#slightly less long post be upon ye

[notsogreatpotoo]

logan howlett (wolverine) & reader

(posting this story separate from an ask so it is easier for me to link in a writing masterpost that should pop up soon if it hasn't already by the time you're seeing this, made originally for tumblr friend sardonic-the-writer, go check out their stuff, he's cool as hell)

You hardly even flinch as you hear a key turning in the lock of your apartment. The door opens and slams shut behind Logan, who doesn’t do much more than nod at you before heading straight to your kitchen. You sigh. You’ve been working on commissions for a while, and you should probably take a break, but abandoning something in the middle like this was hard.

“Stealing your beer.” Logan’s words are soon followed by the hiss-crack of the can opening.

“You think my beer tastes like shit,” you accuse. It had been the subject of quite a few silly, drunk arguments. Logan shrugs, but you can tell he’s hiding a grin as he takes a sip. You turn back to your work, scrolling through what you had already done in an effort to make yourself feel at least a little accomplished. Your hand cramps up slightly and you try to shake it out.

“You working on anything interesting?” Looking over to Logan, he seems to be assessing you a little more than normal. He sets his beer down on the counter. He’s in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white shirt, just as casual as you’d expect from your friend, despite his preference to pretend he wasn’t an absolute disaster most of the time. His fingers snap and your vision focuses as you startle. Right, he asked a question. “Still with me, bub?”

“Sorry, man. Got some commissions so I’ve been working on those. What about you? Seen ‘Pool recently?” You try not to smile as your friend’s lips press into a thin, exasperated line at the mention of Wade Wilson. He clearly deems that question irrelevant as he flops onto the couch next to you. Scritch. Blunt nails drag along his beard. He looks over at your computer and you see him wince at the word count. You huff. It wasn’t that much more than what your usual process churned out.

“How long have you been working again?”

“I never told you the first time.” If he wanted to know, he could at least admit he was curious and not try to pass it off as absentminded forgetfulness. Giving you a flat look, he holds his hand out. You stare at him in confusion. What did he want you to do? “...I don’t know what you wa-”

Bam! With you sufficiently distracted, he closes your computer with his other hand and holds it out of your reach. You scrunch your nose in annoyance. Trying to get it away from him now would only prove embarrassing for the both of you. Still, his immaturity kind of shocked you.

“Really?” Even the flattest tone you can muster doesn’t quite match the best of Logan’s snark, but you can get pretty darn close.

“When was the last time you took a break?” You cross your arms and stare, ignoring the fondness that rises at the fact that your gruff friend is showing this much care. It’s not like you’re the one running around with metal sticking out your hands and fighting people. Logan breaks first, even though he’d never admit it to anyone else. “Where’s your remote?” You shove him up against the arm of the couch with your foot and dig out the remote from in between cushions. He trades your computer for the remote in your hands, and though you open up the device, prepared to keep working, Logan suddenly hovers over a very specific movie.

“Oh, fuck you, man.” You set your computer on the table again, knowing it would otherwise just sit in your lap, forgotten.

“Something wrong, bub?” You roll your eyes, punching his shoulder.

“Just put it on.”

“Darry’s kind of growing on me. But we could always watch something else.” Biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying something embarrassing, you wrench the remote from him and start the movie, shoving at his side when he starts to laugh.

[gay-dorito-dust]

How high on the clingy/protective scale these boys are …

Dick: a solid 8.5/10.

A very clingy bean.

Dick would be attached to your hip 24/7 if he could but he couldn’t answer that makes him sad.

In the wise words of @obsessedwithromance on one of my recent posts; ‘if Dick was a dog, he’d be a husky.’

And he’d make a very vocal husky at that with how often he whines and whinges whenever you tried to move from his grasp, acting as though every attempt in removing yourself from his arms were an attack against his character. So he will take personal offence to you wanting to leave him out in the cold and desolate place that was your bedroom. 💀

‘Stop trying to get out of my arms.’ He moans, tightening his hold on you as he buried his head into your neck, locking legs with you for extra measure. ‘Dick, I love you but you’re being too clingy for me right now.’ You reply and had just noticed the error of your ways almost immediately and were about to explain yourself but it was already too late, for you had set Dick the human husky off.

‘Me? Clingy? I thought you liked it when I was clingy? Why the sudden change? What did I do wrong? Why don’t you love me?’ Dick began his tirade and you could only lay there and let him talk your ear off -and loudly might I add- about how you apparently didn’t love him enough, which was a bunch of bullshit, but dick was too in his feelings to listen to reason. You’ll have to kiss him to shut him up, there’s no other option.

So once he’s settled down, he’ll go back to cuddling against your back,smiling dopily while you could only congratulate for a job well done at defusing the situation form getting any worse. You love your dramatic human husky and you wouldn’t change anything for anyone.

Jason: 7.5/10 or a 8/10.

The only time you’re seeing this man be clingy as all hell if he’s in a particular mood and want your affection, which might as well be all the time with this man, or after a not so great nightmare.

He would wake up in a cold sweat and immediately look for you and hold you against his chest as though you were his personal teddy bear, only just until his breathing evens out and not so tense in the muscles. Until then he holds onto you tightly and familiarises himself with you in anyway that he could, whether that be counting your eyelashes, noting the different shades that make up your eyes and much more.

At least just enough to help him gain some sense of self and awareness that he was safe and sound from all harm.

Like Jaime, Jason would watch over you like a hawk as Red Hood without a shadow of a doubt, and Jason has his reasons to do so as he knows the type of people who litter the streets of Gotham at night like the back of his hand. He doesn’t want to subject you to that sort of life of constant fear of having to look over your shoulder in hopes that there wasn’t someone following you home.

For in his minds eye, he’s your sole protector and the one thing that stands between the scumbags of the street and you. Jason doesn’t take this position he’s given himself lightly, it’s unlike him to anyway, as your safety is his top priority and he’d do anything to obtain it; whether they way it’s obtained was morally questionable or not, he doesn’t care for as long as your safe, he’ll live to learn with having permanent blood on his hands.

Damian: 5/10 on a good day. 2/10 in general.

He’s not an overly clingy person. Protective? yes. Clingy? No. It’s just not in just nature and he can be very awkward going about it too.

Damian knows he doesn’t have to constantly survey you 24/7, he has more faith in you and your abilities then most. He knows that you won’t call upon him if at all when faced with a situation that you could easily resolve yourself.

However if you were to get hurt on his watch or otherwise, that’s when he gets slightly clingy and will attempt to be within any space with you possible. Damian shows care in a completely different way than most and will more or less act like a guard dog when it came to you.

This little dude will point his sword at anyone that comes into close contact with you while glaring at them, meanwhile you’re having to push the blade of his sword down and away from the poor victim, only for Damian to raise his sword back towards their throat once more.

‘Pack it in.’ You’d hiss.

‘No. You’re practically useless when hurt, so let me deal with this one.’ Damian said.

You purposely ignored the fact that he had just called you useless and instead pushed the blade of his sword down until it was pointing at the floor again. ‘He’s not even a threat, just a regular citizen. So you can stop it with the fear attics now.’ You told him in a hushed tone. Damian meets your eyes with a glare of his own. ‘How you can be certain he’s a harmless civilian? What if he’s a low life thug of an underground drug syndicate on the rise? You can’t allow yourself to trust every face you meet.’ He replies, not one to back down for anyone, not even you.

You sigh as you rubbed the sides of your head. ‘Well at least try not to cause more issue for your dad. I swear between you, Jason, Tim and Dick I don’t know who gives him the most grey hairs.’

Jaime: runner up for Dick’s crown with also a 8.5/10

He’s clingy in a sense that he fears of loosing you constantly.

Khaji-Da doesn’t make the situation any better as it only encourages Jaime’s Innate clinginess tenfold, and now Jaime can’t go a couple of minutes without offering to join you on wherever your going.

He just cares about you very deeply and wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he’d ever lost you despite having the ability to stop any harm from coming your way. So needless to say that you spend most of your time with him and his family is a severe understatement.

It’s not as though he doesn’t trust you, he wholeheartedly does, but that trust doesn’t extend to potential outside threats. Hell, he would even go as far as to watch over you as Blue Beatle, much to the behest of literally everyone that isn’t Khaji-Da because the scarab is just as clingy over you in a sense that you were Jaime’s mate and there for should be within close proximity to him at all times.

It’s endearing but I think it’s about time you told Kahji-Da to cool it on the whole threatening people you talked to with plans to eliminate them…

[wonderjanga]

Revival

(I posted this on accident when I meant to put it in drafts, anyone who saw that, you didn’t)

Anyways , so Billy casually revives Mary and Freddy whenever they die in their marvel forms. (For this AU, let’s say they’re still super durable, but they’re less durable than Marvel) Like for example:

*Mary and Marvel are fighting a super strong monster. It swings one of its claws at the two, hitting the both of them. It gives Billy a scratch but Mary just dies.*

Marvel: *forgets about the monster immediately* “Oh my gods…” *looks down at her looking properly disturbed and uses tip of boot to move Mary onto her back to see if she’s really, really dead.* “That’s… a nasty one.” *Bends down and fixes her face and wounds up with magic.* He’s revived them before but seeing them die never ceases to scare him. What if he can’t save them the next time?

Mary: *alive but unconscious*

Marvel: *picks her up and zips off to the Rock of Eternity* “Okay, Mary… I’m just gonna…” *Puts her down on the floor and runs around the rock finding blankets upon blankets and a singular pillow. Puts them all on her and puts the pillow under her head.*

Mary: *wakes up slightly and tries to sit up* “Billy, what happened?”

Marvel: “You uh… got knocked out.” *Pushes her back down so she can lay back down* He hasn’t told either of them that nine times out of ten, whenever they get knocked out, they die. It causes a major argument when they find out. “Just go back to sleep, Mary. I’ll take care of the monster.” If anyone saw this, they would truly think he’s her dad.

Mary: “The monster’s still out there?” *already on the verge of going back to sleep*

Marvel: “Not for long.” *tucks her in extra tight and pats her head before flying back to Fawcett*

or

*JL are fighting some aliens. These aliens are actually a little harder than normal. Some of their weapons burned Billy such as the ray-guns. (Which looked awesome) After closer inspection, the ray-guns had some type of magic signature. (Is it bad he finds that even cooler?) Freddy’s also there. The ray-guns affect him more than Billy. He dies when the aliens use a particularly big gun when Billy’s too distracted to help him. He doesn’t even realize Freddy died (again) until all the fighting is over and he’s looking for him.*

Marvel: *Flying around, looking around for Freddy* “Junior! Junior, where’d you go?” *Sees Freddy just laying there and flies down, touching down on the ground* “Junio…” *trails off when he sees Freddy’s dead and walks over to the corpse*

Superman: *flies down and lands next to Marvel* “Cap, Hal’s asking if you want to go for drinks. Do I tell him you’re not going—” *covers mouth when he sees Freddy.*

Marvel: *kneels down in front of Freddy.* How long had he been like this? Could Billy even save him now? He’s so charred… *feels impending dread and nausea creeping up*

Superman: “I- Marvel- I’m so sorry…”

Marvel: *spiraling as he stares at Junior*

Batman: *appears from the shadows* “I know what it’s like to lose a child, Marvel.” *puts hand on Billy’s shoulder* “If you ever need to talk to someone…”

Marvel: *shrugs hand off and starts to try and heal Freddy* “I’m fine.” *keeps muttering that he’s fine and the whole situation is fine as he continues to heal Freddy.*

Batman and Superman: *staring at Marvel in pity*

Superman: “…Marvel?” *Walks up behind Billy* “Marvel. He’s not fine.”

Freddy: *healed, alive but unconscious*

Marvel: “Yes, he is.” *Picks Freddy up* “He’s perfectly fine. I uh- I gotta go.”

Superman: “Cap, wait!”

Marvel: *Zooms off the rock. Ended up doing the same thing he did with the blankets before with Mary to Freddy.*

The league are gobsmacked when they see Freddy talking to Billy as if they hadn’t heard from Supes and Bats that he died. Billy also found a few grey hairs when he detransformed.

[huramuna]

firehaired, lavendereyed -- oneshot.

mean prince regent aemond x pregnant wife reader

a sequel to stoatfaced, dragonhearted. it can be read as a standalone, though! its not as dark or mean as the first one and is (kinda) fluffy. thank you @echos-muses for inspiring this!

word count: 2.5k

@huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, fluffy, meanish aemond, prob unhealthy relationship, emotionally constipated aemond experiences emotions, reader is described w/ auburn hair, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes, pregnancy

cloudbusting - kate bush • i bet on losing dogs - mitski

warnings: oral (f receiving), p in v, talks of choking and biting but its not in this fic, BREEDING KINK

Being the wife of a prince, a prince-regent no less, always felt like an honor. People would bow at you in the corridors, maids would bring you your favorite sweets without asking, courtiers would invite you to countless luncheons and extravagant events. It made you wonder, though– was it out of respect for your station– or out of fear for your husband? 

He was constantly your shadow now, insisting on being with you at every waking moment ever since the maesters confirmed your pregnancy. His hand would constantly be guiding you on the middle of your back, towards whatever destination you were off to. He would insist you eat more for the babe, would rub your feet and prop pillows behind your back when you both retired for the day.��

As he shepherded you into the throne room, he glanced at the courtesans and sworn lords alike– he had worn the crown since his brother fell from the sky in flames, burnt and scarred. He melded into the role like he was meant for it, as you so told him. 

