#pretend I’m a wolf or an adventurer

[story-book-sillies]

I wish I lived by a forest. I want to run around and play and climb on fallen logs and throw leaves in the air like confetti and find bugs and feel the sun shining through the branches and collect rocks and just be in nature with the animals and the wind and the pretty sounds like I’m a kid again

[gatorademachinegun]

I just smashed out a 30k words OUTLINE for a fucking show I’ve never even watched

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  FOLLOW THE SUN

SUMMARY : the adventures of dean accidentally growing a beard and learning to love it, or the sudden rise of a kink. 

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader 

CHARACTERS : sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, oral sex (f. receiving), p in v, my headcannon — dean is a germaphobe about other people’s germs but not about his own 😭

WORD COUNT : 3.1k

A/N : close your eyes song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — beard kink. ngl, I hated beards, but jensen would grow them between seasons for years, and… pfft, i changed my mind, especially now that it’s a constant. 

Being stuck in the woods was truly a pain in the ass. 

Y/n felt dirty, sweaty, and was completely disgusted by the smell of blood on her. It was worse being aware of the chunks of guts and other monster bits stuck to her, but they had to survive the night to finish off the wolf pack. 

It was their last night, but they were able to finish the job completely before the full moon could fully wane. 

Now, entering the Bunker was the best feeling in the world. Sam and Dean had the decency to only turn the lamps on to not overwhelm her senses, and on the ride back to their room, Dean didn’t play music too loud either.

She’d kiss him, but she felt too disgusted by the sensation of dirtiness on her own skin. And while Dean looked absolutely kissable and adorable, she had to resist out of apprehension of getting anything else in her mouth. She already felt like puking her guts out or getting some blood cleanse, anything to feel fully clean again after the week's hunt.

Despite feeling overwhelmed by the layer of gunk and grime, when Dean sweetly wrapped his arms around her, and pressed a big kiss to her cheek in a comforting manner, she let him. She closed her eyes, shivering at the tickle of his beard against her cheek, and hummed softly.

Finally, she felt she could relax. Her entire body released all the tension and stress the longer he held her, and after a few minutes, he murmured, “let get cleaned up.” 

“Go ahead, guys,” Sam told them, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m gonna go down and use the bath in the other room.” He sent Y/n a sweet smile, reassuring her that it was fine for her and Dean to use the shower rather than him. 

“Alright,” she drew out, slightly unsure, letting Dean remove himself from behind her. He gave her a bright smile when he moved in front of her and led her into the communal bathing room with their fingers intertwined.

“Look,” Dean started as soon as Sam was out of earshot, sensing his girlfriend’s discomfort, “we both know Sam’s not going in the showers with you naked. Even if there’s a thick wall between us. He never has and he’s not going to today. He said it’s fine, so it’s fine.” He brushed his thumb gently over hers and she squeezed his hand gratefully. 

“I’ve known Sam for seventeen years, I know that about him already,” she laughed, “doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop feeling bad.”

“Okay, yeah, fine,” he frowned, amusement sparkling in his eyes. He watched her for a while and she pretended not to feel his eyes on her. He grinned down at her lovingly when he opened the door to the showers.  

Once they were inside, they dumped the top layers inside-out onto the floor first, Dean’s thick giant jacket holding her smaller clothes. They began getting rid of big chunks and body parts by dumping them into the bin. 

“That’s so gross,” she groaned, reaching into Dean’s head to remove a few monster bits that he missed while he did the same to her.

“You’re still beautiful, d’ya know?” He smiled down at her flirtatiously, brushing her unkempt hair away from her face. She blushed, puffing her cheeks out when she averted her gaze from his face. 

“So are you, somehow,” she said softly. “Even if it took me five days to convince you to get rid of your boxers.” She bit her tongue as she grinned up at him. Dean snorted, stepping away from her to cross his arms across his chest defensively.

“It’s not the first time I do the ‘flip them inside out, backwards, and wear them in all the possible ways to make them last’ thing,” he confessed, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. 

She blinked up at him, letting the information sink, with a pout on her lips. Unexpectedly, after a few moments, she beamed up at him and started to laugh. 

“That’s… so adorable,” she told him between laughs. 

“You don’t think it’s gross?” His brows furrowed, but there was a little smile on his face. 

“Well, yeah,” she gasped, “but.. it’s also cute.” She slapped a hand over his chest and shook her head. “You’re so adorable,” she cooed playfully, squeezing his bearded cheeks with one hand. 

He rolled his eyes and wrapped his fingers around her small wrist, pulling her hand away. Except she curled her other hand around the back of his neck, stood on the tips of her toes, and brought him down for a sweet kiss. His eyes closed immediately, brows furrowing in concentration, his chapped lips turning up into a smile. 

She pulled away, then scratched her chin with a childish pout, at the tickle of his beard against her soft skin. 

“I’m shaving it off after we shower,” he told her with a smile, scratching the prickly hair on his jaw. 

“Yes, I want to see you naked already,” she cheered lightheartedly, extending her hand to unbuckle his belt. He chuckled at her enthusiasm and pulled his t-shirt off over his head, flinging it across with the pile of clothes they left behind while she unbuttoned his pants expertly.

Dean bit his lip, his cock stirring in his jeans, and then she cackled playfully when she unzipped his jeans, revealing his pubic hair and half-hard dick. He’d gone completely commando for the past two days. 

“Ya know, if you needed underwear, you coulda asked to wear my panties,” she teased, lowering his jeans down his legs slowly. He snickered and nodded, regarding her words as reasonable. Then, he began to measure her hips with his hands clamped around them and clicked his tongue disappointedly.

“You’re way too small, babe,” he informed her. She looked up at him, completely delighted, and started to lift her thermal, long-sleeved shirt up her body. “‘Sides, isn’t this a much better surprise?” 

He looked way too pleased with himself and she gave him a flirtatious side-glance, ridding herself of her jeans. They both kicked them across to the same pile and he turned away to turn the shower on. 

What an ass. 

She bit her lip as she looked fixedly at his nice behind—at his nice… everything. Wow, she was lucky. He had one hell of an ass, and those broad shoulders… sheesh. He was way too hot. His entire body littered in different shades, patterns, sizes, and shapes of freckles. He was all taut and tight in all the right places, and… soft and fleshy in all the right places, too. 

“You gonna strip or just stare at my ass all night, sweetheart?” Dean asked, then looked over his shoulder to catch her with an amused expression on his face. She shook her head, looking him in the eyes rather than at his ass, and sputtered. 

“I wasn’t staring at your ass,” she lied terribly, skilfully removing her bra with one hand behind her, “I was staring at your… everything.” She disclosed breathlessly, kicking her underwear away. He knew she was exaggerating her tone of voice, but he still flushed pink, and turned to face her. She walked up to him inside the large open stall of the shower, the hot water creating a warm mist in the air.  

“Even your wittle ears are cute from behind,” she murmured amorously, gently flicking his bloodstained ears with her fingers. They were slowly turning red and warm the more she flirted with him. “And you’ve got this cute little twirl behind your head where your hair goes down, then some goes to the sides, and the rest goes up to the top… it’s very endearing,” she asserted with a nod and an expression of utter tenderness. 

Her earnestness left no room for doubt and insecurity, but all Dean could do was laugh, and lean down to kiss her. He brought them both beneath the shower head, and pecked her lips a final time.

Carefully—thoroughly, they removed the uncomfortable layers of dirt and blood from their bodies with soap and shampoo. Their skin was clearer, their muscles were loose, and they were now getting sleepy beneath the near-scalding water they both enjoyed.

“Now that I’m seeing you clearly…” she murmured thoughtfully, taking his chin between her fingers. “The beard doesn’t have to go away.” She glanced up at him and brushed her pruned thumb over his pink, wet lips. 

“It’s itchy,” he frowned thoughtfully, attempting to prove his point by nuzzling his bearded jaw into her palm. She giggled, but kept her hand over his cheek. 

“Maybe on your birthday you can shave it off… or maybe after Valentine’s Day?” She suggested quietly, shivering as she now pictured the sensation of it across her skin if he would kiss her. 

He studied her face, the flush from the hot water astride her cheeks and chest. The hardness of her nipples, though, could only be attributed to arousal. He inhaled slowly and gazed at her eyes once more, taking in her pondering expression. 

“But, it’s your face, Dean,” she dropped her hand from his cheek and smiled up at him cutely, “do what makes you happy.”

Dean took her words into consideration. It’s December now—halfway through the month, really. His birthday would then be a little over a month away on the twenty-fourth of January… Valentine's day would be longer, but not undoable…

“If I keep it, I do get rewards, right?” He asked smugly, gripping her arms. She squinted her eyes at him, smiling, allowing him to walk her backwards until the cold tile touched her back.

“What would you like?” She bit her lip, her breath picking up as she stared up at him, his sensual green eyes staring down at her knowingly. Dean slid his hands down her arms and intertwined his fingers of one hand with hers, tilting his head as he pretended to think. 

He switched the water off with the other, then kissed her softly, plush lips pushing against hers, his lips trapping her bottom lip in between. Unconsciously, his hand found her hip, and he gently brushed his thumb over her hip bone before he pulled back and smiled at her tenderly.

“Nothin’ you haven’t already given to me, baby.”

“Sex?” She asked between heated kisses. “That’s what you wanted?” She smiled against Dean’s mouth, permitting him to kiss her the whole journey to his room. “Not sure how that’s a reward…” Every now and then, he’d push her into a wall to grope her needily. And then, she’d pull him away from the walls to drag him away from where Sam or even Cas could catch them making out. 

“The reward’s gonna be how sensitive…” he panted, leaving wet kisses along her neck as he opened the door to his room, she gasped at the sensation of his beard moving across her skin. “... you’ll be… and how wet I’ll make you…” he kicked the door behind him once they were inside and pushed her into the table next to the entrance, tugging the towel loose from her body to throw it over the green leather couch. “... every time I fuck you…” He dragged his fingertips down the front of her body, sensually, slowly, driving her mad before dipping down between her legs. “... all because you have a thing for my beard.” 

She inhaled sharply, balancing herself by gripping the edge of the table. “I do not,” she denied, spreading her legs a little more as he teased her slick entrance with two of his fingers. 

“Really?” Dean wondered, wearing a fake frown on his face. He lowered himself  down, tugging the towel from his hips to fold it on the hard floor for his knees. He brought her hips toward his face, away from the table, licking his lips while keeping his eyes on hers.

“I have… just a,” she paused, watching Dean stick his tongue out between her folds to find her clit, “uh, a general… attraction to you…” He stared up at her smugly, flicking her clit teasingly with the tip of his tongue until her legs shook, and she flexed her hand on the table, letting it fly into his wet hair. “... y’know,” she moaned, “regardless of what you look like.” Dean leaned his head back to look at her, disbelieving as he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder.

“So… you don’t think I look hotter,” he stated, tilting his head up. She tried to resist smiling, but she couldn’t, and she snickered down at him.

“No,” she lied, then took his face in both of her hands, and shoved it between her legs to stop him from teasing her with words. He didn’t fight her, just hummed in surprise, and vengefully sucked on her clit, pushing his face deeper into her, his beard brushing delightfully between her sensitive thighs. 

“Fuck,” she whispered, gazing down at him with a mirrored look of mischief and affection. Her cheeks were hot and coloured, and her heart was beating excitedly. 

He moved his mouth lower as she writhed and moaned his name, lovingly combing her fingers through his wet hair while he lapped at her entrance enthusiastically, breaching her tight hole. With a rumbling moan, Dean squeezed the back of her thighs, salivating at the taste of her, igniting her nerves as his bearded mouth moved between her legs.

She gently ground her hips against his face, her eyes fluttering shut for a few moments, before opening to continue admiring him. His nose moved against her clit while his tongue dipped inside the opening of her vagina, twisting around inside her pulsing walls, devouring her to prove his point, leading her to the ends of her pleasure.

He waited for the tell-tale signs of her orgasm’s approach: the flutter of her eyes, the breathiness of her moans, the arch of her back, the tightening of her grip on his hair. That’s when he pulled his mouth from her cunt, licking his lips to swipe away her arousal, he ignored her protests, and stood up.

“Gonna admit it now?” He murmured, grasping her chin, continuing to gaze down at her with admiration. She licked her dry lips and had the audacity to think about his question while batting her lashes at Dean. It amused him so much it drew out a husky chuckle as he leaned down to kiss her once more. 

“I’m just messin’ with you,” she mumbled against his lips, burying her fingers into his hair, leading him away from the door. “You look very hot with a beard, Dean,” she continued kissing him, pressing him close to her mouth, guiding him blindly to his bed. 

“I knew it,” he whispered with an eager smile against her mouth, turning her towards the green couch, and away from his memory-foam mattress. 

She slowly pulled away, sitting down on the leather couch after moving away the half-wet towel he’d thrown on it. “Couch sex,” she smirked, grabbing his waist to bring him closer to her. 

Dean mirrored her smirk, “your favourite,” he teased, biting his lip when she wrapped her hand around his cock, kissing his stomach first. Slowly, she stroked his heavy cock up and down, and hummed in agreement, opening her mouth for his hard cock. 

He moaned softly, bringing his hand to the back of her neck, splaying his fingers to grasp the wet hair at the bottom of her head. He clenched his hand, breathless as she licks into his slit for his precum, swirling her wet tongue around the pink tip. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, tugging her hair when she started sucking and bobbing her head, taking him deeper into her mouth. “As sexy as you look…” he trailed off, pulling her off his dick. She pouted at him, even when he nudged her thigh with his knee, and they moved together to lay down over the couch. 

Dean slid his hand beneath her waist, kissing her lips, slowly ghosting his lips away. He teased her by nibbling her jawline, sucking at her neck when she pushed her head into the couch and arched her back, creating marks on collarbone and above her breasts. 

Her hands slid across his body, touching what she could reach, enjoying the warmth of his skin beneath her palms. Her hand veered up to the back of his neck, pressing him closer into her chest, his beard tickling her skin.

“Yeah,” she whispered to herself when Dean swirled his tongue around her hard nipple, “that feels great.” Dean smirked against her breast, encircling his lips around it to begin sucking. 

Dean’s freehand skimmed down her side and the side of her leg, bending her knee, pressing it against her chest. He curled his hand around the bend of her knee and lifted it up to his shoulder, keeping it there as he lifted himself up her body, breathing warmly against her lips. 

“If Sam’s an ass about the beard,” Dean warned her, his cock pressing into her entrance, “I’m gonna tell him you have a kink.” She lifted her head to glare at him, but when he gently pushed into her, she closed her eyes and dropped her head back on the couch, bringing him in for a kiss.

“It wouldn’t even be a lie,” she confessed, short of breath against his mouth with a flirtatious grin. He breathed out a laugh, pushing his hips flush against hers before starting to thrust into her roughly. 

“Well,” Dean exhaled, “I didn’t count you for a beard lover.” She bit her lip and laughed through her nose while Dean’s hand dropped down between her legs, shoving her leg off the couch to pound deeper into her as the leather squeaked and the wood creaked beneath them. 

“Sometimes… I don’t know if you’re actually unaware of how good looking you are… but you make everything work,” she panted, watching Dean stand on his knee with his other leg on the floor. She slowly slid her hands away from his body with a pout. 

“Sure…” he whispered, ears turning red. “Beauty, eye of the beholder… all that,” he reasoned, lifting her hips for a better angle, moaning when she clenched around his cock and released a high-pitched gasp. Dean moved his hand between their bodies, splaying his hand over her pelvis, lifting her clitoral hood, and gently pushing circling around her clit. 

Despite the overwhelming bliss of her impending orgasm, she lifted herself up on her elbow and glared at him for attempting to minimise her praise. She saved her words for later, the darkening of her eyes making him swallow anxiously, but delight made his stomach flip and warmth spread through him. 

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© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[sapphicseasapphire]

A bit of a redesign for Cryptid Twilight! This is the real one I promise (until I change it again). Everything from the original character sheet is still true, just like… pretend that his outfit is different.

