#she's still very much wary and battle-hardened

[kckt88]

Demon In My Dreams II

Summary:

'Sleep those little slices of death, how I loathe them' - Edgar Allen Poe

Despites his best efforts, Aemond is still tormented by the horrors of a future that will never come to pass.

Warning(s): Language, Haunting, Torment, Dream Invasion, Horror, Referenced Character Deaths, Unce/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V, Remorse, Regret, Strangulation, Child Birth.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

INSPIRED BY THE SONG - 'MOTIONLESS IN WHITE - THE DEMON IN YOUR DREAMS'

Word Count: - 7939

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

"Otto plans to usurp the Iron Throne and have Aegon crowned as King," Aemond declared, his voice firm but tinged with desperation.

Daemon's eyes narrowed with suspicion. He drew his sword, Dark Sister, and held the tip against Aemond's throat. "Why should we believe that you would betray your grandsire?" he asked, his tone cold and threatening.

Aemond glanced down at the sword and then looked pleadingly at Rhaenyra. "Please, listen to me. My grandsire will claim that crowning Aegon will prevent a war, but it will only serve to start one. The realm will be divided, and many will die-"

He looked over at Lucaera, then back to Rhaenyra, his expression earnest and full of sorrow. "You will lose both of your daughters," he said, gesturing to Rhaenyra's pregnant belly, "-then Jacaerys and Viserys will die in a battle against the Triarchy in the Gullet."

Rhaenyra gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she fell towards Daemon, her hands gripping his tunic.

“M-My babies-” whimpered Rhaenyra.

Daemon's grip on his sword tightened, as he pressed the sharp point further into Aemond’s throat, causing a small rivulet of blood to run down his throat.

“You do realise what will happen to your cunt of a grandsire if your words prove true?” asked Daemon.

“Yes-I do, all I ask is that my mother, siblings and the children be spared, they had no knowledge of such plots” replied Aemond.

"Swear to me that you speak the truth” demanded Rhaenyra.

"I swear on our ancestors that I’m telling you the truth. I know it sounds unbelievable, but if nobody had believed Daenys the Dreamer, then House Targaryen wouldn't have survived the Doom”

Rhaenyra looked towards Daemon who’s eyes searched Aemond's face for any sign of deceit. After a tense moment, he slowly lowered Dark Sister, but his expression remained wary. "If you're lying, I'll kill you myself."

Aemond took a deep breath, his relief palpable but tempered by the gravity of the situation. "I understand. But I am telling the truth. We must act quickly to prevent the bloodshed that my grandsire's plan will cause."

Rhaenyra straightened, her resolve hardening as she wiped away her tears. "What do you propose we do?"

Aemond met her gaze, determination shining in his eye. "I seek your permission to marry Lucaera. It will unite our families, as my father wished."

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his scepticism still evident as he leaned on his sword "-And it has nothing at all to do with Lucaera being the heir to Driftmark?-as a mere second son with nothing of his own to inherit, becoming Consort Lord is quite the bounty"

Aemond shook his head, his voice steady. "No. I don't care about that. I care about her, and I believe our union will bring strength and peace to our family"

Daemon scoffed, his scepticism turning to open derision. "You care about her? Didn't seem like you cared about her when you were making your little toast. Tell me, nephew, what could have happened between then and now-for you to change your opinion so quickly?"

Aemond looked at Lucaera, who stepped forward, her face resolute. "He came to my chambers, and we laid together” she declared, her voice steady.

A few seconds of silence followed her confession before Daemon burst into laughter. "Years of ire all forgotten because you got your cock wet?" he taunted.

Rhaenyra elbowed Daemon sharply in the ribs, cutting off his laughter. She turned to Aemond, her expression serious. "Are your intentions towards my daughter true, Aemond? You claim to care about her, but Lucaera is, after all, the one who cut out your eye."

Aemond took a deep breath, meeting Rhaenyra's gaze. "What I saw was enough to make me realize that holding on to my anger would only cause more pain and suffering-my intentions towards Lucy are true-”

Rhaenyra's eyes softened as she looked between her daughter and Aemond. "Lucaera, is this what you want?"

Lucaera stepped forward, her hand finding Aemond's. "Yes. I-I care for him also and I wish to marry him."

“What do think Daemon?” asked Rhaenyra, her hand slowly running over her round stomach.

Daemon studied them both for a long moment, his eyes searching Aemond's face for any hint of deceit.

Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Very well. But know this, Aemond: if you betray her, then there will be no place in this realm that you can hide from me."

Aemond met Daemon's gaze without flinching. "I understand, and I swear that I will never betray Lucaera”.

After many hours of discussion with Rhaenyra and Daemon, Aemond and Lucaera finally made it back to his chambers. He was exhausted, yet sleep eluded him, his mind still racing.

He had just given Daemon the names of all those planning to repudiate the succession, and after informing Rhaenyra that tonight was the night their father would die, she had rushed off to be with him.

Lucaera had offered to go with her, but Aemond had refused to let go of her hand, almost as if he was making sure she was truly there and not some figment of his imagination.

Even now, as the two of them lay in bed, Aemond had coiled himself around her, his hand resting on her stomach. The feel of her warm body next to his was a comfort, a reminder that this was real, that she was here with him.

Lucaera turned her head slightly to look at him, her eyes soft and concerned. "Aemond," she whispered, "You need to rest. You’ve done all you can for now."

Aemond shook his head, his grip tightening around her. "I can't sleep, Lucaera. My mind-it won't stop, I worry that all of this is some cruel jest and once I wake up then I will have lost you”

"You won't," she promised, her voice steady and reassuring. "I'm here with you, and I’m not going anywhere."

For a long time, they lay there in silence, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Aemond's thoughts were a whirlwind, but the feel of Lucaera in his arms, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, began to ground him.

Eventually, his eyelid grew heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. He tightened his hold on Lucaera one last time before sleep finally claimed him,

Aemond stood on the beach, the skies above illuminated by flashes of lightning, Storm's End a dark silhouette in the distance. The wind whipped around him, carrying the salty tang of the sea.

His eye scanned the shoreline until it fell upon a figure lying face down in the sand. Panic surged through him as he instantly knew who it was.

He sprinted towards Lucaera, his heart pounding in his chest. Kneeling down, he rolled her over and screamed in horror.

Her appearance was grotesque—torn skin, missing limbs, maggots crawling through open wounds. The stench of decay hit him like a physical blow, and he retched, vomiting into the sand beside her.

Suddenly, Lucaera's rotten hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength.

Aemond tried to pull away, but her grip was unyielding. He screamed again, louder, his voice mingling with the howling wind. As her fingers tightened, he felt the world around him shift and blur.

Aemond lurched awake, his heart racing and sweat pouring down his face. He was back in his chambers at the Red Keep, the familiar surroundings slowly coming into focus.

Lucaera lay next to him, peacefully asleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath. He sat up, holding his head in his hands, but he couldn't stop shaking. The vivid nightmare clung to him, refusing to fade.

He glanced over at Lucaera, reassuring himself that she was whole and unharmed. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself. The feel of her rotten, decaying hand still haunted him, the image of her mangled body seared into his mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the horrific vision to leave him, but it lingered, like a dark shadow on the edge of his consciousness.

Unable to bear it any longer, he slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He paced the room, running a trembling hand through his hair. The silence of the night offered no comfort, only amplifying the echoes of his nightmare.

The Red Keep was on lockdown, the tension palpable in the air as guards stood at every entrance, preventing anyone from entering or leaving.

Inside the Great Hall, the assembled crowd murmured with curiosity and unease. At the foot of the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra stood solemnly, her expression stern as she gazed out at those in attendance.

Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena stood to one side, their faces drawn with worry. Aemond stood with Lucaera, his grip on her hand firm and reassuring. Jace, Baela, Rhaena, Daemon, and Rhaenys were also present, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

As the whispers began to quiet down, Rhaenyra stepped forward. Her voice was clear and steady as she announced, "It is my duty to inform you of the sad news that last night, King Viserys, passed away"

A shocked gasp rippled through the crowd, the weight of her words sinking in. Rhaenyra allowed a moment for the news to settle before she continued, her tone growing firmer.

"There has been a treasonous plot to repudiate the rightful succession and have Aegon crowned instead of me."

Angry shouts erupted from the crowd, voices rising in indignation.

"Treason!"

"Theft!"

Rhaenyra raised a hand, quieting them. "The main conspirators—Otto Hightower, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle, Ser Criston Cole and Larys Strong—have been confined to the black cells, where they await their punishment."

She turned to Alicent, her expression softening slightly. "I will grant mercy to you and your children. On my honour, no harm shall come to you. I only seek one thing in return."

Aemond took a step forward and nudged Aegon, who shuffled forward reluctantly. He stood in front of Rhaenyra and, after a moment's hesitation, dropped to one knee.

His voice was clear as he declared, "I have no desire to rule and no taste for duty. I recognize that Rhaenyra as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Rhaenyra nodded, and Aegon quickly returned to stand next to Alicent, his relief evident.

Rhaenyra then turned to the assembly, a hint of a smile on her lips. "To unite our family in the wake of such treason, I am happy to announce the betrothal of my brother Aemond to my daughter Lucaera."

Jace’s face darkened at the news of his sister’s betrothal. His displeasure was evident in the tight line of his mouth and the furrow in his brow. Before he could voice his objections, Daemon shot him a warning glare, silencing him with a look that spoke volumes.

Rhaenyra continued, her voice unwavering. "The King's funeral will take place tomorrow. The day after, I will be crowned in the Dragon Pit. Where all the smallfolk can witness my coronation and see our family fully united, as my father wished."

The announcement was met with a murmur of approval from some and apprehension from others. The significance of the event was not lost on anyone; it was a moment to solidify the Targaryen legacy and ensure the realm's stability.

Rhaenyra’s gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on Aemond and Lucaera, before moving to Jace. She gave him a slight nod, acknowledging his feelings but also affirming her decision.

Aemond stood tall beside Lucaera, his hand still holding hers. Despite the turmoil of the past, he felt a sense of resolve. He glanced at Lucaera, who gave him a reassuring smile.

Rhaenyra concluded, "In this time of mourning and transition, it is crucial that we stand together. Our father's dream of a united Targaryen family will not be in vain. Together, we will honour his legacy and lead the realm into a new era of peace and prosperity."

Aemond stood in the throne room of the Red Keep, his eyes fixed on the gruesome scene before him. His grandsire, Otto Hightower, and the others who had conspired against Rhaenyra were being executed for their treason.

Daemon wielded Dark Sister with cold efficiency, each swing of the blade bringing an end to a traitor's life.

Aemond's gaze drifted upward, jumping slightly as he caught sight of Lucaera standing across from him.

Her face was twisted and grotesque, strips of flesh hanging from her body like ghastly banners. He shook his head, trying to dispel the vision.

"It's just a dream, it's not real," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, Lucaera was standing right in front of him. She seized his face in her hands, her grip like iron as she pulled him toward her.

Her breath was cold against his lips as she tried to kiss him. Aemond struggled to pull away, but her strength was overwhelming.

"What's the matter? Don't you think I'm pretty like this?" Lucaera mocked, her voice dripping with malice as she dug her nails into his face.

Aemond quickly lurched backwards, colliding with the wall. He blinked, and the vision was gone. Everyone was staring at him.

The hall was silent except for the thudding of his heart in his ears. Lucaera, whole and unblemished, looked at him with concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Aemond nodded quickly, though his body was still shaking. He took Lucaera's hand, gripping it tightly as if she might vanish at any moment.

The rest of the executions continued, but Aemond's mind was elsewhere, trapped between the nightmare and reality.

Aemond lay in bed, his face pressed gently against Lucaera's stomach, listening to the soft rise and fall of her breath as she slept. His voice barely a whisper, he murmured, "Are you in there?" and then, more softly, "My son-my boy"

Careful not to wake her, he continued in a hushed tone, "No matter what, you will know you are wanted, and you will know that I love you. I know that I'm not going to be a perfect father, but I will try my best." Aemond placed a tender kiss on Lucaera's stomach, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulled away.

Silently, he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Lucaera's peaceful slumber. He moved with practiced quiet, pulling on his tunic and breeches. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the windows, casting gentle shadows on the walls.

He couldn't sleep. His mind was too restless, filled with his fears over his nightmares. Needing to clear his head, he decided to head to the library.

The Red Keep was silent at this hour, the halls empty save for the occasional guard on patrol. Aemond made his way to the library, the familiar scent of old parchment and leather-bound books greeting him as he entered.

Aemond wandered through the aisles, his fingers trailing along the spines of books until he found one that caught his eye.

He settled into a chair by the window, the book resting in his lap, but his mind wandered back to Lucaera and their potential child.

He hoped that they would find out soon, that maybe it would shine some light in the darkness that had settled around him.

-

Aemond opened his eye and groaned, running his hands over his face. He was still in the library, slumped over a desk with a half-read book before him.

He must have fallen asleep. He closed the book, intending to return it to its shelf when he heard a hauntingly familiar voice singing sweetly.

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis” (Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing).

“Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan” (With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing).

“Hae mērot gierūli:, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī” (As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely).

Aemond's breath caught in his throat as he moved around the bookcases, drawn to the eerie melody. He rounded a corner and saw a figure sitting in one of the chairs. He moved closer, his heart pounding in his chest, and then he saw Lucaera.

She was sitting serenely, something cradled in her lap. Aemond approached, a sense of dread washing over him. As he drew nearer, he gasped in horror when he saw what she was holding.

It was Jaehaerys, and she was sewing his head back on.

"Finally come to look upon the consequences of your actions, uncle?" Lucaera's voice was cold, cutting through him.

Aemond shook his head, trying to dispel the vision before him.

"Not that you accept responsibility, of course—it's always somebody else's fault."

He tried to leave, but his feet were rooted to the spot. Lucaera slowly stood up, pressing the boy into Aemond’s arms.

He looked down at the body of his nephew and jumped when his eyes suddenly opened.

"Apologize for the bad stitching, but then I've never really been one for sewing," said Lucaera, her tone mocking. "Haven't got the fingers for it," she added, holding up her hands.

Aemond audibly grimaced as he noticed that some of her fingers were missing, torn of at the knuckle.

"I'm sorry, I’m so sorry" Aemond kept repeating, his voice a desperate plea.

But Lucaera didn't listen. As she walked toward him, her limbs began twisting and contorting, her flesh peeling away.

Aemond lurched awake, a strangled cry escaping his lips. He was slumped over a desk in the library, drenched in sweat. He didn't bother putting the book away; he simply turned and fled.

The Sept was a vision of grandeur, filled with lords and ladies adorned in their finest attire, their faces glowing in the light of countless candles.

At the altar, the High Septon stood with a solemn air, ready to conduct the sacred ceremony that would unite two powerful houses.

Aemond, resplendent in his red and black attire, stood tall and proud. His single eye was fixed on Lucaera, who approached him with a grace that took his breath away.

She wore a gown of shimmering white lace, her long hair cascading in dark waves over her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and love.

The ceremony commenced with the High Septon intoning ancient words, calling upon the Seven to bless their union.

When it came time for Aemond to drape his cloak over Lucaera’s shoulders, signifying her joining his house, she leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I’m with child.”

Aemond’s eye widened in surprise, and then a joyous laugh escaped his lips. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, causing a few titters of amusement to ripple through the gathered guests.

The High Septon cleared his throat, a slight smile playing at his lips, “We haven’t got to that part yet.”

Blushing slightly, Aemond and Lucaera pulled back, but their hands remained intertwined, their eyes locked on each other.

The ceremony continued with the High Septon binding their joined hands with a ribbon of gold and silver, symbolizing their unity.

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” the High Septon proclaimed.

He then declared, “Let it be known that Aemond of House Targaryen and Lucaera of House Velaryon are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

In unison, Aemond and Lucaera recited, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger-” Their voices were steady and filled with conviction.

Aemond continued, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Lucaera followed, her voice soft yet firm, “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Finally, Aemond declared, “With this kiss, I pledge my love,” and leaned in to seal their vows with a kiss.

As their lips met, a cheer erupted from the gathered crowd, and the Great Sept was filled with the sound of applause and joyous exclamations. The kiss lingered, full of promise and devotion, and when they finally parted, both were beaming.

Hand in hand, they turned to face their family and friends, united in love and purpose, ready to face whatever the future held together.

The throne room of the Red Keep had been transformed into a vision of splendour for the wedding celebration.

Banners of black and red intertwined with the silver and sea blue of House Velaryon, symbolizing the union of the two families.

Queen Rhaenyra, resplendent in her royal attire, presided over the event with a serene smile, determined to show the realm that her family was united at last.

Helaena, radiant and cheerful, sat at a table talking animatedly with Baela and Rhaena. The three young women shared laughter and stories, their camaraderie adding a light-heartedness to the atmosphere.

Aegon, as expected, was well into his cups, his cheeks flushed with wine as he made merry with a few of the other lords. Jace and Daeron, sat together, exchanging jests and laughter, the beginnings of a new bond of friendship.

At the high table, Alicent sat next to Rhaenyra, her demeanour slightly tense but making a genuine effort to engage in conversation.

Rhaenyra, in turn, responded warmly, trying to ease her old friends nerves. Daemon, ever vigilant, sat nearby with his hand casually resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, his eyes constantly scanning the room for any signs of trouble.

At the centre of it all were the newlyweds, Aemond and Lucaera. They sat close together, leaning into one another and whispering words of love, their eyes reflecting a happiness that had long eluded them.

They shared secret smiles and gentle touches, oblivious to the noise and bustle around them.

As the evening wore on, the call for the bedding ceremony was made. Aegon, suddenly more animated, began to make crude suggestions, but one fierce look and a whispered threat of murder from Aemond was enough to silence him.

Lucaera and Aemond exchanged amused glances and managed to slip away amidst the laughter and cheers, leaving the revelry behind.

Inside their chambers, the atmosphere shifted to one of intimacy and tenderness. Lucaera leapt into Aemond’s arms, her kisses raining down on his face as she giggled with joy.

Aemond’s laughter joined hers as they tumbled onto the bed, their limbs entwined in a playful embrace.

“I love you,” Lucaera whispered between kisses, her hands cupping his face.

Aemond smiled, his eye softening as he gazed at her. “And I love you”

Aemond traced his nose gently along Lucaera's stomach, his breath warm against her skin.

