#ruby contrary

[riverblossom-valley]

Riverblossom Valley spawn - toddlers

[sepiamestus]

there are so many people on this website i feel like would benefit from hearing the words 'just because you're right doesn't mean you're not an asshole'.

[genericsparklefurry]

whats a gayass xenan gotta do around here and there to not have a rarepair curse

[gayspock]

ok i cant tell whether to reload or not bc like. i REFUSE to take backsies any other decisions, butttt i think i triggered the very start of end game without meaning to & i still want 2 play about more eek omg.. am i about to be cut off from everything

[kotohq]

##. MY HEART'S GOING LUB-DUB

♡ things he has said that flustered you.

♡ contents and warnings: established relationships, mentions of making out (nirei), mentions of marriage (sakura), reader’s ears are pierced in suou’s, mild, mild, possessiveness in suou's but not really 🐧

♡ characters: sakura haruka, nirei akihiko, suou hayato (x gn! reader)

Anyone who knows SAKURA HARUKA probably knows that contrary to the delinquent facade he puts up, he is actually quite innocent. A little naive, if you will, blushing at every show of romantic affection. And everyone in Boufuurin knows that’s why he’s become subject to Suou Hayato’s teasing when the brown haired boy needed a good chuckle. And of course, you, as his very lovely partner, had to also jump on the bandwagon of endearingly poking fun at your boyfriend. 

“Y’know, Haruka, you should stop me or else I’m gonna get carried away and keep teasing you even after we get married!” This was a sentence you often say for laughs after you had yet again successfully made Haruka agitated and his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red, all the way up to his ears. Granted, the first time he heard it he couldn’t look you in the eye for two whole days at the mention marriage (it’s not that he doesn’t like it, in fact it was because he likes it a little too much that he couldn’t even make eye contact without imagining you in fancy white attire). But now, he barely bats an eye at it now with how often you say it. But today, it’s evident that that particular sentence had poked at someone’s curiosity as you can sense someone staring at you as you banter with your boyfriend. 

“You know, Sakura-kun, I barely see you reacting to... that. You’re really planning to marry them in the future, huh?” Ah, it's Suou again. His soothing voice drips with mischief, the purpose of his question is obviously to tease his heterochromatic eyed peer yet again. Haruka’s features morph into one of confusion, brows furrowed as he turns to face his vice captain. 

“Hah? What are you talking about?” Haruka inquires like suou’s question is the most ridiculous question in the world. If you didn’t know any better you would have thought suou was asking him if he believed pigs could fly, or if the earth was actually a hexagon. 

(Of course, you can’t lie, suou’s question made you nervous despite how lighthearted he said it. Your self consciousness has already prepared itself for a heartbreak trip as you await your boyfriend to continue his response.)

“Why would I date someone I don’t intend on marrying?” 

Ah, now it’s your cheeks that are heating up. 

“Are you done?” The only answer SUOU HAYATO offers to your inquiry is a focused hum. His hand fumbles with the earring, his earring, as he tries to carefully slide the hook into the small hole on your right earlobe. Though, you have to say, you have nothing particular to complain about as you wait for your boyfriend to put the earring on you. After all, you’re getting the privilege of being in the front seat staring at Suou Hayato’s face as he carefully tries to put the earring on you. Lips pursed and eyes squinted a little, he looks extra handsome when he’s focused, you note. 

“Just need to secure them with the back. And... done!” he heaves out a breath as triumph takes over his features, pulling back slightly to admire his (hardly) hard work. His lips stretch into a smile, satisfied at how the red and yellow of his earring highlights your features more. 

“How does it look?” you feel quite nervous as you wait for his reply, shyly peering at him through your eyelashes. Being so close, you have the advantage of watching closely for any twitch of his features that might indicate satisfaction, dissatisfaction, anything that can indicate what kind of reaction he’s going to emit. 

You twitch slightly at the sensation of his pointer finger and middle finger grazing your chin, touch gentle as he settles them there. You swear you see something flashing in his usually gentle ruby eyes. Something akin to satisfaction, or, even, possessiveness. But you don't comment on it. He moves your head from your side to side as if to examine you thoroughly. (he quietly notes how cute you are for compliantly moving your head.) It’s only when you feel the earring faintly brushing against your right shoulder that you become hyper aware of how empty your left ear feels without an earring weighing it down. You also become hyper aware of the fact that the earring’s pair is still dangling from his left ear, eyes instinctively flitting to it. Your cheeks begin to heat up. Oh, it’s almost as if you’re wearing a couple ite-

He interrupts your thought before you can finish it.

“I quite like it, it’s pretty on you,” his voice breaks your train of thought. His smile is quite literally dripping with mischief, and now you can clearly see it. The tint of greed in his eyes is back as he moves his fingers that were formerly resting on your chin to stroke at the earring on your ear. His composed facade would have fooled you if it weren’t for the words he utters next.

“It gives off the feeling that you’re mine.” 

Oh he likes it, alright. Too much, maybe.

“Sorry. D’you need a break?” NIREI AKIHIKO’s voice is devoid of any teasing lilt, instead dripping with concern as he gazes at you through his eyelashes, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed with a pretty tint of pink. 

It’s not the words by themselves. It’s the fact that he’s saying those words in this kind of situation. By this kind of situation, you mean with you perched up on his lap, legs splayed on either side of his thighs as he lay seated on a couch beneath you. He had uttered those exact words after what felt like 10 minutes straight of kissing

(it hadn’t even been 5 minutes, but you could barely think with how clouded your mind is). 

His question was thoroughly leaking with worry, caramel orbs boring through you as he awaits your reply. You wanted to say yes, hell, your lungs were begging you to say yes as they heaved desperately yes. You have to give your boyfriend credit, though. Sweet like always, he had noticed he had gone a little too far when he felt your lips part with breathless whines on his, and had asked if you needed a time out. Though, you don’t think he’s aware of how his voice shakes with want, or how his fingers that are resting on your hips squeezed hard like he was trying to ground himself, or how his eyes are swirling with something akin to need.

(or how he barely sounded apologetic when he apologized, and you suspect it’s because his pride soars with the knowledge that he’s the one making you breathless.)

“No,” you’re surprised at how hoarse your voice sounds, though, that is to be expected after you quite literally just had your breath taken away. Your thumb reaches out to swipe at his quivering bottom lip, gleaming with saliva and a little swollen from pressing against yours repeatedly. He leans into your touch, and you gulp away the feeling of your tugging heartstrings. “Keep kissing me, lover boy.” 

And as he lurches forward to clash your lips together again, the last thought that etches on your mind was that he really should put this on his resume: Nirei Akihiko, 16, not good at fighting (yet), hella good at kissing. 

[yrbladie]

♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎HOW DO THEY MEET AND FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU .ㅤPT 1ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ diluc, wriothesley

warnings ：fluff, implied marriage, gn!reader, a tad bit of humor, pining, slight mention of blood (diluc), enemies to lovers kinda situation and teasing (wriothesley), maybe ooc idk, non fluent writer

ㅤThe way you both met was still quite a sore spot for you to talk about. Not because it was in a bad way, of course, it was just a little bit embarrassing, to you at least.

ㅤYou, a new person in Mondstadt, just having moved recently to the City of Freedom, felt like the customs should be learned. And what better costume the people of Mondstadt had than dancing?

ㅤAt least that was what the bard in the tavern told you, as he gathered everyone around together for some dance practice classes.

ㅤLike he said, "there was nothing better than learning together with your friends".

ㅤThe only thing he seemed to have forgotten is the crucial fact that you didn't have any friends yet.

ㅤAt the end of the selection, you were by yourself, completely embarrassed to not have managed to find a partner yet.

ㅤThe bard instead quickly said he had forgotten about you and decided to partner you up with someone himself, stopping you from leaving the place altogether to hide in your house for the next week.

ㅤAnd it just so happened that at the same time, Diluc Ragnvindr, as you knew him, passed by. His red locks of hair swaying in the wind.

ㅤAnd in a second, somehow the bard had managed to drag the man out of his duties to your side, a boyish smirk on his lips. Diluc seemed to be complaining that he had no intention of being part of the event whatsoever, but unfortunately for him, he had no choice in the matter.

ㅤHis murderous glances towards the bard dressed in green did not pass unnoticed by your eyes but you couldn't say anything before that ruby gaze turned to you.

ㅤDespite feeling completely speechless before the man you so heard of, all you could think was how you've never seen such beautiful eyes before.

ㅤIt took a while to notice that he was also staring quietly at you. Just you both, standing awkwardly by each other's side with shy shared glances here and there.

ㅤBut as the bard started the dance practice, every partner having their own fun. Friends, lovers and strangers gathered around under the same music and happiness, the tension between you both finally eased a tad bit, just enough.

ㅤ"Well, since we're already here. Care to share this dance with me, master Diluc?"

ㅤYou asked, a grin dancing in your lips, as you extended one of your hands to him.

ㅤAnd contrary to all of your expectations, having heard only rumors about him, the man they called ruthless and cold, grinned back at you. It was just for a few seconds, but it was more than enough to steal your breath away.

ㅤ"I suppose we could try, yes." And you thought you caught some sort of quiet confidence in his tone. Like he had practiced years for this.

ㅤWell, dancing was never your forte but it was probably not that hard to learn in a few seconds, right?

ㅤThat was what you thought before the missteps started to happen, of course.

ㅤ"Do not mind me." He said, but you felt desperate each time he winced as you stepped on his feet in the middle of a dance step.

ㅤAnd you found yourself admiring him for how well and flawlessly he sometimes managed to dodge your fumbled steps. His composure never wavering as he kept guiding you through a steady dance.

ㅤYou felt like Diluc could as well be your savior. The savior to your already nonexistent reputation that is.

ㅤEven if you stepped on his feet one too many times, instead of being annoyed as he would have been were it anyone else, Diluc found it endearing.

ㅤHe had to lean over you so that you wouldn't see his own small smile as you fretted over him, asking if his feet hurt. It did, but there's no need to mention that.

ㅤAt the end of the dance, Diluc had held your hands one second longer than he should have, and you also didn't feel like ending this so quickly.

ㅤSo you called out for him.

ㅤ"Let's meet again. I think I still don't get this dance."

ㅤAnd he smiled. You had no idea if this was a good or bad thing for your poor heart.

ㅤEveryone knows that fire burns fast and ruthlessly, taking away what it needs before disappearing with the break of dawn. But Diluc's love was the opposite.

ㅤIt was slow, hesitant. Carefully blooming like a fragile Small Lamp Grass in the soft glow of first-time affection. Diluc carried these emotions like a delicate dance of vulnerability and anticipation.

ㅤLike a steady flame, casting a warm glow over the tapestry of you both interwoven destinies.

ㅤThe touch of hands became a silent agreement, a subtle acknowledgment of emotions too profound to articulate. In the gentle ebb and flow of your interactions, a slow crescendo of emotions built, resonating with the innocence of a love untouched by the scars of the past.

ㅤYou both were so oblivious, despite the greetings that turned to hugs that lasted longer each time and the shared glances at each other's eyes for a moment too long. Small things that all seemed to notice but the both of you.

ㅤSo much so, that even Venti, the bard you've grown to know and whose presence was always within the vicinity, one day commented that you should invite him to your wedding next time, and immediately in the next second he was kicked out of the tavern.

ㅤDiluc felt himself slowly learning about the intricate nuances of what love was. Of what it could be.

ㅤYou taught him that love didn't always end on a rainy day, and that your blood would never stain his hands.

ㅤHe grew under your touch, with a newfound confidence of a love well nurtured slowly with the pass of time.

ㅤEven if you stepped on his feet a million times and by the end of this dance you both called love his feet felt beyond salvation, Diluc still knew that his love for you would never waver.

ㅤAnd he would keep teaching you just as much as you do for him, so that one day, when the dawn comes and you're both by the kitchen, quietly sharing smiles and your bodies are once again intertwined in an unfaltering dance, in a time where none of you have to worry about duties anymore, you won't step on him again.

ㅤAs the warm morning dew cast its light over the shared rings on your hands, Diluc didn't want to believe in gods, but he still had to thank Barbatos for bringing you to him on that day. With all your giggles and bright eyed smiles.

ㅤYou were his savior and his redemption, just as much as he was yours.

ㅤWriothesley, the so famously known Duke of the Fortress of Meropide and also your worst declared enemy.

ㅤYour friends would always tell you that it was an exaggeration, that it wasn't that bad. You both seemed to actually work very well together. But you begged to differ from their opinions.

ㅤYou are the secretary in the Palais Mermonia, working directly under orders of the Judge, Monsieur Neuvillette himself. A quite noble position if you were to say so yourself, in fact.

ㅤBut Wriothesley seemed to somehow doubt your high position as he kept asking you to simply do favors for him, taking advantage of the fact that he was 'close friends' with the Iudex.

ㅤYou dreaded each time Monsieur Neuvillette asked you to bring some documents over from the Fortress, meaning you would have to talk with the Duke too.

ㅤAnd you knew, each time you went there, that man had something in store for you. Just like the first time you both met.

ㅤ"You must be the secretary, right? Can you do me a favor then, and bring me a cup of tea?"

ㅤHe had said back then, and there was nothing more you wished than to wipe that wolfish grin from his lips with your own two hands.

ㅤHe seemed to get off on the exact fact that you would snap at him and get angry, like he reveled in your disappointed expressions and bitter stares.

ㅤAnd it seemed that each time you visited, no matter how much you refused — and perhaps that was the exact reason the man decided to try even more— the requests became more and more unusual.

ㅤ"Let me take you out on dinner."

ㅤYou didn't even know how he could be so shameless while asking this, but you still blatantly refused his approaches each time with fierceness.

ㅤAnd you told yourself each time, oh how you hated him.

ㅤInstead, all you didn't know was that Wriothesley thought of you the exact opposite of what you imagined.

ㅤSince the first time the Duke saw you, your tight and serious expression and the bags under your eyes, he had decided that he needed to see you smile at least once, no matter what.

ㅤThat's why he kept sending multiple letters to Neuvillette, practically begging the Iudex to send you once more, telling him of how much of a good work you did unlike all the other secretaries and how he still had forgotten to send him just one more document.

ㅤAll lies of course, but you can't blame a man for trying at least a bit.

ㅤHe had been enamored by you since the first time you walked in his office. The tenacity and unyielding confidence in your steps and speech.

ㅤWriothesley, and perhaps you, hadn't even realized how intertwined you two were, being part of each other's daily lives.

ㅤHadn't even realized how, slowly and steadily, something new was being shaped.

ㅤWith each sharp gaze of yours that made Wriothesley's heart skip a beat, and each argument that would slowly turn into a playful banter that had you almost lose your facade of sternness and harshness, you both were becoming soft for each other.

ㅤUntil one day, you went to visit him yourself, outside of the duties you held so passionately to yourself.

ㅤYou were also surprised at how easy the path was, and how earnest your steps had become after all these months of endless back and forth.

ㅤBut nothing could top the astonished and dumbfounded look that the Duke of Meropide himself had given you when you entered his office, not wearing your usual confident expression and work clothes.

ㅤ"Are… you free right now?"

ㅤYou had asked him, your fingers trembling behind your back, hating how shy your voice sounded for some reason.

ㅤAgainst your expectations, as always, Wriothesley found a way to surprise you. He recovered quickly from the awed state, promptly getting up from his chair at once and making his way to you, a reassuring smile on his face.

ㅤHe had never looked so happy ever since you met him.

ㅤ"For you? Always."

ㅤSo the both of you left the cold office with warmness in your hearts. Together, side by side.

ㅤHe even gave a try to holding your hand once before you slapped it away.

ㅤWell… small, baby steps, he supposed.

ㅤAnd Wriothesley decided that it was always worth it to have to spend the entire night finishing the documents due tomorrow if it meant having you for the entire day.

💙 Part 2 will feature Neuvillette and Thoma.

[herdarkestnightelegance]

"Careful, I Bite"

My First - Part 1/3

Pairing: Astarion/ AFAB!Tav (you)

Warnings/tags: 18+, virginity, vulnerability, sexual tension, mature conversations and flirting, vaginal masturbation, explicit sexual fantasies (PiV), Act 1 spoilers

Length: ~ 5.5k words (they just keep getting longer, don’t they?)

Summary: Unable to resist his charms, you grow close with your handome, vampiric travel companion. Very close. The thing is just ... you've never been with anyone before ...

A/N: It's happening! My first venture into 🌶️ territory! Please know: No PHD thesis ever had this much lively back and forth and discussion as this fic! Thank you @nyx-knox for being the GOAT of beta-readers on what is basically group-project at his point and for your constant support and reassurance 🩷

Taglist: @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate , @littlelovelore, @onlyancunin @chaoticbardlady99 @ancuninfiles

:::::::

You have never felt this weird kind of nervousness before. 

It’s not the kind of suspense you feel before entering a dungeon full of goblins. It’s not the kind of pressure you feel when the eyes of your companions turn to you, awaiting a decision. No. This is a different, unfamiliar kind of stimulation to your nerves. It’s warm, yet tingly, it’s at the back of your mind constantly, making you smile one moment, then shake your head the next trying to escape the feeling. You find it increasingly difficult to think of anything else, even now while you are sitting on a log, warming yourself on your camp’s little fire. This has been going on for a few days now. And it’s entirely Astarion’s fault.