I based this one off of his Ordon outfit since I liked it (seriously, Ordon clothes and Skyloft clothes go SO hard. I would wear them) but I still wanted to keep the green tunic that he got during his adventure. Classic Link stuff. Also I put his hair up so we can actually see his facial markings since they’re very important to his character. If he ever needs to hide them though, he’ll let his bangs fall over his forehead.

More Twi lore under the cut!

In my au, those with markings on their face have the powers of a God. I’m going to make an origin story for him at some point, but in the mean time have this:

• Twi was orphaned at a young age. Like, very young. He was a toddler when he was found wandering the woods outside of Ordon Village.

• No one really knows where he comes from. Or what he is. He acted like a normal child so the people of Ordon didn’t hesitate to take care of him, though it was a shock when he started shifting!

• He has no designated father figure or mother figure. Instead, he was raised communally by the people of Ordon. Loved like a son by every one of them and he loved them all just the same. He’d cycle through their houses until he was old enough to have his own. He’s great with children and animals and has the biggest family of all of the Links.

• He can only take the shape of animals that he’s seen before. So he cannot change his face to appear as a different Hylian or turn into a different cryptid. As a child, he shifted less often because he hadn’t seen many animals to imitate.

• If my understanding is correct, in Twilight Princess, Link turns into a wolf because he is in possession of the Triforce of Courage. This turns him into a beast instead of a spirit like everyone else when he’s forced into the Twilight. And then he’s cursed, stuck in that form for a while before he can meet the spirits and their light. Right? So for my au, the same kind of thing happens. Only, instead of him involuntarily being turned into a wolf, the curse is that he cannot change his shape. And even when the curse is “lifted,” he can only pick between two forms: Hylian or wolf. It is not until the very end that he gets his powers back.

• Midna.

• No one knows how or why he has the ability to shift. They don’t know if he was born or created. If he started as Hylian and then became something entirely different or if he was always a cryptid. But I, as the creator, can tell you that he has the ability to shift because he has the blood of a God in his veins. He is Time’s direct descendant. There’s more to this! But I’ll save it for the origin story. (Whenever I get around to writing it haha)

[givethemsmut]

The Pack | Chapter One

Characters: Dylan O’Brien, fem!reader

Pairing: Dylan O’Brien, Dylan x You

Every female on the planet wanted a reason to be close to the actors on the hit TV show, Teen Wolf, except me.

I don’t dig wolves. Now some hot vampires? All day.

My dad loves producing so much that he was constantly trying to get me to join him on set in any shape of form. He wanted me to love his vice just as much as him so I would understand abandoning his entire life it. But I didn’t want to act or produce, I wanted to throw myself into college so I could figure it out.

The easiest choice would be the medical field… for so many reasons… but that felt like salt in my very much open wounds.

Twenty-three, living at home with my dad, while trying to forgive him should have been a course I signed up for in college. Instead I got to feel awkward being the light of his life. It wasn’t all bad - he was barely home and I got free rein over my life.

Sleeping in was the best part of not having class. It was just past noon when I dragged myself downstairs at the allure of the coffee pot. I had it set for noon just so I wouldn’t sleep my life away. I didn’t even notice my dad in the corner of the room, at the large dinning room table we never used, busy on his iPad.

“Sleeping in again? Another finger pointing to you coming to work for me.” He didn’t even look up at me when he talked, neck deep in his night shoot edits.

This was a constant battle we waged. “Dad, I have school full time. I don’t have time to come play on set with you.”

He sighed almost defeated for the day on the topic, “only girl in the world who doesn’t want to be on the Teen Wolf set.”

Laughing to myself I didn’t relish being some kind of gatekeeper. Every one of my friends had asked every question you could think of about the show’s star: Tyler Posey but I had no answers. My dad hit the nail on the head.

“That’s because I’m a beautiful, unique snowflake. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll surprise you for your birthday next week.”

We both knew I wouldn’t crack so easy. So happens that fate had other plans for me and my boundaries.

The following week my dad left his wallet and house keys at home which honestly wasn’t strange. He was constantly forgetting the essentials. He would buy conditioner without buying shampoo. He would invite you to lunch just to forget his wallet. He would blame being on set when part of me believe he was just that absent minded.

I was casted to the forgot parts of his brain the same way.

He texted me go bring them to set for him which was fine because my lecture was over early and I had zero weekend plans.

Being on the lot reminded me a lot of my mom. We had a bond because of this lot that kept her King and my keeper from us. We would make our own adventures, explore and pretend to be other people all day while he worked tirelessly.

Until she couldn’t pretend anymore. That was when she decided my dad loved his work more than her. That betrayal extended to me when she moved us into another house, quietly divorcing him and securing half of everything just to make sure we survived.

Everyone called her the gold digging failed artist. Everyone called me a spoiled brat.

I snapped out of my thoughts when the guard handed me my ID back through the car window printing the gate to lifted to let me in. With a big inhale I could almost smell her perfume again, earthy and seductive. Pulling through the stages I found him in the same place he always was, back of the lot, taking up the most space.

I breezed in like I, in fact, owned it. Snatching my sunglasses off my face I found my dad coaching the star through the scene with too much passion. “You love her! I need to see that protective side, Ty. That need. That sacrifice. This isn’t some crush but the mate you’ll have forever.”

She needed that side of my dad when she was dying of cancer alone in a big house without her husband.

“Dad. Keys and wallet?” Turning around he took his belongings from my hands and attempted to awkwardly hug me when it failed.

Shifting my eyes I could feel Tyler digging his gaze into me even deeper. He was wondering why he hadn’t seen me until now, if I was some hostage, if I was absent for a reason. I could see the gears shifting behind his eyes.

Beaming my dad’s hand hovered along my spine as he introduced me, “Tyler, this is my daughter. And a hero. Now I can order sushi.”

Tyler laughed and went back to rehearsal with a couple girls whom I can only assume are in the show too. I told my dad, “Well. I’m gonna get going. I’m gonna see if Alex wants to hang. Maybe a frat party is happening.”

My dad pulled over the chair that was already near him, “We’re about to start. You can’t leave yet.”

So that’s how he was going to force me to be here, cool.

I dropped my head as let my bag drop on the floor loudly, purposely, and I watched the cast hit their marks before a clear action was shouted. I couldn’t deny a shirtless Tyler Posey was easy on the eyes for sure. The scene was dark, emotional and ended with a kiss. Even someone who didn’t watch the show, like me, could feel the impact of the episode. After the director yelled cut my dad started speaking again, “I’ll be home late okay? I have a date right after this. That’s why I really needed my wallet and keys.”

I was shocked. I had a million questions. “Wait, excuse me? You’re dating now? How did you meet? Who is she? Where are you going?”

He laughed, “I downloaded a dating app. Okay? I’m going go to Don Antonio’s with her. She’s a nurse. Busy like me so she should understand how it is.”

Being excited for my dad was one thing, finally he wouldn’t be alone yet I couldn’t help but hate him for it. A part of me expected him to pin for my mother his whole life.

I gave him a giant hug before I told him I was taking off but he held me tighter while saying, “You may be over 18 but I sure as shit will ground you, take your phone and car if I found out you went to a frat party with Alex. Have a great night at home with Netflix’s!”

We both laughed, he trusted me and for good reason.

I was still a virgin. Which was rare for a kid in LA let alone an industry parent.

I grabbed my bag and headed for my car before they locked me in silence with another take or scene. On my way out I crashed into a hard body who apologized immediately, “Shit. I’m sorry. I was rushing. I’m late.”

I nodded signaling it was okay but that didn’t stop him from shouting after me when I walked away. “Hey! Are you new? Do I know?”

I stopped walking backwards while answering, “Nah. Just stopping by. Visiting someone.” With that being all I said I opened my door and smiled before getting in.

.

I knew I wanted to make myself invisible incase my dad came home with his date. It’s not the cool thing to do when you have to introduce your adult age kid after a good meal and before making out.

After I got home from the lot I texted Brody to come over for while. I don’t know how to describe that relationship at all. I’ve known him since we were 5 years old and we were always friends but when we started dating - everything changed.

He was very cute and accessible. All innocent until high school when hormones came into play. We had done everything but go all the way. Lately that wasn’t enough for him…

He came through the door without knocking carrying some beer while I stood at the counter pouring my wine. I felt him push against me, kissing my neck while I pushed the cork in the mouth again.

“Hey beautiful. How was class?”

Brody graduated two years before me and already had a job as a business consultant for a popular firm who advises people on how to be successful, handling money and recruiting for them.

He was stable. He was hot. He was older.

I was feeling frustrated as I took my very full cup of wine and dragged him upstairs behind me by the hand to my bedroom. Every time we were alone with alcohol I always contemplated that I would have the courage to go all the way with him.

Being a virgin still shows anyone how well that went. We got comfortable on my bed fitting like puzzle pieces as I scrolled through Netflix for over 10 minuets searching for the perfect movie.

I felt his hand on my thigh, slightly rubbing as his lips crashed against the side of my face. He felt comfortable so I don’t know why I wouldn’t give in.

I felt his familiar lips against mine and our warm tongues touch. He pulled off his shirt and his husky voice crashed into me, “Take this off baby.”

It was déjà vu all over again. Every time we were alone it was a replay of the same events. There wasn’t any feelings, not the way the movies shaped my expectations.

As he kissed my neck he whispered, “Come on baby. You’re dad isn’t home. Just take off your panties.”

His kisses felt good but not convincing. I whispered his name when I felt his fingers lace inside my panties as he tugged them down my legs.

We fooled around before, he had seen every inch. We kept kissing with our tongues and I felt his body settle between my legs. Reaching for his wallet and he pulled out a condom before his mouth collided with mine again. Pressing my palms again his chest, gently giving myself space, enough to decide on no.

I whispered again, “Brody. I’m not ready. I’m sorry.”

I felt his felt him tense at the rejection, “Why are you being a fucking bitch? How long are we gonna keep playing this game? I’ve seen you naked, I’ve licked your pussy, we’ve showered together.”

His warmth on top of me left as he sat as it came when he pushed his legs off the edge of my bed to put his shoes on. I didn’t even walk him out.

D Y L A N P O V

She smelt like butter and home. She felt safe. She was the most beautiful, sarcastic, tiny firecracker I’ve ever met.

We met on the set of a movie called The First Time back in 2011 and been together ever since. She just got back from Canada filming a TV show Girl Boss for the last 3 months and I couldn’t wait to have her myself.

We both had our own places with our own roommates but we wanted as much time together so she was crashing in my room. And let’s be real, I hadn’t had sex since she left months ago.

She was straddling my legs in her panties and nothing else as I coaxed her out of them. Her hips were rocking over my crotch as she leaned down to kiss me.

Sex was never our problem. We met and practically fell into bed together. Pushing her down onto the bed below me as I pushed myself further between her legs. She felt every inch of my excitement caress her thigh.

I kissed her chest and neck, every exposed inch when my head flicked up at the sound of her phone loudly alerting her she had a text. We both ignored it as I pulled my shirt off.

Another ping. We ignored it again.

I saw her look over almost like she expected a text but couldn’t get to it. Her face went from ecstasy to disappointment. Looking down at her, “We good babe?”

She shook her head, “Yeah, yeah, we’re good. Okay I’m ready, Dylan.”

On my knees, my hands smoothed up her legs until my fingers laced into the straps of her panties. Pulling them down was too easy when I got a glimpse of her wet pussy.

Ping. Ping.

Exhaling loudly, stopping to grab her phone off the night stand I had lost focus enough times to get annoyed. I was going to put it on do not disturb but the texts content was right there on the lock screen.

“Did your flight land? Can’t wait to see you ;)” “He can wait until after I see you first.” “Meet me at my place. I miss that little body.” “Ditch Dylan.”

I felt my heart stop.

Pushing myself to the edge of the bed I contemplated if I was dreaming. Did I fall asleep and have some kind nightmare? Britt, my girlfriend of 6 years was cheating and me. I had proof. I threw her phone across the room in her silence letting it crash against the wall.

She tried to touch my shoulders from behind, on her knees, forcing me to jump up. Pacing I pointed towards my bedroom door. “Get the fuck out. Get out.” She tried to touch me again but I pulled myself away quickly. “Go! Get out of my face!”

All she could say, “Dyl. Baby. Don’t be mad. I can explain. It was a mistake. Just one mistake.”

I was pacing, arms not able to stay by my side and I couldn’t even look at her. “How can you explain that? It’s pretty fucking clear!” She started getting dressed giving up explaining.

As she got dressed she said, “It was one mistake, Dyl. We were apart so long. We were just friends I swear! Please forgive me.” She picked up her phone and jacket to leave. She stood against me best she could at her short height, kissing my chest and still apologizing before exiting my room.

A party couldn’t have came at a better time. I was ready to get wasted. My only hope was that Posey heard everything and would be there as she walked out. His disappointment was damning when he wanted it to be.

[atopvisenyashill]

there’s a few potential sansa romantic endgames that i think have some textual basis and i think all of them come with a lot of issues wrt sansa being able to publically claim these relationships which is why i think sansa will say her children are “fathered by a wolf” because regardless of Who she’s with or even the legality of it, she’s going to be actively concealing their identity AND YET she needs to have children.

i think especially that even though arya’s love life is guaranteed to be less complicated, sansa will feel obligated to take this “burden” of ensuring their line onto herself; she wants arya to have the freedom to go where she pleases, be with who she pleases, and follow her passions and that is not easy to do if everyone is expecting you to come home and start popping out kids. I consider them a sort of reflection of ned and lyanna in this way in that sansa, second born and not meant to rule, uses her newfound power to let the wild, youngest girl (but not youngest child) in the family follow her passions wherever they may take her.

this is all kind of weird with the nixed time jump but considering that george has talked about writing stories from arya’s pov about her adventures, I think it’s going to be fairly important in story regardless of their ages that arya will attempt to offer to stay home and marry and have children as a way of helping to protect sansa’s very shaky claim on winterfell but that sansa encourages arya to do whatever she wants. to travel, to help shepherd the boatloads of refugees from the various wars to wherever they want to call home, to settle displaced northerners in other parts of westeros as well, to get involved in the lives of the people arya is helping and agree to help them liberate their own homes by using her skills (crucial here that arya is A leader but not the SOLE leader), or to go out into the woods and be a secret not-quite-an-outlaw (bc sansa isn’t outlawing anything that could hurt arya’s lil crusades, probably is helping bankroll arya) to bring justice to the smallfolk, like whatever it is arya wants to do with her life, the point is that she offers to give it up and sansa refuses to take the offer.

and then we have the idea that her kids are fathered by a wolf. not elizabeth-ing herself here exactly because she’s having children but never publicly acknowledging a father or a husband or even a lover.

i think the candidates most likely are jon snow and theon, with both brienne and podrick as like “i’m not saying he’s gonna do it but i am saying they make a lot of sense narratively” and aegon vi as a huge long shot but still undeniable contender. if briensa does go canon everyone owes me five bucks each tho. i think the options other people float are not just wildly unserious they also clearly don’t think sansa will be The Ruling Lady Of Winterfell, but some much more minor or less emotionally resonant title and i just do not vibe with that shit at all. harry the heir, sandor, sweetrobin, tyrion, littlefucker, like never mind sansa never once showing any real interest in these guys and NONE of these dudes being satisfied by the idea of being her secret husband, if sansa says to arya “yeah i’m marrying tyrion” arya is going “blink twice if you’re being held hostage and you need me to kill him” but it’s too late because jon snow is already unsheathing longclaw and bran is attacking with every raven in winterfell. it’s not fucking happening and imo it’s unserious to pretend like it could happen in canon. (and if it DOES happen in canon you will find me rocking up to george’s house in jersey and demanding to know why he’s so weird about teenage girls). i think margaery is a huge long shot here (and not just bc it would make them both canonically on screen gay) because i don’t think she’s gonna live to the ending, and jeyne poole is too traumatized at this point in time for me to feel confident in putting her in the same category as brienne and pod.

