#someday ill find a ship for red i like...

[newvegascowboy]

For as many iterations ive written of red and arcade getting together, there's a part of me that doesn't think theyd ever actually get there. Their weird sexual tension is what i find most compelling to write, and never acting on it is what makes it interesting. Otherwise i think theyd sleep together once and resolve never to speak of it again.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4286

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, go to the story's masterlist

17. A Homecoming

This Chapter: “You cried. Even when you were coming. The way that you shivered, the way you let me have you then, it was so gorgeous. You’re always gorgeous, Bucky ... I love you."

Bucky dreads the journey back across the Atlantic, moderately convinced that he’ll experience sea sickness, just like before. Steve reminds him that he hadn’t been seasick before, just ill, but the illogical part of Bucky’s brain keeps him nervous nonetheless.

Five days at sea prove Bucky wrong and Steve right, but when the ship docks in the D.C. Harbor, Bucky still steps onto solid ground with a sigh of relief.

It’s nearly noon. Steve says he has business to attend to and that they’ll stop by his offices, then spend the night in the city before leaving for New York in the morning. It isn’t until Steve hails a cab for them that Bucky realizes where this means they’ll be going.

It’s bittersweet, being in the capitol. Bucky is silent for the car ride through the city, eyeing the neoclassical buildings that he used to frequent himself as a young boy, when he’d tag along on infrequent but exciting visits to D.C. He’d been an heir to something then, and his father had brought him along on those trips to educate him, show him what he was to inherit someday. Bucky had been proud of that.

The hardest bit, of course, is stepping out of the car with Steve and going into the Senate office complex. They pass by the quarters of the New Jersey Seats, and Bucky feels his feet falter when he sees the door where his father’s chambers were—Were, because the brass plate with the Barnes’ name and House crest have been taken down, a pale spot of wall left in its wake. Bucky swallows heavily, thinking about his mother and sisters all of a sudden, thinking about whose name will replace theirs on the wall.

“Buck,”—Steve’s soft voice, his hand on Bucky’s left one. Even through the dullness of the nerve damage, Bucky can feel the gentle squeeze that he gives. “Come on, I’m right down this way.”

Bucky allows Steve to move him past the New Jersey Seats’ offices, and they continue on until they reach another door. Bucky eyes the Rogers’ House crest: a star within two concentric circles. The Barnes’ crest isn’t—wasn’t, Bucky reminds himself, there is no House Barnes anymore—so dissimilar. A red star in a circle of silver, angled lines across. Steve’s star is white, the crest red white and blue, just like the flag. Bucky trails into the office after Steve, figuring that this is his crest now, too.

“This shouldn’t take too long,” Steve tells him. “I just have to catch up on a few things I missed while we were away.”

Bitterly, Bucky thinks about how Steve had managed to find time to telegram his vote for George Barnes’ impeachment. He holds his tongue, however. Steve has been kind to him since the night they left Istanbul, almost coddling. Bucky hasn’t known how to feel about that. He vacillates between shy acceptance and righteous indignation. But the acceptance has been winning out. He’s not sure how to feel about that, either. “Kay,” he says in response to Steve, vaguely uncomfortable with how naturally the deference to his Alpha comes.

Steve pecks a kiss to his forehead, then goes over and starts speaking with his secretary. The secretary is sharp as a tack, immediately jumping into business and handing Steve stacks of papers. Bucky watches, distracted from the particulars of their conversation by the sight of the secretary himself.

He’s a married omega, judging by his stature and dress. Bucky’s interest is piqued, and he steps closer. The man is middle-aged, hair receding at the corners in a way that forebodes future baldness. He’s got a collar that’s simple and shows just the slightest bit over his work clothes. Bucky glances up to Steve, enthused that his husband would hire any omega, let alone a married one.

Does Steve hold more liberal ideas than Bucky has been assuming? It’s a possibility that makes Bucky’s heart beat a little faster, as he thinks of how far Steve’s allowances might extend, of what this might mean for Bucky in their marriage. What if Steve thinks that married Betas should be able to work, too? After all, employing an omega is quite radical, and a married beta working outside the home is hardly anything compared to that. Bucky’s lips part as he thinks of it, watches the secretary go back to writing once Steve moves away. Is it too much to dream that Steve would let him attend college? Or maybe even—

“Buck.”

Bucky sucks in a breath, startled out of his thoughts. “Mm?”

Steve is tilting his head at the other door. “My office.”

They go in, the door snicking softly shut behind them. Bucky looks around while Steve drops all the papers onto his desk and sits down to deal with them. Steve’s office is darker than most other rooms in the capitol, the décor less formal. He’s wallpapered it in deep green, the bookshelves that line either side of the fireplace are mahogany, and instead of the standard pair of conversation sofas and end tables, there is simply a leather chair and matching chaise. Bucky instantly likes the room. It feels cozy.

“You can sit,” Steve offers from over at his desk. He’s reading his mail, a pen poised loosely in one hand. “The books are boring, mostly law, but poke around if you want.”

Bucky nods, not looking away from the sight of Steve at his desk. He’s never seen him at work before, fulfilling his role as a Senator. Bucky studies his husband: the crease of his brow as he focuses in on whatever he’s reading, the way his eyes squint, how the corners of his mouth turn down sometimes. It’s attractive, endearing even. Steve takes his duties seriously, that much is evident. Something about it makes Bucky both jealous and mildly affectionate. His husband is a good man ...

He scowls at himself and turns to the bookshelves, determined to distract himself from fawning over Steve doing a job that should rightfully be Bucky’s as well. He scans the book titles, scowling a little more with what he has to choose from. Steve hasn’t lied—the majority of the spines are well over three inches wide, with titles and roman numerals indicating many volumes and sections of law. Despite his upbringing, Bucky has never felt fascinated by the study of law. Still, he doesn’t want to make Steve think that he’s only interested in silly novels, so he avoids the small section of slimmer paperback books down the way. He eventually settles on a volume of nautical history and sits with it, skimming over the boring sections to read about the wars. He pauses at an illustrated page: a photograph of a battle between enemy ships in the war with Mexico—the nation’s most recent conflict, and a war in which Steve fought.

"First photograph ever captured of a naval battle," the caption reads. Bucky’s eyes dart over to Steve at his desk, then back to the page. The image is grainy, not as well-developed as current photos would be, obviously taken years ago and clearly in a less than optimal conditions. The ships are bulky, ugly looking things. Black smoke curls into the air from recent gunfire, and men can be seen floating in the water, some clearly dead, but some not.

Bucky thinks about Steve and his full military title: Captain Lord Steven Grant of House Rogers. The import of a nobleman’s military rank cannot be overstated. One’s rank—if they have it—always comes first in their title. High Nobility of the Senate and lower Society of Congress can’t be drafted. So if they serve, it's only ever by choice.

Bucky looks back at Steve, staring at him openly now. He tries to imagine Steve younger: ten, or even twelve years ago. He’dve been eighteen then, just old enough to enlist and probably racing to do so, patriotic as he is. He'd barely been out of boyhood before he'd signed up for a war and been given an automatic rank of something high enough to merit a gentleman of Society.

Bucky thinks about that, about what it would have meant for Steve at such a young age, having to deal with all the responsibility, the fighting and the killing. Bucky’s an appropriately educated young man. He knows how ugly the war was, how much carnage and death there'd been, with the advent of new weapons that increased the carnage of war exponentially. He’s never bothered to think of Steve’s history very much, and he finds that he hates imagining Steve in the middle of all that chaos and suffering. He thinks of how Steve's told him that he sometimes has nightmares from it ...

Stop, he tells himself. Stop building him up like he's some great hero. He's just a man, and a lucky one at that. He's one of the most privileged citizens in the entire country, and he'll never have to bow down to an Alpha Headship.

Bucky snaps the book shut perhaps a bit too harshly, and Steve’s head pops up at the sound. "Everything okay?"

Bucky shrugs and gets up to place the book back on the shelf. "Yes."

“Sorry,” Steve says, smiling apologetically. “I won’t be too long, I promise. Then we can go home.”

“'Home',” Bucky echoes. “Where’s that?” House Barnes had always kept apartments in the capitol, but never anything that felt like a home.

“Georgetown,” Steve says. “Decatur House was my mother’s favorite residence.” His eyelashes lower as he looks down, smiling wistfully in a way that tugs on some string in Bucky’s chest. “She had to be in D.C. so often, so my fathers went out of their way to make it into a home for her. They loved her so much. Renovated the whole house just to try and make her happy.”

Bucky wonders if that’s a veiled statement aimed at himself. “Do you like it better here, then?”

Steve looks at him with a fond smirk. “There’s no place like home, and there's no home like Brooklyn.”

Decatur House is grand, no doubt, though far homier than Steve’s London or Paris apartments had been. It’s late when they enter and the servants take their coats and luggage. Bucky feels quite exhausted. He makes his way upstairs and finds what must be the master bedroom. He looks around, pausing when he opens a pocket door and discovers what he knows is a little room for …

“It’s a nesting closet,” Steve says softly. He’s right behind bucky, having arrived somewhere in the last moment.

Bucky tenses, feeling caught for looking into the tiny room. It’s hardly bigger than an actual closet, and there are no linens or other items inside. It’s bare, but he's well aware of it’s intended use. If he and Steve ever found an omega, they’d hole up in here, take turns fucking him (or her), satisfying them through their heat. Steve would get their omega pregnant. And they’d give birth in there. The tiny room would carry all three of their scents. Nesting closets are the most intimate places in a household, even more so than the marriage bed.

Bucky bites his lip, looking inside. “You want children?” he asks. “One day?”

Steve is quiet, but then he inches closer and wraps his arms around Bucky's waist, looking over his shoulder at the bare nesting closet. “Yeah," he says softly. "I do. Do you?”

Bucky shrugs, not sure why that should matter. If his Headship wants a dozen children, that’s his prerogative. Betas, and especially male Betas like Bucky, get no say in such matters. And anyway, he and Steve will need to find their Third for that, first. “I dunno,” he mumbles, sliding out of Steve’s hold and heading towards the ensuite bathroom. He heaves a sigh at the sight of the overly large porcelain tub. Yes.

He inhales in surprise when Steve comes up behind him again, hands landing at his waist and drawing their bodies back together. Steve kisses the side of his head. “Tired?”

Bucky hums and fights off a yawn. “Thought I’d get a bath,” he says.

“Care if I join you?” Steve’s hands rub up and down his sides. He kisses at his neck and murmurs, “I’d like to be close tonight.”

Bucky shivers, feeling heat flush through him. The tone of Steve’s voice when he says that ... It gets to Bucky. He exhales slowly, trying not to show his nerves. He’s a married man, now, for christ's sake. His husband making his intentions obvious shouldn’t be enough to get Bucky blushing��it shouldn’t. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Okay.”

They haven’t been together since that night in Turkey, when Steve disciplined him. It hasn’t been bad between them since then, they just haven’t had sex.

Bucky’s feeling more awake now, as he watches Steve pass him into the bathroom and undress. He's just as handsome as ever, and Bucky forgets to be shy as he bites his lip and drinks in the sight of the Alpha's body.

He’s pulled from his perusal when Steve, fully nude, chuckles and comes over to him. “Hey. You see something you like?” he teases, reaching for Bucky’s shirt. Bucky nods and Steve smiles indulgently as he undresses him. Thankfully, the house’s gas lighting is kept low enough at this hour to prevent Bucky from feeling like he needs to turn his bad side away. Steve’s seen it all by now, anyhow, and he apparently still wants to be married, still wants to see Bucky naked and touch him and ...

“Here.” Steve is gently taking his wrists, removing his wedding bands one at a time and placing them carefully atop the vanity. His thumbs rub gently along the skin where the metal rested before. "Better?"

Bucky swallows heavily at the look Steve’s giving him: dark, wanting. "Yeah," he rasps. "Thanks."

“Come on,” Steve says kindly. “You get the water hot, I’ll grab towels.”

"Okay."

Steve pads to the other side of the bathroom, giving him a moment of space. Bucky screws his eyes shut, wondering when the hell he’ll ever get used to being intimate this way. Soon, he hopes. It's embarrassing to feel so virginal with his more experienced husband.

He turns the tap, skimming the fingers of his left hand under the water until he can sense that it’s warming. He switches to his right hand then, not confident that the left can gauge when the temperature gets too high. A twist of the cold water tap adjusts it to what he deems acceptable, and Bucky plugs the drain, climbing in and sitting forward in the tub without really thinking about it. Steve gets in and sits behind him, and Bucky forces himself to lean back. Steve’s body is hard and warm, his knees coming up a little to cradle him at either side. The water rises, creeping higher up their bodies, and Bucky sighs as the warmth gradually envelops them. It's heavenly.

Steve groans. “God, I’ve missed a proper-sized tub.”

“Yeah.” On the ship and even in Europe, the tubs were all tiny. He and Steve can fit together in this one with no trouble at all. Bucky lets his head tip back to rest against Steve’s shoulder. “S’nice." Steve’s hands find his hips, fingers trailing over the points of his hipbones, moving in to just barely skim the edge of where his pubic hair starts before traveling up either side of his ribcage. Bucky shivers, pretends it’s due to the temperature difference of the air and the still-shallow bath water. “Mmm,” he sighs, closing his eyes and relaxing into the touches.

Steve strokes up and down his sides, one hand rubbing over his abs and the other going up to his chest. “I’ve missed this,” he says. His voice is right against Bucky’s ear. “It’s been too long since I’ve touched you.”

“It’s only been a week,” Bucky murmurs.

“Too long.”

“Mm, yeah.” He thinks back to the spanking, and the sex they’d had afterwards, that night in Turkey. Under the bath water, he feels his cock start to harden. “I’ve felt … I dunno, shy, maybe. Around you. Since that night.”

Steve kisses his neck at the admission, humming as if he already knew that. He probably did. “Yeah. I figured as much.”

Oddly, Bucky finds himself wanting to talk about it as Steve keeps touching him. “I’ve never been punished like that,” he says.

Steve hums curiously. “Discipline wasn’t administered in your Household?”

“No, it was. We just never …” Bucky swallows, remembering the bite of Steve’s belt. “Corporal punishment was rare, I suppose. My parents were lax.” He knows that many—if not most—of Society would disapprove of just how lax his upbringing had been. “I was never spanked but a handful of times.” Steve snorts, and Bucky's lips quirk, too. “It's true. And never anything but a hand over the clothes."

"I see." Steve’s hand that’s been touching his abs moves lower, finding his cock in the water. Bucky inhales shakily and Steve kisses his neck again and whispers, “How did it make you feel?” He starts stroking him with the barest amount of pressure.

“The, um ... spanking? erm, b-belt?”

“Yes.”

Bucky glances down to Steve’s hand wrapped around him, heat gathering in his cheeks as he admits, “Scared, at first. But mostly … mostly embarrassed I guess.”

Steve makes an understanding noise. His hand gets a little tighter. “You’re not naturally submissive,” he says.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine. I like your headstrong attitude.” He chuckles and presses his erection against Bucky’s backside. “It’s attractive, usually.”

“Usually."

“Mmhm. Not when you put yourself in danger though. That’s why I punished you.”

“I know.” Perversely, the reminder from Steve about his authority over him only makes Bucky's belly swirl harder. He feels embarrassment at remembering being punished, but ... not entirely in a bad way. He licks his lips, eyes glued to Steve's hand around his cock. “After," he says. "When you ... when you had sex with me."

“Mmhm?” Steve gives him a long, tight stroke and Bucky moans softly.

“It was so …” he struggles to find the words, partly because of what Steve’s doing between his legs, and partly because it'd been so confusing, that night. "It was good.”

“Yeah?" Steve purrs. He swipes his thumb over the head of Bucky's dick, then gives a slow squeeze. "You liked me taking control? Reminding you who your Headship is?”

"Ohn." Bucky moans and nods. “Y-yeah.” Steve’s right: he’s not naturally submissive the way an omega or even some betas would be. But having Steve assert his control still feels good sometimes. Admitting this to Steve—and to himself—is hard. It’s also getting him off. “It hurt," he whispers. "A lot.”

“It was supposed to.”

“But after, it was good. You made me feel so good. I came and, and …” he trails off as Steve’s stroking becomes faster and more purposeful. “Oh, yeah. Steve, please.”

“You cried,” Steve says, voice a little rougher from his own arousal. “Even when you were coming.” He nips Bucky’s neck, scraping his teeth across the skin. “The way that you shivered, the way you let me have you then, it was so gorgeous.” Bucky starts to come, tipping over the edge from Steve’s words and releasing underneath the water. He grunts in surprise, knows that Steve knows he’s coming because his hand gentles and then eases off. “You’re always gorgeous,” he whispers. “Bucky, I want …”

“Yeah,” Bucky pants, catching his breath after the sudden orgasm. Suddenly, the warm bathwater holds little interest. He struggles up to standing in the tub, legs feeling like jelly. “Come on.”

They dry off hastily and kiss their way into the bedroom. Bucky is sated and lazy by the time Steve draws him down onto the bed, but he enjoys the kissing and warm, full-body connection of their skin. He thinks maybe he can get hard again in a little bit. “Want you,” he tells Steve between kisses, hands running up and down his damp back. “Want to feel you inside me tonight.”

Steve nods and rubs down harder, his cock insistent against Bucky’s belly. “Yeah?”

They make out some more, pawing all over each other until Bucky starts to feel that telltale thrum of pleasure building up again. He twists partway out from under Steve to reach for the bedside drawer. … But it’s empty. His heart sinks and he looks back at Steve. “There’s not any … any slick,” he whispers, embarrassed.

“Ugh.” Steve groans and gives him a placating kiss before rolling away to go into the closet. Bucky can hear him rummaging through their suitcases, before he returns triumphantly with a small jar of lubricant. He's grinning as he settles in between Bucky’s spread legs and wets his hand, reaching down to pass fingers over his hole. Bucky gasps, and Steve’s eyes flick up to his. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, overly sensitive to Steve’s gentle fingers, and annoyed that they need the lube at all. He's the only iteration of a Spouse Steve would ever have to go to this trouble with, after all. A female beta would be easy and natural just like a male or female omega would, but with Bucky, it's work. “Just wish I could do it myself," he mumbles, face hot.

Steve's distracted where he's staring down at what he’s doing, eyes dark with arousal. “Do what?” he asks, pressing in with that first finger and humming when it makes Bucky sigh.

“Slick up,” Bucky says quietly, closing his eyes because this is embarrassing to admit. “Feel my body get wet for you. Open up easily, or ... be in heat”

Steve completely freezes, his body stiffening up.

Bucky opens his eyes, and sure enough, Steve is staring in surprise. Bucky instantly regrets what he’s said. “I mean, it's not, I don’t …” Steve isn’t looking away and Bucky wants to die. “Nevermind,” he mumbles. "That's stupid."

“No,” Steve says emphatically, only the tone of his voice isn't reproachful or shocked; it's turned on. Bucky can see it in his eyes, fell it in how eager he gets, how he thrusts his finger all the way in and curls it. Bucky gasps and Steve hums, "Yeah." He lies over him, tongue dipping into his mouth on the next kiss, bossy and eager. “Bucky, Honey," he says, rocking his hips down. "That’s so hot.” He keeps moving his finger, stroking over that spot that makes sparks dance up Bucky's spine. “You really fantasize about that?”

Bucky whines in mortification, but he nods. “Yeah.” They’ve never done this before, never talked about the things that they imagine. He feels relief flood him at Steve’s obvious acceptance. It gives him the confidence to admit, “I just like the idea of ... of being easy for you. You know? Wish you could just ... slip inside." He blushes as he whispers that last, though Steve's groan bolsters his confidence enough for him to say, "I want to be able to share that with you.”

Steve kisses him passionately and nods. He starts to add another finger and goes slow as he presses in. “You are. God, Honey, you’re so good for me. So good. Got no idea. I love you.”

Bucky tenses, and then so does Steve as he realizes what he’s said. For a second, it feels like Bucky's breath has been stolen away, as he blinks up at Steve, mouth working, trying to figure out what to say back to that. “You … you love me?” he whispers.

Steve looks vaguely afraid, but he doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I do.” He nods solemnly, easing his fingers further inside. “I do, Buck.”

Bucky is honestly too flabbergasted to worry about saying it back. The thought doesn't even occur to him. He moans quietly and pulls Steve down for another, heated kiss, pushing down against his hand and the fingers inside him. Steve's body loses its tension, no longer worried that he’s upset Bucky with the declaration. When they part from the kiss, Bucky says, “I want to take your knot.”

Steve’s eyes widen, but Bucky doesn’t miss the flash of lust that he quickly tries to hide. “Bucky …”

“Yes,” Bucky urges. He grinds down against Steve’s hand. “I can take it. You can make me loose enough.” He kisses him hotly, dominating, trying to show how eager he is for it. “I want to feel it, please. I want to give that to you.”

Steve groans, pained. “Baby, no. I can’t. We can’t. I don’t want to hurt you.” Bucky whines and starts to argue again, but Steve shushes him and gives a pointed rub against his prostate, smiling at Bucky’s helpless moan. “You already give me everything I want,” he tells him. “You let me inside your sweet body. Do you have any idea how hot that is? How much that gets to me?”

Bucky shudders. “But if you could—”

“No, Buck. I won’t.” Steve mashes their mouths together in a firm command, clearly ordering Bucky to shut up about being knotted. “It’s enough just knowing that you want to make me feel good like that,” he promises. “I can’t tell you how amazing that is. Makes me want you so bad.” Between Bucky’s legs, his hand pulls away, leaving him empty. Bucky whines at the loss, but Steve shushes him and slots between his legs, holding the head of his cock to his entrance, rubbing it around in the slick. “I love you, Bucky,” he says again, this time with far more confidence than before. He’s bright-eyed, making Bucky feel so desired, so wanted. He almost wants to say it back …

Steve presses forward, slipping in with a quick flash of pain. Bucky gasps and clings to him, pushing down against it, taking more, accepting Steve inside his body. He breathes out in a surprised little ‘Oh’, when Steve settles in him all the way, and it’s so good. Heat floods him when Steve makes a very satisfied rumble in return.

“You see? You’re perfect,” he husks, grinding deep in his body and kissing his neck. “You feel so good, Beta.”

