#summer series blind box

[jxiaoo]

Mango Town Summer Series Blind Box

[axolotlworld]

The turn Lavos gets trolled in the 2019 Smogon classic tournament recreated with the text from the resulting forum post

[glitchfiles]

heatstroke. [ljn]

pairing. mechanic! jeno x (afab) reader

wc. 3.8k+

cw. SMUT MINORS DNI!!, hard dom! jeno, profanity/cursing, outdoor/car sex, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, boot grinding, rough sex, degradation, name-calling (’slut’, ‘fucktoy’), etc…

an. i had this idea in june, but haven't had much time to write until recently. i had to rush a bit because i wanted to get it out before august/summer ends, I just made it lol. if there’s typos… oops… hope you enjoy :3

just before the muggy summer air lulls you to sleep, a series of sharp knocks at your windows jolts you fully conscious. as your eyes snap wide open, you turn to look to see a man standing outside of your car. he can tell by the bemused expression on your face you're struggling to figure out why he's here.

"roadside assistance, you called." realisation washes over your features, and the mystery man can't help but find it amusing how little control you have over your countenance.

you open the door slowly, allowing him time to move back, and groggily step out of the car. rays of sun prick your skin - the floral mini dress you had on left more of you exposed than covered.

"thanks for coming," you laugh nervously.

the sun is blinding, you can just make out the figure before you as you give your knight in shining armour a squinted once over.

his uniform consists of navy overalls and heavy boots; though he had taken the top half of his overalls off and tied the sleeves around his waist, you're sure he's sweltering. the white tank top he wore hugs his broad, muscular torso, which you can't help but ogle at.

"no problem. any idea what the issue is?" as he nears your car, you get a better look at his face. and just as you feared, he has a face to match the body.

his features are sharp, from his jaw to the upturned corners of his mouth to his nose. in contrast, the way his eyes soften up as he smiles at you fills your stomach with butterflies.

you catch yourself then clear your throat before responding. "no, it just broke down. i'm lucky i pulled over in time."

if you were trying to hide that you were checking him out, you were doing the worst job ever.

unabashed stares were far from foreign to him, he couldn’t say he minded them - especially when they were from someone cute.

he takes a quick walk around the vehicle, checking for any external damage. "tyres look fine," he mumbles to himself.

then he stops at the hood to pop it open. a frown settles upon his features as he begins to try to diagnose the issue at hand.

you don't even try to understand what he's doing, you're honestly far more concerned with analysing every square inch of the adonis before you.

"you okay standing out here? it's pretty hot," he turns to you. you had lost track of time, has it been a few minutes or a few hours? "you can sit in my truck, it has ac, or i can get you some water."

"just the water is fine!" you respond, even though cold air sounded like paradise right now actually, "i've always been somewhat interested in cars and stuff." you lied again.

"oh, really?" he raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"yeah, my dad used to fix old cars up - he'd make me hand him tools from time to time." you walked closer to him, leaving a few centimetres between your bodies.

"then, you wouldn't mind helping me out a bit? i think i know what the issue is here." you nodded vehemently, unable to stop yourself from forming an eager smile.

only when he walks away do you realise you have been holding your breath. you barely have time to catch it before he's back with two chilled water bottles in one hand and a hefty toolbox in the other. bulging muscles ripple across his arms, the sight puts a fluttery feeling in the pit of your stomach.

he sets the box down with a light grunt, then looks at you kindly and with an outstretched arm to hand you a cool bottle. the fact his hand, which you notice is comparatively larger and rougher, brushes against yours only exacerbates your condition.

you can barely look him in the eye as you take the bottle from him; you waste no time before cracking it open and gulping down a considerable amount. his eyes can’t help but follow the droplets of water that escape the corner of your mouth, trickling down your chin, your neck and then your chest before disappearing between your cleavage (which he had been trying to ignore from the moment you stepped out of your car).

“someone’s thirsty,” he mentally slaps himself and comments with a chuckle to ease the moment of tension.

he takes a swig of water before putting on gloves, picking a took out of the box and getting to work.

for a moment, only the sound of distant wildlife in the surrounding area can be heard. leaving you ample time to watch. the way his brows furrow as he concentrates on his job is more attractive than it should be.

“my name is jeno by the way,” he breaks the silence. you hadn’t even thought to ask, you quickly reply with your name. “where are you heading?”

“my friend’s place for a barbecue. this was supposed to be a shortcut, but it ended up leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere.” he lets out a sympathetic hum before letting a comfortable silence fall between the two of you again.

he hands whatever tool he has in his hand to you and asks, “can you pass me the torque wrench?”

you stare at him blankly then you stare down at the array of tools laid out. the temperature of your body increases even further as he smiles at you knowingly.

“hard to think with the heat, huh?” he chuckles walking past you to pick up the tool you would have never guessed was what he was asking for. “don’t worry about it, you can just stand and watch,” he said as though that wasn’t what you had been doing up until now anyway.

he’s sure you’re not actually interested in cars in the slightest but rattles on about the topic. most of it all flies over your head but you nod and giggle as your gaze trails over the veins on his arms are he tightens bolts.

after a short while, he stands up straight. wiping his forearm over his sweaty forehead he declares he thinks he’s done.

“key?” he plucks off his gloves as you fish it out of your purse and hand it over to him. “glad you know that one.” he teases.

you watch with bated breath as he gets into your car to start it; sure enough, the engine purrs when he turns the key.

he jumps out of the car and flashes you a proud smile that makes you melt more than the heat.

"so...” he starts tucking his gloves into his pocket then he rubs his hands together before placing them on his hips. "how would you like to pay?"

"oh yeah, let me just get my purse. how much was it?." you open your bag to rummage around for your wallet as he tells you the price.

your phone…

sunglasses… 

a pack of gum…

lip gloss…

no wallet.

you smile up at him nervously, excusing yourself to go look in your glove compartment.

jeno follows you around to see you bent over and rummaging around. he loses track of time, too preoccupied with the way your dress rides up to barely cover your ass. he didn't notice how translucent the fabric was until now, he could just make out the outline of the thong you were wearing.

while he blissfully enjoys the show, dread fills you at the realisation you may not be able to pay. you desperately look for stray bits of cash, but you can’t seem to find even a penny in your car all of a sudden.

your frantic search yields absolutely nothing. you take a second to steel yourself before stepping back onto the ground and turning towards him with a doe-eyed guilty expression that makes something stir in his abdomen.

"i swear i had it but-" you mutter, finally moving to sit facing him in the passenger’s seat. he suddenly feels a lot bigger now you're staring up at him and he's looking down at you. "but it's not- i don't have any money so-"

"well, there are other ways to pay." only when the words leave his mouth does jeno realise there is room for misinterpretation but, for some reason, he doesn't feel like correcting himself.

maybe it was the warmth or the stress of your predicament, but your mind began to entertain itself with thoughts that had nothing to do with getting this man that you had only met today his money.

you blinked dumbly, absolutely none of the cogs turning in your brain as you started eyeing him again. starting at the neckline of his tank and then fixating on his deep collarbones momentarily before drifting down.

sweat had turned the white cotton covering his torso almost transparent. the material clung to the ridges of his toned chest and abs, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

your mouth went dry; you were eyeing him like a dehydrated desert wanderer who had just spotted an oasis.

“like… how?” you blink up at him as though you don’t catch his drift. the innocence you feign starts to chip away at his self-control.

though he comes off as rather relaxed on the outside, jeno is rather rigid with himself. he had to be to run a business with any success. but at the end of the day, he was his own boss; no one had to know about this.

he glanced around. you were on a road in the middle of nowhere surrounded by woodland and he couldn't remember the last time he had seen another car drive past.

he could bend his rules this once for you.

“you’re not just a pretty face, you’re a smart girl, right?” finally, he gives into the desire that had been building inside of him since the moment he laid eyes on you. his charming eye-smile turns into a dark glare; his voice drops a couple octaves. “use your head.”

without another word, you stand up and sink down to squat, reluctant to get your knees dirty. you stare up awaiting further instruction.

“you know transfers are a thing, right?” he laughs sliding a hand over your cheek, feeling a switch inside of him flip. here you were debasing yourself for a man you had just met. “i think i like this much better though, clever girl.” 

he can’t believe you’re doing this.

he can’t believe he’s doing this.

you untie his overalls letting them drop down to his knees and tug down his boxers. internally you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of a well-groomed semi-hard cock. feeling it twitch up to attention as you wrap a hand around it. he groans out an obscenity as you begin to tentatively stoke him.

“you’re gonna need to do a lot more than that if you plan on giving me my money’s worth.” he tuts down at you, sliding his hand to rest on the back of your head. 

“whatever you want.” the seductive lilt of your voice makes him reel.

“whatever?” his chest rises as he takes a deep breath and forms a light grip on your locks. 

“anything.” you nod.

“then open your fucking mouth, slut.”  his voice suddenly becomes gravelly and commanding as he cranes your head back. you obediently open up for him, wrapping your lips around his tip to lap at the salty fluid that had started to spill out of it.

“hands behind your back,” the look in his eyes is wild as he watches you promptly obey him without reluctance. you want to please him, repay him for his kindness.  

you take the initiative to take him even deeper, creeping down inch by inch deeper with each bob; the more you take, the more drool escapes the corners of your mouth, dripping down in thick strings. you let out garbled moans, sending vibrations through him; his hand instinctively grips your locks, pushing his cock harshly into the back of your throat. you swallow a gag and tears prick your eyes but keep going.