(theon’s trauma is WHY i think he’s still a contender - post reek theon is going to struggle a lot with figuring out where he’s supposed to be, who he’s supposed to be, and who he can trust as he puts himself back together, and that lends itself nicely to the idea of a secret husband/lover imo. once again, we are talking extreme trauma bonding here - that’s just the only way i see sansa’s romances going).

if you’re asking “who do you think arya is winding up with” it’s gendry. i don’t doubt that there were some plans for edric dayne, arya, and gendry but i think gendry was always going to be her great love here, that she’s always going to turn down the idea of marriage to him but gendry doesn’t care so long as they are still together. there’s a neon blinking sign over gendry’s head that says “endgame material” and i think it’s unserious to pretend it’s not there too!!

[chironshorseass]

Imagine an AU where Percy never remembered Annabeth. It would’ve been heartbreaking

girl hi this is what spiraled me into looking at my docs and finding this wip that I may never finish but it's got that concept only I never finished it but here it is:

It starts with rain. The water pelts down on the ground, droplets piercing his cheeks like pinpricks. 

He remembers nothing as the ground trembles and as the wolves come out of the foliage.

He remembers nothing when that she-wolf, that goddess Lupa, trains him. 

“You will need this,” she says, sword against his throat. “To survive.”

“What,” he asks, “get murdered?” 

He’s perfectly still, knowing full well what would happen if he even moves an inch. His skin is iron, sure, but he still prefers not to get cut; there is something about caution that calls to him, like the snare to a fox. He can pretend, for a second, that he is fully mortal. 

Meanwhile Lupa’s eyes give away nothing. Her grip on her sword doesn’t falter. “The Romans won’t take kindly to a son of Neptune. A son of Neptune with a Greek curse.”

“If it’s a Greek curse, then why am I—“

“You shall be trained like any Roman soldier,” she says evenly. Finally, her arm falls to her side. “You cannot be seen as a weakness. A weakness of a pack can be the key to demise.”

“You must be fun at parties.”

In a flick of the incoming lightning, her form is changed to that of a wolf. She curls her lip, something he knows is the equivalent of a sneer. “Do not play games with me, Perseus. I do not like it either, but you are a soldier of Rome, now. This is what the Goddess wishes of you.”

“You know,” he says, scooping Riptide from the ground. “For all this talk about destiny and about how some goddess ordered you to train me or whatever, you’ve never once mentioned who this ‘Goddess’ is.”

She levels his stare with her ice-cold eyes. Like the brutal wind. Her fangs glint in the dimming sunlight.

“Patience, demigod. All in due time for those who wait. Besides, you must follow your instincts to find those lost memories of yours. That is what you want, is it not?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Lupa regards him, the space between them filled with howling gusts. Then, she looks up at the sky. The clouds are darker than before, heavy with rain and anticipation.

After some time like this, she finally meets his eyes. 

“There is little that I can say.”

She leaves him there, as rain pours down like cries calling for the earth. Perhaps he’s going insane, but he hears a whisper.

“Percy.”

It’s the voice of a girl. Desperate and earnest. But it’s gone as soon as it came; the voice is replaced by the breaths of air that brush past his ears. 

.

A few days pass before Lupa sends him on his way.��

All roads lead to Rome. 

So he follows those instincts she’d mentioned, trekking across California. Really, it’s the call of the sea that keeps him going. 

He remembers nothing as he cleans his shirt in a fountain. And he remembers nothing as he fights countless monsters on his journey, many of which claim that they’d fought him before. It’s no matter. 

The goddess Juno, whom he carried across the Little Tiber, promises him that his memories will return. Someday. Ignoring the gawking campers and the praetor with a face made of stone, he holds onto that hope. An invisible rope is there; he grasps it with all his might, fingers laced together in a death grip while Reyna, the praetor, interrogates him. She tells him of grand adventures and near-death experiences. How, because of him, she was swept away from her sanctuary and into the hands of pirates.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For whatever I did. I’m sorry.”

She raises her eyebrows, eyeing her metal dogs. “You seem to be telling the truth. Strange, though,” she muses. “Clearly, you remember nothing—didn’t know what I was talking about—and still, you apologize. Not very Roman of you.”

He can only shrug. “Just want to make amends.”

Her lips become a thin line, head tilted in a quizzical manner. “I’m curious to see, as a son of Neptune, what will become of you in the legion.”

She didn’t ask, but he’s sure no one knows about the Greek Curse. 

.

He finds friends soon enough. Hazel and Frank. Two kids fighting for their worth just as 

hard as Percy, and yet they do all that is possible to promote him to the Fifth Legion.

He also finds enemies. Octavian. Augur. Every time he addresses Percy, there’s a strange light in his eyes—similar to that of Lupa when she’s about to go for the kill. The hate is mutual, really.

So, his dreams are blank, and the day is bleak. He falls asleep to the sound of Frank’s snores and wakes to the sound of kids preparing for War Games.

.

He remembers nothing, but at least his skin remembers not to bleed when blades crash against him. 

To hell with mortality, he thinks, as he grabs a girl’s knife with his bare hands. 

Her eyes widen. “What the—”

She never finishes that sentence, because he kicks her away and blocks someone else’s blow. Second after second passes, and people hesitate, now. Hazel throws metallic weapons in the air with just her mind, and Frank shoots arrow after arrow with deadly accuracy.

And Percy? Well, the Romans don’t fear Neptune for nothing. 

.

“Some team you made, you and Hazel and Frank.”

He meets Reyna’s eyes, though he’s not sure what he sees there. “We’re a good team, yeah. But the victory was for the Fifth Legion. They deserve it.” 

“No arguing about that,” she says. “But there’s also no arguing that you three were the key players.”

“Why am I here?”

Aurum and Argentum growl in response; Reyna quiets them down with a pat to the head. She glances at Percy. “Right to the point, are we?”

He shrugs, leaning against his leather chair. 

It takes her some time to respond. She swishes the jellybeans at her table. Delicately, she plucks one into her mouth, the chewing slow, with control. Deliberate, he might say.

“It’s not because of the exploded water cannons, is it?” he finds himself asking. “Because that was for war strategy; you of all people should appreciate it.”

Her mouth curls into the hint of a smile. “No, Percy, you’re not here because of that.” Again, she eyes him, up and down, and not even the metal dogs make a sound. “When were you going to tell me,” she begins, “that you carry the Curse of Achilles?”

The dogs stare at him, baring their teeth, surely waiting eagerly for him to lie. Something tells him that one wrong move and he’d end up alone in the streets again, surrounded by monsters that would turn to dust and seconds later reform, over and over. He has to choose his words with precision.

“I didn’t…plan to tell you. Obviously, there’s a reason for that, though. Lupa told me I couldn’t say anything.”

Reyna raises her eyebrows, looks back and forth between her dogs and Percy. “Well. You seem to be telling the truth. Again. Any idea of when this happened? The curse, I mean?”

Pain. He tries to remember, and all he feels is pain pain pain. First, burning his lower back, and then traveling to his throat and to his brain. 

This happens in just a second, because his mind pops like a bubble, and he anchors himself to Reyna’s dark-brown eyes.

“No,” he whispers. “I don’t.”

She hums. “There are many mysteries about you, Percy Jackson.”

“You can say that.”

“I know you don’t remember anything.” Here, her face opens up to reveal a smidge of sympathy. He stupidly wonders how Reyna would be like as just a regular teenage girl instead of a child soldier in charge of an entire child army. “I can tell that you’re hurting. But the other Romans, they don’t care about that. They care that you’re a threat—Octavian, especially. And believe me, people have noticed how you can’t bleed. You fight like no other demigod, Percy.”

“So? What do you want me to do? Fucking take away the curse?”

She crosses her arms. “Playing dumb with me doesn’t work, you know. Mars issued a quest; Frank Zhang, as you well understand, was made a centurion to lead it, to free Thanatos. Rome is in more danger than you think.”

He can see the toll this is taking on her. The toll of leading alone. The hunch in her shoulders and her cracked lips and the bags under her eyes. But he can also see that she won’t take any pity from him. 

Then it dawns on him—the hidden request behind her reminder about all that’s at stake.

“You want me to go.”

“Of course I do. Not to feed on your ego, but you’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen. And I’ve watched the Amazons fight. There is also something else: you have to build the Roman’s trust. They already see you as an unreliable weapon—a son of Neptune with a Greek curse is not a good combination. So, you have to earn their trust. If you accomplish this…I have an offer for you.”

Praetor. In all honesty, he might as well go with it.

.

As Reyna promised, all eyes are on him the next day. Ignoring the hushed comments and the stares and the sneers, he goes straight to Frank and Hazel’s table. 

“So it’s true,” Hazel says, studying him. “You carry the Curse of Achilles.”

“How do you know it’s true?” Percy says, sitting next to her. “Those are only rumors.”

She shrugs. “Curses are a bit of my specialty. Also, I watched you fight. I saw how you didn’t bleed.”

“Everyone saw, apparently,” he mutters.

But she doesn’t deserve his jab; Hazel is anything but malicious. Her eyes are big and her face is open—in awe, maybe. To her right Frank fiddles with his medal claiming him as a centurion. Dakota and Gwen—the girl who came back to life just yesterday—merely eye him in wariness. Nico di Angelo, on the other hand, acts as if Percy doesn’t exist, puncturing the act once in a while with stolen glances. The ambassador of Pluto. He’s the strangest of the bunch, and not just because Percy swears that they’ve met before.

Percy decides to only focus on Hazel and Frank, for his sanity. “Yeah,” he tells Hazel. “My skin’s kinda made of metal. Kinda. I don’t know how to explain it, but…”

He takes Riptide, still in pen form. Everyone is watching his every move, he knows. Not just the people on his table. He rolls the ballpoint pen in his hand, feeling the slick coolness of such an innocent object. These Romans, they had never seen a weapon like his before.

Then, he uncaps it; in seconds the innocent pen is transformed into a sword.

Some gasp. The ones sitting with him flinch, except Nico. Percy points his sword down, toward his hand, and his eyes connect with the son of Pluto’s. They are dark as obsidian, glittering, like he knows of an inside joke only he and Percy share. Finally, Percy’s gaze lands on Octavian. Even from this distance he can see that the augur’s jaw is clenched, and so is his fist that grasps onto a teddy bear, knuckles as white as the pillars. He is one of the many standing, ready for whatever trick Percy is about to pull. Even the fauns are gawking.

“Here’s a trick.”

His eyes never leave Octavian, not once. Slowly, the fingers curled around Riptide’s hilt lower down to the sharpness of the glowing bronze. Some cry out; others murmur in wonder once his hand squeezes into the blade and no scarlet comes gushing out of his palm. His other hand is ready, laid out on the table with a serene calmness, even if his palm faces the end of Riptide, point blank. Even if everyone knows he intends to cut himself. 

Frank starts, “Percy, are you sure—”

Hazel shushes him. Percy winks at Octavian before the impact comes, rattling the table. He slams Riptide down, into his waiting hand, again and again and again and again. The pain is dull compared with the satisfaction of seeing everyone’s faces.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sword bounces off his skin—again and again and again.

“See? Nothing can pierce my—”

“Enough!” comes a voice, laced with anger and authority. Reyna. “Enough! That is enough!”

She pushes past the crowd, her eyes wide. Percy stops his little show. She’s right; it is enough, because Octavian’s nose flares and his face reddens like a ripe tomato. Percy bites down his smug smile.

“Everyone,” Octavian calls, but his voice wobbles. He clears his throat. “Back to your tables.”

Reyna doesn’t reproach him for taking over her duty as a leader. She only holds Percy’s stare and disperses into the crowd, purple cape billowing behind her. In his table, Frank begins to clap, slow and appreciative. Percy turns to him and shares his smile. 

“That was,” Frank says, mouth wide open, “I mean—”

“Pretty awesome, huh?” Percy grins.

“Fucking priceless,” Hazel corrects, then pauses, her lips pursed. “Um, sorry.”

Percy nudges her. “Why’re you sorry? It’s true; Octavian’s face was priceless.”

“Oh, um.” She waves her hand around. “It’s nothing—just sometimes forget that I’m—”

“Hazel.” Nico gives her a look, stopping her mid sentence. 

What that is about, Percy has no clue. He has no clue about many things. 

“Catholic school,” Hazel says quickly. “I’m not used to swearing.” 

Her tone is too thick, however. Too nervous. Again, he has no clue about many things. 

“Anyway,” Dakota drawls, pointing a finger toward Percy, “the one that should apologize is Jackson, ‘cause he spilled my koolaid all over the table, see? All because he’s a masochist, or something.”

They all share a laugh, and maybe the Romans aren’t so bad.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count — Part 12: Owl

ao3

masterlist

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Author's note: Picking up where the previous chapter left off, Leara must work through the rest of the peace conference, all while her day continues to spiral out of control.

Tag list:

@ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @constantfyre @kurakumi @stormbeyondreality @singleteapot @aardvark-123 @blossom-adventures @argisthebulwark @inkysqueed @average-crazy-fangirl @the-tuzen-chronicles @shivering-isles-cryptid @orangevanillabubbles @cosmermaid @thelurkershideout

Content Warning: After the third line break, Bishop is, well, the worst of Bishop. Attempted dub/con; sexual assault.

#######

The pinprick of eyes didn’t leave her even after she shut the outer door and darted down the hall. Up a short flight of stairs and then down a long corridor, she ran until she fell against the door to her cell. With a silent sob, she twisted the knob and fell into the room. 

Karnwyr was at her side at once, his soft face and warm body pressing up and into her to keep her from collapsing all the way. Shaking, Leara wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his fur. The wolf’s gentle breathing was the only sound beyond her frantic heartbeat. She tried to focus on it, to focus on the wolf. Bishop had told her once that wolves knew loyalty. If there ever was a wolf loyal to a fault, it was Karnwyr. Warm, safe, comforting Karnwyr. 

“I’m frightened,” she whispered into the wolf’s neck. 

A high whine rang in Karnwyr’s throat; she could feel it vibrate against her cheek. Sometimes, she was half-certain that the wolf understood her. Others, she didn’t know. But she wanted to hope. These days, she had little else to put her hope in.

“She’s going to get me,” she went on. Karnwyr’s ears twitched, listening. “She’s going to get me and kill me if Alduin doesn’t kill me first.” New tears gathered on her eyelashes, their frost melting from Karnwyr’s warmth. Her chest still hurt, breathing was still a chore, and she was cold and numb and electrified all at once. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die alone!”

Tap! Tap! Tap! came from the door. 

Leara stilled, her arms locking stiff around Karnwyr’s throat. A growl rumbled from the wolf as, slowly, Leara lifted her head. Meeting Karnwyr’s dark eyes, she sniffled. “Shh,” she soothed, rubbing a trembling hand over his shaggy velvet ears. “Shh.” But Karnwyr simply looked at her, a deep sadness reflecting back at her. Leara swallowed back the lingering tears. 

The knock came again. 

Struggling to her feet, Leara grabbed the handkerchief from beside her small bag of toiletries and dabbed at her face. With icy fingers, she pressed along the underside of her eyes, easing the redness and soothing the skin. This was followed by reinforcing her little glamor spells, the same she’d been using to cover up the sleeplessness for the last couple of weeks. The sensation sent a new swell of tears rising in her throat, but she forced them down. She had a job to do. She could not afford to keep crying over Elenwen. She’d wasted years of her life doing so already. 

The third round of knocking was cut short when she opened the door. 

“Ah, see, Delphine? I told you she would be here!”

The pinch-faced Breton rolled her eyes. 

“Good afternoon,” Leara greeted the Blades, an unchecked warble in her throat. She clamped her mouth shut. 

Either not noticing it or not caring to point it out, Esbern brushed past her into the room, a reluctant Delphine following. At the intrusion, Karnwyr growled, neck bristling as he pressed his side against Leara’s leg. 

“Do you mind calling off your dog?” Delphine sniffed, popping a hand on her hip. 

Leara’s fingers were already carding over the top of Karnwyr’s head. “Shh, boy. It’s all right. They’re friends.”

If wolves could look skeptical, Karnwyr did. Leara pretended not to notice. 