Bucky flushes at the title, smiling despite himself. Steve has always managed to make him feel significant in that way, as if just the two of them are special—an Alpha and Beta without their Third. He wraps himself around Steve, hands in his hair and knees tucked around his waist, moving with him as Steve begins to roll his hips. Bucky moans quietly as the pleasure continues to build. Before long, he's clenching his eyes shut as he gets too close, too fast. “Wait, wait, wait,” he pants, squirming underneath Steve, trying to get him to stop that perfect rhythm. It's too soon. “Wait, I’m gonna cum.”

“Good,” Steve rasps, not stopping. “Open your eyes, Honey. Look at me.”

His thumb traces the skin of his temple, encouraging, and Bucky opens his eyes. Steve is looking down at him with such an intense look of want, it makes Bucky shudder and the tightness in his stomach coil precariously. "M'close," he whimpers. "Steve, Steve ..."

“It’s okay,” Steve soothes. “I want you to. Come on Sweetheart, let me feel it.” He dips down and kisses his parted lips, his jaw, over to the shell of his ear. A hot swipe of tongue makes Bucky tense and cry out.

"Oh ..."

“Love feeling you cum when I’m inside you, Buck. Love knowing it's me who did it, who fucked it outta you,” Steve whispers in his ear, and Bucky moans and shoots into orgasm.

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[lothricknightgirl]

Abyss

A WIP prologue of a fic I'm hoping to post someday. I'm putting it here so I can get some early feedback for revisions, and also because I like watching numbers tick up.

Yes, before you ask, it is a shipgirl fic for Kantai Collection. Yes, it's also a Dishonored crossover.

:>

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The sun rose over Dunwall’s bay. 

Atop the high white walls of the aristocratic quarter, two did sit and converse.

“Do they not unnerve you?”

A scoff.

Bellowed low did the mournful calls of a wounded whale echo across the water, sunlight glinting off the blood-sullied ships calling their fair port home.

A sigh.

“Of course.”

They turned their eyes away from the bay, and the victorious hunting horns sounded.

Crimson splattered against decks as the cheers of many working men went up into the air, the scent of salt and the stench of iron pervading through the air. 

The whaling trawlers stood still on the water, towering over the smaller boats in the docks, waves slowly lapping up against the sides of their looming steel hulls, as ichor from their crew’s latest prey dripped, dripped, dripped down onto their decks, flowing down the sides like a macabre curtain. 

Gore pooled into the bay, and it was whaling season in Dunwall again.

Deckhands whistled as crates and blubber were hauled ashore, bosun’s ear-bleeders and wounded animal calls drifting across the port, interjoining into a discordant chorus of ship’s horns and voices high over low as the bustle of the returning hunt began.

“Voids, just lookit the size of ‘er! We’re eatin’ good tonight lads!”

Eyes roved out over the water, stormy grey and gazing off into places elsewhere.

“Can barely believe it myself I say, she’s nearly bigger’n me bloody house! What a beauty of a beast.”

Smoke drifted into the air from a pipe, attached to a pair of cracked lips hidden behind a scruffy ill-maintained beard.

“Daniels, keep yer mitts off the crates! If I find even a piece o’ that blubber missin’, I’ll take my cut outta yer hide, you good-fer-nothin’ yellow liver!”

Calloused and bloody hands gripped the railing at the bow of a ship, the limbs they were attached to hidden by a black wind-weathered overcoat, whale-leather exterior shining under the heavy gaze of the sun. 

“You keep yer hands away from that Bessie or I’ll have words with you at the end of my gun, you salt-ridden dogs! Away, away with ye, to yer posts!”

Captain Gregor Hobson of the Red Lady’s Hymn sighed, raking a hand backwards through his hair, whale-oil pale with a meager speckling of grey here and there. 

“Oi, Claggard! Ease up on ‘em, no reason to get so worked up this early when we’ve just brought in a haul like this.”

His voice was tired and exasperated, smokey and slow like a cask of fine liquor, or a trail of burning gunpowder leading to an ammunition storage, depending on his mood that day.

The first mate stood pinned in place, before quickly nodding and scarpering off without a word, not without one final glare at the smug deckhands.

“And fer the rest of you, if I find even so much as a hand's width of that blubber missing, I’ll feed you to it. Get back to work, the lot o’ you!” He turned, and the crew took to their stations with all the speed of a man being chased into hell without so much as a backglance.

“Blimey, he’s terrifyin’.”

“Aye. He was a sarge, fer the navy. Tyvia, I think. Sunk near a dozen ships himself and ate a man’s heart out on the deck during the wars, from what I heard tell of.”

“Malarkey, the both of you. He’s an old sea-dog, nothin’ more, nothin’ less. Just keep yer hands away from the whales if you want to keep ‘em. He’s ruddy well good with that sword, and I don’t fancy losin’ any more fingers than I already have.”

Hobson scoffed, turning his pipe over the port with a good thunk against the rail for good measure, reflective mood soured as a heavy frown worked its way onto his sea-wizened face. 

“Excuse me.”

He cast an eye over his shoulder.

Another sigh, barely suppressed as the frown dropped from his face like a slick trout.

A thin man stood behind him, face pointier than a shark’s with twice the teeth to match, eyes narrowed down to dagger points and holding a watch in his hands, impatiently checking the time and tapping his foot.

A shining brass badge pinned to his vest shone in the rays

“Mornin’, Harbormaster. What can I do you for this fine day?” He greeted, turning and leaning back against the railing nonchalantly, tipping his hat up. 

The Master looked down his nose from his head’s perch upon his far too spindly body with a sneer.

“Yes, yes, good morning and all that, we hardly have time for pleasantries. State your name and import, I have important places to be and this isn’t one of them.”

His voice was a mixture between coarse grating sand between his ears and a poor imitation of a noble’s nasal dulcet tones.

Hobson only narrowly kept from rolling his eyes at the behavior. Slap a new accent on, think you’re taller’n everybody else and suddenly you’re the talk of the Tower. 

Still, as much as it grated, the Harbormaster was a rung above him in this twisted labyrinth of a society, so he played along for appearances sake. 

“Of course, of course, wouldn’t want to keep you, I’m sure you’ve got some very important things to be doin’. Just follow me and we can be done with it right quick,” he assured, tone falser than his bosun’s teeth, smiling wide like a whale waiting for its next prey to wander into its maw.

The Master’s head inclined, chest puffing out, though he straightened himself out before it could become too obvious, glancing about none too obviously.

Hobson pretended he didn’t see it, whistling a jaunt as he guided the man away and down to the hold, past the whale strung up in the crane above them. 

Hook, line and sinker with these types, every time, like leadin’ a rat to bread.

An hour later found the man off of his ship, wandering away with his hands stuffed into his pockets, probably to bugger whatever poor sod he set his eyes on next that was within his reach.

The Red Lady’s Hymn sailed for no company, and no sponsor. 

To a man like the Harbormaster, it would’ve been easy prey for an ego boost, bossing about independent sailors on their own ships from the safety of his position, conversely to the myriad of trawlers moored in the bay marked as Royal Hunters, the biggest group of sailing shills this side of the continent. 

Hobson watched until the slimy eel disappeared into the throng of sailors before turning back out across the bay, blowing out a long exhausted heave, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands to rid them of the salt’s sting. 

The Hymn hummed under his hands, engines whining with electrical power under the strain of the immense creature above the deck, groaning as blood sluggishly dripped from harpoon wounds along its flank. 

“I know girl, I know. Just one more good haul and you can rest,” he whispered, waiting for the humming to settle before striding off towards the bridge, barking orders to the crew as the church bells further inlands began to toll.

Below the deck, buried deep within the guts of the hulking steel beast of a ship, was the Hymn’s twin hearts, glowing as the whale-oil within churned and sparked with arcane energy, rusted screws rattling in their places as the engineers did their best to sooth the beleaguered machines. 

The Red Lady’s Hymn was ancient, by modern day whaling trawler standards. 

It wouldn’t be out of the question for Anton Sokolov to have walked the Hymn’s deck himself when it was just WT-032, the last of the Driscol class ships, marking the beginning of a new line as the trawlers were further refined.

Three crews had manned the decks of the Hymn in her time, and all but one of them had met grisly fates at sea at the hands of beasts unnamed and unknown. 

And yet, every time, the Hymn had sailed back into Dunwall to do her duty as always, towed in by tugs, or, in the incident that earned her the moniker of Red Lady’s Hymn, by the tides themselves. 

It had been a foggy morning then, all those years ago, bitter winter come to lay its weary bones into the bay as ice crept around the shores, and WT-032 had been missing at sea for three weeks. 

The Watch had all but given up on it by the beginning of the second week, and the only ones still looking for it in any capacity were sailors wary of happening upon its wreck. 

Then, in the waning days of the Month of High Cold, a ship had sailed into port, sluggishly maneuvering into dock until her hull had ran aground the shore with an awful shrieking noise, almost touching the nearest house with her prow until she rasped to a stop, barely a finger’s width away from shattering its window. 

The Harbormaster then, a crabby old man with little to say beyond poison to spit at younger folk, had come running out of his hovel with his face twisted into an angry rictus and shouted for the captain of the vessel to step onto shore, then abruptly fell silent. 

The hull loomed over him, red ichor drip, drip, dripping out of her scuppers and onto his face, filling his nostrils with the heavy cloying scent of iron as it dribbled down his chin. 

The carcass of a whale still hung above the abandoned vessel, bereft of all life as it slowly shifted in the wind, sending creaks rattling down the cranes holding it aloft. 

Blood congealed into the cold oak of the deck, spattered about in great pools and littered with splinters, some planks sticking out like jagged teeth, and others split in two, like the steps of a mighty giant had sundered them apart. 

No matter where the Watch had searched, after the calls had gone up, no crew were to be found, corpses or otherwise.

It was like they had been plucked from the decks by the hands of the void itself, leaving it to drift away on the winds, pulled along by the tides like a lost child by the hand of a mother.

That day, in the cold of Dunwall’s winter, the dock-goers had gathered and listened as the vessel’s engines sang, like a ghostly siren’s chorus, solemn and pained as it strained to keep itself going on what little fuel it had left.

The sailors would drift home that morning, minds elsewhere and attention paid to places far away as the song echoed across the waves, the blood drip, drip, dripping off of her deck and into the bay, seemingly never drying no matter how long it stained the decks, or so they say.

WT-032 earned the moniker Red Lady’s Hymn that day, for the color of her crimson shawl and the notes of her sorrowful song. 

As much of an curse as she was a blessing, she was truly a terrible and wonderful thing to see over the horizon, hull bloodied with whale-gore more often than not, her song whispering across the waves as the silhouette of a mighty beast caught in her crane wavered against the setting of the sun beneath the sea, like wet paint running down a canvas. 

As the moon came up over Gristol and colored the ocean in a ghostly pale blue, the Red Lady’s Hymn set out for her next hunt, skies cloudless overhead and waves calm beneath her hull.

Captain Gregor kept a watchful eye over the sea, hands steady on the wheel as a quiet tune carried over the deck in chorus with the humming of the Hymn’s heart. 

He turned slightly, away from the windows, just enough for the glow of the moon to leave the corner of his vision, grasping for the lighter in his pocket and deftly lighting the pipe perched precariously on the wooden surface beside him, lifting it to his mouth and turning back to face the deck.

He stilled.

It was quiet. 

He leaned slightly over, casting his gaze about for his crew and finding nothing but air. 

His heart slowed as his eyes narrowed, setting the pipe down. 

He thumbed open the lock on the furthest right window, before calling out in a clear voice, “Boys, how’re the seas lookin’?”

The only answer was the waves, gently lapping against the Hymn’s hull, song eerily silent. 

Unnerved, he called again, voice unsure, to no avail. 

His eyes narrowed further, and his hands itched for his sword.

Turning on the spot, slowing the ship and leaving the wheelhouse, he opened the bulkhead and stepped out into the cool night air, breezeless and still.

Closing the heavy cast door behind him, he strided down the steps, whale-leather boots click, clack, clicking against the deck.

Two paces.

No sign of anybody.

His heart beat faster, like a war drum thudding in his ears. 

Four paces. 

“Boys?” He yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

No answer.

Six paces.

His back was nearly against the aft’s railing now, the Hymn’s heart still quiet beneath his feet, his voice echoing across the waves. 

Eight paces. 

The Hymn sang. 

One, low, haunting note, like the death-call of a whale in her last throes, reverberating in his chest as it froze like ice, heart dropping like lead into his gut as it crescendoed, louder, louder, the engine’s whining almost reaching an unearthly wail, before- 

Death, yawning wide open, like a cavernous maw, a black and cold abyss.

A hat hit the deck without a sound, a scream evaporating into the air, never making it out of his mouth as more than a rattling gasp. 

When the dawn rose over Dunwall’s bay once more, and the hunt once again returned victorious to the bay only to find its waves silent and songless, the Red Lady’s Hymn was not there to greet it.

______________________________________________________________

Abyss

noun.

A deep or seemingly bottomless cavern.

“A rope led down into the abyss.”

______________________________________________________________

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AGOT: Eddard V (Chapter 25)

I’m so over you! Where’s Sansa?

"My pardons, Lord Eddard. You did not come to hear foolish meanderings of a summer forgotten before your father was born. Forgive an old man his wanderings, if you would. Minds are like swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust. Ah, and here is our milk." The serving girl placed the tray between them, and Pycelle gave her a smile. "Sweet child." He lifted a cup, tasted, nodded. "Thank you. You may go."    

Grown men drinking milk, somebody write an essay.

+.+

He came to me one day asking after a certain book, as hale and healthy as ever, though it did seem to me that something was troubling him deeply. The next morning he was twisted over in pain, too sick to rise from bed.

No really, you’re doing a fantastic job of covering up this poisoning, Pycelle.

+.+

"I have heard that you sent Maester Colemon away."         

The Grand Maester's nod was as slow and deliberate as a glacier. "I did, and I fear the Lady Lysa will never forgive me that. Maybe I was wrong, but at the time I thought it best. Maester Colemon is like a son to me, and I yield to none in my esteem for his abilities, but he is young, and the young ofttimes do not comprehend the frailty of an older body. He was purging Lord Arryn with wasting potions and pepper juice, and I feared he might kill him."    

Of course purging would be the best thing to do when someone is poisoned. Gee, I wonder why Maester Colemon was sent away!

Also, who wants to bet with me Lysa Arryn wasn’t upset about it?

+.+

Just before he closed his eyes for the last time, he whispered something to the king and his lady wife, a blessing for his son. The seed is strong, he said.

Interesting choice. I would have gone with, “Your wife is fucking her brother.”

+.+

Ned took another swallow of milk, trying not to gag on the sweetness of it.

Haaaa.

+.+

"I have heard it said that poison is a woman's weapon."                 

Pycelle stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It is said. Women, cravens … and eunuchs."

DO IT, YOU EGG.

+.+

"One thing," Ned told him. "I should be curious to examine the book that you lent Jon the day before he fell ill."                 

"I fear you would find it of little interest," Pycelle said. "It was a ponderous tome by Grand Maester Malleon on the lineages of the great houses."

"Still, I should like to see it."                 

The old man opened the door. "As you wish. I have it here somewhere. When I find it, I shall have it sent to your chambers straightaway."

Dumbass, just say it was misplaced by Jon Arryn. God you’re so bad at this.

+.+

"One last question, if you would be so kind. You mentioned that the king was at Lord Arryn's bedside when he died. I wonder, was the queen with him?"     

"Why, no," Pycelle said. "She and the children were making the journey to Casterly Rock, in company with her father. Lord Tywin had brought a retinue to the city for the tourney on Prince Joffrey's name day, no doubt hoping to see his son Jaime win the champion's crown. In that he was sadly disappointed. It fell to me to send the queen word of Lord Arryn's sudden death. Never have I sent off a bird with a heavier heart."    

Ned! The Lannisters weren’t there, Ned! Ned, the Lannisters weren’t there! Ned!

(yes they could have hired someone and used this as an alibi but whatever)

+.+

When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon's breath surrounded the girls where they lay. "I dreamed of Bran," Sansa had whispered to him. "I saw him smiling."    

Someone tell me what this means... dawn, the dark red blooms of dragon’s breath, the girls.

+.+

“He was going to be a knight,” Arya was saying now. “A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?”

“No,” Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. “Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king’s council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother’s Faith and become the High Septon.” But he will never run beside his wolf again, he thought with a sadness too deep for words, or lie with a woman, or hold his own son in his arms.

Arya cocked her head to one side. “Can I be a king’s councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?”

“You,” Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, “will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.”

Arya screwed up her face. “No,” she said, “that’s Sansa.”

!!!!!

+.+

Littlefinger was perched on the window seat when Ned entered, watching the knights of the Kingsguard practice at swords in the yard below. "If only old Selmy's mind were as nimble as his blade," he said wistfully, "our council meetings would be a good deal livelier."    

A wise man might ask himself what Littlefinger is saying about him behind closed doors.

+.+

Littlefinger smiled. "I promised Cat I would help you in your inquiries, and so I have."     

He’s being way too informal with your wife, dude.

+.+

Ned frowned. "Would that I could. Lady Arryn took her household back to the Eyrie." Lysa had done him no favor in that regard. All those who had stood closest to her husband had gone with her when she fled: Jon's maester, his steward, the captain of his guard, his knights and retainers.    

Catelyn! Talk to your husband! Communicate! Share things!

"Lysa was never brave. When we were girls together, she would run and hide whenever she'd done something wrong. Perhaps she thought our lord father would forget to be wroth with her if he could not find her. It is no different now. She ran from King's Landing for fear, to the safest place she knows, and she sits on her mountain hoping everyone will forget her." - Catelyn III, ASOS

+.+

"What of him?"         

"He reports to Varys. The Spider has taken a great interest in you and all your doings." He shifted in the window seat. "Now glance at the wall. Farther west, above the stables. The guardsman leaning on the ramparts?"                 

Ned saw the man. "Another of the eunuch's whisperers?"

"No, this one belongs to the queen. Notice that he enjoys a fine view of the door to this tower, the better to note who calls on you. There are others, many unknown even to me. The Red Keep is full of eyes. Why do you think I hid Cat in a brothel?"    

A wise man might ask himself which spy belongs to Littlefinger.

+.+

"Scarcely," said Littlefinger. 

The words scarce and scarcely are used 221 times in this series, and believe me you notice it every single time.

+.+

"Lord Petyr," Ned called after him. "I … am grateful for your help. Perhaps I was wrong to distrust you."                 

Littlefinger fingered his small pointed beard. "You are slow to learn, Lord Eddard. Distrusting me was the wisest thing you've done since you climbed down off your horse."

Final thoughts:

Are we all on the same page here?

Lannister agent Maester Pycelle doesn’t know the details of what happened, but does know Jon Arryn knew the truth about twincest, so he let him die, and is now actively covering it up? (and doing a terrible job of it)

Yes? Thoughts?

-> return to menu <-

[hollenka99]

August Fic Recs

Multi-Chapter Fics

I'm never gonna leave you behind someday by Nelleva - T, 17k, completed

The year after a red sky gives people that viewed it powers, Wilbur's family dies in an attack staged by supervillains. He is discovered by Phil who takes him in indefinitely. He is allowed to heal but there is someone he misses and wishes to see again, no matter how much he's wronged him. There is some mild gore in the first chapter and the attack causes a lot of death so be wary of that but the second chapter is full of Dadza raising a teenage Wilbur. This is the first (and currently only) fic in a series.

Whispers of Red by Alexander_Wesker - T, 58k, completed

This is the sequel to Drawing Dead so I suggest you read that one first. Wilbur comes back to act as the Egg's vessel. His goal is to expand his Family and naturally, the first person he wants to join him is his little brother. Alex is able to write unsettling stuff really well and this fic is no exception. I love Eggbur but please keep him and his particularly raw diet far away from me /j.

I Was Looking for Someone by Raisans_Grapeon - T, 9k, ongoing

SBI zombie apocalypse fic where Wilbur (Ghost) is a zombie who runs into a group of three humans who recognise he's self aware and capable of relearning English. There isn't really gore/cannibalism except for one or two brief bits where it's heavily implied but not graphic despite everything being in Ghost's POV. Also, since Wilbur is learning language, whenever he hears a human conversation, the speech is presented as garbled. It takes a little effort to get the hang of deciphering what is being said but it can be done. Ghost is a sweetheart and I would absolutely protect him with my life if necessary.

Home Again, Home Again by teeth_eater - G, 33k, completed

Tommy, a human who was taken from Earth, crashes the ship he was on and becomes a stowaway on a cargo ship that happens to be manned by SBI. When they discover him living in the vents, they keep him in a cell until they are sure this member of a dangerous species won't do them harm, leading to them eventually becoming friendly. The clingyduo friendship is great. I really like 'humans are space orcs' type content and this is a great example of it. I love the worldbuilding and the thought that went into the alien designs. This is part of a series (Human Error) so there are some great scenes like Chiquitita dancing and Tommy downing 'poison' to everyone's horror after the events of this fic are over.

In the Dark Place by teasdays - T, 24k, ongoing

After November 16th, Ghostbur wakes up in Techno's house. He insists he is dead but Techno and Phil keep insisting he's not. As he adjusts to his new way of living, he has to come to terms that something bad happened before he died and that maybe none of his old friends want to hear him out. I find the exploration of 'what if Wilbur survived Nov 16th but just believes he's dead?' really interesting. I also appreciate that Techno's a bit more patient with him about his insistence that he's a ghost. The gardening scene was quite sweet too.

(Also a special mention has to go out to A Twin of Light by Alexander_Wesker (T, 205k, ongoing) since it's caused me to make a bunch of friends, including Alex themself. If you want to see cc!Wilbur and c!Wilbur become arguably the most important people to each other, I recommend this one. Worldbuilding is fantastic)

One shots

Prayers for the Ill by this_is_a_dumb_username - T, 1.5k

Tommy is diagnosed with the same chronic disease his mother died from. He catches Wilbur and the rest of his friends praying for him on various occasions as he deteriorates. Features illness and character death so stay clear if you aren’t comfortable with that.

death, be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so by cptFOZZ - NR, 13k

Tommy is Death and his work sees him encouraging souls to go through the door to the After. However, he meets Wilbur and from there, things unravel as he gradually gets attached to Wilbur's family and friends. There is obviously a tw for the deaths of both humans and animals but also one of the souls he encounters is due to suicide and Tommy is fond of the bugs that follow him around. So be aware of all that, along with anything else mentioned in the tags.