"Rytsas issa byka zaldrīzes," he whispered tenderly, his voice filled with love and awe (Hello my little dragon).

Lucaera's fingers wove through Aemond's long silver hair, her touch light and affectionate. A soft smile played on her lips as she watched him, feeling a surge of warmth in her heart. Aemond began to press delicate kisses along her stomach, his lips brushing against her skin with reverence.

“Aemond” whispered Lucaera as he moved lower, his hot breath tickling her skin as he moved his head between her legs.

“Nyke jaelagon ao” whispered Aemond (I want you).

“Gūrogon issa” replied Lucaera her eyes rolling into the back of her head as his tongue swept across her slick wet folds (Take me).

Lucaera bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Let me hear you”.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” begged Lucaera

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Lucaera, moving them against a spot that made her entire body shake, his tongue moving against her folds, his lips wrapping around her pearl.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me” whispered Aemond.

Lucaera arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond crawled up Lucaera’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

His hands gently cupping her breasts before he sucked one of the sensitive rosy buds into his mouth, his tongue rolling around the stiffened peak.

“I can’t wait to see these filled with milk-” groaned Aemond as he pressed his face in between her breasts.

“F-For our babe” muttered Lucaera as she felt Aemond’s cock against her.

“Surely you won’t deny me a taste of your mother’s milk issa jorrāelagon” replied Aemond as he reached down to take his hard cock in his hand, running the tip through her wet folds (My love).

“P-Please valzȳrys” begged Lucaera (Husband).

Aemond smiled as he slowly sheathed himself inside her, until his hips came to rest against hers.

“You feel so good-” moaned Aemond as hestarted to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife’s warm wet walls clenching around his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Lucaera.

"Patience, issa dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up Lucaera’ neck (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Lucaera as he withdrew almost all of the way before slamming back in.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. Her nimble fingers mapped his back muscles and then went down to his arse her nails digging into his skin.

 “Gods, Lucaera" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me. I-I want it-I want you”.

Aemond groaned loudly, his pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips.

Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the wooden headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Aemond lifted Lucaera’ legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

Lucaera folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Lucaera.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Lucaera’ legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Lucaera, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

"Gevie" growled Aemond as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of her arse cheek (Beautiful).

"AEMOND" screeched Lucaera, her finger digging into the sheets.

"Fuck-one day I want to take you here, if you let me" moaned Aemond as he slid a finger over her pucked hole.

"Yessss-I'll let you" wailed Lucaera.

"I want to possess every inch of you" muttered Aemond as he took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside Lucaera once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

"Oohhh A-Aemond. Qȳbor" whimpered Lucaera (Uncle).

“Fuck” groaned Aemond.

“God. Yes” moaned Lucaera.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

Lucaera took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it towards her head.

Knowing what she wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching. His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Lucaera’ arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Her screams of pleasure muffled by the mattress.

 “Yes. Lucaera-that’s it-that's it-take it, fucking take it” moaned Aemond.

He took hold of Lucaera’s hair, twisting his fingers into the messy dark curls before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Lucaera tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently, as he pounds into her.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Lucaera her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

"That's it-that’s my good girl" whispered Aemond.

Lucaera turned her head to face his, her lips connecting with his in a messy, passionate kiss, their tongues sliding against one another.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Lucaera.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from her wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Lucaera breathlessly.

 “Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he pulled Lucaera on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“A-Aemond” muttered Lucaera as she began to roll her hips.

“You feel so good my beautiful wife-so full of me, my seed already taking root-” replied Aemond placing his hands on her hips and moving her up and down.

 “Oh-” gasped Lucaera.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”

Lucaera dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Lucaera as he sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

 “AEMOND” screamed Lucaera as she came around his cock.

 Her husband threw her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“God. Lucaera” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled rope after rope of his seed, collapsing on top of his wife, breathing hard.

Aemond woke with a start sometime in the night. The room was dark and still, but he immediately sensed something was wrong.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed against Lucaera's body. Her skin felt cold, unnaturally so. Panic surged through him as he took hold of her and rolled her over.

A scream of pure horror tore from his throat. Her face was a decayed, grotesque visage, eyes lifeless and skin peeling away. He scrambled off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor, his heart pounding wildly.

When he stood back up, the bed was empty, the linens undisturbed.

Breathing heavily, he looked around the room, his eyes wide with fear. He felt a presence behind him, cold and malevolent.

He turned slowly, dreading what he would see. Lucaera stood there, smiling at him, her rotten face inches from his own.

"Why do you keep tormenting me?" he pleaded, his voice breaking.

She didn't answer. Her smile widened, and her mouth opened, releasing a torrent of maggots that poured over him.

Aemond screamed again, thrashing as the creatures crawled over his skin.

He woke up with a jolt, his body drenched in sweat. Lucaera was instantly at his side, her eyes filled with concern as she held him.

"Aemond, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle but firm.

He babbled incoherently, "She won't leave me alone. She keeps coming. What else must I do?"

"Shh, shh" Lucaera soothed, running her fingers through his hair. "It was just a bad dream"

Aemond clung to her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her neck. Her warmth and the sound of her steady heartbeat grounded him, slowly easing his panic.

"You're safe," she whispered, holding him tightly. "I'm here with you, always."

Aemond's breathing began to steady as he absorbed her words. He nodded against her neck, taking comfort in her presence, even as the remnants of the nightmare continued to haunt him.

In the months that followed, Lucaera's stomach swelled with their child, a visible sign of their union and the future that lay ahead.

Yet, despite the joy that should have accompanied this time, Aemond found himself increasingly on edge. The lack of sleep gnawed at his sanity, making him delirious.

The grotesque visage of Lucaera haunted him more than ever, appearing in the halls, at mealtimes, and even when he sought solace with Vhagar. There was no escape from the torment.

Desperation drove him to visit Harrenhal, seeking counsel from Alys.

Her cryptic advice that ‘he must endure, that he might see the truth but not yet feel the  weight of it’, left him feeling more desolate and confused.

He returned to King's Landing with a heavy heart, unsure of how much longer he could cope. Sleepless nights wore him down, his performance in the training yard deteriorated, and he felt trapped in a relentless cycle of exhaustion.

Confiding in Lucaera was out of the question. She was with child, and he couldn't risk causing her any distress.

In his desperation, he turned to Aegon, seeking distraction in his brother's reckless company. But even that escape led to further turmoil when Aegon lured him to a brothel on the streets of Silk.

The visit was brief, as Aemond had left immediatley, but not brief enough.

As Lucaera found out and, in a fit of rage, she had banished him from their chambers for a week.

Aemond was left in despair, barely holding on until Lucaera agreed to hear him out.

Aegon confirmed his innocence, and he was allowed back into their bed, but the nightmares persisted, each one as terrifying as the last.

Lucaera was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and Aemond's struggle had reached a breaking point.

Confined to their chambers, he refused to see or speak to anyone else. Rhaenyra had suggested giving him dream wine to help him sleep, but Aemond had stubbornly refused.

One morning, as he sat in their chambers, having breakfast with Lucaera, the grotesque image of her suddenly appeared before him. His heart raced, and he flew from his chair, pressing his back against the wall.

"Leave me alone!" he raged, his voice raw with desperation.

Lucaera, rose from her seat, concern etched across her face. "Aemond, what's wrong?"

But Aemond wouldn't listen. He kept begging to be left alone, his mind clouded with terror. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, his panic erupted into violence.

He wrapped his hands around her throat, driven by the maddening hallucination.

"If you won't leave me alone, I'll make you," he roared, his grip tightening.

Lucaera struggled against him, gasping for breath. "Aemond, stop," she wheezed, her eyes wide with fear.

But all he saw was the grotesque visage, her skin falling away in clumps as his fingers dug into what he perceived as rotted flesh. He was determined to rid himself of this torment, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Then, a small voice broke through the chaos. "Daddy."

Aemond looked up to see Aerion standing next to the bed, clutching a stuffed dragon teddy, his thumb in his mouth.

The sight of his son cut through the madness. The grotesque vision of Lucaera faded, and he realized his hands were wrapped around the throat of the real Lucaera.

"L-Lucy," Aemond sobbed, his eyes wide with horror.

Tears streamed down her red face. "Aemond, please," she wheezed, struggling for air.

He released her immediately, and she moved away, coughing and rubbing her throat.

Aemond collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. He had almost killed her and their unborn child.

Lucaera, trembling and clutching her throat, watched Aemond writhe on the floor, overcome with guilt and despair. Her own tears mingled with his as she tried to comprehend the horror of what had just happened

Aemond was on his knees, trembling and pleading with Lucaera. "Kill me," he begged, his voice raw and desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I can't cope. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please, Lucaera, kill me."

Lucaera wiped the tears from her face and moved toward him, her heart aching with love and sorrow.

She reached out, but Aemond flinched away, still begging for death. Before she could respond, a sudden twinge in her stomach made her gasp.

Warm, wet liquid ran down her leg. She rucked up the material of her dress, her eyes wide with realization. "The babe is coming," she whispered.

Summoning her strength, she called for one of the guards outside their chambers to alert the maesters and midwives.

Aemond sat in the corner, head buried in his hands, unable to process what was happening. The room became a flurry of activity as people rushed in and out.

His mother and Rhaenyra were there, holding Lucaera's hands as she wailed in agony. Aemond avoided their concerned gazes, his own mind clouded with despair.

Time lost all meaning as he sat there, disassociated from the chaos around him.

Lucaera's screams pierced his soul, but he remained frozen, unable to move. Then, through the haze, the sound of a baby's cry broke through, catching his attention.

"A boy, Princess," announced one of the midwives.

Aemond slowly levered himself off the ground, his legs unsteady as he made his way toward Lucaera.

She was red-faced and sweating, but her expression was one of pure joy as she cuddled their son against her chest.

She looked at Aemond, her eyes filled with love and understanding, and shakily held out the baby to him.

He took his son in his arms, the weight of the newborn feeling right, grounding him.

The baby opened his little amethyst eyes, and Aemond smiled, feeling a deep, unconditional love he had never known before.

Alicent asked what they would call the babe, and Lucaera said it was Aemond's choice.

"Aerion," Aemond said softly, his voice filled with emotion.

Suddenly, he looked up and saw the grotesque image of Lucaera staring at him from across the room.

But she was smiling, and as he watched, her appearance restored to normal. She spoke to him, her voice gentle. "You have finally felt the weight of your truth," she said before disappearing.

Lucaera, noticing the tear slipping down Aemond's cheek, asked softly, "Are you okay?"

Aemond nodded, holding their son close. "Yes," he whispered, his heart filled with a new resolve. "I will be”.

Aemond stood on the balcony of his chambers, looking out over King's Landing. The city's lights twinkled in the night, a stark contrast to the turmoil within his heart.

The cool breeze did little to calm his restless mind. He heard movement behind him and turned to see Lucaera approaching with Aerion in her arms.

"You're not going to jump, are you?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Aemond shook his head. "No," he replied, his voice steady but filled with sorrow.

"You've only just gone through your labours," he said, frowning. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Lucaera shook her head. "I'm worried about you, Aemond. You could have killed me and Aerion today-"

"I-I'm sorry. These past few months I-I've been struggling to sleep because of the nightmares"

"You need to tell me when things are bothering you-I'm your wife, you can come to me with anything, but you really scared me today-" said Lucaera.

Aemond looked away, guilt heavy in his chest. "I understand if you inform Daemon," he said quietly, recalling his stepfather's threat. "He did say that if I ever hurt you, then he would deal with me."

Lucaera stepped closer, her expression resolute. "I won't tell anyone what you did. I do not wish for my stepfather to kill you, as we both know he would."

Aemond noticed the pain in her eyes and the way she winced slightly from the discomfort of giving birth.

His concern for her well-being took over, and he gently ushered her inside. He carefully placed Aerion in his cot, making sure the baby was secure before turning back to Lucaera.

"Come, you need to rest," he said softly, helping her climb into bed, making sure she was comfortable before he stripped off his own clothes and climbed in beside her.

Aemond turned to her, his eye heavy with exhaustion, he hesitantly reached for her, and she laid her head against his chest as his arm coiled around her and within moments, the sound of his soft snores filled the room.

Aemond woke up feeling groggy, his head heavy and eyes bleary. He instinctively ran his arm over Lucaera's side of the bed, but she wasn't there.

Panic shot through him as he sat up abruptly, scanning the room. His eyes landed on Aerion's cot, which was also empty. Heart pounding, he jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on his clothes.

He rushed to the door, yanking it open with such force it almost came off its hinges. Standing there, to his immense relief, were Lucaera and Aerion.

Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled them both into his arms, holding them tightly.

"Be careful," Lucaera said gently as Aerion started fussing.

Aemond loosened his grip slightly, taking Aerion into his arms and cradling his son close. He looked at Lucaera, his eyes wide with worry. "Where were you? I woke up and you were gone."

Lucaera gave him a reassuring smile. "I was having dinner with Helaena."

"Dinner?" Aemond echoed, confused.

Lucaera nodded. "You've been asleep for almost two days."

Aemond's eyes widened in shock. "T-Two days?"

"Yes," Lucaera replied softly, her concern evident. "You needed the rest. I'll arrange for you to bathe and have food brought. No doubt you're hungry."

Aemond nodded, too stunned to speak. The realization of how long he had been asleep left him momentarily speechless.

He clung to Aerion, feeling a profound sense of relief and gratitude. The torment of his waking nightmares fading as he held his son close.

As the weeks went by, Aemond found himself finally able to sleep through the entire night. The nightmares and horrific visions that had plagued him for so long seemed to have vanished, leaving him with a peace he hadn’t felt in months.

His only disturbances now came from his son, Aerion, when he was hungry or needed his soiled cloths changed. Rearing children was typically left to the mothers as Daemon so informed him after the safe arrival of his daughter Visenya.

But Aemond wanted to be involved with every aspect of it, much to everyone's surprise.

The once quiet and stoic persona that Aemond had carefully crafted over the years visibly melted away in the presence of his wife and son.

When he wasn't training with the sword, he could often be found walking around the Red Keep with Aerion in his arms, muttering about the histories of Old Valyria and the tomes of philosophy that he often read, he even took Aerion to meet Vhagar, his old girl intrigued by the tiny human that her rider presented to her.

The sight of the once formidable Aemond, a fierce swordsman and a dragon rider, tenderly carrying his infant son and speaking to him in soft tones was a source of wonder for those who saw it.

His bond with Lucaera grew even stronger during this time. They spent countless hours together, and Aemond never wanted to be parted from her for longer than necessary. Their love was palpable, and it was evident to everyone around them.

He would often indulge in the pleasures of laying with his wife, whispering words of love and gratitude as he sheathed himself inside of her.

Every night he would take her, sometimes more than once, even through the day if he found her walking through the halls, he would spirit her away and have her pressed against a stone wall in a hidden alcove or bent over a desk in an empty room.

The change in Aemond since Aerion’s birth was clear for all to see. His fierce and guarded exterior had softened, revealing a devoted husband and a loving father.

The nightmares of the past were replaced by the warmth and joy of his new family. He found solace in the routine of caring for his son and the unwavering love he shared with Lucaera.

Even those who had known him for years were amazed by the transformation. Aemond, the once brooding and enigmatic prince, was now a man whose greatest joy came from his family.

He had found his purpose and his peace, and it was reflected in every aspect of his life. The Red Keep, once filled with shadows and whispers of treachery, now echoed with the sounds of Aerion’s laughter and Aemond’s gentle murmurings.

The realm had changed, and with it, Aemond had found a new beginning.

The sun was high in the sky over Driftmark, its golden light shimmering across the sand and sea. Aemond stood on the beach, his gaze watching Lucaera and their two year old son, happily digging for shells in the sand.

The waves lapped gently at the shore, and the peaceful scene seemed to embody the tranquility that had eluded Aemond for so long.

As he watched, a chill swept through him, and the air seemed to grow colder. The grotesque image of Lucaera appeared before him, her decayed flesh hanging from her bones, the stench of rot filling the air.

But he didn’t move, he stood firm as he noticed that her eyes were filled with a mournful sadness as she observed Aerion playing, a rotting hand hovering over her stomach.

The sight was both horrifying and heart-wrenching.

Aemond’s heart ached as he took a step closer. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for what I did, for what I took from you.”

"Technically it was the alternate version of you, but I will accept your apology all the same"

"It shouldn't have happened-" replied Aemond.

"No, but it did, you claimed your debt and then you willingly gave your life for your sin-" wheezed Lucaera.

"This is the last time I'll see you isn't it?" asked Aemond.

"Yes-unless of course you wish for me to continue terrorizing you"

"NO-" said Aemond quickly.

"Just as well, you were starting to bore me anyway" replied Lucaera.

"Hmmm"

“You know, I’ve always liked the name Rhaegar,” said Lucaera softly, her voice like a whisper on the wind. "Seems like it would be a good name for a King.”

“I’ll keep that in mind” replied Aemond.

She looked back at him one last time before turning toward the water. “Take care of your family, and don't fuck it up” she said, her tone both gentle and firm.

"I won't-I promise"

Aemond’s eye followed her as she waded into the water, her figure gradually disappearing beneath the waves. He stood frozen for a moment, the weight of what could have been pressing heavily on his shoulders.

“Daddy, come play!” Aerion’s voice cut through his reverie, full of innocent enthusiasm.

Aemond turned to see his son looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. He cast one more glance out to sea, where the ghostly image of Lucaera had vanished, before walking towards Aerion and Lucaera.

As he approached, Lucaera looked up at him with concern.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry as he knelt down in the sand.

Aemond reached out and placed a hand on her swollen stomach, feeling the reassuring movements of their unborn child.

He smiled at her, his expression full of warmth and determination. “Everything is fine,”

[iridiss]

binging diaries again… finally got around to my diaries Aphmau redesign…

She’s a bundle of joy when she first arrives in town, a selfless and optimistic problem-solver who took one look at a rotting, decaying village and decided she would fix it up single-handedly. She repairs their houses, builds a guard tower, builds them a bigger and better farm, builds more homes, brings a lot more villagers and merchants to the town, rebuilds old alliances that decayed after Malik’s death and makes new ones with near and faraway towns. Shes stubborn and headstrong at times, and in the beginning her desire to always see the best in people leads her into some nasty situations, but through her actions, agency, and persistent efforts, she becomes the embodiment of hope and healing for the town (Very similarly to how Irene the Matron aided her hometown in its recovery!). This is why the town elects her the Lord of the village.