“What can I do for you?” Leara asked, drawing attention away from the still-agitated wolf.

“Now you’re asking?” Delphine half-laughed. “Where have you been? You disappear off to Talos knows where, chasing Dragonrend, and the next thing we hear is you got your ass handed to you by Alduin!”

“Delphine, please,” Esbern shook his head. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“It’s why I’m here,” grumbled Delphine. “Did the Greybeards turn you against us? Do they have you a little meditation mat out in the snow so you can Shout to the wind like a mad woman?” 

Leara’s eyes drifted closed. Inhale. Feim. Exhale. Zii. Her spirit was too strung out for this. “I’ve been following the path laid out for me as Dragonborn, just as you so eloquently pointed out earlier, Delphine, or have you forgotten?”

“That’s why we’re here,” coughed Esbern. 

Delphine scowled, her thin brows scrunching into little knots. “We need you to take this seriously, Leara!”

“Oh, but I do!” Casting her hands out beside her as if to say Look at me! Leara let out a hoarse laugh. “I’m taking this very seriously. I am the most serious I’ve ever been, and I was able to continue my primary mission during the Great War, unlike some people! It’s hard to get any more serious than that, but I have!”

Delphine lunged. 

Karnwyr barked. Esbern cried out. Leara sidestepped, avoiding the steel dart grabbing for her. Pivoting, Delphine rounded again; though she made no further movement, her face was dark. “Somehow, I doubt that! Because at least some people didn’t run away when things got too hard! How could we know when you went after Dragonrend that you hadn’t done it again?”

Ice tickled the palms of Leara’s hands. Her rings burned. The lingering frostbite stung. Just as Delphine understood her meaning, Leara understood hers. Delphine may be inept, but she stuck to the Blades’ mandate. Leara did not. She ran away. She always ran away. Her face tight, she turned to Esbern, who was looking toward the ceiling, an unwilling witness to the continued rift between his fellow Blades. After a moment, his gaze dropped, and Leara met it with an awkward tilt of her head. Ignored, Delphine crossed her arms. 

“I’m not running now,” said Leara, flat. “What do you want? After today, I won’t be coming back to High Hrothgar. I’ll be able to rededicate myself to my oath as a Blade.” Elenwen would be hunting her anyway. If Leara survived Alduin, serving as a Blade would be all she had left. Bishop would either have to live with that or leave.

Elenwen said he would leave anyway. She was usually right. 

Clearing his throat, Esbern said, “That is part of what I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Here we go,” Delphine rolled her eyes. Leara frowned. 

“What is—”

Tap! Tap! on the door again. As one, the three Blades turned to stare at it. Karnwyr grunted. 

“Come in!” Leara called. 

Cracking the door open, Master Einarth poked his head in. In silence, he regarded Delphine and Esbern before looking to Leara. His hands flew in a quick sign. Then he watched her. 

“Thank you, Master.” Nodding, the Greybeard withdrew. Leara turned to Delphine and Esbern. “It’s about time to rejoin the peace talks. This will keep until later.”

“According to the old man, it’s already waited centuries,” Delphine grumbled, almost under her breath. Nonetheless, she brushed by Leara and Esbern to the door. 

Karnwyr made to follow Leara. “No, boy,” she whispered, chest pained. Karnwyr stared up at her, eyes wide and full. The iron encasing her lungs buckled under her breath. “I’ll come back for you later, okay? I need you to wait here for me until then. That’s a good boy,” she whispered, running her hand over his head and down his neck once, twice. “It’s for the best.”

Karnwyr whined, but Leara didn’t look back as she shut the cell’s door. 

The other two Blades were already far down the hall. Leara slowed her pace, pretending to straighten up her ruined hair. She wasn’t eager to catch up with them and risk more of Delphine’s temper. She would deal with it later. 

Outside the doors to the meeting hall, Legate Rikke and one of her legionnaires stood in the quiet discussion, though Leara saw them still as Delphine and Esbern went through to the chamber. Rikke’s eyes followed the Blades with a frown, then connected with Leara’s down the hall. 

“That will be all, Orianus. Rejoin General Tullius in the hall.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Saluting, the blonde legionnaire left. 

Then, Leara found herself face-to-face with the Legate. She just kept her shoulders from dropping under the taloned point in her eyes. “Good afternoon, Legate.”

“Dragonborn, can I have a word before you go back in there?” Rikke asked, to the point. “It will only take a moment.”

“Of course.”

Casting an eye in either direction, Rikke waved Leara closer. “Look, I don’t think talking peace with Ulfric is the way to handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

Rikke’s face was grim. “If Ulfric gets his way, he would expunge from Skyrim citizens whose only crime was to be born of a non-Nordic woman.” A quick dart of amber eyes told Leara that Rikke’s attention was on her elven ears. “That is unacceptable to free men everywhere. If you think you can get through to him, you’re either a fool or an optimist, and I don’t think you’re an idiot, Ormand."

So, the Legate wanted to caution her against the potential fallout from the peace conference. If Leara wasn’t already keenly aware that Skyrim’s—and the world’s—fate hung by a thread entangled with her fingers, she’d give the warning about Ulfric’s intentions more consideration. Yet, it niggled at her. She recalled walking through the Grey Quarter in Windhelm with Jolinar Aren. There was a cultural divide in the city that cut through its citizens. Did the people there make any attempt to understand each other? It was so far removed from the cosmopolitan melting pot of the Imperial City that she was used to. Leara regarded Rikke, keenly aware that they needed to return to the meeting hall. Yes, there were racial tensions in Windhelm—there were racial tensions throughout Skyrim and the whole Empire, even the Imperial City, if she were being honest—but until Ulfric threw her out because she was half-elven (and that was the only reason), she would push for peace. She would try. 

“Perhaps I am an optimist,” she conceded at last. “Thank you, Legate.”

Rikke nodded, mouth drawn, and they entered the chamber. 

Leara had a peace to negotiate.

·•★•·

The melancholy shroud that wrapped around her with the strength of burial linens hadn’t left when she woke up far too early the next morning. For a while, she lay there, the weight of darkened memory pressing into her chest nearly to the point of suffocation. Pearls glittered in her mind’s eye, fractured and crumbling to bone dust with every beat of her heart. And oh, how deep her heartbeat felt, pounding a drum she never knew she could play. At once, there were festival and funeral drums dancing together. Joy mingled with grief, and it wouldn’t leave her. It clung to her like white sand between her toes, working its way throughout her person until she came through pain to be a pearl herself. Safe in her warm bed amid the furs, behind palace doors and city walls, she still felt thousands of miles and years away. Lost, lost to a time without balls and wars, or at least not the kind that moral men understood. She couldn’t sleep again, not with that melancholy kissing her soul. 

One glance at Julia on the other side of the bed told Elisif that her friend was awake. Supine on her back, Elisif could only see part of Julia’s face and the trickle of tears slipping down into her hair, spread in a dark cloud across the pillow. 

Elisif reached out and snagged her hand, giving Julia’s fingers a comforting squeeze. “I didn’t know anyone could play like that,” she whispered. 

Julia turned to her. “I don’t even know what that was.”

“Do you,” Elisif began, then cut off. Blinking, she realized she was also crying. Divines. “Do you think it’s because she has the Voice?”

Julia’s hand in hers tightened, bone-crushing, pearl dust. “I don’t know.”

Elisif and Julia weren’t abed for long. At half past six, a knock came at the door. Although the ball ended prematurely, and they’d gone to bed earlier than expected, neither Elisif nor Julia felt as if they’d slept at all. 

It was Erdi, with a note. “Your grace, Lady Julia,” she curtsied to Elisif and then Julia, her knees and ankles wobbly. Sitting in her bedclothes with a face damp from tears, Elisif waved her on. “This came from Castle Dour.”

“General Tullius?” Elisif asked.

“Yes, your grace. He expects a reply as soon as possible.”

The note, it turned out, was a short directive telling her to get ready for a long trip to High Hrothgar—High Hrothgar!—where the Dragonborn was holding a peace conference between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. “Is she mad?” Elisif asked Julia as they quickly put together a traveling trunk. 

Julia didn’t pause her work, but she looked thoughtful. “I think she’s trying.”

“So are we!” 

Julia just shook her head. 

That was over two weeks ago. Now Elisif sat at a table in High Hrothgar, across from her husband’s murderer, while General Tullius debated giving away Markarth, and her concerns went ignored. 

The trip to the Throat of the World wasn’t horrible, per se . . . only, General Tullius made as much time for her on the road as he did back in Solitude, and traveling, Elisif didn’t have Julia’s arm and will with her to get Tullius to listen to her. Legate Rikke was willing to give her an ear on occasion, but Elisif knew that was more out of sympathy than anything. The Legate was strong and commanded respect, knowing what to do and when to act, even if her temper sometimes got the better of her. Elisif wished she could be like that. As it was, she spent most of the trip in turns dreading the peace conference and caught in the memory of sorrowing harp song. When she wasn’t pushing for the General’s attention or dwelling in her turmoil, she was entertaining Erdi. 

Oh, Bolgeir said she didn’t have to entertain her ladies’ maid, but the girl was so excited to be on the road, traveling through Skyrim, that Elisif felt she could give the girl some of the attention no one would give her. Divines knew she wasn’t going to as the two Thalmor for company. Yes, she did enjoy Elenwen’s dinner parties and soirees, but there was something in the First Emissary’s eyes that had unnerved Elisif since they left Solitude. And Hindalia, well, she wasn’t very amicable from her experience anyway. It was a very trying trip.

Sitting there, stuck in a peace conference she couldn’t believe in, Elisif hoped that Erdi was keeping out of trouble. Hopefully, the other legionnaires wouldn’t get too upset with her. 

Lost in thought, she half-watched the Dragonborn, Leara Ormand, enter the room. Legate Rikke came after her. Somewhere behind her, General Tullius and Jarl Balgruuf were talking in heated whispers, the Jarl of Whiterun seeming not entirely pleased with whatever Tullius wanted to talk about. At Leara’s reentrance, the two men quieted. 

“Where’s Master Arngeir?” Leara asked.

“He went to meditate,” Ulfric told her. 

Leara nodded, pale gold face pensive as she returned to her seat. 

Across the table, the pale Breton in armor, the one Ulfric had called Delphine before, rolled her eyes. She mouthed something to herself that Elisif couldn’t catch. No one else seemed to pay her any mind, so Elisif ignored her.

Elisif twisted the handkerchief in her lap. As soon as the Dragonborn called a recess and left, the Greybeards left to meditate, a sigh whispering in his wake. Ulfric and his general, with their guards, went quickly after, leaving the Imperial delegation hauled up in the meeting hall with Jarl Balgruuf and his men. General Tullius paced the length of the room for much of the remaining hour, his face drawn in a thoughtful frown. Occasionally, he would stop to speak to Legate Rikke or ask her a question, but otherwise, he kept to himself until the other delegates returned. Clearly, he didn’t like being here any more than Elisif did, but they came nonetheless at the Dragonborn’s request.

She was going to trap a live dragon in Whiterun!

How could she do that? Even if Whiterun still had the mechanisms that legends said were used to bind Numinex, how did Leara Ormand plan to lure a dragon into that trap? And how did she draw out the dragon? Reports flooding in over previous months made it clear that dragon attacks couldn’t be timed. But was it possible for the Dragonborn to time them? Elisif was bursting with questions, but she held them in check. Now was not the time. 

General Stone-Fist slid a new goblet of mead to the Dragonborn. Elisif then realized that earlier, when she was serving, she never set one down for herself. “Care for some mead, Dragonborn?”

Leara blinked up at him, owlish with surprise. “Oh, thank you, General.”

“It’s not poisoned,” he added. 

What?

A slight giggle escaped Leara’s mouth. “Why would it be poisoned?” 

Galmar Stone-Fist actually smiled at her. Elisif couldn’t believe it. 

Apparently, Ulfric couldn’t believe it either, if the slight crease between his brows was anything to go by. Then he caught Elisif’s eye on him, and his narrowed at her. She ducked her head. 

From the corner of her eye, she spied Legate Rikke steal a glance toward the Leara, who was sipping her mead. Perhaps Elisif wasn’t the only one who couldn’t quite make her out. She couldn’t decide if that was reassuring or not.

As she mused over this, Master Arngeir returned alongside the other Greybeards. Seeing that they were all seated around the table—more or less—Master Arngeir nodded to himself. “Dragonborn, I trust this recess has helped you.”

If Elisif hadn’t turned to watch, she would’ve missed the pale knuckles blanching as Leara tightened her hold on her goblet. “Yes, thank you for obliging me, Master Arngeir.”

Master Arngeir seemed not to notice. “Good. Now, General Tullius, Jarl Ulfric, if you would, we will resume the negotiations.” 

“Yes, let’s get on with it,” General Tullius agreed, straightening in his chair. 

“At present, the negotiations stand thus: Before our recess, General Tullius made a bid for the Rift, which was met with Jarl Ulfric’s demand for Markarth and the Reach. These terms have not been agreed to. As the mediator, the Dragonborn spoke against land trades from either side.” The Greybeard Master turned a steady watch from Tullius to Ulfric. 

Involuntarily, Elisif shuddered at the memory of the explosive shouting match that broke out earlier and her heavy hand in instigating it. But if getting a rise out of General Tullius was all she needed to do to protect Western Skyrim from being broken apart to feed the Stormcloaks, then she would do it again and again.

“Now that we have reconvened, I would ask the Dragonborn to elaborate on her reasoning,” Master Arngeir continued. 

“Thank you, I will,” Leara said, standing. Her gaze swept the room; for a moment, Elisif looked into eyes bluer than a winter sky and nearly as cold before they moved on. She shivered. Leara continued, “I recognize that all of you have come here to negotiate a treaty, and with that comes certain expectations. You see this as an opportunity. I do as well. This peace conference is an opportunity for us to come together for the good of Skyrim so that despite whatever differences we may have, we can rest assured that our cooperation here today give us the opportunity to address those differences at a later date.” She paused, breathing evenly. “I cannot stress enough how vital this treaty is as a means to handle the dragons and Alduin himself. Esbern has already explained how the ongoing conflict is feeding the World-Eater’s strength.” She clenched her fingers together. “I know with the present conflict, it’s hard to look beyond the turmoil of politics and battle strategy, but we need to remember that our enemies are not always other men and mer. History has shown us that we struggle not only against flesh and blood, but against darkness and evil itself. Was the Oblivion Crisis so long ago that no one remembers what we were fighting against? Is our memory so short that we cannot see the greater picture beyond our personal desires?”

“She makes longer speeches than Stormcloak,” Elisif heard Captain Thrain whisper in an aside to Lieutenant Orianus. 

“The dragon threat is real. Alduin is real. Many of you have seen him already.” Then Leara held out her palms so that everyone could see. For the first time, Elisif noticed the pink flush lingering along her hands, tapering into a pink at the ends of her fingers. It reminded Elisif of snowberry juice stains after having washed her hands twice but with the pigment still clinging to her fingertips. Frostbite. “I fought him, and I must fight him again, once more for all. If I don’t, Skyrim will burn, and the land you conquer and trade will be dead.”

“If you lost to the World-Eater once, what makes you think you’ll be victorious in a second meeting?” Jarl Balgruuf asked.

Leara’s hands fell against the light blue of her skirts. “Before, when I faced Alduin the first time, it was here on the Throat of the World. When I fell, he fled back to his stronghold. To defeat him, I need to cut him off at the root.”

“Why didn’t he kill you then?” Elisif heard herself ask before she thought better of it. 

Straightening, Leara merely smiled. “He couldn’t get to me. I was in a safe place.” Then she looked to Master Arngeir, who Elisif was surprised to see give the Dragonborn an almost-fond look, but it was gone so quickly that she was sure she imagined it. 

“I’m sure we’re all very thankful you survived,” Tullius said briskly. “But I can’t just agree to a truce because you asked nicely. The Emperor will expect a reason why there’s a ceasefire without a resolution. You can’t just expect us to come here and agree to your treaty without receiving anything in return. We need something substantial here, or else you could have gone ahead with your little plan without dragging us halfway across the province to talk about it.”