Worth a Try by Solena2 - T, 2k

Eret prevents Wilbur from detonating the TNT on November 16th. I loved their dynamic of ‘traitor and imminent traitor’ and the way they are both characterised. Wilbur clearly wants to get it over with despite how many times he’s backed down and Eret wants to talk him out of it.

Little Wings by Pixelfun20 - T, 7k

Wilbur seems to have been his mother's son in appearance from day 1. Phil doesn't mind this as much anymore but when his infant son becomes irritable and seemingly inconsolable one week, he realises Wilbur might have inherited something from him after all. Essentially, Babybur starts growing wings and his parents try to comfort him through it. It's technically an ongoing fic but the only chapter feels like a one shot to me and it hasn't updated since March so I'm putting it here.

5 times being a seer changed the future, and the 1 time it set it in stone by 5ievel - NR, 7k

Wilbur has prophetic dreams and he uses them to decipher what he should look out for. They help him save Techno's life, prevent the Final Control Room and he thinks it will help him stop a traitor from using explosives. You know immediately whose name should be on his list of suspects but the last line makes all that pay off so well.

[unironicduncanstan]

Randi’s Kustom Kandi! (Comes with free stickers!)

🌈💖 Hello, I’m a queer autistic low-income artist selling completely customized Kandi bracelets for $1 a piece ! 💖🌈

😘 Details and how to start your order below 😘

💲 COST: Pony bead bracelets, with colors, b&w words, or plain star beads, are $1 each, no taxes, just $1.00 flat. The use of colored letters and iridescent stars are $1.25. As of right now to keep stock up, bracelets consisting of Only star beads aren’t available to order. Charm options are not yet available, but will eventually be added, and prices may range. This is all just based on how much it costs to buy the beads to make these bracelets! 💲

📦 SHIPPING: Each order will end up with a different estimate for shipping costs, based on where you live, and how many bracelets you order. I ship through USPS and I should be able to ship almost anywhere, but the further away you are, the higher shipping will be. I’m shipping out of Kansas. Domestic shipping will probably start at around $3 - $8, international shipping will just have to depend. If you want an estimate before starting an order, just give me your address and an idea of how many bracelets you might want, and I’ll get back to you asap. 📦

🤷‍♀️ AVAILABILITY: I have a full rainbow array of pony beads including b&w, some neons and pastels too, I have a nice color range of star beads including b&w and transparent, and some iridescent star beads as well, and then for letters I have black on white, white on black, color on black and color on white. A lot of these can be seen in the example image above!  🤷‍♀️

IMPORTANT TO NOTE;;; My pony beads are all around 6x4mm, and the letter beads are 6x6mm. This is considered somewhat Small for kandi bracelets. This isn’t a choice I made to skimp out, this size is actually more expensive and harder to find than the usual 6x9mm, I just very much prefer this size to work with and wear. It’s only a tad bit more subtle, but it fits most people a lot better and I would Definitely recommend it for people with smaller wrists or who are just starting out with Kandi.

🤔 HOW TO ORDER: So basically, how you choose to tell me the pattern you want is up to you, you can draw it out if you want or just try to explain it with words, or whatever else works. Once you explain what you want, I’ll show you what beads I have that match your request, and you can decide what you want out of those options. 

An example could be; “I would like a bracelet with a repeating pattern of red and blue pony beads, with the word PLUR in black on white letters, and two pink stars on each side, just like this!” 

To which I might say; “Ok, here I have 2 shades of red and 4 shades of blue, and I have plain pink stars or iridescent pink, which ones would you like me to use?” and then I’d show you a picture of all of these colors for you to decide! Once we have all your bracelets planned out, I’ll ask for a few more details to give you your total price. Then once the payment goes through, I’ll start working! Whenever your bracelets are all complete, I’ll send you pictures of the finished products to make sure you like them (if not I’ll redo at no extra charge). After you give the OK, I’ll ship them out! (You can also ask for some ‘random/surprise me’ bracelets if you aren’t sure of any patterns, of course.)

What I have in stock might vary, I will try to update this post as that goes, so please make sure to visit this posts SOURCE instead of a reblog before you start an order to check for availability. Please send your order requests to THIS blog, through PM if you can. If you want an alternate way of communication, contact me however you can and we’ll go from there. I have discord, facebook messenger, email, etc. 🤔

🤷🏻 WHAT ELSE I NEED: When confirming your order, I’ll need your shipping address. I’ll then be able to calculate shipping cost and give you a full price. (Again, zero hard feelings if you can’t afford the price I give, like, bad vibes in the NEGATIVES, been there done that, and I’ll be available if you ever do have the funds, but please understand I can’t change shipping costs, I really would make it free if I could.) After that I’ll ask for your paypal and send a payment request, once that payment goes through is when I start your order! I’ll have to ask a few more questions, like your wrist measurements (or an estimate, since the bracelet is made of elastic it’ll have a decent amount of stretch, but this may warp how spaced your beads are if it’s too inaccurate.), and i’ll need your first and last name (it doesnt have to be a legal name, just something to put on your package). 🤷🏻

📫 SHIPPING TIME: Once again, this will depend on how far you are, and because of c0v1d it may be more delayed than expected. I’ll try to send you a tracking number as soon as your item ships. 📫

📿 CHARMS: If you’d like more options, the best solution I’ve been able to think of for now is that if you’d like, you could surf Ebay, Etsy, Etc. till you find some charms you’d want me to use, and then if you’re okay with covering the cost to get them (typically $5 to $15 for a decent lot) and then waiting a bit extra for me to receive them, I would have no problem using those for you! :) Someday I’d really like to stock up on popular charms to have more choices available, but I don’t quite have the funds quite yet. Thank you for your understanding. 📿

😷 ALLERGY/SENSITIVE SKIN NOTICE: I seal small parts of my bracelets to reduce the chance of breakage. I use a very tiny drop of Loctite Super Glue Gel on the knot. This glue does not keep the beads from moving freely or lock them into place, it’s used sparingly as a sealant. If you ever receive a bracelet that is locked or sticky, I would fully refund you and offer to send another. You can also absolutely opt out of this, Just add “No glue” somewhere to your order. Just be warned that your bracelet will be less protected from breakage. 😷

❗ DISCLAIMER: Either way, I cannot take responsibility for a bracelet eventually breaking down. Kandi and elastic bracelets in general are a bit prone to snapping, but mostly over time and especially if used in rave settings. I use high quality jewelry elastic from amazon, very high rated and recommended by other Kandi makers, and I knot them 3 times, so mine should last as long as they possibly can. Please make sure your wrist measurements are as accurate as they can be, and please be gentle when taking them on or off, just being careful will help prolong it’s usage by a lot. Now if a bracelet arrives broken, I will of course replace it, no extra charge. ❗

🦄 STICKERS: Order 5 bracelets and get one free sticker! Order 10 and get two, so on and so forth in a pattern of 5. The stickers are hand cut by me from large books and sheets, so the edges might look odd but the sticker itself should be unharmed. These are completely random, and based loosely around a scenecore aesthetic. Most are pretty ‘medium’ sized, but they do range quite a bit. 🦄

✍ CONTENT: Kandi, scene and rave culture, is in a general sense, a very upbeat and supportive based environment. I do not want to make bracelets with negative messages on them. I will obviously NEVER make any with hate speech or rude remarks, but beyond that, please keep your phrases positive. If you want something thats meant to fight hate, like “kill all n*zis” or something, I'm not opposed to that as it’s for justice, it’s just that most Kandi is focused on ‘happy party vibe’ messages. As far as media or interests, like if you want a bracelet that says “Gir” or “100 gecs”, or uses ship names, etc. I will not deny you any interest you choose. BUT, I am personally uncomfortable with d.dl/g and won’t make bracelets based on that, nor will I ever make bracelets supporting ped0ph1lic or 1ncestu0us content, including if they’re based on medias or fictional ships. As far as pride bracelets, I would LOVE to make those for you, and I will Never deny working with your identity, pronouns, etc. once again, unless it’s a p/ed0 flag or something. I will never deny working with any mental or physical disability/illness or other kind of divergency pride. Race and/or religion pride is also great except for “White pr1de” because of the violent connotations behind that concept. NSFW Kandi is fine, cussing is fine, I hope this goes without saying but please only ask for Kandi with a slur on it if you can reclaim that slur, and overall, just be mindful with what you ask for if you plan to wear it in public settings like raves. If you have any controversial ideas you felt this didn’t cover, please feel free to ask, I will not get angry at you for your request, even if I have to deny it. ✍

Thank you for reading! I look forward to doing business with you 😊

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

It’s National Fairy Tale Day!

In honor of that, and TROPED MADNESS 2.0 starting on Monday, here’s some Bellamy-centric Canonverse Fairy Tale AUs from the Qualifying Round of Madness 1.0!

when the party's over by safeandsound13 @captaindaddykru (Rated T) [Bellamy & Octavia] || moodboard

Summary: Bellamy goes into the anomaly to save Octavia. What he finds, is a trail of bodies.

{Or a Canonverse take on Hansel & Gretel}

to dream about a life (where you’re the shining star) by ProbablyVoldemort @probably-voldemort (Rated T) [Bellamy x Murphy] || moodboard

Summary: Bellamy has been dreaming about going to the coalition’s annual Camp Rock since he was a kid. The chance to escape his life and his step-father and spend his days travelling between clans and singing. This year, he finally has a chance to go–as a chef.

Murphy hated what came of Clarke’s treaty with the Grounders, but even he knew it could’ve been worse. But that didn’t mean he wanted to spend his time performing for the people who had kidnapped and tortured him. He could do it, though. He could sing at whatever the fuck Camp Rock was, and he could help pick whichever winner the Grounders wanted him to pick. He could play nice. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

{or a Canonverse take on Cinderella}

don’t be who you were by sapphictomaz @lexasheart (Rated T) [Bellamy & Charmaine Diyoza]

Summary: Bellamy’s forced to stay in the bunker, alone, for six years. Diyoza trapped alone on her ship. They find a way to help each other survive, because that’s what they know how to do.

{or a Canonverse take on Rapunzel}

Straight On Until Morning by she_who_the_river_could_not_hold @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold (Rated G) [Bellamy & Kane] || moodboard

Summary: Bellamy and his unruly band of Delinquents have been living life as they wish. Their days are filled with games and exploring while their nights are spent coordinating attacks against the dreaded Wanheda and her Mountain Men. It’s all fun and games in a world where no one gets older.

But then a strange man appears one day and Marcus Kane provides a reality check to Bellamy that he’s not prepared to accept.

{or a Canonverse take on Peter Pan}

Where is the path to Wonderland? by sparklyfairymira @sparklyfairymira (Rated T) [Bellamy x Clarke]

Summary: Separated from their friends in the Anomaly, Clarke and Bellamy find themselves lost in a world so different from their own.

{or a Canonverse take on Alice In Wonderland}

The Storyteller by thelittlefanpire @thelittlefanpire (Rated T) [Bellamy x Clarke] || moodboard

Summary: A heartbroken Commander, betrayed by her beloved, vows to slay each and every one of her future lovers after they’ve spent their first night together.

Bellamy Blake, the latest to be taken into the Commander of Death’s chambers, will try to save his life by weaving a succession of tales to the woman that lasts for one thousand and one nights.

{or a Canonverse take on 1001 Nights}

Brother Knows Best by Dylanobrienisbatman @dylanobrienisbatman (Rated G) [Bellamy & Octavia] || moodboard

Summary: Octavia grew up in a cave, hidden from the world, with only her brother to care for her. He kept her safe, safe from a world where people like her, where nightbloods, were hunted and slaughtered.

But even with so much danger, she longs to see the world, so when a handsome stranger stumbles into their cave, she makes her escape to spend one night out under the stars.

But in just one night, she begins to wonder if everything she’d grown up believing was true after all.

{or a Canonverse take on Rapunzel}

The Sixth Bride by Shen_Gong_Oops @shen-gong-oops (Rated M) [Bellamy x Roan] || moodboard

Summary: For their wedding, Roan gifted him an antique skeleton key attached to a thin, leather cord. Rough, callous fingertips grazed the base of his neck as they secured the necklace in place. While his husband allowed him full reign of the tower, the key provided access to the only room he barred Bellamy from entering. He was never to set foot in the sole room on the highest floor. Into Roan’s private reprieve from the world.

And to be fair, Bellamy respected Roan’s right to privacy - for a while.

{or a Canonverse take on Bluebeard}

Gunning for Glory by teeandrainbows @reggieshamster (Rated T) [Bellamy x Gina] || moodboard

Summary: While on a routine mission for Kane, Bellamy comes across a mystery girl who points him towards a treasure trove that might prove useful for Arkadia, but danger lurks up every spiraling staircase. It may just be the distraction he needs, though, to get over Clarke leaving.

{or a Canonverse take on Jack and the Beanstalk}

On the Ground and What Bellamy Found There by elle_stone @kinetic-elaboration (Rated G) [General] || moodboard

Summary: Bellamy has a prophetic dream.

{or a Canonverse take on Alice in Wonderland}

There’s Gonna Be a Party When the Wolf Comes Home by kuklash @kuklash (Rated T) [General] || moodboard

Summary: “Dante?” she asks, her voice a mixture of confusion and surprise.

Bellamy straightens the nameplate on his desk, and the gold plaque reflects the dim fluorescent lights above him. He taps it twice, drawing her attention to the words “Dante Wallace” written in a fancy script.

“That’s what they call me.”

{or a Canonverse take on Little Red Riding Hood}

No Ordinary Apple by andthelightbulbclicks @andthelightbulbclicks (Rated T) [Bellamy & Josephine] || moodboard

Summary: When Josephine awakens in Clarke Griffin’s body, she has no reason to believe anything about her reincarnation is anything out of the ordinary.

Then she learns that Clarke was far from a willing host and meets Bellamy Blake.

She doesn’t expect to become invested in their love story, and she certainly doesn’t plan on risking her own like to make things right.

And yet, here she is. All in the name of true love.

{or a Canonverse take on Snow White}

seeds in silence (exploded in riot) by justbecauseyoubelievesomething @justbecauseyoubelievesomething (Rated T) [Bellamy & Clarke] || moodboard

Summary: Seeds. Not the modified seeds Farm Station constantly churns out in unending batches. Genuine seeds. Earth seeds.

The kind of seeds that the scientists from Alpha will sell their souls for.

Doctor Griffin talks a lot about genetics and lost patterns, but Bellamy’s mind is a million miles away. He can get anything he wants for Octavia and his mom. He can make it so Octavia doesn’t have to live in hiding. He can bring the chancellor himself to his knees, if he’s careful enough.

{or a Canonverse take on Jack and the Beanstalk}

2199 Nights by Mobi_On_A_Mission @mobi-on-a-mission (Rated M) [Bellamy x Clarke] || moodboard

Summary: Every day, the Commander Bellamy took a new wife and executed her the next morning, until one day his fleimkepa’s daughter volunteered. She kept him entertained with tales of far-off places, sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise…

{or a Canonverse take on 1001 Nights}

i’ve got a heart in me (i swear) by hopskipaway @hopskipaway (Rating T) [Bellamy x Murphy] || moodboard

Summary: Belonging was not a familiar word in the Book of John Murphy.

That was a fact that seemed grounded in concrete; what he wouldn’t give to stumble upon a sledgehammer someday and be reunited with his bruised and feeble, but still beating, heart.

{or a Canonverse take on The Ugly Duckling}

we’d up and fly (if there were wings for flying) by the_most_beautiful_broom @the-most-beautiful-broom (Rated G) [Bellamy x Clarke] || moodboard

Summary: Bellamy and Wells are held captive and interrogated by the Grounders, and when he returns to Arkadia, Bellamy finds some things have changed.

{or a Canonverse take on Robin Hood}

How to Kill a Two-Headed Turkey by vmreed @vmreed (Rated T) [Bellamy & Octavia] || moodboard

Summary: After everyone at camp collapses from a mysterious illness (thanks Murphy), Bellamy and Octavia are sent to hunt enough food for 100 sick teenagers. When they find themselves lost, far from camp, what else can they do but move forward? Thankfully, a kind woman took them in, but all is not as it seems. Anya’s been waiting to meet these Skaikru…

{or a Canonverse take on Hansel & Gretel}

simmer, simmer, simmer by Pawprinter @pawprinterfanfic (Rated M) [Bellamy x Clarke] || moodboard

Summary: When Sanctum falls to starvation, it is up to Bellamy and Clarke to find a solution. They aren’t prepared for the horrors beyond the Sanctum barrier.

{or a Canonverse take on Hansel & Gretel}

So Familiar a Gleam by Anonymous (Rated T) [Bellamy x Clarke]

Summary: When the dropship first lands, Bellamy is hopeful.

It doesn't last.

After all, the humans who were left behind, they've been on there own for a while.

Things have changed.

{or a Canonverse take on Sleeping Beauty}

deep end of our little ocean by Pawprinter @pawprinterfanfic (Rated T) [Bellamy x Clarke] || moodboard

Summary: Most people look at their soulmarks and see hope, and life, and love.

Bellamy looks at his and sees a death sentence.

With his birthday quickly approaching and no hope for finding his soulmate, he resigns himself to living out the last of his days with his sister on an oil rig at sea.

And then he meets Clarke.

or, five times Bellamy saves Clarke and the one time she saves him.

{or a Canonverse take on The Little Mermaid}

———

Enjoy all the fics, and who knows...maybe you’ll see something similar in our next competition! TROPED MADNESS 2.0 Starts March 1st! More information can be found here and sign-up to compete here!

[hysterialevi]

Naudr - A Sigurd Styrbjornson Fanfic

Fanfic summary: Eivor finally confesses the romantic feelings he has for Sigurd on the night of his return to Norway. (I was inspired to write this after hearing this song)

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Welllll, here it is. My Sigurd fanfic. I gotta admit I’m nervous about sharing this since it’s my first time writing anything AC related, and I don’t even know if anyone else ships these two, but I hope you guys enjoy it >.< 

FORNBURG

NIGHTTIME

Sigurd froze on the spot and stared silently at the man in front of him, unable to process what just happened.

Did... Eivor just kiss him?

At first, Sigurd simply dismissed the romantic gesture as the actions of someone who had enjoyed too many cups of mead, but the shock on Eivor’s face told him otherwise.

He meant to do it -- at least, part of him did -- and now, it was fairly obvious that the regret was starting to sink in. His cheeks had become tinted with a faint shade of red, and the merry demeanor he once carried had been replaced with a state of panic.

Suddenly realizing what he had done, Eivor quickly glanced at the tankard in his grip and brought his gaze to the floor, doing his absolute best to avoid all eye contact with Sigurd.

“I-- I, um...” he stuttered, desperately trying to offer an explanation, “Oh, Gods, Sigurd... I’m so sorry. I... I shouldn’t have.”

The older man let out a soft chuckle, patting Eivor on the shoulder.

“Do not fear, brother. We all make fools of ourself from time to time. It’s the natural gift of drink. It unwinds the most hardened of men, and opens the hearts of the most reserved. But tonight is a night meant for celebration! Drink all the mead you wish.”

Eivor clearly wasn’t reassured by his brother’s words and simply kept his eyes on the ground, admittedly ashamed of his reckless behavior.

“...You are kind, Sigurd, but...” the man placed his tankard down on a nearby table, hanging his head low in embarrassment, “I think... I need to be alone right now.”

Sigurd furrowed his brow at the response, suddenly concerned about his brother’s well-being.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “it’s alright. I mean it. It was a simple mistake, one I’m sure we’ve all made when we had alcohol clouding our minds. Do not fret.”

“A mistake...” Eivor repeated quietly, almost sounding... hurt by the comment. “Yes. A mistake.”

Sigurd gave his brother another hearty pat on the arm, attempting to keep his spirits up.

“Exactly. So, cheer up. The night is still young... and our casks are still far too full. Ha!”

But his jokes did little to comfort the man. Instead of returning to his usual state of sarcasm and humor like Sigurd expected, Eivor’s expression remained sunken with melancholy, and it seemed as if his mood was only deteriorating.

“Thank you, Sigurd,” he said lowly, “but... I think I’ll leave the celebrating to you for now. I... I need fresh air.”

Turning away from his brother, the younger man didn’t even give Sigurd a chance to respond before making a swift exit from the longhouse, eager to remove himself from the thick crowds of people and the boisterous guffaws of excitement that echoed throughout the halls.

It was strange, Sigurd thought, to see Eivor act in such a way. The man had done plenty of other silly things in the past while under the influence of mead -- some of them arguably worse than this -- and yet, one simple kiss was enough to completely sour his mood.

What was going on with him? Did something happen that he had yet to tell Sigurd about? Why was he being so distant?

There was more going on here than the younger man let on, but Sigurd didn’t know if it was the right time to pry.

His brother was clearly going through enough distress at the moment, after all, and the older man didn’t want to push him any further.

Perhaps it was time for the older man to step away from the feast. There was no question that Eivor was preoccupied with something more serious, and Sigurd did not wish to let his brother deal with it alone.

So, with a quick goodbye, Sigurd hurriedly downed the rest of his mead and bid the other guests farewell, rushing after Eivor to see where he had gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Tearing himself away from the warmth of the longhouse, Sigurd trudged through the thick layers of snow that covered the region as he followed Eivor’s chain of footprints, worriedly searching for his absent brother.

Judging by the direction of the tracks, Sigurd assumed the younger man had retreated to the harbor, and that alone was enough to heighten his sense of concern.

Eivor never went to the harbor unless he was experiencing something profoundly troubling. It was the one place Sigurd would find him whenever he was going through loss, or heartache, or any sort of pain, really.

Something about the vastness of the fjord always seemed to set Eivor’s mind at ease. The sheer scale of the mountains made him feel as if there were stone guardians watching over their village, and the way the lights danced freely in the sky offered him a hypnotic solace.

It was the location of many of the deep conversations the two brothers had shared. The nature of the open view seemed to draw out their thoughts like nothing else, and Sigurd imagined they were about to have another one of those moments today.

He just hoped he’d be able to get Eivor to talk.

Finally reaching the harbor, Sigurd came to a halt and searched for the younger man, only to find him sitting at the end of the wooden pier.

His legs were hanging off the edge, and considering how his head bowed downwards, Sigurd guessed he was fidgeting with something in his hands. Though, he couldn’t see what it was from here.

