in his ear; “You’re doing so well Dickie” Wally’s voice is low, his breath ghosting the shell of Dick’s ear. A bolt of arousal shoots down his spine and he is barely able to suppress the accompanying whimper. He really hopes Wally doesn’t look down, because then he’ll definitely never want to touch Dick again for any reason. “I’m not really doing anything” He replies, glad for how normal he sounds. He wants to bang his head into a wall until he has something resembling sense when Wally squeezes the meat of his thighs, because now even sitting still is a struggle. “Sure you are. You’re letting me help you. You’re trusting me” Wally is still extremely close, tone almost heady. His grip loosens so his hands can drift up Dick’s legs, thumbs resting on his more sensitive inner thigh. Wally keeps talking even though Dick’s breath is stuttering and he’s squeezed his eyes shut, holding perfectly still. “This okay? If it’s not that’s alright. I won’t be upset, all you gotta do is say. And we can go back to just hanging out” Wally sounds perfectly calm, and Dick hates him a bit for it, because Wally is brushing his fingers over the tent of his jeans and Dick’s head falls back against his shoulder as he gasps. “Yes. It’s okay, Jesus Christ Walls” His voice is high and ready as Wally dips one hand beneath his shirt, the other one palming him with just enough force to make Dick shake, legs jerking in response to the overwhelming pleasure that dances across all his nerves. Wally nips his ear, then starts mouthing at his neck. “You’re so gorgeous like this. In my hands, letting me do what I want. Letting me treat you like the precious thing you are.” His voice is gravely, and he tugs Dick flush against his chest, grinding forward into him. Dick chokes on nothing as he feels the burning warmth of Wally’s own arousal against him. The words are as effective as any touch, making Dick reach back and grab Wally’s hair, pulling until his face is the right angle to kiss. The kiss is messy and a touch desperate, vaguely following the rhythm of his hips as they roll. Wally flicks the button of his jeans open, biting down on his bottom lip, pulling away. Dick tries to follow eagerly, but Wally yanks him back by his hair, watching with dark satisfaction as it makes him keen. “Still okay?” He sounds breathless, and Dick nods eagerly. “Mind taking this to your room?” His thumb is stroking tender circles into his cheek, like he’s something delicate. Dick turns his hand to bite down on the tip of it, just to watch those green eyes widen, and hear his breath hitch. Dick looks up at him through his eyelashes, licking the pad of his finger.

“Please, Wally?” He lets the desperate little whine building in his throat twist the edge of his words, and hides a smile behind a pout when he sees Wally’s blush spread to the tips of his ears.

Next thing he knows he’s flat on his back, spread across his bright blue comforter, Wally kneeling between his legs. Wally grins down at him, shirt and pants long gone.

  “Can I strip you sweetheart?” He asks, rubbing the outside of Dick’s thighs. Dick cant help but think he looks gorgeous, pink down to his chest, freckles dappling his skin, and the sun catching his green eyes in such a way that Dick can see the flecks of yellow and brown. He nods, cataloging the way Wally looks, just in case he doesn’t get to see it again. The adoration in his eyes, the hard line of his dick straining against his black briefs, and those strong runner’s thighs spreading his own apart. Dick nods again, expecting to have it happen before he can even register it, but Wally takes his time, pulling Dick’s shirt off and kissing every inch of newly exposed skin. Dick lets out a slow breath, tension releasing and back arching languidly into his touch. Wally stops at his shoulders, moving up to kiss his lips, slow and sweet.

“I want you to say it. Tell me what you want Rob.” There’s certainly a sharp edge to his voice, which makes all the blood vacate Dick’s brain. “I…” Dick takes a deep breath, trying to clear the haze that had settled over his brain. “I want you to make me feel good. I want you to tell me what to do. I’m so tired of thinking, and making choices, I just wanna…” “Let go?” Wally finishes as he finally pulls Dick’s shirt over his head, then helps him shimmy out of his underwear and sweats. Dick watches Wally, loving the way his eyes flick across his body, like he can’t pick a place to look.

“Settle in Rob” Wally picks up his leg, pulling it over his shoulder and kissing down the length of it. “When I’m done you won’t be thinking of anything other than how amazing you feel. Wally bites his inner thigh, just below the apex of his hip. Kissing everything but the place Dick wants his mouth the most. Just as he’s about to open his mouth to complain- or beg, but no one can prove that- Wally licks across the head of his cock, and his tongue vibrates. Dick goes taught, back arching as he swears. “F-fuck!” he yelps “You can do that?”

“Perks of being a Speedster” Wally quips, kissing along the length of him, fingers encircling the base and vibrating. Wally has to hold his hips down as he takes him into his mouth, the sensation is so intense that before he knows it Dick is whiting out, coming down Wally’s throat with a reedy moan. Wally pulls off, kissing Dick and licking into his mouth, the taste of himself on Wally’s tongue has him groaning, wrapping his arms around Wally’s shoulders. His head feels fuzzy and the haze of pleasure leaves him forgetting why speaking without a filter as a terrible idea- “I love you so much Wally” He smiles blissfully. Wally, to his credit, doesn’t even pause.

“I love you too Rob, so very much. You’re so good and sweet for me. You’re doing so well.” Wally praising him has Dick squirming in his happy haze. “Fuck me?” He requests, hooking his free leg up high on Wally’s back to leverage himself such that he can grind up against him.

“Christ Rob” Wally groans, hips stuttering. “You’re so needy, gotta let me take care of you. I’m gonna be so good to you babe” He’s gone for just a moment, back before Dick’s leg can even lower, lube in hand. “Did you run while turned on?” Dick grins, distinctly amused, coherent thought returning slowly. Wally raises a brow. “What happens at that pace is between me and the speed force” He responds, pouring lube in his hand and stroking along Dick’s semi, tracing down along his perineum and circling Dick’s hole. Dick flinches at the slight vibration he feels before the finger is before pressing in. “You’re p-pretty good at that” He looks up at Wally, eyes almost black from pupils blown wide with want. It settles an ache he hadn’t realized had been weighing him down. Seeing Wally above him, blushing down to his chest, grinning like he can’t believe his luck, finally allows Dick to let go of the painful yearning he’s pushed to the backburner for over a decade.

“Yeah?” Wally grins, confident is a good look on him, “Just wait till I learn all your buttons” He presses another finger in, hooking them and managing to press right against Dick’s sweetspot. The hot molten feeling from before washes over his body again, leaving him shaking and floaty, nails digging into the lines of Wally’s back. He pulls himself up enough to moan right in Wally’s ear as he rolls his hips against him. “Don’t forget- you’re not the only one learning” He nips down the column of Wally’s neck, fascinated by the way that the bruises disappear from his pale skin. Wally’s rhythm breaks for a moment, and he can’t help his smug satisfaction and the way Wally groans like his orgasm was ripped from his chest. “You better be ready boy wonder, cause that was mean” Wally pulls his fingers away, but doesn’t actually do anything until Dick gives a beyond exaggerated “please”, which makes them both laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” Wally looks bright and unburdened by all the years that have passed between them as he presses into Dick. Dick can’t help but clench down at the feeling, squirming even after Wally presses to the hilt, hips twitching. Dick feels giddy, and full, and more relaxed than he can even remember ever being. He pulls Wally into another sloppy kiss, burying his hands in soft hair. “I love you Wally” He kisses the freckles on his face. “You’re perfect” Wally starts fucking into him at an almost blinding place, body humming like he can’t quite help it. He kisses all across Dick, like he can’t pick any given part of him. “Says the most perfect man I’ve ever seen. You’re so gorgeous, I’ve been wondering so long if you’d let me do this. Trust me like this.” Wally is talking almost too fast to hear, only years of practice enabling Dick to keep up. “I love everything about you, who you are, your smile, all the stupid shit that drives me insane. You’re so cute too, when you get all flustered. But I never could have imagined how you’d look like this. So pretty and sweet and relaxed-” Wally continues to praise him until they’re both babbling, and Dick isn’t really sure where the before and after points of their orgasms were. Only that eventually they slowed down, and Wally cleaned him up, fed him, and pulled him into his arms. And everything felt okay, at least right there, in that moment. Nothing was wrong. “I meant it Rob. I love you. I wanna be with you, if you let me.” Wally kisses his hair, rubbing his back. “It’s always been you, for me. Safety, home. Whatever you want to call it.” Dick looks at him, bright blue eyes as piercing as they always have been, complemented by the blush high on his cheeks. “I want you in every way I can have you.” “You deserve more than that, you know? Then taking what you can get” Wally lightly brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Hm, maybe you can prove that to me?” Dick smiles, unburdened.

[alpydk]

Inside Out

Oh, this is what I needed after all the smut. Just some lovely angst and pain... Oh, I feel so much better now. Thank you for @an-excellent-choice for this beautiful inspiration and letting me use it.

CW - angst (some comfort) - Despictions of wounds (possibly gross) - Also now edited - any mistakes are just me being a poor writer.

The bandages always itched and even wrapped tightly made no difference. All that was left then was simply the pressure around Gale’s wrists, a cutoff to his circulation as he tried to flex out his fingertips for the spells needed. “Sol Invictus.” The small pale lights glimmered under the fabric of his tent, a stark contrast to what lay beneath his flesh. A darkness, a shadow, much like he had become.

He sat alone, listening for the movement of his companions outside. They laughed over the cheap bottles of wine that had been discovered earlier in the day, a moment of forgetting their present lives of tadpoles and the constant threat of death or ceremorphosis, whichever came first. Sliding up the sleeves of his tattered robe, one once sewn by his mother of whom he missed desperately, he noticed the spread of the rot. How white bandages had become stained with dead flesh and had done little to contain what ate away at him.

Magical artefacts had been doing what they could, keeping the pain at bay whilst they travelled, keeping his mind together as his nerves burnt with every touch and movement. His body ached, but mostly his soul felt as if it were being torn apart. As if the very damage that was being done to him was all a construct of guilt and self-loathing. A positive can-do attitude and a few trinkets is all it would take to be fine, at least that is what he kept telling himself, and would do until the time of Midnight Tears arose. 

Unwrapping the stuck bandages made him grimace, a pulling as what was left of skin came away with the cloth. There was little pain with it, the damage done, the discomfort more of stubbing his toe than a surgical extraction with little anaesthetic, but still the sight was as unpleasant as the first time it had happened. Back then he would have panicked, would have tried all he could to repair or mask what was happening to him, even from himself. Now he simply did what he could to contain the damage, to keep it from his companions. They knew of the orb, but to this extent… He wouldn’t let them find the monster that lay beneath his smile.

A mixture of healing potions removed the worst of the blackened skin that lay along his forearms, the familiar taste of balsam and berries now no longer sickly sweet but just sickly. It was too much to take in one go, but it would be enough to knock him out for the night. His stomach turning would be a problem for him to deal with in the morning. Possibly something I’ve eaten, he would lie, should the question be posed to him.

 A light breeze blew in and a shiver of pain shot through his spine, causing him to grip onto the cloth of his robes. He buried his chin into his chest, muffling the low groan that threatened to alert his party. Long moments passed, one continual thought that maybe this was it, the time to depart, the consequences of his actions finally coming to greet him as if they were an old friend.

It had spread; he examined as the sensation passed up his forearms, his lower legs and feet now also requiring the same beige treatment. He’d never been one for alchemy or first aid, but he had learnt quickly what he needed to do if he were to prevent anyone seeing what he’d done to himself. The blackened tones of his skin, the path of his veins, a roadmap of where the poisons in his body spread. The markings of the orb were merely the capital of this landscape, the rot nothing but where slow conquering armies decimated and corrupted wherever they had been. It was only a matter of time before all was lost, before his body became that of a walking corpse. A ghoul with a soul, but no grave to speak of.

---

Days passed, magic items began to dwindle, bandages wrapped around Gale’s stomach now, and with each step he felt the ache in his knees as his joints rubbed upon one another. Every breath was tight within his chest, his diaphragm struggling to move against the cloth which held him together, a corset of his own construction binding his soul and body as one.

Tav had noticed the changes, the weight loss, the sunken eyes, but little help had been accepted other than the odd magical artifact. She could see Gale vanishing before her very eyes, once the proud wizard who spoke of knitting needles, now the one who spent much of his evenings in solitude, either gazing lost into the embers of a dying fire, or in secret in his tent refusing the help of others.

Tonight had been exactly the same. She had watched as he had departed the group, rubbing his forearms, the monk like dressings wrapped around his hands, woven between his fingertips when weeks before they had been absent. Tomorrow he would emerge with fresh ones, claim they were for aesthetical purposes before batting away any further questions. As he disappeared, she thought over what her intentions would be of questioning him. Was it for his good or hers? Did she really care about him, or was he a means to an end of ridding her of the tadpole? Little deliberation was done as she heard the faintest groan from his tent and she rushed over before stopping, catching her breath and knocking on the wood above the closed flaps.

“Gale, it’s me Tav…”

He tensed up immediately, his robes removed, his bare chest on display, the bandages hanging loosely. Some had become stuck upon one another, and he’d had to pull sharply to remove them, causing a deep stab of pain as the wound had responded angrily. “Tav,” he managed to speak out, trying to keep his voice level despite the breaths he was trying to capture. “Now is not the best of times.”