Loss after loss, battle after battle, traumatic event after traumatic event, the state of the world slowly falling apart around her gradually chips away at her bright and cheery demeanor, matures her, hardens her into a woman that is- still very much capable of being sweet and happy and warm and loving!!! She never loses her core personality!! But it…changes her nonetheless. It hurts, and she grieves, and it comes dangerously close to breaking her over the years. She ends up hardening into a woman who’s capable of playing both the darling lover and the military General. A woman who’s learned how to be cautious and wary and approach things tactically, who learned how to determine the difference between a good person who just needs to be warmed out of their shell—and a charismatic liar whose nowhere near as good as they seem on the surface. She’s mature, she’s wise, she’s a natural leader, she’s cautious and on occasion can be rather guarded, but…she’ll always be warm and gentle and kind on the inside.

After Aaron dies, her mental health takes a massive dip, and on occasion she ends up in a rather dark mental place. A vengeful, angry, violent place. Come season three, she’s learned that sometimes you have to kill in order to protect the ones you love the most, and after he dies, that part of her becomes…a bit worse. If you’re her ally, the only change you would have noticed is the deepened bags under her eyes and her lack of sleep, but if you’re an established enemy, like, say, Zane, you might notice that she’s stopped talking things out and started jumping straight to Kill Mode (…which is, tbh, valid). She leans heavily on her partners to help her through this darker time in her life, and after the series finale when they get Aaron back and Shad is defeated, she’s doing much better.

She’s a sweetheart and a goody-two-shoes, yes, but like. she’s also basically a military general in the midst of a very long war. she’s got fuckin ptsd and is MUCH more emotionally mature and wisened than her Mystreet and Void Paradox counterparts. girlies been through hell. literally.

Also religious trauma I think she’d have plenty fair share of religious trauma from the whole Irene business

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Headcanons

[BATIM/BATDR] Allison Angel x Female Reader x Alice Angel

Summary: General and romantic headcanons I have about the two main angels in the franchise.

Word Count: 3.54k Content Warnings: Soft mentions of insecurity Category: Fluff + Slight angst

[A/N]: Only a few more characters left, then I'll post my master list and rules for requests. Thank you to everyone who has sent in a request so far!

Enjoy!

Allison

General

Generally one of the kindest, most patient people you’re ever going to meet, especially down in the studio

Her temper hardly ever flares up, but there are moments where she’ll act out of pure fear or anger

Even so, it’ll still be hard to tell how furious she is, considering she hardly ever raises her voice outside of battle

It’s just much harder to see the impatient side of her

She tends to be more logical, wanting to think things all the way through, and she is sure to get others to share their perspective of a situation before she makes a plan

After all she’s witnessed throughout her time at the studio, it’s understandable that she’s cautious of every lurking shadow and newcomer

She’ll welcome others if she feels they aren’t a threat, but still tends to keep an escape route pinned in the back of her mind in case things take a turn (as they have in the past)

She and Tom will both head out together most of the time to gather supplies that they can bring to their safehouse

While together, she feels a bit calmer knowing they have each other’s backs

Whenever she’s wandering around alone, however, she constantly feels on edge about whether or not the Ink Demon will come stampeding toward her

On top of this, she worries that Tom won’t be there when she gets back, or that he won’t be in one piece if he is

Helps whoever she can, even if that means putting herself at risk to save them from the cruelty of the studio, such as the Ink Demon, Alice, and the Projectionist

She’ll only put herself at risk for others if she deems them more important than herself, meaning a loved one (such as Tom or someone she took under her wing)

In the darker spaces of the studio, she’ll find blank spaces on the walls or floors and write messages for the Lost Ones who roam around, hoping to provide some sense of hope for them

Tinkers around with any gadget or scraps she can find, typically to create artificial limbs for those she trusts–an example being the animatronic arm she repurposed for Tom to use after he lost his own

Plays off any injury she gets as minor, no matter how severe it actually is, because she doesn’t want to worry others

She doesn’t mind getting help for what she’s endured, but she wants to ensure everyone else is safe first before she tries to scavenge for what she needs

On constant alert when outside of the safehouse, even if she has reinforcements

Sleep doesn’t come easy in the studio, especially to those who know what dangers threaten each wrong turn, so when she isn’t able to rest, Allison will try to find a way to make herself useful

Generally uses this time to count the stock in their storage, feed the fish, scribble out quick lists of plans she has for material, etc.

Always makes sure to let Tom know where she’s headed before she leaves

Actively searches out Lost Ones who need some sort of aid, making sure to keep a can of bacon soup nearby at all times in case it’s needed

Although there are more people in the studio that she trusts aside from Tom, she still is very strict about who she’ll let into the safehouse

The last thing she wants is to be responsible for the death of Tom or herself simply because she was too trusting toward a stranger

Overall, she’s a patient, kindhearted woman who wants to help others in any way she can, but her years in the studio have hardened her into a survivor, leaving her wary of every deadly possibility that may come her way

Romantic

It takes a while for Allison to trust you, considering all that she’s been through. However, the moment she sees you helping someone escape a situation, or she sees you patching a stranger up and handing them provisions, the tension in her body starts to ease up

Once she trusts you enough, she’ll start noticing your interests and hobbies, and she’ll partake in some of them herself if she can

After a while of growing closer to you and learning that she can trust you fully, she’ll either find that she fancies you, or she’ll notice that you like her first with ease

Either way, she’ll most likely take initiative when it comes to confessing and asking the other out

She likes being upfront and honest, especially with those she loves, so she’ll be relatively blunt about how she feels

She’ll take you somewhere that’s special to the both of you, reveal a small setup she made beforehand, and spend time talking with you before she finally confesses

Compared to most, she’s alright with being rejected–things don’t come easy (or at all), and she’s willing to accept that

As she expresses how she feels, there’s a small sense of anxiety creeping in through her words. She hadn’t confessed to anyone since being rebirthed. She stays calm and confident however, so it’s hard to even pick up on the fact that her hands are trembling and there are small beads of sweat forming on the back of her neck

When you tell her you feel the same way and agree to be her girlfriend, she’s relieved more than anything

She’ll spend more time with you in that space for a while before she walks you back to the safehouse to crash for the night

After the relationship had been established, Allison finally got more bold with a few of her motions

With a little bit of patience, she starts growing more comfortable and confident with being your partner, often finding herself resorting to coming to you for comfort and advice instead of Tom

She’ll, of course, be there for you in all of those ways as well

Dates are sometimes hard to initiate in the studio due to the danger, so she’ll make do with what she has

By this, it means she’ll wait until she knows Tom will be out of the safehouse for a while on a supply run. When he’s gone, she’ll bring out a couple of candles, a radio, and gather a few plates with food she had found–thankful that she managed to find something other than bacon soup

You’ll spend the day together at the table, eating what she prepared, playing cards, and just chatting away about whatever comes to mind

After peace finally settled over the studio (after Audrey helped rewrite what happens during the cycle), dates become more frequent and are out in better spaces in the studio, no longer having to worry about the Ink Demon appearing and ruining everything

Although the small city in the middle of the studio is abandoned, Allison will take you there often, carrying a radio with her to set up

She had–with the help of Tom–pushed a few of the cars to the sides of the street, providing an open space in the middle

There, she’ll place down the radio she brings and tune it to a slower song. She’ll then pull you into the large opening and slow dance with you for a while, complimenting you left and right as she leads

She enjoys doing anything and everything with you that she can

Any hobbies that you’ve shown interest in become a pair-hobby

She’ll sit / stand beside you as you paint, sculpt, read, play an instrument, etc., and she’ll be doing the same, essentially mirroring you peacefully at your side

If she can’t participate in your hobbies somehow, she’ll at least show that she takes interest in it, never making you feel dumb for what you enjoy

When settling down for the night, she’s not opposed to bundling up together in bed, surprised at herself for finding any cuddling position comfortable

Regardless of how you sleep, she’ll ensure that she’s holding you in some way

This stems from trauma and experience before the Ink Demon was tamed, though now it’s more of a comfort thing than a protection thing

If you don’t feel like being touched too much, she’ll hold your hand or keep her hand on your shoulder as you sleep

If you’re the opposite, she’ll let you latch onto her like a koala, or she’ll even do it herself if the day had been particularly demanding for her

She just wants to be close to you, regardless of the fact the studio is much safer now

A way for her to be close to you is by giving you some sort of jewelry

After a while of her experimenting with necklaces and bracelets made of scraps she polished and welded, she finally takes a few measurements and brings you to the place she confessed to you at

There, you’ll find a similar setup to before, and things will run smoothly

After a while of dancing together and talking about what the future will look like, she’ll segway into her speech and drop onto her knee, pulling out a ring from her satchel

When you say yes to marrying her, she doesn’t hesitate to slip the ring on your finger and pull you in for a kiss, overjoyed of the outcome

A small wedding, if you’re comfortable with it, is held shortly after, and her vows are heartwarming: she expresses her constant admiration and appreciation for you walking into her life, promising to always be there for you no matter what, slightly whispering by the time she gets to her statement of how she hopes she’s been half the girlfriend to you that you’ve been to her. Her voice manages to crack slightly at the end, and she’s fighting back the tears, wanting to save them for after the kiss

After the wedding, she somehow finds herself growing even closer to you than before, and things finally seem to fall into place for her

Overall, she’s a loving, understanding, patient partner who wants to be there for you in every possible way. She’ll show interest in your own hobbies, partaking in them herself most of the time, and she’s constantly trying to find a way to make time spent alone together more special. Dates, even before the Ink Demon has been disposed of as a threat, are heartfelt and meaningful, each small act one of intimacy and adoration. She makes time for you, and she always takes your opinions into consideration before making a final decision. With her, you’ll feel safe, understood, and never judged for who you are

Malice

General

Contrary to Allison, Malice–or Susie–tends to be more hotheaded

It’s not hard to upset her, though if she trusts you enough, it’ll sort of be easier to calm her back down

Extremely paranoid of newcomers, and even of those she’s known for decades

Terrified of stumbling across the Ink Demon, so she’ll end up sending any poor soul she’s fortunate to come across on an errand run, promising to send them home as a thank you when they’re done

It’s hard to gain her trust. In her mind, everyone in the studio is out to get her, and she’ll do whatever she can to keep herself safe

When she does have to scavenge for supplies on her own, she keeps a weapon handy at all times, whether it be her tommy gun or a Gent pipe

In what she calls her sanctuary, any mirror that can be found has either been shattered or covered with a thick cloth

The only place a still in-tact mirror can be found is her workshop, where she uses her twisted devices to torture and experiment on the corrupted members of the Butcher Gang

She keeps the mirror there to check how the experiments of harvesting and digesting organs is affecting her physical form

Each time she sees the tattered side of her face, still ripped open and taunting her, she has to will everything in herself not to smash everything in her sight, instead trying to focus on repairing her equipment and scanning across the monitors for the cameras she has set up around the studio

Tends to target creatures that come out “perfect,” meaning she’ll spare the Lost Ones and Searchers if they don’t get in her way

In her room, she keeps a record of her experiments and studies on the anatomy of whatever she can get her hands on

Emptied out the bookshelf closest to the sofa she sleeps on to store her journals and notes

Selfish beyond belief–she refuses to actively help others on her own volition, even if they’re at her feet begging

In order to keep herself safe, she went on a rampage during her first few years after being rebirthed, making a point to others that she’s one to be feared

This worked well, allowing her to isolate herself and focus on perfecting her injections, though it also caused issues with her sanity

Can often be heard shrieking at herself, almost like she’s arguing with herself about whatever has crawled under her skin in the moment

Although she appreciates feeling safe in her solitude, she aches for someone to help her with her dream of one day becoming beautiful again–someone who won’t look at her with terror or hatred

Self-sabotages any kind of trust she has with someone, too worried they’ll double-cross her and she’ll wind up at the mercy of the Ink Demon again

Ultimately, a very paranoid, insecure woman who longs to find herself again. She buries herself in work to distract herself from the reality of what would haunt her mind if she acknowledged it, specifically the abominations that meander through the levels of the studio

Romantic

It takes forever to fully gain her trust enough for her to actually fall for you

After all she had bared witness to in her time down in the studio, it’s hard to blame her for being paranoid about new people around the area

If you somehow manage to stay on her good side and gain her trust, however, she’ll cling to you

In her eyes, you’re the only light left in her dull life down in the inky depths of the very place that made her the way she is

For a while, she’ll keep you hidden in the furthest corner of her safety zone on Level Nine, terrified she’s going to lose the one good thing still left in her life

With a lot of convincing (and the promise made to always carry around a weapon), Malice will finally let you wander around more and more. It’ll start off with her attached at your hip and walking with you everywhere, then slowly shift to her watching you from her cameras

Even when she knows you’ll be safe out in the places you choose to go, she’ll still keep an eye on her monitors here and there to make sure there isn’t anything weird lurking nearby

One way to make her trust you is to promise to help her on her journey to recover her beauty (and sanity)

More often than not, you’ll find her hidden away somewhere in her sanctuary, sobbing and curled up on the ground as she desperately tries to hide her face from you

You’ll have to comfort her when she gets that way

One thing that makes her melt during her swings of insecurity is when you hold her close and caress her face, especially if you cup the tattered side just as tenderly as the part that’s still in-tact

Gaze at her without any sense of fear or discomfort, and she’ll break, weeping against you after she drops her head against one of your shoulders, her hands clutching at your shirt to try and pull you closer

If you work with her enough, she’ll start to grow a little more comfortable with how she looks. She’ll still have breakdowns and moments where she wants to be alone, but she’ll come around to you sooner or later

Will absolutely gawk at you with hearts in her eyes if you protect her from the creatures threatening to attack when you both go out to scavenge for supplies. Bonus points if you help her in her lab with dissecting the Butcher Gang’s organs

Since she’s managed to keep Level Nine relatively safe from the Ink Demon, there’s a wider amount of space for her to bring you for dates

During these moments alone in random parts of her sanctuary, she’ll feel safe enough to show her vulnerabilities, showing you the torn part of her face without trying to hide behind her hair or turn away

She’ll express that she’s worried about the future, wondering if she’ll ever manage to perfect her experiments and fix her face

Comfort her when she talks about those insecurities, and she’ll practically swoon, melting under your touch and leaning into it as she scoots closer

One of the main things about being with her is she needs constant reassurance that you love her and aren’t afraid of her

It’s hard for her to trust anyone, and when she finally fully trusts you, she wants to do everything she can to keep you in her life, even if it means resorting to selfish means. It’s not necessarily her fault for being so possessive, but you’ll eventually have to convince her to work on it when it gets to be too much

Even after things settle down when Audrey shows up, she’s still be worried about you leaving certain parts of the studio that she can’t access with her cameras, and she’ll come with you for a while

Eventually, she’ll realize she isn’t in constant danger anymore and will let you wander off on your own, so long as you promise you’ll be back soon

She may not participate in your hobbies the way Allison would, but she’ll certainly show curiosity and interest in them. If they’re more on the scientific side, she may join you here and there to learn more about them

At home at night, she almost always needs to be holding you when asleep. More likely than not, she’ll spoon you from behind or just hold you against her chest, keeping one hand next to yours at all times

It’s hard for her to sleep half of the time, so even if you manage to get her to crash for a bit, it won’t be long before you feel her toying with your hair or shirt to keep herself distracted after waking up

She doesn’t want to wake you up just because she’s getting antsy, which is why she does this

When she does manage to sleep throughout a whole night, it’s ridiculously hard to get her out of bed until the early evening. She’ll cling to you and keep you in the bed with her until she’s ready to wake up and get ready for the day, so make sure you have a book or something nearby to keep yourself occupied

Marriage with her is a strange subject, considering she hardly ever speaks to anyone else aside from you (meaning she has no one but you to go to for advice on it). By the time she proposes with a ring she made using the metal from a few of her older tools, you’re already aware of what she has planned, but manage to pretend to be surprised anyway

She’s overwhelmed after you say yes, already worrying about how she’s going to make the wedding perfect, frantically asking you what you want to add to the ceremony and the decorations by the time you head back to the sanctuary

During the wedding, which is held in the Heavenly Toys lobby, her vows start off a little rocky, but just as quickly grow as meaningful as you’ve learned she can secretly be. She talks about how odd she found it that you trusted her so quickly at the beginning of the relationship, but adds that, after looking back on it, she’s grateful you did. She expresses how inspired you’ve made her over the years, and how you always help her work through any issue she has, never looking at her as a burden. She stresses the fact that she loves you more than anything or anyone else, and how she wants to always protect you and keep you happy.

After the wedding, she finally starts to let herself relax. She starts to open up more, and if you strike the right chord with her, she’ll start studying more humane ways to run her experiments

Ultimately, she starts off as a very paranoid partner, terrified you’re going to leave her or be mercilessly slaughtered out in the halls out of her reach. She keeps you close, essentially growing possessive over you within a short amount of time. However, after a while of gaining her trust and promising you’re there to stay, she’ll loosen up and provide more freedom. She wants to keep you safe, even if it means she comes across as selfish, but she knows you can hold your own in most situations, and she’ll learn to have more faith in you. After all, you’re now her wife. There’s nothing her wife can’t handle

[sonoftheshield]

Colt’s Blip: The Vanishing and Return

In the months leading up to the Snap, Colt was in deep—an operative on a mission with Anya Barnes Romanova that demanded absolute precision and secrecy. He and Anya made an unorthodox pair, both hardened by circumstances beyond their control and bonded by a ruthless efficiency honed over years. There was a fierce, nearly silent trust between them—a partnership that Colt had come to rely on more than he’d ever admit.

Their mission was supposed to be a standard infiltration: an organized crime ring with its roots woven tightly in the underbelly of society. But as they made their approach through the dim, narrow halls of an abandoned factory, an eerie silence gripped the air, and a strange weight settled over Colt. He dismissed it, shaking off the unsettling feeling, his gaze locked on Anya’s determined stride a few paces ahead.

Then, as they moved into position, it hit him.

One second, Colt was reaching for his weapon, muscles tense and ready for a fight. The next, he felt himself begin to disintegrate. It was surreal, like standing in front of a powerful gust of wind that was breaking him apart, particle by particle. He looked down, watching his hand dissolve into dust, his heart pounding as he tried to make sense of it. He reached out toward Anya, his fingers flickering and fading before his very eyes. Her face, wide-eyed with horror, was the last thing he saw before he vanished into nothingness. He believed this was his death.