As for the man himself, his mood appeared to be equally as sullen as when he first took his leave, if not more. There was no joy in his temperament; no motivation. It was as if the kiss from before had sucked the very life out of him, and Sigurd feared that his mere presence would not be enough to help Eivor.

Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

“Eivor.” He called out gently, casually approaching him from behind. “There you are.”

The younger man glanced over his shoulder upon hearing his name, seemingly unsurprised that Sigurd had followed him.

“Brother.” He greeted quietly. “I had a feeling you would come looking for me.”

“Of course I would,” Sigurd replied plainly. “You disappeared from the feast so abruptly. I feared something was wrong.”

The older man paused for a moment and took a seat next to his brother, quietly admiring the majestic view as the night carried on.

By now, the Northern Lights had illuminated the dark sky with a radiant turquoise glow, and the way the sea mirrored its wispy movement made Sigurd feel as if they were gazing into the wonders of Valhalla itself.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sigurd remarked in awe. “They say the Valkyries use the light as a road to escort the honored dead to Valhalla. There are other places in the world that I must show you someday, Eivor, but it brings me great relief to finally be back in Norway.” He turned to his brother, smiling warmly at him. “I missed being here with you.”

Contrary to what Sigurd expected, the comment only seemed to sadden Eivor further.

“...I missed you too, Sigurd.” The man replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Eivor, what’s wrong?” Sigurd asked, picking up on his brother’s despondent tone. “Did something happen today? You’ve been acting strange ever since that kiss.”

Eivor sighed in discontent, reluctant to share his thoughts.

“I do not wish to burden you, brother.”

“You are anything but a burden, Eivor,” Sigurd answered, quick to defend him. “We are family. If there’s something that troubles you, I want to know.”

“...It’s nothing worth mentioning. Really.”

“It clearly is,” he persisted. “Really.”

Despite his eagerness to help Eivor, Sigurd couldn’t help but wonder if he was perhaps being too forceful with the man. Randvi always told him he was too forward with people -- especially in situations that required diplomacy -- and in the past, Sigurd would’ve disagreed with her.

But now... part of him worried that he was just making things worse.

Maybe it would’ve been best to leave Eivor alone with his thoughts. He clearly wasn’t willing to talk about whatever was on his mind, and Sigurd suspected that the more he pushed the man, the more he would simply close him off.

But... still. There was a part of him that refused to leave Eivor’s side. He was his big brother, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to abandon him when he was clearly going through a time of need.

“Eivor.” Sigurd said softly, leaning towards the man. “Talk to me.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Eivor shut his eyes in defeat and gazed downwards at the tranquil movement of the ocean, allowing the icy breeze of the fjord to help him relax.

He feared how his brother would react once he knew the truth, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold this feeling in anymore. It was poisoning him from the inside out -- afflicting him like an illness that just wouldn’t go away.

It changed the way he saw the world. The way he interacted with people. There had already been more than a few occasions where Eivor caught himself being unreasonably bitter towards others, and the frustration that came with it only increased his pain.

But he knew he couldn’t carry on like this. He had to find a remedy for his unanswered love, or suffer the consequences of it soon. 

He was hurting on the inside, and perhaps... Sigurd would be the key to his recovery. 

He just had to take a leap of faith.

“Sigurd,” Eivor finally said, his heart hammering in his chest, “The truth is... I’m in love with you.”

Offering nothing but silence in return, Sigurd simply stared at his brother incredulously upon hearing the confession and sat quietly beside him, completely at a loss for words.

His expression had barely shifted in response to what Eivor said, but the younger man could still tell that he was shocked.

Sigurd’s eyes appeared as if they had been fixated in place, and the way his smile subtly vanished caused Eivor to wonder if he had just made a terrible mistake.

“Brother?” Eivor asked. “Have you nothing to say?”

The older man remained still for a few more moments before finally turning away from Eivor and blinking in confusion, almost as if he were snapping out of his trance-like state. He flicked his eyes around in hopes of trying to appear calm, but both of them knew he was just as conflicted as his brother.

“I...” Sigurd whispered in disbelief, “...I don’t know what to say, Eivor.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything. It’s a secret I’ve kept to myself for many years now, and I never planned to give it away. Though, it’s clear that Freyja disagreed.”

“But I’m your sibling, Eivor,” the older man stated. “Your family. Does that not hinder your passion?”

Eivor shook his head. “You may be my family, Sigurd, but the truth is I never saw you as a brother. Even after your father adopted me. You were always just my friend. The one person who I could always trust. And as I grew older, that trust turned into something else. I found myself falling in love with you, the same way a man would love his wife... but I knew I couldn’t say anything.”

“You never considered telling me?” Sigurd questioned. “Not even once? Even after all these years? How long have you felt this way?”

“Ever since I was a very young man,” Eivor recalled. “Even before you married Randvi.”

A sudden thought crossed Sigurd’s mind at the mention of Randvi’s name.

“And what of my wife? What are your feelings towards her?”

Eivor’s expression dimmed with shame, and he gazed down at the water beneath his feet.

“...Although I’m not proud to admit it, I have envied her in the past. I bear no ill will towards Randvi, but... it’s always pained me to look at her and realize that I’ll never be in her position. I know it’s selfish to feel that way, but that doesn’t make my thoughts any less real.”

Sigurd nodded in understanding. “Of course.”

The older man shifted in his seat a little, appearing somewhat more relaxed than before.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Eivor, I must confess that I’ve never experienced true love with Randvi. As terrible as that may sound.”

Eivor quirked a brow in surprise. “But she’s your wife.”

Sigurd chuckled at that. “Yes, and I married her purely for political reasons. Don’t forget that our marriage was an arranged one. I hardly had the chance to say ‘no’ before we were declared husband and wife. We were complete strangers at the time. You could’ve had me wed the barmaid from the local tavern and I wouldn’t have known the difference.”

Eivor cracked a small smile at the humorous response. “But you love her now, don’t you?”

“Ah...” Sigurd sighed, crossing his arms, “Randvi is a fine woman and an even greater friend, but she wasn’t meant for me. To be honest, I don’t think I was meant for her either.”

“...I’m sorry to hear that, Sigurd.” Eivor said sincerely. “It must be hard, being in a marriage that you didn’t choose.”

The older man didn’t seem bothered. “It’s not that I’m not happy with Randvi. Like I said, she’s become a good friend over the years. I just...” Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I feel as though I’m not with the person I should be. As if... they’re still out there somewhere.”

Eivor smirked, scooting closer to Sigurd. “I could recommend a few people, if you’d like.”

The redheaded viking laughed. “Oh? I can’t imagine who you’d pick.”

The younger man returned the chuckle. “Well, I suppose it depends on what you’re interested in. Though, I do know a man who’d be perfect for you.” 

Eivor paused for a second, suddenly realizing something. “...Wait, do you even like men, Sigurd?”

Sigurd hesitated to answer, unsure of how to properly express himself.

“I... can’t deny that a few men have caught my eye in the past. But I never fully explored these thoughts, for I did not wish to jeopardize my marriage. Nor did I want to risk being called an ergi everywhere I went.”

Eivor was surprised by the answer. “I... had no idea you felt that way, Sigurd. But why should you care if someone calls you ergi? Those who would scold you in such a manner aren’t worth the dirt on your boots.”

“I wish it were that simple, but being the son of a king, people expect you to meet higher standards. They expect you to bring honor to your family. And besides, you know the consequences of scolding. I have no desire to engage in a holmgang every time someone throws an insult at me.” 

Sigurd gave his brother a solemn look, mindlessly reaching for his hand. “There’s also the fact that I did not want to disappoint you.”

Catching himself before their hands could meet, Sigurd’s eyes widened in realization as he saw what he was doing and instantly pulled back his arm, retreating as if he had just touched an open flame.

Much to his embarrassment however, the action did not go unnoticed by Eivor, and the younger man quickly leaned closer to his brother, feeling the need to console him.

“It’s okay, Sigurd.” He reassured gently. “You don’t have to return my feelings for you.”

The older man furrowed his brow in deep thought, clearly conflicted about the situation.

“But... I do.” He blurted out, stumbling over his words. “I mean-- I think I... what I’m trying to say is--”

Sigurd let out a deep sigh, his head drooping in frustration.

“By the gods...” he murmured, dragging a hand down his face, “do you have any idea the effect you have on the minds of men, Eivor?”

The blond man giggled warmly, trying not to laugh too much. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sigurd turned to face Eivor, his head spinning with a plethora of emotions. He hadn’t even realized it until tonight, but a part of him seemed to share the man’s love for him. He wasn’t entirely certain what type of love it was just yet, or if he would be able to act on it, but even he couldn’t deny that there was definitely a spark between them; a flame that had been stifled for far too long.

And it frightened him to the core to think about it.

“Listen, Eivor,” Sigurd said, his tone more serious now, “...I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, or what this is. I don’t even know if these emotions are genuine, or if they’re just a result of too much mead, but...”

He slowly brought a hand up to Eivor’s cheek, gently holding him in place as he voiced his thoughts. “I think... I could love you, too.”

Eivor’s heart fluttered with happiness upon hearing that, but in spite of the joy it brought him, he could still see that Sigurd wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with his newfound love. So, with a delicate touch, Eivor lowered his brother’s hand from his cheek and held it between them, gazing into the man’s eyes.

“It’s alright if you need more time to think about this, Sigurd. There’s no need to rush into it. I understand it’s... a lot to process.”

Eivor brought his face closer to Sigurd’s, speaking softly in his ear. “But when you’re ready -- if your thoughts bring you back to me -- I’ll be here.”

He placed a small kiss on Sigurd’s cheek, causing the other man to smile warmly as he continued to keep Eivor’s hand in his grasp.

“Thank you, Eivor.” He whispered affectionately. “You were always there for me.”

The younger man reached into his pocket and pulled out the object he had been fidgeting with earlier, revealing the same arm ring that his father instructed him to give Styrbjorn on the night of Kjotve’s attack.

“And I always will be, even if you don’t return my love.”

Taking the arm ring from Eivor, Sigurd held it securely in his grip as the two of them fell into a comforting silence and quietly enjoyed the serenity of the nature around them, leaning against one another on the pier.

At this point in the night, the aurora in the sky had become a series of aqua-colored waves that soared gently across the stars like water on a shore, painting the environment with an icy tint. 

There were streaks of magenta fading in and out of view as they elegantly clung onto the ripples of blue light gliding through the air, and the longer Eivor gazed into their radiance, the more he found himself melting into Sigurd’s strong embrace.

Even though there was no guarantee that the man’s feelings for him would be mutual, or that he would be willing to put his thoughts into action, Eivor was still grateful that he finally opened up to him.

For years, the pain of feeling ignored and unloved had rotted his soul, and as the days went by, he found it harder and harder to conceal his true emotions. He had grown careless and ill-tempered from having to constantly suppress his jealousy of Ranvdi, and he nearly got his entire crew killed by Kjotve because of it.

But now that Sigurd was aware of his love, Eivor felt a new sense of peace settling into his heart.

There was still a chance that he wouldn’t get the outcome he wanted -- and he knew not what the Nornir had planned for him -- but even then, he was certain now that he could always trust Sigurd with his thoughts, no matter how daunting they may’ve been. 

That man would never judge him, or love him any less because of who he was. He would always be there to help guide him, and offer him sanctuary in a world that was so full of cruelty.

Sigurd was the true love of Eivor’s life, and it would always be that way. 

From here to Valhalla.

[carewyncromwell]

The next piece of the POTC AU is here -- and with it, the Revenge’s return to Isle de Muerta, the breaking of the curse, and ...what’s this? A new player in this drama?

Pictured above are Carewyn’s villainous relatives, the Cromwells -- Blaise (green), Pearl (red), Claire (gold), and of course the GodGrandfather himself, Captain Charles Cromwell (lime). If you’d like to learn more about their canon R-member versions, including what fancasts inspired these characters’ designs, you can find that here! I’ll make it clear right now that none of these characters, in any version of Carewyn’s canon, would ever be considered good people -- but maybe after this section and the next one, you’ll get to know them all a bit better and see some of the grayer wrinkles to at least three out of these four.

The song “Saucy Sailor” (or alternatively “Saucy Sailor Boy” or “Saucy Sailor Lad”), like “A Maid in Bedlam,” was first developed in the 18th century, but has since had its words and overall sound changed a LOT over time. The lyrics I’m using are from a more modern variation, which I put in the link to, simply because I prefer the flow of the words. The sentiment is nearly identical to the original, older lyrics, though. ^.^

Previous part for this AU is here -- full tag is here -- and, once again, Jules Farrier belongs to ma chere @cursebreakerfarrier! xoxo

x~x~x~x

It was a very long morning locked in the brig of the Revenge. Carewyn found herself singing more, just to keep her mind occupied -- it was something she and Jacob had done a lot when they were kids too. Even their mother, when she still alive, used to sing with them. It was one of the few things that could bring them joy on board the red-stained pirate ship, as even if Charles was very controlling, he found it mildly entertaining. The rest of the crew often ended up being in a better mood whenever they’d sing too -- like all of the sailors Carewyn had encountered in the Navy, they’d seemed to think that a song could make the work day go faster.

“‘Come, me own one; come, me fair one; Come now unto me -- Could you fancy a poor sailor lad who has just come from sea?’ ‘You are ragged, love, and you’re dirty, love, And your clothes smell much of tar, So be gone, you saucy sailor lad! So be gone, you Jack Tar!’ ‘If I am ragged, love, and I’m dirty, love, And me clothes smell much of tar, I have silver in me pocket, love, and gold in great store.’ And then when she heard him say so, On her bended knee she fell -- ‘I will marry my dear Henry, for I love a sailor lad so well!’”

“Ah -- I thought that little ditty sounded familiar.”

Carewyn stopped immediately and looked up.

Through the bars of the cell, she could see the frame of Charles Cromwell’s only son and First Mate, her uncle, Blaise. His almond-shaped blue eyes -- identical to all of his siblings, Charles’s and Carewyn’s -- were narrowed slightly, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

“I seem to recall that was Jacob’s favorite when he was alive, was it not?” said Blaise rather drolly.

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed coldly and didn’t respond.

Blaise uncrossed his arms, strolling over so as to prop one of his arms against the wooden bars so as to better look down at his niece.

“Little word of advice,” he whispered coolly, “you might want to tone it down a bit. The Revenge’s crew has not much liked singing these last fifteen years -- especially Pearl.”

“Since we left?” Carewyn said, and she couldn’t fight back a humorless laugh. “Should I be touched by that, that you all lost that last piece of humanity you still had, because Jacob and I did the one thing you’ve never been able to do?”

Blaise lashed his arm out violently at the bars, making Carewyn flinch despite herself, but she kept her glare firm.

“You forget our curse, little Winnie,” the First Mate murmured, and his blue eyes darkened noticeably. “No earthly pleasure can reach us, so long as one medallion is parted from that chest and the blood is not repaid. All food becomes ash in our mouths. No drink can satisfy. All carnal pleasures make us ill, with no cure...”

Something flickered in the back of his eyes.

“...Even music...the one thing that always brought your mother back to our minds...sounds like a death’s rattle.”

Carewyn’s glare faltered slightly, losing some of its edge. Blaise’s eyes drifted over her face for a moment. His brimmed black hat cast a shadow over the top of his face that obscured his expression somewhat, but it was definitely less arrogant than when he’d first arrived.

“You don’t resemble her much at all,” he murmured, almost lamenting the fact. “Neither you nor Jacob...ever resembled her much.”

Carewyn crossed her arms, her legs folded in front of her on the floor.

“We resembled her in the way that mattered,” she said quietly, “knowing that we deserve to live free, not stuck in a cage.”

Blaise gave a short, harsh sigh, throwing up a hand in aggravation.

“Must you bite my hand off when I’m trying to show you sincere sentiment?” he asked in a tired, condescending type of passive-aggressiveness that made him sound all the more like Charles. “I am your uncle, little Winnie.”

“I wasn’t biting your hand off,” said Carewyn, and her voice echoed with a bit of edge in return. “I’ve never understood why you, Claire, and Pearl stayed. Mum used to say you were so ambitious, when you were a kid -- that you wanted your own fleet and an entire island all to yourself. She said Claire was happier than she’d ever been in her life living on Shipwreck Cove, when she was too pregnant to sail. She said Pearl wanted to be captain of the Revenge herself someday, after Grandfather retired and you got your own ship. But not one of you ever chased any of that -- instead you just march lock-step with Grandfather like none of your dreams ever mattered -- ”

“I will not have a Navy brat chastise me for ‘marching lock-step,’”spat Blaise.

Carewyn got to her feet and got up right next to the bars so as to better glare into her uncle’s face.

“I may be a so-called ‘Navy brat,’ but I still have a heart and a soul that are mine. And the East India Trading Company couldn’t buy those with all the coin on earth. You, though? You gave up everything you ever wanted and are, for nothing at all. You gave it up without even fighting for it.”

Blaise stared Carewyn down for a very long moment, his glare rippling with resentment.

“...Nothing...yes. I suppose that is what I’ve received, through this venture. We found the treasure of Cortes -- a chest worthy of a king -- and yet the wealth we accrued through selling it could not replace the humanity we lost...nor the family. Not Lane...not my sweet Marianne...”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. She’d barely known Blaise’s wife, since he’d been very newly married when she’d left and her pregnancy ensured her place in Shipwreck Cove, away from Charles’s ship. All Carewyn and Jacob had really gathered was that the woman had gotten swept up in Blaise’s good looks more than any particular charm on his part -- if nothing else, then because Blaise, as well as the rest of the Cromwells, were the furthest thing from charming imaginable.

Blaise’s smile twitched with a completely humorless smile. “Did you not wonder why I have no sons or daughters on board, while Claire and Pearl’s children run wild?”

The unpleasant smile vanished instantly.

“I first saw what I’d become while visiting Shipwreck Cove to spend a night with Marianne. I’d been feeling so out of sorts, with nothing tasting right and my thirst never being quenched, and I’d so looked forward to holding her in my arms again. But when she saw me, bathed in the moonlight...she ran from me. I begged for her to stay. I grabbed her, tried to hold her down and explain...she ripped herself out of my arms...and in her panic lost her footing and fell down the stairs.”

Carewyn’s heart clenched.

“She was alive,” Blaise said in response to the concern that rippled over the Commodore’s face. “But only just. The injury made her miscarry, of course, but she’d also hurt herself beyond repair. She was never able to leave her bed again. And knowing what I was...my Marianne grew cold. Didn’t wish to see me. I broke down her door more than once, trying to force her to come with me, so I could take her somewhere more comfortable with better medicine, where it could just be her and me, but she said she was in too much pain to move. It was then...that she first asked me to kill her.”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly. Blaise’s eyes had drifted away from her and now bore into the wall of the brig.

“My Marianne asked me to kill her multiple times -- but I refused. She was my wife. She was mine, mine alone...I was not going to let anyone take her from me, not even Death himself.”

The possessive attitude again reminded Carewyn unpleasantly of Charles.

“But...as the years went by...as I returned time and again, her presence gave me no pleasure, and mine...repulsed her. I didn’t need pleasure, of course -- only her. Even if we could have none of the children we wanted while I was cursed, that could come later. She could wait for me. Even if she could not leave her bed...at least that way, she could never leave me...”

“You’re disgusting,” Carewyn spat.

Blaise didn’t seem to hear her -- he was too lost in his own memories.

“At least...so I thought. But in the end...she did leave me. After I’d vowed never to let anyone take her from me...she took herself away...by poisoning herself.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed grimly, but couldn’t reply.

“So in the end...I truly do have nothing. No wife, to love me forever and a day. No child of my own, to mold the way I see fit. No member of my family who has ever shown me any genuine love or kindness...that isn’t now in an afterlife that I will never reach. Pearl has her husband and sons, and Claire has her family...but I...I have nothing.”

Blaise’s voice was never choked and his face never showed outward grief, but there was a bizarre, isolating gloom swirling around him.

Carewyn’s eyes were still narrowed as she studied him. Then, after a moment, she reached a hand through the bars and took hold of the sleeve of his dark red coat.

“...I’m sorry,” she said solemnly.

They weren’t the right words, for she really didn’t feel remorse or regret for Blaise’s sake, but they were the only ones she could think of to express any shred of sympathy.

‘As despicable as you are, and however much you brought a lot of this on yourself...it’s not something I can take pleasure in.’

Blaise looked down at her hand, and then up at her face, his expression appearing wounded and almost confused. Then he roughly pulled himself out of her hold, his expression contorted in disgust -- as if he didn’t know what to do with basic human compassion.

“And here I thought you’d toughened yourself up, in the last fifteen years,” he said, his voice again dripping with condescension and scorn.

Carewyn’s gaze hardened, but Blaise didn’t seem to care.

“No matter,” he said, his voice a low growl in the back of his throat as his eyes bore into the upper corner of the brig. “Things are going to change, once the curse is broken. I may have nothing now, but mark my words...I’ll have everything soon enough.”

The vengeful tone of his voice made Carewyn ask suspiciously, ”What are you planning to do?”

Blaise’s lips spread into a smirk, but did not answer. He turned his back and Carewyn and started to walk out of the brig. On his way out, he paused, his hand absently resting on his scabbard as he looked over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes twinkling with malice.

“When the curse is lifted, little Winnie...you’ll be singing quite a lot for me.”

And with that, he left up the stairs back toward the main deck.

Meanwhile the Artemis was making very good time. The Revenge was a very fast ship, but sure enough, any outside observer watching the ships’ trajectories from the air would’ve seen the Artemis was shortening the distance between it and the Revenge rapidly. Even McNully hypothesized as much.

“According to my calculations,” said McNully as he addressed the crew early that morning, “the Revenge travels about 7 knots, normally -- well above any of the Navy’s fastest ships -- and they had a half-day’s head start. But the Artemis is a schooner. We may be a lot smaller than a galleon like the Revenge, but we’re built for speed, so we’ve made it to 8 knots consistently since we started. And since we presumably don’t have as much loot weighing us down as the ship that can only make berth in one place and Orion dealt with our mermaid problem, meaning we didn’t need to slow down while traveling through their waters the way the Revenge no doubt would’ve...and most importantly, Charles Cromwell has no reason to think anyone’s following him...I reckon there’s a 96.5% chance that we catch up with them tonight.”