She could hear the waiver of his voice, the pain she herself was all too familiar with from her own life, one of her bones weary and tormenting. The tadpole for her had been a blessing, but clearly it was not the same for him. “Are you okay?” It was a ridiculous question, she knew, but she did not want to leave until she was sure he could manage alone.

The sound of Tav’s voice put his mind in turmoil. To have her leave or join, he could not cope with either way. There was simply too much for him to handle and he longed for a dreamless sleep brought on by wine and the mixture of potions. “Yes, merely dropped a tome upon my foot,” he lied through gritted teeth as he slumped onto his bedroll beneath him, his body too weak to support him any longer.

She heard the thud, the rush of adrenaline in her system causing her to act, and she entered the tent with little regard for his objections.

“It’s nothing. You need not fuss over me.”

It took a moment for her to gather what she was seeing, the way he had been decomposing, the scent of spices, sandalwood and apple, washed into the bindings to prevent the smell of death from spreading further than his own body. She saw the blisters over pale flesh, the stains of blood and puss upon his skin and robes. “Gale…I…”

“I said it’s nothing!” he snapped at her before gripping his hand to his chest, the anger causing the markings of the orb to illuminate brightly in the dim light. He breathed deeply, trying to take his mind to a glade of tranquillity, one far away from Netherese magic and Mindflayers. It was as Tav’s hand touched his shoulders that he was brought back to reality, her cool palm on his feverish flesh almost overwhelming after a year of solitude.

She said nothing, but knelt down beside him, examining the wounds that lay upon his body, wishing there was something she could do, anything to save him from this fate.

He knew he was nothing but skin, bone, and rot; knew that beneath that, he was even less, and yet still she sat with him. And it was with that one simple act he broke, that the tears fell, and the truth came out. He felt weak, vulnerable, nothing but a child crying over red roses once again. She would leave him, or he would leave her, but either way, he would be alone.

And yet she stayed, for the entire night she stayed with him, holding him close, embracing the shadows as if they were her own. She watched over him as potions took their effect, wiped his brow with a cool cloth as sweat beaded like blood on fresh cuts. She stayed. She stayed…

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 16)

Contains: smut, oral (m receiving), manipulation, power imbalance, Daemon being an asshole, dirty talk, dom-sub dynamic, possessiveness, praising

Wordcount: ~3.94k

Masterlist of this story

The next few days you couldn't help but miss Daemon.

He was around you, that wasn't the problem but he was simply… your uncle again and nothing more. It wasn't even awkward or uncomfortable between you, you were laughing, talking, but he didn't take you up to his room again, didn't push you into the small council chambers to engage in inappropriate behaviour again, he was just Daemon again.

You desired him. Desired his hands on your body and the worst thing was probably that you didn't know where the two of you were standing. He had rejected you, yes, but then he had fucked you in the gardens of the red keep and now…? You just didn't know what the current state was. Was the most recent intercourse only a relapse and he still actually didn't want you? Or did he want you but just didn't have the time or energy to be with you? You didn't know and it drove you crazy.

But three days after Daemon had beheaded the Prince of Dorne in the throne room a new issue shocked the red keep. Niclas Tully, hand of the king was found dead in his chambers. A young handmaiden had found him on the floor with his eyes widened and her scream had awakened the whole castle at the crack of dawn. Guards had entered the room and escorted the disturbed girl while others alarmed the grand maester. Niclas Tully was brought into the maesters chambers and grand maester Daaran examined his body. It was still warm, he hadn't been dead for a long time and after only few hours rumours circulated around the keep. Some said he was poisoned, some that he chocked on his wine. But when Viserys visited the dead body of his long and dear friend, Daaran looked at the corpse with pity.

"I believe it was a Stroke, your grace. There is no sign of any external harm he might have experienced."

"But the word that is flying around the castle…", Viserys had hinted at but his grand maester had shook his head.

"I don't believe it was poison, your grace. I can't be sure but I couldn't find anything that would suggest it."

So Niclas Tully was buried in the tradition of his house and you sensed how hard it hit your father. He had been his friend and advisor since he had been a little boy. He was the second son of Lord Jeffary Tully and grew up as a ward of Lord Weyn Lannister, the previous hand of the king to Jaehaerys Targaryen, Viserys' grandsire. Niclas was a couple of years older than him and had treated him like a younger brother to guide and help him, as Viserys and Daemon had lost both their parents early. Even so far that Viserys had made him his hand when he ascended the iron throne and ever since that day nothing had changed about his trust in his friend.

Four days the King stayed in his rooms to mourn for Niclas Tully while Rhaenyra and you tried your very best to be there for your father and on the fifth day a council meeting was held.

All of the lords of the small council gathered around the King and as Commander of the City Watch Daemon attended as well.

"My lords. Sit." They took their seats around the table and Viserys cleared his throat.

"This great tragedy has left us all shaken and in disbelief… and yet the crown must look to the future." The lords glared down at their hands and everyone looked affected.

"I have to choose a new loyal hand to advice and stand at my side faithfully and by all hopes someone who will prove himself as wise as the late Lord Niclas Tully. The gods bless him."

Some lords exchanged looks and Daemon raised his chin slightly. He leaned back in his chair and watched Viserys thoughtful. Of course it had crossed his mind. He would be a saint, a godly person with no sinful thought inside his head not to have thought about the new hand when it had been announced that Niclas Tully had passed. And as Daemon was far away from being a saint, he had wondered if perhaps his brother would make him his hand at last. His words in the gardens a moon ago at least might have hinted at it.

"It is a honourable position and I call myself lucky to have a trustworthy council of wise and loyal men." It was so silent in the room that one could have heard a pin drop.

"I have decided to name the Lord Ellion of House Banefort as my hand. You have proven yourself loyal and I know that I can trust your judgement. You have adviced me during the wars by the Saltcliffe and even while being pressured from the outside you have stayed by my side and did what you believed to be best for the crown."

Lord Ellion rose from his chair and bowed his head.

"Your Grace. This is an honour. I thank you and swear to protect and advice you to my best knowledge and understanding."

"I know that you will, Ellion.", Viserys smiled.

Meanwhile Daemon clenched his fists and looked at the table. A smile, that had nothing warm or gentle in it played around his lips and his eyes spit fire. And yet the King's brother didn't say anything. He waited. Waited to hear all the congratulations from the other lords, inwardly laughed about them and how they acted as if they were happy for Ellion even though they had wished to be in this very position a few minutes ago. Daemon himself didn't say a word of congratulations but the king didn't notice it.

Then the meeting was over and his brother excused himself so the lords of the council one by one left the room until Daemon was the only person left. Daemon, the King's brother. The person that was supposed to be hand. In his mind at least. When Viserys had been crowned Protector of the realm Daemon obviously hadn't expected his brother to name him his hand. Back then Viserys hadn't trusted him.

Fear was probably a more fitting word. He had thought of his little brother as fire that destroyed everything that he touched and rather wanted him far away from King's Landing. And yet he had loved him, even Daemon couldn't disagree to that. He had loved and feared him at the same time so when Niclas Tully was named his hand Daemon hadn't been surprised.

But now, he was furious. Did Viserys even stand behind what he had said to him in the gardens? He had told him that he trusted his brother now, that he was happy about their relationship and now he had just had the perfect opportunity to show him that he actually meant it by making him hand. But no, instead he gave this position to Ellion, a fool of a warrior.

Daemon breathed heavily, shaken by rage, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He felt a little pathetic to still sit here in the small council chamber but didn't feel like leaving the room. Deep inside, Daemon felt hurt but he would never admit it to himself. Once again Viserys abondened him, avoided and distrusted him. Why couldn't he really face him for once in his life? Daemon had nothing but supported and helped him the last months, what else did he want him to do until he would see that he was loyal to the crown? Daemon felt manipulated, weak, angry and humiliated. And Daemon was a person who was driven by his emotions and temper.

So he would get back at his brother for it. He had sworn to himself not to touch you again and yes, he had already broken that oath in the gardens of the red keep. But only minutes afterwards he had told himself again to let this be the last time and not discredit his brother one more time.

Now he didn't care anymore. He felt powerless after feeling rejected by Viserys and now he wanted to regain power. And who was more suitable for that than you? He wanted to have control over something and feel powerful. And he wanted to hurt Viserys so badly. He wanted him to suffer and make him feel like he was losing something as well. Like something was taken from him just like Viserys denied him power and a place at his side over and over again.

And he knew exactly how to satisfy his raging and restless mind. Not even by telling his brother about his doings with you, no, it was tempting to do it, just to see his face when he told Viserys, but he knew how you would react to it and even in his raging temper there was something left inside of him that was aware of your needs and well-being.

But still, the thought of bedding you while being aware who or better whose daughter it was he was sullying gave Daemon a strange satisfaction. Though Viserys wouldn't even know about it Daemon's breath calmed down when he thought about what power he had over his brother by being with you, Viserys' daughter. How he dishonoured him, weakened him.

Of course it would be a lie if he claimed that he had only bedded you for the first time to provoke Viserys or to feel powerful. Back then he definitely had wanted to discredit his brother as well (because even though their relationship had already been improved back then Daemon still had felt a deeply rooted anger and hurt which couldn't be so easily removed only because Viserys had listened to his advice for once. Only recently when Viserys had spoken to him in the gardens Daemon had actually wanted to treat his brother with honour and respect as well which was why he had sworn to himself not to touch you again) but he also hadn't been lying when he had said that he desired you.

Because it was true that after the stepstones he had felt the craving to feel a woman't touch and what man wouldn't have wanted to spend the night with someone like you? He had felt eager to claim you and also to toy with you, his innocent sweet niece. Daemon had always liked you and felt the need to care for you and had felt especially drawn to you when you started to become a woman at the age of 15. Way more than he had felt attracted to Rhaenyra.

And Daemon was the kind of person that acted out of temper and desire.

He hadn't cared about anything but his lust and satisfaction and only after or better during the act had realized how good it felt to feel power over his brother like that. That was when he had realized that he felt so pleased knowing that he was sullying his brother's daughter and being aware of what an incredibly dishonour it was to Viserys. Stealing something from his brother that was so dear to him after having felt humiliated and neglected all those years. Old feelings and long forgotten moments of experiencing indignity had come to the surface again and the following anger at his brother had been changed to satisfaction when thinking about what he had done by deflowering you.

And yet in the moment he had mainly acted out of want and greed for your maiden body rather than having a great and complex laid out plan. Because that simply wasn't Daemon's nature.

Daemon inhaled deeply and his fury was now overshadowed with complacency and excitement. He had the power to get back at Viserys. He knew that he had you entirely under his control and you were yearning for his attention. You were craving him and perhaps Daemon would continue to use your devotion to him not only to lay with someone he felt attracted to, satisfied his needs and obeyed him but also to feel like he was hurting and disgracing his brother, who he dispised so much right now.