The Void: Five Years Gone

For Colt, it was as though no time had passed. One moment, he was there; the next, he was gone. There was no passage of time, no sensation, just a dark and infinite void. And then, just as abruptly, he was back, a heartbeat later—only to discover that he’d lost five years in a single blink.

When Colt returned, the world was a different place, reeling from years of grief, loss, and change. Entire communities had reshaped themselves around the vanished, their absence a haunting memory etched into every street and face. Those he knew were either ghosts of themselves or people with a hard-earned resilience he couldn't quite recognize.

Anya was still there, sharper, colder, and altered by the years she’d endured. Her wary look when she first saw him said it all—no one, not even those like Anya, had expected those lost to ever come back. The shock of seeing her again, of realizing just how much had changed, struck Colt in a way no battle ever had. The mission he’d disappeared on was a memory she’d buried, and their partnership, once built on an unbreakable trust, now felt fragile.

Five years had passed in a flash for Colt, but the world he’d returned to felt like an echo of something once familiar yet impossibly distant. Struggling to find his place, he was forced to reckon with the fact that his life could be taken away—and returned—without warning, his existence rendered painfully fleeting. That realization became Colt’s new driving force, fueling his determination to live, to act, and to leave an impact, no matter the stakes.

The Snap had stolen five years, but Colt wouldn’t let it rob him of any more.

[nightmarist]

OK ! DA OCs again....

Kasakos is the "Herald of Andraste" - a Tal-Vashoth mage who went from being Literally Silenced and hated for his existence to... Being Literally Silenced and Being hated and Praised for his existence. He likes listening to stories. Varric of course has the best ones. But he likes Cole, who can understand him without needing to force himself to speak, Solas with beautiful ancient visions, and really everyone and anyone. The Iron Bull is wary of him, but talks about his ventures. iron Bull is kind enough to avoid talking about hunting down Saarebas; it's not the same as making a joke to Krem about "killin 'vints" when Kasakos may visibly flinch.

Aribas is the "Inquisitor" who makes most of the Inquisition decisions on behalf of Kasakos (though she does consult him when necessary such as when concerning the mar or his actual person). She likes hanging out with Blackwall and Sera when she's not being serious. Blackwall almost fears her in the same respect that he fears Cassandra. Cassandra and Aribas have a somewhat rivalry due to the fact she hates the Chantry, openly and loudly, and refers to it as a human Qun. She loves to drink.

Saarkadan is their mutual friend. The three of them left the Qun together. Originally it would have been Saarkadan and Aribas alone, but Kasakos was reluctant to attack them so they killed his handler, freed him, and took him with them. Saarkadan, like Aribas, still has a hardened visage, but he likes soft things. Poetry, flower arranging, he likes Bas concepts of romance. He took up some Bas vices, but his favorite is smoking. He prefers quiet more than Aribas.

Dirthadin, a necromancer Dalish elf who left his clan to pursue lost Elvhen folklore, artifacts, and necromance the dead on long journeys to their riightful graves. While I like writing about him interacting with the Inquisition, I don't think he'd ever actually run into them. He's so wrapped in his own head trying to find elven secrets, believing Only He Can Save Elvhen Culture if he tries hard enough. If given incentive, he would join as an agent, but it isn’t his primary concern - which may be additionally frustrating. "Oh, the sky is being torn apart? Nevermind that, I have to shepherd the dead."

He left his clan as their Keeper, appointed his First as new Keeper, and just went on his merry way, much to their chagrin. His clan loved him, and feel so betrayed by him for it. It's painful for them and he ignored it. His clan is divided on his choice of honoring the dead, some think necromancy is horrific, others still think so but accept it as he is a follower (and named after) Falon'Din. The Journey of Death as the Dead's Psychopomp is a noble one to some.

New Ones !

Camille de la Rouge is a mage. de la Rouge is not their actual name, simply a moniker because they wear red. They are an Orlesean Mage, supposedly. They have the accent, sure, but none of the careful silver-gilt tongue-wagging for The Game - or so anyone thinks. They are more concerned with magic theory than fashion - they say while wearing a lavish red wool coat and hat that likely cost as much as a dozen fine wines. Their mouth and nose are usually covered by the height of their collar. White hair pulled back with tufts of bangs framing their face, adorned with a red tricorn hat. Their staff is split in two, worn on either side of their belt and snap together in battle. Some could mistake them for a rogue before seeing a flash of fire burn their corneas.

Philomené is also Orlesean, a minor noble. Of which house depends on who you ask, and every time you ask her, it seems a different story. She always has the mask to prove it, though likely they are spoils from her many assassinations. Very few would care enough to disprove their third cousin twice removed. And those that try may befall an accident. Her face is always covered by some kind of mask.

She enjoys the pomp of well-tailored dresses and ruff collars. Dresses, of course, are excellent for hidden pockets of knives, and jewelry is perfect for hidden needles of poison. She is a dramatic woman, loudly complaining about mud on her new heels and the long journey may cause wear on her dresses - using the assumption that she is a delicate orlesean flower, pathetic and wilted when not in the right conditions, as exactly the underestimation that gets her targets killed.

Valdyr Lambs-Shield, an Avvar warrior, who got his Legend Byname after shielding a lamb from a demon when all other animals were safely herded away from a rift. He promptly dispatched the lowly wraith, and bears a burned claw mark on his upper back-left shoulder. He is from Rams-Peak Hold south of the Hinterlands. Their Hold Beast is of course a Ram, a larger than usual creature with unusual reddish coloring. They herd some rams and sheep collectively and protect them from wolves snd great bears and other nature’s hardships as they provide milk and fleece necessary to survive. Twice married in Avvar custom, he has one son per wife, Dyrk and Bolor, both toddlers, but where he respects and cares about his wives, Lysala and Foradis, his actual interests lie elsewhere (men).

[worthyheir]

Jacaerys is aware of how much he has hardened - from the war, from the death of his little brother, from his own failure in battle, he cannot be sure when it started indeed - against those who do not deserve his coldness. Cregan was one of those people: he had only ever offered hospitality to the Prince, from his first arrival to this more recent one, allowing Jace the comforts of his own home while they prepared for winter. Though he was wary about how much colder it was to become, if this was only fall. The question draws him short, and he can't help the smile that crosses his face, the memories quick with it. Jace does his best not to think about Luke, because that does nothing but draw forth guilt and pain, but this time it is different. If it's the question or the memory that makes it so, he does not know, nor does he have the desire to question it. "At Dragonstone, we would go into the water when the heat of summer became unbearable in the palace. Sneaking away from lessons in order to swim, me and Luke. When Baela was there from Driftmark, she and Rhaena would join us, but usually, it was just the pair of us. We might sneak the younger boys out too, but teaching them to swim when they hadn't started as young as we did was a challenge." Not one they would have a chance to continue, though he keeps that thought to himself. "Or we would go flying. Even on the back of a dragon, it was cool above the clouds, and the wind that came with it was enough to cool one down, especially after time in the water." He doesn't quite choke on the memory, though he does cough to clear his throat a bit. The pain of losing the bond with his dragon was just as painful as the loss of his brother. Brothers, now.

"The extreme heat we feel in Dragonstone is going to be nothing, I think, compared to the cold of your winter here. I worry my blood will freeze in these airs much more quickly than yours would burn in the south." He adds, looking over to the Lord of Winterfell, the smile smaller, though still apparent on his face, the first one he's been able to muster in weeks. Cregan might be the only person able to distract him at this time, he thinks, though he won't say that out loud. Whatever connection they had built his first time here, undefined and confusing as their friendship had been for the Prince, cut short by bad news, and reconnected by much of the same.

"Thank you, for allowing me to come here. I know I did not say so upon my arrival." He had had very little to say that day, angry and bitter about his exile to the North during the war, when it was growing more and more dangerous. "I know you were busy preparing for winter. I might not be able to do much until I'm fully healed, but anything I can do to help, tell me. I would rather be useful, than a burden upon your resources."

𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑺 𝑻𝑾𝑰𝑺𝑻 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑻𝑶 𝑴𝑬𝑬𝑻 𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵 , sooner than ever intended. it's always been a certainty — their meeting again. cregan only wishes it was under different circumstances.

winterfell felt strange after jacaerys left. cregan found himself quickly missing the prince's presence by his side. missing the hours they spent together. missing how easy it was. parting had felt wrong. as though the universe brought them together only to turn on them. to start stealing time instead. he still isn't quite sure what to attribute such feelings to. their friendship has been entirely unique from anything he has ever experienced. and perhaps it is a one-sided depth and perhaps the prince finds cregan to be just another brute northman. perhaps he has learned to put on airs as the southerners tend to do. he supposes that at least , he now is given the time to figure such things out.

at first , when he heard of the battle and its outcome , he was angry. angry at the enemy. angry at the world a bit too. worried he'd be the wrong sort of cold by the time they brought him here. the worry persisted and now he just feels sorry. sorry that nothing he can say will help jacaerys in any way. sorry about the position he's in. he can only imagine the internal conflict. the regret , perhaps. the feeling of weakness and uselessness. it must kill him to be sitting out of the fight. stuck all the way up here. the last thing cregan wants is for the prince to harbor some distaste for him or the north as a whole just as a side effect of it all.

❝ aye , they might have to shed a few furs , but they'll endure. ❞ he offers a slight smile to jacaerys. allows a bit of silence to creep in between them , only for a lack of knowing any number of good , comforting words to say. and perhaps nothing is better , sometimes. ❝ though you might have to teach me how you southerners cool off. ❞

[theashemarie]

For the Pearlina request, how about Marina's first day/night staying with Pearl? Or for some angst, nightmares.

send me pearlina requests! - [STILL OPEN]

This one is about double the length I wanted it to be, but I’m happy with it. No real romance because they basically just met, but it was super fun and interesting to explore their early friendship. 

The house is huge, bigger than she’s read about, with a never-ending stream of rooms. “They’re all for storage,” Pearl jokes as she leads Marina up the stairs. Marina, weak in the knees at the sheer size of this place and the fact that she’s free, that she no longer has to struggle to survive underground, in a society that only wanted her for what they could get out of her, how much they could control her, laughs a choked laugh. The banister is smooth under her hand and she can picture Pearl sliding down it as a child, free as... Well, free as an Inkling.

Pearl offers her the first room they come across, for which Marina is thankful. She can’t imagine going further into this labyrinthine house, can’t imagine navigating her way around without Pearl to guide her, and she gratefully follows Pearl inside after she swings the door open grandly. “This is one of the smaller guest rooms,” Pearl says, glancing nervously between Marina and the canopied, queen-sized bed. The room is massive compared to Marina’s standards, with enough space for her to have sparing practice if she so desired. The bed is large enough for three of her, and what little she can see of the bathroom is also far too large—a tub the size of her room back home, a sink she could swim in, and a shower that could double as a second bedroom.

Marina isn’t sure if Pearl has the capacity to look sheepish. In the short time they’ve known each other, Pearl has made no indication that she feels anything other than smug self-confidence, but here she is rubbing the back of her head, watching Marina look over the room with something that looks a lot like apprehension. “You can say you don’t like it,” Pearl assures her. “It’s small, but you said you don’t like big spaces, right?”

She did say that, long ago, when they first ran into each other and Pearl caught Marina laying on her back and staring at the wide blue sky. Well, what she actually said was that she wasn’t used to large spaces, but she was actually grateful that Pearl misheard. It’s easier to explain not liking large spaces than not being used to them, considering she’s pretending to be an inkling. She still can’t believe that Pearl believed that, but then, what would Pearl assume she was, other than an inkling? It’s not like octolings are running around on the surface.

“Yeah,” Marina answers, and steps forward slowly. The plush carpet gives way underfoot, absorbing the impact of her bare feet like a cloud. She’s never felt something so soft. “It’s perfect,” she adds as she wiggles her toes.

“Great!” Pearl whoops. “Not that I was worried,” she adds quickly. Then, seeing Marina’s bemused smile, she begins to back away. “Anyway,” she claps her hands, “I’m gonna go scope out what’s for dinner. Make yourself comfortable.”

+

Dinner is quiet because it’s just the two of them and the giant house. The cook goes home before they finish, and Pearl assures Marina that usually there’s a butler, but she gave him the day off. “Because I didn’t want to overwhelm you...” she says, and then adds, “Because most people are overwhelmed, not because you’re weird or anything. If you are overwhelmed.”

Marina may not be from around here, but she can tell when someone’s accustomed to being stared at. Pearl has a lot of money, and despite her cool, calm demeanor, it’s caused some problems in her life, socially. Marina wonders just how many people have used her.

Of course, Marina is used to having nothing, so she’s not exactly sympathetic to Pearl on the whole, but she is sympathetic to the fact that she’s not sure who she can trust. More than anything, Pearl seems like she wants to impress, as if she’s not used to being so worried that someone will like her home, and that’s touching in a weird way. Marina doesn’t have high standards, but to have Pearl so worried makes her feel a little flattered. And embarrassed, mostly because she doesn’t want their friendship to start off like this.

So, they eat dinner quietly, with just the clack of silverware between them. Marina can’t identify what the food is, but it’s delicious. She studiously ignores the way Pearl keeps peeking at her.

Eventually, the food is eaten, and the dishes need cleaning, so Pearl leads her into the kitchen. It’s just as large as everything else, with lots of chrome and granite. Distantly, she wonders after a dish washer, then realizes that she can hear it gently whirring, somewhere else in the room—probably full from the cooking. Carefully, they wash—or rather, Pearl washes and Marina dries. Marina gets the feeling that Pearl hasn’t done this that often, considering how she uses way too much soap and stares at the plate too hard. Marina doesn’t intrude though, because she knows how that feels, to want to do something for yourself.

That, or Pearl just doesn’t want to seem like too much of a spoiled princess.

They couldn’t be more different really, and that’s what makes this all so interesting and new. Marina is all self-sufficiency and survival while Pearl is all self-indulgence and ease, and that’s intriguing. Marina can’t quite wrap her head around all this new world, but she imagines that Pearl will help her navigate. In return, she’ll give Pearl the friendship that she so desperately desires.

And, maybe, just maybe, they’ll make a little music together too.

“Let’s get you in something comfortable,” Pearl says, apropos of nothing, once they’ve put the dishes away. She looks Marina up and down, at her cheap, thrift store clothes of tight jeans and a thick t-shirt. “This is a sleepover, after all.”

Marina has no idea what that means.

+

They end up on the couch, watching something Marina can’t make sense of. It’s loud and in her face, like a lot of surface culture is, and it’s exciting, exhilarating. She sits up straight with her legs pulled into her chest, dressed comfortably in one of Pearl’s oversized sweatshirts (well, it’s oversized on Pearl; on Marina it fits okay). Pearl, meanwhile, is leaning back, head lolled over to one side, and every now and then she speaks along with the characters on screen, as if she’s seen it a thousand times.

It’s a cute movie, with animated animals and plenty of songs. Pearl says something about it being a remake of a human flick, which explains some of the weird dialogue. Mostly, Marina is glad to have something to relax to. She hasn’t felt this at ease since... Well, she can’t quite remember when. But now, she’s got Pearl’s overstuffed, soft couch and a children’s movie to keep her company, convince her that maybe everything will be okay. Pearl is a comforting presence at her side, and Marina can’t help but begin to hope that things will fall into place.

Then, of course, there’s a distant pop! somewhere nearby. It’s not loud, but it is familiar: an explosion, and Maria can almost feel the smoke in her nose, smell the acrid tartness, and she jumps. Not too much, just a tiny jerk, but her hearts are hammering in her chest and she can feel her teeth clench, the muscles in her jaw tightening. She prepares for the assault, can picture a swarm of inklings hammering on the windows, primed with bombs, inkzookas, inkstrikes, every weapon imaginable.

She covers her ears as the pop comes again, louder, and her hands are shaking.

“Marina?” she hears Pearl, and feels a soft, unafraid hand lay itself on her shoulder. Marina almost rears back, but some rational part of her brain keeps her place, allows her to be comforted. Pearl pats her shoulder awkwardly, ignorant of that fact that Marina could snap her half in she so desired.

“It’s just the splatfest fireworks,” Pearl assures her, as if that will help, as if Marina knows what that is. “I totally forgot that was tonight. Early bird versus night owl. Kinda dumb if you ask me—everyone I know is a night owl.”

Marina tries very hard to focus on her words, trying to ignore a loud crackle of fireworks followed by multiple consecutive concussive booms, and she mostly succeeds. “Splatfest...” she mumbles, trying out the unfamiliar word. “It’s like... a fight?”

Pearl gives her a critical look. “Wow, you totally weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t from around here. Yeah, everyone is given two options and you pick one. Then there’s this giant rager in the plaza and everyone dukes it out. The Squid Sisters perform and everything! It’s killer. We totally have to headline a splatfest someday.”

Marina tries to imagine that—performing in front of all those people, with all that activity, under those lights. But then she gets to the part where there will definitely be more fireworks, right overhead, closer than ever, and she very nearly backs out of the whole thing, panics and tells Pearl actually, I don’t think I can do this whole singing thing after all— But Pearl is still talking.

“Everyone will love us! You have a great voice and I can hype the crowd! And you can do that sexy walk of yours, that hip swing. I’ll jump a lot because that’s what you do when you’re hyping the crowd. Have you ever been to a concert? I used to headline a punk band and let me tell you: they were hype. I know how to do my shit. Our splatfests will be the best—”

Marina can’t help it. Maybe it’s the stress or the panic, but she laughs. Pearl’s earnest spiel is charming and relaxing all at once because she’s so certain—so certain that they’ll make it, that they’ll get that coveted spot as the headlining act, so confident that they’ll sell, and everyone will love their music. It’s intoxicating in a way, that confidence, and it also helps Marina feel a little better about the future. Pearl is security, with all that certainty packed into her small body, and Marina can’t help but smile.

Of course, the fireworks will be another matter, but she has a feeling that Pearl will help her get through those.