Astarion. The charming, flirty and admirably witty Vampire you’ve found yourself increasingly drawn to more and more with each passing day.

If you’re being honest … you kinda hated him when you first met. Headbutting him in the face was less than what he deserved for putting a knife to your throat! But you quickly understood that he was simply being cautious, scared, just as you’ve all been.

Everyone had been on edge the entire time as you tackled a whole cascade of challenges on your ongoing quest to find a cure: stopping druid rituals, fighting hags and harpies, vanquishing a whole camp of goblins. But throughout all of those adventures, you had noticed Astarion slowly gravitating towards you, closer and closer. And you found that you, too, were gravitating towards him. Which scared the absolute shit out of you.

When you woke up with his handsome face so close to yours that one night, you almost jumped out of your skin. His cool body hovering over yours, his breath on your neck … it immediately sent your mind - and your body - into overdrive.

Honestly? When you learned he was a vampire and that he was simply trying to drink your blood, you were almost relieved. Or … were you disappointed? You couldn’t tell. Because what you thought was going on for a split second was that Astarion - strange, intriguing Astarion - was actually trying to kiss you. And you didn’t entirely hate that thought? Right on the contrary! 

The thing was just that, well, you have never actually been kissed by anyone before.

While you were no stranger to pleasure, knowing full well how to take excellent care of yourself, you have never been in this position. With another person this close to you while you lay on your back. So many things raced through your mind when that admittedly devastatingly beautiful man knelt so close to you. You wanted to slide out from under him as quickly as you could. You wanted to slap him for not asking to kiss you first. And you also wanted him to pin you down on your bedroll and succeed in stealing that kiss from you. So badly. 

That thought was pushed to the side, though, when he revealed his vampiric nature to you. For the first time since you met on that beach, you felt like you were glimpsing a bit of him, the real him beneath that debonair facade. And you liked that he was confiding in you specifically. Those ruby eyes pleading for your help, his urgent voice trying to explain his situation, and his disarming charm, asking if you could trust him just a little further. Even though you were angry that he didn’t ask before he tried biting you, you knew you would have said yes if he had. And then …

“Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

Your heart was racing a thousand beats an hour when you laid down back on your bedroll. You felt your cheeks flush, mixed with a tingling, cool nervous sensation on your skin. When Astarion leaned over you once more, one arm on each side of your head, you caught your breath. This felt so intimidating … so intimate. You felt exposed, excited, nervous, scared. And you wanted this. This was so unlike you. It was far more usual for you to be refusing the physical advances of others. But you didn’t want to refuse him. In fact, for the first time, you felt the exact opposite of your usual inclination. You wanted to allow him closer.

Astarion took up your entire field of vision, or at least it felt like all you could see was him. The way he held your gaze steadily made it impossible to look anywhere else. He had a soft, reassuring and thankful smile on his lips … and next thing you knew his fangs were piercing your skin. 

It hurt. At least for a moment. Your mind was racing, trying to take all of this in, all these new sensations: The ice-cold feeling of his fangs inside you, his body on top of yours, his cool lips touching and sucking on your warm skin, his increasingly heavy breathing so close to your ear, the pain … and the pleasure. 

When you felt him gently cupping the back of your head, you were about ready to actually kiss him. Feeling pressure building in your core, your legs began pressing together of their own volition, causing little jolts of lust to course through you as you felt a familiar heat rising between your thighs. You desperately wanted to wrap your arms around him, to sink your fingers into those beautiful white curls of his, give in to that delicious pain, wanting him to do more, to go further.

But instead you felt your head go woozy, snapping you out of your thoughts. No, this was too much. So you told him to stop, pushed him away gently yet firmly. You were panting, and so was he. He looked so radiant at that moment, so strong. It made you forget the pain in your neck, the way the world spun around you. He looked so happy, and you did that for him.

When Astarion turned around to leave, he stopped and thanked you, telling you he wouldn’t forget this gift you have given him. And you knew, neither would you. How in the Hells were you supposed to sleep now? After that? After you felt the weight of his body on yours, felt his soft lips on your skin, after being so close you smelled the slight perfume of … something herbal and citrusy? Gods!

You laid back down on your bedroll and for at least an hour you couldn’t sleep, your companions breathing calmly around you, unaware of what had happened. All you could think about was the image of Astarion, that little smile right before he bit into your neck, his hand caressing the back of your hair ever so slightly… 

You let out a sharp breath, feeling the slickness between your thighs. Might as well ... 

You unlaced the front of your trousers, looking around to your sleeping companions, who mercifully had either their backs turned or at least their heads facing away from you. You would just have to get this over with quickly. Biting your lips, you made yourself comfortable once more. 

Practiced fingers slid below the fabric and to the folds between your legs, finding them already wet and ready for some much-needed attention. You closed your eyes and sighed as you began touching yourself, massaging your clit as you had done many times before. The thing that was new, though, was the image in your mind: 

Ruby eyes piercing into yours with a desire so fierce it almost takes your breath away. You're lying naked next to the fire, a pale, equally naked, slender body between your open legs. And then the feeling of fangs penetrating your skin as Astarion’s cock penetrates you. A delighted smile flickered across your lips, both in your dream and in real life. “Look at you, my sweet Darling.” Astarion’s voice purrs into your ear, as he thrusts himself all the way into you, stretching you deliciously. “You are taking me so well.” Slowly he begins to roll his hips, knowing how to move just the way you want it, his thrusts quickly growing faster.

The pace of your own fingers grew faster alongside your fantasies, as you imagined what it would be like having him inside you, fucking you, filling you completely. A little whimper escaped your lips, it was hard to stay silent with your imagination running wild. 

“Gods, you’re so tight, my love,” he says as he spreads your legs even further, exposing you, watching your juices run down the inside of your thighs, angling himself perfectly to be able to fuck you even deeper, harder, more. He wants you, just as you want him. It’s almost too much, your inexperienced body barely able to handle his expert movements. And you feel the familiar coil tightening inside you. “Astarion …” you whisper, desperately holding on to his soft white curls.

“Yes, my love?”, he asks, kissing the small wounds he’s made on your neck.

“Cum … cum inside me ... please,” you beg between his hard thrusts, as you feel yourself edging towards your climax. And just as the both of you come undone in unison, and you feel him unloading his thick seed inside of you, he bites down on your neck once more, causing you to moan out his name - and it’s music to the pale Elf’s pointy ears.

Unable to stop it, a little moan escaped you in the real world as well. Slapping your free hand over your mouth, you are pretty sure it really was his name that escaped your lips into the silent night around you. But the surprise at your own sound was swept away by the waves of your orgasm as it rolled through you, causing your hips to quiver a few times, before your breath began to calm, and you fell into relaxed bliss. 

You pulled your hand free from your pants and wiped it on the grass next to your bedroll, feeling a lot more relaxed. Wouldn’t that be something, you thought as you lay down on your side. Actually getting closer to the mysterious vampire, getting to know the person you glimpsed a bit of today. Closing your eyes, you thought that, yes, you would really like that. 

Oh no. You felt your stomach drop in surprise and your eyes shot open in realization. You wanted to get to know the real him? You wanted to get closer to him? You wanted to be more… intimate with him? It was then that it dawned on you… you were slowly but surely starting to fall for the disarming vampire. 

Fuck.

:::::::

His blood was just starting to slow from his hunt, but his vampiric senses were still alert, sharper than usual. So Astarion’s pointed ears heard it before he even reached the camp. The rustling of the bedroll, the rapid breathing, the suppressed whimpers. Somebody was having a bit of fun.

Making sure to stay concealed by the darkness of the treeline, he looked towards the figures lying by the fire. Oh? Not wanting to disturb the vision before him, he stopped moving. Had anyone looked in his direction, they would have seen his eyes reflecting the soft light of the camp-fire like two tiny round mirrors. What do we have here? His ruby eyes locked onto Tav as they tried to keep their pleasured movement on the bedroll to a minimum. What a delicious sight that was. 

Astarion had known Tav had gotten quite attached to him, most likely falling for his wit and charm - and obviously his looks - as most did. Otherwise, why would they have allowed him to drink from them? And it was amazing, drinking from them, too. Astarion licked his lips at the memory. Tasting the blood of a thinking being, tasting them. It had been … so intimate. Better than he had ever imagined. He usually only pretended to enjoy the closeness of other people. But not Tav. He couldn’t have picked a better person to be his first.

Frankly, he even enjoyed their company, such as it was. And he knew they enjoyed his company as well. But this? This was a display he hadn’t anticipated. At least not yet.

Shaking his head ever so slightly in disbelief, Astarion was almost impressed by the bold endeavor: Tav, pleasuring themselves out in the open by the campfire? Sure, everyone was asleep, but anyone could awaken any moment from their little moans and catch those fingers dancing amongst their folds. If Tav was this desperate to release their need for him after he’d fed from them earlier in the night, they must desperately want him. A scheming grin grew on his face as he realized… This could work.

He was sure the others in the camp would know about his condition by morning. And knowing full well that people don’t trust vampires - perhaps understandably - he needed to be sure Tav was on his side. Tav was their fearless leader and fierce protector. They may have unwillingly slipped into that role, but they had sway with and the trust of everyone in camp, including him if he was being honest. If Tav kept him under their wing… he wouldn’t get flocked or kicked out. He’d be the first one protected, heard out in every conversation, involved in every plan the group made, and therefore… powerful by association. Safe.

All it would take would be what he had done for 200 years already: some casual seduction and an offer for one night of mind-blowing ecstasy to lock himself into that kind of ideal position. 

Tav’s breathing grew faster then, the smell of their arousal and pumping blood slowly beginning to fill Astarion’s head, breaking his concentration for a moment, his attention now fully on the show in front of him. It was then, as Tav climaxed, trying to suppress a moan, that Astarion heard it. Clear as day. Between the whimpering and exhalation: His name, cried from their lips.

And just like that… Astarion had laid out his nice, simple plan. Oh this would be easy.

:::::::

The next morning you could barely bring yourself to look him in the eye. He was your - almost - innocent traveling companion, and you had thought of him for your dirty little fantasy. You knew this was going to drive you crazy! So you promised yourself you would stop this, trying to cushion the fall as you were definitely falling for him. But when Astarion asked you how you’ve been feeling after the bite, with his trademark smile and his charming words, your nice, simple plan fell apart instantly when you heard yourself offer your neck to him again for tonight. As he happily accepted, your heart leapt in your chest.

Things only progressed from there. Between your party’s adventures, the fighting, tending to each other's wounds, laughing with (and sometimes about) Gale, and watching Shadowheart and Lae’zel bickering with each other, you and Astarion … connected. As you began to share your stories, laugh more at each other’s quippy jokes, indulge in witty banter with every conversation that sparked between you two, you started to see more of that man that you had glimpsed that night he first bit you. Beneath the well-crafted, snarky, and charismatic facade was someone who had endured horrors you couldn’t even imagine. Beneath his undeniably stunning looks, you saw the whole picture - the flawed, broken, resilient, complex person that he was. You began caring for him so deeply, more and more each day. You were falling for him… oh, you were falling for him hard.

Many nights you spent taking care of the desire that Astarion had been fueling inside of you. It was almost embarrassing how much you were pining for him, each night in your bedroll by the fire or in your tent, where you so often wound up with shaky legs and wet fingers. You imagined his hands were the ones roaming over your body, knowing every sensitive spot, his fingers sliding inside you, curling just right, making you gasp and shiver with pleasure. And his voice in your ear, whispering all the filthy things he wants to do to you, will do to you. He was inside your head, and you truly began to yearn for him to be inside your body, too.

Oh, how your body reacted to him whenever he was close and Gods, you really hoped he could not sense it. When he chose to sit next to you by the fire, even though there was plenty of space elsewhere, you imagined his hand sliding around your neck to pull you into a deep, passionate kiss. When he would pick pieces of foliage - or goblin guts - from your hair or stand so very close to you while helping you into your armor, you imagined him pulling you behind the closest tree and taking you right there and then. And the fact that he was so openly, outrageously flirtatious with you, and only you, saying all the right things at the right time, didn’t help either. It drove you crazy with confusion, with adoration and with desire.

So when a celebration was in order after your party had succeeded in vanquishing the entirety of the goblin camp and its leaders, you found yourself sauntering over to Astarion’s tent. You were nervous, more so than ever, but there was a strange confidence roaring within you. With spirits so high, the blood still running hot from today’s victory, you felt this might be the night. You wanted it to be. And you wanted it to be with Astarion.

You were sipping from his wine bottle to calm your nerves, when he actually, finally, suggested that the two of you could make your own entertainment. It was like the surrounding music faded away, replaced by the sound of your blood pumping in your ears. The honeyed words from Astarion’s beautiful lips promised you things that made your knees weak.This was what you wanted, what you had been waiting for.

So … you agreed. 

Part of you even appreciated that he made it clear where the both of you stood at all times. He told you that he liked you, that he came to enjoy the whole package, assured you that if you wanted to - and you did - the two of you could lose yourself in your own little piece of nowhere. But he never promised it would be a committed arrangement. And honestly, with the tadpole inside your head, the descent into the Underdark before you and with the whole party looking to you as their leader, you kind of appreciated that there were no strings attached.

When you found yourself walking through the trees and brush towards the clearing after everyone had gone to bed, you felt equal parts excited and nervous. Yes, you wanted to do this, you wanted for your first time to be with Astarion, but that didn’t mean you weren’t scared as all Hells. From everything he’d told you, from the way he came on to you, there was no question as to how experienced he was and what he expected to happen tonight. “And I do mean sex, to be clear. We’ve waited long enough.” And that you had indeed. You’d waited long to find a man you felt this good with, this close and attracted to. 

So when you stepped into the clearing and Astarion came out from behind the tree trunk bare chested in only his breeches, your mouth ran dry at the sight of him. Gods, he was the most beautiful person you have ever seen.

“There you are…”, he said, and your whole body trembled at the sultry sound of his voice. You could see it already - lying on the soft grass beneath him, under the stars, allowing him to kiss you, touch you, trusting him to take you places you’ve only ever been in your wildest fantasies. “I’ve been waiting…”, he continued. “...Waiting, since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.” 

His voice was so deep and sensual - but suddenly the nervousness in the back of your mind began to overwhelm you. Had he? Had he really been waiting for you? Your already pounding heart began skipping a few beats at a time, fluttering at the thought. What if … you disappointed him? What if he left this clearing tonight feeling as though the wait hadn’t been worth it?

And just like that, you were not so sure about this anymore. Oh no.

You couldn’t do this, could you? Look at him! He’s beautiful! Were you beautiful enough for him? Why was he even looking into your direction with Shadowheart and Wyll around? You’re absolutely no match for them. And he clearly knows what he’s doing and what he’s expecting is likely far more than you can give. What in the Hells could you possibly offer him? What if he didn’t like being with a novice like you? What if he didn’t like what he saw when you lay naked in front of him? Gods, you wanted him! But how much fun and pleasure would you be able to realistically provide for him, really? After all, you had no idea what to do, you have never even kissed anyone before!

You looked up into those ruby eyes, looking for reassurance, for safety, and found them… painfully devoid of that spark you came to love. You froze. His beautiful words suddenly felt so flat, calculated, and practiced. You didn’t know if it was your sudden wave of nerves preventing you from going through with this, but you knew then at that moment… this wasn’t right. No, he didn’t truly want this.

“Hold on - I’m not sure about this,” you quickly said. That seemed to bring Astarion back to you - but not in the way you would have liked.

“Then what are you doing here?” Astarion’s surprising shift in demeanor caught you off guard. You took a step back, not expecting him to talk to you in that tone. His voice almost sounded condescending, indignant. Just like that, your walls that the vampire had managed to take down brick by brick over the past weeks began rising back up again. “I thought we had an … understanding.” You took another step back when Astarion’s whole posture changed, going from seductive to dismissive. As if, now that he couldn’t have you, he had no use for you anymore and by doing so he tapped straight into your biggest worry with pinpoint precision. You felt the impossible urge to explain, to salvage whatever tonight would have been.

 “I-I know, I’m sorry …”, you stammered helplessly. “It’s just… Do you really want to do this?” Astarion tilted his head, his frown deepening. 

“Now why would you think I didn’t, after all this?” He sounded irritated as he flung his arms wide, gesturing to nothing in particular.

“I don’t know. Maybe you feel like you have to do this? Like - as payback for me letting you drink from me? Because I promise, you don’t have to, I don’t need anything in return.” 

Astarion crossed his arms and cocked his hip, sneering down at you.

“Listen, just say the word and we can call it a night.” You were desperately looking for the right words, only for Astarion to speak before you could say anything. “But if you want to back out, don’t use me as an excuse for it. You’ve wasted enough of my time already.” 

His words felt like a slap in the face.

“I’m just not sure if I can give you what you are expecting, what you want.” Gods, you hated how desperate your voice sounded.

“But why? What exactly is your problem?”Astarion kept pushing and something inside you snapped.

“Because I’ve never DONE any of this before, alright?!”

The words exploded right out of you. The amount of emotions you were feeling at that moment was overwhelming: anger at him, disappointment in yourself, sadness about how this night suddenly took such a turn. You stared at him, breathing hard, your cheeks flushing. Neither of you spoke, Astarion only looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I… I am going back to camp,” you eventually said before finally forcing yourself to turn and leave. 

Gods.