Daemon's head was still heated when he returned to his chambers and he quickly opened the window to get some fresh air. Once he had done this, he sat down on a chair and exhaled loudly. It only crossed his upset mind now that perhaps you were not so keen to lay with Daemon at the moment. You had been harmed, kissed and touched against your will and obviously your uncle knew that something like that left scars. So he didn't know whether you wanted him or not, didn't know if you felt comfortable laying with a man at this moment. He didn't know that you were in your bed chambers right now, dreaming of his touch.

~~~~~~~~~~

After three days you couldn't live with this uncertainty and with your desire anymore and so you made a plan. You knew that there would be a small council meeting in the afternoon and you knew that Daemon would attend it.

So while he was away, you swiftly sneaked into his room while there were no guards in sight and sat on his bed. After a while you were terribly bored but you told yourself that it would be worth it and in a matter of minutes you'd have clarity. You waited and waited, looked around in your uncle's room, looked at the books next to his bed and then finally the door opened.

Daemon frowned when he saw you and quickly closed the door.

"Niece.", he said and walked towards you. He rested his hands on his hips and lifted his eyebrows. "What is this about?"

You smiled with glistening eyes and sitting on the bed looked up to him. Then, without answering him you dropped to your knees without breaking the eye contact.

"Vhaela.", he whispered and you could see his face tense.

"Please.", you just whispered and rested your hands on his thighs. "Please. Let me.", you begged him and if the situation had been any different you would've felt pathetic. Begging a man to bury his cock in your mouth…

Daemon took hold of your chin and made you look up to him.

"I thought after what happened you might not be so eager to...", he began but you shook your head.

"I want you, Daemon. I really do."

You saw his breath going faster and he smirked.

"Oh my sweet niece. Dropping on your knees in front of me. You should've known what it would do to me.", he said and you smiled widely.

Daemon's eyes were flashing and then he hastily opened his trousers to free his cock. He exhaled loudly while looking at you and palmed his cock. You wanted to wrap your hand around him but he denied you and pushed your hand away.

"Open.", he simply breathed and you did as he had told you. Daemon rubbed the tip of his cock over your lips and then slowly pushed into your mouth. Feeling you around him made him throw his head back and he quickly grabbed the back of your head.

"Oh fuck.", he moaned and took a fistful of your hair to control your movements. You tried your best to relax your throat and felt him going deeper with every thrust. His hand made you move in rythm with his hips and soon enough your nose was close to his pubic hair.

But this time you felt it was easier not to choke and not to let his cock trigger your gagging reflex. You stayed calm and enjoyed his heavy cock in your mouth. And the noises Daemon made… You loved hearing him like that and you knew you would always get on your knees for him to listen to this.

"Sweet owl.", he moaned and watched your pretty face while his cock entered your mouth over and over again. "Look at me. Come on."

You obeyed him and the two of you made eye contact.

"Yes.", Daemon moaned. "Sweet little girl, looking so fucking good on your knees for me."

You supported yourself by holding on to his thighs and gave him full control. You gave yourself entirely to him, let yourself fall because you trusted him. Let him thrust in your mouth the way he wanted to, let him move your head the way he wanted to. Yes, even though you knew that every person in your life, probably even Daemon himself would tell you not to, you trusted him. You wanted to submit to him, please him, obey him, give him control.

Why, you didn't know. You knew that Rhaenyra would never have these thoughts. She wouldn't let someone else take control over her and order her around because she wanted to be the one in control. She wanted to be independent and not blindly obey to someone. You simply didn't know why you were different to your sister in that way. Why did you have this need to please? Why did you want to be turned into a thoughtless mess and let Daemon take you the way he wanted. Why did you want to follow his orders and give yourself to him?

Maybe because it was easy? This whole situation wasn't easy at all but being on your knees for him? Getting fucked against the wall? That was easy. You felt like for a second someone else took the responsibility for your life and for this brief moment your mind and body could rest. Because Daemon was there to take care of you and for a moment you could just turn your mind off if you simply submitted to him. The only thing you had to do was obey him and then everything would turn out to be fine. Your mind was at ease and you liked giving away control. And gods, when he said that you were good for him. It made the butterflies in your belly fly and your cheeks turn red. You liked hearing him praise you. When he told you that you were pretty or that you were taking his orders so well. It made a firework explode inside of you.

You could feel that his movements in your mouth became sloppy and he was close to releasing. With every push he exhaled heavily and had his mouth slightly open while looking down to you.

"Fuck…", he breathed and you felt his grip in your hair possessively tighten. "My good little girl."

These were exactly the kinds of words you wanted to hear out of his mouth and they motivated you to please him even more. You twirled your tongue around his tip which was hard because of his fast pace but they were effective because Daemon moaned loudly.

"Seven hells.", he growled and then finally emptied himself in your throat. By now you really liked the salty taste of his seed and swallowed every drop with pleasure. Daemon buried his fingers inside your hair and breathed uncontrolled and loudly while still having his eyes on you, who by now looked at his torso while licking him clean. His heart was beating fastly and he tried to calm himself.

Sweat was covering his forehead and Daemon felt a mixture between satisfaction, peace and possessiveness over you. You were driving him mad with these big eyes and your pretty face. The way you looked on your knees… And he didn't even want to start with the rest of your body, your sweet cunt that tasted like just the right mixture of salty and sweet. Your little tits, your pearky, pink nipples. Your full and soft lips, these soft thighs and your sweet voice…

Daemon wanted to worship you and possess you at the same time. He wanted to own you, claim you, be the only person in your world and at the same time put you on a pedestal to pray to you. You were sweet, delicate, precious and he wanted to have you. All the time.

There were no thoughts of his brother inside his head right now. No trace of doubt or regret, no, how could he feel like this was wrong and he was betraying his brother when your mouth felt that good around his cock. He didn't care about Viserys at this moment. He enjoyed you too much. And the funny thing was that even if Daemon felt like he was betraying his brother, it would be exactly what he wanted.

This was exactly what he wanted. Claiming his brother's daughter behind his back and feeling like finally he had power over something; you and especially Viserys. He had you, his brother's youngest daughter on your knees for him, begging for him to insert himself in your mouth. Begging for his attention. It filled him with satisfaction and smugness to the brim.

Daemon decided that he would continue to take you to his room in the nights. And he knew that he wouldn't manage to live without this anyway. Without having you wrapped around his cock and your cunt on display for him. And so he had no intention on trying it. He still didn't know what would happen when his brother would one day betroth you to some lord but he didn't care about this right now neither. He just looked down to you with a wide smirk on his lips and felt you lick his cock clean.

Once you were done you pulled off him and smiled at him proudly. Some of his seed was sticking to the corner of your mouth, your eyes were glistening and your hair was messy from his hand inside it.

Daemon's smirk intensed. "Get up.", he whispered and so you did.

Daemon leaned down to kiss you on your lips and you wrapped your arms around his back. His hand laid on your waist and his fingers gently caressed your skin through your gown. For some reason you both felt so peaceful right now. You hadn't even released and yet you were relaxed and… satisfied. Neither of you even initiated another sexual activity because you just felt like it wouldn't fit the moment.

Daemon just held you close to his body and devoured your heated cheeks and neck with kisses on your skin until he pulled away after a few moments.

"Mhmmm.", he mumbled and his thumb ran over the area under your eye. You smiled at him and then Daemon took a step back from you to adjust his clothes. You watched him happily and after he was finished he pressed another kiss on your lips.

"I have to go now.", he whispered. "I'd like to be with you but I really have to go to Caraxes and fly to meet Cordell."

You frowned. "Who's that?", you asked.

"It's about… It's about sheep." You chuckled loudly and Daemon grinned as well.

"Yes, I know, very funny. Caraxes needs food and he now and then… takes what he wants. Cordell has complained about it many times and now your father sent me to apologise on behalf of the crown."

You smirked and caressed his cheek. "I understand."

"I'd take you with me, little owl.", Daemon whispered and toyed with a loose strand of your hair. "But his farm is no place for you."

You nodded. "It's fine. I'll just go to Rhaenyra or take a stroll through the gardens."

He kissed you on your forehead one last time and then walked out of the door.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

I really want to see your drawings of the Kaiju AU, I can’t stop thinking of Ragebloom as a giant hedgehog with lots of flowers and mushrooms on his back. Maybe with large sturdy nails that helps him create burrows and pick stuff up.

And he IS JUST THE CUTEST

I am so sorry this took me so long to answer, but I am finally feeling confident in my arting ability to attempt to draw giant Kaiju bois! I'm currently working on each design, so expect to see more soon enough!

Since you really wanted to see Ragebloom/Riddle's Kaiju form, here's a concept I was finally able to narrow down!

Since he is part plant, this means that Ragebloom/Riddle's "tail" continues to grow, wilt, and experience the same issues as any other plant. Here's some little headcanons on our boi here~!

When he sneezes or shakes his body, there's a chance that some of his quills will go flying and may accidentally stick one of the other kaiju. Shellshock/Trey is the only one who doesn't have to worry too much about this due to his shell.

Prunes his "tail" with his teeth to get it at a decent length that can still defend while still retain his regal status as pack leader. Rarely lets anyone else touch it except for Shellshock/Trey, Crystalflayer/Vil, Crewelfang/Crewel, and Yuu. Smells like grass trimmings and sap when he's pruning the leaves.

His "tail" can hide thorns and vines that can be used to strike like a flail/whip or restrain his target.

When he's feeling sick, his colors fade and his "tail" turns brown. Major pruning is needed if black or white speckled leaves are found to prevent him from getting severely ill.

Rarely ever gets caught in the rain, but he does enjoy a good soak in a pool of water to rehydrate himself. He is part plant, after all, so he has to maintain the proper amount of hydration to survive. When he's done soaking, though, he smells like damp earth.

Uses his long claws to dig holes in the earth, using it as a "nest" so he can circulate nutrients from the soil into his body. He never beds down in the exact same spot for longer than a week before he moves to ensure the nutrients have a chance to replenish.

He can grow mushrooms on his body, though he rarely does these days after a run-in with Heartbinder/Floyd terrorized him while he was trying to give some to Heartshocker/Jade. These mushrooms can serve a variety of different purposes, ranging from creating medicine to creating noxious poisons.

Ragebloom/Riddle is the only kaiju besides Echofang/Lilia who is immune to most paralyzing agents and poisons, as he's able to absorb said toxins into his system and create the very plant/fungus that produces it.

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 20: A Plea for Tomorrow

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 5.5K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Marry me?

The fabric of time warps, slowing and then seemingly stopping in concordance with your heart as you watch Astarion and Aldous grapple with each other. Your throat constricts around the sound of the erratic scuffing of Astarion’s soft-soled boots as he loses his footing. Every blistering beat of your heart circulates a new shockwave of escalating panic that paralyzes your body. It feels like being trapped in your own skin, your bones becoming a cage that keeps you frozen in time. The only indication that you’re screaming is the burn that roars through your throat as you let out a soul-shattering wail.

They say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes, but what happens when it’s not you who is dying but your soulmate? Your mind’s eye combusts into a carnival of flashing memories: the first glance of him on the coastline, the first real smile, his infectious laughter, the first kiss, the first hug, the first time he said I love you, the way his scarlet eyes always seemed to dance with a mixture of mischief and adoration when he looked at you.

Every memory is so vivid that it floods your senses. You can hear his voice uttering words that leave you defenceless, feel his skin against yours with every touch in stolen moments, feel the coolness of whispered secrets fan the heated skin of your cheeks, and hear his promises of eternity toll like a soft bell in your ears.

An eternity that now dangles in a void. You can almost see the seductive smile of death, circling like a raven-coloured vulture in the squirming shadows of the Underdark, ready to descend on the ruins of your life and pick them clean of the last scraps of hope.

How many times will you be forced to lose him? How many times can your soul stand to be broken again and again and again until nothing of you remains but a shattered husk? The memories twist into you like a knife, piercing your heart and soul, poisoning the joy into a medley of nauseating heartbreak.

Why didn’t you listen to Shadowheart, Gale, and Hecat? They had protested before you left camp. You paid little attention to their pleas and focused instead on Astarion’s protests. It made sense to leave them behind when you thought the feral spawn were a danger. The more beating hearts, the more it would send them into a frenzy should you run into them, but you had not anticipated Aldous.

You should have known better. Turn your head for one second, and fate will twist the tables against you. You’re used to keeping steps ahead of your adversaries, but you’ve been too caught up in your own pain, too afraid to think straight, and now that preoccupation has had an unfathomable cost. The realization washes over you in waves of shattered dreams and love, leaving only emptiness and unbearable grief in their wake.

No.

It cannot be.

It will not be.

You’re not sure what you would call the feeling that takes over your body as you sweat off the ice that has kept you bound in place, and you begin to wake up from this nightmare and spring into action. You sprint and leap off the edge of the derelict tower. Is it an impulse? Instinct? An inherent tendency toward self-destruction? Whatever it is, it blanks your brain enough to barely recognize that you’re moving forward until you’re plummeting.

A prickling sensation across the skin of your back invites you to lean into it, and you do, allowing your body to take control. The Weave revolves around you, sweeping across your skin in a rosy aura. Your robe is shred to pieces as a pair of dragon wings sprout into existence, expanding to their full span with a thunderous roar.