[fortheloveofkiller]

Heya,

So I haven't been a regular on Tumblr in a while, but I feel like this is really the only safe place to post my One Piece OC, and some stuff about her. If all goes well, I will make more art of her and text posts. Right now I'll just add some info about her below 🥰

Name: Hayda 

Age: 25

Gender: female

Pronouns: she/her

Eye color: dark brown

Skin color: dark brown, freckles 

Hair color: off white blue tint

Tattoos/markings: faded scars on mid back

Hobbies: Reading, some drawing, loves taking care of carnivorous plants, astronomy. Hates to admit it but she really likes shopping

Personality: A bit distrustful and distant at first, is a people watcher before she really talks to someone. Sometimes considered a little dissociative and "uppity", but that's far from the true case, she just really likes to watch and evaluate others before opening up to them. Once she trusts someone or sees they don't have negative intentions at least, she's friendly and cheery, but still on the shy side. Sometimes she gets overly excited about her favorite things and she really opens up and starts to babble, but tends to catch herself and double back into her shell before going too far. 

Background: Hayda's background is clouded in misery and mystery. She's from the same family as Heat, but grew up very different from him. He left their home island in the South Blue at an early age, but Hayda stayed as she didn't have a choice. She watched her island and others nearby get overturned and left barren by both pirates and Marines, so she has a strong distrust for both parties. She doesn't hate Heat, but after reconnecting with him by chance on an island, she's discovered how resentful she feels towards him for leaving her and others behind, and she is internally battling with that, as well as the feelings over getting in touch with a long lost family member.

After spending some time with Heat, and them talking one on one, she's starting to warm up to him, but she keeps a lock and key on what happened during the time they were apart in their lives. She's grown to accept the Kid Pirates, but is still wary and closed off. She's terrified of Kid, but he's indifferent towards her and likes to poke fun at her and harass her. Based on what he's learned about her from Heat, he thinks she may be useful in some ways. Wire was indifferent towards her, but he speaks to her now. Killer is unsure and silent to her.

Hayda hasn't had much close experience with others on a friendly basis, so she's extremely conflicted on what to think about everyone on the crew, but day by day she finds her hardening exterior softening around them, as well as their's. The only one she can't read well is Killer, she's curious about him... 

[mbg159]

What Your Favorite Yu-Gi-Oh Lead Girl Says About You

Anzu Mazaki/Tea Gardner: Decades of her being called "the friendship slut" have hardened your skin into diamond armor. You’re something of a purist for DM, and have almost definitely read the manga. You probably enjoy shipping her with some stripe of Yugi or Atem. You're very prideful of the fact that she technically has a perfect win record, and mention this fact at every opportunity whenever someone makes fun of her. You have a wary relationship with yaoi shippers.

Asuka Tenjoin/Alexis Rhodes: You probably had some kind of crush on her growing up, and today you claim she deserved better. Like her, you are sick of the bullshit of certain dudes. You have a begrudging soft spot for any character described as “tsundere.” You get really mad when newcomers get suggestions to skip the first two seasons. You were very disappointed at ARC-V, though you got a lot of enjoyment and schadenfreude out of her Deck being meta in Duel Links. 

Aki Izayoi/Akiza Izinski (likes the second half of the series): You are pretty chill, and almost definitely a Faithshipper. You’re very fond of doing all kinds of scenarios of their first meeting. You write at least one thing per day appreciating her development. You really, really like the rollerskates episode. You get really sad during the ending, but you know in your heart of hearts that they definitely kissed offscreen.

Aki Izayoi/Akiza Izinski (dislikes the second half of the series): You got the taste of a girl who was straight-up unhinged, and you've been chasing that high ever since. You find bondage jokes incredibly funny. You have at least one very strong opinion about Crow. Despite your feelings on the second half, you have a soft spot for Sherry. To this day, her battle theme still generates a Pavlovian response of swooning tears in you.

Kotori Mizuki/Tori Meadows: The diamond armor of Anzu fans compares not to the adamantium fortress assembled about you. You are very adamant that a character doesn’t have to be a Duelist to contribute to the plot, though you still admit you prefer her concept over her execution. You really wish the creators weren’t Like That with her. You either ship her with Yuma very wholesomely, or ship her with other characters out of spite. You enjoy “incorrect ZEXAL quotes” blogs.

Yuzu Hiragi/Zuzu Boyle: You are almost certainly a Fruitshipper, or you were one while ARC-V was running. You fondly recall the days when she was half-jokingly labeled the protagonist. Mostly, you just really want your daughter to be happy, though you would also settle for Melodious being playable. You read a whole lot of fanfiction, with your favorites being either pure fluff or retellings of the post-Standard arcs. The ending of the manga caused you to quit the fandom for about a week.

Aoi Zaizen/Skye Zaizen: You resist the urge to type the “Hate” monologue from I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream when asked your feelings on the show’s writers. Much like Aoi, you entered with high hopes and had your soul crushed, and you are now a bitter shell. You have mapped out Aoi’s psychological state to a frightening degree, and found she shares at least half your disorders, especially depression. You console yourself with Zinniashipping and Hatsune Miku jokes.

Romin Kirishima: You actually tried Sevens when it started, found yourself liking it a fair bit, and are now desperately trying to convince your friends to watch it too. You’re very proud of the fact that she’s the first girl to beat a protagonist fairly and mention it a lot, but you’re currently very anxious about her future. Mostly, you just like anything that can be described as “pastel goth.” You like her design and deck, but are very weirded-out by the fact that she’s supposed to be eleven. 

EDIT: Sequels! [DM] [GX]

[dropssofjupitter]

Coffee Cups and Cigarettes

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Ever since Fred’s near death experience at the battle of Hogwarts, everyone at the Burrow had been walking on eggshells around him and doting on him as much as they could. Everyone, that is, except you. The end of the war may have freed everyone else, but it changed and hardened you. And after a late night walk, Fred is going to find out just how much. 

Word Count: 2.4k 

Warnings: Mentions of war, PTSD, nightmares, not handling trauma in a healthy way, mentions of depression but not in an explicit way, depictions of smoking, very slight mention of drinking

Masterlist

A/N: I don’t even know where this came from but here have an angst fic. Also I’m really sorry for the lack of content lately! I’ve been struggling with my mental health and am trying to pull myself out of my rut by picking back up my unfinished fics. 

You could still hear the screams. You could still remember watching bodies fall and the bright flashes of curses burst across your vision. You saw the bodies of Remus and Tonks, lying still, arms outstretched towards each other, every time you closed your eyes. You remembered the feeling of dread settling into your stomach as you spotted his deathly still body across the room, his family surrounding his body with tear stained faces. 

Memories of the war haunted you every time you closed your eyes, suffocating you with their feelings of fear and desperation. They woke you up in a panicked frenzy night after night, hands gripping the bed sheets and desperately reaching for your wand out of impulse. Eventually, you stopped trying to sleep. Instead you took to sitting in your room, a cup of coffee in your hand and a book open on your lap. To the others, it seemed like you were coping, like you were trying to return to whatever sense of normalcy that you’d had before the war. They couldn’t have been more wrong. What they saw as coping, you knew was the opposite. Instead, you were using the books and insomnia as a way to ignore your feelings of inner turmoil and pain. 

When the flashes of green curses began to overtake your vision every time a wave of exhaustion rolled through you, you turned to walks. You walked in the woods outside of the Burrow, letting the sickly sweet summer nights wash you in their cool heat as you walked for hours upon hours. You walked until your legs felt like jelly and your breath was coming out in short bursts; you walked until the orange hues of the sun tainted the dark night that had cloaked you for so long.

No one at the Burrow knew that you took such walks, and to be honest, you wanted to keep it that way. Your actions would only make them worry and try to reach out more, and as it was, you could hardly interact with them at all.  Every time you looked at the Weasley’s or your friends, your head couldn’t help but to fill with what-if’s. 

What if Harry hadn’t woken up? What if Ron had failed to dodge the killing curse? What if Hermione had decided to take on Nagini by herself? What if Mrs. Weasley hadn’t been able to kill Bellatrix? What if Fred had been unable to minimize the damage on the Confrigo curse?

They consumed you, those thoughts. They threatened to voice themselves every time you so much as glanced up at someone with red hair, so you kept to yourself. But while you sought solitude, everyone else sought comfort. Harry and Ginny were hardly apart from each other for long, hands clasped tightly at all times. They whispered in hushed voices in the corners of the rooms, strained smiles on their faces. At night, you could hear Ginny’s soft footsteps pass by your door as she headed to Harry’s room. 

Ron and Hermione were complicated. They were often engaged in fights that soon evolved into screaming matches; sometimes Hermione won, other times Ron did. In the end, it never really mattered who won. The two of them would make up by dinner, and sit next to each other with their hands intertwined underneath the table and terse smiles on their faces, knowing that tomorrow they would have the exact same fight.

If Fred and George were close before, they were nearly inseparable now. They had closed their joke shop for the time being, giving Fred time to heal after his brush with death, and were often found trying their best to keep the mood in the house light. They knew all too well the importance of humor in dark times.

Fred had changed though, and you knew that you weren’t the only one who’d noticed it. You’d caught him staring into the distance multiple times, eyes trained on something that no one else could see. His skin would pale, his hands would shake, and sometimes it would take him an agonizingly long time to pull himself out of whatever he was seeing. 

No one ever mentioned it. Instead, they chose to live in their blissful ignorance and show their support in ways that they were familiar with. They let him choose meals and take his seat first. They joked with him, let him choose the nights entertainment, never asked him to do any chores. They were walking on eggshells around him, and it was infuriating. 

You knew that you could never tell them that, though. You knew that if you did, the entire structure that the family had been clinging to for so long would topple without warning. So you bit your tongue and forced a smile; forced yourself to laugh along with them at one of George’s strained jokes, and forced yourself into complacency. 

And it had been working, until Fred had wandered outside and, subsequently, upon you leaning on the porch railing. 

It was dark out, still the early hours of the morning, and you had a mug of steaming coffee clasped in your hands like a lifeline. Hearing the front door open, you looked over at him, obviously startled before looking quickly away once more. “I didn’t know that anyone else was up,” you said quietly, taking a small sip of your coffee and wincing as it burned the tip of your tongue. 

He hesitated before replying, moving to sit on the rickety steps that connected the porch to the ground. “Neither did I,” he replied with a small smile, fiddling with a package in his hand as he looked out at the fields surrounding his home. 

You glanced over at him and nodded to his hands. “What are those?” you asked, doing your best to make conversation as the two of you were bathed in starlight. You hoped it wasn’t incredibly obvious that you were uncomfortable with him being outside with you. It felt like he was encroaching on your safe space, but you didn’t have the heart to kick him out. 

His hands stop flipping the package and he stilled for a moment before forcing a smile onto his face and opening it. He looked over at you as he pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips before taking a lighter out of his shirt pocket. “My secret to staying sane,” he replied, lighting the cigarette and placing the nearly empty container on the step next to him. 

You tried to force a smile, mouth turning up at the ends in a shaky gesture as your eyes shifted from staring past him to staring at the fields surrounding you, but after a minute you dropped it. You were so tired of pretending that everything was okay. That you were okay. A deafening silence fell over the two of you, and it fell heavily on your shoulders.

You used to be good at talking to people; before the war. You used to be able to start a conversation over the most mundane objects and let it foster a wary friendship. You were exceptional at it. And then the war happened. Now you didn’t know how to talk to anyone. Every conversation was strained and dense; filled with silences that neither you nor those that you were conversing with knew how to handle. 

You glanced over at Fred, flinching as your mind twisted the sight and forced you to see the deathly stillness you had come to know quite well in your nightmares. Closing your eyes, you turned your head away and took a drink for your mug. You were far too sober to be dealing with this right now. 

Fred took a drag of the cigarette, inhaling deeply before blowing out a puff of smoke, watching it curl and flip in the cold sky. “Why won’t you look at me?” he asked quietly, staring down at the cigarette that lay between his fingers before looking up at you. 

You stared out at the field, watching the fog lay over it like a loving blanket. Your coffee mug was resting comfortably in your hands, and you blew on it gently. “Because every time I do, I watch you die.”

You were never one to sugarcoat the truth, he knew that. Often you were even described as brutally honest. But it was no stretch to say that he had never expected you to say that. He hesitated in his reply, something you picked up on easily yet held your tongue about. “I didn’t die,” he replied, taking another drag. “No matter how much George wants to be one brother short of a twin, I can’t give him the satisfaction.” His lips curled up in a smile, and you knew that he was trying to diffuse the tense air around the two of you. 

“But you almost did,” you said calmly, lifting the mug to your lips and taking a sip. It was scary sometimes, how unbothered you were about things like this. It was like you weren’t properly feeling, and maybe you weren’t. Or maybe you were compartmentalizing, shoving what you didn’t need into the depths of your mind.

 “So did everyone else. We all took risks in the war, but we made it out,” he said with a shrug, turning his head to look out at the field as well. 

You took time with your response, turning the words over in your mouth and feeding them to yourself in a mental debate. You knew that once you said them, you would be opening the talk into something more, something bigger. Maybe...maybe that would be a good thing. “Then why does it feel like we never left?” you asked in a soft voice, eyes now trained on the coffee in your hands.

He paused, cigarette frozen inches from his lips. You could tell he was mulling over his answer as well; wondering if he should let you in or push you back beyond his walls. Eventually, he smiled, an expression that conveyed no joy and was paired with a bitter laugh. “I wish I fucking knew.” 

You accepted his answer, choosing not to pry or open up any further as the two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You listened to the birds chirp their wakeup call as the sun finally began to emerge from beyond the hills, and inwardly you knew that your time out here was limited now. Your friends were going to start waking up soon, and they would be concerned if they found you outside at this hour. Just as you were about to finish the rest of your coffee and leave, Fred spoke again. 

“Why were you out here?” he asked, eyes turning to catch yours as you finally looked over at him. You saw a flash of his body in the Great Hall, pale skinned and eerily quiet with his family standing over him and quickly looked away again. 

You debated lying to him. Telling him that you’d heard a noise and were unable to go back to sleep. But you were so tired of lying. You were tired of hiding flinches, of hiding the dark circles under your eyes, of hiding. Your fingers fidgeted with the bracelet you wore on your wrist, a reminder of your parents, of what you lost, and you sighed. “It’s hard for me to sleep, so I come out here instead. It’s . . peaceful. Quiet. It makes me feel safe.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw him nod in understanding while taking a final drag from his cigarette and dropping it onto the porch before stomping it out. “It’s the nightmares, right? They keep you up and take you back to the war.” 

You silently nodded your head, closing your eyes and pressing your hands up to your face as a sudden feeling of desperation welled up inside of you. “I haven’t slept in months,” you confessed softly. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting against the slew of emotions that were suddenly surfacing after being pushed down and held back for so long. 

You could sense Fred hesitating, feel him cautiously stand up. You heard the soft creaking of the porch as he walked over to you, unsure of what to do and how to help. “Can I . . . can I hug you?” he asked gently, feet shuffling as he shifted his weight from side to side. 

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, you nodded. “I just-” your voice broke and you cleared your throat. “I just want to know when I’m going to stop seeing everything. I can’t blink without seeing the school. Without seeing him. It’s like..,” you took another breath, your shoulders shaking and your eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s like I’m always going to be back there. Watching people die. Unable to save any of them.” 

Fred wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on top of yours as the two of you faced the grassy hills that surrounded the Burrow. “Every time I close my eyes I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t fired that counter curse.” 

Your hands dropped from your face slowly, reaching down to place a comforting hand on his arm to let him know that you were there for him as tears slipped silently down your face. 

“I can see it, you know. When they look at me. I can see it in their eyes. They’re all thinking the same thing that I am.” His fists clench and he grits his teeth, pain evident on his face as his mind takes him back to the final battle.  “If I had been a second slower...” he trailed off, eyes hardening. 

You could smell the smoke on him like this. It clung to him like a cloud, sticking to his clothes and enveloping you in its scent. It was, surprisingly, calming. And you could see why he had turned to smoking as a coping mechanism. 

Wordlessly you lifted one of his hands to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “Thank you for not being a second slower,” you whispered, leaning your head back against his chest and savoring the feeling of being held. 

You knew that in a few short minutes you would have to move; to go back up to your room and pretend that you had gotten a restful nights sleep and that you were actually okay. But for now you were content to be here, in this moment. You were content to live in this point in time for a few more seconds and pretend that you weren’t terribly broken inside. You could allow yourself this, one thing. 

.

.

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Taglist:

@hydrasbitches 

Add yourself to my taglist here

[keichanz]

Mistake

kay so i really don't care if some of this doesn't make sense because this is the first thing i've written in a while that i don't absolutely hate. well this version at least. ending up scraping the first draft because it just seemed wrong and went in a different direction. im glad i did cause im happy with it.

anyway i realize that this may not get much feedback because i took a different approach to it, aka the entire pov is from an OC but i can't bring myself to care too much because i wrote this purely for myself. got inspired, started writing, and i actually liked the content i was writing. end of.

btw the oc doesn't refer to inuyasha as a half-demon because he's unaware he is one and i was too lazy to delve into those waters anyhow.

also for the sake of this oneshot pls dont look too closely at the ranks of diplomat and ambassador. i was too lazy to put much research regarding positions of power so just...go with it.

inspired by @stillunderyourbed​'s art that can be found here.

It was…quaint. Smaller than what he'd expected. The housing structures looked subpar, there didn't appear to be any wooden walkways, and he could detect the distinct odor or fish in the air with hints of manure. There even seemed to be a perpetual dust cloud hovering at about waist high, thickening from the numerous carts, wagons, horses, and villagers kicking up dirt as they went about their daily lives. Already he felt like there was a layer of dust caked on the inside of his lungs and he wasn't even inside yet.

All in all, it was your typical countryside village, home to simple folk that made a living off of fishing, farming, and trade. The diplomat sneered in disgust. For being the rumored home of the creature strong enough to destroy the despicable Naraku, the village was…less than impressive. And to say that he was underwhelmed would be a vast understatement.

Shifting atop his mount, a chestnut gelding that had been his faithful companion for the last four years, Takeji frowned as he surveyed the sight before him. It was early afternoon, so men were out working in the fields, women were chatting amongst themselves as they laundered clothing at the river, and children were running about, playing and laughing while dogs barked at their heels. He could see the great red torii gate and the stone staircase that led to the shrine and he could hardly refrain from rolling his eyes.

The village was obviously poor, possibly even teetering on the edge of poverty, and instead of feeding themselves for a good long while, they decided to construct that monstrosity. He would never understand the minds of simple common folk. Daft. All of them.