“you’re so good,” he huffs, abdomen tightening, “you do this often? bet you’d let any man shove their cock down your throat, cheap fucking slut.”

you whine around him in protest, he lets you up to speak. you vehemently shake your head and choke out, “only you.“

“just for me.” his thumb softly endearingly caresses the back of your head. “god, what did i do to get this lucky.” he half mutters to himself before shoving himself back into your accepting mouth.

he continues to fuck into your face like you’re nothing but a hole and you take it. his head tips back as he lets out unbridled moans, comforted by the fact there was no one for miles to witness your debauchery, but infinitely turned on by the fact you were so out in the open.

jeno's breathing gets more ragged with each thrust, he hunches forward at the feeling of his orgasm hurtling towards him. if your mouth wasn't currently stuffed, you would smile as you brought a hand up to toy with his saliva-coated balls.

"oh my fucking- i'm cumming." it was the last push he needed before shooting his load down your throat. keeping you locked in place, nose smushed up against his pubic bone. all strength leaves your legs and you fall to your knees, the hard ground digs into your skin but the pain means nothing when he’s groaning about how well you’re taking his cum. you can barely breathe and your head is spinning but you wish you could make him cum again already. 

after a while, he settles down from his high and slowly removes himself. his hand grips firmly at your hair, keeping you in place. 

“what a fucking mess.” he sneers while admiring his work, how filthy you look kneeling before him. spit and cum cover your chin down to your chest; the low neckline of your dress is soaked. not to mention your makeup, black inky streaks ran down your cheeks. “liked taking my cock so much you forgot you had something to look pretty for.”

the look in your eyes was close to piety, unfazed that there was no way you could go to your friend’s house in this state. maybe he’d fucked your face a little too hard and knocked some sense out of you. it was the only explanation for you so gleefully offering yourself to every whim of a stranger; jeno was not a good enough man to refuse such an offer. 

“want more? you know, most of my customers tip.” he says in an expectant tone. “no pressure though.”

“wanna fuck me?” you run a finger up his thigh, skipping being coy - you needed him.

“i don’t know, can i?” he wants to toy with you, however.

“i said you can do anything, didn’t i?” you shuffle closer to him on your knees, batting your eyelashes up at him. 

“anything…” he repeats, dark thoughts run through his mind. a deep, shaky breath leaves jeno’s nostrils as he tries to contain the arousal stirring back up inside of him. he moves his leg forward, situating one of his heavy work boots between your legs; with the grasp he still has on you, he forces your core to come down against it. 

he doesn’t have to utter another word before your hips start moving. you bite your lip to contain the sounds threatening to escape you, shame finally kicking in somewhat. but he was having none of that; a sharp tug at your hair was all it took, he tipped your head back, and all the moans came spilling out. 

“good.” his praise encourages you to circle your hips faster. the panties you have on do nothing to hide how slick you are. 

you angle your hips for more stimulation, your swollen clit growing more sensitive by the second. you haven’t been at this for that long, but he can tell by the way your moans pick in pitch you’re nearly there. 

“close already?” he lifts the toe of his boot, pressing into you harder. “go ahead, cum on my boot. dirty, pathetic slut.” you whimper out pitifully as your orgasm finally wreaks you. 

he leaves you no time to recuperate before tugging your locks to make you stand and smashing his lips against yours. only now does it hit you that you’ve skipped quite a few bases, it’s the first time you’ve felt his lips against your own. 

you melt into his domineering kiss, trying your best to keep up with his lascivious pace. hands grope at your body, smoothing up your thighs and under your dress. 

a whine leaves your lips when his hands roughly squeeze your ass. he wastes no time attaching his lips to your neck, nipping at the skin as he moves to start pulling your panties off, you help him get them off the rest of the way and throw them somewhere into your car. 

deft fingers wander between your folds, collecting your wetness on his fingertips. the slightest brush against your raw clit makes you shudder in his grasp.

“gonna use this wet little pussy, just like i did your throat.” he whispered hotly against the skin of your neck, teasing your miserably sopping slit. “and you’re gonna take it like the good fucktoy you are.” 

now’s the point he’d finger a girl open a bit, maybe make her cum again. he’s usually kinder, more careful, less selfish; all that runs through his mind are animalistic thoughts of ruining you. 

you see the moment his resolve snaps completely, pupils dilating as a vein pops up on his temple. with no finesse at all, you’re turned around; a hand plants itself on your back, firmly pushing your torso down, you barely cushion your fall onto the car seat. 

he almost goes right in before the last fragment of sense left inside of him reminds him he’s forgotten something crucial. 

“shit, i don’t have a condom.” he slaps a hand over his face, vexed over the possibility of things ending here.

“i think i might,” you hurriedly reach into the glove compartment. not taking long to produce a foil packet and hand it to him; you turn to see he has an amused expression on his face.

“you remembered condoms but not money?” he snickers. “priorities.” 

you lower your head in embarrassment, begging him to get on with it. he obliges, quickly ripping open the packet and wrapping his cock up. with a deep hum, he slides his cock up between your ass cheeks. your back arches to push your backside further against him temptingly.

your mouths hang open in unison as he slides into you. he releases a long groan as he bottoms out, your tight unprepared hole swallowing him up deliciously. jeno’s body moves on its own, allowing neither of you time to adjust before reeling his hips back and slamming back in. his hands find purchase on your hips as he begins to pound you, digging into your curves for leverage; each thrust punching a choked moan out of you. 

“taking me so well,” he eyes the shameless mess beneath him, skin glistening with perspiration. he’s sure he’s equally as sweaty with the heat, probably more so with how much he is exerting himself; sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead, he can feel droplets racing down the sharp contours of his face to drip off his chin. yet he feels no fatigue, adrenaline keeps him going - keeps him fucking into you at a bestial pace. something about being surrounded by wilderness draws out a side of him so despicably feral, a side of him he had never been able to admit to having. 

when he said he would use you, he meant it well and truly. his cock bullied its way deeper into you.

“god! so fucking deep.” you manage to stutter out as he mercilessly crams every last inch of his cock inside. you’re sure he doesn’t mean or care to, but he hits all the spots that make your walls clench around him tighter, sucking him in deeper. 

“i can feel how close you are,” your legs shake, everything becoming more and more overwhelming by the second. his fingers dig into your flesh, holding your squirming body, “like being my fucktoy, yeah? gonna cream all over my cock?”

your legs shake and your nails scrape at the hard cushion beneath you as you bawl out incoherent words about how you’re cumming. your eyes roll into the back of you as the feeling seizes your body wholly. leaving your ears ringing and broken moans tumbling out of you as he drills you through your high.

once you fall, your legs give out and you fall limp on the seat. jeno doesn’t let up at all though. strong hands lay into your shoulders, your body is pressed further into the chair with his body weight. you barely have the space to breathe but he couldn’t care less, not when he was so close to the peak. 

he plants a foot on the car’s sill to anchor himself through a barrage of unrestrained, choppy thrusts. your poor car jolts and whines under their power.

between getting your throat fucked raw and brain-melting overstimulation, you could not form words; nothing that came out of jeno was coherent either, guttural noises of pleasure erupted from him. 

you only find out he’s cumming when you feel his cock twitch inside your sensitive walls. the fact he’s moaning your name between grunts is something you barely pick up; your body and mind have gone numb. motor function is off the table now, the only movement you can manage are involuntary muscle twitches.

jeno stills, basking in the fading pleasure, catching his breath. you’re too out of it to let out a small whine as he pulls out of you, leaving you devastatingly empty. 

“you good?” he pipes up, as you sluggishly pick yourself up. 

“fine, i think.” the heat and exhaustion have evidently defeated you; the look in your eyes is vacant as you wipe the sweat off of your forehead. you fix the straps of your soiled dress and plant your feet on the ground, your legs give out momentarily, but you catch yourself before you fall to the ground. he can't help but burst out laughing.

“look at you,” he takes your hand to steady you. the smirk on his face tells you he’s thoroughly enjoying the fact he’s fucked you to the point you can’t walk straight. “let’s get you cleaned up and home.” 

“thanks,” your cheeks grow hot as you limp toward his truck.

 “next time, bring money. not everyone’s as nice as me.” 

★ thank you for reading! my inbox is open for feedback and requests!

© glitchfiles

[carolmunson]

orange colored sky (older!modern!eddie)

older!modern!eddie - setlist inspired by the fact that i fall in love with someone new every time i got to trader joe's and @loveshotzz new older!steve series. manip by my fave @eddiemunsons-missingnipple tw: nothing really, very much a meet cute at a grocery store. eddie is in his early 40s, reader is late-late 20s/early 30s. lemme know if you guys want this to be a whole thing.

the automatic doors rush cool air into your face, a sweet reprieve from the sticky heat of this summer. a much muggier july than you remember having as a kid. but then again, you don't remember that much about being a kid these days. trader joe's is a little busier than usual, which makes sense with the holiday weekend coming up -- but you hate when it's busy. there's already too many sounds -- some summer 90s playlist and the squeaks of the carts, people in their hawaiian shirts milling around with boxes and box cutters. you just want some snap peas for god sakes. 

you grab a basket and adjust your canvas bags on your shoulder, tossing your headphones in them for later. you feel 'running errands ugly' but everyone seeing you in the bike shorts you threw on this morning doesn't think that view is ugly at all. your music drowned it out on the train ride over here. you're already sort of annoyed. people just don't know how to do anything anymore -- why are we just standing in front of produce. get what you need and go! you think hastily. but you wait for people to stop gawking at the produce and make their selection before you grab the romaine, snap peas, and shredded brussel sprouts you need. when you turn you almost walk entirely into someone's cart, eyes flitting up briefly and muttering a 'sorry, s'cuse me'.

can everyone just get off my fucking ass? you huff to yourself internally. you maneurver over to fruits, a few stands in a row -- citrus, apples, berries. all separated by category in large cargo looking boxes. you snag a big box of cherries, the three pound one, knowing you'll go through the small ones too fast. you frown over the lack of watermelon, continuing along while someone turns the corner into your aisle. you look up for a moment, just to scan your surroundings, to see who it is.