“Of course,” Leara agreed. “I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time, General. What do you suggest?”

Tullius tapped the tabletop. “We want compensation for the massacres Karthwasten and Kolskeggr Mine.” 

General Stone-Fist’s fist slammed against the tabletop. “Shor’s bones, what are you saying?”

It was Legate Rikke who replied. She always seemed quick to try and match Galmar Stone-Fist’s temper with hers. “You slaughtered the very people you claim to be fighting for! True sons of Skyrim would never do such things!” 

“Damned Imperial lies!” General Stone-Fist spat. “My men would never stoop to such methods, even in retaliation for your butchery at Dunstad—"

Ulfric’s face was hard. Elisif could feel the weary sigh escape Leara Ormand, even if she couldn’t hear it. “This is our homeland, Tullius. All the blood spilled in this war is on your head.”

“Don’t forget who started this war, Ulfric!” jabbed Tullius. “One way or another, you’re going to pay for your crimes.”

“If I’ve committed a crime,” Ulfric sneered, “it’s because the Empire decreed the lives of men should be held by the Aldmeri Dominion, rendering free men to be slaves!”

“Once again, the Empire gets blamed—"

“Excuse me,” Leara interrupted, holding up two frost-damaged fingers. Jaws snapped shut as she directed those fingers toward Galmar. “What happened at Dunstad? Where is that?”

“Dunstad Grove was fortified by Fort Dunstad in the Pale, south of Dawnstar,” Galmar explained. Elisif shifted uncomfortably: She knew what he’d say next. “The Imperials attacked in the night with a couple of their battlemages. Next thing our men knew, the wall was breached, and the village inside was on fire.” His voice was gruff, emotion swelling his words. Elisif felt her own throat wobble. But while tears stung the backs of her eyes, Galmar Stone-Fist’s grew dark with rage. “It was a bloodbath! The entire village was destroyed!”

A tear trailed down Elisif’s cheek. But Legate Rikke, she was affected in a different way. Rikke’s hair flew about her shoulders as she rose to her feet, righteous anger glinting in her amber eyes like fire. “That's a lie! Dunstad Grove burned because of your marauders! My legionnaires are disciplined, unlike those—"

“By Shor, that’s a mug of sheep’s piss!” Galmar Stone-Fist spat. “You saw what happened, Rikke! You slaughtered them, and not just the men, but the women and children too! You slaughtered them like animals, you butchers!”

“Do you hear that, Tullius?” Ulfric asked, low. “The blood of Skyrim’s innocents cries out for wergeld.”

“You’re determined to have our silver whether you get Markarth or not! But you don't really expect compensation every time a village is destroyed in a war that you started, do you, Ulfric?” Tullius asked, passing a weary hand over his chin. Elisif could hear the grit of his teeth. 

“What happened at Karthwasten? And Kolskeggr?” Leara’s voice broke in before Ulfric could retaliate.

“Ulfric’s made no secret that he wants Markarth. The Stormcloaks led a raid, and half of Karthwasten burned or fled!” said Rikke, still heated. “Now the town’s more vulnerable to Forsworn attacks than ever!” 

“And Kolskeggr?” Leara asked, raising a hand to cut off whatever sharp remark was pending from the Stormcloak side. 

“Richest gold mine in Skyrim. Now the Forsworn have that too,” bit out the Legate.

Leara cast a brief glance at the seething Stormcloaks. “Let me see if I understand this correctly: Because the Stormcloaks failed to take these places and the Imperials couldn’t hold them, the Forsworn came in and took over.” She sniffed, “Perhaps I should be negotiating with the Forsworn then.”

“Try if you like, but they’ll betray you as soon as your back is turned.” A storm darkened Ulfric’s face.

“Aye,” said Galmar. 

“Both sides want compensation for grievances dealt by the other,” Master Arngeir said. “The Imperials wish to recoup the losses from Karthwasten and Kolskeggr Mine, while the Stormcloaks seek retribution for the massacre of Dunstad Grove.”

“That’s fair,” said the Dragonborn, tone placid. “Seeing as both sides demand compensation from the other, the clear solution would be for both sides to nullify their claim.”

General Tullius actually groaned. “So, that’s it. You’ve dragged us across Skyrim for a social call.”

“On the contrary, General, I believe we’ve accomplished quite a lot here today.”

That was it, Elisif realized. There was nothing left to bargain for, and they couldn’t leave without agreeing to the truce, or else every military leader here would look like a fool. She wondered what Falk would think of it, then decided that her steward would grumble and say there’d be no need for her to leave Haafingar and the safety of Solitude after all. Falk and Bolgeir were always concerned about her leaving the palace, even with Bolgeir’s steady protection. Their fears of a Stormcloak assassin striking out at her in the streets of Solitude crept into her heart, coiling there with biting surety. But for all her fears of being killed during the war, Elisif was afraid of surviving it. She was afraid of what would happen to her if Ulfric was elected High King, and she was there to see it. She was afraid of the aftermath. 

She was afraid that the cost of a lasting peace would mean selling her hand in marriage to her husband’s killer. 

Except, now, Elisif began to wonder if that was a transaction Ulfric would even entertain. Often, his eyes would flit to the Dragonborn, following her as she settled the terms of the treaty. The near-constant glare Elisif had kept directed at the Stormcloaks for the duration of the conference eased, and she wondered. If the Dragonborn could bend the wills of the war leaders to her own for a temporary and non-invasive truce, what else could she do? 

“I believe we may have an agreement. General Tullius, Jarl Ulfric, these are the terms presently on the table: The Stormcloaks will forgive the compensation owed them by the Empire for the massacre at Dunstad Grove, and in return, the Empire will forgive the compensation owed for the losses at Karthwasten and Kolskggr Mine.” Master Arngeir gave them both a look as if challenging either of them to raise new objections. “You both agree to this?”

Leaning forward, Ulfric braced his arms against the table. “The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements.” His glare sought Tullius. “As long as the Imperials hold to theirs.” 

Tullius worked his jaw. “The Empire can live with these terms, yes, for a temporary truce until the dragon menace is dealt with.” He stood, then, leaned forward as he added, “After that, there will be a reckoning, Ulfric. Count on it.”

Ulfric Stormcloak barred his teeth, a silent threat, and Elisif shuddered. 

Then, her husband’s murderer’s attention fell on her. “You should be pleased, Elisif. You've done well for yourself as the Empire's pet Jarl. But beware! The Empire's loyalty is fickle. They will tire of this war, and then I will be the one dictating terms to you.” His punctuating smirk was as final as a period.

“I have nothing to say to that murderer,” hissed Elisif, turning up her nose.

“Jarl Ulfric, General Tullius, come ratify this treaty for me, please,” Leara said, cool voice cutting the heat. 

Out from under the shadow of Ulfric’s storm clouds, Elisif breathed a sigh of relief. 

As much as she wanted the Dragonborn to defeat Alduin the World-Eater and save all of those poor souls in Sovngarde, Elisif hoped that she would also be able to curtail any more warfare from Ulfric’s quarter. Skyrim needed Leara. They needed her desperately.

·•★•·

Rubbing her eyes, Leara fell back into one of the chairs in the Greybeards’ small library. The peace talks exhausted her. For a while, she’d worried things would devolve into aggressive negotiations. But thank Mara and her many mercies, she actually got through the ordeal unscathed! Or as unscathed as she could be after giving such a heartfelt speech and strong-arming Ulfric and Tullius into agreeing to a temporary peace without splintering Skyrim and destabilizing its peoples further. All while wearing the invisible corset of anxiety that Elenwen so effectively tied her in. Persuasion and perseverance under pressure were nothing new to her, but, gods, the carry-through was far more draining than she remembered.

Well, Bishop would be surprised, she decided. He didn’t think she could it off, but she had, and now there was peace. A temporary and fickle peace, but it was enough to satisfy Balgruuf. As they’d left the hall to return to their own parties, the Jarl of Whiterun pulled her aside and commended her for her efforts. “For a while there, I didn’t think we would make it through,” he said quietly.

“Neither did I,” Leara found herself admitting. “But I’m glad it worked it.”

“It won’t hold for long,” Balgruuf cautioned her. “This ceasefire of yours rests on you. The armies won’t march on Whiterun if the dragon becomes more than we can handle, but they won’t rest their heels long. They don’t have the incentive. If the World-Eater isn’t taken care of soon, their goodwill will run dry.”

“I know,” Leara said, watching the legionnaires trail after Jarl Elisif and her housecarl. “Tullius isn’t as submissive to Jarl Elisif’s will as Ulfric may believe.” She peered at Balgruuf from the corner of her eye. “He answers directly to the Emperor. If Titus Mede tells him to jump, Tullius will ask how high. If the Empire doesn’t think it needs Skyrim’s trust, they’ll settle for taming her through other means.”

Balgruuf looked surprised. “You sound bitter.”

“I prefer realistic.” She sighed and stopped walking. Balgruuf hung back, waving his guards forward. If Irileth were here, she’d have a guar. “This war is a sideshow to the politicians in the Imperial City,” Leara said quietly. “The Emperor is more concerned with holding the southern border against the Dominion.” She glanced over her shoulder, keenly aware that the Dominion was there in High Hrothgar. Balgruuf nodded, grave. “That is where the Legion’s strength is massed. But the Thalmor know this. If—when the next war comes, and it will come, they will use Skyrim as a staging ground. The civil war is just a means for clearing the way.”

“How do you know?” Balgruuf asked.

Because it made sense, she thought. While Skyrim wasn’t in their plans when she was a member of the Aldmeri Dominion, she knew how they worked. The Thalmor were more opportunistic than anyone in the Merchants Guild could ever dream of being, and the destabilization of the North was an opportunity if ever there was one. “They’re sharks,” she said at last. “Skyrim is full of blood, and when everyone is dead or dying, the Dominion will gorge. They will take the Empire from its weakest point, and that will be it.” 

Balgruuf believed her, though she knew he was reluctant to. She painted a dark landscape. But twice upon a time, he asked her to join his court as a thane, and though Leara refused, she knew in part that he must value her perspective to a point. 

She mulled over this as she sat in the library, a collection of venerations to Kyne cracked open and unread on her lap. Now that she’d thought about the Dominion taking a destabilized Skyrim, she couldn’t escape it. 

But that was a concern for later. Her present worries needed to be concentrated on Alduin and the Dragonsreach plan. 

And Elenwen. 

“Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

Starting, Leara breathed a sigh of mixed relief and exasperation when she saw it was just Esbern. Standing just inside the door, his attention roved the shelves and scroll boxes lining the walls. The room was a trove of knowledge dating back to the Battle of Red Mountain in the First Era. Many of the texts Leara couldn’t read as they were written in Old Nordic, but she had no doubt that Esbern could work his way through them as easily as any of the Greybeards. It was truly unfortunate that the Blades and the Greybeards couldn’t put aside their old strife and share in knowledge, though Leara had a sneaking suspicion that much of the information found in Sky Haven Temple would be of little use to the Greybeards. Some of it, she was sure, they would outright repudiate. 

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Esbern said.

“Not at all,” Leara half-lied, shutting the book in her lap. She didn’t bother marking the page. She wouldn’t be coming back. “Where’s Delphine?” she asked, noticing the woman’s absence for the first time.

It should’ve been obvious when the quiet atmosphere of the archive wasn’t disturbed by Delphine’s tension. 

“She’s in the courtyard, practicing her katas.”

“I’m glad to know she at least learned something during training.”

“Elanor, please,” Esbern’s sigh was heavy. “Why must you and Delphine be so at odds? We only have the three of us. We cannot afford to fight each other.” 

“Does she understand that?” 

Esbern dragged a withered hand down his face. “Delphine’s will is strong.”

“I know.” And she wouldn’t accept any opinion but hers, either. “But so is mine.” Leara didn’t go through years of exposure to the Thalmor’s indoctrination and come through with her person intact for her to surrender to Delphine now. 

A fond smile peaked through the old Blade’s tiredness. “That reminds me,” he said, a spark of his once-familiar excitement popping to life. “I wanted to ask about your katana.”

Her katana . . . “Didn’t you ask me about it before? In Sky Haven?”

“Yes, we discussed it briefly,” he said, taking a seat in one of the other chairs. “But I still have questions. I know you’re tired, but satisfy an old man’s curiosity, eh?”

“All right,” Leara resigned herself. It’s not that she never wanted to talk to Esbern. As a young Knight Sister, she was quite fond of the chronicler who kept the records and histories of the Blades. She recalled on occasion when he would instruct the younger apprentices and acolytes in their Order’s lore. It was from Esbern that Leara learned most of what she knew about Tiber Septim and the founding of the Third Empire. But that was a long time ago, and after today, her patience was wearing thin. Most Blades lorekeepers didn’t encourage apprentices to read something like The Arcturian Heresy. There would be time enough to entertain Esbern’s questions when she returned to Sky Haven Temple—if she survived Alduin. 

Putting up with Delphine would be a real pain in the—

“The Altmeris runes on the blade, those aren’t the only mark your katana bears, are they?” 

Leara blinked, then shifted. “Why?”

Esbern leaned forward, hands grasping the clawed arms of his chair. The intensity in his face made Leara want to squirm. “You said your great-grandmother was a Knight Sister during the Oblivion Crisis.”

“Yes.”

“Is there another glyph or symbol on her katana?”

Lips pinched, Leara nodded, short and to the point. “On the pommel,” she relented. “There is a rose, engraved and set with red enamel. It was a personal symbol, or so I was told.”

“I wonder what it meant.”

“I don’t know. It was important to my great-grandmother, but it was nothing I ever knew about.”

Esbern studied her. “What was her name?”

Her name? Why was he so fixated on her mother’s grandmother? She cast back into her memory, seeking a name amidst the dusty remembrances of the Breton countryside and her aunt’s kitchen, of magic lessons and whispering voices. Pastries and Spellcraft. There was a day, she recalled, before her mother left, when she never saw her again. She insisted she was being hunted, but Aunt didn’t believe her. Who or what was after Maman, Leara was never told. She didn’t even know if her aunt and uncle knew. But she remembered her grandmother, pale in her rocking chair, muttering that Marelen was just like her grandmother: She courted Death, and he drove her mad. “Avarin,” she said at length. “Her name was Avarin Racuvarla.”

“Starfall.”

“That’s the common translation, yes.”

Esbern sat back, his face aged and drawn. Something haunted him. Something besides Alduin and the years of ridicule he received for believing in prophecies that others condemned as fairytales. Whatever it was, it was serious. More serious than even the dragons, Leara realized. And that scared her. Horrified her to a level that before was reached only by Elenwen and the Thalmor. 

“During the Oblivion Crisis,” Esbern began, oblivious to the tension and terror twisting Leara’s insides, “There were few active Altmer agents in Cyrodiil. None were named Avarin.”

“I never said she—”

“In the annals, the name Racuvarla was recorded once when she took the Blades’ Oath during Frostfall following Uriel Septim VII’s assassination in Last Seed.” Esbern’s grip on the chair arms was white, hard. An eager light shown in his face, but Leara couldn’t stand to look at it. She shrunk into her seat. “That Knight Sister was Avarenya. You have the Hero of Kvatch’s katana. Which means . . .”

Then he trailed off.

Bile bubbled up her throat. She swallowed once, twice. Her chest burned. “Esbern, stop.”

“Don’t you see? Don’t you understand?” Getting to his feet, Esbern began to pace the room. “It makes sense now. Everything about you, the prophecy, it all has clicked together to form a full mosaic. It’s extraordinary! It’s a miracle!”

Fisting her hands in her skirt, Leara felt the enchantment from the Black Band scorch her skin, searing her veins and boiling her blood. Please. Stop. Don’t continue where she feared to tread. 

“It’s in your eyes, in your soul!” Still, Esbern rambled on. “The truth is plain as day now. It was no secret that she was devoted to him. Some theories even suggest they were in love. But the truth remains that if she hadn’t been an exile, it was more than likely the Elder Council would have encouraged the match! But we could never have known they were so close. Yet now it makes sense: Those were dark times, and the end of the world was at hand. Then, when it was saved, he was dead, and she left. She left, and now you are here.”