This had been a disaster. This was not how this should have gone! This should have been a night - your first night - of passion, exploration and fun with this Elf you truly cared for - and who now was most certainly angry and annoyed with you for ruining his night. Did you overthink it? Should you have just gone through with it? What if whatever you and Astarion had built over the course of these last few weeks was now shattered beyond repair? How could you have pushed him away in a moment that should have been so pleasurable, so intimate? 

Getting sleep was not easy that night. And the next day, you and Astarion didn’t exchange a single word. You knew your companions noticed. They knew something was going on between the two of you - but they were kind enough to let the matter rest and not ask you about it as you packed up your belongings and headed towards the empty Goblin Camp to enter the Underdark. With all enemies already vanquished, the day was uneventful, which made the silence between you and the vampire seem even more deafening.

:::::::

How, how could he have missed that? Astarion couldn’t get that question out of his head.

It was the one question that had been whirling around in his head all day while the party had continued towards the Underdark, tensely ignoring the silence between him and Tav, who usually were bantering lightheartedly all the time. 

Astarion watched them as they suggested setting up the camp for the night, the last night under the open sky for who knew how long.

How had he not picked up on Tav’s inexperience? He normally could smell a virgin from miles away! He knew the shy looks, the aversion to touch and his advances. But Tav? They threw him for such a loop! They gravitated towards him. And honestly … he liked that.

Besides, he figured virgins didn’t understand pleasure, didn’t know how to pleasure themselves. But Tav obviously did! He had heard them moan his name, seen proof of their knowledge of their own body with his own eye. But most importantly: proof of their desire for him.

Astarion’s mind whirled as he paced in his tent. Why did they have to tell him that? 

It should have been so easy. It should have been a plain-and-simple, routine night of sex and pleasure for Tav. But now they had to throw him that little piece of information about themselves and… Astarion stopped pacing. He’d sworn off virgins long ago. That kind of innocence, it was too rare in the world. And after stealing it once from that sweet, darling boy… he’d sworn he’d never steal it from anyone else ever again. So he had learned to recognize and avoid virgins. His meager, unnoticeable act of disobedience to his former Master. It was the only thing he was proud of - if he could even call it that. 

And, gods, the things he threw in Tav’s face? Shaming them for hesitating? What the fuck was he thinking? Their fierce leader, who stormed into a hag’s swamp with no hesitation, had hesitated before him. And instead of guiding them … he had scolded them, even humiliated them. Astarion felt ashamed of himself - something he had never wanted to feel again, now that he was free. But he felt it nonetheless. He had to apologize. It didn’t matter that he snapped at them in frustration because he saw his plan crumble, because he was scared, because he was … disappointed. If he was honest with himself.

Because he was. He was disappointed that Tav wanted to back out. The realization hit him with a force he did not see coming. Yes, seducing them was part of his plan. Yes, he had used all his favorite lines at them. And also … yes, he would have liked to sleep with them. A feeling he had not felt in … gods know how long.

Tav had been so nervous, their heart beating so quickly and loudly Astarion had heard it before they had stepped onto the clearing. They were opening up to him. Trusting him. And he? He would have taken that trust and used it. He truly was a monster. Tav didn’t deserve this. Despite how last night went … he cared for them. His eyebrows flew up as he realized just how true that thought was.

He cared for them.

Shit.

:::::::

You sit by the fire, pondering last night’s fiasco and today’s unpleasant silence. Seeing how you’ve got the second watch, you should probably be more vigilant, but your thoughts keep going back to last night. Which is probably why you don’t hear Astarion approach.

“Hello, my dear.”, he says in a low, almost careful tone, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up at him, not sure what to expect. “Do you mind if I sit?” He motions towards the log you are sitting on, toward the place beside you that he took many nights. Always choosing to be close to you instead of choosing any of the free logs. You shift to the side, making room for him. Again, feeling him so close to you, his arm brushing yours, it sets your whole body on high alert. You still want him - but you aren’t so sure he really wants you anymore, or if you’re ready to forget the way he spoke to you. But regardless of the horrid tone he had taken you still feel that guilt and shame for letting him down.

“I’m… sorry about last night.”, you eventually say, even though part of you wants to wait for him to apologize first. He turns to face you.

“Whatever are you sorry for?” he asks, a bit surprised.

“For backing out last night. I know we had an agreement and it’s not that I didn’t want to, you know? It’s just … ” with a deep sigh you turn your eyes towards him, and you are glad to see that spark in them once again, that spark that was missing last night. “I’ll be honest, ok? I like you. I like you a lot, and … I would have loved to have spent last night with you. But … I also know I don't have much to offer you, in terms of sex. We’ve all been under a lot of stress lately, so I understand you probably wanted to let off some steam … and I’m sorry I messed that up for you.” Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you turn your gaze back to the fire. You sit in silence for a moment before Astarion speaks. 

“No. You have no reason to apologize for anything, my dear. I was quite out of line, inexcusably so. I should have relented the moment you had any doubt. I… apologize.” His words make you look towards him once more. Never had you heard Astarion apologize before, to anyone at camp, for that matter. “And I will do my best to refrain from feeding into this … thing between us, if it truly makes you uncomfortable. I will cease my flirtations, I promise.”

“What? No, please don’t?” you say quickly, unable to stop a shy smile from appearing on your face. “I … quite like your flirtations. And I wanted to spend the night with you, you know. I still do. But … let me ask you … ” The pale Elf patiently waits for you to find the right words. “Do you really want to sleep with me?” Astarion’s eyebrows go up, that surprised expression returning to his exquisite face. 

“Darling,” Astarion’s tone is affectionate, reassuring, and hearing him call you this pet name with that sweet voice of his makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Are you really asking me that, after all I did? All I’ve said to you?” There is a slight edge to his voice now, though you can’t pinpoint what it is. He smiles at you with one corner of his mouth raised slightly and you half expect him to laugh, but Astarion falls uncharacteristically quiet, so you speak.

“Answer the question.” The amused smile on Astarion’s immaculate face disappears and gives way to a look of seriousness, of sincerity.

“Yes. I do,” he says in a low but firm voice. “Very much so.”

Relief floods your entire body, the tension you felt all day melting from you.

“Then … may we start over?”, you ask timidly with a smile on your face. Astarion answers with a gentle smile of his own.

“My dear. There is nothing I’d like more.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 6: I'm The Resident Leader Of The Lost And Found]

A/N: Be sure to vote in the poll pinned to the top of my blog AFTER you finish reading! It will be available for 1 week 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace...unless...??

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “St. Jimmy” by Green Day.

Word count: 8.2k (she's a little chonky)

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

What happens to the people who turn? You know because you saw it back at Saratoga Springs, an EO from Oklahoma named Greg Flurry—Equipment Operator, he spent his days driving a forklift, everyone called him Snowflake—who returned from weekend liberty with a bite on his left wrist that he said was a gift from some drunk girl who attacked him outside of a 7-Eleven. You had all laughed and taken turns poking at the wound, making him wince: a ring of tiny bruises, not deep at all, the skin only punctured in a few spots, corporeal gemstones of trapped-blood amethysts and sapphires and rubies. Snowflake rubbed it down with a splash of Grey Goose vodka—the same kind your Mama always drank—and didn’t think of it again for the rest of the day.

On Tuesday, he felt fine; but the bite mark, paradoxically, was not healing. On the contrary, it was turning dark and angry, maroon trails along the paths of veins that shuttle blood back to the heart. Snowflake got a shot of antibiotics at the med clinic and was back in the driver’s seat of his forklift before lunch.

On Wednesday, he had a headache and nausea that wouldn’t go away. Snowflake attributed this to particularly questionable chicken fried steak from the chow hall. At night he tossed and turned in his bunk, and when Rio went to check on him, Snowflake was burning up with fever, sweating through his sheets, staring blankly through pupils like pinpricks. You, Rio, and Parker carried him to the med clinic.

On Thursday, in the early hours of the morning, Snowflake began to decompose. But he was still alive. His skin turned grey and sloughed off, his body purged itself: vomit from his throat, diarrhea from his intestines, blood beading out of his pores like sweat. His corneas went cloudy. His lungs flooded with decay-dark mucus. Snowflake sobbed and shrieked as you and Rio sat with him and held his disintegrating hands, as the corpsmen phoned every hospital they could to try to get him transported. All the ambulances were unavailable. All the hospitals were already overwhelmed. They gave the corpsmen peculiar guidance: Palliative care. Prepare to restrain him if he becomes a danger to others. The virus appears to be transmitted via bite wounds.

“Virus?” Rio had said, dropping Snowflake’s hand. “What the fuck kind of virus does this to someone?”

The corpsmen had shaken their heads—We don’t know—and attempted to administer narcotics intravenously. Snowflake received no relief. His blood vessels were collapsing, dissolving, turning to a noxious soup beneath what was left of his skin. Becoming a zombie is not unlike radiation sickness. It rots you from the inside out, and you can feel everything.

As the sun was rising, Snowflake died. And by then you were glad; it was the most merciful outcome. The corpsmen covered him with a sheet and called around for a morgue. They were full too. As you all stood in an exam room trying to understand what had just happened to Snowflake here, what was going on in the world outside Saratoga Springs, the fresh corpse sat up on the table. You had screamed and clutched for Rio; he shoved you behind him. The corpse, still covered with the sheet stained with black and brown and red, followed the noise of your voice and staggered towards you, snarling and groaning, arms outstretched, teeth clicking as they gnashed beneath the sheet. The corpsmen tried to grab him, then shrank away when the ghoul clawed at them, putrefied fingers peeking out from beneath the linen. The zombie lurched closer, and Rio struck out: colossal knuckles to a soft skull, the monster sent hurtling headfirst into a wall. The body plunged to the floor and, enveloped by a puddle of its own bodily fluids, died for the second time.