Your eyes lock with Astarion’s, and your adrenaline surges, detonating into determination. Mustering all your strength, your wings beat the air in a powerful down stroke, and you send yourself hurtling earthward. The tattered strips of your robe flutter in the rush of the current, your hair whips wildly across your face, and your arms outstretch, reflexively teaching toward Astarion as you dive.

Aldous bursts in a red puff of haze in midair, similar to what Astarion’s siblings had done when Cazador called them back from the attack on your camp. You’ve never been against killing, per se, realizing that sometimes it’s necessary, but you’ve always considered it more of a last resort. It was one of the reasons you agreed with Astarion when he wanted to release the spawn. They deserved a chance to live.

Aldous will not be given the same opportunity. Whether he can control his actions or not, you cannot wait to bring about his demise.

The tips of Astarion’s fingers brush yours as he reaches toward you with an awestruck expression. I’ve got you, you whisper, but the sound of your voice is lost in the torrential roar of the wind. The gentle brush against your fingertips is like pulling the ripcord from your heart, and your steadfast stubbornness and obstinacy drive away the survival instinct to slow your rate of descent as you see the other spawn begin to shatter against the looming earth in sprays of blooming red mist.

With a quick aerial manoeuvre, your arms enfold around Astarion’s waist, hooking under his arms to catch his dangling body, and your wings shoot out and expand to their full span. The lurch from his weight and yours as you try to slow the rate of descent feels like it nearly tears your arms from your body, and you grit your teeth against the pain of your bones and muscles straining in their sockets.

The ground is still coming up to embrace you much too quickly, and your wings beat against the air furiously as you try to fight the laws of physics and gravity. You manage to shift your position slightly to your left, so that the small, spindly Sussur tree is far enough away that your magic cannot be depleted and its branches cannot inadvertently stake Astarion.

With each beat of your wings, your altitude continues to diminish, and you realize that you will not be able to carry the weight of both of you. Your hope wanes, and Astarion seems to have the same realization. He tugs at your wrists in a plea for you to let him go, lest you both meet your demise. Your grip on him only intensifies along with your resolve, and with a final, desperate surge of power, your wings buffet the air, slowing your fall just enough to cushion the impact.

Curling your wings around Astarion to protect him, you crash into the rigid terrain, bouncing across it like a skipping stone. The force of the collision rips Astarion out of your arms, and the coarse sediment rends your arms, legs, and face as you skid over the abrasive soil. The air is expelled from your lungs in a heaving wheeze, and you fight to fill them again when your body finally lies fallow.

Agony radiates through every one of your limbs, and a piercing ache snarls your lungs with every breath. The frigid air gnaws at the skin exposed between the remaining ragged pieces of what is left of your robe, chilling you to the core. Seconds, minutes, or hours pass, trapped in this limbo while you fight the relentless pull of darkness beginning to envelop you like a suffocating blanket.

You war against the threat of unconsciousness as black creeps further and further into your vision with every stunned, slow blink. Eventually, you lose the battle to cling to the fragile thread of life, and you’re carried away on the wings of vestigial oblivion.

Your sandals clack against the paved streets as you and Astarion make a quick getaway from the Blushing Mermaid. You try your best to stifle your inebriated giggling as Astarion ducks you in and out of dark alleys and passageways, over fences, and through backyards, until he’s assessed that you’re far enough away that the patrons you swindled will not be able to track you down.

“That was your fault, love.” He chuckles exuberantly while smoothing your sundress down, tugging at the hem that rode up during your retreat, exposing the skin of your upper thighs.

“My fault?” You huff and shove him playfully. He barely wavers on his feet, and you end up sending yourself stumbling backwards, the spirits in your blood making your limbs loose and unsteady. Astarion’s quick to dart forward, and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off your feet slightly. You wriggle in his arms, but eventually give up trying to escape his clutch. You wrap your legs around his waist. “I’m not the one who robbed them of all their coin in a game you knew they had no hope of winning!”

“Smart people don’t make bets unless they know they can win,” he snickers with a mischievous delight twinkling in his ruby-red eyes that are still bright against the dim light of the alley. “You were encouraging me!” He mimics your voice irritatingly well but adds his own flamboyant touch. “Come on, Astarion. Just one more round. Give them a chance to win their coin back.”

You snort to showcase your dissatisfaction and descend into a fretful fit of giggling. “Okay. I may have done that. What can I say? I just adore watching you in your element, Rogue.”

He pushes your back up against a wall and catches your lips in a kiss almost as rough as the stone pressed against your back. His skilled fingers kneed into the meat of your thighs with the perfect pressure, almost bordering on pleasurable pain.

“I’d be happy to demonstrate all my talents if you’re amenable,” he purrs, running his fingernails up and down the sensitive skin on the backs of your thighs. It sends a shiver cartwheeling down all the nerves of your spinal cord, and you sigh into his greedy mouth. “Come. Let’s go home, yes? As much as I would adore to take you right here, I am far too selfish, and you, my love, are far too loud.”

“As if you’re not equally as loud,” you taunt.

He places you carefully back on your feet, making sure you’re steady before offering his hand.

“I never was before, you know,” he says, half bashfully, half thoughtfully, with a slightly canted head. “I suppose you make me feel heights of pleasure that were previously unknown to me. The firsts are ever abundant with you.”

“Is that another one of your famous lines?” You quip with an arched brow.

He laughs heartily. “Sweetheart, my lines are markedly more exceptional than that.”

Astarion peeks around the corner to make sure that there are no guards walking the main concourse before you venture out onto it and start to make your way home. The conversation between you flows light and smooth until suddenly Astarion goes silent, and you realize he’s not beside you any longer.

When you look back, he stands and stares up at the tall, dark tower that stands like a poltergeist, looming high into the sky and casting a shadow over the city streets. You usually try to avoid this area with him, because every time he sees his old home, the now abandoned Szarr Palace, he looks at it sombrely. Sometimes you wonder if he regrets not completing the Rite, and that tower is an ever-standing reminder of what he could have had if only he hadn’t listened to you.

“Astarion?” You look up at the tower, standing like a thorn in the sky, casting a black mark upon the soul of the city. “Are you alright?”

With his attention enraptured on the abandoned palace, he doesn’t answer for a spell, and a frown settles over his expression, creasing his forehead and curling his lip up. You place your hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hmm?” Astarion jolts slightly at the physical contact and does a double take, as if he didn’t even remember you were there in the first place. “Apologies. I’m fine. I just detest that building.”

The words erupt out of your mouth before you have time to think about them. “Let’s burn it to the fucking ground.”

Astarion chuckles but cuts himself off abruptly as he reads the fire in your eyes and the motivated heat in your expression. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“No.”

Your fingernails press into your tingling palms as your magic spikes and warms your skin. You may not be able to cleanse his mind of the horrors that infect his thoughts, but maybe you can cauterize the still-bleeding wounds in his soul, however slightly.

Astarion glances around and speaks in hushed tones. “As much as I would very much love that, the damn thing is constructed mostly of stone.”

“You’re about to be very impressed with me,” you wink. “Come on.”

You take his hand and tug him along, sneaking up through the back where you entered the first time. Not entirely surprisingly, it’s sparsely guarded, and by sparsely, you mean not at all. With Cazador dead and the Netherbrain attacks reducing the number of Fists substantially, they no longer patrol this area, and you’re able to walk straight in.

The door creeks forebodingly as you push it open, finding it unlocked. Cobwebs hang from the scones and writhe in the light breeze from the open door as they hang from the ceiling like strings of thinning memories. The obnoxious art is starting to peel away from the canvases, along with the wallpaper. It looks nothing like you remember it — forgotten and forsaken by the elements and time. Yet, the oppressive atmosphere still bears down on you with the weight of centuries.

Astarion stares spitefully at a decaying portrait of Cazador that seems to stare back at him with the same haughty disdain.

“Burn it, love,” you coo, letting a flame hover above your palm. “You cast terribly, but well enough for this.”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been casting—“

“Since before I was born,” you finish with a smirk. “Yes, yes. You keep reminding me how old you are. It doesn’t mean you cast well.”

Astarion’s nose wrinkles, but he shakes his head with a smile. He stares at the painting for a moment longer before he reels back. “Ignis!”

Cazador’s painting takes on a flame like dry timber and burns brightly in the midst of the gloomy darkness. You hope he burns in the flames of the Hells with such ardent fervour.

With a quick twitch of your fingers, you cast Telekinesis and fling a table across the foyer. It slams into the wall with a thud that echos through the deserted hallways and bursts into pieces that land haphazardly around the floor.

“Let’s trash it!” Astarion growls excitedly with a half-crazed, dark smile snaking across his lips.

The two of you run through the palace halls, laughing and breaking everything in sight. Sometimes you smash it, sometimes you burn it, and sometimes both, depending on what the item is or how it seems to affect Astarion. It’s quite cathartic, even for you, and you were not witness to the horrors that took place within these walls.

You can only hope it’s similar, if not better, for Astarion.

Astarion pays special care to Cazador’s study, where he was barred from going for two centuries. He flips the desk with little effort and sets the books aflame. His expression is one of almost madness as he tears through his prior life like a dragon tears through flesh.

You keep quiet, allowing him to relish in this destruction until there’s nothing left but your ragged breaths and the broken pieces of a life that once was. Smoke clings to the air from the burning furniture.

“Well,” Astarion pants, “I suppose that’s the best we can do.”

You smirk and lay your hand on one of the stone columns. Fire encircles it, burning brighter and brighter until the stone itself becomes molten and starts to drip like the wax of a candle. It takes not a trivial amount of your power to do so, but you do not let the effort of it show.

“You have the power of dragons at your side, my love. Stone is no match for me. What do you say we bring this whole building down?”

“Burn it, my fiery love.” Astarion takes one last glance around at what had been his home, or perhaps prison, for centuries. His brows pull down low over his eyes, and his teeth are bared. His voice is all gravel and malice. “Burn it all to the fucking ground.”

The Weave swarms into your body as you gather all the power you can possibly muster. The air around you vibrates, crackling with anticipation and energy. The auroral shimmer from your magic mirrors that of the frenzied blames you’re about to unleash.

Your eyes anchor on Astarion’s, and you hold your hand out to him. “Together.”

He takes your hand, fire blooming in his palm, and he gives you a curt nod. You unleash a torrent of fire that expands outward like a supernova. Your magic and his intertwine, tangling together like the limbs of long, lost lovers who have finally found each other’s embrace once more. The inferno swims through hallways like liquid, up the walls, and decimates everything in sight. The stones begin to melt under the searing heat, and black smoke billows across the ceiling.

Pushing yourself to the limits of your power, you compel the fire to burn white hot and shroud every possible surface in it until all is flame, ash, and smoke. There is a fierce sense of satisfaction that emboldens you, like you are cleansing the world of the atrocities that were committed within these walls. The flames leap as if aggravated, a pyre of vengeance, and they begin their insatiable dance across any surface they touch.

The fire burns with a brightness unknown to these corridors in countless years, and you have to squint your eyes against the light and heat of it. Sweat instantly veils your skin, dripping down your forehead. Astarion tugs on your arm, pulling you toward the doorway and across the threshold into the night.

You and him watch from a safe distance, staying off the main road so as not to be seen. Flames twist like serpents out of windows, black smoke billows into the night sky, and embers rise from the stone tower like angry red eyes against the darkness. With a final explosive burst, the palace begins to collapse in on itself.

The flames will consume the last vestiges of that place, and there will be nothing but a smouldering ruin where Cazador’s grand palace once stood by morning.

You wish Astarion could stay and see it.

Astarion’s ears twitch suddenly. “As much as I would love to stay and watch, we must be going. Guards are on their way, and I would rather not get arrested tonight. Dawn will be upon us soon.”

He grabs your hand and leads you to avoid the paths of the guards. It’s a silent retreat, with the both of you glancing back periodically to admire your handiwork.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay and watch,” you say, sweeping your thumb across the back of his hand comfortingly.

“It’s okay, my sweet.” He offers you a small, albeit sad, smile before pulling you along. “I belong in the shadows. They are part of me.”

But they don’t have to be…

Astarion hesitates, only for a moment, and brushes his thumb across your cheek, wiping away the mix of sweat and soot. “This is a gift, you know. Thank you. I won’t forget it.”

Taste is the first sense that comes back to you, and the copper tang of blood films your mouth. Dirt grinds between your teeth when you clench your jaw, and you try to force your eyes to open. Your eyelashes hardly flutter, even though you’re straining. It’s as if they’ve been glued shut. There is a persistent ringing in your ears, like insects are buzzing annoyingly right beside them, and you cannot hear your surroundings well.

Your stiff and achey fingers twist into the soil beneath you, and you grasp blindly for anything that might keep you from descending back into the unconsciousness that your battered body yearns for. When you are finally able to pry your eyes open, the world is nothing but a confusing swirl of darkness and light that makes your brain pulse in your skull.

You try to move, but your limbs are laden, and a searing agony shoots through you that keeps you pinned to the cold, damp earth. A wave of thick dizziness blankets you with every small movement. Your hand comes to your head as if you might be able to steady your vision by holding it and comes away, slick with blood smeared across your dirty palm.

Fragments of memories begin to coalesce until they wash over you like a tsunami, nearly knocking you back to the ground in their intensity.

Aldous. The spawn. The battle. Astarion.

Astarion.

Your heart begins to pound against your ribs, revived by panic and love simultaneously. You manage to sit up, but the world around you swims, blurs, and distorts. Your wings are limp, dragging at your back, and you relinquish the manifestation. They waver, flickering as the magic is dispelled, and fade out, leaving behind only rosy, needlepoint glitter that rises into the air and ebbs.