 you've never seen him before, but you've never seen anyone here before. it's not like there's regulars at the grocery store in a city like this. his hands hang over the handle to his cart by the wrists, knuckles tattooed in shapes you can't make out. you follow the leather banded watch up to a full sleeve of ink, only obscured by the start of a cuffed t-shirt sleeve, a crisp white that blinds against the black of the elvira pin up tattoo on his tricep. horror icons blending into each other seamlessly. you can see more black and color peeking out from the collar of his shirt --vintage judas priest, mint condition, tucked comfortably under a well perserved denim vest covered in patches of bands you've never heard of. you're surprised by the black chino shorts on his bottom half, not expecting someone who was clearly still stuck in their grunge phase to wear those over cut off jeans. the busted up reebok's on his feet make up for it though -- pairing nicely with the tattoos on his calves and thighs, not quite sleeves, but enough to make a statement. 

you grab a box of strawberries and pop them into your basket, surveying the mangos on the top shelf at your eye level while he maneuvers behind you. you think he's cute but you don't take too much stock in it -- it's so like you to have a 'train boyfriend' or 'trader joe's boyfriend' for a brief moment in time. someone cute that you spot outside and never speak to. it's one of those days.

he has brown eyes and thick lashes, hair dark wrapped in a bun on the top of his head with streaks of silver poking through, bangs in his face. some curls stick to the heated skin by his neck and jaw. not that you're looking. the scruff on his face is littered with salt and pepper -- maybe that part of him aging more than the rest. he grabs a heap of bananas to his nearly empty cart. he also has a big box of cherries in there. he wears a cologne with spice and suede in the notes, it's familiar, a little smoky. maybe an old boyfriend used to wear it. you shrug it off, grabbing a mango or two and popping it in a produce bag before hocking it in. more veggies for a greek salad. an onion. some pre-packaged turkey slices. 

you turn into the first frozen food section, weaving through more people who just stand there and you grit your teeth. you snag some frozen broccoli, the coolness bringing you a moment of calm so that you don't lose your mind inside the store. more like traitor joe's. you grab a few more things, a veggie medley for a tofu scramble, some scallion pancakes that you’ll use as meal replacement because no matter how many times you think you’ll food prep you never do. you see him at the end of the aisle, rifling through bags of frozen shrimp to find one he likes. you notice he has a ring on but it’s on his pointer finger, two more rings on the hand that holds his cart by his hip – a silver chain dangles from what you assume is his wallet in his back pocket. his keys jingle from a carabiner by his front belt loop. slut, you think to yourself. you grab a bag of small frozen salmon filets, not paying much mind to your grocery store boyfriend of the week when you turn the corner to the next frozen food aisle. he’s there not soon after you, grabbing frozen fruit medleys and a few bars of chocolate on the non-frozen shelving above. you aren’t sure if he sees you, but you see him. you can smell the suede and spice of his cologne as his moves past you to the other end. bread is on the back wall of the store, you want to get sourdough but you know you’ll just eat it plain and not make sandwiches so you opt for the tuscan loaf instead. you snag a bag of mini bagels, forgoing the small baguettes this time. you can’t afford the good burrata this week for any special girl dinner you come up with, so it’s best to not have it around if you can’t pair it with anything pretty. further down the back wall you get to snacks and don’t ignore the bag of yogurt covered pretzels – a basket must. seaweed snacks for salmon rice bowls. plantain chips. Your basket feels a little heavy but at least this errand is almost over. you turn down the pasta, beans, and rice aisle and there he is turning down the other end. you both catch each other this time, because this time feels like it’s not a coincidence. you both break eye contact as quickly as you make it, both of you looking down and smiling to yourselves. you feel the heat on your cheeks but you don’t see his blush, both of you too preoccupied with whatever you have to pick up to pay attention to the other. you smell the suede and smoke even after you lose him to the next couple of aisles. 

pre-packaged tortellini, lox, shredded cheese. chicken thighs. a six pack of some pretty sounding beer you’ve never tried. your basket overflows but it’s fine. the errand is over, at least here, before you need to run into target which for some reason is far less overstimulating. he’s a few people ahead of you on the opposite line, still leaning over the edge of his cart with his hands hanging, one thumbing a text to someone before he stands up fully to push the cart ahead. he looks over his shoulder and your eyes briefly meet for a moment – heat on your cheeks – before he moves ahead to turn down the long row of cashiers to pay. you don’t see him when it’s your turn and by the time you’re done paying you’ve already forgotten about him, lost in a flirty conversation with the guy ringing you up. target only has half of what you need and that’s fine because nothing else will fit in the big canvas bags you brought with you for your groceries and it’s at least an eight minute walk back to the train. you groan when you get back out into the heat, the boiler room of the subway cooking you as you make it down to the platform. a pleasant sigh passes your lips when you see it’s at least only a four minute wait until your train makes it to you – only a few more minutes of suffering before you’re on your way back to your air conditioned studio apartment. you look across the platform where some old lady’s push cart rattles as it makes it down the stairs on the other side. her little body walking ahead, a voice saying ‘i got it, ma’am don’t worry,’ echos down into the chamber of the subway.

there he is. a canvas bag on each arm filled to the brim and the push cart lifted in front of him. while you can’t see from this distance, you have a feeling you’d like how his arms looked at full capacity like this. the cart’s metallic jingle continues when he places it on the concrete ground, pushing it over to the woman who now sits pleasantly on the bench. you watch their conversation while they say quiet ‘thank yous’ and ‘your welcomes’ to each other and he checks his phone while he finds a spot to stand, waiting for his train on the opposite side.

you check your phone just the same and look up again as he puts his phone in the pocket of his vest. his attention catches on you from across the way.

he gives you a small wave and smiles. he has a nice smile, infectious.

“hi.”

you wave back with two fingers, a small salute, “hey.”

“i’m eddie,” he starts as the red glow of the light on your train starts to pull in. 

the chug, chug, chug starting to drown him out. he raises his voice with a boyish grin, you hear him just before the train obscures him from view – whooshing past you as it pulls into the station. “i normally go to trader’s on wednesdays!”

you get on the train when the doors open, seeing him still on the platform, searching for you in the windows. you put your hand up again in an awkward wave and he grins when he finds you. ‘stand clear of the closing doors, please!’ he puts a hand back up with two fingers, mouthing out a message. ‘wednesdays around two.’

you give him the okay symbol with your fingers and nod at him, chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation, he chuckles too. his smile is pretty, lips are full. his two fingers point to his eyes and then at you – ‘see you then’. 

the train pulls away before you get a chance to reply. 

next

[omasumi-413]

STOP USING ANTI-SELF LANGUAGE IN COMPETITIVE POKEMON!!!!!

instead of: i lost because i made a lot of poor choices. a few misplays and bad predictions.

say: "Unfortunate" doesn't begin to describe my series, this game rewards blind luck and nothing else, I am beyond convinced at this point. After getting completely tooled by scheduling with my opponent changing times on me last minute and refusing to provide confirmation prior to the day of the match as to play times, losing this way somehow felt even worse than I had thought possible. My preparation was superior, my play was superior, and I lost, so I don't see a reason to continue engaging in an activity where what is within my control is overwhelmingly outweighed by what is not. I am done with competitive Pokemon, and you won't get a fond farewell. This community is infected to its roots with a degenerative disease that grows stronger over time but stops short of killing its host. Tournaments used to have a competitive spirit at their heart, this has been transplanted and replaced with an artificial organ that feeds on vitriol and mockery from insecure little boys that heckle by the sidelines and tear each other to shreds over scraps of attention. The environment we fostered has trapped us all like this in a vicious cycle, and escaping it requires acceptance of the harshest reality we all scramble to explain away, that none of the countless straining efforts we put ourselves through here will ever amount to one single shining glimmer of significance. I would make this the end, but World Cup is still ongoing, and I would never leave so many great friends out to dry, so I'll suffer through a few more games for them. One last thing before I leave you all to react with disdain, ridicule, and self-righteous fervor, before you do everything in your power to minimize my words and thoughts, box them up and shove them to some cobwebbed corner of your memory, and hope they disappear forever as a stain on your finite time ground to dust. From this moment on, nothing you say matters to me. The foulest insults you hurl with intent to wound will calmly settle at the earth before my feet, and the venom you spit will bring all the pain of a warm summer breeze. You are less than anything you can conceive, while I carry on, brimming with joy distilled from detachment.

[humanpurposes]

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity. 

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?” 

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move. 

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache. 

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again? 

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle. 

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now. 

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name. 

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,” 

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily. 

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth. 

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children. 

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her. 

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow. 

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence. 

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove. 

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?” 

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows. 

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times. 

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious. 

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings. 

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod. 

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room. 

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them? 

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget. 

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that? 

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is. 

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning. 

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye. 

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver. 

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process. 

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices. 

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach. 

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away. 

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind. 

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous. 

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close. 

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that. 

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Chapter Four - Discordant

Summary: Morpheus seems to take a turn for the better, but a person cannot change overnight. How does it feel to finally give him a taste of his own medicine? How does it feel to go back to square one, once again?

Notes: ~6.1k words, Please don't stare at the eclipse with your blind eyes, I just didn't know how to write protective solar glasses into this AU ok

Warnings/Tags: Morpheus is trying, it's not working, two deaths of side characters, miscommunication/misinterpretation (?), reader gets their feelings hurt again cause I can't stop writing angst

Tag list is open! Just let me know :)

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Discordant (adj.) - not in agreement or harmony, to be at variance

How do you face Morpheus again after that? The simple answer is you don’t, well you try not to. However, when you go to breakfast the next morning, it’s a surprise to you that Morpheus is there waiting for you. Breakfast is less formal than dinner, yet here you were, sharing a meal with him right by your side. 

Tension is thick in the air, the only sounds are that of cutlery on plates. You chew your fruit slowly while consciously trying not to look at Morpheus. This was horrible; you need wine, or something to dull your mental ability so you didn’t have to be fully here. 

Your throat was still raw from the day before, and the food only seems to make it worse, scraping itself down your throat as you swallow. 