‘It looks better on you than it ever did on him, husband.’

‘Careful now, dear wife. That sounds treasonous, does it not?’

It wasn’t hard to spur him on into a feral state of being lately, as he adored your body filling out, belly stretching, breasts growing as you carried his child. His, his. He was still cold, in his way, of course– that would be something you would never pull him out of.

‘Husband?’ you had mewled softly as you came back from the maester’s chambers after receiving the news. 

Aemond was sitting on the loveseat in front of the fire, one hand parting the pages of a book. He looked deep in thought, bristling slightly at being interrupted. ‘What?’

‘I’ve just come from the maester’s chambers,’ you started, walking slowly towards him like a skittish animal.

‘Why? Are you hurt?’ he closed his book with a loud snap and set it aside. ‘Come.’ he prostrated himself on the couch, legs spread slightly as an indication. 

You lifted your skirts and sat upon his lap, as you do– as he commands, usually. It was easy to know what he wanted without words. He inspected your face carefully, turning you from side to side, skin taut between thumb and forefinger. Then, the back of his hand felt your forehead. ‘You aren’t running a temperature. You aren’t sick, are you, little wife?’ 

‘N-No… I had thought so with… the issues of late.’

‘Issues? What issues?’ he pressed, his lone eye boring into you with intensity. 

‘I… ehm… have had an upset stomach– and… my…’ you blushed as you spoke. ‘My breasts have been tender.’

‘... hm.’

‘The maesters– they… inspected, thoroughly. They say I am with child… two moons.’ 

‘Pregnant. You’re… pregnant?’

‘Y-yes.’

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, not blinking. You had feared his reaction, you weren’t sure why, though. You knew your husband… liked you, didn’t he? In his own, special way. The way that he loved to call you stupid and bite you and choke you and never tell you that he loves you, except when lost in the throes of pleasure. 

‘Husband?’ you squeaked out, anxiety swirling in the pit of your stomach at his lack of reaction. Aemond was good at concealing his emotions– but you could see the pupil of his violet eye dilating like a creature in the dark.

‘Good,’ he said simply, a hand on your waist, squeezing slightly. Then, a moment of recollection came over his face and he stopped squeezing, letting his hand laze on the curve of your body. 

‘... good?’ 

‘Yes. Good. Do you wish praise for doing your duty?’ he grunted, already beginning to unlace your bodice. He wriggled it down your chemise and pawed one of your breasts. ‘Hm.’

‘W-what?’ 

‘They do seem… larger.’

He was gentle to you that night and every night after that. In touch and act alone– his words still left much to be desired.

As you both perused the throne room, approaching the iron throne, Aemond’s jaw clenched in irritation. You were well along in your pregnancy now, eight moons, and were quite round and stout, feeling all the part of a plump trout carrying eggs, trying to swim upstream– 

“Where is the chair?” Aemond barked suddenly, causing you to jump.

“T-the chair, your grace?” one of the servants mumbled.

“The chair for my lady wife, you fool. Do you expect her to stand?” He thoroughly scared the daylights out of the poor servant, who rushed off to find a chair. “Incompetent.” 

“... I pray he returns soon– my ankles are protesting this walk.” you murmured.

“If all of these prying eyes weren’t here,” Aemond whispered in your ear. “Mayhaps I’d have you sit with me on the throne.”

The thought of it sent a thrill through you, tingling all the way to the base of your spine and beyond. It was a wonderful fantasy, but you couldn’t get the logistics of it out of your head– you would certainly impale yourself on one of the unruly swords. “Mayhaps we can arrange something in our chambers after this, husband?” 

Aemond uttered a sound between a growl and a quiet moan before guiding you further to your seat, now properly prepared. You leaned back on the chair, adorned with a pillow, putting a hand over your swollen belly. 

As much as you appreciated Aemond’s… concern and vigilance with having you everywhere with him, you wished you could skip the tedious things. Your mind wondered the entirety of the session, tuning out the droning voices of the lords and only focusing on your husband’s. He sounded so powerful, commanding his lessers as if they were the sheep and he the shepherd. You didn’t lie when you thought the crown looked better on him than Aegon– Aemond was more suited towards this life. 

You know he wanted it all– the title, the crown, but not at the expense of his brother, never at his expense– so he would have to be content with what he could make for himself. That included you and your unborn child. You wished so dearly that it would be a son, a son for him to continue his bloodline, his legacy. 

Finally, the meeting ended and Aemond all but swept you off your aching feet to your rooms. He set you down on the bed and undressed you without much ceremony. “I couldn’t keep my mind off of you that entire time– if I were a lesser man… I may have not waited until our chambers to succumb to you.” he whispered, dragging kisses up from your knees, to your thighs and then your belly. 

A gentle, but calloused, hand wrought over the stretched skin. He loved touching your belly, he couldn’t get enough of it– he was a scholarly man in all accounts, secretly in wonder of the machinations of the human body and how it could vessel something like another person. He would never admit this, of course, but you could tell just by how his eye roved your form, how he took in every detail. He parted your legs, swiping a finger between your already soaked folds– as it didn’t take much for you to become feral these days, either. You had been since he suggested the idea of the throne, forced to squeeze your thighs together through the duration of the hearing to relieve some of the ache.

“So wet for me already, are you?” he hummed, gathering your slick with two fingers this time and kissing your thigh, so close, so close to your aching center.

“... y-yes, husband– you kept me waiting,” you murmured. In your pregnancy, you’d become indignant and spoiled– and he let you. “So cruel.”

“Cruel?” Aemond questioned, a brow raised. “Cruel– you know me cruel, my dear wife,” he growled, parting your folds and licking a line from bottom to top. “Cruel would be… letting you sit for hours longer on the edge and not giving it to you,” he anointed his point by roving his tongue over your pearl, eliciting a keening whine from you. “Or mayhaps, not giving it to you at all. Shall I be cruel, wife?”

You shook your head fervently. “P-please, Aemond,” you panted, the heat of the moment and your out-of-whack hormones already making you perspire, sweat beading at your forehead. You felt like a bitch in heat, every touch of him on you was like a thousand sparks from a flint, trying to light your pleasure, trying, trying– but then dying, but it was always so close, on the precipice. “Touch me– don’t tease me.”

“Hm,” he roved it over in his mind for a faux moment. “You are doing so well carrying my child, aren’t you?” 

“Y-yes, please!” 

“Mayhaps I will reward you for being a good wife, a good mother.”

“Please, my king,” you whimpered, using his title only reserved for bedplay. You wanted it bad, and he knew.

Once again, his pupil waxed and waned like the moon phases, like the ebbing and flowing tide– and then he began to feast upon you like the animal he truly was. His tongue roved over your sensitive core, suckling and nipping. Your hand flew to his hair, clenching it into your fist. He had become so expert in pleasing you with his mouth, something he only started after you became pregnant– you hoped this would stay. 

“A-Aemond, f-fuck,” you cursed, throwing your head back on the pillow, clutching his silky strands between your fingers. “M-more, your grace–” 

He lavished you like he was starved, not letting up at any point to even let you breathe– it was a constant assault on your clit, with only a few moments of relief when he caught his breath, looking up at you like the cat who got the cream, a smug grin on his face, the glisten of your essence on him. His thumb finished what his tongue started, kneading over your sensitive bud as you babbled and cried, fluttering around nothing as you came. 

You heard the sound of his belt undoing, and his hand was in yours, guiding you to his rock hard member. “Don’t you see what you do to me, hm? I quite like you round, so full of my child,” he said as he lined up with your entrance, sliding in with no resistance. “Mayhaps I shall keep you like this and we will have an entire castle full of children.” he stayed upright, hands on your thighs. You still ached for his hand around your throat, so badly– but it wasn’t good for the babe. 

He began a slow, almost lazy pace, staring down at you now as he loomed like a shadow, picking up his speed. As he sped up, he reached up and tore off his eyepatch, throwing it aside. The sapphire in his eye socket gleamed at you and you swore you could see yourself reflected into it– 

It didn’t take long for him to reach his own peak, grunting and growling, balls tightening. His hand also itched so desperately to lace around your throat like a necklace, but his hand just twitched and clawed into the sheets as he emptied himself into you. He, regrettably to both of you, pulled out and encircled himself around you, arms resting on your ribs as you were lulled to sleep by his breathing and closeness.

You awoke, not knowing how many hours later, to him speaking. “Nyke jaelagon ao emagon aōha muñnykeā's pungos.” I hope you have your mother’s nose. “Ao'll rhaenagon gūrēñare lēda iā egros rȳ izula. Iā kostilus tōma. Aōha muña kessa daor hae ziry, nyke gīmigon.” You'll start training with a sword at age four. Or perhaps five. Your mother will not like it, I know.

His head was laid near your belly, faced away from you, his hand draped over it softly. He didn’t know you were awake– he was… speaking to the baby. You could only catch bits and pieces of what he was saying– but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a conversation for you to know. You closed your eyes once more.

–

“M-may the mother… guide me… and bless me with a son,” you murmured. “Bless us with a son, please.” you groaned as you tried to get up, your knees bruised and sore. You had been praying every day for the last fortnight as your delivery loomed closer. You feared to give him a daughter– as accompanying as he’d been during your pregnancy, you knew… you knew what he wanted. And you knew it was a coin flip to give him what he wanted.

You felt heavier than usual, finding it difficult to get back up after being down for so long– you felt a strain in your lower back, then an acute pop. A gush of wetness flowed down your legs. “A-ah– ser!” you called to your sworn sword, a member of the Kingsguard picked by Aemond specifically to be with you at all times when he wasn’t around. Presently, Aemond was taking a ride upon Vhagar. “Ser!”

“My lady?” the Kingsguard rushed in, eyes wide. “Are you alright?”

“T-the… the babe–” 

–

“Why wasn’t I notified?” Aemond growled, stalking through the corridors as he paced to the maester’s quarters. 

“Y-You were in the sky, your grace– we didn’t know how to reach you–” 

“Fuck’s sake– is she alright, then?” 

“Yes– uhm…” 

“Uhm? What? Is my wife alright or not?!” 

“Yes– she and the babe are alright.”

 Aemond fumed as he opened the doors, eye zeroing in on the maester, then you. You were mortified, crying, holding a little bundle against your breast. 

“A-Aemond,” you croaked. You were shaking like a leaf.

“Congratulations, your grace,” the maester spoke. “It is a healthy baby girl.” 

Girl.

Girl.

Girl.

You couldn’t stop sobbing as you watched his face, impassive, turn to confusion, to longing, to grief, to anger, to…. Nothing. He stared at you blankly then.

“Aemond– please– I- I prayed to the Gods every day for a son, I’m sorry,” you blubbered. “I’m so sorry–” 

“Don’t.” Aemond’s voice snapped like a whip as he walked closer. “Let me see the babe.” 

You offered the bundle to him– a baby girl. She had curls of red hair like you and lavender eyes like her father. Sensing movement and a change of presence, the baby sneezed, staring up at her father. He stared back, his expression unreadable. “Vaella. Her name is Vaella.” he didn’t ask, nor suggest. He declared. Glancing back at you, he spoke quietly. “We will just have to try again, won’t we, wife?” His tone was like a fog upon you– it was proposed like a thinly veiled threat, a promise– but then his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. You wonder if you imagined it. “Kirimvose, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys.” Thank you, sweet wife. “Ñuha hūra,” My moon. He turned back to Vaella, whispering. “Se ñuha qēlossās.” And my stars.

–

Aemond ended up getting his heir and then some, a year and a half later. You gave birth to triplets. All boys. 

Maegon, Vaelar, and Rhaelor.

[ace-of-gay]

I currently dont have a masterlist set up for this collection but i hope you enjoy this none the less, this will eventually be posted on ao3 but i dont have an account currently

Not betad or edited

Warnings: age regression, self neglect (not eating, not sleeping, etc.) slight panicked reader but not nearly enough to be a full warning, reader is a half ghoul half human cause this is my interpretation of a fantasy universe <3, cuddles!!!

age regression is a coping that can both voluntary and/or involuntary it is entirely safe and reccomended by therapists if they believe it would be effective for said person but as mentioned for some people it is entirely unpredictable, if this makes you uncomfortable please carry on thank you <3

This was originally written for my best friend so keep in mind this is our dream and thoughts and may not fit well into the ghost universe

Word count: 2,025 words

Nameless ghouls and papa copia taking care of half ghoul reader

Having spent a restless night wasnt uncommon for your or any of the ghouls, especially when seasons and elements were changing, you spent a good few weeks of the tour in your element but the farther and farther you traveled to bring enlightenment to others around the world the more the weather seemed to shift, this most recent nights travel not only took you to a new scene and new spirit of buzzing thrill but a stiffened weight of being completely out of your element, while yes it effects all ghouls it affected you far different.

Being part ghoul meant you weren't as aware of your instincts so feeling them shift always left you in a silent suffocating shock.

With so much bustle amongst the ghouls, papa having a chipper edge to his seemingly endless worries it kept the team heightened and moving, preparing and running through the setlist, this will be the biggest show yet in a city youre entirely new to.

You hid the encroaching feeling well, never once had any of the ghouls questions any difference to your demeanor; having one responsibility after another kept you busy all day nevery staying in one area for long, earbuds in and mask upon your dome, it was same as others methods of preparing just more secluded and in your zone, if there were any changes in anything at all papa, the ghouls and ghoulettes knew that they could calmly inturupt you in your flow.