Dread claws at your throat. “Astarion?!” You croak; your voice is rough and cracking. “Astarion!”

Just like it didn’t the first time you were down here alone, the only answer you get from the impenetrable darkness is the echoing of your own frightened cries. Gathering your dwindling strength, you manage to drag yourself to your hands and knees. Everything spins, blurring and contorting in a sickening disarray, and you dry-retch repeatedly. Your unquenchable desire to ensure Astarion's survival propels you forward.

You do not allow yourself to think about the alternate possibility.

Crawling on your hands and knees, you search forward blindly while your injured body screams in protest with every movement. The earth is uneven and littered with remnants of the tower that have crumpled away over the years, and you must drag yourself through the rubble.

You manage to hoist yourself to your feet with the aid of a large boulder. Leaning against it to keep yourself upright, you survey the bleak surroundings. Pale, motionless figures litter the ground in broken heaps. With your vision still hazy, it’s hard to discern details from afar. You stumble toward them, tripping over your own feet, rocks, and roots alike.

The scene is like walking through a surreal nightmare. The bodies are gruesomely mangled, some of them barely recognizable as people. Blood from the wound on your head drips into your eyes, sitting heavy on your lashes. Your horror mounts, your hands shake, and your breath rattles out of your trembling lips the longer you search.

“Astarion?” You call out again, and again, a deafening silence is the only answer you receive. “Astarion, please,” you whimper, devastated, rubbing your eyes to try and clear your vision.

An arm shoots out, clawed fingers wrap around your ankle, and they sweep you off your feet. Blood-red eyes set against a backdrop of inky black bore into you with a crazed fixation. The spawn crawls up your body, its fingers clawing at your flesh. Its legs are broken and bent in unnatural positions, and its jaw hangs loose on one side as it tries to sink its fangs into you.

Your tired arms strain against its weight, struggling to keep it away from your neck. You grit your teeth against the pain, and a deep-seated, previously repressed rage kindles and arcs within you. This world has used you up and let you down. Gods and devils alike have tried to use you for their own means, stepping on you, and you have refused to break.

You will not be killed here. Whatever it takes. You try to call on your magic, but it barely sparks across your fingertips before fizzling out.

Your power is depleted until you rest.

One hand relinquishes its grip on the spawn and chaotically searches the earth beside your body for something, anything, you can use as a weapon. The spawn lurches forward, its fingers blindly grasping at your face and hair, trying to drag itself closer. Its unhinged jaw snaps dangerously close to your neck, and saliva drools out of its mouth.

Your fingertips finally brush against the cool, rough surface of a brick sticking out of the dirt, and you frantically wrap your hand around it. With a roar, you bring the brick up, bashing it into the side of the spawn's skull hard enough to knock it sideways and off balance. You scramble to take advantage of the opening, pinning it down with your body, and bring the brick above your head and down as hard as you can.

You strike it again and again and again, ignoring the way the blood splatters across your face and coats your fingers. In your bitter frenzy, you don’t stop until you’re out of breath and your arms ache, even when the body beneath you lays still.

Getting to your feet, your chest heaves, and your eyes finally come away from the disfigured form lying by your feet. They dart around until the tiniest flash of silver catches them. You stagger toward it, the brick still held so tightly in your grasp that the bones of your hand jut out abnormally.

Astarion lies stationary, and he does not stir when you drop down beside him, discarding the brick, and take his face in your hands. His usually silver-white hair is matted and weighed down with drying blood, and only patches of his alabaster skin are visible between the blood and grime.

“Astarion.” You shake him vigorously — much harder than you should. You brush back the red-tinged hair sticking to his forehead. The coldness of his skin is a chilling echo of death. “Astarion, please get up.”

Tears trickle from your eyes while you unbuckle the clasps and undo the ties of his armour to get a look at his wounds. Pushing the leather jerkin to the side, you gasp at the puncture wound. You press your hands against it, putting pressure on it to stem the bleeding. His blood oozes between your fingers, relentless in its flow.

You shuck off what remains of your robe quickly, balling it up and pressing that against the wound instead. Can vampires bleed out? You’re not sure, and you’re not interested in finding out.

“Come back to me,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and broken. “I need you. I need you to… to….” The word lodges itself in your throat, refusing to be spoken.

I need you to marry me.

You press your lips against his forehead, the warmth of your breath rippling against the cold of his skin. When you met him, you knew intuitively that the threads of your life would always entwine with the threads of his. Now, the threads seem fragile and prone to snapping.

“We have beaten Gods together,” you rasp in shaky breaths, pulling him into your lap with the last of your remaining strength. “Remember the Goblins? They had been no match for us. The hag? Both times, we took her down, laughing. Bhaal’s chosen? Slayed. Raphael? Slaughtered in his own home, no less. We felled a Netherbrain and lived. We have beaten the odds time and time again together, and we are together. Please, fight. Let us beat the odds once more. Stay with me.”

Could you get him back to Shadowheart? No. You are too far from camp to drag him that far, and your wings are a once-a-day use. All the scrolls and potions of healing you had are somewhere in a bag, likely at the top of the tower, smashed to useless bits.

Your heart stutters in your chest as you look for any signs of life, but you find none. Astarion is technically already dead; you’re not entirely sure what you can look for. He doesn’t have a beating heart, so you cannot check his pulse; he doesn’t need to breathe, so you cannot judge that; his skin is always ice cold. You cannot tell if you’re sitting with the corpse of your soulmate on your lap.

That thought alone threatens to choke you.

“Please,” you plead again. To him. To any God who is listening. To time itself. “Don’t leave me. Not again,” you choke out, your tears spilling and mingling with the blood and mud slathered across his face.

A torrent of anguish washes through you. It feels as if your soul is being wrung dry, and fear once again gnaws at your core. Why have you been hiding from him? Why have you been afraid to be with him? Life looks so different when you are safe and sound, tucked away behind walls. In those moments, the illusion of time seems to stretch on infinitely.

You thought you had so much time to figure things out, but all it takes is one wrong move, one wrong choice, one wrong step, and one lucky swing of a blade, and all that time you thought you had is severed in an instant.

The crunch of peddles beneath boots makes you sigh, squeezing your eyes closed for a moment in exasperation. There is no need to look up and see who it is. You can feel his repulsive stare creep over your skin like waves of endless spiders.

“That was quite the show, sorceress,” he drawls. “Wings to go along with those spectacular scales.”

“Come one step closer,” you growl under your breath in a voice that sounds far too dark to be your own, “and I will kill you.”

Your hand grips the hilt of one of Astarion’s discarded daggers lying in the dirt by your side. There is no way to know how long you were unconscious for or how long Aldous has been watching. Does he know your magic is depleted? Why did he not kill you and abscond with Astarion when he had the chance? Is Aldous so hellbent on vengeance that he would wait until you’re awake so you can witness your death?

Probably. Aldous is many things, but smart or a strategist is definitely not one of them.

“I always did admire your spirit.”

He takes a middling step closer, and your hand tightens on the hilt of the dagger. Your fingers shuffle it into your grip, twisting it so that it fits comfortably and is balanced in your palm.

“I suggest you admire it from afar.” You hiss with serrated contempt.

“Your persistent obstinacy is inspiring,” he sneers with his lips pressed into a thin line. “But stupid, given the predicament you find yourself in.”

“Good Gods, Aldous!” You snap. What is he waiting for? Why hasn’t he attacked? Is he simply revelling in your pain, or is there more to his perceived constraint? The mortal man you knew had very little in the way of self-control. “What do you fucking want? Whatever you’re doing here, get it over with! I tire of your childish games.”

“My master will give you one last chance to take the deal offered. All of this could end here and now.” He crouches down, gesturing toward Astarion and fastening his eyes to you. “I will allow you to leave with your life intact, and you can return to your life free of this strife.”

It does sound nice, doesn’t it? In a perfect world, you could take the deal and never look back. There is a dark stain on your soul that yearns to take the deal, damn Waterdeep to its fate, and let someone else take up the mantle and play hero. You swallow hard as whatever light is left in your soul wars against the taint of dark temptations.

Your eyes fall to Astarion, and you recall the conversation you had with him. He did not think he could take the deal and live with the guilt. When did he become the voice of reason while you lean toward chaos and self-preservation? You bark out a sad laugh at the thought while sweeping your thumb across his cheek.

“In the next life it is, my love,” you whisper.

“How touching.” Aldous feigns sympathy with a scornful, ridiculing pout.

The numbing embrace of promised death caresses your heart, laughing from the shadows upon its winged chariot, ready to take you away. Your brow pinches as your eyes fall on Aldous with a grim defiance.

“It is like you say,” you chime with a voice of taunting, iced honey. “I am pigheaded to a fault. My answer remains the same. There will be no deal.”

“Honourable,” he concludes, “but foolish.”

“The only fool here is you, Aldous.”

He growls, launching himself forward with inhuman speed. His blade glints with an icy blue, reflecting the light of the Sussur tree. Your hand squeezes the hilt of the dagger, and you bring it up.

Gods. 

You thought you had more time.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

I did some research, and dragon wings are an actual thing for draconic sorcerers! Naturally, we had to give Kamena wings.

I've made a 3D render from a scene in the last chapter of these two. Since I have not included many details of Kamena's appearance in the story, so everyone is free to imagine their own Kamena, I'm going to link it instead of posting it here in case anyone would rather not see it since it is my vision of Kamena.

If you're interested in viewing it, the link is posted at the bottom of this chapter (20) on my AO3 here.

[sl-ut]

a man who was gonna die young

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

description: joel has never envisioned a perfect life for himself, but once he has a taste of one, he’s unwilling to let it go.

warnings: UNEDITED, age gap, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, slight smut, mentions of death, THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER PARTS TO THIS

words: 7.4K

date posted: 26/03/23

part one

(inspired by a man who was gonna die young by eric church)

SEPTEMBER 26, 2003

The sun had settled just above the horizon, coercing Joel out of his unconscious state as the golden light slowly worked its way up the pilled white bed sheets and provided a comfortable warmth on his bare skin. 

His brown eyes cracked open, dark lashes fluttering and brows furrowing uncomfortably at the intrusion of light. For a moment, Joel wondered if he was looking at a photograph rather than his actual surroundings–the sun provided a warm yellow hue to the room, and the cracks of light that peeked through the blinds allowed him to see every speck of dust that circulated through the air, reminding him of yet another chore he would need to tack onto his already extensive to-do list. 

Rolling onto his back, Joel grunted at the discomfort that appeared along the lower portion of his spine, another reminder of his ageing; thirty-six was not quite old enough to be complaining about his age, though he felt as if his body had aged twice as fast from the extensive physical labour he’d partaken in for the past decade or so. 

Glancing at the digital clock on his bedside table, Joel wondered if he could get away with another hour of sleep, though he was sure that Sarah would be at his door earlier than usual. If he had it his way, he would stay in bed for the day, preferably not even thinking about the significance of the date, though he knew it was a lost cause. At thirty-six, Joel had been viewing everyday as a slow, torturous path that led to an afterlife of nothingness. 

Things did not play out for him as he had imagined at a young age. Sometimes he wondered what kind of conversation he might have with his younger self–how ten-year-old Joel feel when he found out that he never became a famous singer, or how seventeen-year-old Joel would react to finding out that the girl he wanted to marry would pack up and leave him to raise their daughter on his own. 

For the majority of his life, his birthday had only served as a reminder of the many things that he never got to do, or of how quickly his life was moving on. His knees were growing weak, and his back threatened to give out everytime that he lifted something over seventy pounds (which, in his line of work, he did quite often), and he’d begun to notice flecks of silver appearing within his head of dark curls. Meanwhile, his brother had developed somewhat of a stronger sense of responsibility, and his little girl had just celebrated her own birthday–fourteen! Time was passing by in the blink of an eye, and Joel wasn’t entirely sure how to handle it.

Sometimes Joel wondered how he was still there. His life had taken many dark turns, and after becoming a single father at twenty-two, Joel had often suspected that he would run himself into the ground from stress and wondered if he would even make it to thirty. It always seemed that when one good thing happened, three terrible things would come along to poison it, everyday proving to be a more difficult task than the last. He was on the earth to protect Sarah, to take care of her, but what about before that? That couldn’t have been his only purpose.

Then his mind was invaded with thoughts of Y/n–his beautiful former neighbour who he had screwed up with time and time again. Sometimes he still caught himself glancing over at that ugly yellow house, picturing their first night together, and every night that they had spent there since. Nostalgia, some might call it, but he liked to think of it as looking fondly on the past; he couldn’t consider it nostalgia if he didn’t want to return to that day.

Joel had often thought himself to be a man who was gonna die young, but as he turned his head, he was quickly reminded of why he was so glad that he hadn’t. 

His lips curled into a smile as he took in the dishevelled appearance of the woman next to him, hair messy from the work of his fingers and lips swollen, wrapped snugly in the bed linens to protect her own modesty–though Joel couldn’t imagine what kind of modesty she had left to protect in his presence. He reached across, grasping her left hand within his own and dragging he knuckled up to meet his lips, where he pressed delicate kisses along every protruding bone before centering his attention on the diamond on her finger. 

She moaned at the touch, body shifting as she began to rouse from her slumber. Her eyes met his own, thick with sleep and adoration as she shifted closer to lay against his bare chest. Joel rearranged himself, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to hold her snugly against him while he continued to hold her left hand over his chest. 