“I’m finished,” You rasp and go to stand from your spot.

“Wait,” He stands abruptly, the glass on the table rattling with the sudden movement. You’re determined to leave but his fingers grab onto your wrist.   

“What?” You frown at him, the warmth of his fingers spreading across your arm. 

“There is a gala coming up. The Summer Eclipse Gala, please will you attend with me?”

“Do I have a choice?” You ask, not meeting his eyes. Instead you stare at how he gently holds onto you. His thumb smooths across the tender part of your wrist when he answers. 

“Not really,” He says in a low voice. There was some regret laced in his answer, but you didn’t want to pay attention to that. 

“Then that is my answer.” You sigh as you turn away. Morpheus’ hand is still around your wrist and even with a slight tug, he doesn’t release you. “Let go.” 

“Should we… talk about yesterday?” He says hesitantly.

“What is there to say?” You reply back, your voice losing itself again at the very end. When your husband doesn’t answer, you pull your arm away more forcefully. This time, he lets you go.

“Precisely.” You leave, your heart pounding as you so easily defy him. 

The rest of the week was spent doing exactly what he had been doing to you for the past couple of months. Which is to say, avoiding him at all points possible. You try to hide in the library, but that proves futile as he easily seeks you out there. The studio and many bookshelves do little to hide you, ironically.

The only place he doesn’t dare find you is your garden. Even he could understand the importance of that sanctuary to you. And though the flowers certainly seem to enjoy the summer sun, you couldn’t say the same. The heat had started to become unbearable and it had been days since your last visit there. 

When he asks for you to dine with him, you decline and lock yourself in your room. Your stomach rumbles until Matthew sneaks you a leftover biscuit, but it was better than confronting him. At a certain point, embarrassment of letting your true feelings show turn to resentment once more. 

Why did he suddenly feel entitled to your time? 

“The King brought you this, Your Majesty,” Agnes says one morning as she enters your room. One of the maids holds a large box, decorated with a beautiful red bow. 

You take a hold of it, albeit a bit hesitant, and unravel the gift. When you lift the lid, you’re greeted with something you have never seen before. The dress was a beautiful golden yellow, with gems that represented the sun inlaid amongst the sweetheart bodice. Lacey loops come off the bodice in a delicate design that would wrap around your upper arms. The bottom skirting was decorated with glittering swirls and the fabric soft to the touch. 

“Oh! It looks lovely,” Agnes compliments with a soft gasp. She’s looking over your shoulder as you continue to stare at the dress. 

“Hmm, I can’t deny it either. It looks beautiful,” You sigh as you run your fingers through the soft fabric. Your fingers come across a piece of paper with a note. 

Please do me the honor and wear this tonight. Written in Morpheus’ handwriting. 

“And so shall you, your grace, when you wear it today,” Your lady’s maid hums.

Right… the gala is today. It seems your plan of avoiding Morpheus would have to come to an end. But, you still have the rest of the day to yourself, best to start savoring it. You start with a bath, with extra Natterhorn milk per your request, and something else to calm your nerves. After which, Agnes starts pampering you to get you ready for the event. 

Hands are grabbing at you at every angle, tugging, brushing, wiping. You felt like a marionette puppet as they direct you on where to step, where to hold your hands so that they may dress you accordingly. 

“Agnes,” You gasp as she gives you another sharp tug. “I request you loosen this horrid corset for my sake.”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” She says, giving one last tug and tying the knot, more than less ignoring your request. 

In the end, both you and Agnes are huffing and puffing when you’re finally done. You watch as Agnes puts on a pair of white cotton gloves and reaches into a wooden box you didn’t have the liberty of noticing before. From it, she produces an ornate crown. 

It pairs with your dress nicely, a warm gold with white gems. The points of the head piece  were a bit excessive, but your inner judgment was cut short when you realized it was supposed to represent the sun. When Agnes places it on your head, you grimace at the weight of it. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it is part of the uniform,” Agnes apologizes once again as she notices your contorted face. 

“It is not your fault, do not fret. You did well,” You grunt as you step away from the mirror. Agnes is positively gushing as she looks you over. Her beaming increases as you give your compliments to her hard work. 

Despite the heavy crown, the dress itself was light and made for easy movement. Agnes opens the door and you follow the entourage of silver knights as they lead you from the comforts of your bedroom. Matthew’s presence settles your nerves a bit as you feel his protective presence three paces behind. 

“Are you excited, boss lady?” You hear him ask with a smile hidden behind his helmet. He had recently polished his black armor and you’re sure if you turn around now, you could see your reflection. 

“In all honesty, Matthew? For the event, yes. For seeing my husband again, no.” You pause as the unified metal footsteps descend to the first floor of the castle. “What of you?”

“If I get to see Jessamy again…” He says beneath his breath, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it.

You can see the sunlight from the entrance and you’re about to ask Matthew to repeat himself. However, the silver knights stop on the final set of stairs, leaving you standing at the intersection that leads to Morpheus’ wing. He comes down in time with your steps and meets you in the middle.

Morpheus is dressed in his typical black, simply more detailed than usual. He switches his flowing robe for an off shoulder cape that only reaches his mid thighs. His black tunic and pants were dusted with silver and dark blue, giving the illusion of the night sky at certain angles. Sitting comfortably on his head was a crown: silver with curving onyx gems that resembled the moon. 

He’s close enough now to take you in your full glory. The dress he bought for you was the correct choice. It hugs your figure in all the right places; the dress was, after all, altered to your size. When the fleeting rays of sunlight come through the large window, it reflects off your dress and illuminates you. The Sun only shares a portion of His light, but you’ve managed to take it and make it your own. 

“You look radiant,” He breathes the truth as he comes closer to you. You notice his finger twitch as he resists the urge to touch you. 

“Save your falsities for someone else,” You snap, surprising yourself even. The crown was way too heavy on your head for pretenses. 

“Very well… but we should at least pretend to like each other for the guests tonight.” Morpheus offers his arm to you and turns, the breeze from the entrance coming through the hallway. 

“Then let us begin,” You reply as you hook your hand to his arm. 

Crossing the castle threshold, the eclipse was already beginning to start. The trees rustle in the gentle late spring wind, its shades creating crescent shadows on the ground. You’re able to enjoy it from afar as the two of you walk the distance to the grand ballroom. 

Slowly, daylight surrenders to night and the nocturnal critters emerge from their slumber. Crickets chirp, fireflies float around you, and moths fan their wings in the moonlight. The smell of petrichor turns heavy once more as you reenter the castle, the doors opening wide with an announcement of your and Morpheus’ arrival. The silver knights part, Matthew leaves your side, as does Jessamy, as Morpheus leads you to the center of the ballroom. 

“Welcome, esteemed guests of the Dreaming. Tonight, we shall once again celebrate the astral lovers of Sun and Moon,” An announcer bellows into a horn. Cheers and unified clapping follow. “During Totality of the eclipse, we welcome you to witness the first dance of the night, to be shared with King Morpheus and Queen Consort Y/N.”

A fanfare plays and the crowd turns to the open ceiling, watching with shielded eyes as the moon slowly clips into place. Night dominates the sky, the moon blocking the sun except for the defining ring around it. Footmen scurry around as they quickly light the abundance of candles and chandeliers they could reach. 

The grand ballroom gleams with the light of a thousand crystal chandeliers as you and Morpheus turn towards each other. The light fractures and creates halos across the marble flooring and stone pillars. Morpheus bows and you curtsy low, and the action reminds you of your wedding night. Slowly, he clasps his hand over yours gently and a firm arm wraps around your waist. 

The string ensemble starts and you try to fight the smile that creeps on your lips as you’re easily pulled in time with his steps. Morpheus smiles as he studies your face closely. You're dancing once again.

The candle light seems to be absorbed into your figure as you glow under its warm light. Spinning hand in hand with your husband, you’ve long since given up holding back your smile. You’re grinning, radiant and warm like the sun. 

You and Morpheus glide across the ballroom floor, floating like stars amongst the clouds. He is fluid in his movements and leads the dance easily. You hold on tight as the lights begin to blur together, all together have you forgotten how heavy your crown was. To onlookers, the two of you were beacons of elegance and the definition of harmony. 

The music stops and you’re face to face with Morpheus, breathing hard. The sound of applause is muffled in the background of your mind. Morpheus looks pristine as well, perfectly composed as he softly gazes at you through starry eyes. You’re the first to break eye contact, the raw emotions he tries to show you too much for now. You can see that he is trying to be better, but after months of neglect, one dance is hardly enough to make up for it. 

Morpheus doesn’t try to hide his emotions, and with deflated shoulders, leads you quietly to the matching thrones at the front of the ballroom. There, they stand high and mighty, dark, and carved with intricate designs of stars and ravens. You see Jessamy and Matthew waiting for the two of you there and some relief returns to you knowing that Matthew would be there to watch over you. 

The roofless ballroom makes it hard to believe that it is only noon. Save for the ring of sun, the sky was casted in perpetual night. The stars make their appearance, as they always do, and accompany their moon, twinkling with admiration at viewing the people of the Dreaming early today. Even the critters of the night came out from their slumber, and if you listened carefully enough, you could hear their chirps and songs of night past the orchestra. 

The throne is stiff and uncomfortable to sit in. When you glance over at Morpheus, he takes to it easily, spreading across the throne like a lounging cat. His presence fills the space and it’s easy to see how he is so perfectly fit for this role. 

An emissary comes before you and bows, the lady on his arm following suit. He wears his best for the ceremony and when he speaks, it smells of rich alcohol and fruits. 

“Congratulations on your marriage, Your Majesties. As emissary of the Kingdom of Kreya, we wish you a wonderful Solar Eclipse celebration,” The man smiles at the two of you and you smile back.

You take another glance at Morpheus and see his jaw ticking in the low candlelight. A second passes and he still doesn’t respond. 