Listening to every part of the setlist through the literal audio versions of it, everything on the outside seemed normal to everyone but the electric vibrations in your joints and dull ache in your head told you plenty, to the others you were staying silent to save your voice for later so to speak but to you the weight of speaking was way heavier than your desire to ask for help or for rest.

With the show quickly approaching and you having forgotten to eat you downed not one but two energy drinks, spiking youre adrenaline temporarily in hopes itd get you through the show.

All you had to do was get through the night off of artificial energy and true passion for others joy. Just like the full ghouls you spent your time during the show in your human form but unlike them you had a harder time forcing it to stay when you were exhausted.

Papa copia unbeknownst to you had his eye on you, hes the only one who saw you this morning, the deep bags under your eyes and your ghoulish grey having a pale green seemingly sickly color easily masked by your helmet, if all went well youd rest for extra tonight but he didn't see that being the only end to the night.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

You were a fan favorite, when you weren't singing backup vocals you were running around stage with your hagstorm base shredding in duos with swiss, bursts of fire being shot upwards, the only time you stay away from the edge of the stage, the light from the fire glinting against the slightly matte chrome picguard, just enough to catch you right in the eye blurring your vision with a blinding flash.

to the congregation watching below your jolts you send into moving your bass guitar looked like flare but for you it was sheer panic, the blinding flash was just enough to put you on the edge of tipping into a deeply unwanted headspace at the moment.

prancing over to where mountain is perched at his drums you take yourself out of the limelight and hide yourself in the downcast shadows from his drums, with the last three chords being extended for showmanship you give a desperate glance to papa with hope that he'll see your glance, and such he does.

You station yourself once more at your mic, you stum the starting chords and belt out backup vocals for the final song, your throat aches as your human form is slipping, your eyes having small flickers of change and a small stumble thankfully met with a stomp on the down beat.

papa makes his way your direction ending the set list with 'Darkness at the heart of my love', when it gets to the part without vocals he does hand flourishes while you play your bass passing by with his mic down "tieni duro piccolo", walking his way around the stage to stand center and finish up the song.

In a blurr of time everything felt like it was on sparks of muscle memory and you were at the front with all other ghouls taking a well deserved bow with a standing ovation for each and every single one of you.

Papa copia was the first to lead off stage letting the ghouls throw picks and a few drumsticks from mountain and what not, you didn't stay long to see everything but you did notice people throwing things onstage as gifts; off stage setting down your bass in a stand you stumble into papas open arms.

Your forehead lay gently atop his chest still in your helmet your horns sit near his collar bone shaking yohr head, "i cant papa, i cant" not entirely sure yourself what you meant he hummed in understanding and hushed you, gently rubbing your back and swaying side to side, "stai bene piccolo ghoul, you can rest now. Ive got you, matter of factly weve got you"

Finally relaxing enough to let your ghoul form fall free, your tail limp all of you is exhausted and you feel so small but people always said it was weird and not good, they never listened to you when you said it was involuntary or a coping mechanism it was just permanently bad.

"Oh piccolo, shh your thoughts are so very loud my dear, it is okay to be small, the ministry welcomes all with coping, we will care of you"

He holds you closer and tighter humming a tune, and just like that your walls had fallen, there was no more fighting it, big doe ghoulish eyes staring up at him, complete silence from you.

At this point the others had made their way backstage, dew came walking over to take over while papa helped collect all the instruments. "Dew, could you please take them to the bus? We will get everything "

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》in the bus now and changed in comfortable clothes dew led you to the ghoul pile nest, when you refused to sit down he stepped aside watching as you grab your comfort item from your personal bunk and made your way back to the nest laying in the center, followed by him curling himself around you.

The ghouls only ever took their helmets off when in a homely environment so dew having his helmet off was his symbol of saying you are safe.

Once everyone had finished packing up and putting stuff away they had all filed in slowly

Cumulus being the first to stop by you and dew at the nest, holding out a plush ghoul for you that she had picked up from the items thrown on stage, papa copia was next to stop by sitting with you and dew, you hadnt noticed until now that he was asleep holding onto you until mountain joined pulling him off of you so you could lean into papa as he held one of your comfort snacks and a juice, both already having been opened by him, he held you as you snacked.

Once you had finished he got up going to the front to drive the bus.

You were once more pulled into the cuddle pile by dewdrop his eyes open long enough to make sure all of your comfort items were tucked against your chest, between you both, "sleep little one, a tiny ghoul needs plenty of rest" soon joined by the rest you had finally fallen asleep, the ghouls were your element aswell. When finally at the hotel for the evening you were carefully awoken by papa, all the ghouls except dew had gotten up, but even he was awake, but he stayed to keep you warm, "it is time to go in, we are buddy system tonight, four ghouls in a room, each room has two king sized beds so its plentyful room"

You finally let go of dew and stretch, getting up to get ready you realize your overnight bag has already been packed and one of the taller ghouls hoodies layed out next to it, you could hear the ruckus at the front of the bus of all the other ghouls ready to bunk up in the hotel.

You slip on the hoodie which you now know belongs to swiss, his smell encapsulating your mind.

Papa comes up behind you placing a hand on your back "piccolo the ghouls have decided you can pick who youre bunking with, they want to be sure youre okay when tiny, loro ti amano"

You make your way to the front of the bus where you find the ghouls with their charm up. looking to papa followed by you tapping swiss, rain and mountain on the heads, the three stand up, mountain takes your bag and rain scurrys away and back with your mask in hand "are you able to use charm right now or is the mask a better option?" He questions

Taking a moment to test how well the charm feels, you point at the mask. Nodding he gently places it atop your head, he places his hand under your chin causing you to look up so he can buckle it up and tan pats you atop your head, swiss gently pulls the back of the hoodie at the bottom away from your back "curl your tail tiny" tucking it under the hoodie

Once in the room mountain sets down the bags he was carrying and helped take the mask off of your noggin, ruffling your hair causing you to chirp in response, rain and swiss hop on the bed closest to the door leaving the one near the window "copia is ordering food for everyone, hes getting youre favorite for you" mountain chimes, grabbing to tv channel guide and flipping through it.

"Movie?" You mumble causing all three of them to look over, normally youre completely silent when youre small, "you wanna watch a movie?" He questions flicking on the tv and sitting on the bed, he turns on Wall-E for you.

Sometime a few minutes later he feels you shuffle closer on the bed cuddling into his side with your comfort item in hand.

After dinner was delivered and eaten and the movie was over you had tucked yourself on your side of the bed you shared with mountain, rains lamp still on so he could read while swiss was practically cuddled ontop of him, every time you would shift or turn in bed they could hear it, causing them to watch you carefully when youd move or grumble is dissatisfaction.

there was just no way to get comfortable, this wasnt home or the bus, you werent wrapped in your family, you huff out rolling over to look at mountain, to your suprise he was looking right at you quizically.

You quickly curl into his side before he got the chance to say anything, "o parum ghoul, mi amor, papa is right, your thoughts really are so very loud" swiss sighs, pulling himself out of his bed followed by rain who lay on your open side and swiss next to mountain, it may not be a perfect ghoul pile but its better than before, rolling over when rain pulls out his book to read aloud, your head on his chest.

listen to the thrum and Rumble deep in his chest, your eyes fall closed but not before you wrap your tail around swiss' wrist where it resides clutched around mountain, your mind will feel fresh and lively tomorrow filed with the itmost of energy, especially after an evening full of cuddles and littlespace, rain places a gentle kiss atop your head and just like that you are asleep.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Tall Girl Lovin

Requested: Yes! [Hiya!! Just found your posts and I love them so much👀👀 Could I request a fem tall s/o for the 141 boys + König? S/O being as tall/ taller than them (slightly shorter with König) and giving them so much love. Thank you!]

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Implications of nsfw but mostly just fluffy

A/N: @katdakat , I bestow upon you, tall Reader

Price

Price is probably the least affected by your height. Man deals with giants on a regular basis, his S/O being one doesn’t really mean anything. He does enjoy the perks of it though. Like how when you hug him, his face is directly in your cleavage. 10/10 would recommend other men to get themselves a tall Gf just for that alone. But if that is not enough to convince them then he will list other benefits, such as the wonderful feeling of getting to be the small spoon and the delightful feeling that provides when your partner is taller then you and just encompasses your body, making you feel so safe and warm.

Gaz

Gaz loves your height. Doesn’t matter if you’re an inch taller or almost a foot taller, he’s drooling over you. He’s always had a bit of a size kink when it comes to taller people. And god bless him if you ever wear heels cause he’ll feel like he’s gonna pass out from all the blood rushing to his face and *ahem* other places. So yeah, he’s in love and he thinks you’re a fucking goddess.

Ghost

Ghost loves size differences. Bigger or smaller never mattered to him but each side has their own advantages. For the taller side, there is the fact that he just feels…a bit protected. Safe almost. Especially at night when you curl yourself around him. It’s the only thing that helps him get to sleep anymore. Or when you’re standing behind him and he can see your shadow encompassing his. It’s strangely nice for him.

Soap

This man. THIS MAN. He thinks he’s so funny. He will walk up to you at random times of the day and just heave you into his arms, grinning like a mad man as he just starts running with you through the halls. He loves to prove that no matter how tall you are, he’s still strong as hell and will use that strength to treat you like the Queen that he sees you as. If you protest then he’ll stop but not without being pouty, tugging at your shirt, begging you to bend down so he can at least sucker some more kisses out of you.

Alejandro

He’s not opposed to climbing you like a tree. It’s certainly the first thing that he thinks of when he first meets you, a big grin on his face, already making up his mind that he wants to seduce you. Seduction did make way for more romantic feelings and thoughts of you under him made way for thoughts of holding you close as you stooped down to kiss him. His favorite thing to do is shift your shirt down a bit so he can kiss your cleavage, something he adores doing since he’s at perfect titty height and he knows it.

König

Oh!!!!! König is pleasantly surprised when he meets you. Not many people enter his height range so it’s always nice when he does get to meet someone who is like him. It makes him feel a bit less freakish as well, a feeling that constantly plagued him since he’s almost always the tallest person in the room by a long shot. And he’s even more pleased when you start dating! Not only does it just work well logistically with someone near his own height, but he gets to experience pleasant things like surprise kisses and hair ruffling now. Something not really possible when he’d have to bend over for most everyone else to do so. He loves it. Loves you!!!!

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a rec list of fics with roadtrips! This is the perfect summer rec list, so we hope you check out these incredible fics and show them some love. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Enjoy The Ride | Not Rated | 11,103 words

“Stop sulking and get up. I have a proposition to make.” “Niall?” Louis questioned. “Do you think I should put glow in the dark stars on my ceiling?” He looked over and found Niall giving him an unimpressed look. “So, no?” Louis asked. “No stars?” “We’re going on a road trip,” Niall stated. Louis looked back at his starless ceiling and waved farewell to Niall. “Cool. Have fun!” “No, you idiot.” Niall let out a frustrated sigh. “You, me, Liam, and Harry.” Louis glanced over to Niall and back to the ceiling. “Who’s Harry?”

2) Kiss Me In Your Chevrolet | Explicit | 11,569 words

"Yes, Lou?" Harry asked, rubbing his tired eyes. A gust of wind came through the open windows, sending chills down Harry's arms as a light rain began falling outside. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back to the couch arm rest. "Can we go there?" Louis asked, probably pointing somewhere. Harry opened his eyes and felt his heart jump in his chest, a magazine page a couple of inches away from his face. Startled, Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily, trying to collect himself. Harry blinked a few times to focus his eyes on the page Louis still held in front of his nose. "You want to go to the Grand Canyon?" He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head to the left to look at Louis' face.

3) Love Is Like This; Not A Heartbeat, But A Moan | Explicit | 13,150 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

"He hates this, more than anything in the world he hates this. His title, his rank, his DNA. Unchangeable. Fated. And then there’s Harry, born to be unobjectively superior to Louis and all other O’s. Unlike other A’s, Harry doesn’t wear his alpha-ness very well. He’s clumsy with it, like walking around in a pair of shoes a size too big. His life is defined by uncertainty and tentativeness, and those are definitely not qualities alphas should have. Sometimes, when Louis ponders it for too long, he thinks that maybe Harry resents being an A just as much as Louis resents being an O."

4) All I Want Is To Fall With You | Mature | 16,524 words

The pair looked at each other for a few moments before Harry moved forward and gathered Louis in an unexpected hug. It was nice, but why the fuck was an unknown alpha hugging him? Maybe an even better question would be why did Louis feel so secure in this stranger's arms? Harry quickly let go and Louis felt something pull at him. "Sorry," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Shit, um, that just seemed a natural response for some reason. I’m so sorry." Louis smiled up at the alpha. "It's okay. Thanks again, Harry." "You're welcome. I know it's horrible weather, and less than optimal circumstances, but this was a brilliant meet-cute." What the fuck was a meet-cute?

5) These Roads We Stumble Down | Explicit | 18,233 words

Harry picks up a hitchhiker in Oxford, and it's a long ride to Glasgow.