And Rio had glanced down at where Snowflake had been bitten—now indecipherable on his black, gangrenous wrist that jutted out from beneath the sheet—then turned to you and said: I guess it only takes once.

~~~~~~~~~~

You doze against Aemond’s shoulder as Baela drives the Honda Odessey across Indiana, goldenrods and dogwood trees, green weeds growing tall and wild, red bloodstains on pavement. Visions of the past come to you in spider-thread thin fragments of dreams.

Building dams of sticks and pebbles in the swamp-colored creek that runs along Kentucky State Route 1087. Balancing atop rusted railroad lines that once connected coal mines like ligaments link bones, bare feet, box turtles and milk snakes, autum leaves falling into your hair. Scratching black-ink battleships into the pages of your fifty-cent Walmart notebook as teachers drone on about things that mean nothing to you, things that will not take you away from here, Shakespeare, the Krebs cycle, the Tet Offensive, Spanish words for colors and animals. Mama glancing up at you as she scrubs dishes in a sink nearly overflowing with bubbles, too nonchalant to intend to be cruel: You’re lucky you ain’t too beautiful. Do you know what happens to beautiful women? Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Kennedy, Natalie Wood, Anna Nicole Smith? Horrible, horrible things. And then they die.

Once in a while you pass a car or truck or SUV coasting east as you roll west, strangers who wave and give you nods of grim, transient greeting. Good luck. I’m sorry you’ve lost people. I hope you live. At a Speedway outside of Kokomo, Aemond, Aegon, Rio, and Luke draw Uno cards to see who will attempt to siphon gas from the three vehicles you find there with closed fuel caps. Aegon loses with a blue four. The Kia and Toyota are empty; there’s almost a full tank left in the Ford. You refuel the Honda Odessey and scrounge through the convenience store for supplies. Helaena seems to have developed a sort of fixation with pain pills, hoarding Advil and Tylenol. Aegon finds a few more packs of Marlboro Golds. He puffs on them, windows down and breeze blowing, neon green plastic sunglasses shielding his eyes, as Baela skirts around Indianapolis. Even from fifteen miles away, you can see the billowing smoke from the fires, hear the manmade thunder of explosions.

“Bet people are having a great time there,” Aegon murmurs as he takes a drag, embers glowing and blonde hair thrashing in the wind.

Baela follows the course he plotted, swinging just south of Peoria, Illinois to avoid the nuclear power plants between there and Chicago. You cross the Mississippi River and into the southern tip of Iowa over the Fort Madison Bridge, the toll booth occupied only by a carcass that buzzards are pecking apart, a zombie that someone else already put a bullet in…or perhaps the man did it to himself. Maybe he didn’t see a point in sticking around to watch the dead inherit the earth. You cannot agree. Each day you find more reasons to stay alive in this treacherous new world. It’s like when you were back in Soft Shell, Kentucky. You can’t give up, you can’t surrender. The only way out is through.

The black Honda Odessey—a good soldier, having taken you six hundred miles and into the vast flat vacancy of the Midwest—at last runs out of gas as you are approaching Bonaparte, founded in the 1830s as a lumber mill on the banks of the Des Moines River. You unload the minivan and trek into town; you will find somewhere to spend the night and then in the morning head south to Route 2, which you will follow all the way across Iowa to the Nebraska border.

The first house you try is at the edge of town, eggshell-colored vinyl siding and an empty gravel driveway. Rio tries the front door—locked—then tells everyone to back up. He kicks it once, no dice, gets ready to try again. Then the door opens. A woman with wide fearful eyes stands there with two boys cowering behind her, maybe ten and twelve.

“Please don’t break the lock,” the woman says softly. “We need it. Sometimes they try to get in.”

“Oh hey, lady, I’m sorry about that. We didn’t know anyone was home. You okay in there?”

Her voice is so quiet you can barely hear her. “Please leave us alone.”

Aemond climbs the steps of the front porch, taps Rio’s shoulder to tell him to back up, and kneels in the doorway so he isn’t so tall. He asks the woman: “Do you need supplies? Food, medicine?”

“Please leave us alone,” she says again.

“My name is Aemond, and those two are my brothers Aegon and Daeron, and that’s my sister Helaena, my cousin Luke, and then Rhaena and Baela. The big guy is Rio, and the girl over there…” He smiles as he gestures to you. “We like to call her Chips. Everyone is healthy, and everyone is here by choice. We’re going to the West Coast, Oregon and California. Do you want to come with us?”

But the woman shakes her head almost violently. “We’re safe in the house. We have to stay. My husband is a long-haul trucker, but he’s on his way back to us.”

“How do you know he’s still alive?”

“Go away. Please just go away. Before they see you.”

The woman shuts the door and you hear her throw the deadbolt. You leave like she asks you to; but not before Aemond collects an armful of supplies you can spare and places them in a pile on the porch for them to take inside once you’ve vanished.

The sun is sinking into the west as Helaena lights candles in Bonaparte Baptist Church and Rhaena shakes out dusty, mothball-smelling tablecloths to use as blankets. Luke finds gallons of grape juice and bags full of tiny flat bread wafers in the cabinets of the kitchenette, once used for sinless communions. It’s Daeron’s turn to stay awake for first watch. If Jace was still alive, it would be his too; instead, Aemond takes his place and refuses all offers of relief. You lie down on a pew with thin violet cushions and are thinking that you’ll never get comfortable enough to fall asleep when you are abruptly swallowed by omnipotent, black nothingness.

You jolt awake sometime in the middle of the night, a bad dream you don’t remember and don’t want to. Daeron is perched on the altar and using a hunting knife from the cellar back in Distant, Pennsylvania to sharpen the sticks he’s gathered into arrows. Baela is sitting with Aemond, their backs against the wall and voices hushed so as not to wake the others. Aemond is telling her that everything is going to be okay, that he’s still here, that Jace is gone but he’s not going anywhere, and candlelight is flickering across his scarred face, and he’s afraid but he doesn’t show it. He can’t. Too many people need him.

Oh, you realize; and it doesn’t feel awful at all, doomed or apocalyptic, a curse or a plague. It feels better than anything you knew existed. I might fall in love with him after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Aemond, take a look at this,” Luke says, offering him the binoculars. You have walked several miles on Iowa State Route 2, an asphalt atoll in an ocean of emerald green flora, buffalograss and prairie roses, ash trees growing over defunct power lines.

Aemond peers through the binoculars. It’s a small farmhouse about a quarter mile off the road, rugged and weatherworn, besieged by a flock of zombies. There is something large and rectangular flapping in the wind like a white flag of surrender. “Hm,” Aemond hums sympathetically. “It’s a shame. Poor guy.”

“What do you see?” you ask, and he gives you the binoculars. The zombies, approximately thirty of them, do not appear to have breached the interior; they shuffle through the yard and up and down the steps of the porch, smack their palms against the wood siding, leave stains of gore on the boarded-up windows. None appear to be aware of you yet. The bedsheet that hangs from the attic window has a message painted on it in something dark and viscous, perhaps motor oil:

One alive inside

I can hunt, fish, and fix things

Please help me

God bless you!!!

“We should be able to get to Cantril before dark, it’s about twelve more miles,” Aegon mutters, pondering his map. “Boner-party. Who names a town something like that?”

Aemond stares at him. “Bonaparte. Like Napoleon.”

“Who?”

You pass Rio the binoculars, then say to Aemond: “We’re going to help him, right?”

“We sure as hell aren’t,” Rio replies as he studies the farmhouse. “You want to risk our lives killing all those bastards? I don’t.”

You turn to Aemond, incredulous, but he concurs with Rio. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s going on?” Baela says testily from where she’s sprawled on the pavement sipping a half-full plastic gallon of bruise-colored grape juice. She’s already exhausted, but you have no way of transporting her.

Rio points across the field. “There’s a sign saying someone’s trapped inside that house. Tough fucking luck, ain’t it?”

Baela stares at the farmhouse uneasily, her brow furrowed. Rhaena fans her with a paperback copy of Catching Fire. Daeron has wandered off the road to collect more sticks to sharpen and fill his quiver; Helaena is with him picking wildflowers.

“That was us,” you tell Rio. “We were stranded on that transmission tower and we would have died if we’d been left there. But we weren’t. Someone saved us.”

“Things were different then,” Aemond says, unemotional, uncompromising. “We had the Tahoe. Now we’re on foot, and we’d have to kill each of them individually. And there’s no way to make a fast escape if something goes wrong.”

“So we’re just going to leave him?” Aegon says doubtfully, his large ocean-blue eyes flicking between you and Aemond. He stuffs his map back into his shorts pocket and scratches at the tattoo on his forearm: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

Rio groans. “Come on, man, we don’t even know if anyone’s still alive in there! What if he’s dead already? What if he got bit or starved to death or fell down the steps and snapped his neck or something?”

“What if he’s not a good guy?” Aemond adds.

“There’s a Trump 2024 sign in the front yard,” Luke says. He has the binoculars again. Aemond opens his hands, an I told you so sort of gesture. Luke amends: “Not that anyone deserves to get eaten alive or transformed into a walking corpse. But, you know. I figured I’d mention it.”

You are not swayed. Had you stayed in Soft Shell, Kentucky, you might have believed the same things. “People deserve to have the chance to start over.”

Aemond’s eye is on you, narrow and seeking, desperate to understand. “Why are you so fixated on this stranger?”

“He hunts, he fishes. What are we going to do when we get out into Wyoming and Nevada where towns are fifty miles apart and there’s hardly anywhere to scavenge for food? What are we going to eat when the beef jerky and Skittles run out?”

“You said everyone hunts where you’re from.”

“Not literally everyone. I don’t hunt.”

“You can shoot.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how to track animals. And even if I killed a deer, I wouldn’t know how to dress it.”

Aegon blinks at you. “To what?”

“To remove the skin and organs and everything.”

“Oh. Okay. That makes more sense.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Aemond repeats. Rio is nodding in agreement. Baela’s lips are pressed into a thin, thoughtful, rigid line. Daeron and Helaena have returned to the road to see how the discussion unfolds.

“There are about thirty zombies out there,” you say. “I can take fifteen. I just need you guys to do the rest.”

“Everyone here is my responsibility.” Aemond is severe, but he isn’t angry.

“Then you’re responsible for their humanity as well.”

“I can’t justify risking our lives for this.”

“I’ve killed people, living people, and I didn’t like how that felt. Make no mistake, this is killing too, just by omission instead of with bullets. We’ll all have to carry that weight. The man in that farmhouse hasn’t threatened us. He’s helpless, and he’s trapped, and if we don’t save him, who else is going to do it? What if it was you in there? What if it was me?”

Aemond, frowning, contemplates the house that has become a prison. Rio looks at you, one eyebrow raised. You gaze stoically back. He sighs. “Okay, what the hell, let’s rock,” Rio says.

Baela holds up her Ruger in one hand, slips her hammer out of a belt loop of her shorts with the other. “I’m on board.”

“You shouldn’t be on anything except bedrest,” Aemond tells her.

“I can take fifteen of the zombies myself,” you say again. “I have two M9s, thirty bullets total. I won’t need more than that.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron says.

“Shut up,” Aegon replies, though his tone is gentle. “You can’t even donate blood.”

“I can take ten,” Daeron insists, clutching his compound bow. “At least ten.”

Aegon swings his golf club around. “I can take…like…probably approximately three.”

Rio grabs his face and squeezes his sunburned cheeks as Aegon giggles and slaps at him. “You won’t get the opportunity, Honey Bun. Stay in the kitchen and bake apple pies until Daddy comes home from work.”

“You really think this is the right thing to do?” Aemond asks you. It’s not a challenge, only a question. He’s at war with himself, you can tell. He’s trying very hard to treat you like someone he’s not terrified to lose.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He pulls his Glock out of its holster. “The gunfire will attract more of them.”

“Then we’ll have to move quickly.”

Aemond turns to Baela, still wilted on the pavement. “You, Rhaena, and Helaena will follow behind us with Luke and finish off any zombies we missed.”

Baela gives him a weak, acquiescent thumbs up, breathing heavily. “Got it.”

“Helaena, you still have your Ruger, right?”

“I won’t need it,” she murmurs, wildflowers tucked into her long blonde hair, watching a ladybug skitter across her knuckles. Aemond is exasperated.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Luke promises. He’s using his binoculars to scout for any threats on the horizon, additional zombies or approaching strangers. Evidently, there are none.

“The grass,” Helaena says. “It makes it hard to see the snakes. Watch your step.”

Aemond replies distractedly: “I think we have bigger worries at the moment, babe.” As Rio pumps his Remington and Luke fumbles nervously with his Marlin .22 to make sure it’s fully loaded, Aemond walks a few yards away from the others and gestures for you to follow him. Aemond’s voice is low, the blue of his eye river-clear and blade-sharp. “I want you to stay near Rio.”

You give him a small, teasing smile. “So you won’t worry about me?”

“So I’ll worry slightly less.” He brushes a piece of buffalograss from your hair, his fingers lingering there longer than they need to. “Rio’s the biggest, he’s the best fighter. And if one of those things catches you by surprise, he’ll be able to crack its skull no problem. So keep close.”

“I’ll try, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that.”

“Please work with me. I’m giving you what you want.”

To be useful, to be merciful. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Thank me by not letting anything bite you. Not today, not ever.”

“Well, except you of course.”

He laughs, the tension in his face breaking; he skates his thumbprint over your cheek and kisses your forehead, swift like a reflex, unthinking, instinctive.

“Good to go?” Rio asks with a grin, holding his Remington with both hands.

Aegon’s golf club is resting across his shoulders, and you have a sudden vision of Jace doing the same thing with a baseball bat, a vengeful ghost peering out from beneath his curls with cunning dark eyes and a smirk. “Yeah, Chipotle, you’re leading the charge here.”

“No she’s not,” Aemond says, striding to the edge of the road. Across the field is the farmhouse, the white bedsheet S.O.S. still whipping in the wind. “I’m in front. Everyone else is behind me.”

“Oh yeah? Then who’s gonna watch your blind side, huh?” Aegon jogs over and whacks Aemond’s left shoulder with an open palm, beaming up at him. “Don’t worry. You’ll still get to be the hero. I was born talentless.”

“You have talents, Aegon,” you say. “You can sing.”

“Not relevant in a zombie-riddled apocalyptic hellscape, Cow Chip.” He and Aemond start across the field, then you and Rio, then Daeron, darting around in your peripheral vision, nocking sharpened sticks like arrows. Luke, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena trail at a distance.

You have closed half of the gap between the road and the farmhouse—and Daeron has already felled several zombies—before the beasts begin to turn around and notice you. They do not understand danger; they only understand hunger, and they lurch towards you with teeth gnashing and claws outstretched, strips of decaying flesh hanging like sleeves from their arms. You hate the way they move, like they’re trying to imitate life, like they are receiving some sinister transmission that reverberates inside them, like they are soulless vessels to be used in the darkest ways.

You stop, plant your feet in the earth, and raise one of your Beretta M9s. Your eyes find the sights; your finger settles on the trigger. You are rusty at first: a miss, a bullet in a rotting shoulder instead of a skull. Then you click into a rhythm and the zombies drop as they stumble towards you, infected dark blood spewing, brains pouring out onto the soil. When your clip is empty, you shove the first M9 back into its holster and pull out the other.

Daeron is putting his makeshift arrows through eye sockets, Aemond is firing his Glock, Rio is erasing entire heads with the grotesque power of his Remington. Aegon is swinging his golf club around wildly. His Marlin .22 hangs from its strap across his back, but he’s hopeless with it; his aim quite literally could not be worse. You hear other gunshots too, maybe Luke. A stranger appears from the front door of the farmhouse: red flannel shirt, roomy jeans, tan work boots, long messy russet hair pulled back in a man bun, almost as big as Rio. He is carrying an axe and begins helping to cut down the remaining zombies. Rio realizes you’re no longer with him and turns around to find you.

“I’m good!” you shout, waving him forward. “Go, go!” Rio nods and takes off again towards the farmhouse, blasting his Remington 12 gauge like a cannon.

Your ankle snags on something, a gnarled root, an old piece of farm machinery. You fall hard, hitting the ground and knocking the air out of your lungs. Your M9 is flung from your grasp. You roll onto your back and sit up to see what you’re caught on. It’s the grasping hand of a zombie, an old man, long white hair and dead milky eyes, only a torso, nothing below the ribcage except a tangle of dirt-coated intestines. It is scrambling towards your legs, jaws rattling, teeth covered in the blood of the other people it has eaten.

You shriek and try to kick it away. You reach for the empty M9, rip it out of its holster, and hold it by the barrel so you can use the grip, the heaviest part of a pistol, to bash the zombie’s skull in. But you aren’t Rio; when you strike the zombie’s head, it keeps hissing and scrabbling towards your flesh that sings to it like a siren, irresistible, divine.

I can’t let it bite me, I can’t let it bite me—

There is a boom and the zombie drops face-down to the earth. You are saved; you are free. You turn to see Rhaena standing beside you, clutching her tiny Ruger in trembling hands…but her eyes are closed. Slowly, petrified, they come open, one after the other.

You gape up at her. “Did you aim?!”

Rhaena shrugs guiltily. “I don’t remember how.”

“Jesus Christ. Well thanks, I guess. Glad you missed my pelvis.”

She laughs shakily. “Yeah. Me too.” Rhaena holsters her Ruger and helps you to your feet. By now, everyone else has realized you’re in trouble and are sprinting over, including the new guy.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you say, holding up your arms and skimming your palms down your bare legs to show them you haven’t been bitten. “No need to despair. Rhaena rescued me.”

Aemond gets to you first. “Can I see?” he asks breathlessly. You give him your hands and with his fingertips, he reads you like Braille: palms, forearms, throat, jaw, gingerly turning your face away from him and then back again. He exhales, relieved. “Good job, Rhaena,” Aemond says, and she smiles. Baela uses her hammer to smash the skull of a zombie that’s still squirming. Aegon yanks a snarling toddler to its feet—Pokémon t-shirt, left leg missing, wearing one of those child leashes—and swings his golf club so hard its whole head pops off and rolls away into the buffalograss with sick wet thumps.

“I thought you couldn’t kill the kids,” you say.

Aegon spits on the corpse’s collapsed, headless body. “It’s different now. These monsters ate Jace. Fuck ‘em all.”

“I can’t thank y’all enough,” the axe-wielding stranger says. “I was sure I was going to die in there like a rat in a trap. There’s a hog farm on the property behind mine, and I think the…you know…all the meat attracts zombies. A pack of them saw me in the yard and followed me to the house, and when they’re in a group like that, they seem…well, I just couldn’t get rid of them. Alone they wander wherever, but a hoard has structure, it has a mission, and they were waiting me out. I didn’t have my guns, I didn’t have my truck…”

“What happened to them?” Rio asks.

“I got robbed, that’s what happened.”

“No!” Baela says. “Really?”

“A week ago, five men I’d never seen before broke in while I was sleeping. They must have drugged my dog, who knows with what—she slept for twenty hours, have you ever heard of something like that?—and locked me in my bedroom. By the time I kicked the door down they were gone, and so were quite a few of my earthly possessions. It was nice of them not to murder us, I guess. I have a couple boxes of ammo left, but that’s all. Mostly 9mm.”

“That’s exactly what I need,” you say.

The stranger gives you a curious, appraising glance. “I’m very glad to be able to assist you, ma’am.” Then he finally gets a good look at Aemond, who is glaring at him. “Lord almighty, what the hell happened to your face?”

“A piece of sheet metal fell on me.”

“He stitched it up himself,” Luke says. “I watched. It was wild.”

The man is impressed. “You’re a doctor?”

“No, no, no,” Aemond amends. “Just an intern.”

“He’s basically a doctor,” Baela says.