“Good morning, darlin’.”

“Morning,” she tilted her head to gaze up at him, a sleepy smile appearing on her lips, “Birthday boy.”

He grunted in response, continuing to run the pad of his thumb over the diamond, “Don’t remind me.”

She laughed at him, “Sorry for wanting to celebrate the birth of my favourite guy ever.”

“Don’t let Tommy hear you say that. Bastard’s still heartbroken over the engagement.”

“Well, at least I know I have some options in case you decide to be an idiot again.”

Joel frowned at her, “Insulting me on my birthday? Jesus, and here I was thinking you were gonna wake me up with some lovin’.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, curling one leg around his hips, “Ew, don’t call it that. You’re really starting to sound like an old man, you know that?”

“I am an old man. That means you’re probably gonna have to do all the work.” Joel smirked as he dragged her up to straddle his hips, sheets pooling around her waist to reveal her nude figure to him.

“Oh, so like usual?”

The hand that had been cradling the small of her back made quick work in gliding down to pinch one of her cheeks playfully in response before migrating around to settle on her swollen belly, admiring the small bump that had begun to show, “Baby, we both know that you weren’t doin’ shit the night that this happened.”

Y/n shook her head at him, leaning down to press an eager kiss to his awaiting lips, shifting her hips to line herself up with his member and sliding down onto him as steadily as she could manage. The pair breathed matching sighs of relief at the tight fit of him inside of her, lips moving together lazily as she allowed herself to adjust to his size.

She sat up, hands resting on his chest for leverage as she began to rock her hips. She stared down at him through hooded eyes, smiling softly at him as she took in his scrunched up expression, “Just lay back and enjoy, baby.”

Joel nodded eagerly, hands holding her hips gently. His head tilted back into the pillow beneath him, eyes fluttering shut as he began to wonder how he got so lucky.

DECEMBER 15, 1999

Joel tapped his foot anxiously, eyes glancing between the landline on the side table and cheesy film on the television. He considered just sucking it up and calling her rather than waiting for her to call him, though he knew that any contact that he made would only lessen his chances of making it up to her. 

Give me some time, she had told him, I’ll reach out when I’m ready to talk.

That was almost two weeks ago, after what was probably his twentieth attempt to get her to talk to him after her birthday. His mind had been a complete and utter mess since that night, snapping at the guys at work more regularly, drinking a little bit more, and having a considerably shorter temper when it came to Sarah misbehaving. The last thing he would ever want when it came to dating is for a relationship to come in between him and his daughter, and he would apologise to her each time he got a bit cross with her, though Sarah had been speaking to him with just as much edge since he had forgotten Y/n’s birthday. 

Joel jumped to his feet as the shrill ringing of the phone filled his ears. Normally, he might have been ashamed of how much animosity coursed through his movements as he leapt over the coffee table and reached the phone in two long strides. 

“Hello?” He gruffed into the phone, sounding remarkably calm considering how quickly he had rushed for the phone.

“Joel?”

The man closed his eyes in disappointment as his brother’s voice reached his ears, leaning his forehead against the wall, “Yeah?”

The other end was quiet for a moment before Tommy spoke again, “She still hasn’t called?”

Joel hated how blatantly obvious his feelings for Y/n had been to everyone, especially now that she wasn’t speaking to him, “The hell do you want, Tommy?”

The younger man chuckled through the phone, his voice slurring slightly, “I need you to give me a ride to the bar.”

“You’ve got your own truck. Drive yourself.”

“See,” Joel could practically hear the grin in his brother’s voice, “My truck’s at the bar. I need you to give me a ride back there.”

Joel frowned, “Damnit, Tommy. Can’t you get her to drive you back?”

“Uh-uh, she’s passed out. Guess I got a little–”

“Don’t finish that,” Joel grunted, sighing as he reached for his truck keys. He glanced at the open beer can on the table, thankful that he had only taken a few sips of it before the phone rang, “Where are you?”

– – –

Y/n hugged her knees to her chest, eyes trained on the little pink phone on her bedside table. She pinched herself for putting this off so long. Yes, Joel had fucked up, and yes, she had every right to end things with him for that, but the fact of the matter was that she simply didn’t want to. She needed some time to collect herself and figure out her own feelings before she spoke to Joel again, not wanting her emotions to take control, but she had not anticipated waiting this long, and had even been working up the courage to dial his number everyday for the last week.

At the foot of her bed, Manny whined curiously at her, clearly sensing his owner’s fluctuating emotions. She ran a gentle hand over his head three times, smiling to herself as his eyes fluttered closed at the affection, head lowering to rest comfortably on his paws. 

Shaking her head, Y/n felt a surge of courage rush through her veins. Her arm shot out, grasping the handset and dialling the number before she could convince herself to do otherwise. 

Her heart pounded at her ribcage like it was hoping to escape, handset growing slippery in her clammy palms as the dial tone droned on hauntingly in her ear. She wasn’t even sure if he would answer; it was nearing eleven o’clock, and if there was one thing that she knew about him was that he’s probably been passed out on the couch for at least an hour now. 

Hi! Sorry we missed your call, please leave your name and number and my dad will call you back!

Y/n smiled at Sarah’s sweet voice, slightly higher pitched than it was now–the voicemail was clearly from a few years ago before her voice had begun to mature a little. The beep of the answering machine made her jump in surprise, tripping over her own thoughts to figure out what to say.

“Uh–hi. Joel, it’s Y/n. Sorry I took so long to call, I didn’t think… shit. Would you wanna go get a coffee or something sometime soon? Just call me back whenever you get this. Bye.”

– – –

Tommy hiccupped, stumbling through the doorway and throwing himself across the couch lazily. Joel followed closely behind, a scowl present on his lips as he watched his brother reach for the beer that he’d left on the coffee table, downing it. Tommy had been far too drunk to drive himself home from the bar, leaving Joel to begrudgingly take him home with him. The younger of the brothers tugged on the throw blanket that had been draped along the back of the sofa, pulling it snugly around his neck as he snuggled into the couch. 

Joel ignored his drunken babbling, turning his attention to the answering machine on the hall table. He began pressing buttons, a pathetic hopefulness filling his veins.

“You think she called?” Tommy giggled to himself, “I’m telling you, brother, I’ve got half a mind to head on over there myself. You really lost yourself a dime piece.”

Joel sneered at him, “And I’ve got half a mind to break your jaw. Now shut up ‘nd go to sleep.”

Tommy raised his hands in surrender, but the mocking smile did not leave his face as he listened intently to the robotic voice as it began reading out the missed call log. Joel’s face lit up as the electronic woman recounted one missed call, and his heart almost stopped when he recognized the next feminine voice to come through the machine.

Uh–hi. Joel, it’s Y/n. Sorry I took so long to call, I didn’t think… shit. Would you wanna go get a coffee or something sometime soon? Just call me back whenever you get this. Bye.

Tommy laughed joyously, beating his chest with his open palm, “Shit, Joel. Maybe you’re not as hopeless as we all thought.”

Joel made a mental note to give his brother hell in the morning, but ignored him in favour of rushing for the phone. It wasn’t until the dial tone began to play that he realised that he was calling her late at night, almost twelve now. He cursed to himself, moving to slam the handset back down when a voice reached his ears.

“Hello?”

His stomach erupted with butterflies, a deep sigh leaving his lips, “Hey, darlin’.”

“Joel.” The sound of his name coming from her lips sent a shock of sparks through him.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He cleared his throat, “Sorry I’m calling you so late. I can call you back–”

“No,” she cut him off, “No, I was still up anyways. Finals, and all.”

“Right. Well if you’re busy…”

It was silent for a moment, and Joel wondered if she had just hung up on him.

“Can I come over?”

Joel glanced over his shoulder at Tommy, whose head had tipped back over the arm of the couch as loud snores fell from his open mouth.

“Yeah, please.”

His ears picked up on a shaky sigh, “Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

Barely fifteen minutes had passed before he found himself sitting across from her at his dining table, both sitting with their hands clasped in front of them and expressions of uncertainty clear on their faces. 

“I–”

“So–”

They both stare at one another with wide eyes.

“Sorry–”

“You go–”

Y/n pursed her lips, shaking her head at him, “Can you tell me what happened that night? No excuses, no sugarcoating, no bullshit. Tell me what actually happened.”

Joel cleared his throat, shifting in his chair as that familiar sense of shame came over his entire being once more, “What actually happened? I forgot. That’s what happened.”

A crestfallen look crosses her features, “You just forgot? Jesus, Joel. I know we weren’t going out for that long but I thought maybe I meant something a little more than that.”

“No,” Joel murmured, only to repeat it more firmly, “I forgot, yes, and I’m gonna have to live with that shame for the rest of my life. But don’t you dare question how much I care about you. I just–fuck. I had a hard day at work, I ended up having to work overtime, and those fuckin’ pricks wouldn’t give me a break, and…” He smoothed a palm over his face, doing his best to level his nerves and keep his voice from raising, “Do you know how many women I’ve dated since Sarah’s mom took off on me?” He paused for a moment, as if he was expecting her to answer for him, “Three. Do you know how many have lasted past the first date? One. I’m never gonna forgive myself, baby. I was tryin’ to do a good thing for you and Sarah and I ended up fucking everything over.”

She furrowed her brows at him, “What do you mean ‘trying to do a good thing’?”

Joel shook his head, “I took that extra job because they were paying a hell of a lot more than anyone else. I know you’re plannin’ on goin’ home for the holidays, so I figured I could try to book us a little weekend getaway.” He shrugged, “No details on it yet, I was gonna ask you to see where you wanted to go.”

The expression on her face was difficult to read. Joel couldn’t decide what she was feeling; the scowl on her lips implied that she was still angry, though the red rim around her eyes betrayed the sadness within her, and the way that her brows scrunched together let him know that she was genuinely confused. She shook her head, leaning forward on her elbows.

“I’m not gonna pretend that I’m just over what happened. It was a shitty thing to do to someone, and it was humiliating to sit there and defend you from my family. But I care about you, a lot. I can’t just let this all go just yet.”

Joel raised his brows curiously, slowly reaching across the table to test the waters, and taking her hands in his own when she didn’t pull away, “What are you saying?”

Y/n rolled her eyes as she squeezed his hands, “I’ve been wanting to go to New Orleans since I moved down here.”

A wide grin split across Joel’s face, his chair scraping the kitchen floor as he rounded the table. His large hands grasped her biceps, pulling her to her feet and into his chest tightly. 

“New Orleans, it is.”

She laughed wetly into his chest, a few tears spilling over her waterline as she wound her arms around his waist, “You’re gonna be making up for this for a while, you know.”

He chuckled, “I know, baby.”

DECEMBER 31, 1999

Y/n had somewhat grown used to the dry heat of Texas in her three-and-a-half years of living there, discovering exactly what products worked best to keep her looking normal rather than a shih-tzu that had been struck by lightning. She was thankful that she didn’t meet Joel until after this discovery, leaving her without the embarrassment of looking like a fool in front of the one guy in Texas that she actually gave a shit about. Though, she could not escape the same fate when it came to Louisiana.

This could have been predicted–New Orleans is famously built around swampland, and yet she arrived back to their hotel room each night with smudged makeup and frizzy hair. No matter how much Joel had insisted that she looked fine, she couldn’t help but notice his eyes narrowing in at the dark circles of melted mascara beneath her eyes, and Sarah had commented on the state of her hair after their first day there. Unfortunately for her, she was on a student budget and couldn’t rationalise the purchase of an entirely new makeup kit for the remaining two days of their trip.

She felt a bit guilty when Joel had suggested staying in for New Years Eve. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was putting off any plans just because of the fact that she had expressed her discomfort about the climate–not that they would have been able to do much anyway. Most of the celebrations taking place in New Orleans for the holiday were not child-friendly, and neither one of them were comfortable with leaving Sarah in the hotel room on her own. She was, however, more than glad to entertain the young girl with a dance party and makeovers while her father had stepped out to get dinner for the three of them. 

Sarah had been ecstatic that morning when she had wandered downstairs to find her dad in the kitchen with Y/n in his arms–she was wearing his shirt, and her appearance was a bit dishevelled, so Sarah could tell that she had spent the night. Not to mention Tommy’s incessant teasing once he dragged himself off of the couch–making innuendos that she didn’t quite understand but could tell that they were dirty based off of the reactions that it pulled from the other two adults. She was a bit let down when she discovered that the woman would not be there for Christmas, but had nearly burst into excited tears when they broke the news about the trip. 

It came to no surprise when the excitement came to a height around eight that evening, forcing Sarah into a deep slumber not much later. She had insisted that she was going to stay up and celebrate the New Year with her father and Y/n, though neither of the adults seemed to be too disappointed with her absence, pouncing on one another the moment that Joel had tucked her into the bed. 

They hadn’t been intimate since they had gotten back together, both Y/n’s wish to take things slow and to punish him coming to a close the moment that his hands tracing patterns through her shirt, watching impatiently as she slid her hand beneath the faucet in the tub to check the temperature of the water. It had been his idea to move to the large jacuzzi in their ensuite, and yet he was the one who did not seem to want to wait a moment longer. She laughed, swatting him away with directions to grab that fancy bottle of prosecco she had brought along. 

When he returned, the tub was half full, and Y/n had abandoned her own clothes in favour of the fluffy white robe that had been hanging on the door. She had perched herself on the edge, her feet dangling into the tub and swirling the bubbles around the rising water. Joel groaned internally at the sight, distracting himself with filling the two glasses that he had brought with them. 

She accepted the glass with a grateful smile, taking a slow sip of the pink liquid without tearing her gaze away from him, admiring his figure from behind as he slowly began to remove his clothing; his watch clanked against the countertop first, followed by his belt. Soon enough his pants, socks, and t-shirt had been thrown onto the tile floor, leaving him in his boxers as he took a seat beside her. His fingers brushed her bare thigh from where it peeked out of the slit in the robe, smoothing the pads of his digits along her flesh and watching in amusement as goose pimples appeared in his wake. 