6) We’re Not Who We Used To Be | Explicit | 30,611 words

“Harry…” Louis’ voice catches in his throat, thick with tears threatening to fall out, so he coughs to clear it before trying again. “Harry is Liam’s best man?” “You didn’t know?” Harry is standing at the entrance of the garage, mouth slightly open and face pulled together. He sets his bag on the ground and puts his hands on his hips. When he does that, he looks just like the Harry that Louis remembers (and loves, he thinks with an aching heart). “I’m sure I mentioned it,” Liam says, but Louis can tell he’s lying by the way he chews on his lower lip and twists his fingers together. “You’re all a bunch of dick heads, I’m getting in the car.” Louis isn’t sure if he’s being unreasonable. He has no idea what the protocol is when your ex-boyfriend shows up after three years and nobody bothered to give you a heads up. He’s pretty sure he’s allowed to be upset about it, even if it’s only for a bit.

7) Take The Back Roads | Explicit | 31,333 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The one where Harry and Louis are roommates who are pining over each other and all they need is a road trip down the West Coast to bring them together.

8) Bluebird | Explicit | 39,046 words

The 2,789 miles between New York and Los Angeles is a long way to go alone.

9) From Dust To Lust | Explicit | 45,437 words

From the moment Louis set eyes on the gorgeous stranger across the airport terminal, he knew the guy was trouble, which was the last thing he wanted. He wouldn’t have thought spending two days cooped up in a car travelling from the Australian Outback to the East Coast would change his mind. It’s funny how things work out.

10) Made For Lovin' You | Explicit | 52,637 words

“I’m in,” is all Louis receives. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s reading this right. “For real?” he asks, just to be a hundred percent sure. “Yes,” pops up. “How do you wanna pursue?” The alpha adds, like he’s on a special mission or something. “I’m gonna call us a cab to go to mine. Once I know it’s here, I’ll leave and join you there,” Louis explains. “I’ll text you to go around five minutes before it arrives, so it doesn’t look suspicious, and our friends don’t notice us leaving together.” “Noted.” So Louis does, and ten minutes later, he’s sat in the backseat of a cab, next to Harry Styles, the person he hates the most but unfortunately still finds attractive. They’re on their way to fuck in Louis’ flat. Splendid.

11) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59,877 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

12) Ghost Note Symphony | Explicit | 96,426 words

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago. It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to. That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

13) Nothing Worsens, Nothing Grows | Explicit | 102,528 words | Sequel

Another roadtrip AU featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[sanjisprincesswifey]

it's been a long, long time ⋆ sanji x reader

summary: a certain song reminds sanji how much he missed you

♡: post whole cake island sanji (sort of spoilers for this arc). female reader. 700+ words. sfw. spotify link.

a crack of thunder has sanji’s eyes fluttering open, immediately scanning the room he had been sleeping in. relieved, his heart calms when he sees luffy, chopper, and brook all asleep in their bunks.

he cradles his pillow underneath his head, bringing the blanket to his face in a child-like manner. since returning from whole cake, it was not the first night he had been easily startled awake and left in the dark by himself. not even luffy’s snore (that was just as violent as his appetite) could provide the cook any comfort in alleviating his feeling of loneliness.

after tossing and turning for ten more minutes, the drowsiness vanishes with each painfully slow second that passes. too many uncomfortable sleeping positions are attempted until sanji decides that sleep was no longer an option.

the gentle raindrops catch in his blond hair as he scoots along to the kitchen, confused when he noticed the dim light creeping from underneath the door.

he’s compelled to knock before he enters, pushing the door when he hears shuffling coming from the other side.

“sanji?” you say, stepping towards him cautiously after having identified his unusually disheveled state. he neither moves or responds to you as you take his hand and shut the door behind him. “are you okay?” you hopelessly ask.

you already knew that he wasn’t.

a few raindrops fall from his wet hair as he shakes his head no. he leans into your body as you guide him to a chair at the counter, whimpering when you pull away.

“can i finish the dishes? i’ll bring you with me to the crow’s nest when i’m done,” you offer, brushing his bangs back from his face.

both of his curly brows soften, and the corners of his lips rise slightly, signaling that was a yes.

you kiss the spiral of eyebrow before returning to your incomplete chore.

sanji hadn’t noticed the radio transponder snail that had been on, now playing soft jazz for both of your enjoyment.

with his head in his hand, he leans against the counter happily watching as you took on the role he had always provided you. usually, it was you who sat in this seat, waiting for him to be done with the dishes so you could accompany the other for the night watch shift. now that he thinks about it, this is the first time this scenario had occurred since coming back.

a tear rolls down his face from the combined romance of such a bittersweet moment and the guilt from the events that transpired for you to get to this point.

the beginning few notes of a song begin to play as both your head shoot up and glance over to the radio.

neither of you speak as you dry your hands and without missing a beat, sanji stands up and walks over to you, collapsing into your awaiting arms. his head leans on your shoulder while his arms wrap tightly around your waist. your grip is much looser when you wrap your arms around his neck, running a hand through his hair.

sanji hums lightly to the music the two of you sway back and forth, light sniffles following as his body shakes ever so slightly.

you can feel his whole body relax when you whisper the lyrics along with him. his trembling hands hold you so fearfully, but you understood why and didn’t mind the pressure anyway.

“i was so scared,” he admits. his whole body is like jelly in your hands, completely dependent on you as his sobs become less and less silenced. “it was so dark there,” he cries, “i…i thought i lost you.”

you nod your head, your chest aching at each remorseful word. despite how much you had told him, sanji wouldn’t stop blaming himself. you knew he’d react this way, it was just the type of guy he was. you would always come first to him, even when he was forced to relive the pain and trauma his childhood had brought upon him.

unfortunately, you understood there wasn’t much you could do for him at this point besides love him, which wasn’t a difficult task to accomplish.

you run your hands through his hair, coddling him as the song hits the chorus. “haven’t felt like this, my dear, since can’t remember when,” you whisper, which begins to calm his panicked sobs.

you place a kiss on his head, “don’t worry,” you coo, as he picks his head up to look into your eyes. “i’ve got you now, my dear,” you hum as you cradle his face in between your hands, leaning in to place a delicate kiss on his lips.

like, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! (✿◠‿◠)

[climbthemountain2020]

Flame of Autumn - Chapter 25 Epilogue

Part 26/26 | Ao3

[Thank you all so much for your words of kindness and support while I wrote and posted this fic. As someone new to writing, having you here with me was everything. Your interactions mean the world to me, and I hope you all loved Tilly and Eris as much as I do. The art is from the absolutely incredible @VFisch on IG. She is open for commissions and absolutely LOVELY. ] Epilogue

Four Years Later

“Kieran, wait please!”

The boy was off like a shot, tearing wildly out of the front doors of the Forest House and out into the lawn, the troupe of dogs bursting out behind him like a cloud of smoke and fur. Eris trotted after him, Tilly following slightly behind. The sun was bright, and the air was warm for Autumn, the scent of sun-warmed pine needles permeating the air as the leaves swirled on the wind around them.

“Dada! I can climb!” Kieran was already scaling up the stone wall near the training rings, taking careful but quick steps as he danced around the half circle, his mop of bright red curls flopping into his eyes. Eris was transported to a similar scene in his mind of another small redhead dancing around a crumbling stone wall once upon a time. He couldn’t help his smile as Tilly snaked her hand around his arm and leaned her head against him.

“You climb so well, buddy!” Eris shielded his eyes from the sun with his other hand, then said lower to Tilly, “He makes me so nervous when he does this, but I don’t want to keep him from doing fun things.” She patted his arm, laughing.

“I know, love. I know.” She took a few steps forward towards the wall and their son. “If we stop letting your brothers watch him, perhaps he’d be a bit less rowdy.” She shot him a grin over her shoulder.

“He’s got enough practice swords. I thought he’d be safe with Bray, but do you know I caught him scaling the library shelves the other day? The very top. And every time Azriel visits he just ends up taking him flying. Do you know how stressful it is to walk outside and see that great bat toting our baby through the air?” Tilly just sighed.

“Yes, yes, my dear. Very frightening.” She feigned a pout at him, but couldn’t keep the smirk from her face as he huffed indignantly. “Kieran, love, would you like to go on a special trip?” His sweet hazel eyes widened comically, his nodding so violent that Tilly couldn’t help but smile. He loved surprises and adventures and dragons, and he demanded lots of books and stories and playtime revolving around them. Tilly and Eris were both enamored with their son, finding very little fault in anything he did. He was always running circles around everyone in the Forest House, and Alanna liked to point out frequently that it was like seeing a small Lucien running around all over again. Ironically enough, Lucien and Elain’s daughter, Sirene, often reminded Alanna of a young Eris, brooding and quiet and full of fiery temper. Helion liked to joke that perhaps they’d been switched at birth, much to Eris and Lucien’s collective irritation and violent eye rolling. Kyra balanced the two out–a quiet and silly girl who loved climbing trees and painting, and who loved to herd the two younger cousins around the Forest House property.

Sirene, Kieran, and Kyra, despite their differences, were inseparable when the families got together. Lucien and Eris had been tentatively rebuilding a relationship and long-overdue conversations had been had. While there was some lingering awkwardness between all the brothers, apologies had been given and tensions had eased greatly in the past few years. They knew it did Alanna’s heart good to see them overcoming the walls Beron had tried so hard to build between them, so they tried to make an honest effort. To everyone’s surprise, the relationship with the Night Court and their children had evolved as well, the children and parents getting together multiple times a year to catch up on less-than-official business. Ever since Gwyn and Azriel began making more regular trips to Autumn, the hatchet had been buried, and everyone had done their best to move forward. Strangely enough, in the aftermath of war, they’d found themselves becoming less allies and more friends.

“Come on, Mama. Surprise!” He tugged her hand as he jumped off the high wall, and Tilly could practically hear Eris’ heart rate spike behind her. The male had seen centuries of war, torture, and horrors, but nothing gave him more fear than the safety of his rambunctious child. She didn’t think she’d ever loved him more than she did seeing him care so deeply about their son. She’d been right from the very beginning–he was the most wonderful father. She held her hand out to Eris and he took it, winnowing them all through the world to a quiet spot in the deep woods, another wall of stone standing proud against the forest background.

“Ooh, where are we?” Kieran looked around in wonder, the massive trunks of overturned trees and moss-covered rocks an entirely new world to him.

“This is where I first saw your mother.” Eris was smiling, looking at Tilly with love that only seemed to grow over the years sparkling in his eyes.

“Mama was here?”

“Yes, I used to come here to practice my portals when I was a bit older than you. One day, I had an audience.” She shot a smile at him while Kieran climbed the crumbling rock wall, resuming his antics.

“Portals, mama. Like this!” He threw an arm out, casting a circle of flame, jumping into it before they even had a chance to shout, and then dropping out of the sky into Eris’ panicked arms. “Portals!”

Eris and Tilly’s wide eyes found each other immediately while Kieran giggled wildly in Eris’ arms, flailing so he’d drop him back to the ground. Eris obliged, jaw still agape, and Kieran ran back to the wall to play again.

“Well…things certainly won’t be dull now, will they?” Tilly leaned in and kissed Eris on the cheek, then rested her head on his shoulder as he wound his arm around her and placed his hand on her growing belly.

“Things have never been and will never be dull with you, love.”

Taglist (lomls): @cauldronblssd @queercontrarian @byyalady @thelovelymadone @clockwork-ashes @lovingkelj @lilah-asteria

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

The Jealous One pt 11

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader

Words: 1,895

The Great Hall is blissfully empty.

Tags: fem!reader, silly, ambiguous timeline, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, Jealous!Hiccup, Post RoB/DoB, Pre-RTTE

<Previous -

You grasped the sides of your tray, staring at the sad, shallow bowl by your pitiful excuse for a bread lump, stale, and an empty mug of nothing. 

The Great Hall around you was much less lively than usual, especially for the time. 

As the agreed-upon date approached, all pretenses had been dropped and everyone had been crashing early, having put their heart and soul into preparations, and the mealtime crowds ended up poorer for it, though you found no qualms with that.

The food, too, was poorer than usual. That was one thing you did find qualms with- the stew was thin and meat in smaller pieces, which, of course, made it a slight bit easier to get to the soup before anything else, to drink from the side of the bowl or scoop out food bits with your spoon, but it left your stomach half-empty.

The large hall doors creaked ominously, the flow of Vikings coming in and out slow and carried Great pause yet the greater dining space remained empty. 

 You stood in front of a long table on top of which there lay food, unattended as it usually would not be, not noticing as someone peculiar wandered into the hall behind the rest, an irrelevant action paired to a relevant person.

You did notice fingers brushing against the inside of the crook of your arm, causing your head to swivel.

You blinked owlishly, stuck between a greeting and warm cheekbones, unsurprised to see who had garnered your attention. 

“Hello,” You said in a tone even you couldn’t decipher, toeing the lines between pleasant, cheerful and ambiguous.

Hiccup stood before you with tired eyes, his hand still half-extended before in a moment choosing to step forwards into your space, bridging the gap between appropriate, friendly and cherished all at once.

As of late, it had seemed Hiccup had been given much more responsibility than usual, though despite the fact that he was busy with festival prep, he still always found the time to say hello to you, which you’d found to be a mild comfort despite yourself.

You had found a few moments to hang out with Snotlout and the Twins separately, though those instances were much less frequent with the bustle and their shackles to their own unwilling responsibilities. You had seen the Twins dragged away by the ear on more than one occasion during the most recent times.

“My Dad is finally back,” He said plainly, in lieu of anything else, though you could tell by his tone and the way his eyes darted to the side that he hadn’t much cared to say that at all. 

“Bummer,” You smiled slightly, though you were sure your cinched brows conveyed some of your nervousness. 

Hiccup smiled something back, soft and wry, lips tight. 