“Well, you’ll be useful to have around, I expect.” The stranger offers his hand and Aemond, somewhat unenthusiastically, shakes it. “I’m Cregan Stark.”

“Aemond Targaryen.”

“Targaryen?! That’s a heck of a name, sir.”

“It’s Greek,” Aegon says.

“Where are y’all headed? Not all the way back to Greece, I hope. That’d be a hike. And a swim too, I guess.”

Aemond smiles tightly, polite but guarded. “Not that far away. We’re on our way to the West Coast, California and Oregon.”

“And you’re on foot?! You need horses.”

“We haven’t come across any that are still alive.”

“Do you want to travel with us, Cregan?” Luke asks amiably.

“I reckon I would, for now at least. I got nowhere else to be and no one to care for.” Cregan looks to Aemond. “That alright with you, doc?”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously.

“My folks got a trailer over towards Cantril, and a truck parked out back too if nobody’s stolen it yet. We can stay the night there if you want and then drive west in the morning.”

“Cantril! That’s on our route!” Aegon exclaims, he of the map and the gel pens.

Aemond narrows his eye at Cregan, suspicious. “If your parents are so close, why aren’t you staying with them? Why didn’t they swing by to check on you and see you were in trouble here?”

“Well, ‘cause they’re dead,” Cregan says, and Aemond is abruptly remorseful. “When all this started, I went over to get them and they were out in the front yard, just bones. All the flesh was chewed right off. But I found their wedding rings in the grass, and Mama’s pearl necklace that her Grammie gave her when she got married, Mama never took it off as long as she lived. It looked like a string of rubies.”

Aemond swallows noisily. “I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t nothing I can do about it now,” Cregan says, staring out over the field and biting his lips so they don’t quiver.

“Did your parents have guns?” Rio asks hopefully.

Cregan chuckles and shakes his head. “No, that’d be swell, wouldn’t it? Daddy got all his guns taken away when I was in high school.”

“Taken away…?” Baela echoes.

“Yeah,” Cregan says casually. “After the methamphetamine conviction.” He whistles, and a dog comes loping out of the front door of the farmhouse. It’s huge and mean-looking, fur the color of ashes or smoke. It goes directly to Cregan and noses his hands; you are reminded of how Aemond searched you fearfully for injuries. “She’s half-German Shepherd, half-grey wolf. Her name’s Ice.”

“Does she bite?” Aemond asks tentatively.

“My little princess?! Hell no! I wish she did, then maybe those robbers wouldn’t have gotten what they wanted. But she knows when those things are around.”

Aegon pats her angular, steel-colored head. Ice puts back her pointy ears and closes her eyes, basking in the attention. “Hey, fuzzball. I’m going to call you Blue Raspberry Icee.”

“You can call her whatever you want to as long as she’s allowed to come with us.”

“She’s welcome if she sniffs out zombies,” Aemond says.

Baela is struck by a thought. “Cregan, what kind of truck did your parents have? I hope it’s big. We’re a lot of people.” She’s resting her hands on her belly. And we’re about to add one more.

“A Chevy Tahoe,” Cregan says. You all begin chattering excitedly, then have to explain why.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Y’all like fishing?” Cregan asks. He’s cooking dinner for everyone with his dead parents’ Coleman butane camping stove, only one burner, each course prepared individually. You are all seated around him on the living room floor, sipping cans of Coke and Sprite—what Cregan calls “pop”—and eating turkey-flavored instant stuffing that came out of a cardboard box. Now Cregan is working on Hungry Jack mashed potatoes, tiny white flakes like snow that puff up in boiling water. Rhaena is staring at the pot with horror. Baela scarfs down her stuffing like she’s been starving to death. Flashlights illuminate the room in dim ocher like a setting sun, the roof vents open to let in cool night air. The trailer smells like cigarette smoke and dust and mildew. Piled haphazardly in corners are old newspapers, mounds of unfolded clothes, empty boxes and plastic bags, VHS tapes—Star Wars, 80s rock concerts, Clint Eastwood movies—and unwashed cups.

Aemond chuckles like it’s preposterous. “No.”

“Garth Brooks?”

“No.”

“NASCAR?”

“Who watches NASCAR?!” Aegon says.

You smile. “Everyone’s got a driver where I’m from.”

Cregan, vindicated, thumps a closed fist against his chest. “I was a Jeff Gordon guy. His car reminded me of a box of Froot Loops or something.”

“My brother Denver covered the inside of the garage with Dale Earnhardt Jr. stuff. I got obsessed with Juan Pablo Montoya for a while, he was cute.”

“So you chase the dark-haired fellas,” Cregan says, grinning, still stirring the potatoes. Everyone else’s wide, perplexed gazes fly between you and Cregan as they eat their Stove Top stuffing from Styrofoam bowls.

You titter nervously. “I don’t usually chase anyone.”

Aegon notices a taxidermied largemouth bass mounted on the wall, approximately fifteen pounds. “What the fuck,” he whispers, dismayed.

“WWE?” Cregan asks you.

“Oh, Rey Mysterio, no question. He was cute too.”

Cregan snorts. “He literally never took off his mask!”

“He was cute underneath it. I could tell, I have a sense for these things.”

“I’ll let you live in delusion.”

“I thought wrestling was real back then. When he’d get beat up and covered in fake blood, I’d start crying because I figured he’d die. Who was your favorite?”

“John Cena.” Cregan waves an open hand back and forth in front of his face. “You can’t see me!” You both burst out laughing. No one else gets it.

“It’s John Cena’s signature move,” you explain.

“Hm,” Aemond says, but he’s watching you and Cregan with deep grooves in his forehead and a solemnness in his lone blue eye, tapping his chin restlessly.

“Now, we might not have any butter…” Cregan picks up one of the containers scattered around him, a plastic jug of Great Value powdered coffee creamer. “But this makes for the best potatoes on the planet.” The others watch, stunned, appalled, as he adds several heaping spoonfuls to the pot.

You smile wistfully. How is it possible to be so nostalgic for a place you once believed was killing you, wringing you dry until all your blood dripped onto the floor and you were left a husk, a ghost, a myth? “My Mama always did that. She put it in mac and cheese too.”

Cregan serves you first, taking your empty stuffing bowl and returning it nearly overflowing with Hungry Jack instant potatoes. “Here’s a taste of home.”

And he’s right; you take a bite—hot enough to burn your tongue, smooth, rich, soupy in texture—and it’s just like being five or ten or fifteen again, when this was your idea of luxury, a good day, lounging on a sagging couch torn to hell by the cats and watching The Simpsons or Malcolm In The Middle with your brothers. Cregan scoops Hungry Jack into all the bowls. Baela digs in enthusiastically. The others, following your lead, take cautious tastes, shrug, and decide it’s tolerable for one night. Cregan grabs a new pot and dumps a box of Rice-A-Roni into it, along with the packet of seasoning, a bottle of water, and a single spoonful of coffee creamer for good measure. As the rice cooks, he distributes one can of barbeque-flavored Vienna sausages to each guest. Rhaena pops hers open and immediately begins retching. Aegon feeds his to Ice.

After dinner, Cregan compiles all the extra blankets and pillows he can find, then supplements with bath towels and bedsheets from the closet in the hallway. The trailer is small, only one bedroom; you all agree Baela should get it. She will share with Rhaena and Luke, as she always does now. She doesn’t like sleeping alone. Cregan offers to take first watch, a gift in return for being rescued from a slow death by deprivation. Aemond agrees, but only because Rio—with a wink and a knowing smirk—volunteers to stay up too. Rio will keep tabs on this almost-stranger; Rio is the only one big enough to knock Cregan around if such an occasion ever arose. Aemond tells them to wake him up halfway through the night so he can take over and let them rest. You say you want to do the second watch too, and this time Aemond doesn’t argue.

Helaena gets the couch and Daeron curls up on the olive green carpet beside her, Aegon claims the tattered old recliner, you arrange your pillow and blanket—thin, scratchy, a weak blue mottled with dark stains you can’t identify—against the wall on the other side of the living room. Rio is teaching Cregan how to play Uno on the small plastic folding table by the kitchen, only spacious enough for two. Ice is stretched out beneath the table with her grey muzzle resting on her paws. At the moment, Aemond is supervising; he’s still trying to decide how much he can trust Cregan.

Aegon wanders over to you then bends down, his hands on his knees. “This place is revolting,” he whispers.

“It’s alright.”

“Where did you grow up? Alcatraz?” You laugh, and Aegon gives you his pink CD player, Ava still written across the top in rhinestones. “Just in case you need to get away for a while. It’s wasted on me. I’m going to be unconscious about two seconds after my head hits the pillow.”

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“If you see any meth lying around, you let me know. I’m always in the market for new ways to shorten my life expectancy.”

“I’ll keep any such discoveries to myself. I enjoy you too much.”

Aegon recoils, lets that sink in, then beams as he saunters back to his creaking recliner.

“Hey, Chips?” Luke says, approaching you shyly. He’s holding his Marlin .22. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but my rifle was shooting way to the left today, and I don’t think my aim’s that awful.”

“No problem.” You take it and remove the remaining bullets so there’s no chance the gun will accidentally fire, then examine the sights. “Can you get me Baela’s hammer?”

“Sure.” Luke dashes off and then returns with it moments later.

“You said it was skewed to the left?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

You take the hammer and tap the rear sight a few times. Luke watches you, fascinated, troubled. When he speaks, his voice is soft and miserable.

“I’m sorry I’m so bad at everything.”

“You know, this is the only possible scenario in which someone like you is worth less than me.” You give him an encouraging smile. “I didn’t go to a fancy school. I work with my hands.”

“But you’re smart, Chips. You could have gone to college if you wanted to.”

How would I have paid for application fees, or to take the SAT? How would I have gotten Mama to fill out the FAFSA? What school would have given me a scholarship with my mediocre grades in standard-level classes? Who would have driven me to school and helped me move in? How would I have bought books, shampoo, tampons, a laptop? Where would I have gone if I had trouble finding a job after graduation? What if the people there saw through me? What if they shrank away from the frayed threads I’m built of? There is no point in saying these things. The gulf between you is too great; it will only confuse Luke and hurt you. “I wouldn’t have known where to start.” You reload the Marlin .22 and pass both the gun and the hammer back to him. “I think it’ll work better now.”

“I bet you wish Jace was here instead of me,” Luke says, and it shocks you. ��Everyone does, except maybe Rhaena.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jace was a good fighter, and he was smart, and brave, and capable, and I’m just this…this weak scared loser who only knows how to write screenplays. And what goddamn use is that? Hollywood doesn’t even exist anymore! Scraps of Tom Cruise are probably stuck in some zombie’s teeth right now!”

“Luke, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I shouldn’t have left Jace,” he whispers, distraught. “I betrayed him. He was always protecting me and I couldn’t even save him once.”

“We did everything we could. And we all left Jace, not just you. It was me and Rio who said it first. You haven’t earned the blame.” If Jace’s ghost comes knocking, it won’t be your door he opens, Luke.

“Okay,” Luke replies softly.

“Baela is very, very grateful to still have you and Rhaena, Luke. She told me.”

Luke stares at you, doubtful, hopeful, wanting to believe. “Really?”

“I swear she did. I think you two are keeping her sane. The world, the baby, Jace…sometimes what’s most valuable to people are simple things, kindness, gentleness, compassion, support. I can kill zombies, sure, but I’ve never been good at knowing the right thing to say. You are.”

“Okay,” Luke says again, but he seems more at peace now; perhaps even the tiniest bit proud. “I guess I should go make sure Baela has everything she needs before I go to sleep.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Luke walks a few steps, then turns back towards you, smiling. “I think you know the right thing to say once in a while.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Luke insists, then disappears down the shadowy hallway and into the bedroom.

Aemond arrives at last with his blanket and pillow, arranges them beside yours, then joins you where you sit cross-legged on the floor. “You didn’t stay with Rio today when we rescued Cregan,” he says; not an accusation, a statement, a surrender of sorts.

“No. I didn’t.”

You must be visibly preoccupied. Aemond asks: “What are you thinking about?”

You decide to tell the truth. “How you were never supposed to meet me.”

“What do you mean?”

You point to him. “Rich boy with a beach house on a cliff.” Then you tap your own heart. “Poor girl who grew up playing with sticks and box turtles.”

“And that’s why you like Cregan so much.”

“It’s nice to have someone around who speaks the same language, sure. It’s nice to not have to explain things or think up lies so I can fit into other people’s idea of what the world is. But I don’t like Cregan more than I like you. Not even close.”

Aemond smiles, a warm glow like fire from under his scarred skin. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even if it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I’m sorry I’m not…” Someone sophisticated, seductive, experienced, bewitching. “I’m sorry I don’t already know how to do everything.”

“I don’t care. I would have liked you however you were when I found you.”

You look up at him skeptically. “Really?”

“Yes. Zero boyfriends or ten or twenty, I would want you the same way I do now.”

It hits you so suddenly you can’t stop the tremor in your voice, the shimmering tears in your eyes. “Aemond, please don’t die.”

“I’ll do my best.” He lifts the CD player from your lap and offers you an earbud. You accept it and slip it into your right ear as he puts the other into his left, then clicks the play button on Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman. What you hear are the opening ukelele plucks of Riptide, and you are spirited back to 2013: middle school, oversized hoodies and ripped jeans, hair you have no idea what to do with, the librarian letting you browse music videos on YouTube during lunch because you never cause any trouble, taking bites of your sandwich—one piece of Wonder Bread folded in half, a glob of Skippy peanut butter—and chewing slowly to make it last longer.

Aemond lies down and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you both with his blanket, circles his arms around you and pulls you in closer; and through the music you hear him mutter: “I wish this disgusting Hoarders trailer had two bedrooms.”

You laugh, burrow deeper into him, let his warmth and the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into darkness, still and serene, a place that exists beyond the world and the fear that it is ending.

When you open your eyes again, Aemond is up and speaking in hushed voices with Cregan and Rio in the kitchen, but he hasn’t tried to rouse you yet. I shouldn’t be awake, why am I awake?

Because someone is shining a flashlight directly into your face. You blink and swat at the blinding yellow-white gleam, your eyes aching, your vision hazy and distorted.

“He must check below the racks,” Helaena says. She is on her hands and knees and peering down at you like a bird of prey, like a goddess on Mount Olympus.

“What…?”

“He’s tall, so he won’t look, but that’s where it is. Below the racks. He must see it. Promise me you’ll make him see it.”

“Who’s tall…?” Aemond, Rio, Cregan?

“Promise me!” she hisses fiercely.

“Okay, Helaena! Okay. I promise.”

She crawls away without another word, climbs onto the couch, clicks off the flashlight, and tumbles back into the abyss of sleep with her back to you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Chevy Tahoe—2001 instead of 2023, a dull rusty red instead of glossy dark blue—barrels down Route 2 past fields of soybeans ravaged by deer and rabbits, high feral weeds, tree branches entombing power lines and houses and barns, leaves freckled with cicadas and caterpillars, hay bales and archaic churches, life in shades of peridot and malachite and bloodstone and jade. Baela is driving, Ice has her big shaggy head hanging out of an open window, Cregan is examining Aegon’s map…and meanwhile, Aegon and Rio are singing along to the Enrique Iglesias song blasting through the speakers as one of the mixtapes spins in the Tahoe’s CD player, pretending to serenade and propose marriage to each other.

“Bailamos, let the rhythm take you over, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, bailamos

Gonna live this night forever, bailamos

Te quiero amor mío, te quiero!”

Up ahead there is something in the middle of the road. No, not something; someone, parked across the double yellow lines on a small black motorcycle. As you approach, this person—made blurry by the distance—removes their helmet and seems to wait for you.

“What’s up with that?” Baela asks apprehensively, slowing down from her previously brisk eighty miles per hour.

Aemond frowns at the figure and then scans the fields on either side of the road. “I don’t know. Luke?”

Luke stands up through the sunroof to get a better look with his binoculars. “Oh my God, it’s…it’s…”

“Jace!” Baela screams, and slams on the brakes. She bolts out of the Tahoe before remembering to put it in park; the SUV rolls along sluggishly until Rhaena yanks the gear lever into the proper position. Now everyone is pouring out of the doors and rushing to him. Jace is laughing; he embraces Baela as she crashes into him and sobs into the curve of his neck. Jace is wearing jeans and a leather jacket despite the heat, safety precautions for the motorcycle. If he were to fall off, he’d keep most of his skin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you guys. I didn’t know if I was too far ahead or falling behind.”

Aegon gawks at him, sputtering. “How did…? How are you…?”

“You showed me your map, idiot,” Jace says; but he sounds relieved. “Route 2 all the way across Iowa, that part was pretty easy to remember. I figured if I could get here, I might be able to find you. If not, I’d just surprise you in California.” He grins, huge and teasing, ecstatic tears glittering in his eyes.

“The river,” Luke says, thunderstruck. “We thought you were dead…we left you…Jace, I’m…I’m so sorry we left you…”

“Hey, I get it. The bridge situation was fucked, there was no way you guys could fish me out. The river washed me miles downstream, way too fast for the zombies to keep up. I eventually got dumped on the shore near where some people had set up camp for the night. They were living out of a school bus, about fifteen of them. They heard me coughing and moaning, hunted me down, and dragged me back to the bus. Super nice, right? I told them about the zombies, and we relocated in a hurry. They were headed for a town up near Chicago, Rockville or something, so they took me with them and then one guy gave me his bike and taught me to ride it so I could go west. It’s a Honda Rebel 300. It can get 70 miles to the gallon. I’ve barely had to siphon any gas! And the siphoning hose my new friends gave me is the kind with a pump. No more Uno roulette, bitches!”

“I can’t believe you’re okay,” Baela whispers, tears flooding down her face.

“Don’t cry, I’m here, I’m back, everything’s the way it should be again. Now how’s my baby doing…?”

You, Aemond, and Rio exchange astonished glances. Luke snaps out of his shock and runs to hug Jace and Baela, and Rhaena follows him. Daeron searches the horizon for movement, for danger. Helaena rips the pristine white petals off a bloodroot blossom one by one.

For the first time, Jace notices Cregan. Ice stands beside the flannel-wearing Iowan on the pavement, wagging her long grey tail. She barks at Jace uncertainly. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh yeah, that’s Cregan Man Bun Stark,” Aegon says. “And his anti-zombie wolf Blue Raspberry Icee.”

[pillow-anime-talk]

injured s/o.

synopsis: You were a bit clumsy, but luckily your partner knew first aid. But they had to be careful because both of you know... they were a ghoul.

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; light romance; a bit of drama; also slight fluff; human!reader; mention of blood and wounds; maybe suggestive

includes: gender neutral reader ft. shuu tsukiyama, ken kaneki, touka kirishima, rize kamishiro, ayato kirishima & nishiki nishio {tokyo ghoul}

— SHUU

↘ He instantly smells your delicious blood and almost cries at the sight of the knife covered in red liquid and the onions that were supposed to be part of your disgusting human dinner.

↘ He’s trying hard not to eat your tender, sweet flesh, but after a short breath, he finds a first aid kit and then scolds you from top to bottom. His touch is tender, even though you are well aware that Shuu is holding back all his senses from killing and eating you. He’s a simple man, a bloodthirsty ghoul, so don’t be shocked. Of course he won’t hurt you, but... you never know.

↘ After applying the bandage, he’ll probably lick his fingers to taste your blood, and he feels as if he’s reached the highest level of ecstasy. 

↘ Your blood tastes like the sweetest chocolate, the ripest peach, the best wine, like coffee from the most expensive beans. He almost faints at the thought of you being filled with this dark ruby and delicious ambrosia.

↘ “... Thank you for your help, Shuu-kun.” You smile slightly, touching his arm with your hand. The man just nods, kissing your forehead, then disappears from your view as he enters the bathroom to take a cool shower and calm his farious thoughts.