“Thank you, we hope to visit Kreya soon,” You reply instead. It has been long since you’ve heard a rumor of your failing marriage. At the very least it’s good to know that to people looking in, there was nothing wrong between you and Morpheus. 

This is what he wanted, was it not?

From his perspective, your urge to take control basked you in a new light that he’s never seen before. Your response seems to snap him out of whatever deep thoughts he had and a cough brings him back to the present. Or, if he wanted to be honest with himself; your presence brings him back to the present. 

Others follow in his footsteps, giving their congratulations, their salutations from their kingdoms, and other comments they wished to address to you. Morpheus and you take turns responding, each one vague and surface level. 

The last emissary was a face you knew all too well. Soft brown curls wrap around a kind face. She dawns on flowy fabric of white and gold and a cape made of olive leaves. Calliope smiles when she sets her eyes on you, and you hear Matthew’s armor clink as he attempts to move from his post. The promise he made early into your relationship is evident in his mind. 

A subtle hand rise from you was enough to stop him and the black knight settles back. The tension remains thick as she ascends the steps. She bows and speaks. 

“I congratulate the King and Queen of the Dreaming on their union. From Boeotia, my sisters and I give our blessings for a bountiful year.” Calliope speaks to you specifically, and even when there is no ill intention written on her face, something ugly deep within you dares not to look at her. 

The pain and suffering you had to endure, half of the reason is because of her. Your anger and despair leave you and instead reveal itself as its true form. Is it jealousy? Perhaps. You’ve long since stopped fighting it. Your bracelet tightens around your wrist once more, as it’s always done when it doesn’t agree with your thoughts. 

“Thank you…” Morpheus responds to her. It was your turn to respond, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to speak to her. 

Calliope opens her mouth again, as if to add something else, but stops herself after some hesitancy. It’s not before long that Calliope accepts the short answer and leaves you. An even shorter amount of time for a footman to come to you and Morpheus with goblets of wine that you all too eagerly grab at.

If it weren’t for your position, you’re sure you would be drunk beyond comprehension. It is a tradition of the celebration: to relieve oneself from their physical bodies and dance amongst the Eclipse. And you can only do that by drinking until your body can’t understand the physical world anymore. 

The dark wine glitters as you swirl it around in the silver goblet, and you feel the tingling sensation as it goes down your throat. Other nobles mingle with each other, the occasional ping of glasses touching echos in the large room.

Squinting, you notice a certain blond standing alone in the corner, his dark glasses still covering his eyes. He is talking to some other man, his charismatic smile never disappearing, even when he takes another sip from his glass. As if sensing your gaze, he turns to you and raises his glass in your direction. You were the first to break eye contact, taking another sip of your own drink. You see Lucienne and Hob enjoying themselves at the snack table, watching as Lucienne looks away when Hob stuffs several cookies into his coat pocket. 

The alcohol was potent, leaving you feeling light and dizzy, but a sudden commotion on the other side of the room leaves me sober. Yelling and clashing of metal against metal piques your interest as the ballroom doors slam open. 

“I apologize, we-we tried to stop him!” A silver knight huffs out, chasing after the man who barged in. 

A calm hand from Morpheus quiets him and the knight stops. The elderly man is still charging towards the two of you, dancers parting quickly from the marble floor as they watch. 

“Where is she?” The man asks—or demands, more accurately, standing strong in the center of the dancefloor. He wears red, unblemished armor that stands out like a sore thumb against the Dreaming’s more subtle colors. 

“Whoever you seek is not here, stranger,” Morpheus’ voice booms across the room. 

“You, Teleute, will bring back my dead son. I will kill you if it means I will get him back…” He bravely points at your husband, completely ignoring his statement. 

You and Morpheus share a quick glance at each other. Yours is riddled in confusion, what could this random man possibly want with his sister? Morpheus shares with you a more concerned look as he finally pieces together the information.

He recalls the conversation he had with the Corinthian under old moonlight about a madman named Rodrick Burgess. Briefly, his eyes meet with Corinthian on the far end of the room, who seems all the more pleased that his target has waltzed right into his grasp. The Corinthian had taken a small break in his chase so he could attend the festival. In the end, it seemingly works out for him anyways. 

“Are you challenging the throne?” Morpheus accuses, looking down at him. You hear the shifting of feet as Jessamy and Matthew squirm with anticipation. 

Morpheus remembers once more of his nightmare regarding this specific man and you. How you laid cold in his arms, blood blemishing each portion of your body. That no matter how much he wipes away at it, the blood continues to seep and stain into your clothes. His hand slowly ghosts over yours and covers your fingers. He feels the quickening pulse underneath his fingers and allows himself a moment of peace for your still beating pulse. 

“I am challenging Teleute,” Rodrick repeats. 

“Death of the Endless is not here. I will accept your challenge in her stead.” You’re not sure where the courage was coming from. Perhaps it is how Morpheus is gently holding onto you. Or, more likely, how the alcohol is coursing through your system. That seems to be the more logical reason… right? “Who do you wish to be your champion?” 

“I am my own champion, the Great Magus Rodrick Burgess.” He brings forth his sword, covered in elaborate jewels. 

“Sir Matthew?” You call, head held high. The weight of the crown is no longer an issue for you. 

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Matthew responds immediately. 

“You will be my champion.” You declare. “You will not disappoint.” It is your first order as queen. 

You watch with fixed eyes as Matthew crosses to the dance floor. The white marble is a stark contrast against his black armor. Your hand turns and interlaces with Morpheus’ as Matthew draws his sword.

It’s longer and broader than Rodrick’s and even before the fight begins, you know Matthew would be slower than his opponent. But your belief in him is strong and unyielding. 

The two knights face each other, their stances ready. Murmurs from onlookers hush around the room, the tension as thick as the wine they drink. 

Rodrick moves first, his impatience showing easily as he lunges for Matthew’s heart. Your champion gracefully steps to the side, bringing up his broadsword in a low arch to parry the attack. 

Blade against blade, the metals gleam in the low candlelight. The symphony changes from a string quartet to that of steel. The two knights dance around each other in the intense duel as both display their mastery of the blade. 

An unhonorable heavy strike to the head from Rodrick leaves Matthew dazed. It’s enough for the blunt of his blade to strike at the young knight’s helmet. You watch with an agape mouth as the force is enough to knock off Matthew’s helmet, the helm flying across the floor. Your grip in Morpheus’ hand tightens as the anticipation grows. 

Matthew is quick to be back on his feet, his black hair tousled from the fight. You catch glimpses of his determined face as he returns to the duel. Each block that Matthew predicts, each strike that he parries leaves Rodrick flustered.

Matthew notices, and when Rodrick was starting to lose strength, he advances with a series of long arching and forceful blows. You and Morpheus watch as Rodrick meekly holds his denting blade up in defense.

With a powerful kick to the chest, the Great Magus crashes to the ground, his sword falling from his hand as the last of his energy leaves him. Matthew advances still, dragging his broadsword on the ground. The teeth-grating sound of metal on marble igniting sparks. 

Your knight points the sword at Rodrick’s throat, panting from exertion. “Yield,” Matthew commands.  

“I will not!” Rodrick spits at him, pushing the imposing blade away from his throat.

“Yield!” Matthew shouts, bringing the blade back and pushing pressure onto the side of his neck. A thin string of warm blood follows the cut.

Rodrick looks around the room, conscious of how the people around him start to whisper about his loss. He makes eye contact with you and glares at his defeat. 

“I yield,” He says hesitantly as his eyes remain on yours. 

You swallow thickly as silver knights drag him out of the ballroom, your eyes following him. Rodrick was glaring at you until he could no longer see you, his cheeks still flushed from the duel and from the embarrassment of losing. 

You let go of Morpheus’ hand, wiping your palm against the softness of your dress to get rid of the excessive sweat that started to accumulate. You go to grab at your wine again, finishing the rest with large gulps to calm your nerves. The alcohol is quick to work its magic as it seeps into your system.

“Congratulations on your victory, champion,” You grin when Matthew comes back to your side. “Where’s your helmet?”

“I, uh, can’t find it…” He mutters, embarrassed. He scratches at his hair as his cheeks flush red. 

You smile once more as Matthew’s true personality shows itself again. He was quite young to be a knight, and his face had left the battle without any scars; a testament to his effectiveness. A server comes by and tops off the goblet with more glittering wine. 

Morpheus hovers a hand over his own cup as a silent decline for more alcohol. Meanwhile you were more than inclined to continue drinking. The excitement of the day is already taking its effect on you. When you set your drink back down, you notice that no one is enjoying the gala anymore.

They stand to the side, muttering to themselves behind open feather fans. No one is drinking, or feasting, and they share unsure glances with each other. The duel was a mood killer for the festivities. 

You take another slow sip from your wine, what should you do? You watch through slightly lidded eyes as Morpheus stands from his seat. His hand falls before yours in a silent invitation of another dance. Baffled, you silently stare at the upright hand. Morpheus wants another dance?

Should you? When a bird has been locked in a cage for so long, even when presented with the opportunity of flight, it often finds itself staying. It takes comfort in what the bird knows. The outside world is dangerous, after all. 

“Please,” He whispers when he notices you hesitating. You see his other fingers twitch against his leg, a tic that you’ve long since noticed he does whenever he is nervous. You place the goblet down and grab onto his hand lightly. One more dance wouldn’t hurt. 

Before you leave, you turn to Matthew with a smile. “You should go dance, too. You’ve done well to deserve it tonight.” 

Matthew all but perks up at your invitation, his eyes darting to Morpheus, who simply nods in approval of his request. 

The two of you take to the floor and amidst the onlookers and mutterers, for once, you only notice Morpheus. “I trust you,” You say slowly.

Morpheus nods before he places a gentle hand on your waist and leads the dance once more. The music is romantic somber as the two of you glide across the floor. 

Nobles and invitees around you stop whispering amongst themselves and enjoy the spectacle. Soon enough, more and more couples return to the dance floor. 