Knowing that soon they’d be catching up to a whole ship full of pirates, Bill and Charlie spent the rest of the day training Jules in sword combat on the main deck. Jules had asked Bill to teach her some moves earlier in the voyage and had soon proven quite capable with a blade -- though Charlie had teased that it was because Bill had been going easy on her, even he had to admit Jules was a fast learner. At one point Skye even jumped in to show Jules, Charlie, and Bill how to do the “Pincer,” a move she’d developed where three people “hem” in their opponent little by little until they can reach in close enough to trap the person’s neck between all three of their blades crossed in a triangle shape. McNully also got in on the action by talking her through fighting with a sword while in the ship’s rigging.

“Very good!” said McNully, as he supervised Skye and Jules fighting each other in the rigging that afternoon. “Try to attack your opponent’s stance every-so-often, that’ll improve your odds of victory by a good 26%!”

Orion strolled down from the helm to get a better look, his arms crossed over his chest as he came to a stop between Charlie and McNully.

“A clever strategy as always, McNully,” the captain said levelly.

McNully grinned. “Thanks! Though it being done by a woman always helps. I’d say a good 89% of all men on the high seas fear nothing more than a woman who could kill them.”

“I reckon Bill’s in that remaining eleven,” said Charlie amusedly.

The three men glanced at Bill. His gaze was locked on Jules up in the rigging and his lips were spread in a full, admiring smile.

“There admittedly is also a good two percent of men who love the idea of a woman who could kill them,” said McNully amusedly.

He nudged Orion in the side with his elbow, and the Captain actually bowed his head and grinned from ear to ear, showing white teeth.

It didn’t take long for Carewyn to figure out what Blaise was planning. She’d stopped singing, not to placate her uncle, but so as to listen, and soon she could hear the whispers. The unhappy mutterings from Pearl’s son, from Claire’s husband, son, and three daughters. Some about how much more controlling Charles had gotten in his old age. Some about how their plunder on the Isle de Muerta was still in a giant pile and had still not been parsed out evenly between the crew. Some about how much they hated being cursed, speaking longingly of drinking an entire bottle of liquor or eating a bushel of apples or screwing every woman they laid eyes on, once their humanity was restored...blaming Charles’s expedition to Isle de Muerta for their fifteen years of misery.

It all added up to one thing in Carewyn’s mind. As soon as the curse was lifted and Charles was mortal again, Blaise was planning to spark a mutiny.

From what she could deduce, the only people who didn’t know were Pearl, Claire, and Charles himself, and Carewyn thought she could guess why. Pearl had treated Jacob and Carewyn with the most active hostility after Lane and her husband tried to escape with them: she was furious by their attempt at desertion, and Carewyn figured mutiny wouldn’t be something she’d support much either. And Claire had always been the “follower” out of her relatives to whomever was the most powerful, in this case, Charles: she would’ve been far too much of a liability to have in the loop until after the mutiny was complete, at which point she’d probably fall into line.

It was sort of sad, Carewyn thought. The Cromwells had always claimed to be a family -- but there truly wasn’t an ounce of love or trust anywhere to found in them. It made her miss Bill, Charlie, and Percy all the more.

The Revenge docked in Isle de Muerta late that afternoon. Part of that time was spent unloading the loot they’d collected into the cave -- there was quite a large store of it. Considering that pirates usually spent anything they stole right away rather than saving it -- and, more specifically, that her family had always done that before, when she was a kid -- Carewyn supposed that even enjoying the gold and riches they’d collected fell under the umbrella of “earthly pleasure” the Revenge’s crew couldn’t enjoy.

It was as the sun began to set that Carewyn heard the sounds above deck starting to quiet. She peeked out the magic-patched hole in her cell -- because they’d docked, they were in shallower water, and she could see a large swath of dark red heading into a large cave, lit torches held aloft. Among the landing party were Pearl, Claire, and Blaise, and at its head, Carewyn could just barely spot the one lone red hat that belonged to Charles.

‘Five, six...nine,’ Carewyn thought. ‘They’ve left two people aboard. Probably Claire and Pearl’s husbands.’

She could hear raucous laughter from the room below deck, just above the brig.

“Another win for me, then!” said a rather muffled, raspy sort of voice.

“Aye, but can you do it again?” challenged another much more boorish voice. “Let’s have another go at the dice, then!”

Carewyn could hear a rattling sound and then two loud thunks on the table overhead.

‘They’re playing Liar’s Dice,’ she surmised.

“I s’pose ‘Captain Blaise’ and his new mate would be more open to it than old Charles,” said the raspy voice smugly, “but I don’t reckon your biddy would be too happy about it...”

“Look, I’m just saying, I haven’t had a good lay in fifteen years,” said the boorish voice, “I’m sure Claire won’t put up too much of a fuss if I borrow ‘er for a bit, on the side -- it’s not like I can sleep with my own daughters -- ”

More raucous laughter followed. Carewyn cringed, but she quickly put his words out of her mind and got right down to business.

There were now only two people on the Revenge -- sure, they were currently undead, but they wouldn’t be much longer, and they were distracted. This might be the only chance she had, to get the upper hand. And so the Commodore got to work plotting her jail break.

Since she’d been changed out of her Navy uniform against her will, Carewyn didn’t have any hat pins she could turn into a lockpick, but fortunately the dark red jacket she’d been forced into did have thin metal clasps for its buttons instead of holes, even if it was too small for her to button the jacket around herself properly. After some work, she managed to rip one of the entire fastenings and twist the clasp into a flatter wire that she could stick into the keyhole of her cell door.

Within fifteen minutes, there was a click, and she very, very carefully inched the cell door open and sneaked out up the stairs, right past the room the two pirates were playing Liar’s Dice, and up onto the deck.

‘I can’t move against those two until I know for sure the curse is broken,’ thought Carewyn. ‘So I’ll have to bide my time, at least for a short while...’

She glanced around before her eyes settled on the door to Charles’s cabin, just below the helm. She swept over, trying the handle -- upon finding it locked, she took her new lockpick back out and, within two more minutes, had opened it.

Charles’s cabin was much more opulently decorated than Orion’s cabin, with fiery red Persian rugs, black silk curtains, and gold-trimmed mahogany future. Carewyn also noted with some scorn that her grandfather did, in fact, have a pair of ridiculously voluptuous, naked woman carved into his headboard. Fortunately it also held a store of weapons -- so Carewyn stole a cutlass, a pistol, a couple of grenades, and some spare bullets and powder, just to be safe. She’d just been securing the sword’s scabbard when she heard a raucous cheering from below deck.

“AYE! AYYYYYE, YEAAAAAH!”

The two pirates sounded elated beyond reason -- almost gleeful. 

‘The curse has been broken!’ thought Carewyn.

She charged out of Charles’s cabin, ready to seize her chance -- but when she made it out on deck, she was shocked by what she saw.

The whole of Isle de Muerta was surrounded. There were a good ten pirate ships, all hovering just off shore in a noose-like shape around the island. The largest of them, which was also closest to the Revenge, was a pitch black vessel with a winged harpie carved into its bowsprit.

The blood drained out of Carewyn’s face at the sight of it.

It was the Tower Raven.

[98prilla]

Abductions, Past and Present

Next

Previous

AO3

...

He knocks on the door softly, wincing at the startled yelp he hears from the other side, but he hears a ‘come in’ before he can apologize. He peeks open the door, and it takes him a moment to find Remus, who is sitting in the corner of the room, knees pulled to his chest, to the left of the door.

 “I brought you some pancakes.” He starts simply. “Would you like the door open, or closed if I intend on staying in here with you?” He asks, not missing Remus’s surprised consideration at the question. He knows well enough the importance of choices.

 “closed is fine.” Remus says after a moment, and he nods, closing the door softly. He slides the plate of pancakes across the floor to Remus, grabbing a spare blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders as he settles in the corner opposite Remus, idly looking around the room, careful not to make Remus feel stared at or watched.

 “They taste great, by the way. The pancakes. And I know Patton enjoyed the company.” He comments, noticing how Remus’s shoulders tense a bit, though he does take a bite of food, savoring the fluffiness and heavenly sweetness of syrup. In only a few minutes, the plate is slid back across the room to Janus, who sets it aside.

 “you didn’t need to come check on me.” Remus mumbles, and he hums for a moment, thinking.

 “I didn’t. And I will leave if you want. Tell the others you’re just resting, and to leave you alone, if you like.” Remus considers for a moment, before shaking his head, resting it atop his knees. He relaxes back against the wall, stretching out his legs and looking up at the ceiling, letting Remus set the pace.

 “I was excited. And I yelled. And I asked for something.” Janus tilts his head to show he’s listening, but still doesn’t look away from the ceiling, knowing the weight of a gaze is not welcome.

 “you did. And while it did startle everyone, it made all of us happy, to see you happy about something.” He replies evenly.

 “I’m not allowed to be loud. It gets me in trouble. Which really means it gets Roman in trouble. It means… it means he gets hurt. I know… I know it’s not like that anymore, but… but I still expect it, I can’t… I can’t not.” He lets out a low breath, nodding, finally tilting his head so he’s looking at Remus.

“I know. I was younger, and alone, but I can imagine, if they’d stolen one of my nest mates along with me, how hard I would cling to them as my life line, how hard I would fight to keep them safe. I learned obedience quickly, with the help of their tools” he spits the word, “though pain was unavoidable.” He can still feel the needle sharp jolts of pain over every inch of what was once scales, his flesh torn and raw and red, each one meticulously plucked from his skin for some fine lady’s jewelry or a rich man’s fancy cape, the type of pain that didn’t even hurt after a day, just made his stomach roil and his balance lopsided, ill and feverish and weak from it.

 “I suppose they took better care of me than they did you. I wasn’t a lab rat, and they couldn’t afford to lose me. They fed me well so my scales would stay shining and bright, would always tend to my injuries carefully so they would grow back in well after every pluck. Lots of IV’s, to keep me hydrated and get nutrients in me.”

 “how often?”

 “Once every month, month and a half. I was eight, when they grabbed me. I was 21 when they got me out.” Remus lets out a low whistle at that, the silence lingering for a moment, and he can feel Remus studying him, debating something in the silence.

 “how… did you stop? Forgetting where you are, I mean. Or… knowing where you are and just… not being able to believe it?” He sighs, letting his eyes meet Remus’s, a small, bitter smile on his lips.

 “you don’t, really. I’m still expecting something to go to hell, and somedays I can’t leave my room, convinced for some reason that if I walk out I’ll see the hospital white halls. Some nights I still wake up, thrashing and screaming, and some nights I don’t sleep at all, and some days I cannot stand to have anyone touch me. It comes and it goes. It just… comes less and stays for shorter amounts of time, the longer I’m here with people I trust.”

 “that fucking sucks.” Remus mumbles softly, picking at his shirt. He shrugs.

 “yeah. But it’s still better than the real thing. And everyone knows to respect whatever boundaries I lay down, no matter how often they shift and change from day to day. You won’t get in trouble for allowing someone the privilege of touching you one day, then saying no touch the next. Or allowing one person touch, but denying another. I know me saying it doesn’t just magically let you believe it, but they’ll show it to you, over time. Because every time you say something, or ask for something, or get loud and excited, and expect that punishment? It won’t come. Until you start to believe them when they say it won’t ever.”

 Remus meets his eyes again, for longer this time, once again on the brink of saying something, but unsure if he can cross that precipice. He knows that feeling, hell, he probably knows all the exact things going through Remus’s mind right now, because they’ve sped through his own a thousand times.

 “so if… if I wanted touch now… you wouldn’t just pat me on the back or something later, when… when I’m not expecting it?” Remus finally asks, though he can tell it’s a precursor to what he really wants. Still, he’ll never push. He just nods.

 “Yes. And if you did want touch it would also be ok if you only wanted a specific kind of touch. Hand holding, arm around the shoulders, full on cuddling, that kind of thing. It is always open and up to you to decide what you are and are not ok with. You can always ask for more. Likewise, you can always ask for less, if you decide something is too much.” He answers, trying to keep his voice soft and purely informational, trying to make this easier.

 He's surprised when Remus nods decisively once, takes a deep breath, then scoots across the floor to him, carefully settling against him so that their sides are touching. Somehow he expected to be the one to go to Remus, not the other way around. He’s almost afraid to move, afraid to scare Remus away.

 “have… have you ever gone back? To your home planet?”

 “Once. Just to see. It was strange, being there. It felt right but… empty. So much of who you are as a Naga is built on what nest you’re from, what family in that nest you belong to, and I don’t have any of that. I was an outsider in my own home. It… hurt, but I think I needed it to. I had already planned on staying aboard, I just had to make sure.” Remus nods.

 “I miss home. I wonder what movies have come out, what my friends grew up to be, what my parents are doing now. If they stayed together or got divorced, or maybe had more kids, or maybe adopted. I could see that. They always wanted to foster. But we can’t even check, can we? That’s not the rules for Earth.”

 “no. they aren’t.” He replies. Earth is just starting to open up to aliens, just starting its space exploration, just a baby in the grand scheme of space, and thus heavily regulated, both by the planet itself and other universal aid to keep other planets from interfering in Earth’s development. No, returning home for the brothers is impossible, at least for the foreseeable future.

 Remus rests his head on his shoulder with a sigh, and he is once again terrified to move, to scare the skittish human away.

  “Logan said we’ll be touching down somewhere in a few days. I’m going to lose it as soon I step outside, I know it. I’m trying to brace myself already, trying to remember what real sun feels like, what wind or grass or trees even look like, what solid ground feels like, and I can’t. How pathetic is that? Ten years of my life, I spent outside every second I could, and now I can barely remember what outside is.”

 “Lose it, then. Scream and cry and pound the ground and punch a tree and laugh while sobbing like a maniac. It’ll make you feel better, extremely satisfying, really.” He replies, remembering his first time off ship. He’d just sat on the ground in the sun, just crying. Just endlessly crying. Remus lets out a small snort, gently bumping his shoulder against him.

 “I’m sure that would go over well with the locals. ‘Oh that? That’s just the human, losing his shit, don’t worry, he probably won’t break your shit or kill any of you, though he is half feral.’ I’m sure that would put their minds right at ease.” He simply shrugs again.

 “Fuck ‘em. I can move faster than nearly any other species, and I’ll bite whoever wants to even think of trying something. It’s a small planet, yes, but a common way fair point for smaller ships like ours. Smuggling isn’t uncommon in the galaxies, Remus, and they’ve seen their fair share of refugees. We wouldn’t be taking you somewhere you wouldn’t be safe.” He softens, feeling Remus sigh.

 “I… know. That’s what’s hardest. Is knowing that I somehow trust all of you because it terrifies me, all the extra ways I could hurt cause of it. All the different ways any… any of you could hurt me.” He doesn’t say anything to that. There’s nothing he can say, that will ease Remus’s mind. Only time can do that, as painful as it is to see that doubt creep in, he knows it can’t be vanquished so easily. “could… could you… hold me?” Remus asks, voice small, and instantly he shifts, allowing Remus to slip onto his lap, wrapping the blanket around them both, one hand resting on Remus’s waist, the other gently stroking up and down his back.

 “Is this alright?” He murmurs softly, and Remus lets out a small, content hum, eyes drifting closed where his head rests against his chest. He smiles smally, humming softly, that lilting lullaby from his memories, watching Remus’s face finally relax as he fell fully asleep.

 Of course, now he couldn’t move, stuck as he was with a human on his lap, not that he minded, really. It felt… nice, having someone curled against him, his own temperature rising to cozily warm as Remus’s supplied extra to compensate for his colder body temp, it felt… natural.

 This is how Naga were supposed to sleep. Curled up together, piled on top of each other, tangled around each other, and it had been a long, long time since he let anyone hold him, not even Patton, despite his intrinsic need for touch. He avoided it like the plague most of the time, because he couldn’t stand to have a taste of it, only to lose it again.

 But now, Remus is curled in his lap, and his senses are on fire, and he feels warm, and whole, and full, in an aching, needy sort of way, and he knows that plan is out the window, hurtling into the dark abyss of space, because this is absolutely pure bliss, and he finds himself snuggling closer to Remus, resting his head in Remus’s hair with a soft sigh.

 Yes. Remus reminds him far, far too much of himself, for either of their own goods.

[sailorshadzter]

across the sea and back again.

here we have an au idea that quickly spiraled out of control lmao.

left on a cliff hanger purposely, perhaps ill get around to writing a part 2 if anyone would want to see that! 

follows canon plot until jonsa reunion in season 6. the story opens within days of their meeting at castle black. 

As the ship steers away from the dock, he spares only one last glance at the place he's known all of his life. The North will grow small in the distance, but he turns his back to it. He cannot watch the cold shores disappear from his sight, instead, he will remember them as they look then: cold, frozen, but home.

Instead, he turns to face down the deck to where she stands, quietly watching the Northern shores fade from view. She must feel his gaze upon her for she shifts, blue eyes finding gray, and she smiles; this was home now. He approaches her as she tucks her lovely red hair beneath her hood, turning back as the boat rocks them on the cold sea. A hand to her elbow, he steadies her, reminded yet again that she's never sailed before. "Let's go down below," he suggests, and though she seems hesitant at first, she follows after him only a few moments later, casting one final glance back at the place they're both leaving behind.

Though it is still chilly below the deck, it is dry and they are free from the frosty wind and splashes of ice cold sea water. Even now as he looks at her in the lantern light, he sees her skirts are damp and she's shivering. "Here," he swings his furs from his shoulders and drapes them over hers, shaking his head when she opens her mouth to protest. "I told you I would keep you safe." His hand falls into place over her shoulder, a light grip, a comforting touch that sends warmth through her entire being.

Time seems to stand still, as it always does when Jon gets so close; why does she wish he would get closer? "Where will we go?" An echo of the words they had shared only a few nights ago. His hand falls from her shoulder and she feels uncertain without the slight grip of his fingertips.

Jon smiles, settling upon the single bed in the cabin. "To Lys." It is a place where it is not about a family name, it is a place where hired swords guard the gates and the most powerful men are the richest ones. He's heard the rumors of the place- beautiful people, the blood of old Valyria still running through even merchant veins. On one hand, they might stick out, but across the Narrow Sea, no one will know them. No one will find them.

Not ever.

"I have heard they love music in Lys," she is not afraid because she is a Stark, no matter where she goes, she will always be the blood of Winterfell, she will always be Eddard and Catelyn Stark's daughter. She crosses the swaying floor to settle onto the bed at his side, their shoulders brushing as she shifts so she might face him. "Will we be happy?" She asks, softer still, her only real fear. The nightmare of a life she's lived all these years disappears behind her, but the future of the one she has now remains uncertain.

Without a doubt, he nods. "I'll make sure of it," he vows, hand over hers, warm and strong. She smiles and leans into him, head to shoulder, hands still yet clasped together upon her thigh. "I promise, Sansa..."

And she believes him.

[ x x x ]

He wakes in the night, the ship swaying beneath him.

Sansa sleeps, curled against him beneath the furs on the bed, one hand tucked beneath the curve of her ivory cheek. He rolls so he can face her, his gaze adjusting to the darkness of the cabin, listening to the sound of her soft breathing as she sleeps. Complicated as they may be, the feelings rushing through him bring him a sense of warmth, a sense of comfort. He draws a hand from beneath the covers, fingers tracing along the length of her jaw, sharpened by her days of pain and hunger, but no longer darkened with bruises left behind.

"I'll keep you safe," he whispers into the dark, eyes closing as the sway of the ship and the soft sound of her breathing lulls him back to sleep.

[  x x x ]

Lys is a bustling city, full of far more people than King's Landing or the North ever was.

Jon finds them a small, modest cottage that sits along the outskirts of the town, surrounded by fruit trees. He takes up a job as a hired sword for the gate, though he has traded Longclaw in for a blade that is not as recognizable. Though he insists she needn't do so, Sansa sews the finest gowns for Lys' most powerful noble houses- silks, lawns, laces- fetching a living that will after a time certainly surpass his. The truth was, she enjoys the work.

When she isn't sewing gowns, she tends to the garden that sits out back behind the cottage. She's never done such a thing as this and there's not much more she enjoys than hearing Jon's chuckle when she comes inside, dirt smudged on her cheeks, skirts tied up around her knees. Time passes, days into weeks, weeks into months... In Lys, she lives differently, she lives freely, without the contraints of etiquette, without the fear of violence or abuse. Here in Lys, she lives as Jon promised... She lives happy.

They live happy.

[ x x x ]

"Do you want a family?"

The question comes when they've been living in Lys for several months.

Jon looks up from where he sits, peeling lemons at their table while she stirs batter in a bowl. Sansa had never cooked a day in her life until they came to Lys, but like with most things, she was good at it. "A family?" He asks, both surprise and confusion settling into place, heavy like a cloak. His heart beat quickens, surprising him even more than the question she's asked. "I have a family."

She makes a face, shaking her head. "You know what I mean," she shoots back, setting the bowl she holds down onto the table as she stares at him with those big blue eyes. "A wife... Children..." She thinks of the children she's always imagined for herself, a boy she might call Robb and a girl that looks of Arya. As always, her heart aches at the thought of the siblings left behind, the family she's lost back in the North; the only thing she misses from the life left in the North. She thinks of them, the little siblings she never found, Arya and Rickon and Bran, she hopes they forgive her for leaving. She hopes they're alive.

For a long moment, he studies her face, Stark colored eyes finding blue. He rises up from where he sits, chair scraping the floor, his hand warm when it falls over hers. "I have a famiy, Sansa," he says again, offering her a smile as he squeezes his hand on hers. "I have you."

I have you.

His words echo inside of her mind, the meaning behind them giving rise to a wave of emotion that she must blink away. "Jon..." His name is a whisper on her lips and suddenly, there is no distance between them. The breath catches in her throat, her heart beat skipping as she feels his arm wrap around her. He's warm and he tastes of lemons when his thumb brushes across her lower lip, the gesture sending shivers racing the length of her spine. Once, these feelings welling up within her left her feeling shamed, for he's her brother, albeit half, but their father's blood is one and the same.

And yet...

Here in Lys, no one knows them. There would be no one to shame them for the nature of their relationship. For once in her life, she is free to love as she wishes- to make a choice for herself without fear, without worry. So she kisses him. And when she feels Jon's lips press back against hers, she knows this is the right choice.