— KEN

↘ Black Reaper doesn’t show affection to others, unless we are talking about his beloved partner. Then it’s completely different, still dangerous and uncertain, but with you, Kaneki takes off the mask of a dark, vulgar and cruel ghoul.

↘ “May I come in?” He asks softly as your small apartment starts to smell of your sweet like honey blood. Ken tightens his fingers on the doorknob and then enters the room as soon as you let him. One drop of blood escapes from your index finger. You cut yourself with a piece of paper while writing an essay. You look uncertainly at the black-haired man, but you don’t see any negative lust in his eyes. On the contrary, Ken looks worried. “Everything’s all right, love?”

↘ You reply that it’s just a scratch and that you’re fine. Your boyfriend offers you a bandage though, and you smile at him, lightly pressing his body against yours.

↘ “Thank you.” You reply quietly, and he only wonders why. That he didn’t kill you? That he didn’t tear your body in half? That you’re still alive? “... Thank you for being there for me.” His eyes close and he snuggles tighter against your weak, human body.

— TOUKA

↘ Touka is calm and the first thing she will think of is hydrogen peroxide and bandage. She’s not interested in your body, though of course your blood smells like a field of orchids and poppies. This fragrance evokes sentimental memories in her mind.

↘ She examines your wound with the greatest tenderness, and then, equally calmly and without haste, cleans it of any dirt and puts on a professional lint. Her gaze expresses many emotions, none of which are related to her ghoul nature.

↘ “Better now, Y/N?” Dark-haired girl asks calmly, while her hand squeezing yours. You nod your head a bit in response to her brief question and she smiles softly. “Would you like some coffee?” She asks another question, and you nod once more, thanking her for help.

↘ Tonight was full of tenderness and assurances that Touka would never hurt you.

— RIZE

↘ He behaves similarly to Tsukiyama, maybe even worse. The sight of your blood is like a lighter to spilled gasoline. She can’t control herself and runs away as far as possible so as not to hurt you. After all, you are her beloved lover, her little treasure. She can’t afford such a disgusting moment of frailty.

↘ You bandage yourself and expect her return, even though you know it may take several days.

↘ Rize is disgustingly weak when it comes to you; after all you are her greatest drug and probably if she only tasted a drop of your blood or was in the same room with you for a bit longer, she would definitely throw herself at you.

↘ The relationship with her is quite dangerous, but you feel happy with her. Maybe it’s stupid and life threatening, but you really can’t imagine your own life without this beautiful and graceful woman.

— AYATO

↘ He snorts with laughter when your apartment starts to smell like blood. When he enters the bathroom, he sees that you’ve cut yourself shaving and a few drops of blood run down your still wet skin.

↘ “If a razor beats you that much, then seriously consider my proposal to turn you into a ghoul, kitten.” The sarcasm in his voice is strong and you just roll your eyes. You quickly wash the wounds with a cotton swab and water, then find the plaster.

↘ “You know very well that I am the biggest enjoyer of fried rice with vegetables and lasagna. There is no way I will give up these human goods to eat human flesh.” You grimaced at the thought, which made the black-haired man laugh lightly one more time. “You should help me instead of laughing, dumb boy.”

↘ “Hmm... Nope, nah.” He waved at you and then went back to watching TV, calmly waiting for you to come over and lie down next to him.

— NISHIKI

↘ He cares a lot about you; you are the most important person in his life, so the sight of your tear-stained face and chafes on your knees from falling down the stairs is a hard sight for him.

↘ So he takes you into his arms and leads you to the bedroom, where he treats your wounds with the greatest precision with disinfectant spray and bruise ointment. He talks to you a lot during this moment, almost forgetting that he is a ghoul. For sure, a few years ago he would have jumped on you without much thought, just to end your suffering.

↘ Afterwards, he smiles slightly and offers to order you something good to eat to make you feel better. You’ll agree, although you’re asking for a moment of tenderness and a few kisses. 

↘ You’re definitely too cute.

[ghost-bison]

Doctor Who: Parallels, Coincidences & Callbacks

1. The day the Tenth Doctor met Donna Noble for the first time was Ruby Sunday's third birthday

2. Ruby was abandoned at a church of the same name as the one where Donna got married: St. Mary's Church

3. Both Rose Noble's and Ruby Sunday's mums were, at some point, the most important woman in the whole of creation, while also being the most ordinary people you could imagine

4. As pointed out by the Fifteenth Doctor, "rose" and "ruby" are both shades of red

5. Martha, Bill and Ruby have all expressed concerns about venturing in the past, asking about the consequences of stepping on a butterfly

6. In 14x06 "Rogue", when Fifteen thinks the Chuldur have killed Ruby, he asks Rogue about their lifespan. Rogue says 600 years, and Fifteen answers "Good, it's a long time to suffer". This parallels 3x09 "The Family of Blood", when Ten gives the Family a fate worse than death by trapping them and making sure they live forever. The terrifying thing with Fifteen, though, is that contrary to Ten, he found a balance between being happy and whimsical and fun, and then openly displaying satisfaction at the prospect of making certain people suffer

7. In the Christmas special "The Church on Ruby Road", when Ruby shows Fifteen all the pictures of the kids her mum fostered over the years, Fifteen tells her she's got the biggest family in the world. This is almost word-for-word what Sarah-Jane had told Ten in 4x13 "Journey's End"

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Forever, mine.

Pairing: Astarion x reader

Warning: Dark themes, Smut, Concubine reader, Augst, Yandere Astarion, Possessive Astarion, Arguments, Creampie, Fingering, Bloodsucking, One-side love? (Fanart, not mine). Part 2

Summary: don't you know you're his?

You recall the first time you met your master, the white clouds blocked the warm light of the sun. You sat down at the edge of the path of the town where you were confined. Ladies and gentlemen alike walked pasted you, who would pay attention to a beggar? A woman at that who was covered in dirt and grime, hair rattan and tangled, with cloths holed and torn. You sniffled as your vision blurred, barely seeing people walking until tears fell.

That's when you saw him.

It was like the world slowed for his outworldly beauty. A ray of sunlight appeared from the cloudy day and shined upon him, a man of pale skin, white hair that was styled to perfection, eyes an beautiful burgundy, and he was adorned with the finest of fabrics, a smirk full of genuine confidence.

Your breath shorted as the man stopped in front of you once he noticed your glaze, the Heat of embarrassment flushed in your cheeks, and your lap became quite outstanding. Unexpectedly two fingers lifted your chin and your glaze had once again fell on the man. He kneeled on one knee and smiled softly at you to your surprise. Leaning back you surely smelled caused a frown on his lips. "You do not have to fear me pet. I wish you no harm, quite the contrary." his voice was as regal and enchanting as his blessed beauty, "Take my hand." he offered his other hand, you musted of hesitated more than he liked he spoke again "I know how hard this life is. Having to beg for the tiny bit of kindness of cruel people." he looked almost pasted you like he was reminiscing. "I'll take you away. You won't have to worry about your next meal nor surviving another cold, winter anymore.  For I will clothe you, feed you, keep you safe and warm. All your wants and needs will be met." he rubbed some grime from your cheek.

"What do you say?" you took his hand that day and his words rang true. If only you knew what it would come to.

The dancing of the candlelight shined light upon the sinful dance of passion you shared with your master, in the otherwise dark room.

Your mouth dropped open as you let out a strangled moan, Astarion's hold on your hips tightened in response. "My beautiful concubine." Your master growled as he lost himself in pleasure called you, his usual maintained curls, messy from the grip your had them in earlier, and laid over his ruby orbs, He was even more beautiful this way. "You ruin me!" He gasps as you clenched around your poor master, his thrusting stuttered before he began to pound into your squelching, wet cunt. The sent of your arousals and sweat thickens in the air "Harder." You bucked your hips "please, harder." You begged of your master and he surly answered. "As you wish my pet." He chuckled darkly as he throw your legs that rested around his waist onto his shoulders and bend down, driving his already deep cock deeper in your wet cavern. The world seemed to disappeared as your heated glazes locked together, it was just you and him in this moment of passionate, as you both reached your climax, he whispered her name. The name of his beloved runway, Tav, the one you were brought here to just replac. You faked a moan and a shudder, faking your orgasm as your master release his pearly cum deep within you. Filling you with everything he had but his love.

Disappointment and bitterness were a feeling you knew all too well and while he lay beside you it felt like he was miles away, so scared to get close, he saved you and he favored you yet that meant nothing, and it meant nothing as Astarion held you close, your head resting on his chest, snuggling into his side as the moon raised high in the sky. It was nothing and you would always being nothing to him.

As the sun took its place among the clouds of the day, you awoke to his disappearance, likely busy with his duties as the vampire Lord, and a note with your beloved master's beautiful handwriting.

My dearest concubine,

I regret to inform you that I will be occupied for the remainder of the day and night as there is no rest for rulers. I hope you will miss me as much as I miss you.

With love,

Astarion.

You sighed, pushing away the ache in your heart as you sat down on your vanity chair, and began to brush your hair. Despite being only a concubine, you were an extension of your master and you had to look of importance in your master's castle. Once your maid helped you into your gown your duties commenced. You were to make sure things were done to perfection, and that no mistakes were made to give people a slight idea your master reputation was not up to hold.

The kitchen bustled with life as the chefs and the maid prepared for one of the master's many ball events, which would feature various races. Your maid, Lyra, took notes as you checked with the chefs about the dishes. "My lady," she whispered gently, poking your arm to gather your attention away from the head chef's demonstration of the selected dishes. A familiar pale man smiled at you, his teal eyes lighting up as you glanced in his direction. Soren Nightingale, a young man who was clearly infatuated with you, and you felt the same way about him.

Soren took your hand, and you both ran to the garden. Your back hit the tree as his lips met yours. Little did you know, angry ruby eyes were watching from the castle window.

"This how you repay me!" Astarion hissed, slamming the door of his chamber, the moon had raised again shrouding the room in moonlight, "Giving another man love and affection!" He yelled, glaring at you with such rage that you stepped back each time he walked towards you till your back met the wall. "I gave you everything! My love was yours but how would you care!! You still love her? " you yelled back. "You forget yourself. You belong to me! All of you." He grabbed your arm and pulled you into a kiss, his hand tearing away at your gown and underwater, his rough kisses trailing from your lips to your neck, his sinfully hot tongue licking a stripe before his fangs pierced your skin. An unexpected moan forced its way out of you as your master drank from you.

You yepped as his fangs ripped out your neck and you were thrown onto his bed. Your face burned with embarrassment, and frustration as your pussy became wet with your arousal. "oh my pet~" Astarion cooed as he climbed above you, his body bare of clothes, "Your body knows it's mine, why can't you? " he mocked as his cold nimble fingers playfully dips the tip of his finger into your entrance. You glared at him, your lips curled into a snarl "I will never-" your words were cut off as your mouth dropped into a perfect o as his long finger finally pushed it away in. In no time his finger was joined by another as they curled into your sweet spot and they thrusted with practiced ease. Slick coated the silken sheets as well as your master's palm, the coming bliss of your orgasm was taken away as he pulled his fingers from your depths.

"Now we can't have that, you've been a bad pup." Astarion grinned wickedly as he saw the look of anger on your face, he wanted to prove a point and he would, lining up his cock to your core and without waiting slammed in, groaning as he felt your wet walls. You cried out, your body shook from his intense thrusts, his hips snapping, driving his cock deeper and deeper nor did he slow. The bed creaked under you as your bucked your hips to his ponding, and as his cock head hit your cervix, your sweet releasing finally washed upon you. "You belong to me and don't you ever forget it." Astarion growled as he slammed into you, his cock throbbing and twitch as his cum filled you in hot spurts.

You will always be his and he'll never let you forget it. He will make sure to let that little boy know as well.

[aihoshiino]

chapter 164 thoughts

This post discusses suicide and suicidal ideation in the context of Oshi no Ko.

Chapters Until The Story Ends Without The 143 Kiss Being Addressed Or Acknowledged: 2

Bizarrely, I feel like I don't have a ton to say about this chapter. Not because stuff doesn't happen in it but because… fuck, man. What do I even say. I can't quite 100% shake my suspicion that Akasaka has some asspull up his sleeve and that Aqua might come back in style form, even if altered to the point that he isn't the Aqua we know anymore, but this chapter is clearly set up for us to think he's dead and for us to see other character's reactions to this news, so I'll talk about the text with that assumption in mind. This one will probably be kind of all over the place so bear with me ig

That being said… this is all kind of dumb as fuck, huh

Like. There's just so many insane contrivances with this setup that it's impossible for me to take it seriously. Putting aside that there's no way on planet earth Aqua's plan should have fooled anybody, why in God's name are his family and friends finding out about this from a news broadcast and not, like… Being contacted by the police?? Or at least hearing about it beforehand??

I also really don't like that we're setting up to have a whole chapter focusing on Ruby's response to all this while Aqua's Literal Mother and all his friends get like. Two panels to be shocked at the news. If the series ends without giving them all the space to grieve I think I will be legitimately really pissed off lmao

The presence of 15 Year Lie in this chapter also makes me agonizingly aware that we know basically nothing about it to this day, even though the contents of the movie are what this final arc revolves around. Aqua's plan relies on Kamiki's crimes as exposed by the movie being heinous enough that Kamiki would kill Aqua to silence them but…

WHAT FUCKING CRIMES???

The Kamiki we saw in the movie was only ever portrayed as a victim in the scenes we see. Unless the story is trying to imply that Kamiki is somehow responsible for Uehara and Airi's deaths or that 15YL makes him directly responsible for Gorou's death or - literally I have no idea what this could be referring to.

I dunno, man. It's hard for me to really want to buckle down and analyse this because so much of it feels entirely contrary to the story that came before. I've always insisted that the one thing that we could guarantee was that Aqua and Ruby would survive the series and be happy because so much emotional weight is put on Ai's wish for Aqua and Ruby to grow into adults and be happy, and it really seemed like we were building up to an ending of Aqua deciding for himself that he wants to finally live for himself, so this sudden swerve into Aqua being told by God "actually your purpose in life is to nobly commit suicide for your sister" is uh, jarring to say the least.

Part of the issue with this is that I think Akasaka doesn't think of Aqua's sacrifice as being a suicide, narratively speaking, even though Akane literally acknowledges it as such. But the thing is, Aqua's "sacrifice" is emergent from all the same things as his suicidal ideation - his belief that his life is intrinsically less valuable than everyone else's and his continued guilt and self loathing as a result of his trauma. Aqua literally says to Ruby's face in 143 that he feels guilty just for being alive and it's literally never addressed again.

So it's very difficult not to read this ending as the story approving of Aqua killing himself, but only if it's for the right reasons. Not only is that an insanely irresponsible message to put into a story as widespread and visible as OnK is right now, it's also just fucking ghoulish.

Idk. Even if Aqua lived here, I just really dislike this idea of his whole life's purpose being Narratively Affirmed as being to uplift Ruby at his own expense. Aqua is very much like Ai in that he's a person who has spent basically all of both his lives in service to other people, unable to pursue the things that he wants and that make him genuinely fulfilled - an ending that parallels Ai, where he is denied this to the extent that it kills him, is not a bad idea on paper but the execution here makes it fall apart. Like, if the framing was that Aqua and Kamiki were both unable to move on from the past to the point that it kills them, I'd vibe with that or something like it. But as is, this shit is just baffling.

It doesn't help that Aqua's death is just completely unmoored from anything the series has been setting up all this time. I've seen people defending this as being what Aqua's revenge was building up to, but this very explicitly isn't about Aqua's revenge. It's about "protecting Ruby's future", but the idea that Kamiki was a threat to Ruby specifically is something that was introduced all of four chapters ago. Even then, it's deeply undercooked. Like, what it is about Kamiki that makes him SUCH a threat to Ruby that Aqua has no choice but to take the nuclear option and kill them both? Why is this the one and only way to stop him? We don't know - we basically know nothing about Kamiki besides "he's Ai's crazy ex" which is such a massive letdown for an antagonist who's been built up for this long.

Speaking of Ai…. where the fuck is she!!!

I know this is predictable background noise from the Ai Wife Guy, but it really is baffling to me that she's such a nonfactor when the climax happening right now is her son confronting the man who killed her. At best, we get mild lipservice as to her existence but the series is so all-in on this "protecting Ruby's future" framing that Ai's absence here feels jarring. It's not just that Ai should be relevant because I like her (but I DO and she SHOULD) but because it makes for a bizarrely deflated finale. Instead of the tragedy we've been building up to avenging for over 140 chapters, Aqua's death comes as the result of a plan he came up with on the spot to deal with an ill-defined threat that only came into existence 4-6 chapters ago.

It just doesn't really feel satisfying, especially when the series has been so wishy washy when it comes to focusing on Aqua and Ruby's relationship. If the series was going to make that connection The central axis on which this climax revolves, then it needed more fleshing out than it got, regardless of if the series went the AquRuby route or not.

Two chapters left………..

[satansdarlin]

Spring's comfort

Oh my God, two posts in one day? New record! Anyway I wrote this to indulge my shameless love for Scott summers. (My ACTUAL hubby). Also stoner!Scott cause I said so.

Scott summers x FEM!reader

Rating: M

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: talk about weed and the consumption of it, mention of sexual tension and slight alludements to it, talk of battle feild casualties, talk of self doubt and bullying for physical appearance, The xmen are nearly a sickingly sweet family.

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

The hill behind Xavier's School bloomed with early spring's awakening, dotted with cheerful dandelions that swayed in the gentle breeze. Below, the sounds of laughter and the crack of baseball bats echoed across the grounds, but your attention was fixed on the figure hunched beneath the ancient oak that crowned the hilltop.

You traced your fingers across the weathered bark, finding the initials you and Scott had carved years ago—back when white bandages had covered his eyes instead of his now-signature ruby quartz. Those early days felt like a lifetime ago, yet some things remained constant: like Scott's stubborn refusal to show weakness, even as spring's changing pressure systems wreaked havoc with his migraines.

"Don't," Scott said through clenched teeth as you settled beside him. "I'm fine."

You kept your voice soft, barely above a whisper, but couldn't resist a touch of sarcasm. "Oh yeah, you look absolutely fantastic. I especially love how you're definitely not about to accidentally vaporize that innocent shrub down there."

He pressed his face harder against his knees, a quiet groan escaping. "Please don't start. I've already had to deal with Logan's commentary today."

"No starting, I promise." You reached into your pocket, retrieving a small bottle. "In fact, I come bearing gifts of mercy."