The orchestra is quick to change its tune and an upbeat swell of strings has everyone clapping and jumping around in a country dance. Your smile brightens your face once more as you witness how your small dance was enough to bring people together. 

You part from Morpheus as a new dance partner whisks you away for the next portion of the song. You grab onto your dance partner as you watch Morpheus spin with a new partner of his own, a soft smile gracing his lips as he witnesses your lingering gaze.

“Enjoying the ball, Your Majesty?” The new voice interrupts your thoughts. Your head turns to your new dance partner and you feel yourself jump in the middle of a spin. 

“Corinthian,” You greet curtly, smile dropping. 

“Hello again, Your Majesty.” He grins down at you, sunglasses still on. A silence follows and you’re desperate to change partners again.

“It seems you and His Majesty have started to become amiable with each other. I heard rumors that your marriage was in rocky waters.” He whispers into your ear as he spins you again. 

“They’re just rumors,” You lie again. 

The Corinthian hums, easily reading between the lines of your statement. “Well, well, would you look at that?”

Corinthian focuses his attention behind you and you turn to match his gaze. Couples waltz around you, but your eyes immediately seek out Morpheus. Your newly healed heart shatters as you watch Morpheus and Calliope spin across the dance floor. The two of them look beautiful together, her light colors clashing with his darker ones is a sight out of the romances you’ve read in your books. 

Were dance partners always supposed to be that close to each other? Their gazes lock with each other as they share private words amongst themselves. Morpheus says something that causes Calliope to smile, something that lights up her entire figure in delight. 

“Perhaps the rumors are quite true,” Corinthian chuckles. 

You let go of him as if he suddenly caught on fire. “I need some air… Please excuse me.” 

The Corinthian doesn’t try to stop you as you weave your way through the dancing couples. Before you leave the ballroom, you briefly overhear a conversation between Mervyn and Matthew. 

“Huh, I thought you were some beast with how you were swinging that piece of crap around. But you’re just some normal kid,” Mervyn scoffs as he lights another cigarette. 

Matthew scratches his head in confusion, the refound helmet rests between his arm and torso. It is liberating to not have to wear it for a while, and he can smell the food more clearly like this.

“Actually, I’m 1/16 pure Ravenfolk on my mother's side. Not so normal now, huh, Mervyn?” Matthew brags with a high head. 

“Pah!” The pumpkin man scoffs again, a cloud of smoke following him. “And Jessamy is pure Ravenfolk so what you got to say about that!”

You’re sure you see smoke steaming out of your knight’s ears and his face turns bright red. It’s a conversation you would have loved to entertain, but in your emotions, you don’t linger long. The door is right there and you escape from all the distracted gazes.

By muscle memory, your feet take you to your garden sanctuary. The summer sun is no longer an issue for you as the night wind calms your fraying nerves. You run your fingers along the petals of night flowers and watch as they sway in tandem with the tides. 

You take a seat on a nearby stone bench, watching the eclipse reflection in the small pond of your garden. An uncomfortable feeling like stone settles in your throat as you push down a hiccup. Silent tears still make it past your eyes. 

You wipe away your tears with the back of your hand as you silently berate yourself for always crying. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and try to relax your over eccentric heart. The rustling of leaves and citrus smell of flowers calm your nerves quite well. 

You hear a rustle that feels out of place and a presence behind you and you sigh deeply. 

“Not now, Matthew. I really just want to be alone,” You indirectly ask your knight for solitude. 

“Not Matthew,” The presence spits out the name and you gasp as you feel the cold metal of his blade against your throat. 

Rodrick.

How could you forget his voice? You don’t move as you watch him circle in front of you. The point of the dagger in his hands remains pointed at your throat. You swallow your nerves, the slight movement enough to scratch your skin against the sharp blade. 

“You embarrassed me. In front of all of your citizens,” Rodrick begins to monologue. It’s hard to make out his face in the dark light and the angle at which you sat, but the glare he emitted was easy to feel.

“No, you embarrassed yourself. Who told you killing someone else would bring back your dead son?” You ask to distract him. Your eyes dart around your space as you try to find a path to run away from him, or something that can hinder him while you find help. 

“The ruler I serve said so. And I believe in their word.” He continues.

“Who? Desire of the Endless?” You scoff as you look at his red armor. The lustful color and crest he bore on his chest plate was easy enough to piece together. “Have you ever considered your ruler is merely using you as bait?”

“They would never,” Rodrick says back in disbelief. The blade dips slightly for a moment as he backs away. 

You take that slight moment as your chance, grabbing at the layers of your dress and sprinting back towards the castle.

“Matthew!” You scream at the top of your lungs and you pray that it's heard past the music. 

Hedges and thorned flowers scrape at you and get caught in your dress. The sound of pounding feet catches up to you and a yelp leaves your lips as Rodricks tackles you to the ground. Your crown dislodges itself from your head at the impact and you’re screaming as you fight back as best as you can. 

His hands come around your throat and you grab at his wrist in panic. Rasping breaths leave you in huffs as he squeezes harder and harder. The edges of your vision start to go black as the lack of oxygen leaves your body wanting. 

“M-Morpheus,” You call out weakly. 

“No one can hear you now, you pathetic queen. No one can help you—”

The weight is lifted off of you abruptly and you turn on hands and knees as you intake as much air as you possibly could. You turn back around and stand on wobbly legs and watch as two silhouettes fight each other. One, you knew to be Rodrick but the other was new. The person was armor clad in silver, so it was neither Morpheus nor Matthew. One moment, Rodrick was standing, and the next he fell to the ground in a slump. 

“Come, let’s get you back to the palace, Your Majesty,” Your savior comes closer to you. The dagger that Rodrick had threatened you with is still in her hands. 

“Who are you?” You ask as she takes your hand and begins a fast walk away from the dead body. 

“You may call me Gault, Your Majesty.” Her pace is faster than yours and in your still shocked state, you fall to the ground. Gault turns around quickly and bends to help you up from the elbow. 

“Jessamy, subdue her,” You hear Morpheus' voice nearby. The sound of armor accompanying him. 

“What?” You question as you fall back to the ground. Matthew is by your side in no time, holding you up steadily. 

You watch with confusion as Jessamy holds both of Gault’s hands behind her back and kicks her knee in so that she kneels to the ground. 

“Forgive me, for not coming sooner,” Morpheus whispers to you. He unclips the half cape he wore and drapes it over your shoulders. Your abrasive run through the gardens leaves you more exposed than what would have been considered appropriate. 

“Wait, no, stop,” You interject as he returns his attention to Gault. 

Morpheus ignores you, insisting to himself that your ramblings were from shock. It’s obvious to him that Gault was going to hurt you. As soon as he noticed that you weren’t in the ballroom anymore, he was quick to leave the dance and come looking for you. 

To find you being hovered by one of his own soldiers with the weapon in her hand was evident enough in his eyes of treason. You looked horrible, your dress in shambles and thin cuts scattered across your body. 

“I was protecting the queen,” Gault states the truth slowly. “I had no intention of hurting her. I merely wish to keep her from harm.”

“Listen to her, my lord. Please, I beg you, she is speaking the truth,” You plead once more. The hold that Matthew has on you shifts from protection to restriction as you try to fight against him. 

Morpheus ignores you once more, and while your cries hurt him, bringing you justice will satiate the pain. “You do not get to decide what I saw with my own eyes. How do you think you should be punished for the attempt on my queen’s life?”

Gault pushes her head up higher even as the realization dawns on her. “I am not afraid.”

“You should be.” Morpheus stalks closer to her.

“I will rather die afraid than knowing I lived without truth, my lord.” You hear Gault whisper. 

Morpheus doesn’t bother with a response. The shadows of the eclipse seem to elongate his shadow as he paths closer to her. Your pleas once again fall on deaf ears and tears sting your face red. Your screams have turned raw in your throat as you helplessly watch.

In the darkness of the eclipse, you barely register the sound of Morpheus unsheathing Jessamy’s blade from her scabbard. You don’t see it, but you feel it—the sticky warmth of blood splattering across your face. The iron taste rests heavy on your tongue as your mouth falls open in a gasp. It mixes with the wine and creates a concoction that makes you dry heave in the grass. 

You hear it, too. As Gault doesn’t die from the first strike and her blood effectively drowns her as she tries to breathe. Morpheus swings again and the head thuds to the ground, her body following quickly after as Jessamy lets her go. 

Your scream echoes across the vastness of the night.

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Ah, Morpheus you walking red flag you. Also, I'm not going to lie, idk how to redeem Dream boy over here after this chapter cause wtf is this bitch on (I know I wrote him but what the fuck?)