You couldn’t help but imagine a thick layer of flour across his jaw and spotting the underside of his mop of hair, dough along one side of his mouth- you remembered exactly what it tasted like with a slightly rough set of fingers on your cheek, guiding you as he tilted his own head, something fiery rocking in your guts at the simple touch.

You eyed one of the smaller tables, way off to the side where the lighting was poorer and the hall was colder- a place you found smidge more comfortable than any other.

“So…” You started after a long moment of silence, “Are you hungry?”

Hiccup blinked, then grimaced, “Not really? I just, ah…”

“Came to mingle?” You raised a brow.

“Yeah.” Hiccup said, grimacing harder, shifting in a way that brought him closer to you.

You shifted your shoulders and adjusted your stance, staring Hiccup straight in the face, ignoring the fluster that was building in your chest and along the skin of your face, “Okay. You’ve been mingled.”

“...I’ve been mingled,” Hiccup said dryly.

“Yes, now go,” You snuffed, “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Hiccup slouched slightly, looking at you blankly, “When would that be?”

You ignored him, nearly grumbling, “Did I apologize for ditching you yet? I didn’t ditch you on purpose. I did try and get to you later.”

“You should have,” Hiccup protested, leaning slightly to the side. You looked into his eyes from this new angle. “On purpose, I mean. Even after, I…”

“What?” You spoke as his fingers teased your wrist, his forehead dangerously close to yours, “I don’t think- I said it’s fine, so you should just… drop it.”

“I don’t want to drop it,” Hiccup said, furrowing his brows, “Especially since- …”

You felt as if you had been put on center stage, though you weren’t quite sure which script you were supposed to be using.

“Really, it doesn’t matter,” You grumbled. You shifted your tray into one hand, and from then on it became a precarious thing, its balance uneven, but it made it easier for you to wave him off before jabbing him in the side. “I really do forgive you. You don’t- I mean, I’d- Really, after…”

You weren’t sure, truly, what Hiccup had meant by- that. Pressed lips, all the exercising and apologizing and testing the grounds of your… Whatever this was. You weren’t sure- not of anything, not of whether it had cleared the weary air between the two of you or if it had made it much more smoggy. 

You weren’t sure whether to be more mad at him or less, though you didn’t have the heart to figure it out.

You winced slightly, your fingers stubbing against tight leather and buckle, though you didn’t so much as make a peep about it.

“I- Ouch,” Hiccup said, before offering you his hand and eyeing the small table your eyes had left just a moment prior, his thumb running cautious lines up and down the back of one of your hands, “Well, fine, then. If… If you really mean it this time, then ...Do you want to come back to the table with me?” 

Around you, the murmur conversation grew slightly from nothing to a small uptaking mumble as a group of late-arrivals poured in through the hall doors.

“No,” You held up your mug, feeling both disconcerted and shy as you teased his covered collarbone with your eyes, wondering what in the world you two were to each other, “I still need to…”

“That’s fine,” Hiccup relaxed, stepping backwards, “How about we go… Get a refill? Then make our way back later?”

“‘We’?” You asked suspiciously, your shoulder bumping into his.

The rabble was slightly quieter than it was before, boiling at a nice, spoken murmur, dotted occasionally by the sound of shouting.

“Fine,” You shook your head yet when he moved, you moved to walk side-by-side.

You held your mug to your lips, looking sideways from the corner of your eyes at Hiccup as your pinkies nearly touched. 

You had your feet braced against the side of a bench, the two of you sitting on top of one of the tables in the Great Hall. Most of the riders -sans Astrid, though you knew she was bound to follow- were gathered around, you and Hiccup being only a part of the ring of teens closing off the space between two narrow bench isles.

Hiccup laughed nervously, maybe a bit too loud at something the others said, Adam's apple bobbing recklessly. 

It wasn’t so bad, spending time with Hiccup again.

You had to wrinkle your nose as Snotlout said something sour about Agnarr, who was off in the corner trying to start an ill-fated tussle with Phlegma, who most likely had much better things to be doing than fighting with him.

You and Hiccup used to do the same thing together, once- not the tussling, but the snide remark-ing. 

You had to wonder, at one point, if he’d been judging you like you’d poked fun at drunk Vikings in the hall, fighting and rough around the eyes. You didn’t like being the punchline.

You furrowed your brows and looked away as something warm and familiar roiled in your gut, offset by your feelings of mild frustration and flush, mind stuck on dry lips and meaningful, flat presses.

The hall had filled, eventually, with late arrivals and so, now, you’d found it full, and the peaceful, quiet, unsure time you had spent by Hiccup had been gradually interrupted.

The hall cleared slightly as someone shouted from a few tables down, the loud clattering of dishes and the loud smacking sound of fist on flesh signaling the beginning of another fight.

You’d slip away later, when he wasn’t paying you as much attention.

You were perhaps a bit less cautious than you should have been, the stone planks below still wet from an earlier rain as you stepped forwards.

 You came to a slow stop on one of the steps to the hall as you heard someone call your name and the slow groan of the Great Hall doors as they were pulled open and then shut again.

“Where are you going?”

He held your hands imploringly, fingers grasping around the backs of your knuckled, holding them so your palms faced upwards..

“Are you alright?” You asked him, still not looking him in the eye.

As far as you knew, Hiccup had also made an effort to avoid the trouble, keeping to the sides of the hall and out of the way of flying fists.

“I’m tired,” He admitted, “A little- a little bit-”

His voice broke off into a yawn. It was clumsy, and awkward, and the tone of his voice just felt a bit out of place.

It was sort of cute.

Your eyes widened slightly, his forehead touched yours as he settled, blinking drowsily, before lifting his head. 

You felt his chin brush against your forehead and, briefly, his breath, warm compared to the cool night air, against your face. You became familiar with what wasn’t visible in the light of day, a small dusting of slightly rosy skin, where peachy hairs sprouted. 

“But... No, I mean- We, well, for fun, we haven’t- since…” Hiccup suggested slowly.

You were painfully reminded of your hands held in his and you shut your eyes tightly.

Heat burned up your back like a flush on your cheeks, hot and prickling, beseeching you to take notice, to note it down for later turning over. It felt to you like a Nadder flexing its spines, or a Skrill, lightning dancing up its back the way Hiccup recounted to you after the whole defrosting debacle.

“...” You tried to speak, opening your mouth reluctantly, not looking at him. But you softened just a little bit, on the inside. 

“Yeah,” You said, shrugging. “...Yeah.”

The double meaning, to you, was obvious.

“It’s okay. I…” Hiccup started, “I-...”

You bumped him in the shoulder with your own, “Yeah.”

“How about we try this again? Meet here… Tomorrow,” Hiccup suggested, gnarly mumbling, “Or-or somewhere else. Make up for lost time? I know there’s a nice place on the other side of the mountain, where the hills-craigs… It’s nice there. I think you know it. Or… Would you like to go to the festival with me?”

Then you looked at him, eyes peering out from under your eyelashes, head tilted down in a way that made it difficult not to do so, “I guess that would be fine.”

[nem0-kn0ws-n0t]

Hermit Permits- or Hermitconomics101

I would just like to start off by saying I adore the concept. It's perfect. But also, I'm a massive nerd and I wanna talk about it.This is such a fascinating little economic model. Like, the usual hermitcraft economy is already so fascinating.

Warning-Long post! Also might Slightly skew your perspective of the Gimmick.

At first Glance, the Hermitcraft economy is the epitome of a Perfect Market economy -the basic selling/buying market you think of when thinking of markets-which has a few requirements

1. Homogenous products: gunpowder from Doc's shop is the same gunpowder from Tango's or Iskall or whoever sells it

2. No barriers to entry and exit: anyone can decide to sell. The technology's there. Any hermit can decide to make a farm or manually harvest something, set up shop and sell

3. Sellers are Price takers: If say, X and False are both selling copper ingots (for example), and X prices his higher than False (and they both keep their shops stocked), Hermits will buy from False. So X has to price the same (or lower but shhhh) than False.

4. Product Transparency: If you pay 1 diamond for a stack of iron blocks, you know you're getting 1 stack of iron. (usually) no shenanigans involved

And now the interesting point->

5. Many sellers- In a perfect competition market, the market is usually saturated with sellers, to the point that everyone needs to price the same, or at exactly the cost of production (or whatever needs to be to have the last seller joining the market to have economic profit of 0 but that's real hard to count in diamonds). Usually, this is done by having many firms coming in (free market remember) and undercutting each other until it's at the point where Supply is equal to Demand (yes, exactly the graph you're thinking of). In hermits' case, rarely is there more than one shop for an item unless there is an obnoxious amount of demand for it, and often, they'll buddy up in the same shop and split the profits and the work (I'm thinking of all the wood groups) for the highly in demand items. (More on that later).

So the sellers aren't usually competing with other hermits to sell resources- they're competing with the hermits' other way of procuring resources- The Endless Grind

Think about it- The rule of thumb for establishing the scope of a market (and its competition) is to ask yourself- where do I go if the shop becomes too expensive? In our real-life situation, we go to other shops- hermits just roll up their pixilated sleeves and get to work themselves. They are the alternative. (or Lag but stealing throws off all economic models so we're assuming it doesn't exist.)

A hermit shop, to have sales, needs to price its resources low enough that other hermits will see it as a better (cheaper) alternative than acquiring it themselves.

But Nemo, I hear you ask, isn't it always going to be cheaper to collect the material themselves? All the hermits already have all the tools/technology they'd need to get the resources they'd want, so shops wouldn't work.

But they do work, every season hermits "get rich" which implies there's something "wrong" with my model, which there is.

It's Time. That's the main currency in Hermitcraft.

Any hermits can decide to get any amount of resources with no real limit except Time. Sure, some hermits are more likely to build farms and have it done quicker than others, but all of them can decide to pick up a tool and just grind away (which they do, often). The point of the shops is to be convenient. You could spend 3 hours getting 15 stacks of oak wood, but you could also drop 30 diamonds at Ren's shop and get that done in less than a minute. Which, when you're a content creator on a tight deadline, already spending hours upon hours just building and editing and living outside of work, time is precious. So Time is the real trading currency on HC.

And so there comes a wrench in the plan as you have 2 "types" of goods- you have the Sellers' resources (that cost you diamonds but less time) and your own resources (which cost you Time but fewer diamonds)

Which invalidates point 3. Price Takers- There are 2 very different prices, which you are willing to pay at different times to different degrees. Somedays, they grind somedays they pay.

And thus, there goes the perfect competition model-

~~And in comes Monopolistic competition.

Now, listen to me, this is crucial ish- this is not the same as a Monopoly.

Monopolies imply there is 1 seller. 1. there is 1 way of acquiring the good (at this point in time) (everything is taken as if time is held constant). YouTube has a monopoly on hermitcraft videos (kind of). You can't watch Hermitcraft videos anywhere else, as the hermits don't upload their videos on other websites. If YouTube started charging 10000$ per video watched, you probably wouldn't watch hermit videos anymore. That's a monopoly.

Monopolistic competition is when a few firms sell slightly different products. Think Pepsi and Coca-Cola. They're functionally the same thing (don't @/me for this), but they both still work as companies, because people tend to prefer one over the other.

And thus our model. A monopolistic competitive market.

The real competition was not store vs store (unless for the bit), it was Sellers vs the Grind.

(There are also sunk cost fallacies exhibited, when hermits make their own farms for materials they know they'll need a lot of, which then reduces the time spent, especially with AFK'ing, thus the active time spent being reduced but server time still fluctuating but that can be hermitconomics 102 lmao)

But Back to this season-

With the introduction of Hermit Permits (which, is such a fun term, I wouldn't be surprised if they came up with that first before the concept) they are forcing there to be a single official seller. But hermits are still able to collect their own resources and make their own farms. So the market stays the same.

Which is probably not what you were expecting was it. All this fanfare but theoretically, the model doesn't change. It might change the point at which a hermits decides it's better to grind it out instead of spending diamonds, but not the theory.

But here's the second hole in this theory.

One of the first assumptions one makes about any market model is that everyone involved wants to maximize profits. (which irl, is making the most money).

But the same was as the real currency is Time, the real Profit for Hermits is Content (and engagement, and a whole bunch of parasocial scales to do with audience retention but I'm an economic major, not a sociology or business student damn it, we'll stick with Content) .

Theoretically, nothing changes in the economic model, but the result changes. The potential to change things up is massive, simply because they at least superficially changed something. Rebranding something, in a way that shakes up previously established norms- That's what they're getting out of it. Forcing people to do content about things they normally wouldn't even touch, which inspires viewers to be invested, so see our favourite blorbos overcome the challenge. It's a narrative device.

(If anything, I'd expect this to actually "promote the economy" as hermits would be motivated to stock up their shops, thus making more farms/farm building episodes, or the competition occurring from additional permits being circulated.)

So yeah. Hermitconomics 101- The not-so-perfect competition. Sorry If I burst some bubbles, I just think it's fascinating.

Thanks for reading to the bottom!

TL:DR :This is gonna be so fun, and the hermit economy makes economists everywhere cry

[sister-lucifer]

HEY, YOU

Yes, you!

Do YOU like the idea of a gay polyamorous romance taking place in a fantastical medieval setting?

then you might like my upcoming original written series, Royal Courting!

Featuring the following cast of characters:

Lucian Hensley

A fair skinned, pudgy baker standing at about 5’4 with hazel-green eyes and a thatch of dirty blond hair that falls in thick curls around his freckled face. He’s usually wearing his beloved handmade crocheted sweater, the same color as his eyes, despite the wear and tear it’s received over the years. Nothing he wears is particularly fancy, but it’s all very well loved and cared for.