Barely keeping himself from scowling, Takeji reluctantly climbed off his mount and forced himself to move forward into the pathetic excuse for a village. Already he knew he would have to burn his expensive attire; there would be no getting the dust and stench out of it after his ghastly visit. A visit he had not wanted to make, but being a highly revered and prestigious diplomat, it was his duty to travel to far off lands in hopes of establishing a profitable relationship that would ultimately benefit his homeland.

Although, looking around and fighting against the urge to retch at both the nauseating stench and the mere sight of all the unwashed villagers milling around, Takeji wondered not for the first time why he even bothered to accept this task. True, it was said the slayer of Naraku did hail from here, but surely having his homeland associated with this hovel would garner nothing but loss. So why had he agreed to come?

Oh, yes, he mused, grimacing as he stepped over a large manure pile right in the middle of the road. Because apparently, being all chummy with the nation's hero will allow us to have him at our beck and call, because who doesn't want a powerful demon capable of slaying the most evil demon in all of existence as an intimidating presence during negotiations, and let's not forget he alone would be equal to about one hundred soldiers in battle.

Rolling his eyes, Takeji tied his mount to a hitching post, withdrew his satchel with all the necessary paperwork, and set about finding this Inuyasha fellow. He'd been told the demon wore scarlet robes, carried a sword at his hip, and had white hair so no doubt he would stick out like a sore thumb amongst the droll browns and grays of the common folk, which suited him just fine. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could leave because there was no way he was staying even a second more in this village than he had to. Even if the next inn was hours away, he'd make the journey; the inn here was probably as unclean and riddled with bed bugs or something. Ugh. How vile.

Shrugging the satchel over his shoulder, Takeji bit back a groan, sighed, and hadn't even made it a single step before the sound of screaming froze him in his tracks. He gasped and immediately started looking for the danger, body tense, preparing to hop back onto his steed lightning fast and make a hasty getaway.

But as he looked around with wide eyes and a frantically beating heart, Takeji couldn't help but notice that he was the only one that appeared to have heard the sound of terror. The villagers were just continuing to go about their day, calm as you please, either severely deaf or completely uncaring. Takeji was beginning to wonder if he was perhaps hearing things when it happened again, a high-pitched sound that he realized with dread belonged to a child.

Takeji gaped. A child was in danger and nobody cared?! What kind of village was this?! Another shriek pierced the air, and Takeji made a decision. Very well; if these imbeciles weren't going to do anything about it, then he himself would see to the danger. While by no means a swordsman or warrior, he did have some weapons training he could fall back on for this precise reason. Traveling alone was dangerous, and you never knew what you would encounter.

Resolved, the diplomat set his jaw, unsheathed the dagger at his waist, and darted toward the direction the screams were coming from. He meandered between houses, hoped over lazing dogs, dodged startled villagers in his path, and he came into a small clearing by the forest's edge. The sight that greeted him was…not what he expected.

Coming up short, Takeji watched with a befuddled frown as one child chased around two other, slightly older looking children. One might think they were playing a game of sorts, and the diplomat started to believe that was indeed the case…until the one doing the chasing, clad in red, suddenly jumped high into the air, over the heads of the other two children, and landed before them with hands raised.

Hands, Takeji noticed with growing dread and disgust, tipped with claws on each finger and he quickly realized what exactly was happening. That wicked little demon brat, that creature was toying with those helpless children! It was keeping them trapped, preventing them from running away by leaping over their heads and blocking their route of escape! They screamed, the demon child laughed, and so potent was his fury, so enraged was he for the fact that the villagers apparently did not care about what was happening right beneath their noses, Takeji failed to notice the wide smiles on all three of the young one's faces. The blood pounding in his ears prevented him from hearing the gleeful giggles as the two human kids scrambled away from the one clad in red, and without another thought, Takeji moved.

"Run, children!" Takeji ordered as he hurled himself into the clearing, dagger raised as he charged toward the demon brat with a baleful glare. "I will take care of his filthy animal!"

All three children froze in place, eyes wide as Takeji inserted himself between the two human children - twin girls, he idly noted - and the demon spawn that dared raised its claws toward them. The brat stared up at him with big brown eyes and it - she - actually looked confused. Takeji scowled. He would not fall for such a ploy.

"I will not allow you to harm them," he spat and pointed his dagger at her. The child blinked at him and then looked behind him at the two girls who still had not taken the chance to flee. In shock, perhaps? Stunned? No matter; they were safe, so long as he stood between them and the threat.

The demon child made a face and started to walk around him, completely disregarding the weapon trained on her, but Takeji shifted and stopped her once more. He heard the two behind him whispering as the spawn looked up at him once again, this time frowning at him with narrowed eyes. And was that a growl he heard? He snorted. Was she actually trying to appear threatening? Pathetic.

Scowling, Takeji lifted a foot, placed it on her stomach, and shoved. The demon gasped as she stumbled back and then landed on her behind with a small grunt. He heard a gasp from behind him, urgent whispering, and then hurried scrambling. A glance over his shoulder told him they'd finally gotten wise and ran away. He nodded. Good. Now he could deal with this vermin without innocent eyes to bear witness.

But as he stared down at the pathetic sight before him, Takeji wondered maybe if such measures would even be necessary. The beast was still lying where she had fallen and was staring up at him with wide eyes brimming with…wait. What? Were those tears? Oh, you have got to be joking.

Rolling his eyes, the diplomat scoffed at the pathetic play for mercy and careless waved his dagger at her. The child actually flinched and followed the blade with her gaze, wariness clear in her eyes. Well. It appeared her self-preservation instincts have finally kicked in.

"Cease your theatrics," Takeji drawled, unimpressed. "They do not fool me. Now lucky for you, demon spawn, the pathetic sight you project has made me decide to spare your life. Your tainted blood is not worthy enough to soil my blade, so I will say this only one and you would do well to heed this warning, beast."

Hardening his stare and curling his lip into a sneer, Takeji spat, "Leave this place at once and do not return. There is no place for the likes of you, an abomination that preys on helpless children. Now get out of my sight, afore I kill you on principle. Your vile presence disgusts me."

The child grunted and Takeji watched, stone faced, as she got to her feet. Then to his surprise the little demon balled her hands into fists at her sides and glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the tears he could clearly see brimming her eyes. He cocked a brow, unmoved. She sniffled once, twice, and then to his utter surprise and bafflement, her face suddenly crumbled, her lower lip trembled, and she promptly burst into loud tears before spinning on her heel and running away.

"P-Papaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Takeji frowned. Papa? Were the brat's kin nearby, then? Body tense and weapon raised, he waited, prepared to either fight or flee - because he wasn't a fool and knew when he was in over his head - but when no demons came bursting out of the tree line, Takeji slowly relaxed.

Bewildered and more than a little annoyed at the whole debacle - what a waste of time! - the diplomat scoffed in derision as he turned to watch the little demon brat scurry away. And then right at that exact moment, a figure donned in red dropped to the ground seemingly out of nowhere and Takeji felt a wave of relief sweep through him. Finally! This had to be his demon quarry.

Nodding, Takeji stepped forward and opened his mouth to call out a greeting—

And then froze in his tracks as the greeting abruptly died on his tongue. Because the little demon girl, the one he'd just pointed his weapon at and shoved to the ground, ran straight to the figure robed in red and Takeji could do naught but watch with a growing sense of horrified dread as the older demon knelt down to take the child into his arms.

All color promptly drained from his face and Takeji suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He glanced behind the pair and he was somehow not at all surprised to find the twin girls from earlier glaring at them and holding onto the skirts of their mother with a monk garbed in violet robes beside her. They too were staring at him in a not so friendly manner, but upon returning his gaze to the two demons, Takeji numbly thought that if looks could kill, he would surely be dead by now.

Because the demon robed in red - which was now unmistakably the child's father and none other than Inuyasha, the demon he'd come here for - was glaring absolute murder at him and it was obvious that he was. Not. Pleased.

Takeji swallowed and unconsciously backed up a step. With one small hand fisting her father's robes, the child had the other pointing an accusatory finger at him as she no doubt recited to him their earlier…ah, exchange. Inuyasha said nothing in response, but he didn't need to. The deep, nearly subsonic growl that erupted from his mouth, complete with fully bared fangs in a truly fearsome snarl, told him very clearly of his thoughts on his daughter's mistreatment by him.

Which, if Takeji had to guess, were not very Takeji-friendly. At all.

Somehow managing to fight against the urge to flee, Takeji swallowed hard as Inuyasha pushed to his feet and stalked toward him with that same murderous look on his face. Something told him, perhaps some deeply rooted self-preservation instinct, that if he even tried to run right then, it would not end well for him. So he remained where he was and tried valiantly to control the trembling in his body as he slowly, very slowly, tucked his dagger back from whence it came.

Inuyasha stopped in front of him and Takeji cleared his throat before attempting a placating smile, but it looked more like a grimace than anything. "Ah…I assume you are…In—"

One second Takeji was staring into the scowling features of one pissed off dog demon. The next there was a bright flash of light and then he was staring at the business end of a very large and very sharp sword. With the tip just a hair's breadth away from his nose, Takeji gasped sharply and stumbled back a step out of instinct.

Sweet merciful heavens! How—?

"Usually I'd ask who the fuck you are," the demon growled, his eyes twin slits of baleful gold. "But honestly, I can't really bring myself to care enough to know the name of the asshole who threatened my daughter when she was doing nothing but playing with her friends."

Takeji blanched for the second time and he could actually feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He fucked up. Oh dear god he'd fucked up so bad—

"There's—there's been a misunderstanding," Takeji tried in a voice higher than usual, raising his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture as he eyed the very sharp point of that blade. "I—I admit I've made a grave mistake—"

"Shut the fuck up and tell me why I shouldn't gut you where you stand," Inuyasha hissed, lips feeling back off his fangs in another fierce snarl. With his ears pinned back and those golden eyes glaring absolute death at him, the demon made quite the menacing picture. Takeji had the brief, if a bit ludicrous thought, that perhaps the demon Naraku perished from the sheer animosity that was coming off of the silver-haired demon in waves.

Swallowing once, twice, Takeji realized that he only had his quick wit to get him out of his certain predicament. So bracing himself, he opened his mouth—

"He's from the continent, Inuyasha. You can't hurt him."

Startled hazel eyes swung toward the source of the voice but amber eyes stayed locked on their target, the only acknowledgment of the voice a flick of an ear.

The owner of the voice the human diplomat could only presume was the child's mother, as the child in question was standing behind her legs and was actually smirking at him. He frowned.

"You're from Shenshi," the woman remarked and Takeji swung his gaze back to her. "Right?"

Though her expression wasn't openly friendly, it wasn't exactly unfriendly either, however the human diplomat still felt he needed to tread carefully. Because while her face didn't betray anything, her stare was hard and her mouth had tightened into a thin, flat line. She had one hand on her daughter's head while the other clutched a longbow, and belatedly he realized she had a quiver of arrows slung across her back. He barely held in a flinch as he realized this was one of the demon's companions that had assisted in slaying Naraku, possibly the young woman in which Inuyasha held a more meaningful relationship.

A much more meaningful relationship, if the child currently glaring daggers at him was anything to go by since she was more or less living proof of it.

Wonderful. So he'd gone and threatened the only child of two of the most powerful beings in Japan. Clearly he'd stepped over the wrong grave and pissed somebody off.

Clearing his throat and aiming a strained smile toward the woman who was still awaiting his reply, Takeji nodded once. "Ah, y-yes, my lady. I'm—"

"The diplomat Ambassador Sharaku sent to convince Inuyasha to join his ranks so he'd have the support and protection of 'The Great Slayer of Naraku.'" The woman raised a delicate brow at him. "How am I doing so far?"

Takeji had the good grace to look a mite sheepish. "Ah…well—"

"You can't kill him, Inuyasha," she repeated and Takeji thought she sounded disappointed. "If he goes missing, the ambassador will send his troops to find out what happened or if he returns injured, it could be taken as an insult and you can imagine what would happen after that. You would risk mine or Moroha's life like that, and you know it."

Inuyasha growled but said nothing to refute her words, so Takeji assumed he agreed.

"He threatened her, Kagome," the demon spat, inching the blade closer to his throat and Takeji flinched. "Called her a fucking animal, shoved her down, and waved a goddamn dagger in her face! You can't honestly expect me to let that—"

"Papa," the child - Moroha - suddenly said, successfully stalling her father's angry tirade. A quick glance revealed the girl, still sticking close to her mother, was staring at the older demon with big brown eyes, bright with the threat of tears as she worried her bottom lip. And evidently the sight was enough to calm the raging storm of Inuyasha's fury because he grimaced, released a low growl, and then Takeji watched in stunned amazement as the massive sword suddenly transformed into a rusty katana before it was sheathed at his hip.

With a weapon no longer at his throat, Takeji could breathe a little easier and he released a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. But then he sucked it right back in when Inuyasha suddenly stepped in close and got in his face, a low, threatening growl leaking past rightly clenched teeth bared in another snarl. Golden eyes bore into his own, filled with a lethal warning that had the human male's back straightening and his blood to run cold in his veins.

"You listen carefully, asshole," Inuyasha hissed, glaring so heatedly it was a wonder Takeji didn't burst into flame. "Don't you dare think that my wife's words have any sort of sway over my decision to spare your pathetic life. I'm not scared of your weakling ambassador and I sure as hell ain't scared of his little human army. No, the only reason that I let you live is because I don't want my daughter, the one you foolishly threatened when she had done nothing wrong, to see me sully my hands with your disgusting blood when I reduce you to nothing more than a bloody smear on the ground."

Takeji paled and swallowed thickly. That particular image was…not pleasant.

Inuyasha watched the color drain from his face. Satisfied, he sneered before saying in a growl filled with sinister promise, "Now get the fuck outta my village and if you ever touch my daughter again, I'll gut you so fast you won't even have time to fucking scream."

Then with that, Inuyasha leveled him with one last dark scowl before spinning on his heel and stalking away, a clear dismissal. Neither mother nor daughter even spared the frozen human male a glance as Inuyasha paused to pick his daughter up into his arms before striding away, his wife close to one side and his friends on the other.

From over his shoulder, Takeji could only watch in a mixture of shock and befuddlement as the little demon girl named Moroha smirked and then stuck her tongue out at him, safe and sound in her father's arms.

Left standing in a state of numb bewilderment, Takeji blinked, looked down at himself, and had the passing thought that it was a very good thing he'd decided to wear brown trousers that day.

[farplane]

DAY 5: [EXTRA CREDIT]

There was no hero’s welcome as they passed through the White Aisle’s gates; only a greeting from the younger gate guard to Arenvald, and a wary look from the older at Fordola. The former was easily returned, and the latter easily ignored—both commonplace enough for any old homecoming.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” said Arenvald as they walked, taking their usual path to the palace.

“We haven’t got all night,” Fordola replied. “I have to be back in the barracks by sundown.”

“Very funny. No, but, like—if he’s an insect, yeah, what’s with the whole… battle-worship eternal war philosophy? Aren’t insects all about collaboration?”

“They’re the beastmen’s gods. They’re not supposed to make sense.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Arenvald said, clearly unsatisfied with the response. “Suppose if I had four arms myself I’d make the most of it with… four arms to match.” He nudged Fordola’s elbow. “Arms. Swords. Get it?”

Fordola made a sound of disgust and picked up her pace to distance himself from him.

“Come on!” Arenvald called after her. “That was a good one!”

As he jogged to catch up, Fordola stopped dead just short of turning a corner, and pressed her back to the nearest wall. She’d gone ash-pale, a choked gasp caught in her throat, and Arenvald could see her chest heaving with suppressed breath.

“Are you all right? What’s going on?”

Fordola just shook her head. Arenvald reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, then decided against it; he knew her enough, by now, to be sure she would just shrug him off. So he took just one step past her and peered around the corner, heedless of Fordola hissing his name—and saw the cause of her shock.

It wasn’t right, that he should recognize Fordola’s mother from her memories, but it was the way of things. And maybe it was right enough because they were equals in it; likely she had seen his mother in his memories, too—more than once, knowing the strength of her Echo and the ragged hole his mother had left inside him.

“What’s her name?”

Fordola bit hard on the inside of her cheek. “As—Astrid.”

That knocked something loose inside Arenvald, if only for an instant. It was his mother’s name, too. But he swallowed hard, and pulled his focus back to Fordola. 

“Do you want me to stop her while you catch your breath?” he asked quietly. “So you can say hello?”

Again, Fordola shook her head—this time, almost frantically. “I can’t,” she said, so vulnerable it ached. “I can’t, I can’t let her see what I’ve—”

—become, something in Arenvald’s mind whispered when she couldn’t finish. Not the Echo, but something. He could only look between Fordola and her mother’s retreating back, fearing he might lose her in the crowd.

“But all the things she must’ve heard…” he said. “Doesn’t she deserve to know you’re all right?”

“I can’t,” Fordola snapped, her voice hard with grief.

“It doesn’t have to be you,” Arenvald said, and decidedly turned the corner. Maybe Fordola hissed his name; maybe she said don’t; maybe she said please.

He hurried down the street, dipping a hand into his pocket for a coin. It was an old trick, one he’d used for drastically different purposes, but it would work for this, too.

“Excuse me, Astrid,” he called, and crouched down as though to pick up the coin already in his hand as Astrid turned. She looked tired and not a little wretched, carrying a basket on her hip as though it weighed a tonze. Arenvald held out the coin in his palm. “You dropped this.”

The hard wariness around her eyes reminded him of Fordola, in a way, but maybe even sadder. “Thank you,” she said, carefully taking the coin; her eyes never left Arenvald’s face. “Do I know you?”

“Er, no. I’m sorry,” Arenvald said. He pointed to himself. “My name is Arenvald. I’m an adventurer, with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn,” and Twelve, that always felt so reassuring to say. “I’ve been working with the Resistance. With your daughter.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Astrid said immediately, and made to walk away. She hid her flinch well when he touched her arm.

“Wait, no, it’s—I don’t mean any ill by it.” He held both hands up. And he wished he’d thought it through, worked out what he was going to say beforehand instead of just opening his big mouth and babbling. “I just wanted you to know she’s doing well. I’ve been… I haven’t been assigned to do it, really, but I’ve been looking after her, sort of. We’re of an age, you see, and we’re— alike.”