He was always the right choice.

[ x x x ]

It's the middle of the night and she stands at the window that overlooks the sea, which roars in the distance, the only light that of the moon in the sky above. Sometimes, in moments such as these, she truly misses the North. Winter had yet to find them in Essos, but she wonders if there will come a time where she will feel again the sting of the cold wind. She wonders if someday, she might again step into the blinding brilliance of pure white snow. To her surprise, tears fill her eyes and she closes them, recalling how once she had thought she would never feel cold again. That day... When she had escaped to find Jon, running through the frozen forest in just a thin gray cloak, she had been so cold that day. She'd have frozen to death, surely, if Theon had not found that old mare that took her the distance to Castle Black.

Those days... They were so long ago and yet... Sometimes, even now, they feel as if they had only just been yesterday. The truth was, she was only awake because she'd been dreaming of that forest again, running for her life through the trees, the howl of a wolf chasing behind her. But she had not been running for Castle Black in this dream, but to Winterfell. Now that she's awake she feels strangely empty... As if there was a piece of her missing.... As if...

"Come to bed, won't you wife?"

Sansa jumps at the voice, but she's smiling when she turns around to face him where he lays beneath the sheet on their bed. They've been married four months now, but she's not quite certain she'll ever grow accustomed to hearing him call her wife. "I'm coming..." She murmurs, turning back to the window for only a moment more before she crosses the room and slips back into his arms. "I was dreaming..." She sighs against him, settling into place beside him with ease.

"Of what?" His breath is warm against her as he rolls closer, brushing his lips across her bare shoulder, teeth breaking the soft skin of her throat as a hand encloses a breast.

"Home."

The single word draws him back from her, it's meaning more than what it sounds like. "The North," his tenor vocals catch and he closes his eyes, as if it is too painful for him to think of what they left behind. "I miss it, too." He admits, settling back onto his side of the bed, though his palm remains where it was, her heartbeat a tattoo against his skin. We could go back, he wants to say, but he knows the truth, they can never go back. Not while the Lannister's still live, not when Ramsay Bolton still holds the North. She would never be safe there and so in Essos they must stay, no matter how badly either of them wished to go back. He had to keep her safe, it was all that mattered to him.

She turns into him, rekindling his motions from moments before, her mouth finding his as a hand threads through his dark curls. This is home now, she thinks as Jon moves between her legs, a warm hand pressing against the soft skin of her inner thigh. His mouth moves from hers and finds its place against her ear, his whisper warm against the shell of her ear. "I'm always home when I'm with you."

He was right...

Home was wherever they were together.

[ x x x ]

The first morning she wakes ill, she knows not what ails her.

But then a second morning follows, a third, even a fourth. By then she knows, by then she's come to see the other signs that came along with the morning sickness. Her breasts feel heavy and tender to the touch, so much so that even Jon's soft hands had caused her a new sort of torment just two nights before. Though the illness passes by the afternoon, she's left tired and irritable for the rest of the day, falling into a deep sleep each night with ease. Jon notices, but she says it's nothing, because she knows what could happen yet in these early days.

And so she keeps her secret tucked against her heart, if only for a few weeks more.

[ x x x ]

She's piecing together her latest dress order when Jon comes through the door, his boots heavy on the floor, a bowl of freshly picked fruit in his hands. "Welcome home," she greets with a mouthful of pins, various pieces of dark blue fabric placed around her, ready to be sewn together.

Jon stops where he stands, taking in the sight of her there, a smile curving on his lips. Sometimes, even now, he has to remind himself that she's real, that she's his. "Busy, sweetheart?" He asks as she approaches, settling down on his hunches just outside the circle of fabric that surrounds her only after setting the fruit aside on the table. "Ah, for Lady Rogare," he observes, noting the quality of the rich blue colored silk, a favorite fabric and color of the noble lady, one of Sansa's more notable customers. "You only just finished the yellow one for her." Sansa grins, pulling the last of the pins from her mouth, slipping it into place where a sleeve meets bodice, keeping it together until she actually sews it later.

"She was quite pleased with it," Sansa explains, thinking back to the delight the woman had shown at the sight of the yellow damask gown she had made most recently. "So pleased in fact, she ordered several more." Though long hours it would take her for each one, Sansa loves creating the elaborate gowns the Lys women enjoy, far different from the gowns of the North or even King's Landing. Daring and bold, the women only wore the lightest of fabrics in a vast array of colors- gowns in every color one could imagine, gowns Sansa's younger self only could have imagined existed.

Rising up to his full height, he reaches out his hand for her to take, helping her back onto her own feet that ache from her hours on the floor. "You're going to be kept quite busy," he remarks, leading her towards the table and helping her into a chair. She grins, thinking about the news she still yet holds onto. Busy indeed, she thinks with a chuckle that does not go unnoticed. "What's funny?" He turns back to her, brow arching as he peers down at her where she sits.

Somehow, this is the moment she's been waiting for.

"I have something to tell you," she says, standing back up so she might face him, reaching out to take his hand in hers.

His heart has begun to beat fast, as if deep down, he knows everything is about to change.

"I'm with child."

The breath stolen from his lungs, the world spins much too fast for a moment, and it is Sansa that guides him into the chair she had just vacated. "Are you certain?" He gulps when he finds his voice several moments later, his eyes wide as he stares up at her. At his expense, Sansa laughs, drawing his hand towards her, pressing his palm against the still yet flat plane of her abdomen.

Then she nods.

Just like that, the world seems clearer, brighter, as if this was what he's been waiting to hear all of his life. He jumps back to his feet and wraps her in his arms, happiness a warm surge through his every limb. "A babe..." He whispers, her laughter mixing with tears as he pulls her as close as he dares, relishing in the softness of her. "A babe of our own..." He draws back, just so he might look her in the face, his joy and shock evident by the expression he wears. "When?"

"Seven months, I'd say," she says, the best guess she can make in the timeline. "Around the time of Arya's nameday." Jon's smile returns and then he's pulling her back into an embrace, breathing her in, his body humming with the happiness that runs through him.

He's not certain any man deserves to be this happy, but he accepts it all the same.

[ x x x ]

"What shall we name him?"

They lay in bed together, the darkness closing in as the moon hides behind a stubborn cloud cover. "Him? It could be a girl, you know." Jon reminds her as he drums his fingers along the swell of her belly. But she shrugs, ever certain that it will be a son that comes in the next few weeks. "What do you wish to name him?" Jon flips the question back at her and she makes a face.

"I asked you first."

Jon chuckles as the babe moves beneath his touch, as if they can feel their father's hand through Sansa's skin. "Well... I did always think myself with a son I would name Robb." He would be a strong boy with the Stark looks, a boy that would roam with wolves and honor his family beyond all else. "And daughters, I thought I might have a handful of beautiful girls." He pictures those girls differently than he once did- for now he sees them born of her, with vibrant red hair and eyes the color of the summer sky.

Settling back against her pillows, she smiles, lost in the images he paints for her; a first born son clinging to her skirts, a second one in her arms, while a daughter grows in her belly. She can think of them all; the first a miniature version of Jon, with the Stark looks his namesake always wished he had. The second son would be a mixture of Tully and Stark, though more like his father in attitude. Their first born daughter would be little of her besides temper, a little dark haired girl that will steal Jon's heart. It would be their fourth child, another girl, that Sansa knows will come someday when they least expect her, but she will be their Tully redhead. She cannot explain it, but she knows these children will come to them, one by one, until their family is complete.

"Robb," she finally says, realizing that she's lost herself in thought, silence falling between them as Jon leans his head against her stomach, their babe twisting in the uncomfortable space that surely her womb has become.

That night she dreams of the godswood and giggling children. Beneath the heart tree, a foursome plays, a mix of dark and red hair, two boys and two littler girls. Four wolf pups play among them, a perfect pack, a little family.

When she wakes, she’s smiling. 

[ x x x ]

The day Robb is born, she dreams of Winterfell again.

It's lost to her, in the chaos that is labor, but when it is all done and she's propped up in bed, the infant in the crook of her arm, fast asleep, she remembers. "He will be King in the North," she whispers, leaning over the babe to press a kiss to his forehead. Jon laughs softly, for they both know it can never be true. Too tired to argue, Sansa only leans in closer, watching as Jon reaches out a gentle hand, fingertips brushing the soft head of dark hair their son has, a smile twitching on his lips. "Is it fair... For us to be so happy?" She asks softly, afraid to believe that this happiness could last. After everything they had been through, after everything that had led them to this moment, after all they had left behind... Was it right for them to find happiness like this?

Jon turns to her, one hand still on his son's head, the other reaching out to touch her cheek. "Of all people who deserve to be this happy... It's you, my love." His words are soft, they are the truth. Tears fill her eyes and she closes them against the emotions rising up within her, the smallest of smiles curving on her lips. "This is what I wanted for you," he leans in, brushing her mouth with his, gentle, tender, loving. "This sort of happiness is what I wanted you to have." A tear escapes and he catches it with his thumb.

Sansa lets out a deep breath and she nods; there was no way she could ever feel happier than this.

[ x x x ]

Robb is four months old when there comes a knock to their door.

It's the middle of the day and while the baby sleeps in his cradle, Sansa is sewing the last touches of a gown. Jon sits across the room at the table, sharpening the sword he's carried since taking the job as a hired swordsman. They exchange a quick glance, though it's not abnormal for such a thing to happen, there is something that feels strange about this knock.

Returning his sword to its sheath, casting aside his sharpening tools so he can rise up from where he sits, crossing the room to open the door. At the door is a woman, but a woman like he's never seen before. She's taller than any man he's ever met, dressed in armor of a Northern style, heavyweight for the weather of Lys. There's a sword strapped to her hip and another young man hovers just behind her in the yard, watching the scene unfold with a surprised gaze- as if he cannot believe what he's seeing. Before Jon can open his mouth to speak, Sansa is there, peering at the woman with wide eyes, an expression of true shock on her face. "Lady Sansa... It's you..." The woman whispers, tears filling her bright blue eyes as she falls to her knees. "I've been searching for you, all this time Lady Sansa..."

There was always hope, despite the doubt that nagged at her over the course of the last several months. There was always hope that she would find her, even when the rest of the world believed her dead. As she should have been- the price upon her head was higher than most criminals. Believed to be a participant in Joffrey's death, the Lannister queen swore a handsome prize for any man that brought Sansa Stark to her. And then of course there was Ramsay Bolton, who needed his Stark bride to solidify his stolen place at Winterfell. Though his price was not that of the Lannister's, it certainly was a sum that would keep many families supported in the coming winter months. But after the first six months of her vanishing from Winterfell, people could only assume she had perished in the cold forest, her body certainly to be found when the spring thaw came.

But Brienne had believed... She had believed she would find her.

And so she had traveled across the North, following any lead, any rumor that spread about Sansa's whereabouts. Eventually, the rumors quieted, and still she went on, knowing she could never give up her search. It wasn't until a second trip to White Harbor that she made a choice to get on a ship and sail for Essos, no reason to it except something tells her it's the right choice to make.

The ship lands in Lorath and she spends three months combing the city for any sign, any rumor, anything at all that will tell her that Sansa is there. But three months in and she's left no stone unturned in the port city, checking even the brothels to find her lady. It wasn't until she's walking through the main market that she overhears something interesting. "...That dressmaker in Lys!" A woman is saying, smiling as she sways her skirts back and forth to show off the detail in the glimmering fabric. "Isn't it lovely? She's quite talented, my father paid for three more for me!" Brienne listened for several seconds more, though the conversation turned and there was nothing else she could learn from eavesdropping.

However, that single piece of information proved quite fruitful, for after an inquiry at a local merchant, she learned more about the Lys dressmaker. Enough that she sets out for Lys that very next morning, finding herself at the door of the small cottage where the dressmaker lives. And it's her... It's her... After all this time... It was her.

"You must come home," she speaks, staring up into the face of the young woman, who's blue eyes peer back at her, still wide in her ivory features. "The North needs you." As if these words knock some sense into her, she shakes her head, turning away as if she means to end the conversation. "Please, Lady Sansa..." Sansa pauses, shifting back ever so slightly, lids sweeping closed over blue eyes, a hand curling into a fist at her side.

"I can't go back." Sansa finally speaks, turning back to face the lady knight. She thinks back to that first time she met Brienne of Tarth, who had tried to get her to come with her back then, offering her protection from the world around her. But, Sansa had trusted in Littlefinger and went to her marriage with Ramsay Bolton, a decision she knows she will regret until her final breath. Jon is at her elbow then, his touch steadying her where she stands; as always, it is him that brings her comfort. "I'm sorry you've gone out of your way to find me here, but please, I ask that you tell no one where I am." Sansa holds her gaze steady with the woman, taking a step forward, arm pulling free from Jon's grasp. "I can never go back North."

From his cradle, Robb lets out a wail and Sansa turns from the knight in her doorway to fetch the crying infant, cradling him to her breast, comforting him quietly. Brienne rises up from her knees, shock rocking her body as she takes in the sight of the baby Sansa holds- too young to be Bolton's child... Brienne's gaze shifts to the man in the room, who's Stark looks were undeniable, and now that she looks carefully, the baby was quite the same. Her mind is racing, reeling, with this new realization and understanding just why she says she cannot go back North. "My lady... If I may speak freely..." Brienne takes a step closer inside the door, a hand clenching into a fist at her side. "Ramsay Bolton has your brother, Rickon, in his dungeons at Winterfell."

Robb nearly slips from her grasp and she sags with the weight of these words; it is not Jon who reaches her first, but Brienne, who steadies the young woman with a surprisingly gentle hand. Sansa tilts her head back so she may look the lady knight in her eyes, blinking against the tears that gather in her own. Jon is at her side then, carefully taking their now smiling son from her arms before he steps back to stand just behind her, his eyes never straying from the woman in armor. Rickon, he thinks, recalling the little child he had left behind in Winterfell all those years ago. "Are you certain?" Sansa hears herself ask, though the voice sounds foreign to even her own ears. When Brienne nods, she winces as if struck, closing her eyes for a long moment. She opens them and casts a glance across her shoulder to where Robb gurgles happily in Jon's arms; protecting him... That was all that mattered to her.

And yet...

"Sansa, you know we must go." It's Jon's voice then, soft but encouraging, forcing her to turn around to face him. "The lone wolf dies..."

"But the pack survives." She finishes and Jon smiles, reaching out to tenderly touch her arm, giving her the courage she knows she needs.

"We can't just leave him." Jon says quietly and she knows, she knows. "We can find Arya and Bran, too." They could be a family again.

Deep down, her mind was made up long before Brienne spoke of Rickon. Her heart is hammering hard in her chest when she turns back around to face Brienne, the knight that has chased her across Westeros, even after she turned away from her. It feels strange, knowing there was someone so very devoted to her. "Brienne, will you take us home? Will you take us back North?" She asks and once again, Brienne is on her knees, sword raised in a gesture of fealty. Once, men had bowed to her father like this, had bowed to Robb like this... She takes a deep breath and accepts the vow offered to her, giving the knight one back of her own.

She turns back to Jon, leaning into him as his free arm slips around her waist, her hand reaching out to brush back the baby's soft, dark locks. "It's time to go home." Jon murmurs and she nods, tilting her head to rest against his shoulder.

And so home they would go, back to the North, back to Winterfell.

[charmspoint]

37 for the fic writer questions!

Ask meme here

37. Talk about your current wips

This is great I was thinking of listing out everything im working on these days anyway n now i get an excuse. For quite a few of these I cant talk about them actually cuz they are event stuff but imma list em anyway.

(This got long so im putting it under keep reading)

Lets! Categorize!

A) Ready to post!

Here we have my ShinKami bb fic: No Escape (coming out tomorrow) and my DabiHawks bb fic: Red string of death (coming out sunday) - obvs cant say much until they are posted, lets just say that for shinkami we are gettin some horror and dabihawks gets double banger of soulmate au x reincarnation au but like angsty

B) Currently in editing

Pieces for: DabiHawks metamorphos zine, LOV found family zine and villain/vigilante deku zine - since they are zines i feel like its a big no no to talk about them so we goin down

C) Currently writing

A secret santa piece and a piece for todobaku bb - one of these is actually cute couple things and the other is be dumping magic and horror on to a shipping fic again i obviously have a thing for that the more i think about these

D) Currently planing

Shinsou bigbang! (Do NOT judge me for how many events im in) anyway im super looking forward to this i feel like i have such a great idea n mmm we arent even to partnering up yet so i zip

DabiHawks secret admierer au - something i can talk about :0. This was one of my pitches for the metamorphos au n i got attached. The basic premise is: no powers high school au, local bad boy band member Touya is pining hard after straight A good boy Keigo and in atempt to confess his feelings he leaves a love song in his locker. The problem? Dabi is super fucking edgy and so is his song and upon reading it Keigo is 100% Dabi wants him dead. Shennaniganse ensue. LOV is there giving Dabi increasingly bad love advice, Rumi is there mostly to laugh her ass of and then do dramatic reading of the song, im gonna write actual songs for it!!! Anyway just lil slice of life school comedy, im not always about horror and angst belive it or not. Im looking forward to this one it should be fun!

All the beautiful things we are (All the dangerous things we will become) - another chuuya gen fic!! This one featuring Kouyou (n maaaaaybe Kyouka) in some good ol sibling bonding. Set earlier then The suffocating quality of your dying breaths, its basically kouyou taking chuuya under her wing and some good sibling bonding that will probably feature some good ol exploration of gender expression and just kouyou wrestling a brat into a suit. I just want some good chuuya n kouyou n some decent chuuya experimenting with dressing up n darn it ill make it myself

There are a few more that are in my notes as possible ideas but these are the ones im sure ill write so i dont wanna promise anything i wont do

E) On hiatus

TodoBaku murder mystery - my original idea for the todobaku bb, i wanted to challenge myself n write something i never did before but then college slapped me n ye i went back into the comfort zone. I still wanna do this one someday, probably over summer. Basic concept: normal life au, Enji Todoroki is found dead in his bed and detective! Bakugo is on the scene trying to determin did any of the family members, gathered that night to celebrate their mother returning from a hospital, have anything to do with it while trying super hard not to fall for the one Todoroki that keeps sticking his nose where it doesnt belong. Featuring: literally everyone having a motive and Bakugo being done with the family drama, Dabi being in a gang and acting like he owns the place, and ice skater Shouto both too dumb and too smart for his own good. We will see does anything come of it.

Season of rain - omegaverse light fic where i, an asexual, look at a trope purely made for kink and go 'what if for me tho?'. I call it light cuz i wont be writing any sex but u know me its heavy on angst. Featuring: Deku squad as a ship, omega sho n izu, alpha uraraka n beta iida n tsuyu. Dealing with such topics as: postpartum depression, sexisam, fear of alphas, arranged marriges, pack dynamics, betas having an actual role and importance, maneging poly reletionships, me harping on about how ideal number of parents is actually more than two and that if there were three genders standard reletionships would be expected to be a x b x o not just a x o. Aka me putting way too much worldbuilding into a kink trope. Basic premise: seeing as shouto turned out to be an omega, instead of training him to be a hero enji signs him of to enter a quirk marrige when he gets older just like rei. Years later shouto has just gotten out of a divorce and with a whole baby in tow is taken in by dekusquad. Hurt comfort ensues as they slowly work shouto into their dynamic and make him feel safe and loved again. Honestly i just want to give this one more time n attention that i have rn so its waiting for summer

Ashes to ashes - a dabihawks (maybe) post war au fic that was supposed to focus on Dabi facing what he has done and who he has become and the almost imposible process of changing yourself for the better when you spent all your life chasing one thing, on one side and on the other; Hawks recovering fron trauma caused by almost being killed, dealing with his newly growing wings causing him pain and being afraid he'll never fly quite the same again and trying to find connections among other heroes just cuz i say he needs friends. Both of them are dealing with very mixed emotions about each other and they work through them seperatly and together, trying to set everything that happend into a perspective and figure out where to go from there. I havent decided do they actually get back together or not by the end of it all. I was planing this and then hori dumped dabis crazy ass on me n now im mostly waiting to see what he does with him so i know what to do with him in the end, smh hori making my life hard :/

[spitecremated]

GET TO KNOW THE BLOGGER.

For rp & non-rp blogs to get to know a bit about the person behind the screen !

1. FIRST NAME  ⇢  Ray  /  Rayne.

2. STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF ⇢  I live in what’s literally classified as a village. Think ‘small town’ vibes but like, squared.

3. TOP 3 PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON  ⇢  Bright eyes, colored hair (blue and red are my favorites), tattoos.

4. A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF  ⇢  Fried rice. Also, mint chocolate chip ice-cream.

5. A FOOD YOU HATE  ⇢   Tomato-based anything, tbh.

6. GUILTY PLEASURE  ⇢  I don’t really have guilty pleasures, but... my fascination with plushies / stuffed animals? The fact that I still unironically watch the old Care Bears movies??

7. WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN  ⇢  Usually whatever I wore that day, unless it was something really uncomfortable or something I’d rather not wrinkle to all Hell. When I actually change? PJ pants and a t-shirt or tank-top; I have a couple actual PJ sets, but I don’t wear them very often.

8. SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS  ⇢  Both, honestly? They both have appeals for me. That being said, serious relationships are far more important to me, and my relationship always takes strict priority over whatever ‘flings’ may arise.

Reminder: I’m poly, my relationship is open to me having flings, this is not an admittance of doing anything less-than-appropriate, don’t jump down my throat.

9. IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE  ⇢  There are countless bad things in my past, that I imagine most people would want to change, but... those sort of made me who I am today, for better or for worse, so I wouldn’t change any of that. That being said? If I had the chance to take my mother’s cancer away, I’d do that.

10. ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON  ⇢  Incredibly, in most senses of the word. I’ve always been physically affectionate, and I’ve gotten more verbally affectionate in recent years.

11. A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN  ⇢  Labyrinth, or Logan.

12. FAVORITE BOOK  ⇢  Way too many to collectively list here. I’m a huge fan of Hawksong by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, though.

13. YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE  ⇢  A Mexican black kingsnake, that’s the dream. And I’m going to have one someday, nothing can stop me.

14. TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS  ⇢  I’m gonna keep this in-fandom, because I have way too many ships in most my fandoms if I don’t ‘narrow it down’ a little... Dabi / Hawks, Dabi / Twice, EraserMic, unironic adoration for various ‘unlikely’ ships with Dabi. Annd for an on-blog one, my favorite ship with an OC is probably my ship with @sensoryquirk  !

Also: The Todoroki Kids & Rei  x  Recovery & Happiness. 

15. PIE OR CAKE  ⇢  Cake.

16. FAVORITE SCENTS  ⇢  Peppermint, lavender, Dragon’s Blood incense, white sage.

17. CELEBRITY CRUSHES  ⇢  Tyler Blackburn, Aaron Paul, Boyd Holbrook, Ksenia Solo, Ashley Graham, Britt Robertson.

18. IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO  ⇢  Honestly? To see my partner and metamour, down in Alabama. I miss the Hell out of them. But outside of that? Probably London; I’ve always wanted to go there.

19. INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT  ⇢  Introvert.

20. DO YOU SCARE EASILY  ⇢  Yes, which is fucking ridiculous given my adoration of multiple horror series. I apparently do not know what self preservation is.

21. IPHONE OR ANDROID  ⇢  Android, 100%.

22. DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES  ⇢  When I have the energy for it! I mostly play games on my 2DS and my phone, these days, and some PC games. The old Fossil Fighters, an old Harvest Moon game, Pocket Camp, Plague Inc, the old Starcraft, Fallout... to name a few!

23. DREAM JOB  ⇢  Author & Poet, hands down. But outside of that? Some sort of typist job.

24. WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS  ⇢  Pay off my family’s medical bills, go to therapy, finish repairing our house, actually get my own health in order... adulthood things, honestly. Fun things would come after all that.

25. FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE  ⇢  I don’t hate characters easily, but fuuucking Mine/ta. Cannot stand the brat, genuinely makes me feel ill when he’s on screen, would honestly love it if he got killed off. 

26. FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER  ⇢  Oh dear Lucifer... That’d be SNK  /  Attac/k on Ti/tan, definitely. I used to be really into it, kept up with the manga, was active in the RPC, the whole nine yards. But between some personal bullshit that happened, and the fact that the creator turned out to be fucking terrible... yeah, no, we’re done with that shit. Still lowkey would die for Levi, though; miss the fuck out of that muse at times.

Tagged By:  Stolen.

Tagging:  @floatiisms  /  @duoplicitous  /  @abysmalpyre  /  @akumubaku  /  @tears-like-snow  /  @tenacityblitz  /  @cardinalpinion  /  whoever else wants to steal it!   (I know this was going around last week, so if anyone already did it, my apologies.)

[girls-scenarios]

Girl Group Fic Rec

A/N: Because I feel bad that I’m not going to be posting much this week. Please enjoy these fics while I suffer through the last week of classes and four major papers. - Admin Kiwi

Twice

Bedside Manner - Nayeon/Jeongyeon - T - Jeongyeon ends up breaking the record for most visits to the hospital in a month. She claims she's doing it for the challenge, but her friends are pretty sure it has more to do with a certain nurse she keeps running into.

Actions Speak Louder - Nayeon/Jeongyeon - T - Fate normally sounds romantic, but Nayeon is beginning to think that it's a curse in the form of this damned mystery girl in her class. College!AU

in the mood for love - Chaeyoung/Tzuyu - Chaeyoung often laughed as if nobody were watching, and Tzuyu now understood when Teresa Teng sang of smiles being comparable to flowers blooming on a sweet, Spring day.

louder - Nayeon/Jeongyeon - jeongyeon marvelled at the way nayeon made her feel like everything was alright with the world.and even if it wasn’t, that’s fine too. because they could take on the world someday, so long as they were in this together. (based on jeongyeon's part-time job at the bakery that she had while she was a trainee.)

get off free. - Nayeon/Momo, Mina/Sana - M - placing the bloodied knife down onto the oak table, nayeon blinks once, taking a deep breath in. well, fuck. serial killer au.

The Great Fog of 1893 - Jihyo/Tzuyu - T/M(?) - Vampire!AU - The last dairy entries of Miss Park Jihyo, regarding the events leading up to her disappearance, in 1893.

points and theories - Chaeyoung/Tzuyu - G - chaeyoung loves math, and, although tzuyu doesn’t always understand, chaeyoung finds a way to make it simple

sugar, we’re going down - Tzuyu/Jihyo, Nayeon/Jeongyeon, Dahyun/Chaeyoung, Momo/Sana - M - "look!" nayeon's mouth is right at her ear. tzuyu doesn't even need to back away, because the volume's just right. "the purple-haired one, right at the front. apparently she's part veela."

Afterglow - Mina/Chaeyoung, Nayeon/Momo, Sana/Dahyun, Jihyo/Tzuyu - T -Twice/X-Men AU. After discovering she has the power of hypnosis, Mina is sent off by her parents to a hidden school for the gifted in Korea where she will be safe from anyone attempting to harness her powers as a weapon. There, Mina befriends eight other girls, each with extraordinary powers of their own, that will help her to come to terms with being a mutant, as well as help her learn to control her powers, which can be detrimental, even deadly, to those around her.

Another Pretty Face - Nayeon/Mina - G - Nayeon’s used to imagining herself in healthy relationships with beautiful strangers she sees on the streets. Mina’s an interesting character who keeps showing up in her life from time to time.

Nightswimming - Nayeon/Jeongyeon - T - Nayeon is first. She's the best. She's always the best. Until she's fourth. 2yeon swimming AU; in which Nayeon is the star of the college swim team and Jeongyeon is her roommate.

Compliment - Momo/Sana - G - Three times Momo complimented Sana thinking she didn’t know japanese and the one time Sana returned the compliment

Game - Nayeon/Jeongyeon, Sana/Dahyun, Momo/Mina - T - It's finally Jeongyeon's year. She's finally the starting pitcher and she's got this. At least she thinks she does. But the opposing team's head cheerleader, Im Nayeon has different plans.

A guide to handling the girl who makes you write Batman on her coffee cup. - Jihyo/Momo - G - In which Jihyo is a barista and Momo has way too much fun coming up with weird names.

Green Tea - Jeongyeon/Sana - G - Jeongyeon needs to focus on her essay for class buts it’s pretty hard when her crush is looking sad and ill in the next room. Jeongyeon can’t act on it they’re unwritten rules about falling in love with your housemates. Right?

LOONA

On That Day, I Wished It Would Blossom in the Sun - Kim Lip/JinSoul - T - In which Jungeun is the local florist and Jinsoul is the tattoo artist down the road whose smile renders Jungeun speechless, leaves her desperately searching for wherever the air in her lungs went. She thinks Jinsoul took it with her.

the coloring book - Yves/Chuu - G - sooyong was never good with children, and although she loves her niece yeojin, she wasn't particularly happy to pick her up from kindergarten. little did she know she'd meet someone really, really special there.

Drowning In You - Kim Lip/JinSoul - lifeguard jungeun saves popular girl Jinsoul from drowning. feelings may or may not have ensued.

Goal - Hyunjin/Choerry (rare pairing!) - G - Friend asked for Hyunrry AU, and this is what happened. Soccer! and Highschool!AU

Wake Up Call (It's Like Holding Hands) - Hyunjin/Heejin, background Haseul/Vivi, Yves/Chuu, Kim Lip/Jinsoul, Olivia Hye/Go Won - G - “Happy Halloween, hoes,” is the first thing Yeojin says at exactly twelve midnight, before dumping a box of spiders onto Chaewon’s head. Or, Hyunjin is in love with Heejin. Yeojin tries to "help". Just another day in the LOONA dorm.

if you were also looking for me - Yves/Chuu (and background ships) - T - The annual talent show auditions are being managed by none other than Jiwoo's mortal enemy, it's snowing in September, and Jiwoo may or may not have vague magical powers. But hey, it's junior year: anything may as well happen, right? Featuring: teenage angst, social media, bathroom graffiti, magic-induced fainting, unhealthy amounts of obliviousness, truly awful pickup lines (courtesy of one Heejin Jeon), and the worst recorded snowstorm in history.

But My Heart is Like Paper (You're Too Good To Be True) - Go Won/Olivia Hye - Hyejoo looks at the little paper crane, spies the telltale pencil markings on its wings from where she had written her algebra work down before folding it. Gingerly, she picks it up, smiles to herself as she pinches its neck and tail, pushing and pulling, watching the paper crane’s wings go up and down. A light bulb flickers on in her head .Or, Hyejoo just wants to brighten Chaewon's week, so she folds her origami every day and hopes it's enough to bring a smile. Highschool!AU

Truth//Dare - All popular ships - G - All Jung Jinsol wants to do is take the train home after school. But when it breaks down, leaving her and 11 other girls stuck in a compartment, what's a girl to do but play a few rounds of Truth or Dare?

stole my napkins and my heart - Haseul/Vivi - G - Haseul wonders what exactly it is about the napkins at the cafe she works at that makes them worth stealing, and wonders what exactly to call the little leap her heart does when she sees the napkin thief.

Gonna fly now - Go Won/Olivia Hye - G - Truthfully, the boxing club had been their very last hope. Hyejoo had tried everything from football to swimming along with a impressive number of martial arts but after each she’d shrugged her shoulders and said she didn’t felt like playing it again and her parents had sighed and said let’s try something else then. But then Hyejoo enters the boxing club and while her parents starts chatting with the coach her sight immediately settles on the tiny girl with the long black hair who’s hitting a punching bag in a corner of the room like she wants it dead. She can’t seem to be able to stop watching.

tempting - Haseul/Vivi - T - Vivi hated this part of her job. Angel/Devil Au

what stays below, what flies above - Haseul/Vivi - Story behind Queen Vivian's favorite painting.

you make loving fun - Haseul/Vivi - G - Kahei desperately needs a date take to her parents’ company event so they won’t set her up with another “appropriate suitor”. Of course, she does what everyone in their right mind would do—she talks her long-time crush into being her fake girlfriend for the weekend. What could possibly go wrong?

cheating - Haseul/JinSoul - T - Soulmate AU where whatever your soulmate writes on their skin, it appears on yours too. And Haseul's soulmate loves to cheat on her exams.

there's sunshine in your smile - Chuu/Kim Lip - G - “She has the hots for Kim Jiwoo. Ran out midway to get her flowers and everything,” Sooyoung reports, flinching when Jungeun glares at her and raises her fist. Haseul has to step in between them to break up the impending fight. With Sooyoung cackling this much, it wouldn’t be long before Jungeun actually punched her anyway. Or: Jiwoo sings like an angel, and Jungeun runs out mid-concert to get flowers for the girl who moved her with just her voice.

steal my heart, too - Kim Lip/JinSoul - G - At first, Jinsol isn’t quite sure what to think as she watches a chubby Shiba Inu walk into her small pet store via the motion detector door because… well, the dog’s owner is nowhere to be seen. Jinsol just stares as the tiny dog struts up to one of the shelves, taking hold of a small bag of treats in its mouth. Amused, Jinsol just keeps watching as the dog walks out of the store. Wait, Jinsol thinks, I’ve just been shoplifted by a dog.

santa baby - Olivia Hye/? - G - it’s not until the fourth time that hyejoo gets suspicious. or,on the first day of december hyejoo finds a small present packed neatly on her desk. and the gifts keep on coming.

Red Velvet

Debugging - Irene/Seulgi - T - Irene is a game developer struggling to analyze what everything meant. Seulgi is a barista who thought she knew it all. Very loosely based on the web drama Game Development Girls.

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night - Irene/Wendy - T - Wendy catches the eye of a certain senior after a performance and a fall.

parties, smiles, and ice cream - Irene/Wheein (Mamamoo) - irene finds herself interested in a girl who owns a sketchbook, likes oversized sweaters, and doesn't mind strawberries at a not so interesting party.

a game is better when played by two - Irene/Seulgi - G - Kang Seulgi always sits beside the same girl on the bus ride home. Or where in Seulgi and Irene are two grown ass women who are passionate about playing mobile games.

Inside This Place is Warm - Irene/Seulgi - G - Irene is a barista at her university's coffee shop, and she just so happens to be the object of someone's affection. The only problem is that no one is quite sure who that "someone" is. This is where Seulgi and her friends come in. Or, in which Irene's a senior in college and she loses her mind over her beautiful neighbor, who she talks to far too often for it to be healthy.

IZ*ONE

it was such a sight, but it was just fluorescent high rises - Chaewon/Minjoo - G - minjoo discovers something about chaewon she shouldn't haveor in which it took her quite the time to get used in seeing her smile. highschool!au

of spells and potions - Chaewon/Minjoo, Yujin/Wonyoung - G - In-progress - Everybody in Hogwarts thinks the same of Yujin, Minju and Chaewon.They want to be friends with Yujin, want to date Minju, and want to never cross paths with Chaewon. /aka that hogwarts au no one asked for

Just Who the Hell Do You Think I Am? - Yena/Hyewon - G - Hyewon starts to regret so much about her life when her tinder date gets bundled into the back of a police car before she sets foot inside the restaurant.

Flavour of the Month - Hitomi/Nayoung (Produce 48/Banana Culture) - G -  Nayoung suffers a heartbreak and someone makes her heart race

i told you so - Eunbi/Hyewon, side Chaeyeon/Sakura - T - “Why are you guys arguing over the last condom if you’re both lesbians?” Yena asks. Eunbi and Hyewon both go beet red, avoiding eye contact. “Well, I mean, it’s always good to be safe,” Eunbi tries, but a lightbulb goes off in Yena’s head and she says “ohhhhh,” very loudly, wiggling her eyebrows. “I don’t get it,” Chaewon says. Eunbi thinks she might die of embarrassment. Or, Hyewon is a figure skater and Eunbi is an ice hockey player. They meet at the Winter Olympics in a rather unconventional way, but it turns out alright.

Stay Right There - Eunbi/Hyewon - Eunbi could only wish to be as carefree as Hyewon, instead of being the next CEO of Kwon Enterprises.

Mornings - Hitomi/Chaewon - Hitomi would always sneak up to the other dorm just to cuddle with Chaewon after their schedules.

Sweeter Than Fiction - Yena/Yuri - In-progress - Right in the moment Yuri met Choi Yena in that chat room, she knew the girl was gonna be someone important in her life or, Yuri being absolutely whipped by Yena since the first time they talked to each other and her rollercoaster ride going through feelings while being a broke college student with lots of responsibilities

Zone Wars - G - IZ*ONE's gamer line plays games to mixed results. Sakura taunts, Hyewon wins, Yena complains, and Minju just wants to be included.

BlackPink

And Fall - Jisoo/Lisa - G -  Her eyes, behind the lenses catching the veiled sunlight that must be blinding her, are so unguarded, glittering like quick little honey droplets. A gentle, thoughtless smile remains on her lips, even in the absence of an answer. It was hard enough resisting sweet underclassman Lisa, with her bleach-damaged hair and limbs far too long, movements far too sharp, for her body. But this? A gorgeously content Lisa, grown into herself and oblivious of the effect she has on the world, smiling at Jisoo so tenderly it must be a crime? Damn near impossible.

From every Sunday evening to every Sunday night - Jennie/Lisa - G -  Lisa wants Jennie to know the way she feels about her, so she writes her a note every day of the week.

CLC

Pumpkin spice with an undecent ammount of cream - Sorn/Seunghee - G - Seasons were only the background for companies to ask for money: “hey! Do you want to be like that girl, long curly hair, perfect make up, that is looking through the window as autumn settles in? Then come buy here! Everything is orange, red, maroon and brown and it tastes like pumpkin!” Seasons could suck Sorn’s toe for all they were worth. “And what would you like today?” “A pumpkin spice latte, please.” Or where Sorn has this big crush on a barista.

like a cat - Yujin/Yeeun - G -  Yeeun is a very, very tired college student. She doesn't believe her eyes when she sees a large cat dancing in the middle of a shopping centre. She didn't even know cats could dance. Yujin works at a cat cafe and sometimes has to wear a cat costume to advertise the cafe at the mall. One day, a very tired and loud girl stops to watch Yujin dance.

late groceries - Elkie/Sorn - G - sure it was too late for that, but still, they really needed their groceries. it was Urgent.

unexpected - Yujin/Yeeun - G - yeeun entered the building waiting for a job, and left with a soulmate.

Dancing with our hands tied - Sorn/Yeeun - T - A bet, an unforgettable night, and a really regretful Yeeun.

Weki Meki

trying to find an island in the flood - Doyeon/Yoojung - G - It is not the first time Yoojung has climbed into Doyeon’s bed, but it feels different, when Yoojung sticks her feet under the warmth of the blankets and Doyeon’s arms wrap around her almost instantly. “Sometimes,” Doyeon begins, absentmindedly tucking a strand of hair behind Yoojung’s ear, “I feel like I’ve already met my soulmate. But other times, I’m not sure, you know?” Something twists uncomfortably in Yoojung’s stomach and she swallows.

it's my favorite business interaction - Rina/Lucy - "Doyeon unnie, as much as I appreciate this, I'm seventeen. When am I going to need this?" "Interviews," Doyeon says offhandedly. "What… kind of interviews…?" "Like your date with Hyojung," Yoojung helpfully supplies. "That's sort of an interview." "Who said I was going on a date with Hyojung?"

Win Again - Doyeon/Somi (i.o.i, soloist) - G - High school heartthrob Jeon Somi's taekwondo team gets a budget cut for the cheerleading team's new uniforms. She has mixed feelings about their future captain, Kim Doyeon.

ten reasons why - Lua/Rina - G -  Soeun lists down ten reasons why she hates Sookyung.

fromis_9

the dazzling you, the angelic you - Saerom/Gyuri - G - Beautiful, breathtaking, alluring. That’s what Saerom was. And Gyuri couldn't bring herself to take her eyes off of her, ever.

despacito - Seoyeon/Jiwon - G - it’s this moment, seoyeon thinks, that her idol training has been preparing her for. that is, singing an extremely romantic song in front of the girl who you’ve liked for several months, who also happens to look extremely attractive right now.

the sun was in my eyes (the sun was in her smile) - M - Saerom/Gyuri, Saerom/Hayoung  "So, how did you and Gyuri meet?" Hayoung asks.Saerom should be more prepared than this. She has an email in her outbox sent to gyuljang@gmail.com with the subject line important backstory details for a reason. "Through Chaeyoung, the intern?" "Well, you guys look cute together," Hayoung says, giving Saerom an enthusiastic nod. (a buzzfeed AU)

Finding Solace - Saerom/Gyuri - G - Forest sprite Gyuri keeps finding a girl going back to the forest.

Pristin

all my nights taste like gold - Eunwoo/Rena - G - yaebin looked around quickly, but no one was looking at them. "you shouldn't call me that. if they hear you--" "you're always gonna be kang yaebin to me, dummy," eunwoo interrupted. "if they don't like it they can answer to me.”yaebin felt a rush of warmth in her chest, like she was comfortable in her own skin for the first time in years. she had almost forgotten that eunwoo always made her feel that way.

I'm Your Girl ? - Rena/Roa - T  “Do you want to know what’s on my mind right now then?” Minkyung asked slowly. Yebin looked back at her and nodded. “It’s you. It’s almost always you,”

falling, falling, falling (for you, you, you) - Kyulkyung/Eunwoo - it's like everything in jieqiong's life shifts into place, while also simultaneously crumbles, within five seconds.

Another Halloween - Yuha/Eunwoo - G - Kyungwon and Eunwoo spend their Halloween together, like always

WJSN

of course the snake would hate the lion - Luda/Eunseo - T - son juyeon, a muggleborn, was incompatible with lee luda, a girl that grew up with her parents telling her that muggles were inferior than them. when she sees herself being target of juyeon's jokes and attention, she thinks she's in hell. she really hates the younger girl, she's pretty sure of that, but when juyeon's get involved in a quidditch accident, luda started to care more than the normal about the other's well being.

Dreamcatcher

Summer Dream - Yoohyeon/Dami - T - Ever since she was little, Yoohyeon has spent her summers lazing away at the country club pool. Funny enough, despite spending so much time there, she never learned to swim. This summer there’s a hot new lifeguard in town who Yoohyeon is helplessly crushing on. When Yoohyeon’s genius of a best friend flings her in the pool in order to try and catch her crush’s attention, another girl ends up saving her from drowning and stealing her heart in the process…

close to you - Yoohyeon/Siyeon, SuA/JiU - T - Kim Yoohyeon has two goals for this school year: to get the solo at the school concert and to enjoy her life alone in her new apartment. Both of these goals are crossed by Lee Siyeon, Yoohyeon's biggest rival since middle school, when unfortunate circumstances lead to them having to share more than just their passion for singing...

A Date in Stilettos - Yoohyeon/Dami, SuA/Siyeon - Blind dates aren't supposed to be amazing.

Traffic Duty - Yoohyeon/Dami - T - Officer Lee Yoobin has the most boring shift ever, or she thinks she does.

One Of The Nightmares  - Handong/Yoohyeon - T - Yoohyeon often has nightmares while sleeping and while awake. Handong is always there to bring her back from them.

half my bones - JiU/Siyeon - T -  when siyeon wakes up, she finds herself in a garden of lilies. Hanahaki Disease.

i want it, i got it - Yoohyeon/Dami - E - Yoobin has quite a few feelings about Yoohyeon's outfit from the performance of 7 Rings.

[greyskywrites]

Wolf’s Price

[First] [Previous] [AO3] [ko-fi]

XXIII. Long Live the Wolves

2.6k

I will tell it to you as it was told to me.

That, on a warm summer evening, Crown Prince Andon of Kressos was host to a feast and a ball in the Grand Palace. It was a magnificent affair, by all accounts. Garlands of summer flowers strung from wall to wall, filling the ballroom with their scent. Wine flowing freely, near everyone who was of any importance in Kressos present and attending. Naturally, no Sarenn lords or ladies had been invited.

In the few months since she had arrived, no one had paid much attention to the quiet cook who had so quickly ingratiated herself with the kitchen staff. If they noticed that she stained her hair a darker hue, that she was always careful to be absent when some attendant close to the prince arrived, no one thought to be suspicious. Many women wish their hair were a different color. Many women are wise enough to avoid powerful men.

It was quite unexpected, when the head cook suddenly took ill before the ball. It might have promised disaster, except for the new cook, who took command of the kitchens with such ease, directing the roasting of many kinds of fowl, of the enormous river fish of which Kressosi are so fond. Of venison and pork and veal. They said to themselves, how lucky we are, to have her here. Perhaps someday she will be head cook, herself.