Though he’s not ashamed of the weight he’s gained from the years of sampling his own baked goods, he’s easily flustered by any sort of comments on his physical appearance, regardless of how mild, possibly related to his gender identity as a transgender man. He’s humble and incredibly kind, sometimes to a fault. 

King Ambrose Verlice of Divestia

A dark skinned, slim man standing at about 5’7 with sharp brown eyes and a slightly effeminate nature about him. His dark hair is done together in thick locs so impossibly long they nearly brush the floor, decorated with gold cuffs and never less than perfectly maintained. He’s always wrapped in white and gold with jewelry to match. Any one of his outfits is worth more than every house Lucian has ever lived in combined.

He commands respect from all who lay eyes upon him, but knows how to use a gentle hand. It’s easy to get caught up in his flowery language, but beneath the purple prose and irresistible urge to flirt is a genuine heart of gold. 

Tobias Silva

A toned man of Colombian descent with tan skin standing at about 5’9, with brown eyes and curly brown hair that’s cut short and shaved underneath, but left longer on top, still allowing a few curly strands to fall over his face. He’s got a foxy way about him and always has a smug, closed-lipped grin on his face that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and dimples form in his warm cheeks.

He tends to keep his armor rather minimal to maximize his speed, but he’s got daggers hidden just about everywhere one can hide daggers on their person. If he’s being quiet, he’s probably busy scheming with his colleague and friendly rival, Rex. 

Rex Theroux 

Rex is a tall, pale, transgender man standing at about 6’1 with downturned blue eyes and shoulder length, golden-blond hair that curls a bit at the ends and is usually drawn into a loose, low ponytail that often leaves strands hanging around the sides of his head. Contrary to Tobias, he keeps his muscular form clad in armor at all times.

He’s the stoic tank of the duo, and proud of it. He’s completely mute and has never spoken a word to Tobias nor his king, but communicates with both Divestian sign language and his own unique methods. The only time anyone even sees his mouth is when he eats, as it’s usually covered with a neck gaiter. The scars that litter his limbs and body show his impossible resilience, but no one has ever heard the stories behind them.

When Tobias and Rex stop in at Lucian’s humble bakery, they’re completely amazed both by what they taste, and the man they see behind the counter. When a batch of these baked goods reaches king Ambrose, he demands to see the wonderful artisan who created them, and Lucian’s simple life is thrown into a whirlwind when he receives an official summon from his majesty himself.

Are you interested? Stick around! Chapter one of Royal Courting: Summoned By The King is in progress now! You can find the Royal Courting masterlist (among others) in my pinned post!

If you like this idea, please reblog! It’s free, takes two seconds, and helps spread my ideas to more people!

You can find me on AO3 as Sister_Lucifer; everything here is cross posted there!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[immajustvibehere]

Hi there! You’re stuff is always sooo good! I saw your post asking for some inspo.

What if Arthur has a special night planned with the reader, but he has a bunch of tasks to do before he is free to meet her? The whole day goes from one bad job to then next, and all he wants to do is meet her later for this perfect night. And when he finally gets to the hotel where he’s supposed to meet her, he’s filthy, banged up, and exhausted. He has lost almost all his money that he needed to treat her to a perfect night by the time he gets there.

How would it go from there?

Simple Nights Spent Together

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

Summary: Reader wants Arthur to understand that every time they get to spend with him is precious :)

fluffy little good night story, thanks for the request!

1100 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

Arthur slowly opened the door to the hotel room he knew you’d to be in. This was the same room the two of you always occupied whenever you managed to snatch a few precious moments away from camp, often for some undisturbed intimacy. But today turned out slightly different than normally. The day didn't really go according to plan and now Arthur felt like he had failed you. Before he gave the door a final push, he looked at himself. Dirty, knuckles stained with dried blood and a bad conscience that the guy who shot and hit his satchel got away with it. It had been a grim realisation that hit him a tad too late, when he discovered the gaping hole in his satchel. His money and a collection of other possessions that had accumulated were now lost somewhere on the sprawling prairie.

The door wasn’t fully open yet, but Arthur hesitated.

"Y/N?", he whispered. The tone of his voice was enough to suggest that something wasn’t right. You had grown restless over the past hour, because the time you had agreed upon was long past and you had feared the worst. So as soon as you saw the door open and heard his voice, you discarded the book you had been reading and sat up.

"Finally! You okay?", you walked to the door, doing Arthur the service of opening it fully and letting him in. His shame would've probably prevented him to do so.

"'m really sorry...", he mumbled, not even looking you in the eyes. You didn't answer, still busy with scanning him for serious injuries, though glad you found none. Arthur took off his head to fiddle it awkwardly between his fingers, revealing his unkempt hair.

"Nothing to be sorry for, I can see that you've been held up", you offered a little smile before standing on your tiptoes and planting a peck on the cheek.

"I wanted to go clean myself up first, but I didn't wanna be any later than I already was...", for some moments, Arthur had even considered not turning up at all, but he knew the consequences of this would have been you worried sick for the entire night.

You helped Arthur out of his coat: "That's okay. Go get a bath now, I'll stay awake and wait."

"Yes, Ma'am", Arthur said unironically. He was about to walk out when he stopped. Holding up his butchered satchel. He would have to ask you for money. He turned around, his cheeks blushing in shame.

"Oh no! What happened!", you immediately took the satchel and looked at the damage. It felt light, the hole was big enough to drain it of most its contents.

"Bullet hit it..."

"Is your journal-"

"Had it in my saddle bag", Arthur explained briefly, "I-uhm...do ya have some change on ya?"

You gave him a couple of dollars without hesitation: "I'll get it fixed first thing tomorrow, I promise. Oh and-", Arthur had started to walk off, "Have you eaten?"

"I’m not hungry", Arthur replied, accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Not hungry' was a subtle code for 'I haven't eaten all day, but please don't bother for me'. But of course, you did. The lamb chops you got from the saloon were done and you had carried them to the room only a minute before Arthur returned, his damp hair slicked back.

"Yer really shouldn't have...", Arthur commented when he saw the loaded plate and two bottles of beer.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I planned on eating that alone...", you grinned as Arthur approached you and gave you a quick kiss. He smelt pleasantly like soup, though the clothes he wore still gave the familiar odour of soil and pines. Arthur had tasted the meat that on your lips – apparently you had tried some – and sat down willingly. Eagerly, he finished the plate.

His shoulders were slouched, and you could tell by how slowly he blinked that he was exhausted and ready for some sleep.

"'m real sorry, darlin'...", Arthur sighed, "I really had something different planned for tonight than just sleeping..."

Arthur was hinting at some fun and intimacy, but you weren't even a little bit disappointed that none of this would be happening.

"Arthur", you leaned forward as your lips curled into a soft smile, "This is the perfect night."

The man looked at you like you were telling a stupid joke.

"Firstly...", you started and handed him a wet rag to clean his hands which glistened in fat, "you're alive. Can't take that for granted in this line of work, so this alone makes it a good night."

Then you helped him out of his clothes which he wouldn't need for sleeping: "Secondly, you're here. You came. You had a horrible day, I can tell. But you still showed up and I really appreciate that. Makes it an even better night, because we get to share a bed."

Arthur would often get this warm tingly feeling when you cared for him in this way. Not that he frequently found himself in situations where he messed up or ruined a date night, but sometimes things were out of control, and you never made him feel like you didn't understand that. Without resistance, he allowed you to guide him onto the pillow, his whole body sinking into the bed in the process. With pleasure, he watched as you crawled on top of him. He just barely managed to lift his hands to place them on your hip.

"And lastly", you pressed a light kiss onto his cheek, "Do you have one healthy arm to spare?"

Arthur didn't understand this question, shooting you a quizzical look before checking out his arms: "Both of them lookin' fine to me."

"And now if you, Mr. Morgan, have at least one of those arms to spare for me tonight, so I might rest my head on them instead of the pillow, since I much prefer your arm, I'd call this a perfect night", you called out in a theatrical matter, before falling onto the mattress next to him and resting your head on his arm.

Arthur chuckled warmly, pulling you into an embrace. "You sure are something...", he mumbled.

"Most of all I'm just happy to have you", you replied, snuggling up to him.

A contented sigh escaped Arthur’s lips. If he weren’t so tired, he might have found the words to express what he felt. It was the sentiment that it was his turn to express how privileged he’s to have you.  

"You know", Arthur whispered, his words slurred by the tiredness that washed over him, "I'm gonna make up for all of it tomorrow." He placed a suggestive kiss on your neck.

"Looking forward to it", you answered softly, well aware that sleep will claim you both in a few moments.

[definatelymrhyde]

Worse than I had thought lore dump because I’ve been holding it in way too long

THE CHARACTERS

JEKYLL

Jekyll is meant to be a little crazy, or at least very eccentric. Think like he’s TGS Jekyll, but slightly crazier and much less good at masking his true emotions. He was disgusted at Edward when he first created him, and as much as he hates to admit it, he and Edward are verrrrrry similar. I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned it yet, but Edwards' mannerisms and ways of movement and facial expressions are just exaggerated versions of all of Jekylls. Why, they’re literally the same person, just not. Confused? Yeah, me too. He tries to be polite with Edward and stuff but he just isn’t very good at it. This backfires later on.

EDWARD

Edward is weirdly chill at the start of the fic, and also a little socially awkward. But this is kind of just because at the point we’re at right now, he’s been an existing being for what, like eight to fourteen days or something?? He’s Jekyll but intensified, and if we’re going with the theme of masking, he just.. doesn’t mask anything about himself. He also actively spoils books for people which is kind of funny. Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t JUST an eccentric bad boy or whatever. He’s a terrible person. He’s all of Jekylls (or what Jekyll himself considers to be) bad traits personified. Edward is openly mean, VERY spiteful and just generally a not nice person to be around. He doesn’t like people lying to him, he knows by Chapter gen that Jekyll doesn’t like him and trust me, it’s MUCH more than what you see at the end of that last chapter (as of posting this at least). He gets MUCH worse, and the whole situation with him and Jekyll is much WORSE THAN YOU THOUGHT. (BAD-UM SSSSS PUN INTENDED. HA.)

UTTERSON

He’s concerned for his friend, Jekyll. And you know what? He’s probably the least insane and most reasonable one here. I would trust him with my life honestly. He’s responsible, kind, and generally a good person if a little bit nosy when it comes to other peoples situations. But he has good reasons. JEKYLL TRIED TO FRAME IT LIKE UTTERSON BETRAYED HIM BY OPENING THE LETTER. UTTERSON DID NOT DONT LET JEKYLL GET TO YOU UTTERSON IS A WONDERFUL PERSON.

THE MURDERER

You know, I’ve never actually done much but describe the way these guys look. But they DO have cannon designs and some pretty intense lore I’m not revealing yet because spoilers. We don’t like spoilers here.

Yes that was plural. The plural part was intentional. You’ll see.

THE MORALS

All actions have consequences: This isn’t just Jekyll creating oh super evil Edward, it’s his constant mistreatment of his already ‘evil’ or ‘distasteful’ alter ego. Jekylls first thought upon seeing Edward was essentially ‘oh fuck oh god what have I done what have I created what have I unleashed upon this world.’ Followed by pure disgust and shame about what he’s created, or rather what he’s done to himself. Of course, Edwards reaction upon digging through their memories (which is never shown, but mentioned in I THINK chapter ten?) is to be spiteful and live up to what Jekyll thinks he is.

Yes, everything CAN get worse: It’s in the name. Worse than I had thought. TGS Jekyll (Henry), upon looking at a situation almost identical to his from an outside perspective realizes that maybe his situation is worse than he plays it off to be. It’s a BAD situation for both Henry AND Hyde.

Sometimes, being TOO similar can make some people hate one another: Hyde and Edward do not like eachother. They’re too similar but also too different at the same time and it’s jarring to both of them.

And here’s the big one, Masking: Essentially Jekyll masks and put on a facade (haha get it? GET IT??) of being a nice perfect person, and isn’t very good at it and Edward goes “fuck it we ball.”

THE UNIVERSE

This is a biggie to explain. So essentially, yes, it’s a musical, but it’s not THE musical. The songs do not appear in the same order as they do in the original show, instead they appear in whatever context I say fits. The music part works as follows: The music and underscoring (music that plays during a scene or in interludes with dialogue) is an integral part of the universe. Ingrained in everyone’s minds, the motifs they need to know, what means danger, what means it’s time to sing, they know it all. And the singing? It’s just a thing that happens there. It’s a way to push along stories and life and stuff.

The story basis of the universe itself is different. It’s like a mix of the original book, the musical and TGS in a way. I’m not even 100% sure how to explain it myself. But I CAN provide some fun facts about it!!

-Jekyll does not date and is not engaged to Lisa/Emma Carew, and he’s never romantically involved with Lucy either. Because I didn’t want to write romance.

-I’m not sure if I’ll ever mention it, but it IS a cannon fact that Lisa/Emma and Lucy are girlfriends because I’m the creator of the Musical Mixup universe and I do what I want i guess

-Utterson and Jekyll have been friends since probably just before, or since the start of university! They’re very close, and there was even a deleted Edward dialogue saying “I mean, we get along better than them, still not as good as you and Utterson, though.” That was deleted because my editor, Ash, mentioned that it sounded like a dirty joke and I hadn’t intended for it to sound like that.