Astrid said nothing; she just let him talk. But something settled on her face as emotion overtook her glare: something Arenvald didn’t know how to name. It wasn’t relief, really, or acceptance. Nor even appreciation of what it was saying. But it was something, and it almost made him waver.

“She did bad things, but so have I. Hurt people. But everything I’ve been doing for—for years, it’s always been just to be better. And I think she feels the same. It won’t erase what she’s done, but I think she deserves to try, if there’s goodness ahead of her. Don’t you think?”

“What do you want me to say?” Astrid asked tremulously.

“I— I don’t know.”

Arenvald’s lips parted without sound. 

Astrid hoisted the basket higher on her hip, her other fist clenched tight around Arenvald’s coin. “Then I can say nothing to you,” she said. And for a moment, all he could do was just watch her leave.

“She’s saved countless lives, you know,” Arenvald said to her back, not wanting to raise his voice too loud. The stones in Ala Mhigo always heard too much. “Just in the past few moons. The imperials did something unspeakable to her and she’s been using it to save people. One of them was a father, and that’s one that I know of— all because she knew that somewhere, there was a little girl who needed him.”

He swallowed hard again, unsure of why his throat was so tight. “I don’t care who she was; only that that’s who she is now. And so should you.”

Astrid had slowed her steps to listen, at least; Arenvald saw a tremor in her shoulders, running down the line of her back, but it was gone in an instant as she straightened and went on her way. Still pressed to the wall, Fordola was listening, too: a hand clamped over her mouth, the other a shaking fist, as tears streamed incessantly down her cheeks.

She was wiping at her eyes with the heel of her gloved hand as Arenvald returned, feeling battered and drained in ways that had little to do with their earlier confrontation with a primal. But he had meant everything he said, and he hoped Fordola knew that. Not that there was much he could do to lie to her from the inside.

And neither could she lie to him; not with her face a blotchy red around the nose and eyes, and her cheeks still pale. Arenvald wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms and force her to let herself be a person, but she would just push at him and maybe even bite.

“It’s all right,” he said gently, without touching her. Fordola’s mouth was pinched tight, and she wouldn’t look him in the eye—and even though he’d just stopped himself from reaching out, all the reasons why he shouldn’t seemed pointless and stupid.

So he pulled Fordola into a hug, right there in the middle of the bloody street.

“Don’t,” Fordola said, muffled by his chest. She didn’t shove at him; she just stood there, her body ice against his, and all at once she was clinging to the back of his shirt and gritting her teeth so hard he felt the muscles of her jaw harden against his shoulder.

There was nothing he could say to her, really. He didn’t know if his own mother was alive: he hadn’t dared to ask around, because he didn’t know what he would do with the answer. But if she was still somewhere, he did hope she could make some peace with the suffering she’d endured at the hands of the Empire now that they were free to rebuild their lives.

It didn’t mean he knew whether he would want to stand in front of her again, or be brave enough for it after all the fear he’d felt, at the end.

Maybe one day Fordola could return the favour—tell his mum that he was doing all right, too. And maybe she’d even hug him when he was a mess, after.

[ladykissingfish]

the Akatsuki's reactions to being hugged

Sasori What is this? What is its purpose? Is this some sort of primitive close-combat battle technique intended to temporarily immobilize one’s enemy? Sasori dislikes even minimal physical contact, so something as invasive as a hug truly sets his hackles on edge. He will stand there with eyes staring blankly at whatever is behind the person, and wait for them to get through whatever strange nonsense that they’re subjecting him to. May smile ruefully to himself as he allows himself to think of his other life, his human life, and how gestures like this were once shyly sought out, rather than studiously avoided. If in a particularly curious mood, will hug back. Not to return affection, but to see with his own eyes how much crushing pressure the average human body can withstand before it gives out. Deidara Is extremely self-conscious and shudders at the very thought of a hug, although the reason isn’t so obvious. Deidara has spent his entire life feeling embarrassment due to his distinctly feminine features. Curves, wide eyes, long hair, a soft body ... he’s been mistaken for a woman more times than he can count. He can disguise what he perceives as a shameful lack of masculinity with draping clothes or robes, but a hug, and person to person contact, will completely dispel that illusion to the one initiating the embrace. His panic at being hugged is so great that he stiffens like a board in the hugger’s arms, his heart pounds and his breath comes fast and it’s on-par with one hell of an anxiety attack. However, once he becomes comfortable with the hugger, and realizes that the gesture is not at all meant to be cruel or a prelude to body-shaming judgment ... he will become addicted. Like much of the Akatsuki, his life has long been absent of any sort of warmth, and physical or emotional comforts, so when he gets hold of something that provides him with such, he will grasp on to it and guard it like a dog with a bone. Tobi As Tobi, he will act childishly giddy and hug back tightly, TOO tightly, making it nearly impossible for the other person to breathe. But underneath the mask, as Obito ... no matter who the person is, he finds it painfully difficult to let go of them. He has been starved for kindness and affection for more years than he’d care to think about, and being hugged triggers a flood of memories in his brain of his childhood, and the warm hugs he foolishly used to shrug off from his grandmother. For a few seconds he genuinely forgets how to put on his Tobi persona, and panics when he realizes that his arms won’t, not can’t but WON’T, detach themselves from the (now very confused) hugger. And then he’s saved in the form of Deidara walking by and shouting at him to “Let (the hugger) go and come on already, hm!”, and Tobi emerges to run after his Senpai, throwing his apologies over his shoulder. Zetsu Nobody in their right mind would get close enough to Zetsu to even dream of something a foolish as a hug. However, there are always those out there who spew the philosophy of “embracing nature”, and will be stupid brave enough to put their arms around the human-like plant. As with much of Zetsu’s choices, his reaction will depend solely on his mood. If he’s feeling kind (or he’s already eaten) he will simply stand still and let the hug happen. If he’s feeling literally anything else, that kind, sweet person will be missing their arms one moment, and their face the next. Nature is an unpredictable, wild element, and the sooner humans learn that, the better off humanity will be, Kakuzu His heart(s) will quite literally burst out of his body, upon being hugged. Kakuzu has finely tuned battle instincts, and his war-centric past had taught him that anybody who is close enough to attempt a hug, is also close enough to attempt an attack; and his body will involuntarily jump into battle mode, in order to protect itself. Even after the hugger explains ((and this is assuming they’re still alive)) that they meant no harm, Kakuzu will forever be wary and mistrustful of that person. After the hug, will visit Sasori and ask him

to run a blood analysis to determine whether the hugger somehow managed to inject him with poison. Itachi His self-control will slip just a fraction, and he’ll let out a soft, barely-audible gasp at the unexpected physical contact. How long has it been since he’s been hugged? Not since before his mother — well. He will stand in the hugger’s arms for an indeterminate amount of time, allowing them to keep their arms around him but making no moves to reciprocate the gesture. Something will change in both his aura and his demeanor, and the hugger will let out a gasp of their own, startled: up until that moment, the hugger will have only seen Itachi as a hardened criminal, one of the most dangerous of the Akatsuki, wielder of one of the most powerful visual jutsus of this world. But hugging him, feeling how soft and warm he is, how the tension slips out of his body ... he changes. He simply becomes a lost soul, a man who traded his youth and his freedom for this miserable life of death and loneliness. Somebody who, perhaps more than anybody else, NEEDS a hug every single day. Absurdly, a question like “Are you eating well?” might rise to the top of the hugger’s mind, because in these few bare seconds, Itachi Uchiha is little more than an orphan in dire need of a parents’ care. And then the killer of his clan comes to his senses, and firmly (yet gently) removes himself from the hugger’s grasp, straightens out his cloak, and continues on to whatever life chooses to throw at him next. Konan Hugging Konan is a difficult thing to attempt. Like Kakuzu, she has lived a life under the ever-present shadow of war and battle, and will likely see a hug as an attempt at an attack. Hugger will close in on a handful of paper rather than a human woman. However, if she had known the hugger long enough to trust them, she will bestow the softest, most gentle embrace imaginable. It’s the hug of a child, a small girl who is crying for her mother and father. Also the hugger will be completely floored by how fantastic the blue-haired beauty smells, and will attempt ((risk)) more hugs just to catch a whiff. Pein (Nagato) Hm. This is ... different. Nobody can hug Nagato, of course, but some may attempt to put their arms around Pein, which Nagato is vaguely able to feel himself. Had he ever been hugged in his life? He’s honestly not sure. The embrace is warm, very warm, and not altogether unpleasant ... but at the same time, it feels rather pointless. The world is riddled with anger, and hatred, and pain; and gestures such as this one are merely a cover for the truth that lies beneath. Kisame Kisame is neither for or against hugging, or being hugged. He sees no real purpose for it, but doesn’t believe it causes any real harm, either. However, if given a choice, he would prefer to be on the receiving end, as he fears his animalistic strength would unintentionally cause bodily harm to the other person. However, there’s one person he will hug quite frequently, and take care to be as gentle as possible: his Akatsuki partner Itachi. He has known this young man since he was a teenager, and feels a great measure of protective affection for the slim brunette. Itachi is the first person who ever looked at Kisame not as a monster but as a person, and is the only friend the half-shark has had in his life. Itachi shows no reaction to these random bouts of touching — but he doesn’t push Kisame away. Hidan Perhaps the most shocking revelation in a person whose entire life is shocking: Hidan LOVES hugs. Whether giving or receiving, he puts his all into every embrace, to the point where the other person will begin to feel as though they’re in a competition, the longer the contact goes on. But the reason is not as sweet or altruistic as one would hope; Hidan hugging another person is Hidan embracing Death. This is the part of his ritual that’s a well-kept secret; hugging one’s victim before the torment and slaughter that follows is his ultimate expression of love. A warped love, but a love all the same.

[goldenpoison]

Come Back To Me

T || 3.2k words || read it on Ao3

“And what if you died?” Alina screams at her husband, her voice almost cracking. Her wariness of nearby servants long gone. Aleksander already dismissed their personal guards the moment they stepped foot in the war room.

The beloved and celebrated rulers of Ravka would often bicker and sass each other. Their people saw it endearing. The lovesick teenagers would stare at the couple and giggle amongst themselves, often chittering about how they want to have something like some day. Their hearts still ignorant of the pain and suffering that trails love wherever it goes. The adults, who were once the bubbly teenagers, would also stare at them longingly, but for a different reason. Where the younger ones stare and wish for a storybook romance, they wish for even a sliver of the comfort and satisfaction that the monarchs had with each other — of a relationship healthy enough that both parties respect the other equally, and are unafraid to not hold back a snide remark.

They rarely fought intensely despite the bickering and the constant back and forth. But when they do, even the birds in their nests and the rabbits in the underbrush stop in their tracks, wary of the change of the lights and shadows. In fact, it’s been years since they had, possibly even almost a decade. Although they’ve been fighting for near an hour now, they have only ever repeated their original points and nothing more. The single difference being that they said them with much fervor than the last. At least, Alina does.

What fuels her most is not Aleksander’s stubbornness, but his calm demeanor. How could he stay level-headed when her temper is only rising and rising?

“I won’t, Alina.” His voice was stern and final. His words, however, were far from certain. “I’ve lived for centuries. What weapon could they possibly possess that could kill me?”

A lie. Excluding who his wife once was — the Alina who was ready to risk everything for the life of a simple otkazat’sya, the Alina just before she tasted the power of all three amplifiers, before she wore the bone of the said otkazat’sya amplifier on her wrist, before her hands were covered in his blood, her mind stained with the memory of his death, and her heart heavy with the guilt of not regretting any of it — for the first time in hundreds of years, there was a weapon that threatened his life. It was the reason why his army requested for him in the first place.

Too many Grishas who even dares to step near the Fjerdan border, no matter their order nor rank, ended up dead. His Heartrender generals died in battle. One found sans her eyes and left with darkness in her eye sockets. Another with his head three meters from his body, messily discarded like it was just another piece of meat to be eaten by wolves. Another general has been spared the dismemberment but was found with wolf bites all over their body and very much dead, nonetheless. All with three bullet holes to the head. Just holes though, the bullets were brutally plucked from their place that left the wounds bigger, bloodier, and dirtier.

They hadn’t known what made the bullets so deadly for almost a week since the Fjerdans first brought out the weapon. It was only until one of the soldiers managed to escape to the camps with a tilted bullet still lodged in his head, just a little bit more to the left of the center of his forehead. They said he came crawling with only one hand to push himself. The other was stuck to his abdomen, trying to apply pressure to the deep gash to prevent any further bleeding. It didn’t work for he still left a bloody path. With his fatal wounds, he only managed to reach the camp post, and died clutching one of the newer guard’s kefta, eyes wide and murmuring mad nonsense.

As reported to him by his Fabrikators, the bullets were apparently made of the usual lead-antimony alloy. Normally, this wouldn’t be quite a problem for Grishas because of their bulletproof keftas. What made them more dangerous is their poison coated Grisha steel encasing. Turns out, the poison was made of a cousin of the jurda plant that branched out only a few decades ago and can only be grown in very specific conditions in Novyi Zem. How the Fjerdans got a hold of the steel, he doesn’t know yet. One thing he is sure of, is whoever was treacherous enough to do or even slightly partake in the crime will receive no mercy.

Still, Alina doesn’t know. She knows of the staggering increase of deceased Grisha, but not the reason. The report came to him only that morning along with the request, and he plans to keep her in the dark about it. Even after all these years, despite her centuries-old valiance and her time-hardened heart, he’s still protective over his wife.

They’ve endured many things together, from numerous bloody wars to the yearly balls and events, filled with the same old power-hungry people hoping to get in the good graces of their king and queen, that they might just of boredom from. Yet, he could never seem to get less protective over her, if not, it might be increasing every day that the war prolongs, and if he was being honest, every time an overly decent looking man or woman steps ever so slightly closer to her and dares to bat a suggestive eye at her. How could he not, when all they truly had left as one another? He stopped trying to make sincere acquaintances before he reached one hundred, and his retched mother, as distant and cold as she was, jumped off the Elbjen mountains. He couldn’t imagine leaving her, but his promise to himself that he will do whatever it takes to make the world a safe place for Grishas was made such a long time ago that he doesn’t know how to live without it.

“Please, my Alina,” he pleaded again.

She sighed a heavy breath, her shoulders dropped and her head lowered. She didn’t utter a single word before exiting the war room.

–

Aleksander couldn’t even say that he woke up unpleasantly, because he simply didn’t sleep at all. Not when he was too lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts.

When it was time for breakfast, he saw that Alina, too, wore tired unrested eyes. She sat silently at her seat, her lips set in a slight frown and her head bowed. It wasn’t until the doors opened to let the servants enter with their food that she glanced up and Aleksander finally saw the redness in her eyes and the almost-vanished tear stains of her cheeks. She didn’t even bother with her Tailor today.

The servants served them a variety of fruits, buttered bread, and waffles, a food that Alina recently took a liking to these past few months. They stopped serving herring both at the Little and Grand Palace the first week that the couple came to power, courtesy of Alina whose face was in a clearly disgusted scrunch.

They finished their food without a single word said, and the tension in the air grew bigger and bigger with every second that passes. Alina has just stood up when he said, “Will you join me for a walk to the Little Palace this afternoon?”

She only looked at him with skeptical eyes, the rest of her face void of emotion. “Why?”

“For the sake of it. To check on the younger Grishas.”

Silence.

“Please. I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning, you know?” The Darkling never begs for anyone or anything. But he had to Alina, twice now in not even 12 hours.

She flinched the tiniest of flinches when he mentioned when he was leaving, but he saw it anyway. She thought about it for a while and only gave him a simple nod and strode towards the large doors.

–

They walked to the Little Palace in deafening silence. Not a sound could be heard aside from the sounds of their footsteps treading through the snow, their own breathing, and the natural cacophony of the woods and the creatures that dwell in it. As they get closer to the Little Palace, they heard the cheer and laughter of the Grishas hanging out at the frozen lake. Some of them were skating, some Etherealki were messing around with their powers, some hid behind the snow forts they built breathing loudly and looking at their enemy from time to time while their partners threw snowballs at the enemy.

The Grishas didn’t seem to notice them as their fun hadn’t calmed. That was, until a particularly large snowball hit a certain king dressed in black.

Everyone turned quiet. No one moved a muscle and not a single soul intended to. Except Alina. She burst out laughing like a mad woman over the extremely shocked and bothered face of her husband. Honestly, he looked like he was just harassed by a lowly beggar, she thought.

Tears were forming in her eyes when the Darkling finally moved on from his shock. What came after left the Grishas even more shocked than they were before. He chuckled. Not a laugh, no. But something more than a smile, nonetheless. They weren’t even sure if he could do that. It was surely the first time they witnessed something like this. The Darkling, former coveted general of the Second Army, King of Ravka, a man of legend so great that some prayed to him like a saint, who was known as stoic and intimidating, and was only ever seen giving the smallest of smiles, barely a tug on one corner of his lips, actually chuckled.

After a good five seconds, they unfroze like they were finally freed from a curse that paralyzed their bodies, and laughed with the monarchs. Although, a few Grishas were still nervous about their king and forgo the laugh.

Alina wiped the tears from her face and looked at her husband with her bright eyes and wide grin. “Looks like the point goes to them,” she said. “Can we join?” she asked the group nearest to her, basically hopping over to them.

“Of course, moya tsaritsa. Moy soverenyi,” the Squaller playing greeted and bowed. The rest of the Grishas followed suit, their tenseness creeping back in.

“None of that,” the Darkling replied. He walked over to the other group and pointed to his wife, “You’ll regret this.”

“A set of jeweled gold pins when we win?” she bargained.

“If you win.”

“When.”

“If.”

Alina retorts with a snowball thrown to his chest. “Oops, well would you look at that, my hand slipped.”

Before he had any chance to counter, she beckons more of the other Grishas to join their game. Soon enough, they were all grouped up into two teams, each with around eight or so Grishas of varying order, all very much competitive.

Aleksander’s team threw snowballs after snowball, with two Durasts supplying the hands of the five Grishas, including The Darkling, with them so they’re never empty. Yet, only a few really ever got across the other’s fort and hit players. Alina’s team, on the other hand, had very little coordination. Their motto: make it, throw it, hope it hits something. Very unorganized, but hey, it worked.