Someone tell me I did good, it's summer and I no longer get academic validation

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart @acdassenza @ella33 @karma-is-a-god @bluespecs14 @boo8008 @dragon-kazansky @i-voluntears @deniixlovezelda

[pascalpvnk]

march fic recs list

hello beautiful people! i’m sorry i’ve been absent recently, there’s been a lot going on behind the scenes and i haven’t had much time to be here :’) regardless, i hope everyone is well and enjoy the lineup we have for this month. fan art is now a part of the list and hopefully will expand in the months to come. thank you all for sharing your work!! and a very special happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend, pedro pascal xx (divider by @saradika-graphics)

this is also my contribution to @the-blind-assassin-12’s march fic madness 2024!! :)

HOW TO SUPPORT PALESTINE // IMPORTANT FOR TLOU READERS & WRITERS

heed all warnings according to each fic. if there's something on here that isn't your cup of tea and you don't want to read it, then scroll past. thank you!

fic rec masterlist // main masterlist // most recent fic

a * denotes smut (18+ MDNI!!)

drabbles

a little joel drabble* - @suzdin (pre/no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader) desperate old man (affectionate)* @bubble-tea-blossom (joel miller x younger!afab!reader) joel interrupting you while you're touching yourself* - @kiwisbell (joel miller x f!reader)

oneshots

Joel Miller

between two lungs* - @ozarkthedog (j.m. x afab reader x tess) amateur* - @ezrasbirdie (j.m. x f!reader) sweet days of summer* - @ozarkthedog (no-outbreak!j.m. x f!reader) i'm starving, darlin'* - @me-and-your-husband (j.m. x f!reader) wildflower and barely* - @yellowharrington (j.m. x f!afab!reader) rise - @sp00kymulderr (joel miller x afab!reader) lunch box* - @polaroidpascal (j.m. x f!reader) we shouldn't* - @alwaysmicado (fwb!j.m. x f!reader) bite my tongue* - @cherubispunk (j.m. x afab!reader) knuckles deep* - @ozarkthedog (j.m. x afab!reader) wet nights* - @shellshocklove (bfd!j.m. x f!reader)

Frankie Morales

object of my affection* - @mrsmando (bbf!f.m. x f!reader) imbued* - @morallyinept (f.m. x f!reader) dial drunk* - @schnarfer (young!f.m. x f!reader)

Javier Peña

some fools fool themselves* - @freelancearsonist (j.p. x f!reader) whatever my wife wants* - @javierpena-inatacvest (husband!j.p. x wife!reader)

Lucien Flores

this high of you & me - @kedsandtubesocks (l.f. x f!reader) like a moth to a flame - @ozarkthedog (l.f. x f!reader) mutual* - @luxurychristmaspudding (l.f. x f!reader) i was fixed on your hand of gold* - @freelancearsonist (l.f. x afab!reader)

Din Djarin

solace* - @endlessthxxghts (d.d. x afab!reader)

Arthur Morgan

some sweet ending* - @morning-star-joy (a.m. x f!reader) arthur teaches you how to ride him* - @angelltheninth (a.m. x f!reader)

series

declined* [part I*] [part II*] [part III*] - @alltheirdamn (mechanic!joel miller x afab!reader) like it's the last time* [part I*] [part II*] - @aurorawritestoescape (j.m. x afab!reader) the rite of movement* [drabble*] - @tightjeansjavi (pornstar!husband joel miller x f!pornstar!reader)

art

hypnosis - @immarocketman (javier peña) mando monday! - @knopes-waffles (din djarin)

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed 8 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, self worth, smoking, idiot(s) in love?, curly hair care (all you curly girls with straigh hair mothers know the painnnnnnn,)

Notes: shoutout @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and for being sad for these characters

Words: 3809

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry July 16, 1994

This summer has been good, surprisingly so. I went to the fair this year. Usually, the kids just go with Dad and Anna. We’ve done movies, and events downtown, and busy Saturday mornings at the hardware store. It doesn’t mean I haven’t puked afterward, but having Javier around has been nice.

Oh, and I registered for classes at the community college. I start at the end of August.

Emily sat on her bed, flipping through the photographs taken over the summer. Most of them were ones she’d taken, but every once in a while, one of the kids got a hold of it. They held evidence of the summer she’d been able to give her kids, and Javier was in almost all of them.

As she flipped through the final few of the stack, the last photo stood out. Her birthday, the one Ale had blinded her with. It turned out nicely. Her smiling at Javier, him smiling at her over the flaming candles, caught before they could react to the flash. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from it. A singular, perfect, magical moment caught on film.

She dropped the rest of them in the shoe box for safekeeping until she was ready to put the photo book together. The birthday one she slipped between the frame of her vanity mirror. She wanted a reminder of that day

“Mommm!” Miguelito called, opening her door.

Emily jumped, hand landing over her heart as she turned toward him. “How many times have I told you to knock?”

“Sorry.” He grinned. “Mateo isn’t getting ready like you said, and he’s making a mess in our room.”

She glanced over her oldest’s appearance, folding her hands over her chest. “And you’re completely ready, could hop in the car right now, I suppose?”

“I still have to brush my hair and teeth.”

“Then I suggest you go do that.”

Miguelito folded his lips in, looking to the side before he spun on his heels and walked away. Emily laughed to herself before making her way to the boys’ room to check in on her youngest. Sure enough, he sat next to the toy chest, playing contently with his new Playmobil set.

“Mateo,” she said, voice soft.

The boy’s head snapped up to her, a sheepish grin appearing.

“Are you ready to go?”

“No,” He shook his head, somehow still managing to look innocent.

“I put your clothes out on your bed an hour ago.”

“I’ll get dressed now.”

“Thank you.” She nodded, holding out her hand. “I’m going to hold onto your Playmobil until you’re ready to go, okay? So you don’t get distracted.”

Mateo looked between his new toy and his mother, not wanting to part with it. Emily waited with patience as he made his decision. “Once you’re ready, you can have it back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Emily smiled. With the added assurance, he handed the toy to his mother and rushed over to his clothes. “Don’t forget your hair and teeth.”

“I won’t!”

Emily smiled, leaving the room as a shirt went flying. Alejandra found her seconds later, brush and hairties in hand. “Can I have two braids today?”

Emily glanced down at her watch. They were already running behind. What was a few extra minutes at this point? “Go sit at the table.”

Alejandra had a big stubborn knot at the back of her head. That was what Emily got for not brushing it out before bed last night and the night before. The detangler bottle was all but empty. Alejandra had more hair than her mother and that was saying something. Emily let out a long sigh as she soaked the knot with watered-down detangler. “You’ve got rats nest back here, Mija. I’ll do my best, but it’s probably gonna hurt.”

Alejandra only nodded. The mother and daughter duo were more than familiar with the process, both individually and together. Emily had her own memories of sitting at the kitchen table as her mother brushed through massive knots, leaving her hair massive and frizzy. There had been plenty of tears in her younger years before her scalp toughened, Her mother hadn’t known how to handle the texture or the amount of hair she had. Looking back at pictures, Emily knew exactly when she began caring for her own hair as a preteen.

It was Emily’s goal to make this time as painless as possible for her daughter. It didn’t mean there weren’t ever tears. Ale’s scalp had started out tender, but Emily was sure to be as delicate as possible, using as much detangler and conditioner as needed, being gentle with the combs, teasing the curls back to life afterward.

Emily didn’t yell or fuss when her daughter tried to get away from the pain. The mother did her best to distract from the pain with jokes or stories. Overall, she shaped the hours of hair care into quality time, something she’d always wanted her mother to do with it.

“Mami?”

“Yes, baby?” The comb caught on an extra ratty tangle. Alejandra hissed. “Sorry.”

She reached back, rubbing her scalp gently before allowing her mother to continue. “I think we need to do that conditioner treatment thing again.”

“I think you’re right.” Emily kissed her head. “I’ll put it on the list. It helped a lot.”

Ale nodded. “Do you think Mr. Javi is going to think we ditched him? We were supposed to be there already.”

“I think he’s very used to us being late.” Emily laughed, freeing the last of the tangle with a deep sigh. She sprayed the hair again, letting it curl up a little before she began to part it.

“I think we should call him.”

“He’s probably at the park already.”

“I’ll leave a message. Just so he knows I was worried when he gets home.”

Emily rolled her eyes playfully, grabbing the phone off the wall behind her. The extra long cord lay flat on the floor between the wall and table. She handed it to Alejandra. “You know the number?”

The girl gave a firm single nod as she quickly dialed the number having memorized it at the beginning of the summer. She kicked her legs back and forth, bare feet brushing the legs of her chair under the table. Emily tied half of the curls to the side. “Look up at the ceiling, Ale.”

She obeyed, pressing the phone to her ear. Emily could hear it ringing as she focused on pulling all of the baby hairs around Ale’s hairline into the tight French braid. “Boys! Time to put on your socks and shoes!”

“Hello?” Javier’s static voice came through the phone.

Ale’s eyes lit up as she sat up a little straighter. “Mr. Javi! You’re supposed to be at the park already!”

He chuckled. “So are you, Alejandrina.”

“Yeah, but we always run late. You don’t.”

Emily shook her head, trying to hold in her laughter as she efficiently twisted Ale’s hair into the braid with minimal flyaways. Nothing like being called out by your own kid.

“I was just about to leave my house. What are you doing right now?”

“Mami is braiding my hair. I had a big tangle, otherwise, we would’ve been almost on time.”

“Well, that means I need to get going if I want to beat you there.”

Emily tied off the first French braid.

“Drive fast 'cause she just finished my first braid.” Alejandra tilts her head back again so Emily can start the second.

“Do your brothers have their shoes on?”

“Nope, still in their room.”

“Boys!” Emily called again. Javier’s chuckle came through a little louder. A faint Coming echoed from their room.

“He’s laughing at you,” Ale grinned up at her mother.

“Tell him to shut up.”

Ale’s eyes grew wide. “But I’m not allowed to say that. It’s not nice.”

“One-time exception.” Emily winked.

Alejandra bit her lip. Her honey-brown eyes sparkled with brief debate. Was she really being given permission? “Mami says to shut up.” She said it quickly like the permission might expire.

Javier kept laughing, it coming from deep within his chest this time. Emily let out a groan as she scrapped the braid and started over. The second one never cooperated like the first.

“I’ll see you soon,” Javier said.

“See you soon,” Alejandra replied and the line went dead. She handed the phone back to Emily who placed it back in the cradle. “We gotta go fast so we can beat him.” She wiggled excitedly in the chair.

The braid slipped through Emily’s fingers again and she let out a frustrated groan. “I’m trying, Mija. Boys!”

Finally, two pairs of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Mateo grabbed his toy off the table with a proud grin. “Tennis shoes with the laces, Mateo.” She reminded him.

Mateo groaned, dropping his velcro shoes where he stood. He was about to start kindergarten in the fall and she was desperate to get him ahead on the shoelace tying assignment. She’d learned her lesson from Alejandra’s kindergarten year. She’d essentially homeschooled Miguelito through Kindergarten in Mexico and managed to skip that assignment.