Y/n bit her lip, watching the path of his fingers intently before jerking away, leaning forward and turning the tap off clumsily. The waterline was not much more than halfway up the side of the tub, but it would rise once both of them got in. 

Joel stepped into the steaming tub first, ditching his boxers with the remainder of his clothes and spreading his legs to make room for her to join him. He watched shamelessly as she untied the robe, sliding down the expanse of the arms and letting it drop to the floor, exposing her bare body to his gaze. His eyes darkened as he took in her figure, tracing over her curves and settling for a few moments too long on her breasts as she clambered in, settling snugly against his firm chest. 

She sighed as she relaxed against him, turning her head to nuzzle into his neck softly as the stress removed itself from her muscles. Joel seemed to notice this, moving his hands up to begin massaging her shoulders gently, chucking to himself as she moaned in delight. 

“Thank you,” She sighed, “I really needed this. After finals, and then going home for the holidays…”

“Hey, hey,” He interrupted her, “You don’t need to explain. You deserve a break,” he paused to press a line of kisses against the slope of her neck, “You always work so hard. ‘Sides, family can’t be that horrible.”

Y/n groaned, leaning into his touch, “They weren’t, until I broke the news that we’re back together.”

Joel shrunk into himself, “Yeah, I can imagine they might not be too happy ‘bout that. Tell me, how deep is the hole that I dug myself into?”

Y/n shrugged, turning in his embrace to face him, “Well, my parents were probably the most angry of the bunch, but the others all let me know their two cents.” 

“So I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me,” his rough palms moved up her spine, fingertips pressing into the warm flesh, “But I guess I knew that already, heh?”

Y/n laughed, pressing a burning kiss to his shoulder, “Yeah, you do. But don’t worry about them, they’ll get over it eventually. Hell, my mom’s forgotten more birthdays and anniversaries than I can count, and my dad is the worst for just letting it slide. Besides, you won’t need to worry about them too much ‘til they come back for my graduation in June.”

“So what you’re telling me is that I’ve got six months to get you back on my side?” Joel grumbled, withholding the moan that threatened to escape under the tender tracing of her lips against his hot skin.

“Baby, I’m already back on your side,” She hummed against him, “Until you do something stupid again. I don’t give third chances.”

“I’m praying that I’ll never need a third chance,” one of his hands grasped the back of her neck, tilting her face up to look directly into her eyes, “If I do, I give you full permission to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Her eyes widened dramatically at his words, “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

He grinned charmingly at her, “Baby, I can’t live without my heart.”

She pushed against his chest playfully, “My, my, Mr. Miller. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were just trying to get in my pants.”

He cocked a brow at her, “What would you say if I was?”

Y/n smirked, reaching for her glass and downing the remaining liquid, then snatching his own glass out of his hand and repeating her actions, “I would tell you to take me to bed already, cowboy.”

FEBRUARY 15, 2000

A strange mixture of hail and rain fell on the windshield, disappearing as soon as they appeared at the touch of the hot glass. The parking lot was mostly empty, aside from a few vehicles on the far side and the dark truck parked in the very middle. If it weren’t for the deafening sound of water hitting the pavement, one might have been able to hear the soft humming of old country music playing over the worn speakers or the laughter that fell from the painted lips of the woman in the passenger seat. 

Joel had been disappointed when he had discovered that Sarah’s big soccer tournament had to be hosted on Valentine's Day, of all days. He, of course, had to work during the day, and had hoped to catch the tail end of her final game of the evening, leaving him very little time to plan anything for himself and Y/n to do on the special day. He wondered if this would be the final straw–he’d already messed up the last important day that they had meant to spend together (not including New Years). He was relieved to hear that Valentine’s Day was not entirely feasible for Y/n either; she had a big midterm the next morning, and promised that she would very much appreciate doing something special with him afterwards to serve as either a celebration or a consolation, all depending on how she felt about her test. 

The pair had initially hoped to grab some take-out from Joel’s favourite Mexican place in Austin and head to the only drive-in theatre in the surrounding area; Y/n had spotted their flyer on campus, promoting ‘A Week of Romance: February 13-19,’ and they would be playing one of her favourite that night.

Early on in the day, Joel was hopeful that things would go off without a hitch. He had gotten away from the worksite earlier than originally planned–Tommy having waved him off with only a few things left to do, equally tired of hearing Joel’s ‘mushy-gushy bullshit,’ and excited for his brother to have finally patched things up with the girl. Joel had managed to shower, get himself ready, and feed Sarah with ten minutes to spare. 

Y/n had turned up at his door right on time, dressed in a pretty sundress and a pair of boots, teeth glittering in the early evening sun beneath her scarlet lips. Joel stared at her lips for a few moments, entranced by the careful shape that she had drawn in that dark red colour that he loved so much. He grumbled to himself when she cut his kiss short, patting his chest affectionately as she murmured something about messing up her work.

Even Tommy had shown up on time to watch Sarah, allowing the couple to head off on their merry way with a cheeky wink. Their food was ready early, as well, allowing them extra time to find the perfect spot to park so that they could see the screen–though Joel was hoping that they weren’t actually going to be watching too much of the film, too eager to smudge that pretty red lipstick. 

Then, it started to rain.

Joel could have screamed at the sight of the first drop on the windshield, praying to any god that would listen that it would just be a few drops, but as the sky turned grey and litres began to fall, he knew that the night that the two had planned had been ruined.

Well, ruined may have been a dramatic term to use in this case. The only thing that had changed was that there was no film being played. They both still sat in their seats in the same parking spot, eating the same take-out and laughing over the same story that Joel had planned on telling her. 

“Oh, I like this one,” Y/n reached out, turning the knob on the radio to raise the volume as her head bobbed along to the Conway Twitty song. 

Joel turned to her with a raised brow, “You know this song? Wasn’t it just last month when you told me you hated country music?”

“I never said I hated country music,” she shook her head at him, taking another large bite of her food, “I said that I don’t love a lot of the stuff you listen to. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, is there?” He laughed.

“You will never catch me dissing Shania, Mr. Miller,” she pointed at him firmly, “But if you must know, just because I don’t like it, doesn’t mean I’m not gonna listen to it. You’re my guy, I’m gonna have to listen to deal with your shitty music taste, whether I like it or not.” 

His gaze softened as he reached a hand out across the console, fingers brushing some hair behind her ear before moving down to cup her jaw, “Darlin’, you’re sweeter than I think you know.” 

She gave him a pointed look, “Oh please, you think I don’t know how sweet I am?”

Joel pulled his hand back, rolling his eyes dramatically, “Forgive me for trying to be romantic for Valentine’s Day.”

“That was yesterday,” she argued, “And I’ve definitely seen you be more romantic.”

“Yeah well yesterday, I spent the day dealing with a bunch of assholes at work and then another bunch of assholes at a goddamn soccer field.”

“And I spent it dealing with a bunch of assholes at school, and then crying over a bunch of wildly expensive textbooks.”

“I think you’re just proving my point here, baby.”

Y/n shrugged, “Well maybe I’m just trying to agree with you, something wrong with that?”

Joel scoffed, “Something tells me you’re just tryin’ to pick a fight with me right now.”

“So first you think I’m dumb and ugly, and now you’re accusing me of this?”

The man looked bewildered, glancing out the windshield as the curtain of rain in confusion. He couldn’t recall saying those things to her–hell, he knew he would never outright say them, but had he said something that might have implied it?

Y/n laughed, leaning across to smack his bicep lightly, “I’m just fucking with you. This is a very romantic belated Valentine’s Day celebration, baby. Even if the rain kind of spoiled the movie.”

He smiled softly at her, leaning ahead as she moved to lean across the console and press a soft, appreciative kiss to his lips. He hummed into her, lips following after her eagerly as she pulled away. 

She chuckled at him, reaching out and rubbing away the lipstick that had transferred onto his plump lips with her thumb, “Woah, cowboy. Save some for later.”

“So I’m gettin’ lucky tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her flirtatiously.

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes at him playfully, “We’ll see.”

JUNE 24, 2000

Y/n bounced her knee anxiously, her flesh burning under the sweltering heat of the packed auditorium, counting down the moments until she was able to rid herself of the satin robe. Her degree was already pinched between her manicured fingertips, all she had left to sit through was the Dean’s seemingly endless closing speech. Her eyes kept darting out to the expansive audience, squinting into the darkness in search of the group that had come to see her; she wondered how Joel was doing, having to meet her parents for the first time in this circumstance–hell, she was wondering if he was even still alive.

The final farewell was called out, and the graduates each stood, tossing their caps in the air with a thunderous cry. Y/n grinned to herself, shaking the hands of the people around her as she struggled to withhold her own tears, knowing that her mother would insist on taking hundreds of photographs. 

Her eyes shot around the grassy courtyard in search of her family, finding them posted just beneath a large shady tree. Her mother beamed at her when she spotted her figure rushing towards them, the gown unzipped and billowing behind her in the slight breeze. They met in a hug, both weeping into each other’s shoulders gleefully. 

“Look at you,” her father grasped her shoulders firmly, “My daughter; a lawyer! I can’t wait to gloat all about this to the guys at work.”

Y/n grinned at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, “Hopefully Saul will give it a rest with his son being a dentist, huh?”

“That’s right!”

Her eyes glanced over his shoulder, falling on the man standing several feet away. Joel’s lips curled into a bashful grin as their eyes met, patiently waiting his turn to embrace her. Her gaze flickered down, catching sight of a small, colourful bouquet gripped tightly in his shaking fist. She could only guess that her parents had either been short with her boyfriend or entirely dismissive to cause this behaviour, though she was glad that she had at least warned him about their feelings regarding their relationship. 

She pulled away from her father, wasting no time in rushing past him and leaping into Joel’s arms. He laughed loudly as he caught her, his large hands spanning across her back as he spun her around, lips meeting her temple tenderly.

“Congrats, baby,” he murmured into her hair, “I’m so proud of you.”

She dropped to her feet, lurching forward and connecting their lips in a frenzied kiss. He smiled against her, pulling away and stroking his thumb over her cheek for a moment before forcing the bouquet into her grasp.

“Thank you, baby,” she kissed him once more on the lips, turning back to her parents and wrapping her arm tightly around his waist, leaning snugly against his side. 

“So,” Y/n’s mother cleared her throat, all signs of joy having left her features, “Joel, would you mind taking some photos of me and my family?”

Joel smiled tightly at her, letting Y/n out of his grasp and reaching for the outstretched camera in her hand. Y/n wordlessly patted his side on her way past, sending him a reassuring smile as she slipped in between her parents. She smiled brightly at the camera, though it was truly aimed at the man standing behind it. 

“Mom,” she pulled away from their embrace, turning to her parents with a hopeful smile, “Would you mind grabbing a few of me and Joel, too?”

Her mother’s smile soured, any genuinity falling from her features as she took the camera back, “Of course, dear.”

– – –

Joel’s backyard had been extravagantly decorated with streamers, balloons, and a small, handmade banner that read “ConGRADulations, Y/n!” Tommy and Sarah smiled cheesily at the group as they flooded in through the patio door, both offering the girl tight hugs.

“We’ve been hard at work all day, took you long enough to get here,” Tommy joked, patting her on the back, “Congrats, kid. Now I got a lawyer on speed dial, all my problems are fixed.”

“I’m like two years younger than you, Tommy,” she scowled at him, not missing the alarmed expression that appeared on her face.

“And when he says we,” Sarah frowned, crossing her arms, “He really means me.”

Y/n laughed, hugging the girl again, “I figured as much. Thank you.”

The small party had fallen into a pleasant hum of chatter. Thankfully, despite their distaste for Joel, Y/n’s parents were open and welcoming to Tommy, Sarah, and the rest of Y/n’s friends. Joel had occupied himself for the most part at the grill, serving out burgers, hot dogs, and sausages like he was born to do it. He watched her from a distance, a content smile crossing his features when he noticed her coming closer. 

“You gonna keep hiding behind the grill all night?” She asked as she sidled up beside him, bumping his hip with her own and setting a fresh beer on the table next to him, “Is this about my parents?”

“I would be lyin’ if I said no,” he shrugged, “but don’t you worry that pretty brain of yours; I’ve got a plan. By this time tomorrow, your parents will be asking for my blessing.

“Oh really now,” she raised her brow, “Well, if you’re so sure of it then–”

“I am.” He turned, resting his hands on her hips and pulling her closer, “Have I told you just how beautiful you look today?”

She grinned coyly, “Surprisingly, I’ve only heard it from my other boyfriend so far.”

He snaked one hand around to pinch the fat of her backside, “Well, let me be the second to say that you look very beautiful today, darlin’.”

“Thank you,” she hummed, pecking him on the lips before tugging at the collar of his plum-coloured shirt, “And you look very handsome. I love this shirt on you.”

“Well, I thought it was fitting; I wore this on our first date.”

She scoffed, “Oh I remember, but I don’t really consider that to be our first date.”

“No?” He furrowed his brows, “I don’t know… movie, drinks, a little bit of lovin’...”

“So we’ve got a real teen romance thing going on, then,” Y/n laughed, “I like it.”

Joel laughed, kissing her one more time before sending her on her way with a hot dog and a tap on the bum.

AUGUST 21, 2002

Y/n glanced up at the road briefly, then back down at her stretched out hand, admiring the glittering diamond on her left ring finger. The smile had not left her face since they had left the beach. To her left, Joel admired her side profile with a cheesy grin on his features. He was positive that Y/n hadn’t been expecting the proposal–they’d already planned on going to San Diego for a little getaway they’d been saving for over a few months, and he’d had the ring for almost a year by this point so he saw it as a perfect opportunity. 

The journey up to their hotel room was filled with quick kisses and bashful giggles, both of their hands practically glued to each other’s bodies, though her left hand was almost permanently stuck out in front of her while both stared down at the ring in awe.