Disconnect resonated in her chest, pushing her soul beyond the confines of her anxiety and the nauseous acid within. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to control her breathing. Feim. Zii. But the course of the day had already abused her poor lungs nearly to collapse. It was all she could do to maintain her composure.

Feim. Zii. Fade. Spirit.

She sucked in a breath. Then another. “Speak plainly.”

“Your great-grandfather was Martin Septim.”

Martin Septim. The Dragonborn Emperor and last of the Septim bloodline. 

Except apparently not. 

“Was he?” Her voice was faint.

“I see it now in your eyes,” said Esbern. “They are the same Rumare blue as the Septim Emperors. There is no life without water, and Lake Rumare is the life of Cyrodiil. The Septims kept their throne on the Imperial Isle, and they were the life of the Empire. You are the life of the Empire.”

To her astonishment and mounting horror, the old Blade bowed before her. “Esbern!”

“You are the heir to the Septims,” he said. “If things were as they should be, you would be Empress of Tamriel.”

Leara pressed a hand to her mouth. 

“But the world is full of peril now, and you can no more claim your birthright than the Blades can return to Cloud Ruler Temple.” His voice rang in mourning that Leara couldn’t help but echo, but surely for different reasons. Here, at this moment, she longed for the simplicity of her days as a Knight Sister more than she desired anything else in her life.

“What would you have me do?” Leara thought she sounded far away. No, she sounded like someone else entirely. 

“Do?” echoed Esbern. “There is nothing you can do but continue toward your destiny. But this changes everything for the Blades! Once again, there is a Septim to protect, and when the dragon menace is taken care of, we must return to that mandate.”

Her soul teetered between astral flight and smothering under her flesh and bone. “Air, I need air.” 

Esbern blinked, as if seeing her for the first time. Mara’s mercy. “I see that you had no prior knowledge of any of this.”

“No,” was her thin reply.

“Extraordinary,” he mumbled, teetering on the edge of a sea of lost thought. “This must be a great deal for you to take in.”

“A bit.”

“I’ll leave you to take it in, then,” he said. “The Greybeards have taught you meditation, yes? We may be at odds over certain issues, but we can still agree that meditation is good for the soul.” He made as if to pat her hand, then, thinking against it, bowed a second time. Leara was floating, anyway. Or she felt like it. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Elanor Septim,” he muttered this last to himself as he left the library, awe sparkling from him. 

Leara doubled over, her arms wrapping around her, trying to hold herself together. The grip on her shoulders was so hard that her fingers ached. The frostbite burned anew as if it had never healed. She wasn’t just the Last Dragonborn, she was the heir to the Dragonborn Emperors. She was a Septim. Gasping, she drew her legs into her chair, loosening her hold just enough to readjust her arms around her knees. Then, they were pulled tightly into her chest. She wanted to be small, so small that she’d float away unnoticed like a dust mote in the air. But she couldn’t. Oh, she couldn’t!

She had a destiny to live up to. Not only was she to fulfill the prophecy of the Last Dragonborn, but now the mantle of the Septims fitted itself to her shoulders, weighing her down and making her more real and present than she’d ever been. 

What did she do with this information? How did it serve anyone? What would she be expected to do now that she was not only heir to Tiber Septim’s calling as Dragonborn, but to his Empire?

If people knew, would she be assassinated?

Ariella, assassinated. Geldall, assassinated. Enman, assassinated. Ebel, assassinated. Calaxes, bastard that he was, was assassinated by the Imperial Guard for threatening rebellion! Their father, Uriel VII, was assassinated before the Blades’ very eyes. Beyond them, back throughout history, assassination and insurrection defined the Septim Emperors. For all that their Dragonblood kept the Princes of Oblivion at bay, politicians didn’t care. Seldom did they take religion seriously, and when they did, it often turned to heretical and cultish practices. Hadn’t she touched on this during the peace conference? Even if her Dragon Soul helped her guard the world against Alduin’s maw, as soon as she inconvenienced an important figure or got in the way of some upstart’s plans, she would fall as easily to the assassin’s blade as any of her ancestors. 

She couldn’t stand for that. Martin, last and greatest of the Septims, he didn’t fall because he stood in the way of someone’s machinations. He faced the Daedric Prince of Destruction for the good of Tamriel and sacrificed himself to seal the liminal barrier once and for all. If it was from Martin Septim’s line that she sprouted, maybe she should fall in her battle with the World-Eater. Better than being taken by the Thalmor and killed by Elenwen for her defiance. 

It sounded eerily like Kintyra II and the War of the Red Diamond. 

All illusions of choice shattered like brittle fish scales from before her eyes. She was a Septim. She was going to die. She was destined to die.

She was a Septim.

When the first tear fell, she couldn’t stop the others that followed.

·•★•·

Her arms ached when he pried their death grip from around her knees. 

“Stop, stop,” she choked, chest too full and heavy and tight and—

“No can do, sweetness. You’ve been hiding in here for over an hour,” said Bishop.

“I want to hide!”

“Hey, you’ve been crying,” his rough fingers brushed as the still-present tears gathered under her lashes. Leara jerked back, but his other hand on her shoulder held her in place. “I’d’ve thought you’d be as pleased as a queen since your little peace plan seems to have worked and all.”

A shudder rocked Leara’s body. “I am pleased, but I, I.”

“Is it because that Thalmor bitch spoke to you?”

A tremor ran through her limbs, whether from stiffness or fear, she wasn’t sure. It was likely both. Prickling along her skin sent the fine hairs on her arms and neck standing on end. The whiff of ozone stung her nose. “What are you talking about?” She was hoarse.

She needed water.

“You don’t have to hide from me, darling. I saw you together.” Bishop’s tone was almost gentle. “Is that the reason you keep refusing me? Do you want to be dominated? Because I promise you, sweetness, I can dominate you in ways she could only dream of. Unless . . .”

Leara could only shake her head, fresh tears and new terror swelling inside her. Pounding started up a long drone at her temple. 

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those women who think real pleasure can only come from another woman.” The gentleness was gone. His hands grasped hers, crushing. Fragile nerves trembled and threatened to shatter in his hold. “C’mon, let me show you what real pleasure is! One night with a man like me, and you’ll forget that Thalmor bitch and all the lies she’s whispered in your ear.” He leaned toward her, and the memory of Elenwen’s breath on her ear, her lips on her skin, constricted Leara’s throat. She couldn’t breathe. “I can touch you in ways she couldn’t hope to, I can reach places inside you that no one else could find.”

Jerking, Leara’s chair went falling back. She was stunned only a moment before she scrambled away across the floor, her skirt tangling around her legs. Bishop, not expecting the chair to fall, stumbled forward with a shout. Leara shot a frantic look over her shoulder to see him catch himself on the upturned chair legs before he could faceplant the shelf in front of him.

Good, at least the books were safe.

“Damn it to Oblivion, woman!” Bishop rounded, eyes a poisonous fire, but Leara was already at the door, her back to the wood and her hand on the knob. Her heart was thundering so loudly that it was as if a storm had sprung up around High Hrothgar, threatening to tear it from the mountain. “When will you stop playing hard to get?” He stalked forward, every inch the hunter he claimed to be. 

She could only shake her head. Everything was swimming.

“Trust me, you’re going to want me, and when you see that, you’ll be all mine. That I can promise you!” He was almost upon her. “Never give a hunter a target, ladyship, and you’ve given me a pretty irresistible one.”

Shadows darkened Bishop’s eyes. Black spots fluttered across her vision. He was on top of her.

The knob twisted in her hand. The door disappeared, and she fell back into the hallway, scrambling away. But while Leara was faltering on her feet, Bishop was steady. Her heel caught on her skirt, and she went down.

White lightning, Bishop’s hands were on her arms, pulling her up and into his chest. 

“Am I stirring something inside of you, princess?” His voice rumbled in her ear, heavy, cloying. Princess? “Desire? Passion? I’ll gladly stir it some more until you give into it.”

“I don’t want it,” she choked out. 

“A hunter loves a challenge, sweetness.” Then his mouth was on her. “Hmm.” The moan in his chest was obscene. Leara’s knees buckled. Wind rushed in her ears. 

Wind rushed against her. She caught herself, her wrist jarring from the force.

“The woman said no, you bastard!”

Blinking, Leara stared up from a pool of silk and chiffon to see Ulfric Stormcloak looming overhead, the thunderclouds in his eyes were baring down on Bishop. Bishop, in turn, was against the opposite wall, one arm braced against the stone while his offhand clutched his shoulder. His jaw was tight, and the glare—a dagger couldn’t cut any deeper. Did, did Ulfric throw Bishop into the wall?

“Oh, piss off,” he sneered. 

But Ulfric did not “piss off.” He turned to Leara, crumpled on the ground. Akatosh, Mara, Kynareth, Divines. A red flush burned up her neck and across her cheeks. Mortification stirred every other ill feeling that accumulated in her bones since waking from her nightmare. Today was a nightmare.

To her eternal surprise and confusion, Ulfric didn’t walk away. He crouched before her, his eyes softening as he offered his hand to her. Stunned, Leara saw herself extend her left hand toward him. Her fingers curled around his. Ulfric’s hand was warm but not burning, not like the Black Band. At once, the ice lingering under her skin settled into a faint chill.

“What the Hell?” Bishop’s whine cut through. “Get off her!”

“So you can crawl back on her like a leech?” Ulfric growled back. Still, he cradled Leara’s hand in his. “She said no.”

“What do you know, old man?” Bishop sneered back. “Can you even get a woman off anymore? How’s your performance?”

Ulfric’s jaw was so tight, Leara was sure a vein would pop in his forehead. Yet she couldn’t speak. Her mouth moved, fishlike, and like a fish, she couldn’t breathe the air around her. No sound would come out. Bishop’s yammering was ringing in her eyes, but she no longer comprehended what he was saying. The tension was too much, the weight too heavy. Her lungs were so shriveled within the anxiety’s iron corset that she couldn’t draw air. 

Something in Ulfric’s face shifted, pulling his features. She tried to latch on, desperation flooding her veins. She wanted out, she needed out. A soundless sob burst out, stealing away any strength she had left. The first tear fell, and then another. 

Sound faded in and out as Ulfric took her other hand, cradling both her hands between his. She thought Bishop said something. Then Ulfric shot a half-heard, “Shut—” up? over his shoulder. Thunder raged in her chest, suffocating.

“Please,” she whispered, airless. 

Ulfric was saying something, but she couldn’t really understand him. A broken “safe” and “breathe” made it through, but her mind was too sluggish to make sense of it. 

Her veins began to burn.

“What is—on—”

Ulfric looked up in relief. 

Then Master Arngeir was beside Ulfric, and one of Leara’s hands was passed to him. She thought she heard him ask Ulfric what was wrong, but whatever he said, Leara heard it as if from underwater. Her tears were drowning her, flooding her lungs.

She wanted out, she wanted away.

Take me away. 

Feim. Zii.

“Paarthurnax,” she rasped. She thought she rasped. She thought.

A frown pinched Ulfric’s brows, but Master Arngeir simply nodded. “Jarl Ulfric—up.”

Ulfric’s arm slipped warm and heavy around her waist, and Leara found herself being drawn to her feet. Her knees wobbled, but Ulfric’s hold on her was steady. 

“Let me see her,” Master Arngeir said, drawing her other arm around his shoulder. Elevated between the two, she felt air trickle into her lungs. Feim.

Leara gasped, and the sobbing began in earnest. Zii.

A cloth was pressed to her face.

“Hush, child,” Master Arngeir murmured, wiping at the tears. “We will take you.”

Beside her, supporting the brunt of her weight—though there wasn’t that much there these days—Ulfric remained silent. Leara could sense the storm brewing in his presence, but for the first time, she wasn’t afraid that it was directed at her. 

It was for her. 

[lukedanger]

Owlcatober - Day 2 - Fake Names (KM)

Day 2 of @owlcatober, focusing on a group of differently named adventurers preparing to infiltrate the Kingdom of the Cleansed...

[Ao3 Link]

And so dear readers, we leave the tale of the Baroness to follow the deeds of Sir Tristian, friend to Amalia of the Kingdom of the Cleansed! And the tale is now written not by Linzi the [insert title later], but Brynn the Ca

“Story check.”

Linzi looked up as she was interrupted by Ekundayo, her heavy maille shirt rustling as she did. They were all dressed differently, even Tristian had traded his Sarenite robes for the earthen robes of a humble pilgrim. A large black furred wolf with a riding harness was also sitting by the fire with them, next to Tristian at the moment.

“C’mon,” Amiri growled, clearly unhappy without her oversized sword in favor of the javelins, hatchet, and small shield of a skirmisher, “We went over this a bunch of times. I’m not dumb, I’m even learning those stupid letters!”

“Stories fall apart in the details,” Ekun retorted, having wrapped his head in cloth in a Thuvian style. “I will start: Taiwo, mercenary from Thuvia. Came north to see the world, offered to guide Tristian’s party. Prefer to be left alone.”

Amiri grunted, shaking head. “Fine - Valeria, thief from Numeria. Got caught robbing a League tower, sold as a slave, broke out after pushing a mill wheel for years, looking for a new life in Gevaudan.” She glanced at Octavia, “You next.”

“You had to use that as a background…” the wizardess exhaled, shaking her head despite the large pointy hat and thick black robes she was wearing. “Okay: Aurelia, necromancer from Galt trying to redeem herself. Fond of quite good whisky, late night strolls, and hates cities.”

Their attention turned to Kaessi, wearing a worn gambeson with a spear propped next to her seat on a log. “Layla. I came here to make a new life away from Qadira, joined a village militia with other settlers, and deserted after the troll attacks.” She cast a particularly harsh glare towards Tristian - the kind that stayed whether she was feeling kind or harsh that day. “So why does he not need to lie?”

“Amalia is… not fully aware,” Tristan admitted, looking down as if in shame as he was judged by kindness. “She knows me only as a humble pilgrim who was interested in how the Kingdom of the Cleansed offers redemption.”

“The covers were my suggestion,” Ekundayo added, “to reduce suspicion.” He turned to Linzi, then frowned at her notes. “I thought you left the book behind? Too iconic.”

Linzi exhaled. Yes, he had been quite firm on that. “A Cavalier of the Paw still has her entry in the annals to consider! A worthy cause sought, and a worthier one to charge into!” She stood up, the heroicness of the pose rather dampened by stumbling. Linzi was unused to the weight of maille on her shoulders, even with the belt of strength that Valerie had lent her.

“Regardless,” the bard-pretending-to-be-cavalier continued, “You can be sure to follow Brynn into gllloorrrrrrious battle!”

“Speaking of paws,” Amiri grumbled, “where’s Dog?”

Ekun sighed. “Too known. Besides, someone else plays the role of war wolf. Brynn?”

“Oh, right,” Linzi had almost forgotten the most important part! “Thank you Sir Tristian for keeping an eye on Gnaw while at Tuskdale!”

She could see Kaessi tilting her head and mouthing ‘Gnaw’ in confusion as the large black furred wolf rose and sniffed Tristian’s hand.

“Perhaps you should get her out of the harness for tonight,” Tristian suggested, gesturing towards Linzi.

“Oh, of course!” Linzi really should have known better. She didn’t have a squire, after all! Then again, I end up playing squire often enough… she thought as she started removing the strapping. Oh, if only she could write what she was really doing: she knew readers would have a laugh at it.

Hopefully the Baroness did not realize it either. That would be awkward. And embarrassing.

====

NOTES:

While I do not plan on doing as much with Kingmaker for Owlcatober, I did want to do a few things and test the waters a bit. Since KM was my first stab into Pathfinder at all I went relatively generic, and the baroness I rolled for it ended up as the proto version of Elaina. I've been mulling on ways to reroll her to stand out as her own character. Luckily, a confluence of circumstances such as the name I grabbed for the barony and certain problems like "They're In This Together!" constantly repeating offered an idea...