Aaaand that’s about as much as I can say without there being spoilers for any stuff in chapters I haven't posted yet. If that made zero sense then I apologize, feel free to ask me questions and stuff! I don’t bite, I promise!!

The end!! (For now, probably at least)

[lendeah]

After the Weave 3.

series masterlist

Summary: Elara and Astarion go to the ball with the aim of securing support, but navigating high society comes with its own set of perils.

Pairing: Astarion x OFC!Tav, past Gale x OFC!Tav

Tags: Angst, Drinking to Cope, References to Depression, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, Emotional Baggage, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Post-Break Up, Tav finds herself again with Astarion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD.

Word count: 4.3k

Also on AO3

"Godlike power, perhaps I can live without, but you?

You're everything"

The memory tugs at my mind, that moment beneath the rich purple sky, when everything felt within my grasp beside him. I can still see it clearly - the way his eyes gazed at me, filled with adoration and vows of forever. But now, as I finish tightening the corset with a sharp pull, the long red ball gown hugging my curves perfectly, I realize that those were just empty promises. Lies upon lies.

The crimson silk hugs my curves beautifully, though as I walk the long halls, each step becomes a battle against the uncomfortable fabric that makes me trip repeatedly. A beautiful dress indeed, but one that brings discomfort and pain with every move. Just like Gale's love.

Astarion is waiting by the entrance, looking as disinterested as ever, his face a mask of boredom. He is dressed in a crimson and black suit that hugs his form in all the right places. I can't help but admire how the fabric accentuates his lithe frame, the way it compliments his pale skin and emphasizes the white of his curls.

As his eyes finally land on me, something changes in them. There's a flicker of surprise and admiration before he quickly masks it with his usual sneer.

"That is a nice dress, I wonder who made it. They sure are talented, for making you of all people look regal."

I roll my eyes, "I don't even know how they got all my measures right. I mean, I don't think anyone has ever measured me, to begin with."

Astarion smirks, his eyes roaming over my form with a hint of amusement."Ah, well, I do recall taking your measurements once. However, that was quite some time ago, my dear, so you may have forgotten it."

I frown, and then a flicker of a memory flashes through my mind, and I can see Astarion's skilled fingers and his concentrated expression as he took my measurements with meticulous precision.

"You shared my measurements with a seamstress to make this dress?" I ask, surprised that he went to such great lengths for our work at the grand ball.

Astarion's eyes become unreadable for a second, and then he nods. "Yes, of course. It wouldn't do for you to arrive at the ball looking anything less than perfect." His tone is laced with sarcasm, but I can sense a hint of sincerity behind his words.

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. "You never cease to surprise me, bloodsucker." I say, approaching him slowly. "Thank you for your help."

His smirk softens into a small smile and he bows slightly in response. "It was my pleasure, Lady Elara."

His voice is dripping with mock formality, and I can't help but chuckle at his antics. I gesture towards the door. "Shall we, Sir. Ancunín?"

Astarion extends his arm to me like a gentleman, and I take it gratefully, feeling strangely comforted by his touch.

Just as we are about to step into the grand carriage, he stops and turns to face me once again. "Are you absolutely certain about this? We can stay here if you'd like, especially after... the missive."

I wince to myself. I knew he would want to talk about the letter sooner or later, but I thought I had done a pretty good job avoiding the subject for the past few days. Aparently, it hadn't been enough.

"Yes, I'm sure. The sooner we get this over with, the better." I say dismissively.

He looks at me intently, his eyes searching for any signs of hesitation or doubt. Then, his expression softens as he nods in understanding. "Very well then, shall we go?"

We climb into the grand carriage, and make our way towards the palace where the ball is being held. The ride is a quiet one, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I steal subtle glances at the man in front of me. He looks mesmerizing, as always, with his white, tousled hair falling just so over his forehead, accentuating the sharp angles of his face. His crimson eyes, usually filled with mischief, now hold a hint of worry that he's trying to conceal, and I have to fight the urge to smooth the lines that have formed in his forehead.

I catch myself staring and quickly avert my gaze, focusing on the passing scenery outside the carriage window. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a silvery glow on the city. Lately I feel like I'm constantly living in the night, between the walls of the Palace. I guess that is how Astarion's life has felt in the last few months, back in the shadows without the tadpole giving him immunity to the sunlight. I can't help but pity him, as the memories of his pale body basking in the morning light flash through my mind.

As we near the palace, Astarion finally breaks the silence between us. His voice is softer than before, almost hesitant.

"When was the last time you practiced the art of sorcery?" he asks, with his eyes still fixed on the window.

I feel myself freeze up at the question. It's been months since Gale left, and with him went my motivation to even touch a spellbook or scroll. Every hint of magic reminded me of him, and I couldn't bring myself to face that pain again.

"It's been a while," I admit reluctantly. "Since Gale left."

Astarion nods in understanding, but there is a hint of dissatisfaction in his expression. "That's a shame. You were good," he says firmly, finally looking at me.

I meet his gaze, feeling a mixture of gratitude and irritation. Astarion always had a way of cutting through the chaos in my mind and speaking truths that I didn't want to confront. He was right, of course. I had allowed Gale's departure to shatter not only my heart but also my connection to magic. A wave of regret washes over me as I realize how easily I had let go of something I loved so much, how easily I had forgotten myself.

"I know," I reply, my tone softer than I anticipated. "It's just... difficult. Every time I try to conjure a spell or tap into that part of myself, I can't help but think of him."

"Ah, I understand the pain of reminders all too well," he murmurs with a wry smile. "But Elara, you cannot let him, or anyone for that matter, define who you are or what you're capable of. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for."

His words stir something within me, an ember of determination that has been smoldering beneath the ashes of heartbreak. Perhaps he's right. Perhaps it's time to reclaim my magic. But not now, I tell myself, there would be time for that after we finish doing what we came here to do.

As we step out of the carriage and into the entrance of the castle, my mouth falls open. I didn't even know such extensive grounds could fit in Baldur's Gate's narrow streets. The palace, lit up by hundreds of lanterns and torches, looks like something out of a fairytale. The gardens are filled with colorful flowers and fountains, and the marble steps leading to the entrance are lined with statues of ancient gods.

Astarion catches me staring in awe and smirks. "Remarkable, isn't it? A chance to join the illustrious Duke at his grand ball is a rare privilege indeed."

"Wait, Duke? As in Duke Ravengaard? As in, Wyll's dad?"

Astarion nods, "Yes, the very same. I'm surprised you didn't know, it must've slipped my mind to tell you." But the mischief in his eyes tells me he most definitely didn't.

As we make our way into the grand ballroom, I find out the grand hall is just as breathtaking as the exterior. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm golden glow on everything below. People dressed in extravagant gowns and suits dance to music played by musicians in one corner of the room. As Astarion and I enter the room, all eyes turn towards us with a flurry of emotion. Some gaze at us with curious intrigue, while others openly display their desire. But the dominant reaction is one of pure fear, evident in the way they shrink back and avoid eye contact.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that have resurfaced at the sight of so many eyes on us. Astarion must sense this, because he takes my hand on his cold one and squeezes it reassuringly.

"Relax," he whispers with a smile. "Just be your usual 'Savior of Baldur's Gate' self and you will be more than fine."

As we reach the ballroom, I can see it is filled with high-ranking officials, nobles and other powerful figures, all dressed in their finest attire. I try to remember the individuals Astarion had taught me about, but there are too many and the names and occupations are mixing in my brain. In a sea of unfamiliar faces, one stands out amongst the rest. Duke Ravengard approaches us, with a welcoming smile dancing on his lips. He reminds me so much of Wyll that a wave of emotions hit me like a punch to the gut.

Before I can even say anything, Astarion steps forward and greets the man with a respectful bow. "Your Grace," he says smoothly, "allow me to introduce the Savior of Baldur's Gate. Rumor has it, she once saved you from certain death in the not-so-distant past."

I feel my cheeks heat up at the remark. The Duke's eyes widen in recognition before a warm smile forms on his lips.

"Ah, Elara. What an honor to see you again," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I've heard tales of your brave deeds for our city, and we are all in your debt."

I manage to give him a small smile and a nod.

"It was a pleasure, sir."

He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Modesty becomes you, my dear." He says with a smile. A flicker of sadness appeared in his eyes as he asked "Have you happened upon any news of my son? I recall that the two of you were once close friends."

My heart sinks at the mention of Wyll. I haven't heard from him since he left for the Avernus with Karlac, but seeing how important Duke Ravengard is to him, I decide to be honest.

"I'm afraid I haven't heard from Wyll in quite some time."

The Duke's expression falls slightly but he nods understandingly. "I see. Well, if you do happen to come across him in your travels, please let him know that his father misses him dearly."

"I will," I promise solemnly.

He pauses for a second, and then adds "But let us not dwell on the past tonight. This is a night of celebration and joy!"

As the Duke leads us further into the ballroom, Astarion walks beside me, his eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and mischief. "Well, well, Lady Elara," he whispers. "How greedy you are, relishing in all the glory"

I roll my eyes at his teasing remark but can't help but feel a sense of pride bubbling within me. Standing in the midst of power and privilege, I can't help but feel that maybe I do deserve this recognition.

As we continue to mingle among the crowd, a smooth voice catches my attention. I turn to see a blonde elf woman approaching us, drink in hand.

"Ah, Astarion, dearest," she says with a charming smile as she reaches us. "What a pleasure to meet you again."

Astarion smiles back at her and gives her a slight bow. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Shaphyra."

I remember now. Her name is Lady Shaphyra Boldsong, daughter of one of the most influential elven families in Baldur's Gate. And she and Astarion seem to know each other quite well, by the looks of it.

"I see you have brought a lovely companion with you," she says, turning her gaze towards me. "The Savior of Baldur's Gate, no less. And she is a half-elf! What a delightful surprise."

I feel my cheeks flush once again as I am introduced for the second time tonight. But Lady Saphyra doesn't seem to mind as she bows towards me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says warmly.

I bow back. "Likewise, Lady Saphyra."

She turns back to Astarion, with a sly smile on her lips. "I couldn't have imagined you keeping such remarkable company. Is she also lending a hand in funding the hospital?"

I tilt my head and raise a questioning eyebrow in Astarion's direction, but he remains unfazed. As if sensing that it's now my turn to take the lead, I clear my throat and confidently interject into the conversation, "Actually, Lady Saphyra, I have been heavily involved in the fundraising efforts for the hospital. It's a cause close to my heart, after the catastrophe we lived."

Lady Saphyra's expression changes, her eyes widening in surprise. "How wonderful! I must say, you are quite the impressive lady, Elara."

Astarion gives me a small nod of approval before turning back to Lady Saphyra. "Indubitably, my dear, she is a remarkable creature indeed. I daresay, any assistance we can offer in tending to these unfortunate young ones is most welcome. Even more if the help comes from someone as bewitching as yourself."

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at Astarion's practiced flattery, his smooth words and charming smile all too familiar to me by now. However, Lady Saphyra appears taken with his act, as she giggles and sips her drink before responding, "You are quite the charmer, Astarion. But I am glad to hear that you both are involved in such a noble cause. I may consider helping myself, if you treat me to a dance."

He takes her delicate hand in his and guides her gracefully towards the dance floor, their movements fluid and elegant as they join the other couples swaying to the music.

I watch them go with a mixture of amusement and relief that everything is going as intended. The rest of the night unfolds with a whirlwind of introductions and conversations. Astarion seems to know every person in the place, with most of them regarding Astarion with respect. I find myself seamlessly switching between engaging in political discussions with influential figures and gracefully gliding across the ballroom floor in elegant dances, all of this while convincing the nobles to join our very worthy cause. Just as Astarion had predicted, my presence was enough to sway many into following through with his plans.

At some point during the evening, we are approached by a group of people. Among them is who I recognize as Sir. Paddock, a human man in his sixties with silver hair and piercing green eyes. He is one of the most influential magistrates in the city, and also someone Astarion explicitly told me to beware of.

"Sir. Ancunín," he greets us with a bow before turning to me with a charming smile. "And Lady Ella, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I give him a polite smile despite him getting my name wrong.

"You know, I didn't imagine the Savior of Baldur's Gate to be so appealing to the eye," he says with a raised eyebrow and lowers his eyes down my chest just enough to make me uncomfortable.

"Thank you for your compliment, Sir Paddock," I say stiffly.

He chuckles as if he's amused by my reaction before turning back to Astarion.

"So tell me," he says in a lowered voice, "what brings such extraordinary person here tonight in the arm of a man of the night, of all people?"

My jaw tightens at his words and I feel Astarion tense beside me. I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself.

Astarion flashes his signature smirk, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Ah, Sir Paddock, always the observant one," he says with a playful tone.

"Actually, Mr. Ancunín is doing a lot of important work for the betterment of this city," I say firmly.

The man just raises an eyebrow skeptically. "And do these 'important' labors involve the draining of a certain vital liquid?" he asks with a sly smile.

The people around us shift uncomfortably at his words, although I can hear some chuckles.

I stand my ground, not allowing his insinuation to rattle me. "No, they do not".

Astarion leans in, his smile never wavering."Ah, Sir Paddock, you wound me with your choice of words," he replies smoothly. "But as for Lady Elara's presence here tonight, she graces us with her company as both a hero and a benefactor to the hospital fund. We are fortunate to have her support."