At first, the Grishas were very cautious to not hit either of the monarchs, but after a few hits, they were the ones being targeted. One rogue snowball even hit Alina’s face, which she only laughed off and insisted they continue with a very precise throw to their opponent’s “tower” that sent a decent portion of their fort crumbling.

It was, as it seemed, an unspoken rule to not use their powers. One rule, which Alina violated. She sent enticing ribbons of light dancing towards enemy territory to disguise the building of the low make-shift shield. Apparently, her team is much more organized than they let on, because once the other team snapped out of the trance caused by the beauty and elegance of the Sun Summoner’s light, a ginormous snowball that they were sure it wasn’t there before, was thrown by three Grishas. It hit the near-center of their opponent’s fort and sent it crumbling down. Alina’s team took advantage of the others’ shock and threw snowball after snowball until the Darkling’s team were forced to forfeit, much to his dismay.

“That wasn’t a win, you know,” he said annoyed, but content nonetheless.

“Last time I checked my books, it was,” Alina replied.

“Your books are horribly mistranslated.”

She only sticked her tongue out at him.

“If you must know, that rule was heavily implied,” he said.

“Oh, boohoo. You’re just mad because you didn’t come up with it sooner, and now you’re acting like a child who got his sweets taken away from him.”

The young Grishas left their anxiousness behind a few minutes after the first snowball was thrown. Now, instead of being tense, they watched amused as their King and Queen bickered. Two very different souls almost wholly opposite one another, yet united and harmonious. It was this bond between them that gave Ravkans hope, and fuels the fire of Ravka itself.

-

It was the break of dawn.

Alina stood by doors, not daring to go any further in fear that if she did, she’d drag him back towards their quarters and never let him leave. Maybe even do another round of their risqué game they played last night. And a quick version of that right when they woke up.

Aleksander stood by the black troika, none sensibly fumbling with something. He looked over to his wife and didn’t stop his feet when it took a step towards her. Then another. Then another. They’ve already said their goodbyes a few moments ago, but he feels they’re not enough. They’re never enough. A single word of goodbye will never be enough to encapsulate what he feels.

So instead of saying them, when he reaches her at the top of the stairs, he kisses her, deep and passionately. She kisses him back. Where his kiss was intense, if not forceful, hers were tender and caring. He was desperate and longed for his wife. Alina only tried to mellow him down. Her kiss was to bring him back down to Earth, to calm him and remind him that she will be there when he comes home.

Their lips finally broke apart, but their noses remained touching.

“Come back to me,” Alina pleads, silently begging him to promise.

Aleksander only nods.

-

The first day he’s been gone, he sent a message.

“I’m here at the camps,” he said. “I arrived an hour earlier than expected.” He continued to tell her his ramblings and mortal thoughts that gave them both comfort. Words that reminded them that for each other, they were human. Just two humans with feiry hearts burndened with immortality.

The second day, he told her about the happenings in the camp but still ignored the topic of the weapon. He told her how General Volkova, the general who was found without her eyes, was replaced by General Popov, who was as strategic as he was insufferable.

The third day, he only said that he was fine, and nothing more.

-

Six days, he’s been gone. Three days without a word from him. He was only supposed to be ther for three days. He was only to assess and observe the situation, possibly come up with new plans, and show his face to the soldiers to relieve some of the anxiety.

She searched for him. Tugged on the string that ties her to him. But it never worked. Out of the many times she tried to appear to him, not once did she succeeded. It frightened her. It made her think of the worst.

No, anything but that, she thought.

-

The ninth day, a letter written on black paper, stamped with silver wax, was given to her.

She dropped her paintbrush, and hurried to read what was inside, not caring if the face she was painting was left unblended.

Grabbing the letter opener, she let herself hope. That it was him telling her that he’ll be home soon. That it detailed why he wasn’t able to update her.

Her eyes glanced over a word, a simple four letter word, that haunted her nightmares.

Dead.

Her world stopped. Everything went quiet. The curtains that rustled stilled. The whistling wind grew mute. The skys grew dim.

No. No. NO!

Everything came crashing down, as she fell to her knees. She didn’t need to read the entirety of the letter. She already knew what it said. Nevertheless, she forced herself to read it again and again. Hot tears streamed down her face as she read the letter word per word for the third time.

“It is with a heavy heart to write, that His Royal Majesty, the King of Ravka, is dead.”

A heavy heart, she thought, how can a heart be heavy if it was ripped from her chest and stabbed a billion times over?

They were supposed to be together. To never leave each other. To be by the other’s side no matter how far they were for eternity. They swore these words the night before they married. A week ago, he promised that he will come back to her.

Alina didn’t hear the pleading and the screaming of the servants and guards who came up to her room. She didn’t even register the gold pin with a dark blue gem on its head attached to the letter.

She was drowning. Drowning in grief. In sorrow. In emptiness, and in everything all at once.

The Sol Koroleva was drowning in light, that grew and grew with every tear that poured from her eyes.

For a brief moment, she glances at the unfinished painting — at the handsome face that was smiling the smile he gave only to her.

She screamed. And everything in Ravka, all the way to the True Sea, the Shu Han border, and Fjerdan border where the camp was, was enveloped in blinding light. Light that burned bright. Light so hot, it burned every flammable thing it touches. Deadly light, that killed both the Fjerdans, and the Ravkans.

Unlike the Unsea, it didn’t turn the humans into creatures. No. They were simply dead. Blinded, then burned.

The dome of light was so bright and wide that it could be seen from Kerch.

In the middle of all of it, Alina kneeled, sobbing, and clutching the cursed letter close to her heart like she was trying to absorb it.

She used to believe that grief was a beautiful thing. That was what she told herself after centuries of loss. Because if you grieved somebody, then it meant that you loved them enough that you gave them a small piece of your soul never to be returned again. And if they reciprocate, you gain theirs. And if they died, they carry that with them, and you keep a piece of them with you.

But Alina never knew what happens if the person who you loved so deeply that four letters couldn’t even begin to explain what you feel, that your souls became half of the other’s, then became a single one that you shared, leaves you. What happens then?

[numbaoneflaya]

Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 7

Sunhigh had come and gone by the time Stoneheart, Wolftooth, and Pinewhisker made it to the edge of ShadowClan territory, where the marshlands and the Twolegplace met. The long stretch of fence, broken up into different materials depending on the size of a Twoleg’s territory, made a boundary that was difficult to miss, especially since ShadowClan had been marking the very bottoms of those Twoleg fences for seasons now.

“What’s the point of this?” Pinewhisker asked as they approached. His tail had been flicking the whole trip, and he looked back at Stoneheart. “I thought this lake of yours was where we’re meant to be.”

“It is,” Stoneheart grunted, noting Pinewhisker’s skeptical tone.

Wolftooth raised his head. He’d been sniffing at the boundary, to make sure that it was still intact, but now his pale eyes were glowering right into Pinewhisker and Stoneheart. “Russetstar says that Twolegplace is an option, so an option it is. The warrior code says her word is law.”

Pinewhisker still didn’t look satisfied. “Then let her come and scout it out,” he mumbled.

Stoneheart rolled his eyes and forged ahead, staring down the line of Twoleg fences. Most here were well-maintained, but further down the line there was a well-known spot where cats could squeeze through a gap in the wooden planks and come and go between Twolegplace and marshland. It had been suggested ages ago to block it, somehow, but ShadowClan’s leader at the time, Raggedstar, had disagreed.

“Let the kittypets come,” he’d reportedly crowed from atop the Clanrock. “They’ll feel ShadowClan’s claws and flee like the cowards they are. If they don’t, we’ll keep them!”

Stoneheart didn’t know how true that was, but the hole in the fence was real enough. He raised his tail when he found it, and Wolftooth and Pinewhisker were soon by his side. It smelled as if no cats had made their way through it in a few moons – likely because of the Twolegs stomping through the forest.

Wolftooth went first, his broad shoulders scraping at the edges of the wood. Pinewhisker was a thinner cat, and he slipped through with ease. Stoneheart took up the rear, ducking to avoid the feeling of wood rubbing against his ears and anxious not to be stuck.  

The yard beyond the broken fence was somewhat famous in ShadowClan for how in disrepair it was compared to the yards and dens around it. Stoneheart couldn’t imagine a Twoleg wanting to stay there for more than a moon – the windows were broken, and some walls had rotted-out holes as big as a badger. Twoleg trash of all shapes and sizes were strewn about in the long, unkempt grass, and the smell of crow-food hung faintly in the air.

It reminded Stoneheart of the Twoleg nest he and the other journeying cats had taken shelter in with Purdy in his big Twolegplace – though, somehow that one had seemed cleaner. Self-consciously, Stoneheart licked at his shoulder. The rat bite he’d gotten there had long since healed, but the injury had certainly been an inconvenience to himself and the others.

“We should keep moving,” he meowed, feeling wary. “There might be rats around.”

“Right,” Wolftooth agreed. He lifted his tail. “Let’s go.”

The big gray tabby led the way through the grass towards the fence. Pinewhisker took the rear as they followed the ragged slats of wood around the old den, towards the Thunderpath that lay past it. Stoneheart pricked his ears, noting that this was a smaller Thunderpath, one that could only fit two lines of monsters.

He tasted the air and found only the reek of monsters, but at least it was on the stale side. “Seems quiet,” Stoneheart meowed, whiskers twitching.  

Wolftooth’s eyes flashed. “Good,” he grunted. “I’m tired of Twolegs – their monsters, too.”

“We should wait until night,” Pinewhisker pointed out, glancing at Wolftooth. “The Twolegs would be less active.”

“We’re on a time limit,” Stoneheart reminded him. “Moving at night would be best, but it’ll take too long.” If the missing cats are here, we have to find them!

Wolftooth was nodding in agreement. “He’s right. For now, let’s keep away from the Thunderpath and to the shade. That ought to keep us hidden.”

Following that thought, the three cats clustered together. Though they were arguably the three warriors most familiar with Twolegplaces in all of ShadowClan, Stoneheart had to admit that they all felt the same level of discomfort. This place was not meant for cats, and Stoneheart felt it in every fiber of his being, like he had in Purdy’s Twolegplace.

What if Russetstar ends up choosing this place for us anyway? Stoneheart wondered with a shudder. The decision would no doubt divide ShadowClan. I certainly don’t want to live here!

“So, what’re we even looking for?” Pinewhisker wondered. The three of them had crossed into another yard, heading away from the forest. “We’re not going to find a marsh in all this.”

Wolftooth kept them close to the fence, following it even when it touched the side of a Twoleg den. As they brushed their pelts past the pockmarked stones that lined the den walls, Wolftooth glanced back and meowed: “There might not be marshland here, but there are places where there could be enough shelter for a Clan.”

Pinewhisker scoffed. “Surely not all in one spot!” They broke into a trot, crossing the open yard to the fence on the opposite side. Stoneheart could feel his Clanmates puffing, their bony sides heaving. “Some Twolegplaces have spots that might be big enough, but there wouldn’t be enough prey!”

“Trash attracts mice,” Stoneheart pointed out, glancing back at a scrapcan pushed up near the fence behind them.

“It also attracts rats and raccoons,” Pinewhisker returned, curling his lip. “Have you ever fought a raccoon?”

“Can’t say so, no,” Stoneheart admitted.

Pinewhisker narrowed his eyes. “Well, you don’t want to!”

“Just keep a look out,” Wolftooth meowed, looking back at the other two. Stoneheart felt the older tom’s frustration in his gaze. He’d already voiced his disagreement with living among Twolegs again. “Alleys, old dens... there are places to live in a Twolegplace.”

“But can you live well is the real question...” Pinewhisker mumbled, when Wolftooth had turned his back.

Stoneheart had to agree, but he also had to admit that, as they stalked along Twoleg dens and fences, he wasn’t looking for a place to call home – he was looking for any signs of the missing cats, a goal he was aware that the others were ignorant of. So far, there was nothing – and he wasn’t sure what he ought to be looking for in the first place, and the sounds and smells of the Twolegplace were clogging his every sense.

What if they’re not here? His heart trembled with worry. We could spend a moon searching this place and find nothing at all! He thought of Rowanclaw, lost to the Twolegs – what would they do to his beloved? Stoneheart couldn’t imagine Rowanclaw settling into a kittypet’s life! Would he be forced to live like a rogue?

“Let’s have a rest,” Wolftooth suggested finally. He pointed with his nose to what lay ahead – it seemed like the end of their quiet journey was almost done, and taller buildings took the places of the smaller dens beyond what looked to be a larger Thunderpath.

Pinewhisker flopped down. “Thank StarClan – my paws hurt.” He bent to lick them.

Stoneheart glanced about, finding some broad, leafy dock growing just along the fence they were near. He pulled off a few leaves and began chewing them, like he’d seen Shadepaw do many times on the journey. His poultice was messy, but he passed it off to Pinewhisker.

“Thanks,” Pinewhisker mewed, rubbing his pads in the green goop.

“Want some, Wolftooth?” Stoneheart asked.

Wolftooth shook his head, and turned over his pads. They were hard and gray, toughened to stone. They reminded Stoneheart of the Tribe cat’s paws. “I was born here, remember?” Wolftooth meowed. “I’m good.”

Stoneheart nodded in understanding and rubbed the dock on his own paws. He hadn’t had much of a chance to hunt with the Tribe cats while he’d stayed in the mountains, so his pads had hardly developed any toughness before they reached the forest again. Still, it seemed like they didn’t sting as badly as Pinewhisker’s.

“I thought you lived with Twolegs, too?” Stoneheart wondered to his Clanmate.

“Not in a place like this,” Pinewhisker admitted. “I grew up on a farm beyond the Carrionplace – my mothers were mousers. Twolegs might’ve pet me now and then, and I might’ve seen a vet; but I didn’t cross too many Thunderpaths.”

“Lucky,” Wolftooth grunted. He glanced at the stone river nearby, wincing as a monster crawled past. “I’ve seen many a cat die on a Thunderpath.”

“They were probably running away from you,” Pinewhisker joked, whiskers twitching.

Wolftooth’s eyes hardened, and his claws flexed in the grass. “They were,” he growled, no humor in his tone.

Stoneheart suppressed a shiver, and he heard Pinewhisker gulp. The thought brought back memories of fighting at Fourtrees, battling for the safety of the forest with his sister and four Clans' worth of apprentices. It was easy to forget that Wolftooth had been a part of BloodClan, and how ruthless those cats had been – especially for cats like Pinewhisker, who only knew the stories.  

“Was BloodClan really as awful as they say?” Pinewhisker wondered, his voice quiet. “Cats passing by our barn didn’t often mention them, but when they did...”

Wolftooth nodded. “Meaner than you’ve probably heard, in some ways,” he rumbled back. “But as far as I know, they’re gone now.”

“I hope so,” Pinewhisker murmured. “I’d hate to share territory with anyone like that.”

Stoneheart fidgeted, and he decided that now was as good a time as any – there was no way he could search on his own: “Russetstar made it seem like staying here wasn’t her plan.”

“What do you mean?” Wolftooth wondered, raising his chin. Beside him, Pinewhisker looked hopeful, suddenly, his ears pricking up as Wolftooth went on, “She went on and on about how it was an option to consider and all that!”  

Stoneheart blinked, feeling faintly embarrassed – but he twitched his whiskers and explained: “Cats from all the Clans have gotten captured by Twolegs, not just Rowanclaw. One of them was Tawnypelt – I think that if we find her, we might be able to change Leopardstar’s mind and get her to come with us to the lake. Russetstar wasn’t sure whether or not the missing cats would be here, but...”

“But she thought it’s a good place to start,” Pinewhisker finished. He sagged with relief. “Thank StarClan, Russetstar hasn’t gotten bees in her brain!”

Wolftooth swallowed, and suddenly he avoided Stoneheart’s gaze. “I never got to say that I’m sorry about what happened to Rowanclaw...”

Stoneheart stiffened. “Wolftooth...”

“I tried,” Wolftooth sighed, staring at his paws. It felt strange to see the proud older warrior look so upset. “I’ve gotten cats out of that situation before, Stoneheart, I swear it by StarClan – I tried everything I knew! But it just wouldn’t open... and then the Twolegs came...”

Stoneheart hesitated. He’d never thought about being upset about Wolftooth’s failure – the only thing on his mind had been Rowanclaw’s safety. Stoneheart got to his paws and touched his nose to Wolftooth’s ear.

“It’s alright,” he promised. There was a tug at his heart, like a claw was pricking him there. “I’m not angry. I understand. I just want Rowanclaw back.”

“We all do,” Pinewhisker murmured.

Wolftooth raised his head, and the older warrior looked determined. “We’re going to find him,” he declared assuredly. “I swear it by StarClan.”

Stoneheart felt warm from his ears to his toes. “Good,” he purred, “because I’m not leaving him behind ever again.”

“Ugh, what is this?” crowed a voice from above. “I want to retch, it’s so annoying.”

Stoneheart looked up, and his heart began to race. Balancing on the fence were four ragged, lean cats, their pelts rumpled and marred by scars. They each glowered down at the ShadowClan patrol with hungry, angry eyes and, worst of all... Stoneheart saw that two of them bore collars bristling with dog’s teeth.

“BloodClan!” he hissed, springing to his paws. Curse this Twolegplace! If there hadn’t been so many smells and sounds, there’s no way these rogues would have snuck up on them! And Wolftooth was just saying how BloodClan was gone...

Pinewhisker and Wolftooth were immediately on alert, claws unsheathed and spines bristling. Stoneheart’s mind began to race – there were four of these ragged cats, and three of the ShadowClan warriors; but BloodClan fought without remorse, and this was their territory. Even if the ShadowClan cats were smarter and more disciplined, they were at a huge disadvantage.

“BloodClan?!” repeated one of the cats – a ragged ginger-and-white she-cat. She looked offended by the name. “BloodClan hasn’t been around for forever - we’re IceClan cats!”

IceClan? Stoneheart glanced at Pinewhisker and Wolftooth, confused.

“Yeah,” said another of the “IceClan” cats, a gray tom with a foul odor. He gathered his haunches, glaring down at Stoneheart with narrowed green eyes. “We’re IceClan... and you’re going to regret setting your nasty forest paws on our territory!”

All four IceClan rogues were on alert now, hostility and eagerness rippling through their pelts. Stoneheart squared his shoulders, feeling Wolftooth and Pinewhisker press up against him in preparation for an aerial assault.

StarClan above, Stoneheart thought desperately, glaring into the eyes of their leader, I hate Twolegplaces!