And always, most importantly, was the wine. Great barrels of it, I was told, big enough to drown a man in. These, the new cook tended to most especially, because by custom the prince would begin the festivities with a toast, and everyone would drink together.

No one thought it strange that this new cook worked late into the night, often by herself. It was an important event they were preparing for, and she was determined it be perfect—but she was kind enough to insist they all be rested, so that nothing go wrong because of their weariness. So no one was awake to think it strange, when the new cook whispered secret words to the herbs she boiled over the fire, or to think it strange how carefully she let the mixture cool before she poured it into the barrels of wine. Perhaps, upon waking, they did not notice the particular green smell that had filled the kitchens, because she had already begun to prepare for the making of breakfast, and melting fat will cover a great deal.

The noble lords and ladies of Kressos all began to arrive early that night, each determined to outdo each other in the show of their clothes, of their carriages and horses. Such noble houses of Kressos, Stefjan and Kellar, Gerr and Hoss, and so on.

Prince Andon and Princess Arabel were most gracious hosts, each finely outfitted in Luon silk and Sarenn fur, the white manes of snow lions, and a comb of Sarenn ivory in Arabel’s dark hair.

Delicate glasses were filled with dark wine, and given among the lords and ladies, who simply held onto them until the prince could give his toast, as was custom. They whispered of rumors of what had occurred in the north, of Commander Emiran’s disappearance, as well as the vanishing of the prince’s personal physician. No one dared speak aloud what they truly thought, that His Highness the Prince must have decided that Emiran’s popularity was too great a threat to his own. There was a great deal of whispering among those who had brothers and sons who were military men, about whether it would be more prudent to call them home.

The prince gave his toast, in which he spoke of Kressos’ success, and, most alarmingly, brought up the missing commander. He promised that Muras Emiran and his companions would be found soon enough, he would make sure of it.

No one in the kitchen had yet noticed that the new cook was missing.

They toasted, and drank, and at first it seemed that all was well. There was a great deal of eating and merriment, trying to put the thought of the missing commander out of their minds. Andon, especially, drank quite heavily.

It was Lord Stefjan, who fell first. So every version of this part of the story tells me, without doubt. Stefjan who keeled back out of his chair, and fell dead to the floor. Then, all at once, it began. One after the other, everyone who had partaken of the wine began to fall, some choking and unable to breathe, some vomiting.

In the most dramatic of the stories, it is Arabel and Andon who fall last, the prince cradling the body of his dying wife, but that all seems quite tawdry to me, and the person I trust most to recount it to me was not there to witness it. A hall full of corpses, and a few in the kitchen, after unwise servants had stolen a swallow of wine. It took some time for the panic to abate, for those people left alive in the palace to think to look at who had been in the kitchens, and discover the new cook missing.

She was searched for, and in the searching, so too was found the body of King Isaec, who had not been poisoned. In his weakness and old age, his throat had been cut. Written on the wall, and this I do know to be true, though I still find it in poor taste, were letters in the dead king’s blood. The same phrases, written twice. Once, in Kressosi, that everyone who saw them might be able to read them. Again, in Sarenn, so that it would be clear.

The king is dead.

Long live the wolves of Saren.

#

Lor had long since fled, when the search for her began. There was a boat waiting for her at the river, a small one, manned only by someone who had long since given up river travel. He did not know exactly what she had been about—stories of the deaths in the Grand Palace would not reach him until days later, after Lor had already left his company. He had agreed to meet her for exactly one reason: because she had promised to bring him news of me.

She told me that Kaspar was in good health, that he was relieved to hear that I was alive and safe, and that he grew quite somber when she told him that it would not be possible for me to return to Kressos. Of Kip, she learned that he was also well, that he was beginning to learn his letters. She said Kaspar was wistful, when he spoke of our son.

He carried her as far as a more distant port, where Lor could safely depart for Saren. She clasped his wrist in her hand before she left him, and met his gaze. “There is more you ought to know,” she said, “about the woman who gave you your son.”

She said he did not believe it, when she told him my name. The name that I was born with, that I had picked up again. He thought it absurd.

“Believe it or not, as you like,” she said, “but it will become known, soon, and you will need to protect your son.” That was how she left him, slipping away into the weak morning light, to secret herself away on a river ship bound for Saren, before it could be known how many had died that night.

#

I met several lords, in the months while I waited for word of Lor. We heard quickly what had happened in Kressos, and even among those lords who had not yet seen me with their own eyes, confirmed for themselves that I was who I said I was, there began to be whisperings. Now, they said, now was our time. While Kressos was in chaos. While Kressos had no king, while Kressos was still trying to reassemble its noble houses.

I heard of riots along the river ports, though none occurred in Arborhall. We simply closed our ports to Kressosi ships, and waited. Those Kressosi that lived in and around Arborhall prudently retreated to their estates, or, if they had none, came to seek refuge from Julas. Julas imposed upon those Kressosi who did have country households to take those that did not, and I waited. I prayed.

The rumors of me spread nearly as quickly as the story of Andon’s death. Liana Anarin still lives. Liana Anarin has come home. The lost princess, the last of Corasin’s wives.

I spent those months sewing a banner. I had sewn them before, when I was yet unmarried. I could have sewn the black hounds of Anar by memory alone. But this banner, as it took shape under my hands, was different. Between the black hounds, I placed a white wolf. The field of red, bloody and bright, brought the wolf into sharp relief.

This was not a banner for my family, not a banner for my brothers and their children. This banner was mine, and for my descendants. We were Anarin, but we were different, too. My children would be Anarin not because of their fathers, but because of their mother.

“I would like you to fly this under the Anarin banner,” I told Julas. “As long as I am here.”

I went to my father’s burial mound many times. The dawnstars grew thickly there, for we had buried many of our ancestors in this place. I talked to him, told him of my doubts and my fears, of my daughter’s growing and Veland’s progress in learning Sarenn and Kressosi. That I hoped, still, that Lor would return to teach him Aziran. That I was sorry I had not gotten to see him before he died. Asking him to keep a place open for me in the halls of the dead, when I joined him to feast with our forebears until the end of humankind.

I heard some tale of the young son of Prince Andon being made king, which might have made me laugh if I had not been so sad at the thought. He was no older than Veland. Some cousin or other relative would manipulate him until he became too troublesome, and then that boy would suddenly take ill. His sisters, I supposed, would be safer, at least for a time. They would be raised until they were old enough to marry whoever was most able to claim the throne of Kressos. Whichever one of them proved a more agreeable option for queen. Whichever one of them was sly enough to survive.

There was never any official declaration of war from Saren. There was no one to give it. There was only a definite turning of the tides, one that must have seemed to come from nowhere to the Kressosi on the far side of the river. The ones on the Sarenn side, I suspected, were less surprised. I thought of the Sarenn women with Kressosi soldiers for husbands, and knew that I was just another in a long line of forces that had harmed them.

I thought particularly of Branhild, the dyer’s niece in Nolsaford. I hoped that she and her child were safe. She had already survived so much upheaval.

And still, I heard no word from Lor.

It would not be until nearly autumn that a woman came to Arborhall on foot, the stain long since washed out of her hair, a basket on one arm. I would have known who she was anywhere. I was, by then, quite well attended by guards, but I ran out reckless to meet her, and threw my arms around her.

Lor wrapped her free arm around me, and let out a great breath, pressing her face into my hair. “Ah,” she whispered, “I missed the sight of your face.” She pulled back, and stroked my hair. “Your daughter,” she said, “what’s her name?”

I had almost forgotten, that was the last thing she said to me. That she would be back to learn my baby’s name. “Roanna,” I said. “Her name is Roanna.” I had named her under the oak trees, and I had managed to do it without weeping.

Lor nodded. “It’s a beautiful name. She’ll do her namesake proud, I’m sure.”

“It took you so long to come back,” I murmured.

“Traveling on the river got quite a bit more difficult, recently,” Lor said. “I had to come all this way on my own two feet, and feed myself along the way. It’s a good thing there’s always a need for a good physician.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Especially in war.” I held her by the arms, gazing up into her face. “You have to tell me everything,” I said.

“I will,” she said, touching her forehead to mine. “But first, I think we should eat. And I have brought you some delicious squash and rabbit.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I said. “Veland will be so excited to see you.” I looped my arm through hers, and we made our way back to the castle.

“The banner,” Lor said, pointing up at my white wolf and black hounds. “Your work?”

“Yes.”

“It’s good. The birth of a new house, I think. I’ve never seen a Tyna banner.  I suspect they were all burned, or any that survived went far away with all the cousins I’ve never met.” Their crest had been a maple tree. “But that one,” she went on, “I would be proud to fly it.”

#

In Saren, there is a saying. As we were made, so we make what comes after. Which is to say, that we are each of us shaped by what has come before us, and so we are making now what will come after us, that which our children will inherit.

I am what I am because I was born in Saren, because when the king decided he wished to have me, my father could not refuse him. I called on the Wolf because I had decided that death was a price worth paying for freedom. Because I had thought a long, long time on Anar’s hounds, who ripped him to shreds for his negligence. I am what I am because when I was given the chance to live, I took it.

When were the threads of my life interwoven with Muras’, with Lor’s? Was it when the war began, or earlier? Perhaps when Corasin decided he wanted another wife. Perhaps when Muras decided he would rather be a soldier than his father’s heir. Perhaps it was long before any of us were born, when the people on each side of the river took the names of Saren and Kressos, and decided that we were enemies.

A thousand threads I cannot see, spun together by Mother Spider who made the world. What tapestry it will make at the end, only she knows. But I have my role to play in it, however reluctantly I have picked it up. I am the woman who should have died a dozen times over, and have not. I am the woman who was chosen by the Winter Wolf, to speak with his voice, to wear that skin.

Weta gave me a horn, perhaps the oldest symbol of war to the Sarenn people. Women do not wield horns, but I have one. Mine is the breath meant to sound the call. I cannot make men go to war, I cannot stop them once they have.

I am not the hero my country would have wished for, and I doubt I ever shall be. I am, I think, happier that way.

Heroes, after all, seldom have happy ends in our stories.

I still have hope that mine might be different.

[ravens-rambling]

It’s time Thomas stops running

A/N: Hey so I got inspired randomly and wrote this. I’m not even sure if this is cannonly how it went down in the au but I was thinking of Spiderverse’s Peter and how he was scared to have kids with MJ, so he ran. Again not sure if this is something Thomas would actually do or not but idk. Also, I just realized this is my first fic with the perspective of Thomas! Would you look at that! Hopefully, I got MJ’s character right XD 

Spiderverse Au belongs to @sugarglider9603 and @ask-spiderverse-virgil

summary: Thomas ran. He's run before and now he’s doing it again. He can’t help it, but last time...last time it ended a friendship. A relationship. And now he’s worried that once again he’ll ruin it. Can one of his sons calm him down enough to face his fears? Or will he run until he can’t run anymore... and find that once again he is alone? 

WC: 2,49

ships: uuhhh idk what the ship name for Thomas and MJ is so yeah, Platonic LAMP, mentions of RED 

warnings: Crying, hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety attacks, mentions of breakup, 

Tag List: @punsterterry @frostedlover @stormcrawler75 @mutechild @mycatshuman @panicattheeverywhere15 @thewinterbookqueen @analogical-mess   @saddestlittlebabe

Oh, he screwed up, he screwed up badly. Now he’s screwed up a lot of things in his life. Let’s…not go down that gigantic list. The point is right here, right now, he messed up. And he’s not sure if he can fix it this time.

It’s been an issue for a while now if he had to be honest. It’s why his previous boyfriend broke up with him really. But recently it was brought up again and he’s not ready to face it yet again. He’s just not. Sure he has more of a support group going for him this time. But that just means there is more on the line.

More to be scared about. More to worry.

What is the thing he’s oh so worried about?

MJ wants to have a kid.

Now, now, he knows what you’re thinking. Oh, won’t that be good? That would mean taking it to the next step right? MJ loves you that much that he wants to share the love you two have.

That’s not the point.

The point is…is that he’s Spiderman. He’s a hero.

Which means he has a lot of villains that would love to hurt him and anybody he cares about. Also…hes not sure he’s ready for that.

If he had to be honest with himself…he's scared. Scared that he won’t make a good father. Scared that he screwed it up and hurts the kid or MJ, even more than he has right now of course. Scared that this kid would be dragged into his problems. Scared for so so many things.

He’s not sure he can take that on.

Now, of course, he does have well, sort of, four kids now. But he’s trained them well they know how to handle themselves if push comes to shove. But this kid? This kid would be defenseless. This kid won’t know anything about defending itself. MJ, on the other hand, …well he’s MJ he knows full well how to take care of himself. But would he be able to defend their kid if something happens and he can’t get there in time?

He’s not sure…

Now he is not doubting MJ at all. He is strong. Stronger than Thomas could ever dream of being. He has dealt with so much over his life that it puts Thomas’s life to shame. That’s not his worry his worry is the fact that his enemies are supervillains which means they have powers.

No matter how strong MJ is he isn’t superpowered strong.

And heaven forbid if something happens to MJ and their kid? Oh… He doesn’t know if he can take it. It would crush him. Worse than losing the kiddos. Worse than losing himself. He just…can't do that. He can’t risk that.

So what did he do? He ran.

Just like the last time this happened. He ran with his tail between his legs and didn’t look back.

Go on you can say it, he knows it, he’s a coward. A coward that is too scared to face the music. A coward who always runs. A coward who can’t even face his emotions. All he does is run. Run from bad guys. Run from love. Run from a slim chance at a happy life for him. Run from a family.

The last guy he was with…didn’t like that. He didn’t like that he ran and kept running. No… He got tired eventually and kissed their relationship goodbye.

That’s what’s gonna happen with the two right? MJ will realize he is tired of running after him, tired of making sacrifices for a guy that’s not worth the trouble, and finally, move on. Maybe it’s for the best… Maybe…this love thing won’t work out, in the end, no matter what he does…

Yeah… Maybe not…

Thomas glanced down to his phone with another sigh, the same ringtone he has for MJ filling the night air. He breathed out as he ran a hand through his hair and looked back out to the city lights, ignoring it.

Eventually, he’ll get tired of chasing after him…

Eventually-

“There you are.”

With dark, tired, almost teary eyes he looked over his shoulder to see the familiar figure of a white dressed teen with his hoodie up… Virgil…

Maybe he’ll get tired of him eventually too, right?

Maybe he’ll realize he isn’t such a good mentor or dad figure… Maybe they all will realize that someday. Cause that’s what he is… A disappointment.

“Dude? Dude, Earth to Thomas.”

Thomas jumped as he blinked and suddenly Virgil was a lot closer than before but he still kept his distance, thankfully. Slowly Virgil smiled and walked closer to him, and even more slowly took a seat beside him his feet dangling off the edge.

And with that, he took off his mask letting the hood fall down and looked over to Thomas with a small smile his hair all over the place and a worried look in his dark brown eyes, “What’s up, dad? MJ is pretty worried after you stormed off. Well, actually that’s an understatement more like frantically calling between all our phones and yelling our ears off when we pick up.”

His heart pricked with worry and anger at himself at hearing how frantic MJ is. He’s never like that even when he isn’t home after a few nights…

Yeah… A runner…

“It’s just…” He sighed and looked back towards the city breathing in and out. Virgil was silent as he gathered up his thoughts. Thankfully he didn’t look at him as he did so simply looking out at the city as well. They sat there for a few minutes enjoying the silence. Until Thomas broke it again.

“You know I love you guys right?”

“Yeah? Like kids yes we know.”

“Do… Do you know why I broke it off with my last boyfriend?”

“He wasn’t good enough for you?”

“No… No that wasn’t it… Not at all…”

He took a shaky breath. Guess he’ll have to actually say it. He’s never really talked about this, not to a single soul…

“The reason was…he wanted to have kids… A-And I got scared. I got scared cause I knew the risks and I wasn’t ready. I’m still not…”

“And MJ wanted that? To have kids?”

“Yeah… That’s what he wanted to talk about. He thought we could adopt. Even showed me some pictures of these cute kids from that nice orphanage but it just… I’m still not ready, Virgil. I don’t think I’ll ever be. And that’s not fair for MJ. He deserves better he deserves-”

“Now I’m gonna stop you right there, dad.”

The serious tone of the teen made Thomas whip towards him. He’s never heard Virgil this serious before. And oh boy the spark that went through the kid's eyes. Yep, he’s deadly serious.

“First off, self-deprecation is my thing. Don’t go stealing my thing. Second off, this is MJ. He will understand more than you know trust me, okay? He’s not like the last guy. If you are serious about never wanting kids MJ will never leave you just for that, you got it? MJ isn’t like that and never will be. Third off, who says you won’t be a good dad? I mean you have four teens right? And yes,” He cut off Thomas as he opened his mouth, “with you being a superhero and everything there are even more risks. But honestly… Thomas,” His eyes grew teary at this one and he breathed out.

“You are the best dad anybody can ask for. You are the best boyfriend anybody can ask for. Most importantly,” He paused at this and smiled reaching forward to touch Thomas’s leg, “You are the best friend anybody could ask for.”

Oh… Oh dear…

Before Thomas could even help it or realize what he was doing he started crying hard. Tears tore down his cheeks. And before he could stop himself he lunged at Virgil his arms wrapping around the thin male as he sobbed harshly.

“There, there dad. It’s gonna be alright. Oh and I forgot to mention, this kid, they won’t have just you and MJ protecting them. They will have all four of us, I’m sure even Dolion, Remy, and Emile, will be on their asses if they so much as touch your kid. Understand?”

That made Thomas cry even harder. All his fears all his worries Virgil just presented on the table and he cleared through every one of them. He didn’t know where his son got so intelligent but oh boy was it something. Even he was impressed…

Yeah… He was impressed with his son.

They spent what felt like hours up on that tall building the background of the city and his cries the only thing that filled the air. Virgil holding him the entire time even rocking them gently and playing with Thomas' hair to ground him… Just like what he does during one of Virgil’s attacks…

Until finally his sobs quieted down until it was just hiccups. Very slowly he started breathing back to his normal self again.

“You okay there?”

“Y-Yeah… Sorry for crying on you.”

“Hey, 'tis payback for all the times I’ve cried on you. So we’re good now.”

Thomas chuckled as he drew away from their hug grimacing as he saw all the tears and snot on Virgil’s outfit, “Sorry about that. I’ll do the laundry this time.”

Virgil looked down and chuckled waving his hand, “No, it’s fine dad. I’m serious. Also, your laundry detergent isn’t very good anyways. I’ll take at least three loads to get this out if I leave it to you.”

“Yep… Sounds about right,” He laughed as he wiped his eyes then sighed again.

“Thank you, Virge… For all of that… It meant a lot to me.”

“Yeah, sure whatever. Don’t tell Roman I got all sentimental I’ll never hear the end of it. Now,” He put back on his mask as he stood up. Thomas glanced up to see him extending a hand and though he couldn’t see his lips he could tell he was smiling.

With his own smile, he took it and stood up.

“You have a boyfriend to talk to,” And with that, he did his signature two-fingered wave and ran off the side of the building. Thomas watched as he slingshotted through the night air.

He supposes he does…

With new found energy in his eyes, he put on his mask and started making his way towards MJ's place. Though before he does he's got to make one detour…

Once he got to his door he breathed out a nervous breath. Would MJ be angry at him for just leaving quickly like that? Would he forgive him for just bailing? Oh, maybe this was a mistake… Maybe-

The door opened and his heart skipped a beat as he saw the familiar orange curls and his freckled face, though his heart stopped for a completely other reason when he saw the tear stains going down that same freckled cheeks.

“Thomas! Oh god. I was so worried,” And before Thomas could even take a breath again he was practically tackled to the floor in a hug and his eyes pricked with tears once again, “Don’t ever do that again! I thought you were mad at me! Or worse that you got hurt somewhere since you weren’t answering any of our calls. Oh god were you hurt? Please tell me you weren’t hurt. Oh god-”

“MJ. MJ, I’m fine I promise,” Thomas chuckled.

“Good… Okay… You don’t look like your injured… Yeah…” Now he was backing up from the hug tears still coming down. Then he huffed and smacked his arm playfully and gently.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For making me worry you selfish little prick! I thought you were angry at me and never coming back. God… Thomas, I thought I would never see you again…”

And if that didn’t break Thomas' heart he didn’t know what would. He felt like his heart was bleeding as he gulped.

“Well… Virgil helped me… And… We have something to discuss… Well, a lot of things but first…” He showed the huge flower bouquet that was hidden behind his back, it was covered with different colors of roses. All the colors of the rainbow. He smiled as he waited for the others reaction as he mumbled, “This is for making you worried. I’m sorry.”

MJ gasped loudly and started crying even harder which caused Thomas to suddenly get worried all over again.

“No, wait! You're not supposed to cry! Why are you crying? Do you not like it? I can return it! I just thought-”

“Shut up you gay disaster and kiss me.”

“Wait what-”

Before he could finish his sentence lips smacked against his with a loud thud noise. Thomas slowly closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around MJs waist. They leaned into each other as the kiss ticked by. And slowly all the tension and nervousness that engulfed Thomas bones just a moment ago evaporated just like that. MJ wasn’t mad with him.

He came chasing after him…

And just as soon as the kiss started it ended and they both looked at each other their eyes sparkling with energy for each other. And they smiled and giggled.

“Okay, pretty boy get inside so we can talk and so I can put these roses in a vase. I’m sure the neighbors would love to hear more of our little conversation.”

“Yeah… That sounds lovely.”

With that MJ took Thomas free hand and led him inside. They certainly did have a lot to talk about, but Thomas wasn’t as scared or worried about it as before. He felt a certain calm through his body as he stepped into the house and closed the door.

Yeah...He's not running again.

“Did he go in?”

“Yes, Roman, he went in.”

“He did? Yay! I was so worried about him.”

“Yes, Pat you won’t shut up about it. Can we please get out of this bush now? Roman, you are on top of me.”

“Oh, hush nerd. You complain too much.”

“Now now boys don’t argue. Yes, Lo-Lo we can leave now.”

“Thank god.”

As the two teens left one grumbling while the other yelled at him the pastel wearing teen paused in his tracks.

“Virge?”

“Yeah?”

“Nice work. I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, Pat.”