Joel unlocked the door, tugging her insider and pressing her to the other side while he attacked her lips. He massaged the fat of her hips as he slipped his tongue past the barrier of her lips, fingers finding home beneath the fabric of her dress. 

“Joel,” she whimpered, “hang on a sec, babe.”

He pulled away, stepping back to allow her to walk past him, “Everything okay?”

“Okay?” Y/n beamed at him, digging through her purse in search of her cellphone, “Joel, we just got engaged. I’m a little more than fucking okay. I need to call my mom.”

Somehow, Joel’s plan at Y/n’s graduation party had actually worked out. Maybe they weren’t ‘asking for his blessing,’ as he had suggested, but they were certainly more accepting of the fact that he and Y/n were together; this may have been the product of a stern talking to from their daughter, and perhaps a reminder of the mistakes that they’ve made in their own relationship, but Joel was willing to take the credit for himself. 

“Can’t that wait?” He groaned, flopping down on the queen sized bed dramatically, “I have big plans for tonight, all of which do not include your mother.”

“It’ll be quick, I promise.” She sent him a glare over her shoulder as she fished the phone out of the purse, “I have big plans for tonight too, you know. One of which involves my mother, the other involving me sucking the soul right outta you. Now, be patient.”

Joel groaned once again, wincing at the feeling of his pants tightening around his growing member. He covered his face with his hands, then rolled his head to the side as he heard her beginning to speak.

“Hi mom, I’m good, yeah,” She grinned to herself, gazing down at the ring again, “Actually I have some big news–no I’m not pregnant.”

He chuckled to himself, wondering exactly how he got so lucky. Once upon a time, he had considered his life to be a task. Wake up, eat, keep Sarah alive, work, sleep, repeat. He didn’t hate his life before Y/n came into it, though he couldn’t look back on it and remember anything that was particularly beneficial to his view on life. His life changed with Y/n’s appearance; he’d never been more glad for Tommy’s uncontainable urge to flirt with everything that walks. 

Joel Miller once thought himself to be a man who was gonna die young, but now, as he watched the love of his life excitedly recount the proposal over the phone, her body glowing under the golden glow of the late summer evening. His heart swelled at the sight, imagining her body developing and swelling with their first child, maybe even second and third–he would give her as many children as she wanted. He imagined her growing alongside him, of her and Sarah baking together in the kitchen and greeting him with playful sternness when he ended up working late. He saw a life for them, and though it may not have been perfect or without difficulty, he wanted it to be long and he wanted it to be with her. 

Only he could not have predicted that just over a year later, he would have been grieving the loss of his daughter, his unborn son, and the love of his life.

tags: @am-3-thyst @sirtommyholland @intoxicatedapple @corvusmorte @lanabobana @virgogaia @ediediwurld @xmollzx @moonylantsovs @brie-annwyl @she-who-writes-things @lizziesfirstwife @writevanna @imaginescoma1d-blog @2181bigbuss @cameronsgfbtw @angstylittlepascal @vampseddie @stevengmybeloved @cllxlily @ale0m @bigjuicy-jumpsuit @lumpypoll @glitteryllama101-blog @onlyrealjoy @eleganthottubfun @bundled-flowers @kpopslur @harperdoodle @hopefulfangirl24

@jeriiva

(if you're crossed out then i couldn't tag you :( sorry)

[liv2post]

Serenading Him

CHAPTER 6: Respite (FINAL CHAPTER)

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AO3

Severus groaned softly as a gradual brightness roused him from what felt like to be a deep slumber. The fleshy color of his eyelids could no longer replicate the facade of darkness as he slowly fluttered his eyes open. He was first met with a plain white ceiling with a slight popcorn texture to it and something soft beneath his head and cradling his body. The second thing he registered was a fuzzy feeling in his head and throat.

The snake. Voldemort. He—

His hand shot to his throat as he attempted to swiftly sit up, but immediately regretted it, a heavy dizziness forcing him back down against his propped-up pillow with a groan.

“You’re awake,” a voice said softly.

His eyes flicked over to the side and landed upon you. You were slouched in a chair, head propped up by your fist with a tired expression on your face and watching his form with a gentle smile. He was alive.

“…Y/N?” He rasped out.

“Hi, Severus.”

He blinked dumbly at you before slowly scooching himself up more in a sitting position, glancing about the room. He had an IV in his arm and some magically powered machines keeping track of his vitals. He was in a hospital room, St. Mungos most likely. You were the only other person in the room except for the people who passed by on the other side of the blurred privacy glass.

“I died,” he stated, still thinking this may not be real.

You nodded lightly. “You did, but I brought you back. A little after you died, Voldemort called a one-hour armistice. I flew down from the tower to see how everyone was fairing and I overheard Harry and Hermione talking about you, how your “body” was in the boathouse. When I found you, I apparated us to the Potions classroom, healed your wounds, and got your heart beating again, and uh,” you blushed, “more or less stowed you away in my room until after the battle was over.”

His eyes widened. “Did we…?

You smiled fervently. “Yes, we won. And Harry is officially two for two in surviving the Killing Curse.” Your smile dropped a little. “We lost some people though, but the teachers are alright. Harry got you pardoned by the Ministry. Only a select few people saw whatever memories you shared with Potter to have your name cleared, but Kingsley is Minister now, so you have him on your side in the future. Unfortunately, you’ve become Rita Skeeter’s next target.”

Any words after the word “curse” fell deaf on his ears. Severus didn’t care. It was over. All of it. A slow exhale left him and you swear he probably got five years younger from the stress that seemed to leave his face.

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“You’ve been in a medically induced coma for almost a week now. The poison that circulated in you had done a bit of damage to your insides, so they needed to treat that. You hardly got any new scars though…except for the neck. The doctors said whatever special poison the snake possessed made it impossible to treat the scarring, but it might lessen naturally over time.”

The pads of his fingers lightly touched the raised skin on his throat. He summoned a hand mirror and grimaced at the sight of his neck. He could make out very clearly where his throat had been cut as well as the angry tearing and puncturing caused by Nagini. There was a yellow glow around his skin though, which meant you had applied that spell of yours. 

“I can take it off if you’d like.”

He shook his head with a sigh. “No, leave it,” he uttered and with some effort shifted over in his bed. “Come here.”

You pushed off the chair and quietly moved to the bed as Severus shifted into a sitting position to push off the edge, but noticed him wince a little as a pain radiated from his stomach to his chest.

“Don’t push yourself, Se—”

“Shut up,” Severus adjured, standing now as he wrapped his arms around you. He buried his nose in your hair, taking in your form as you sunk into his hold. Your hands slowly ran up and down his back, your touch soothing him through the cotton hospital clothes more than any potion or spell could. The two of you just stood there holding one another, your breathing falling in sync. You were both here. Alive. Despite having known him for multiple years, the days you spent together over the break were vital. It established an indescribable level of trust and had the war taken him, it would have eaten you up inside knowing he had so much on his shoulders.

He eventually drew you back towards the bed, a quiet gesture to keep you close to him. As you sat up against the metal frame, Severus wrapped an arm around your waist and laid against your side while you slinked an arm around his shoulders.

“Thank you for all you’ve done. I’m glad you are alive,” Severus murmured.

“I should be the one saying that to you . Your magic worked brilliantly. I think it got about fifteen Death Eaters in total before Harry dueled Voldemort.”

“Good…” he hummed, his eyes tiredly scanning his surroundings once more until they landed on two fuzzy silhouettes behind the glass exterior of his room. “Are those…guards by the door?”

“For your own safety, yes. Quite a few Death Eaters fled when they realized Voldemort couldn’t kill Harry a second time.” You grabbed a newspaper off the bedside table. “You being pardoned was the headliner two days ago. Since you weren’t on the toll list of those who died in the war, they know you’re alive. Also, you got a letter from Draco’s mother.” You opened the newspaper and out fell a tan envelope with a red wax seal with the name “Narcissa” scrawled on the front.

While he fumbled open the letter, you read the copy of the Prophet to give him some privacy. Based on the despondent sound he made, he was not pleased by the contents inside.

“My home was destroyed,” he muttered aloud.

You made a pained noise of sympathy and gently rubbed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Severus.” 

“Some books were saved, but there was a Dark Mark. Aurors convinced the locals it was a gas leak, but…” he trailed off. Truthfully he knew this would happen should he have escaped the war alive. He’d be hunted relentlessly by anyone who became aware of his true loyalty and his betrayal of Voldemort which was now, thanks to the Ministry, the entire Wizarding World.

“Y’know…I still plan on relocating, but not to America anymore. ‘M gonna use some of the money my parents left me to get a place out in the countryside. Probably Yorkshire. Or maybe Ireland.” You tilted your head toward him. “You could come with me if you’d like.”

He was silent, neither verbally accepting or declining your offer, but the way his weight pressed slightly further into you and his hand squeezed your waist was somewhat of an indicator of his feelings on the matter.

Your fingers began playing with the length of his hair. “You’ve had some visitors, too. Harry and his friends came on your second day here, as did Hargid… Draco tried , but I wouldn’t let him in because he was drunk and waving his wand around like a knife. Professor McGonagall came yesterday to see if you had woken up. She is… adamant in having a conversation with you,” you chuckled.

“I know what she’s going to say. I don’t wish to speak to her yet,” Severus grumbled.

“Everything in its own time,” you declared smiling and pecked his head, bringing a light smirk to his face. “More importantly, you are in dire need of a trim.”

[carf-writes]

“Robin, don’t,” he growled, digging his heels in on the linoleum floor. 

The rubber soles of his boots squeaked and his chair stopped moving. He dug them in harder, comically stomping his feet to drag himself forward. Damian was fighting him but luckily he had well over a hundred pounds on the kid.

“I have more room,” Damian grunted. 

“I don’t care.” The neck brace was digging into his exposed chin even beneath the duct tape preventing him from turning his head. He wiggled his fingers, trying to get circulation back into them with the ropes tied so tightly.

The drill whirred, inching ever closer, aimed at the center of his forehead.

“When I let you move the chairs, I hoped you would try to sacrifice the other to save yourselves,” a woman’s voice said over the speakers. She sounded like she was pouting. “Not fight over who gets to kill themselves first. It’s a few seconds difference anyway. You’re both dying.”

“Fuck you,” Damian snapped, sinking into a stream of elaborate curses in Arabic, most of which where anatomically impossible.

Dick grimaced as he dislocated his thumb. If he could just get Damian’s hands free…

The drill was getting closer, held by a robotic arm stolen from the Wayne Enterprises factory. The drill came from there too, designed for boring holes through titanium alloy. He suspected the sliding rail their chairs were mounted on back to back was also a Wayne souvenir. 

With Damian distracted, though still struggling against his own binds, Dick was able to drag himself forward again. Until the drill bit hovered millimeters above the cowl. He hoped the reinforced kevlar would spare him a few seconds. 

And he suspected that he would still be able to detangle the knots until the drill had fully penetrated his brain. Not a pleasant thought but a necessary one if he was going to get Damian out alive.

“Damn you to hell,” Damian snarled and something about his tone told Dick he wasn’t talking to their captor anymore. “I’m supposed to get Batman home.”

“It’s alright, Robin, there will always be a Batman.”

Dick was close now even as the drill touched the surface of the cowl, sending a painful vibration through his skull. Just a prelude to the main event.

“That’s the problem,” the woman calling herself The Hole in Things said . “No one needed Batman in the first place. Let alone hundreds of him. Doesn’t that make you feel awful, being expendable like this? That oh-so benevolent Bruce Wayne can’t be bothered to rescue you?”

“Actually,” Dick said with a smile as he felt the rope around Damian’s wrists snap. “Expendable is just fine with me.”

Damian rolled out of the chair, ducking under the drill aimed at his head.

The Hole in Things yelped. There was a clatter and the speaker went dead. She was running. Damian would have to give chase.

A birdarang snapped the drill bit above Dick’s head in half. Another fouled up the works. The drill sputtered and sparked, a trail of black smoke rising as it ground to a halt.

A moment later, Damian was at his side, shoving the apparatus aside, cutting Dick loose and dragging him from the chair.

They collapsed onto the floor. All of Dick’s weight fell on top of Damian. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him.

His whole body still ached from the beating a baker’s dozen of fanatical goons had given him that morning and the paralytic poison he’d been stabbed with to get him into position for that death trap. He groaned, trying to push himself off the boy.

Damian grabbed his head instead. “You’re bleeding.”

Dick pushed his hands aside, flopping onto his back. The ceiling was spinning. He snapped his thumbs back into place with a grunt.

“Just a scratch,” he muttered.

Damian’s face swam into his vision. His mouth was twisted into a tense frown.

“You had brain surgery a month ago. I was told the surgeon was the best in the world but now I have serious doubts.”

“Is this your way of calling me an idiot?”

“This is my way of saying I didn’t think you used to be so imbecilic.”

“You let her get away.”

“I saved your life, you ungrateful rube.”

Dick laughed and leveraged himself to his feet. He had to hold onto the wall to keep steady. He noticed that Damian was still not chasing their would-be murderer. Instead he was looking at Dick with something like concern.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Maybe Damian was more injured than he looked.

Damian’s face went red all the way up to his forehead when he was angry, just like his father.

“You said you were expendable,” he snapped.

“Yeah, that’s the idea of Batman International. No more one Batman to handle everything. I’ve got Gotham for now but I’m sure a certain Black Bat wouldn’t mind filling in.” Dick shrugged. “Actually, I think she’d probably do a much better job.” She wouldn’t have stumbled into that ambush, for starters.

Damian grabbed his arm. “We’re returning to HQ. You have sustained a serious brain injury.”

Dick touched the point on his forehead where the drill had bitten in. There was a small circular hole now in the cowl and when he looked down at his glove it was spotted with blood.

“I wouldn’t call it serious. My skull’s still more or less intact,” he joked.

Damian just clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in annoyance. “Tt.” He tugged on Dick’s arm. “Come.”

They really should be going after the woman who tried to murder them and clearly had it out for Bruce but if Damian wanted to go home, Dick wasn’t going to oppose. That must have been a harrowing experience for the kid and he was so reluctant to show vulnerability, Dick had no choice but to encourage it.