The secret you shared with Scott—one that would leave the entire school slack-jawed in disbelief if they knew—clinked softly as you shook out a single gummy and pressed it into his palm. The straight-laced, by-the-book Scott Summers had discovered that sometimes the best medicine came in less conventional forms.

"You're an absolute lifesaver," he murmured, carefully placing the edible on his tongue. He let it dissolve slowly, a technique you'd both learned maximized its effectiveness against the crushing pressure behind his eyes.

You settled back against the oak's sturdy trunk, maintaining a comfortable silence as the spring breeze carried distant shouts and laughter up the hill. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for Scott—one he allowed few others to witness—and you were content to simply be there, a steady presence while he waited for relief.

Minutes passed in companionable quiet before Scott finally shifted, his shoulders gradually losing their tension. "Logan caught me in the Danger Room earlier," he admitted, voice slightly rough. "Told me I was being an idiot for pushing myself when I could barely see straight."

"Well, he's not wrong," you replied, bumping his shoulder gently. "Though I'm sure he expressed it with his usual delicacy."

A small smile tugged at Scott's lips. "Something about 'stubborn jackasses' and 'teaching while half-blind.'" He lifted his head slightly, the afternoon sun catching on his visor. "I had to cancel my advanced combat class."

"The students will survive one missed lesson," you assured him. "Contrary to what you might think, the school won't fall apart if you take care of yourself occasionally."

"Says the person enabling my highly unprofessional coping methods," he countered, but there was warmth in his voice now, the edge of pain finally beginning to fade.

You grinned. "Hey, I prefer to think of it as 'providing alternative therapeutic solutions.' Very professional. I could probably write a paper about it."

"Please don't." But he was actually chuckling now, the sound soft and genuine. The medication was starting to take effect, easing the vice-grip of pain that had been squeezing his skull. "Though I'd love to see the Professor's face if you tried to present that at a medical conference."

"'The Effects of Cannabis on Optic Blast-Induced Migraines: A Case Study,'" you intoned in your best academic voice. "I'm sure it would be very well-received."

Scott shook his head, but he was smiling properly now. The worst of the migraine was passing, leaving him tired but no longer in agony. He leaned back against the tree beside you, your shoulders touching. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For knowing when to find me. For..." He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything—the medicine, the company, the lack of judgment.

"Always," you replied simply. "That's what friends are for.”

The word "friends" settled between you like autumn leaves, delicate and somehow tinged with melancholy. You became acutely aware of where your shoulders touched, of the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the spring air. These moments alone with Scott had become both a comfort and a sweet torture—each one adding another crack to the careful walls you'd built around your growing feelings for him.

Scott shifted slightly, and you felt him tense, though not from pain this time. "Jean asked about us the other day," he said carefully, his tone deliberately neutral in that way that meant he was overthinking every word.

Your heart stuttered. "Oh?" You kept your own voice light, though your fingers nervously plucked at the grass beside you. "What about us?"

"She said..." He paused, seeming to wrestle with the words. "She said we have a connection she's never seen me have with anyone else. That even without her telepathy, she can see it."

You forced a laugh, though it came out slightly strained. "Well, shared delinquency does tend to bond people."

"That's not—" Scott started, then stopped. His jaw worked for a moment before he continued, softer, "You know that's not what she meant."

The air felt heavier suddenly, charged with unspoken words. You could feel your pulse in your throat, years of careful friendship teetering on the edge of something more. But the risk of losing what you had, of making things awkward and ruining the easy comfort between you—it seemed too high a price.

"Scott..." you began, not sure how to finish.

He turned toward you slightly, and even through the ruby quartz, you could feel the intensity of his gaze. "Sometimes," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "I wonder if I'm the only one who..." He trailed off, uncertainty evident in the set of his shoulders.

Your breath caught. Was he saying what you thought he was saying? You'd gotten so good at reading him over the years, at interpreting every subtle shift in his expression, but right now you were terrified of misunderstanding.

"You're not," you whispered back, heart hammering. "You're not the only one."

The confession hung in the air between you, delicate as spun glass. Scott's hand found yours in the grass, his fingers trembling slightly as they intertwined with your own. Neither of you moved beyond that simple touch, both afraid of shattering this fragile new thing taking shape between you.

"How long?" he asked softly.

You gave a shaky laugh. "Remember when you helped me practice combat moves last summer? You pinned me down, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. And it wasn't because of the sparring."

A slight flush crept up his neck. "I, uh, may have let that match go on longer than strictly necessary for training purposes."

"Really?" You turned to face him fully now, a smile tugging at your lips. "And here I thought you were just being thorough."

"I've wanted to tell you," he admitted, thumb tracing patterns on your palm. "But you're one of the few people who sees me as just... me. Not Cyclops, not the team leader, just Scott. I couldn't bear to lose that."

"You won't," you assured him, squeezing his hand. "That's not something that could change. Though I might have to start calling you 'just Scott' now, to make sure you remember."

He smiled then, one of those rare, full smiles that made your heart flip. "I think I can live with that."

The baseball game below had ended, the sun starting to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. But neither of you moved to leave your spot under the oak tree, content to sit in this new understanding, hands linked, watching the day fade into evening.

Sometimes the biggest changes came not with grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but with quiet admissions on spring afternoons, with the gentle understanding that what you'd been looking for had been right beside you all along but that was just the beginning of something new.

.

.

.

Your room had become a haven of soft lamplight and quiet laughter as evening settled over the mansion. You sat cross-legged on your bed, Scott beside you, both of you having shed the day's tensions along with your shoes. The small fan in your window hummed, pushing the spring breeze through your room and carrying away any telltale scents.

"I still can't believe you kept that," Scott chuckled, gesturing to the rather embarrassing photo on your cork board—him in his early days at the school, attempting to look serious despite sporting a truly regrettable haircut.

"Are you kidding? It's blackmail gold," you teased, feeling wonderfully light and warm. The evening's shared gummy had left you both in that perfect state of relaxed contentment. "Besides, you were adorable with that bowl cut."

"Adorable isn't exactly the look I was going for," he replied, but his smile was fond. The usual rigid set of his shoulders had melted away, and he'd relaxed back against your headboard, his leg pressed against yours.

"No? What look were you going for exactly? Because I distinctly remember—"

A sharp knock at your door made you both freeze.

"Hey, kid, you got a bottle opener in there?" Logan's gruff voice carried through the wood.

You exchanged panicked looks with Scott, whose face had gone notably pale. "Uh, just a second!" you called out, frantically waving your hands at the wisps of smoke from your incense burner.

"I can come back if you're busy," Logan drawled, a knowing tone in his voice that made your stomach drop. Right. Enhanced senses. Of course he could smell—

"No! No, it's fine, I'll just—" you stumbled off the bed, accidentally kicking Scott in the process, who barely managed to stifle a yelp.

When you opened the door, you kept it deliberately narrow, trying to block the view inside. Logan stood there with his signature raised eyebrow, a six-pack of beer tucked under one arm.

"Bottle opener?" you squeaked.

His nostrils flared slightly, and his lips twitched. "Interesting evening you're having."

"I don't know what you—"

"Summers in there with you?" He didn't wait for an answer, raising his voice slightly. "You know, if someone's having trouble sleeping or dealing with pain, there's this thing called the med bay."

You heard Scott groan from inside the room.

Logan's expression shifted between amusement and exasperation. "Look, I don't care what you two do in your off hours, but maybe try using the bathroom fan next time. Some of us have sensitive noses." He paused, then added with a smirk, "And thin walls."

Your face burned. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Bottle opener?" he reminded you.

"Right! Yes!" You practically dove for your desk drawer, grabbed the opener, and thrust it at him.

He accepted it with a knowing look. "Have fun, kids. Try to keep it down." He turned to leave, then called over his shoulder, "And Summers? You got training with the junior team at nine tomorrow. Don't be late."

You closed the door and leaned against it, mortified. Behind you, Scott had buried his face in your pillow.

"So," you said after a moment of profound silence, "that happened."

Scott lifted his head, his hair adorably mussed. "Think he'll tell the Professor?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his worried expression. "Pretty sure Logan's the last person to snitch about recreational activities." Moving back to the bed, you settled beside him again. "Though we might want to invest in better ventilation."

"Or," Scott said, reaching for your hand and pulling you closer, "we could just use my room next time. Corner suite. Better air flow."

"Next time?" you asked, trying to ignore how your heart skipped at his casual assumption of future evenings together.

His smile turned slightly sheepish. "Well, I was hoping... since we already came clean about other things today..."

You leaned in closer, feeling bold. "Mr. Summers, are you suggesting we make this a regular thing?"

"The getting caught by Logan part? Definitely not." His hand found your waist. "The rest of it? Yeah, I think I am."

Before you could respond, his com unit chirped. Followed by yours. Then both of your phones.

"GROUP MEETING NOW," read Storm's text. "LOGAN SAYS IT'S URGENT."

You both stared at the messages in horror.

"He wouldn't," Scott said.

Another text came through: "BRING BOTTLE OPENER."

"He would," you groaned.

Scott let his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. "Think it's too late to run away and join the Brotherhood?"

You patted his knee sympathetically. "Look on the bright side—at least we don't have to figure out how to tell everyone we're dating now."

"Is that what we're doing?" he asked softly, tension creeping back into his shoulders. "Dating?"

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Well, I'm not sharing my premium edibles with just anyone, Summers."

His laugh, warm and genuine, was worth whatever teasing awaited you downstairs. Though you did make a mental note to start keeping backup bottle openers in every room—just in case.The walk to the common room felt like a march to execution, though you weren't sure what was more nerve-wracking—the prospect of facing the team or the way Scott's hand kept brushing against yours, sending little electric shocks up your arm. You were still slightly high, which wasn't helping your anxiety levels.

"We could always say we were studying," you suggested halfheartedly as you approached the door.

Scott snorted. "Right. Because that's totally why my heart rate is through the roof right now."

"You know I can hear you both, right?" Logan's voice carried through the door, followed by several poorly suppressed snickers.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door. The entire team was sprawled across various furniture pieces, trying and failing to look casual. Storm sat perched on the arm of the sofa, hiding a smile behind her hand. Kurt was hanging upside down from the chandelier, his tail swishing with barely contained amusement. Even the Professor was there, though he at least had the grace to maintain his usual serene expression.

"So," Logan drawled from his position leaning against the fireplace, "now that our fearless leader and his... study partner have joined us, we can begin."

Scott's ears were turning red, but he maintained his composure, crossing his arms. "You called an emergency meeting just to—"

"Actually," Storm interrupted, her eyes twinkling, "we've been taking bets on when you two would finally figure it out. Jean's been insufferable about knowing for months."

"WHAT?" you and Scott exclaimed simultaneously.

"Please," Jean smirked from her corner. "You think I needed telepathy to see those pining looks? The sexual tension in the Danger Room was getting ridiculous."

"There was no sexual tension in the—" Scott started.

"Dude," Bobby cut in, "you made us run extra drills every time they wore those new training pants."

Your face felt like it was on fire. Scott's mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out.

"If we could return to the actual purpose of this meeting," the Professor interjected smoothly, though you swore you saw him slip Storm a twenty-dollar bill. "Logan has brought to my attention that we may need to discuss updating some of our... recreational policies."

"Oh god," you mumbled, sinking into the nearest chair. Scott remained standing, looking like he wished his optic blasts could open a hole in the floor to swallow him.

"Specifically," Logan continued, clearly enjoying himself, "the proper ventilation requirements for certain activities." He tossed your bottle opener in the air and caught it. "And maybe a discussion about sharing resources."

"I hate everyone in this room," Scott declared, but he finally sat down—right next to you on the loveseat, his thigh pressed against yours in a way that definitely didn't help your concentration.

"Even me?" you whispered.

His hand found yours between the cushions, hidden from view. "You're on thin ice," he murmured back, but his thumb stroking across your knuckles said otherwise.

"If you two are done having a moment," Logan interrupted, "we've got actual business to discuss. Like how I'm not gonna play delivery man every time someone needs party supplies."

"Wait," Kurt's eyes widened, his tail stopping mid-swish. "Is THAT why Scott's always so relaxed during movie nights?"

"Moving on," the Professor said firmly, but there was definite amusement in his voice. "Perhaps we should discuss the upcoming mission to—"

"Nuh uh," Storm cut in. "We're not changing subjects until they tell us how long this has been going on. I've got money riding on this."

You exchanged a look with Scott, and something in his expression made your heart flutter. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the edible, or maybe it was just that the secret was out anyway, but you felt a surge of boldness.

"Well," you announced, "officially? About six hours. Unofficially..." you squeezed Scott's hand, "probably since that time he tried to teach me to ride his motorcycle and we ended up in the lake."

"HAH!" Bobby jumped up. "That was eight months ago! Pay up, everyone!"

Money started changing hands around the room as Scott turned to you, eyebrows raised above his visor. "The lake incident? Really?"

You shrugged, feeling your face heat up. "You gave me your jacket, and your hair was all wet, and you had this little smile... it was a whole thing."

"If it helps," he said softly, ignoring the chaos of bet-settling around you, "I started falling for you way before that. Remember when you brought me soup during that mission planning session and told me I was being an idiot for skipping meals?"

"That was over a year ago!"

"Yeah, well," he smiled that rare, soft smile that made your insides melt, "apparently I'm slow to catch on."

"Oh my god, they're even worse now," Logan groaned. "I'm gonna need stronger beer."

But you barely heard him, too caught up in the way Scott was looking at you, in the realization that all those moments you'd treasured, all those little interactions you'd overthought—he'd been feeling it too. The team's teasing faded into background noise as Scott's thumb traced patterns on your palm, each touch a quiet promise of more moments to come.

"So," you whispered, "your room next time?"

His answering grin was worth every bit of embarrassment the evening had brought. "It's a date."

"If you two are done making heart eyes at each other," Storm called out, "we actually do have a mission to discuss."

Scott straightened, slipping into leader mode, but his hand stayed firmly entwined with yours. And if the mission briefing took longer than usual because people kept making poorly concealed jokes about "joint operations" and "higher planning"—well, you found you didn't mind so much anymore.

Sometimes the best things in life came with a side of merciless teasing from your found family. And maybe, you thought as Scott's thumb brushed across your knuckles again, that made them even better. 

.

.

.

The mission had left you both battered and exhausted, more emotionally than physically. Your uniform still bore scorch marks from a too-close call, and Scott's jaw hadn't unclenched since you'd boarded the Blackbird for the flight home. The loss of civilians always hit him the hardest, even when there was nothing more any of you could have done.

You found yourself following him to his corner suite without discussion, neither of you wanting to be alone. The sun had long since set, casting the mansion in quiet shadows. His room was exactly as you'd expected—meticulously organized, minimalist, but with small touches that were purely Scott: a worn paperback on the nightstand, a framed photo of the original team, his leather jacket hung carefully by the door.

"Shower's yours if you want it," he offered quietly, already shrugging off his tactical vest.

You shook your head. "You first. I'll raid your dresser for something clean."

He paused, then nodded, disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the silence as you borrowed one of his soft grey t-shirts and a pair of track pants that you had to roll at the waist several times.

When he emerged, hair damp and wearing sleep clothes, some of the mission's tension had eased from his shoulders. He'd switched his visor for his sleeping goggles—the ones you'd helped him modify last winter to be more comfortable.

"Better?" you asked softly.

He crossed to where you sat on the edge of his bed, cupping your face in his hands. "Getting there," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. "Today was..."

"I know." You pulled him closer, letting him wrap his arms around you, holding on as if to assure himself you were really there. "But we made it. We're here."

His fingers traced the edge of the scorch mark on your borrowed shirt. "When I saw that blast coming toward you—"

"Hey." You caught his hand, bringing it to your lips. "I'm okay. We're okay."

He exhaled shakily, then kissed you with a gentle desperation that made your heart ache. You responded in kind, trying to pour all your understanding and comfort into the contact. When you finally parted, his breathing was unsteady.

"Stay?" he whispered. "Just... stay with me tonight?"

"Always," you promised, shifting to make room as he pulled back the covers.

You settled into his arms, your back against his chest, his heartbeat steady against your spine. His arm draped protectively around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach, thumb tracing idle patterns that made you shiver.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your hair.

You laced your fingers through his. "More than okay." After a moment, you added with a slight smile, "Though Logan's probably going to have opinions about our sleeping arrangements at tomorrow's training session."

His quiet laugh rumbled through your back. "Logan can deal with it." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "I need this. Need you."

The simple honesty in his voice made your breath catch. You turned in his arms to face him, tracing the line of his jaw. "You've got me, Scott. For as long as you want me."

His answer was another kiss, deeper this time, full of unspoken promises and growing heat. Your hands found their way under his shirt, mapping the warm skin of his back as he drew you closer.

The world outside could wait until morning. For now, there was just this—the quiet sanctuary of his room, the comfort of being held, and the knowledge that whatever tomorrow brought, you'd face it together.

.

.

.

The first time you heard it, you were breaking up a disagreement between two students in the hallway. Scott had arrived moments after you, arms crossed, wearing what the kids called his "Dad Face"—stern but concerned, ready to dispense both discipline and guidance.

"Sorry, Mom, sorry, Dad," one of the students had muttered automatically, then frozen, eyes widening in horror at what they'd just said.

You'd maintained your composure until the students scurried away, then dissolved into laughter against Scott's shoulder. "Did we just get parent-zoned by the junior class?"

But it didn't stop there. Somehow, it spread through the school like wildfire.

"Mom! Bobby froze my homework again!" became a common complaint in your classroom.

"Dad's giving the disappointed face in combat training" was whispered in hallways whenever Scott had to correct someone's form.

Now, weeks later, you were grading papers in the library when Scott dropped into the chair beside you, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Three different students asked me if they were grounded today. I wasn't even disciplining them."