[writing-rat]

Wednesday's Gifts

Pairing: Enid Sinclair x Wednesday Addams

Content: Fluff, Wednesday's birthday, Just cute stuff, Enid knows Italian (translations at the bottom)

Summary: It is nearly Wednesday's birthday so Enid decides to make her something.

It was about to be Wednesday’s 17th birthday and Enid was excited. Unlike last year she wouldn’t make a secret party. She had asked Wednesday what she wanted to do on her birthday where Wednesday just said ‘writing all day’. Enid would allow that as she knew what her girlfriend was like. She did have to get her a present however so that’s when she knew what to make. She wold make them bee plushies. She wold make them matching too. Enid’s would be rainbow while Wednesday’s would be white and black.

She had gotten to work straight away when Wednesday was at the Hummer’s club. She was wanting to do it secretly as she didn’t want Wednesday to see it. She wanted to see the genuine reaction. She was crocheting while Thing was playing with the music, playing pop music and K-Pop, but mostly K-Pop. Thing was also reading the newest fashion magazine that Enid had read already. The 2 were very comfortable with each other, Enid facing away from the door so if Wednesday came in she could quickly hide it. 

After 10 more minutes, the door opened and Enid jumped as she quickly hid Wednesday’s bee and was holding the rainbow one as she was pretending to crochet that. She looked over at Wednesday who was taking off her hoodie that she had stolen from Enid’s wardrobe. It was dark purple so she was happy with the colour and could wear it without her colour allergy. She was taking her remade snood off too as she looked over at Enid, only in a plain black top and black sweatpants. “Hello cara mia. What are you making?” she asked, tilting her head and furrowed her eyebrows curiously. Enid smiled. 

“I’m making a bee plush with pride colours!” she spoke happily, Wednesday smiling at the wolf’s happiness before dropping it and sat down. “You may continue. I shall now write about Viper’s adventure,” Wednesday stated, ending the conversation before she was writing her next chapter. 

Enid, knowing she would be distracted, immediately started on the monotone bee again as she checked the alarm clock. 5pm. Wednesday would finish at 6pm so she would be able to give 5 minutes to spare to hide it. She was quick to try and finish it as she was knowing Wednesday would figure out she was hiding something after a few days. She also had 2 days till Wednesday’s birthday so she had to get it done. She had also bought her other gifts so it wouldn’t be too bad but Enid was determined. She would even pull an all nighter just to finish it. After 55 minutes, she quickly stopped having half finished it before she put it under her covers and pretended she finished her own bee. 

“Don’t wait up for me, I have some business with Weems,” Wednesday spoke abruptly, Enid blinking in shock. “What? Why if I can ask?” Enid asked curiously, her head tilted like a puppy again. 

“Just something about therapy,” Wednesday hummed out before she left. Enid was about to say bye but she was already gone. Shrugging it off, she worked on the bee again.

This continued up until 7pm when it was completed and just in time for dinner too. She smiled as she put it in the box of gifts before she went to dinner, ready to treat Wednesday on her special day.

-

It was soon Friday and it was Wednesday’s birthday. Enid was up early due to asking Thing to wake her up. Thing did luckily as she immediately sat up and was getting the big black box and slowly went to her girlfriend’s bed before joining her. She was kissing her cheek and face as she knew Wednesday wouldn’t be mad at her. It was about 5am anyway when Wednesday would be waking up. Grumbling, Wednesday held onto Enid and was big spooning her. “Dreadful morning,” she spoke in a raspy, soft voice as she kissed the back of Enid’s neck gently. Enid just grinned.

“Good morning! Happy birthday cuervo,” Enid greeted, turning around and kissing her cheeks. “What was that?” Wednesday hummed out, teasing Enid. She had taught her how to say Happy Birthday in Italian after all. Enid rolled her eyes but were grinning.

“Buon compleanno, corvo,” Enid responded to her. Wednesday couldn’t help but nuzzle up.

That was how they spent a little bit of the morning before Wednesday stretched sitting up. Enid was in follow before she quickly handed over the black box. “Birthday presents. Open now,” she spoke with a smirk. Wednesday was confused but nodded as she opened the lid, seeing the wrapped packages minus a monochrome bee. “You.. made a matching one?” Wednesday spoke, looking at her softly with a small smile. Enid nodded. “Grazie mio lupo,” she spoke. Enid felt cocky knowing that. She proceeded to watch Wednesday open the gifts one by one. There was a plastic scorpion toy, a black cat taxidermy and also a dissecting kit. 

Wednesday hugged her gently for her gifts before she was kissing her. “We should get ready for school now, hm?” she asked. Enid nodded happily as she was staying close to her before she went and got her uniform, letting Wednesday shower first as usual.

-

Translations:

Cuervo - Raven

Buon Compleanno, Corvo - Happy birthday, raven

Grazia mio lupo - Thank you my wolf

[chaoticstarlightwonderland]

Danganronpa Characters as Dungeon Meshi races Pt 2

Link to the previous post below

Byakuya - Elf. Originally Togami’s were were a family of low-mana elves but they were able to do well as merchants, to the point where they “won a seat at the table of the most powerful elves”. Mana varies as while they can marry into magical families their no.1 priority is economics. They have the children competing like in canon but at a much smaller scale. Byakuya does not have much mana but was able to become heir (though maybe it hasn’t happens yet to get an excuse for him to be adventuring.

Gundham Tanaka - half-elf mage who acts the same even though mages are normal here. Claims to be Half demon and half angel in canon as well, half demon being a metaphor for his abusive father. Maybe the father was human and overtime grew resentful over his young-looking wife and the child taking forever to grow up. He took his resentment out on them, the mother fled with Gundham, but unfortunately he already began to see his existence as a curse. Despite being an elf, he uses gnome style magic as it became apparent he was very suited for it. His hamster are 4 spirits who around him looking hamster shaped.

Sonia - Elf and “princess” to an elf community. Probably better described as an heir to a duchy. She is possibly related to the obsidian skin royalty but not close enough to have it herself. She has a secret interest in the ancient arts and with demons. It’s purely scholarly, however. Any magic she has learned is only helping her people and their land.

Celeste - Either a human pretending to be an elf or an elf pretending to be a half-elf. All for her wish to be special. Was able to gain quite a bit of wealth from gambling, but is constantly travelling with mercenary guards because there are lot of people who don’t take kindly to suspicious foreign taking all their money.

Imposter - An artificial beastman. They were forcefully created like Izutsumi but can transform like that elf guy in the canaries. I’d say Imposter has a base form that looks like a tall man, and at least two animal forms, a boar-like one that blend them in with orcs, and a wolf-like body that can blend with kobolds. Imposter uses these forms to go through different communities avoiding attention from anyone that can hurt them.

I’d like to hear other people’s ideas since there are a lot of characters I’m not sure about.

Part 1 is here: https://www.tumblr.com/chaoticstarlightwonderland/751354644714881024/danganronpa-characters-as-the-dungeon-meshi-races

[waterlilychaser]

i just know the marauders era characters would have fucked with animal jam

sirius would have been a MASTER trader he’d charm people into giving him good deals on all the rare item and prob had all the spiked collars and headdresses etc. he also probably would have started a youtube channel and actually gotten famous.

james would have been obsessed with the quests. especially the eagle adventure. and he probably would have bought memberships for his friends.

remus would not have accepted the membership and probably just goes online whenever his friends beg him to. and like. he’s just that scraggly little wolf (the regular not the arctic) maybe wearing one of those little scarfs (you know the ones) and his username is like soggyburnttoast or smth

peter definitely would have scammed people. like when you do the trades and then it’s like oop i’m gonna cancel and then you just don’t and he runs away with the items. he’s almost as item rich as sirius tbh.

regulus probably would have been really into the lore the elders and the phantoms (y’all ever watch those julian2 videos? i’m thinkin like that). he also probably would have done the paintings.

lily would have made the prettiest dens. regulus would give her his paintings for them and james would give his quest items for them. so they were DECKED OUT.

barty and evan were definitely role players. warrior cat. family. cult. idk there was some weird stuff going on that website.

i think marlene would have also been a role player. she would probably would have pretended to be a guy to get girlfriends.

and dorcas would collected things specifically to make good outfits. and she’d have a ton of animals that are all super cute and have cool names.

pandora would have had a bunch of the pets.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Silmarillion as the Crane Wives pt 2

I’m doing more of this because this band is so good and gives insane Silm vibes.

Turn Out The Lights: Yet another very Feanor coded song. ‘Turn out the lights on your racing mind’ It also works for Curufin and Celebrimbor for similar reasons. It kind of sounds like ADHD or someone having a panic attack so it fits very well.

Queen of Nothing: My girl Idril. ‘Isn’t this what you wanted? Time sure feels like it’s running out.’ She’s probably singing it to Maeglin but maybe also to Turgon if she’s harbouring some anger. ‘Such a heavy crown.’

The Wolf: Celegorm, feral vibes you know?

The Moon Will Sing: I know I did this one last time but I had another thought. The sons of Feanor because he is sort of the sun right? He’s overwhelming, he burns with quite literally more than anyone else, even when he dies everything revolves around the impact he had on everyone around him. It’s his story even when he isn’t there. And the vast majority of his son’s actions in the Silm is directly because of him and the sheer devotion they have to him. They are nothing without their love for their father, it’s who they are the sons of Feanor. ‘Bore the shadows that you made, with no light of my own.’ It’s just really sad. Curufin especially as the one who’s main attribute in everyone’s eyes is being a reflection of him but not as impressive.

The Strangler Fig: Luthien to her father and Celegorm. ‘All you’re doing now is losing me.’

Drown You Out: Beleg and Turin. Beleg’s need to find him and be with him and Turin’s grief. ‘But your song sings in my veins and I’m singing too.’

Here I Am: Elrond’s abandonment issues. This is so perfect for him at literally any point in his life with any meaningful relationship he’s ever had. ‘Here I am, again, the one, that gets left behind!’ He’s literally lost everyone this is his song.

Safe Ship Harboured: Turgon and Orodreth. Yes. It’s them.

Down the River: Fingolfin to Feanor. Does this need elaboration? It’s about the Helcaraxe.

Take Me To War: Galadriel was my first thought. The closest thing to a rival for Feanor. This song is about when she first decided to journey with her brothers and cousins to Middle Earth after a sheltered childhood in Valinor. Because young Galadriel absolutely is angry after Aqualonde and it’s a fairly large part of her motivation as well as a wish to rule.

Can’t Have It All: Nerdanel. It’s perfect for her. ‘You won’t find me where you left me, no I’m long gone.’ She knows how to stand up for herself even to someone she loves.

Ribs: Serious Haleth vibes. Just the entire song. ‘How lucky you are, handed down a shield for your precious parts.’ ‘. ‘The dark doesn’t frighten me, I chose to close my eyes it is mine.’

New Discovery: This song is Finrod and Finrod is this song. He’s the adventurous one, he wants to know everything there is to know about all the creatures and places of the earth. He’s the elf to have the first dealings with the Edain and one of the more amiable dealings with the dwarves.

How To Rest: Kidnap fam. ‘The heart is just a muscle with a rhythm of its own.’ They weren’t expecting or planning to love each other or start seeing each other as a form of family, they’re all traumatised and it’s really complicated, but they end up doing so in a way regardless. Whether any of them wanted it or not.

Easier: Maedhros. I love this song and it fits him pretty well. Because nothing’s ever been easy for him. ‘And if I were not myself would this be easier?’ ‘So I’ll just close my eyes and try to pretend, that it gets easier.’

[ffsanaaaa]

Ok, now that the first pjo season is finally over (😭) I want to share my pitch for the future adaptations from the Riordanverse, because since daydreaming is for free I will now pretend I work with Rick and Disney and tell you what I'd do if I were their Kevin Feige.

First of all, do we all agree that if Heroes of Olympus really gets adapted it should be a separate show, and not PJO 6th season, right?? I hope so because they're completely different stories. So, if we will already get 2 connected shows, why can't we get more?

And maybe it's because I'm a big marvel fan but I really believe in the power of crossovers. There's something magical about seeing characters originally from two different worlds/stories interacting with each other, and I'm not only referring to the MCU. I mean, remember the episode where Hannah Montana and the Wizards of Waverly Place all went aboard on Zack and Cody's cruise ship?? Or when all the Disney Princesses appeared together on Ralph Breaks the Internet???

So imagine having 2 original spin-offs released in the years between each season from PJO. That way we would get the chance to meet not only Camp Jupiter but also some of the characters who are originally from there before HOO.

My idea of a title for the first show is "The Children of Rome", and the story would be set right after the events from Sea of Monsters/PJO Season 2, where we would follow Reyna as one of the main characters and all the journey she went through after her encounter with Percy and Annabeth on Circe's Island.

From being kidnapped by pirates to being trained by the wolf Lupa (which I think it would be really nice to actually see, since we only got a brief explanation of how it works in the books) until she finally arrives at Camp Jupiter and is first welcomed by Jason. Here I think there's even a great opportunity for a parallel between him and Thalia, since season 2 will have ended with Thalia resurrection and her iconic line (that could be adapted so to fit her last name) "I am Thalia Grace daughter of Zeus", so Jason's first introduction could be with him saying "I am Jason Grace son of Jupiter" (I already have chills only from imagining the scenes).

This could be a 3 or 4 seasons show, where we would see Reyna and Jason ascending to Praetor and their battle with the titan Krios, and in the last season (after PJO’s last season) we would see Nico's, Hazel's and Frank's arrival, wrapping the series with Jason disappearing.

Now for my second spin-off idea, it would be set after Titan's Curse/Season 3 and we would follow The Hunters of Artemis, which is already a great title by itself, and I would be satisfied with only one season but I would definitely not mind if we got more!

It would be a simpler show, with basically badass (ace) girls adventures, to see what they've been up to during the events of book/season 4, while we also get to know more of Thalia, her past trauma and how she misses her brother since she doesn't know he's alive. The Demigod Files story, The Sword of Hades, where Percy, Nico and Thalia go to the underworld and meet Bob could even happen in this show through her pov, that way we would understand better why she got so shaken with their encounter with the goddess of ghosts and regrets.

All of that would be a nice contrast with Jason's journey, since he was too young when he got to the Camp and doesn't remember much from his past with the exception that he was abandoned, so he doesn't even imagine that there's someone who cares and misses him. All of this would culminate in HOO first season when they finally get reunited.

No, it’s not a coincidence that I’m focusing a lot on Jason, but ironically the reason for that is not because he’s my favorite character, actually between the seven demigods from the prophecy he’s one of my least favorite, and I hardly ever find people in the fandom who has him as their favorite, which I think is pretty sad (specially now that I finally finished reading The Trials of Apollo, because I honestly I want to scream everytime I think about how much he is underrated and poorly explored as a character).

What I believe to be the reason for all of this is that, even though they’re nothing alike, Jason is often compared to Percy due to both being the son of one of the most powerful gods in Olympus and pretty much the leaders of their respective Camps. But that’s still not a fair comparison, because it’s like “who do you prefer, the boy we’ve known for 5 books already in which we got to first know this amazing world through his eyes, thoughts and feelings… or this dude we just met and that people say to be as good as him?”

Not only that, but between all the new characters we get to know in HOO (if I remember correctly) Jason is the one with less flashbacks scenes, and I get that this happened because he lost his memory, but this makes that most of the information we have about Jason's past is told to us, and not showed.

So, deep down, we know why Jason's personality is so different from Percy's. We know he'd struggled since he was a little kid due to the pressure of being raised to be a leader in such a cold and harsh environment. We know that even though he was immensely admired in Camp Jupiter he was still deeply lonely and insecure, mainly because of the lack of a parental figure to give him unconditional love making him believe that he only had value if he was of use.

We know he is incredibly powerful and led the Camp through tones of victories. But we haven't seen any of this half as much as we've seen him getting hit on the head, so in the end that's how he's most remembered: a nice and serious guy that got hit a lot on the head.