Sir Paddock's smile falters, but he quickly regains his composure."A hero and a benefactor? Impressive indeed." He glances between us, a glint of suspicion in his eyes."Well then, I apologize for my bluntness. It's just that Astarion here has quite a reputation in the city."

"I assure you, Sir Paddock, that Astarion is a changed man now," I say confidently, placing a hand on Astarion's arm for emphasis.

Sir Paddock studies us for a moment.

"You seem like an accomplished and respectable young woman," the man continues, ignoring my previous statement. "You don't need to waste your potential with... this thing."

His words strike a nerve within me and before I know it, I am speaking without thinking. "Mr. Ancunín may have a past that some frown upon, but he has proven himself time and time again as a valuable asset to this city," I retort "he is the most caring, ambitious, hard working and loyal person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. And none of you would be here if it wasn't for his labors." I finish, my voice quivering with rage.

The surrounding crowd falls into a heavy silence, their eyes darting between the three of us. Astarion himself wears a stunned expression, his typically composed demeanor momentarily cracked.

But the man just chuckles condescendingly. "Oh dear, it seems like you have quite the temper on you," he says with amusement. "But mark my words, Miss Ella. Associating yourself with someone like that will only bring you down in the eyes of this society."

My fists clench at my sides as fury courses through me. How dare he speak about him like this? Despite all of Astarion's faults and past mistakes, he has been nothing but good to me and the city. Hells, he is keeping 7000 spawn alive as we are talking!

Before I can respond, Astarion steps forward "Ah, Sir Paddock, always one to jump to the most scandalous conclusions. I assure you, Lady Elara and I are engaged in far more noble pursuits than you could ever dream of."

I shoot Astarion a grateful smile. Sir Paddock's eyes narrow as he studies Astarion. "Well, well, the rogue with a heart of gold. You've certainly managed to charm your way into the hearts of Baldur's Gate's elite, haven't you?"

Astarion smirks and bows slightly. "Charm is my specialty, dear sir. It seems even the most discerning individuals can recognize true talent when they see it."

Suppressing a laugh, I instead give his arm a tight squeeze in appreciation for his backhanded compliment.

"And now, as lovely as it has been talking with you, I believe I owe this beautiful woman a dance, so if you'll excuse us" Astarion says smoothly, extending his hand towards me.

Sir Paddock studies us for a moment "Oh, of course," he says with a forced grin. "I wouldn't want to keep you from your dance."

I glance at Sir Paddock, a smug smile gracing my lips, before placing my hand in Astarion's. With a bow, the vampire leads me away from the group, towards the dance floor. As we glide across the dance floor, the tension from our encounter with Sir Paddock slowly dissipates. The music envelops us, its melodic notes weaving through the air as if casting a spell of tranquility upon the room. I can feel his eyes on me while we dance, his hand resting gently on the small of my back, guiding me with effortless grace. I try to push the earlier confrontation out of my mind and focus on our mission, but I can't help but feel guilty for losing my temper.

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely, breaking the silence between us. "I overstepped and almost blew our plan."

"You handled Sir Paddock admirably," Astarion whispers in my ear, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and mischief. "You have quite the fiery spirit, my lady."

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks at his words, my heart swelling with a warmth that I hadn't anticipated, "Thank you, Sir Ancunín."

For a moment, I forget about the tensions of the evening and lose myself in the rhythm of the dance.

As we sway together amidst the sea of elegant couples, Astarion leans in closer, his voice barely audible over the music. My back shivers at the closeness to his body, the feeling of his cold fingers grazing my open back.

"My dear Elara," he begins, his breath tickling my ear, "Your strength and resilience have always been a source of envy for me. But there is something I find ever more admirable from you."

"And what is it that you find so admirable?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Astarion pulls back slightly, his gaze fixed on mine. "It is your unwavering belief in the goodness of others, even in the face of their doubts and prejudices."

A small smile tugs at my lips as I listen to Astarion's words. His observation warms my heart.

"I'm not sure if that is entirely true," I say. "I have made plenty of mistakes believing others in my life."

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he tightens his grip on my waist."Don't we all?" Astarion replies. "But I've seen you in action, Elara. You have a way of bringing out the best in people, even when they don't see it themselves."

I swallow hard, his words resonating deeply within me. Astarion's observations of my character always manage to surprise me, as if he can see into the depths of my soul. For so long after Gale left, I had felt lost and disconnected from the world, but his presence back in my life had brought about a newfound clarity, a sense of purpose.

"Thank you," I say softly.

As the music begins to fade into another song, Astarion pulls me closer, his grip on my waist firm yet gentle. The room around us seems to blur into insignificance as our eyes lock, a silent understanding passing between us.

"Can I ask what Gale's letter said?" He says, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

I tense visibly at the mention of the piece of parchment, tripping on my own feet. But Astarion quickly catches me before I fall.

"I-I don't know," I stutter, trying to regain my composure.

Astarion's eyes narrow slightly. "You don't know? Did you not read it?"

I take a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart. How much should I tell him? In the short time we've been living together, Astarion has already opened himself to me in more ways than one. Yet, I can't shake the feeling of shame that washes over me at the reminder of the words written in ink.

"He said that he has started crafting Karsus' Crown" I blurt out.

Astarion raises an eyebrow, clearly picking up on my discomfort. "And that's it?"

I give a slow, resigned shake of my head. "He also said that it's over, that I should forget him and move on with my life." I say, my voice heavy with disappointment, "Oh, and of course, he made sure to mention that he's not coming back, which I guess was to be expected at this point." I laugh bitterly.

Astarion's expression turns serious at my words. "I'm sorry, Elara," he says quietly. "I know how much Gale meant to you."

"It's fine," I say with a shrug, trying to brush off the sadness that threatens to consume me. "I've had plenty of time to come to terms with it."

Astarion studies me for a moment before speaking again. "How do you feel about it?"

His question lingered in my mind. How did I feel about it?

"I...I don't know," I finally answer truthfully. "Part of me is sad, of course. But another part of me is relieved."

Astarion looks at me curiously, and I can tell he wants me to elaborate. So I take a deep breath and continue.

"I've been holding onto this hope that maybe one day we would get back together. For so many months, I really hoped he would give up his power for me," I say, feeling slightly embarrassed at my admission. "But now I can finally let go of that hope and move on with my life."

A small smile appears on Astarion's face and he nods in understanding. "I think that's for the best," he says softly.

I nod in agreement, grateful for his support and understanding. We continue dancing in silence for a few moments before Astarion speaks up again.

"You know, dear," he begins hesitantly. "He on no account ever deserved you."

I glance up at Astarion, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. I'm about to ask him what he means by that, but before I can even part my lips, a blood-curdling scream shatters the stillness of the room. In an instant, Astarion's hand is clasped around mine and he is pulling me towards the source of the cry. The corner is filled with a sea of nobles, their faces contorted with fear and shock. We push our way through the crowd, struggling against the tide until we finally reach the head of the gathering. And there, lying on the floor in a pool of crimson, is Duke Ravengard. And his lifeless body bears two deep puncture wounds decorating his neck.

[hexesandroses]

Let It Through

Tags: Il Dottore/OC, Il Dottore x Female Original Character, half-assed hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, slightly iffy dynamic, suicidal thoughts

A/N: No, I've never written for my OC and yes, only 3 people in total know her name. I'll dedicate a separate post to her eventually but for now I wanted to put this out because I needed Dottore to do The Thing (be somewhat nice) for personal reasons. Not proofread. Title comes from this song.

"Why are you here?"

Eir sat on the windowsill when Dottore approached, her eyes glued to the snowstorm outside Zapolyarny palace. The sky was pitch black and there was hardly anything of note to witness - not in the snowy wastelands of Snezhnaya - not like in Sumeru.

"Where else would I go?"

Dottore exhaled softly. "You are not my prisoner. Quit acting like one."

How could she, when it felt as if this was exactly what she had been reduced to? Now her life had lost its meaning, now she had been stripped of everything that defined her. There was nothing left.

Eir pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them to make herself appear smaller. She had no interest in talking to him - but to her dismay, Dottore didn't share that sentiment.

He sat on the opposite side of the windowsill and asked, "what ails you so?"

Everything. My existence - lonely and miserable, the past, the present, you.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill, but Eir could never say them aloud. It hurt less when the truth was concealed from the rest of the world; when the reality of things was known to none but herself. Were she to express what she felt now, Eir would be overtaken by sorrow far worse than any curse inflicted upon her by Celestia.

Besides, Dottore would never understand. They were fundamentally different people - he did not share her pain nor had he seen what she saw so long ago. It was easier, Eir realized, to stay quiet and unassuming.

"Trivial matters," she murmured, "nothing of importance to you."

"You speak with little conviction." Dottore remarked. Irritating man. Could he not leave her alone? Eir peeked at him from the corner of her eye and found him without his tailcoat. The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and he appeared as relaxed as could be, but that intricate mask of his remained fixed to his face. Whatever could be so despicable, Eir wondered, what could you possibly hide?

"Perhaps that's what you want to believe."

"I am not in the habit of deluding myself with wishful fantasies. You stubbornly refuse to tell me the truth. Why is that?"

Eir spat, "why would I tell it to you?"

"Unless you have other options, I don't see why you wouldn't."

"I would sooner seek solace from the Regrator than I would from you."

Dottore gritted his teeth. "You-"

"Look," Eir breathed, frustration bubbling in her chest. "I am in no mood to bicker with you. If you have nothing good to say, let me be alone; I could use the silence."

All was quiet. Eir's eyes remained trained on the view outside the window as she desperately ignored the wild beating of her heart. She could imagine the angry scowl on his face; for Dottore despised rejection, especially from those he deemed beneath him. Surely, even with her privileges, Eir could not get away with this...

But Eir's thoughts were interrupted by the feel of a gentle palm on her knee, the sound of Dottore shifting until he sat unbearably close.

"I cannot fault you for being distrustful of me, however you must understand that I will not harm you in any way. If there is something that troubles you, tell me so this instant; I only wish to help."

Eir regarded him with a surprised glance. As her frustration melted into longing, she considered giving in, allowing the truth to pour from her mouth until there was nothing left to say.

But she would be crossing the line. There would be no coming back if she told him - Dottore must have been aware of that, too. And yet... Eir could continue to push him away for as long as she desired but he would keep coming back to her anyway; trying to defy fate was a losing game.

Eir looked at his gloved hand on her knee, the beak-shaped mask he refused to discard and thought, just this once. Just once and never again. So she said:

"I'm tired of always losing: my family, my nation, my friends. Everything I love is always taken from me. The only person who could understand my feelings," she inhaled shakily, "left me without a second thought. Now I have nothing but the grief I have carried for five hundred years and I don't know what to do with it. I'm tired... I no longer yearn for the past but for the eternal slumber which I was robbed of."

Her lips trembled as she spoke, and ignoring Dottore's gaze, she continued, "I don't know what else is left. I miss being young; I miss having hope. I was so good once, do you know? I was a good alchemist, a good student. Now I am half human, half monster, with nothing to show for myself but all the pain Celestia gave me."

She touched the rough scars on her cheek as if by instinct. Memories of scorching sands and sharp claws tearing through her skin clouded Eir's mind.

"Is this what I was born for?" She asked softly. "Is this all I'll ever be?"

Now her secrets had been laid bare for Dottore to use as he wished. He would think her weak. He wouldn't understand the depth of her despair - how it had fused with the blood in her veins until Eir couldn't tell who she was without it.

The weight on her knee was no more. Eir looked at Dottore to find him taking the mask off his face with careful hands. Before long, she was met with a pair of bright ruby eyes, furrowed brows, and-

"Let your scars be proof of what you have endured but never allow them to dictate what you are." He spoke solemnly. Eir's breath hitched as she gazed at him, wide-eyed, as his words slowly sank in.

All she could see were his scars. He has them, too. That's what he has been hiding all along. Why? What happened to him? What has he endured?

There was a long, ragged scar that fell across the bridge of his nose. Another thinner scar on his forehead, which reached his hairline and disappeared there, between the long cyan strands of hair that framed his face. A faded scar on his cheekbone, one more on his temple - they were littered on the upper half of his face as if someone had deliberately wounded him.

Eir would have touched them, if she could.

"You cannot give up; not until every last leaf on the Irminsul tree has been burned and the wretched island in the sky has been brought down to earth. You," Dottore fixed her with a stare so grave that Eir was rendered breathless, "cannot give up. Do you understand?"

"I know," she whispered. It didn't take much thinking to understand what Dottore tried to convey with this dramatic display: I have lived through terrible things, too, but look at what I have done with myself. If I could, so can you.

Did it look so simple to him? Did he truly assume that she hadn't tried before, again and again? This was all the proof she needed: Dottore would never fully grasp what Eir felt. Irminsul, Celestia- these things hardly mattered to her. She did not care if the palace burned with her in it. Her life, Teyvat itself - things that had become inconsequential with the agonizingly slow passage of time.

"You will find meaning again," said Dottore, and somehow, these were the most comforting words she heard all night. Eir blinked rapidly so as to not make a complete fool of herself - Tsaritsa knows she could never live this down.

Dottore took her left hand in his - the one painted midnight blue and adorned with bright purple veins. She could not feel his touch there; but when he tilted his head down to press a tender kiss to her knuckles, Eir swore that her skin felt like it was on fire.

He looked at her once more, with eyes like the trishiraite that she had studied so long ago. In those eyes swirled sincerity, understanding, a promise of something that was still out of Eir's reach.

For now, this would have to suffice.