You tried to hide your smile. "Well, you were wearing your navy sweater. That's definitely peak dad energy."

"I like this sweater," he protested, then paused. "Wait, is that my cardigan you're wearing?"

"Maybe." You tugged the borrowed garment closer. It still smelled like him. "I'm just leaning into the mom aesthetic. Besides, you never wear it."

"Because someone keeps stealing it." But his mock annoyance was betrayed by the way he reached over to fix the collar, his fingers lingering against your neck.

"Mr. Summers! Ms.—oh gross, they're being cute again," came Jubilee's voice from behind a bookshelf. "I'm telling Logan our parents are making out in the library."

"We're not—" Scott started, but she was already gone, the sound of her laughter echoing down the hall.

You couldn't help chuckling at his flustered expression. "You have to admit, it's kind of sweet they see us that way."

"Sweet wasn't exactly what I was going for when I became a teacher here," he grumbled, but there was a softness in his voice.

"No? The great Cyclops didn't dream of being the world's most responsible dad figure?" You reached up to smooth his perpetually wayward hair. "Because you're kind of nailing it with the whole protective, supportive, slightly nerdy—"

He cut you off with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other steadied himself on your chair. You melted into it, papers forgotten, until—

"Ugh, LOGAN! They're doing it again!"

You broke apart to find Kitty's head sticking through a bookshelf, looking thoroughly scandalized.

"That's it," Scott declared, standing and pulling you up with him. "Field trip. Everyone's running laps."

"But Daaaad," Kitty whined, then phased fully through the shelf with a grin. "Does this mean we're getting a little brother or sister?"

You'd never seen Scott turn quite that shade of red before.

"Twenty laps!" he called after her retreating form. "And tell your friends thirty if they make any more comments!"

You tugged him back down into his chair, laughing at his flustered expression. "You know that's just going to encourage them more, right?"

He groaned, letting his head fall onto your shoulder. "How did this become my life?"

"Well," you mused, running your fingers through his hair, "you did decide to date the cool teacher. The one who lets them eat snacks in class and doesn't give pop quizzes."

"The one who enables their sugar highs and constantly undermines my authority, you mean?" But he was smiling now, that soft smile reserved just for you.

"Exactly. Face it, Summers, you're stuck being the strict parent. Someone has to maintain order around here."

He lifted his head to look at you, and something in his expression made your heart skip. "Yeah?" he said softly. "And how long do you plan on being the fun parent?"

The weight of the question hung in the air between you. "Well," you managed, throat suddenly tight with emotion, "I did help you reorganize your closet by color last weekend. I think I'm pretty committed to this co-parenting gig."

His laugh was warm and full of promise as he pulled you closer. "Good. Because I'm pretty sure the kids would stage a revolt if Mom left."

"Just the kids?" you teased.

"Well," he murmured, leaning in, "Dad might have some opinions about it too."

"Oh my god, AGAIN?" came Bobby's voice from somewhere behind you. "Logan! MOM AND DAD ARE—"

"FIFTY LAPS!" Scott shouted, but he was laughing as he said it, and when he kissed you again, neither of you cared who saw.

After all, every family had its quirks. Yours just happened to include superpowers, teenage mutants who called you Mom and Dad, and a perpetually exasperated Logan who kept threatening to send you both to parenting classes.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

.

.

.

You hadn't meant to ruin the rare day off. The local pool had seemed like a perfect escape from the summer heat, and seeing the younger students so excited about a normal afternoon out had been worth all the preparation and permission slips. But now you sat on the edge of your bed, still in your damp swimsuit with Scott's t-shirt hastily pulled over it, trying to pretend your hands weren't shaking.

The knock at your door was gentle. "Hey," Scott's voice carried through. "Can I come in?"

You made a noncommittal sound that he correctly interpreted as yes. He entered, still in his swim trunks and the long-sleeve rashguard he wore to hide his more visible scars. The ruby quartz sunglasses he wore for public outings were pushed up into his damp hair.

"Logan's got the kids back at the mansion," he said softly, sitting beside you. "Storm's making hot chocolate, despite it being about ninety degrees out. Something about comfort requiring chocolate."

"They shouldn't have had to leave early," you mumbled. "They were having fun."

"They were more worried about you." His hand found yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "We all were. When those people started saying those things..."

You tried to smile, but it felt wobbly. "Guess they weren't fans of the swimsuitl." You touched your sides self-consciously. "I should have known better."

"Hey." Scott's voice went firm. "Don't. Don't let them make you feel like you did anything wrong."

A soft thud against your window made you both look up. Kitty's face was pressed against the glass, rapidly fogging it up.

"Um," you managed, "did she just climb up three stories?"

Another face appeared beside hers – Kurt's. Then Bobby's head popped up from below.

Scott sighed, but you could see him fighting a smile. "I think we're about to have company."

Sure enough, Kitty phased through the wall, Kurt teleported in with his signature BAMF, and Bobby created an ice slide up to your window before climbing through.

"The others are coming up the normal way," Kitty announced, plopping down on your other side. "Like boring people."

"Because doors are for losers," Scott deadpanned, but his hand squeezed yours when you let out a small laugh.

As if on cue, your door opened again. Jean entered with a tray of Storm's promised hot chocolate, followed by Storm herself, Logan, and what looked like half the student body.

"This is not regulation dormitory capacity," you pointed out weakly as teenagers began filling every available surface in your room.

"Screw regulations," Logan growled, leaning against your dresser. "We're having a family meeting."

"About?" you asked, though the way everyone was looking at you made it pretty obvious.

"About how we're gonna show those jerks that nobody messes with our mom," Jubilee declared from her perch on your desk.

"Language," Scott said automatically, then added, "But she's not wrong."

"We could ice their cars," Bobby suggested.

"Or I could accidentally cause a small rain cloud to follow them around," Storm mused, looking far too innocent as she handed you a mug of cocoa.

"No revenge plots," Scott said firmly, though you noticed he didn't sound entirely convinced. "We're better than that."

"Says the guy who was about to blast their windshield," Logan muttered.

"You what?" you turned to Scott, who had the grace to look slightly sheepish.

"I was... considering it," he admitted. "The way they looked at you, the things they said..." His jaw clenched. "Nobody talks to someone I love like that."

The room went suddenly, suspiciously quiet. You realized it was the first time he'd used that word – love – even though you'd both been dancing around it for months.

"Aww," Kitty sighed, breaking the silence. "Dad's getting sappy."

"Can we focus?" Scott's ears had turned red. "We need to discuss how to handle situations like this in the future, as a team."

"Already handled," Jean spoke up. "I may have... suggested to the pool management that they might want to review their discrimination policies. Telepathically. Very thoroughly."

"And I might have mentioned that my law firm would be very interested in hearing about any future incidents," Ororo added casually.

"Plus, we're totally starting our own pool club here," Jubilee announced. "Better than their stupid public pool anyway. We can do cool mutant stuff without boring people complaining."

"Yeah!" Bobby brightened. "I can make the best water slides!"

"And I can heat the water!" John called from somewhere in the back.

"Absolutely not," Scott said quickly. "No combining powers without supervision, we've talked about this."

You couldn't help but laugh at the familiar chaos, the tightness in your chest finally starting to ease. Looking around your overcrowded room at these people – your family – you felt the day's hurt beginning to fade.

"Thank you," you said softly. "All of you."

Scott's arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. "Always," he murmured against your temple. Then, louder, "But everyone out of this room in five minutes. There are actual fire codes we're violating right now."

"Ugh, Dad's back in teacher mode," Kitty groaned, but she was smiling as she started herding younger students toward the door.

As the room slowly emptied, people stopping to hug you or offer final declarations of support, you leaned into Scott's side. "So," you said quietly, "love, huh?"

He turned to face you fully, one hand coming up to trace your [mutation feature] with gentle fingers. "Yeah," he said simply. "Love."

"Even with all this?" you gestured vaguely at yourself.

"Because of all of it," he corrected. "Every part of you. Anyone who can't see how beautiful you are is an idiot."

You kissed him then, pouring all your gratitude and returning love into it, not caring that there were still students in the room.

"Gross," Logan commented from the doorway. "Come on, kids, let's give your parents some privacy. But Summers? Next time someone gives her trouble, you better not stop me from showing them why they call me Wolverine."

"Next time," Scott replied, not looking away from you, "I might help."

As the door closed behind the last of your impromptu support group, you snuggled closer to Scott. "Our family's kind of intense," you observed.

"Yeah," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But would you have it any other way?"

Looking around your room at the evidence of their visit – scattered cocoa mugs, a few ice crystals from Bobby's entrance, scorch marks on your ceiling from Jubilee's enthusiastic gesturing – you smiled. "Not a chance."

Sometimes the worst moments led to the best reminders of what really mattered. And what mattered was right here – in a too-crowded school full of mutant teenagers who called you Mom, a team that would face down any threat to protect their own, and a man who loved every part of you, even the parts others couldn't understand.

"Hey Scott?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you too."

His smile was brighter than any summer day, and worth every challenge that came with being who you were.

[pattern-recognition]

the RCM being limited to using exclusively muzzleloaders (or exclusively non-jacketed ammunition, uncertain) as service pistols is one of my favorite bits of world building from disco elysium, and i love how, visually, harry’s pepper box pistol makes no sense whatsoever. Why does the 9mm bullet obviously have a shell casing if it’s a muzzleloader, why does it have a rim, why is it copper colored if it’s supposed to have an unjacketed. Kim has to tamp down the ammunition for his (much simpler) pistol with a ramrod, which makes sense, but if we’re to take the visual representation of the 9mm at face value it implies Harry’s Villiers is a breach loading firearm. However this goes contrary to most of the dialogue as breach-loading weapons of all make are suggested to be highly rare, exclusive, and beyond the reach of the average RCM officer. In the case of any muzzle loader, Kim’s, Harry’s, or Ruby’s, if they are as they’re described they’d also need a method of ignition, like a percussion cap, but this is never mentioned or shown. Ultimately none of this matters whatsoever and I think the way Disco Elysium handles firearms is really cool, but if they wanted to make my pedant’s heart flutter just a little bit more the cartridges would look like this

[matt0044]

What we can learn from “The Jaune Arc Discourse” (TM).

Well, to start with, people are really resistant to being corrected on lies at worst or overstatements at best.

Like if nothing else, the Does RWBY Like Women poll was illuminating in how it showed me that a veeeeeery weird myth about Jaune Arc has persisted beyond its true relevancy.

Volume 1 of RWBY features Jaune Arc in the spotlight for… what? Four episodes? The minutes of each adding up to roughly twenty minutes, the length of an average TV episode?

While he was featured in the previous storyline where we are given an eight episode arc introducing us to our eight main protagonists, he was a lot more… ancillary as comic relief. A discount Lavernius Tucker with Felix’s voice if you will.

He's Vomit Boy in episode one. Episode two has him introduced more formally as somebody who helps up Ruby after a bad first impression on Weiss. He later appears more prominently pining over Weiss and catching Pyrrha's attention before falling to bracing himself in being catapulted into the Emerald Forest.

He's bailed out by Pyrrha and it's set up that he's in over his head by not knowing what Aura is or at least wanting to know how it works. An exposition sponge as I heard on fan call it. I could go on but the point is that all signs pointed to a Butt Monkey Ron Stoppable sort who was likely there for cheap laughs.

Amusing enough but I worried if that's all he'd be personally. Lord knows that some movies give the Comic Relief character too much comic relief and, well, not enough character. But after Ruby and Weiss have their leader/lance headbutting, the four episodes that followed reassured me that there'd be more to Jaune than meets the eyes.

But to circle back to the main thesis, it's actually fascinating that the myth of Jaune hijacking the narrative for himself is this pervasive when the offending story in question... is very much a self-contained character piece. It's way less about the wider story involving Ozpin, Roman Torchwick (at the time) and the White Fang.

It has relevance in how Pyrrha starts mentoring Jaune after he deals with Cardin and gets over himself (for now) which trickles down into future stories. Even then, the next story arc right back with Team RWBY with nary a sign of the everyman in question. A story arc that does deal with elements of the main plot, leading directly into Volume 2.

And in Volume 2, Jaune trying to woo Weiss and being ignorant to Pyyrha's advancements was just a subplot scattered in the first half of the story. It very much piggybacks off of Team RWBY's whole deal.

Volume 3 has what I consider to be a reversal of what's been known as Trinity Syndrome.

Namely the sort where a male character goes off the square off with the main villain mano-e-mano after shoving the female character/his love interest away so she won't get hurt. An egrigious example being when the love interest CAN FIGHT and back him up.

However, Pyyrha instead shoves Jaune out of the way after kissing him and goes off to face Cinder in a very fatal battle. It was honestly a brilliant (as much as the term may be disliked these days) subversion of the cliche.

And it’s Ruby who sees her death and gets the trauma induced power up. Jaune only has a scene of angst before that and was the one to call Ruby to have her try and back up the one he just realized he loved.

Jaune from that point on is an Everyman Protagonist who is forced to remember that he’s not THE protagonist. Yet the myth persistently proclaims that he hijacks the narrative from the titular Team RWBY despite only four episodes being wholly dedicated to him and his head space.

How did we get here?

Well… there’s the fact that not everyone finished Volume 1 and that not everybody, well, watched RWBY. And that would be fine on its own. You gave it a shot and it wasn’t your cuppa joe. You saw the trailer but clicked on something else.

I get it. That’s fine. Contrary to popular belief, nobody in the FNDM will really fault you for it. Less fine is when you spread faulty readings of RWBY and from those heavily biased against it no less.

It cannot be emphasized enough that tearing into RWBY is a cottage industry on YouTube. Hbomberguy might have the biggest platform but you’ll find multiple channels with lengthy series on “RWBY bad, here why.” And they are actually amongst the FNDM. They know how the YT Algorithm game is played, how it rewards engagement above all else. And sadly, negativity and rage pay more bills.

It’s why there are few positive videos or at least few that are pushed into the recommendations. Many often borrow the same points from each other born from the V1 days, namely that Jaune is allegedly given favoritism by the writers while we somehow “don’t know who the main girls are.”

From four episodes.

I also think it’s also to do with how it’s not that he actually did steal screentime… so much as many anticipated he would. A lot of shows and movies I grew up with would have strong female characters but any potential they had was hindered by the male lead and his hero’s journey. See the above Trinity Syndrome I referenced.

But Jaune didn’t do that. Even when he was central to an event like his semblance being awakened, it’s a healing/power boost that he gives to others. Weiss getting skewered might’ve brought it out but it lead to her getting back into the fray while he was largely to the sides.

Seems more like he shares screentime if anything.

People cling to these myths despite legit fans actually pointing out, “Hey, that’s not true actually and here’s why,” because that hate being told they are wrong more than being wrong. And because there are many around these who reinforce this “truth,” they feel content with it. No need to challenge it when it “feels” right.

So Jaune Arc stole screentime. Because that’s what “everyone else” is saying. By you need to question popular opinions. You need to realize that sometimes… a fan community is based on lies.

”Trust me, bro” is not the gotcha you think it is.

[pilot-boi]

White Knight Time Travel idea : People are suspecting..

Jaune and Weiss are at the Vytal Festival , each one with their respective teams , their mission has gone..well.. so far. Even without trying to change so much some things never change like Team CVFY and Prof.Port saving the city or Ruby meeting Penny...

But that doesn't matter compared to the titanic work they would have to do during this specific moment..it was now or never

~Weiss Side~

Ruby:WE DID IIIT!!!!....Anyone esle is starving?....

Weiss listened to Ruby and Blake's chat from the side , each time they have this small moments the more she thinks how everyone took Beacon's days from granted

Having to relieve the fight against Team ABRN made her notice how..unprepared they were ; even herself with her "Competent" perfomance wasn't still not enough to face that monster..

Weiss..

The Grimm entering Beacon..

Weiss..

The Witch's inner circle playing right under their noses..

WEISS..

Pyrrha and Penny along many other students being casualties of the..

WEISSS!

Weiss:W-W-What?!

Yang: Your scroll is ringing , shouldn't you answer it?

Weiss noticed her scroll , the contact named "FATHER"..

Right..her time at Beacon was almost up..

Weiss:I will call him later , thanks for making me know Yang..

The Blonde Brawler has noticed her friend weird..this last few day , she can't say why..but it's there , spacing out of chats most of the time or reacting to certain words like Destiny , Maiden or even mentioning locations like Haven Academy can get her all shaky

Right now Ice Queen is looking at her Sis talking with Emerald and her silent friend like she's trying way too hard to keep herself civil , her face may not show it but that tense posture and hands behind shouted something was wrong

And to say the last person she saw acting this way her Dad after..her Supermom left was all she needed to know , Ice Queen's hiding something and she will find out

~Jaune's side~

Jaune did miss Beacon , the academy.. , but coming right back wouldn't make it any better..quite the contrary it shows him how somethings must remain as memories..

The Vytal Festival just started and the mood seems festive enough for him to enjoy a little. Children playing around , teens being themselves truly a moment to breathe fresh air

Miss : Gather around as I tell the story of the Girl who fell through the World!

Jaune tenses hearing that , it's just a woman reading a story to a bunch of kids..nothing dangerous..

Yet..

He takes a look at his armour , clean not rusted..his face is still young and Crocea Mors is still complete..

Ren: Jaune?

Jaune:W-What?!

Nora: You have been standing there for a while , did the story peak your interest? Alyx's story is a classic! The Curious Cat is my favorite character! So mischevious!

If looks could kill , Nora's smile would have been erased a while ago..

Jaune:That Cat is nothing but troubles..

Nora:What? Don't tell me you are a fan of the Red Prince? Or the Rusted Knight?

Sensing hostility , Ren tried to change the topic..

Ren:Why don't we go with Pyrrha? She's saved us a nice spot in that Mistralian restaurant.

Both teammates agree , Nora leaves because she has won another petty argument..but Jaune seemed so personal about it..The Girl who fell through the World is just a Children's story..why is he so defensive about it?

Lie Ren is someone who can read the room quite well and to his knowledge..there's something wrong with Jaune..

He acts like..an adult sometimes , there's nothing wrong with that but it seems off..

Even their stategies , they are a group of Four , Team JNPR..but Jaune always acts like only Nora and him are part of the team

Ren even hears his silent sobs when he has nightmares , the words "Cinder" "Kill" "Penny" "Pyrrha" is all he has as evidence , trying to make sense of said word it would be something like

Cinder will kill Pyrrha and Penny

That sounded so..dumb , Cinder is a student along her team but he would ask Jaune later right now they have a fight to win

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So many of these WK Time travel asks are from their POV, I LOVE this look into their friends’ view