A spin of series would give the fans a chance of really seeing all that and understanding Jason (and other characters like Reyna and Thalia) better. And, again, it might be simply because I'm a huge MCU fan, but I truly believe that if we got to meet the roman characters and camp before HOO the feeling of seeing those worlds collapsing together and interacting would be so powerful!!

In the books what happen is that we see characters that we don't know yet (therefore don't like yet) arriving at a place and meeting characters that we already love, and then in the second book is the opposite, we see a character that we already love arriving at a place and meeting characters that we don't know yet (again, therefore don't like yet). But if we got to meet everyone separately all we would feel right away is excitement!

I’m not in any way trying to demerit the books!! It’s just that now with the series we have the chance of doing something new, of really adapting this story to a new media format in the best way possible! And, since the spin-offs would be original stories, the writers and Rick not only would have the opportunity to create more freely but also to surprise the fans who had read the books already.

I’ve been sitting on this Idea since the Disney+ show was announced and I know the odds of it happening are pretty low, but I decided to share this idea with othe people who also loves these books so we can freak out together.

[firstelevens]

11 from the fanfic situations prompt list for sambucky maybe?

we now return to our regularly scheduled programming of extremely specific AU concepts spun wildly out of hand

11. hiding from pursuers

"Hey, I'm gonna go take a look at the truck; it's been making a weird–"

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees a door open and then a hand clamps over his mouth and cuts him off before he’s pulled into a dark, small space. As the door clicks shut behind him, Bucky finds himself bodied up against what feels like shelves, with a very warm someone pressed to his front.

The hand moves away from his mouth and the smell of their detergent lets him know that they’re in the upstairs linen closet.

“Honey,” he says, as soon as he can talk, “I know you find the mechanic thing hot, but we can’t have a quickie in here; neither one of us is as limber as we used to be and that door does not lock.”

It’s dark, but he can still feel the unimpressed look that Sam is giving him.

“What?” he asks. “Don’t pretend you didn’t think about it.”

“Some of us have better things to do,” hisses Sam.

“Like drag our husbands into dark closets when they’re just trying to be good communicators?”

Sam shushes him and puts a finger against Bucky’s lips this time for emphasis. Bucky can’t help but kiss it, and in the tiny sliver of light coming through the door, he sees Sam smile. 

“We’re playing hide and seek,” Sam whispers.

“And you chose to hide here?” asks Bucky. “Freddie’s gonna find you in like, ten seconds. She’s never done anything slow in her life and you picked the easiest hiding spot.”

But Sam shakes his head. “Freddie’s not the seeker.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. “And you’re telling me you pulled me in here when I could be filming this?”

“You were gonna give me away!”

“Unbelievable,” Bucky hisses.

He’s sure that Sam has a comeback ready, but then they hear the sound of tiny footsteps headed their way and they simultaneously shush each other.

“Dada?” comes a tiny voice, getting closer. “Dada, you here?”

There’s a quiet gasp from just outside, and Bucky’s sure that the door is about to open, but then there’s the soft thump of a very tiny someone sitting down, and the rustling of fabric that must be from the laundry basket that Bucky left by the closet.

“What’s he doing?” whispers Sam, trying to peer through the slats in the door.

“I just pulled a bunch of laundry out of the dryer,” murmurs Bucky. “And Woof was there, too, after his little adventure at the park.”

Woof is a plush wolf toy who’s constantly getting dragged into predicaments that threaten to permanently alter his gray and white fur. Sam and Bucky have gotten countless stain removal tips from every parent in the parish, and so far they’ve all worked, but Bucky is convinced that one of these days, there’s going to be a grape juice incident that they just can’t come back from.

After a particularly bad dive into a puddle at the park, Woof had needed two days of stain removal, and bedtime had been a full on nightmare because of it. It’s no surprise that a reunion would so completely sidetrack an otherwise very cute game.

There’s a full conversation with Woof happening right outside the door, and Bucky turns his glare on Sam. “When your mom asks why she didn’t get to see this, I’m going to make it very clear that it’s because you were scared a two year old would find your hiding place!”

“Please, you know he’s gonna do like twenty more adorable things between now and dinner.”

“You think we’ll be out of here by dinner?” hisses Bucky, and gets his answer not from Sam, but from the door at the end of the hallway.

“Riley,” says an exasperated Freddie, with all the patience that an eight year old can muster. “We were playing hide and seek, remember?”

“Look, Freddie!” calls Riley, although he hasn’t quite mastered the F sound, so it comes out a lot closer to Weddie. “Woof!”

“Yeah, that’s Woof,” says Freddie. “Maybe Woof can help us find Daddy.”

Riley gasps. “Dada?”

“Uh-huh,” Freddie says. “Dada’s hiding, remember? I bet he’s pretty close.”

They can’t see a whole lot through the slats, but it’s impossible to miss the knowing look that Freddie throws towards the linen closet.

“Atta girl, Freddie,” whispers Bucky, and promptly has his mouth covered again. That’s fair. Given the sigh that Freddie lets out, he might not have been as quiet as he thought he was.

“I know you want to play with Woof, Riley, but we gotta find Daddy first. If we don’t he might think we forgot him, and then he’ll be sad.”

“Dada sad?”

“He will be if we don’t find him.”

This seems to move Riley, because he gets up again—as he does, Woof collides with what Bucky can only assume is the bookshelf—and walks right past the closet as he calls out for Sam again.

There’s a sigh from Freddie as she follows him down the hallway with another significant look at the linen closet. “Okay, Riley, let’s check their room again.”

Riley’s giggles carry down the hallway, and Sam drops his head to rest in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“We did a pretty good job, huh?” he asks quietly.

“We did,” whispers Bucky, his hand settling at the small of Sam’s back. “Now if she could just stay a third grader forever, because I’ve seen her ride her bike, and I am not ready for her to be behind the wheel anytime soon.”

Sam laughs out loud at that, apparently forgetting the entire reason that they’re here, and instantly, they hear Riley’s faraway voice excitedly call out, “Dada!”

He hurries down the hall, Freddie behind him reminding him to slow down, and this time when he comes to a stop in front of the closet, he’s facing the doors.

“Dada?” he asks again.

“Uh, nope!” Sam replies, in a high pitched voice, as silly as he can make it. “No Dadas here! None at all!”

The door opens, bright sunlight filtering in, and a giggling Riley calls out, “Dada! Papa!”

He hugs them both around the legs, and Sam is immediately hauling Riley up in his arms. “You found us, Bug! Good job!”

Beside them, Freddie gives Bucky a knowing look, and Bucky winks at her.

Sam kisses Riley on the head, then does the same for Woof when he’s presented. “You took a little detour to find Woof, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” says Riley, clutching Woof close. “With Freddie.”

“Freddie’s a really good big sister, huh, rybka?” asks Bucky.

Riley nods vigorously, and Freddie smiles proudly. “Thank you, Riley,” she says. “You’re a good baby brother.”

“Not a baby!” declares Riley, his eyebrows immediately settling into the same scowl that every grouchy Barnes has worn over the years.

In response, Freddie lets out a sigh that is pure teenager, giving her dads the most exasperated look in the world. Before she can start arguing—a gift she inherited in equal measure from both Sam and Bucky, and has honed on her own from the minute she learned the word no—Bucky steps out of the linen closet, holding his hand out to her.

“Come on, Honeybee; let’s go make some lunch.”

For a moment, Freddie narrows her eyes, and Bucky can see the calculations happening in her head. Beside them, Riley is pouting while Sam very gently explains that Freddie just meant she was bigger than him, and that’s okay.

There’s a long moment where she’s quiet before she sighs again and turns to face Riley one more time. “I’m sorry, Bug. I didn’t mean it.”

Riley takes some coaxing from Sam before he tells her that it’s okay, and Freddie looks more than a little frustrated. It’s been a long time since Sam and Bucky needed to speak to coordinate strategies with each other, and with one look, Sam turns and takes Riley down the hallway while Bucky kneels down in front of Freddie.

“Thank you for being so patient,” he tells her in Russian, because it’s always delighted her to have a secret language for just the two of them. “I know it’s not easy.”

“It’s okay, Papa,” she says, then switches back to English. “Do we have bagels?”

Bucky thinks about it for a second. “I think we’ve got some in the freezer from Aunt Becca’s last visit,” he says. “Why?”

Freddie shrugs. “Can we make pizza bagels?”

“Honeybee, you’re a girl after my own heart,” laughs Bucky. He pulls her close and plants a smacking kiss on the side of her head, grinning when it makes her giggle. “Pizza bagels it is.”

“Pizza bagels!” Freddie cries out again, and giggles as Bucky echoes her battle cry all the way down the stairs.

[abbatoirablaze]

Surrogate Luna, Chapter 11

Word Count:  1.4k

Warnings:  slight angst.

“Luna…”

“Please stop calling me that, Sarah,” Cinna sighed as she looked to one of her closest friends.  Sarah gave her a soft smile and sat down at the edge of the water.  She noticed Cinna looking around, as though trying to keep an eye on her adventurous pup.  She laughed, “Stevie is fine.  He’s with Wanda just around the corner.”

“You know how I feel about him wandering,” she sighed nervously as her eyes strained to see the pup, “he’s like his father.”

“Adventurous…yeah…Sam reminds me of that all the time!” she laughed, “you know, when Steve was a pup he lived to be in these woods while his mother spent time at the water as well…”

She frowned, thinking of the man that she loved. 

Sarah mirrored her actions, “I-I’m sorry.  I know that it-“

“It’s fine,” she sighed, shaking her friend’s comments off, “Steve is the alpha of this pack.  I bore his pup.  I-It’s only normal that they share certain qualities.”

“You know…that isn’t a bad thing…”

She nodded, sitting up from the water’s edge, “I know…I just-it still hurts.”

Sarah nodded once again as Cinna stood, gathering herself together so that she could head back to the packhouse. 

With a heavy heart she followed after her, “you know…we could always go to another pack…”

“Sarah…” she sighed, sparing her friend a look.  She shook her head, “y-you know that I can’t take Stevie away from his pack…from his father.”

“He never sees him.”

Sadness took over her scent and Sarah instantly regretted her words. 

“I’m sorry, Cinna.”

“It’s not your fault, Sarah,” Cinna replied sadly, “do not apologize for your alpha’s actions.”

“Noted…”

“Stevie!” Cinna called into the open wilderness, “Maria?  Wanda?”

She heard her pup giggling before anything else. 

A smile rose to her face as her chubby-cheeked pup came toddling towards her, a smile as bright as the sun on his face.

“MAMA!”

“My little wolf!” she exclaimed, holding her arms out to her son. 

Stevie giggled, running into his mother’s arms while Wanda and Maria playfully chased him through the clearing. 

“Thank you for staying by my side!” she said appreciatively to the trio of women who had once been assigned to her, “you kno-“

“You’re our friend!” Wanda smiled, patting her friend on the shoulder.

“Our Luna!” Maria added in.

“I still appreciate it!”

“So long as our alpha stands at the head of the pack…we will  not leave you!” Maria smiled reassuringly, “but know that the second he does not, we will try to slip you away from here.”

Cinna gave Sarah a sideways glance, but she ignored it, nodding along with a faux smile. 

Sure, she hadn’t seen Steve, or been close with him since Sharon had marked him, but had she been aware of something that the other girls weren’t?

She was lost in her thoughts as Sarah, Maria, and Wanda began talking about everything that was going on in the pack.  So lost, that she had hardly noticed when they ended up in the pack medical wing. 

If it wasn’t for their doctor, Bruce Banner, she would have been stuck in her thoughts.

“Luna?”

Her attention snapped to the quiet doctor.  Stevie was giggling and interacting with him, reaching out for him. 

“May I?”

She gave a polite smile and nodded, allowing Bruce to take over the duty of carrying Stevie around.  He smiled as the little blonde pup gurgled excitedly and began chattering with words that only he knew the true meanings of.

“Cinna?”

Her attention snapped up again and she looked around.

Wanda, Maria, and Sarah were nowhere to be found.  He chuckled at her bewildered look, “they’re at training, Luna…”

“Oh…I-I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?” he asked curiously, “you seem a little out of it!”

She nodded, and he pretended not to notice the lie.

“Mama!”

She gave a small smile to her son, reaching out to play with his hair. 

“You look tired!” Bruce pointed out.

“I am…”

“Have you been sleeping?”

She nodded, a frown replacing her small smile as she looked to the doctor, “I-yeah…more than normal unfortunately.  Part of me feels like I can barely keep up with Stevie…”

“You’ve gone a long time without your mate, Cinna…”

This time she frowned at his insistence, “I-I’m not going back to Steve, Bruce.”

“I wasn’t saying that you should,” he shrugged, “Just making an observation is all…”

“Bruce?” she asked after a moment. 

He gave her a curious look, “yes Luna?”

“If-If I were to ask about a mark removal…” she said slowly, watching him for any signs of what he thought about it.  She sighed when he gave no notions on how he felt, “it-never mind.”

“Ask your questions, Cinna,” he said sadly, “you’re thinking of them for a reason.”

“If I were to ask about a mark removal…even knowing that Steve is the alpha of the pack and I am your Luna…his omega…”

“What of it, my luna?”

“Would you remove the mark if I asked you?”

He shrugged, switching Stevie’s weight to his other hip as the little boy snuggled into his side, completely oblivious to the conversation.

“Are you asking this because you’ve potentially found another mate?” Bruce asked curiously.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head, “Wh-what?  No.  Steve is my-“

She stopped speaking when she realized what she was about to say.  Bruce gave her another sad look before motioning for her to follow him to his office.  When they reached the sanctuary of it, he closed and locked the door, “allow me to speak freely to you, Luna?”

She nodded, “Yeah…of-of course!”

“You’ve become tired…exhausted even, yes?”

She nodded, “Yes.”

“You’re showing signs of getting weaker because of your lack of contact from your mate,” Bruce said sadly, “you allowed him to mark you and then the two of you went your separate ways.  Mates find comfort in one another.  They find strength in one another.  Especially after they’ve marked each other.”

“So…not being with Steve…”

“Is slowly killing you.” Bruce finished sadly, “you have to make a choice soon, Luna…wolves are pack animals for a reason.  It’s not entirely by choice.  Once you mark or are marked by someone you thrive with them.  It’s why so many mates perish when the other passes.  Do you want your loneliness to kill you?”

Cinna looked between the doctor and her son. 

She’d been thinking about getting the mark removed for nearly half a year, but hadn’t really told anyone about it.  But hearing the words from Bruce’s mouth made her realize that she couldn’t hold off on her thoughts, or decision, much longer.

“W-what do I need to do?” she asked seriously, looking at Bruce once more.

“Go get some rest…” he said seriously, “you’ll need your energy.”

She nodded and went to take her son from the doctor’s grasp, but he shook his head.

“Bruce-“

“I’ll watch over Stevie…you’ll need your energy…I’m not joking.  Come back later tonight and get him.  I’ll order the supplies.”

“Bruce-“

Bruce looked up from the floor of his office to where his alpha stood at the door.  He froze in his spot as the little blonde pup looked up at him. 

Steve held his breath.

He instantly recognized his son, despite having not seen him in nearly ten months.

“Wh-where is Cinna?”

“Sleeping…she needed rest.  I agreed to watch Stevie,” Bruce answered, his brow quirking as he looked at Steve, “is everything okay?”

“I-we need your help,” Steve answered brokenly, as though he was having a hard time tearing his eyes from his son.  The little boy watched him, studying his every move.  He pointed back towards the medical wing, “can you?”

“Yeah…” he nodded quickly.  He looked at Stevie firmly, “you stay here and color, okay?”

“Kay!” the blonde exclaimed in a chirp. 

Bruce smiled and patted his hair before getting up, “alright alpha…what did you need?”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he looked between his son and the doctor, “Wi-will he be okay like that?”

“Oh yeah,” Bruce nodded, waving his alpha off, “Stevie’s a good boy.  Knows when to keep himself busy…”

Steve spared his son another glance.  The little boy was entertaining himself with the crayons and coloring book.  And his heart broke a little when the boy didn’t acknowledge him as anything more than someone bugging him for a moment in time.

Chapter 12

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