“I’ll help you,” Miguelito said.

Despite having to start Alejandra’s braid over for a fourth time, Emily found herself smiling as she listened to Miguelito’s patient and encouraging exchange with his younger brother over the tying of laces.

The flyaways weren’t as wrangled in the second braid, but finally, Emily tied it off. The Texas heat and sweat would pull them out soon enough. “Alright, shoes my dear.” She kissed Alejandra’s head

She popped out of the chair, pulling her shoes on as quick as possible. Matoe kicked his feet back and forth on the couch wearing a huge grin. “Done!”

“He did the second one all by himself!” Miguelito exclaimed, looking proud.

“That’s amazing,” Emily smiled brightly, smushing Mateo’s cheek with a kiss. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mommy.”

“Okay! Let’s go!” Alejandra said, panting as if she’d used all her energy to pull on her shoes. “We have to beat Mr. Javi!”

The family of four bustled out of the house, with only one person having to run back in for a forgotten item. Alejandra was certain they would beat Javier to the park until they pulled in next to his faded red pickup. He leaned against it, arms crossed, sunglasses on the tip of his nose, and shirt half unbuttoned as usual.

Alejandra sighed exasperatedly with a loud huff. Javier smiled, waving to her through the window as she glared at him. “He definitely speeded.”

“Sped,” Miguelito corrected.

Javier stuck his tongue out at Alejandra from the other side of the glass. She mimicked him. Emily bit back a laugh.

They set up their picnic under the shade of a large oak tree set off the playground. The park was relatively quiet for a Saturday with only one other family nearby, but they knew it likely would be. That’s why they picked it. Set outside the city limits, it was a longer drive for the Kuykendall crew, but closer to Javier.

After lunch, Emily and Javier were pulled into a game of Blind Man’s Bluff which ended when a blinded Javier knocked his head against the monkey bars. Luckily for the adults, the children from the other family asked to join.

“How’s your head?” Emily laughed, falling to the picnic blanket, laughter still lacing her voice.

Javier rubbed it, easing down with a soft groan. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to get off the ground between his aging bones and the hot summer day. “Been better but I’ll live.” He eased onto his back, letting the faint breeze ease over him.

Emily grabbed a water bottle from the cooler. handing it back to him. Cool droplets splashed over his chest and head. Javier placed it against his carotid artery, humming with contentment. “It’s hotter than I realized today.”

Emily nodded, pulling her hair out of the loose ponytail. “Should probably make the kids come cool down before too long.” She dug into the cooler again, searching for her own water bottle.

Javier’s eyes followed the sway of her curls. His hand floated up of its own accord, letting one twist gently around his finger. Emily didn’t even notice. He sighed softly. He needed to tell her. The thought passed as his heat-soaked brain caught up and he let it drop. The feel of her soft hair against his skin stayed.

“They should sleep good tonight.”

“We all should,” Emily sighed, pressing the water bottle to her neck.

“Nightmares been keeping you up?” Javier asked, easing into a sitting position.

“Not as often as they had. You?” She glanced at him, pulling her hair over one shoulder.

Javier bit his lip, arms slung over his knees. A pit formed in his stomach. He knew he had to tell her. He couldn’t put it off any longer, not when he had a date circled on the calendar. “A little more the past week.”

“Something happen?” Javier looked away, a newfound interest in the tree to their left. His brow creased, frown lines appearing around his mouth. Emily felt the air shift. She fought the fight or flight response itching to life inside her. “Javier?”

He swallowed, pulling his attention back to her. “The DEA offered me a position,” he huffed, pulling up some of the grass beside him. “Hell, it’s a promotion really, back in Colombia. They want me to help take down Cali.”

Emily’s heart dropped. She tried to hide the dread that filled her, but he could see it. “When do you leave?”

“Never said I was going.”

“Didn’t have to. You wouldn’t be actin like someone died if you weren’t.”

Javier finally met her eyes through the light tint of his sunglasses. She chewed on her lip, eyes glistening even in the shade. “I’m sorry,” he said. His arm settled across her leg, hand hanging on her calf. Their thighs pressed against each other. Even in the scorching heat, neither minded.

“When do you leave?”

“August 5th”

Emily looked away, eyes tracking each of her children on the playground. They still played happily with the other children, having moved to a regular game of tag. “How long?”

“Contract’s for a year. Could be longer though. Just depends.”

Her gut twisted in a million tiny knots. She had so many questions. Some for him, and some for herself. Would she still be able to do all these things without him?

“You didn’t tell me they’d offered you a position.”

It was a silly thing to say. He didn’t owe her anything, but she felt a little hurt he hadn’t told her he was even considering it. “I didn’t think I would at first, but they kept calling and I-” Javier took a deep breath.

“You realized you had unfinished business.” She met his eyes again.

Javier sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah…”

She nodded, leaning into him slightly so their shoulders touched. He squeezed her calf softly as she wove her arms through his. The breeze picked up a little, providing some relief. Slowly, her body leaned into him more. Emily hesitated only slightly before letting her head drop to his shoulder.

Javier looked at it, almost in disbelief as the faint smell of her shampoo drifted his way. His heart pounded in his chest as his brain ran wild, setting off all the signals like he was a teenager asking his crush to homecoming. He hadn’t felt this way in years.

He wanted to press a kiss to her forehead. He wanted to do more than that, but the better-behaved part of his brain warned against it. One day, maybe he could kiss her head like well-meaning friends do, but not now. He wasn’t in the position to be a well-meaning friend today, and she had still hesitated to fully relax into him. Instead, he settled on resting his head against hers.

She kept her eyes focused on the kids. He kept his on her.

“Don’t forget about us, Okay?” She said.

Javier nudged against her softly, a soft smile ghosting over his lips. “Never. Couldn’t break Alejandra’s heart like that.”

She laughed and his heart lifted. “She’s grown quite fond of Mr. Javi.” She nudged him back, looking his way again. The whole world melted away when she looked at him like that.

Javier chuckled. He tucked a runaway curl behind Emily’s ear, careful not to linger. “Hope she’s not the only one.”

“I mean I think the boys will miss you too, but they don’t seem to have the same… affinity for you,” Emily winked at him. “that Ale does.”

“And my best friend?” Javier said. It was the first time the words felt painful to say like they didn’t cover the full scope of what Emily was to him.

“Will miss you greatly.” She squeezed his arm. “Not sure how I’m gonna function without you really.” She said it with an air of humor, but they both knew there was a real question buried under it.

He searched her eyes, racking his brain for something to say, but nothing came.

The kids came running back, Alejandra running through their bubble first followed by Miguelito, and then Mateo lagging behind on his shorter legs.

“Everyone needs to sit and drink some water,” Emily instructed.

Javier thought she might pull away, switch instantly into mom mode as he’d seen her do so many times, but she stayed against him as the kids followed her instructions with heavy panting.

Javier smiled taking in the scene. It made him wonder if he was doing the right thing. He had doubts about going back to Colombia, but the pull to finish it once and for all had outweighed them all. This right here, balanced the scales, tipping them in the other direction even.

Without warning, Alejandra gasped looking directly at the adults. “Don’t move.”

She dug around in Emily’s bag, pulling out the Polaroid camera Emily toted everywhere. Ale had as big of an affinity for taking pictures as her mother.

“Ale, I’m all sweaty,” Emily said as her daughter held it up.

“No mami, you look beautiful,” She chastised. “Now smile.”

“Do as the lady says.” Javier chuckled, shifting so his arm was behind Emily’s back as he let a genuine smile overtake his face. Emily’s hand fell to his knee. She sighed, but obeyed, smiling at the camera.

Ale shifted around, making sure to get the correct angle until finally the camera flashed. She announced it was “perfect” before the photo had fully spit out of the camera and placed it carefully in the case Emily kept for developing photos.

Javier chuckled next to her as he slowly pulled away from her. Even in the sweltering Texas heat, Emily missed him next to her.

Emily lay in bed that night, sheets kicked to her feet. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. Javier was leaving. Leaving Texas, leaving her, and he didn’t know when he was going to be back. What if he didn’t come back? The thought turned her blood to ice, sparking the flame of anxiety. She shot up, sweat gathering across her skin as she struggled to catch her breath. She couldn’t go there, couldn’t let the thoughts consume her, but they already had. Try as she might, none of her usual tools worked to combat it as images of Javier lying in the street with a bullet hole filled her brain.

Finally, she pulled herself out of bed on shaky feet. She grabbed a stray pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the table on her way to the backyard, barely keeping it together long enough to flick the lighter to life and inhale the smoke. Her shaking steadied with the first hit of nicotine. The rhythm of it gave her mind a distraction, pressing the butt to her lips, the orange glow at the tip, smoke filling her lungs and then releasing into the air. She hadn’t smoked in months, deciding to stop when Javier did, but tonight none of that mattered. He was leaving her.

The door opened behind her. She spun around to find her father, looking disheveled in his boxers and opened robe with his hair sticking up. He lifted an eyebrow. He returned the gesture, holding out his hand for the pack of cigarettes. She handed it over with the lighter.

Jaime methodically pulled one out, flicking the lighter with more ease and steady hand than Emily had moments before. The father and daughter stood next to each other, their silhouettes copies of the other in the moonlight.

“Haven’t caught you out here in a while.”

“Was I loud?”

“Rattled the whole house when you slammed the door.”

Emily cringed, taking another drag from the cigarette. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

She waited a second, flicking the ash. “I’m guessing you already know.”

Jaime sighed. “I knew he was offered it. Just found out he accepted last evenin.” Emily bristled slightly. “It’s just a year, Sweetheart.”

“No, the contract is for a year.”

Jaime turned toward his daughter. She looked like the Emily he’d known before the spring, the one who was scared and jumpy all the time, not the blooming flower he’d come to know in the past few months. The difference was night and day. He didn’t want to see her go back to that place.

“Em…”

“What if he doesn’t make it back?” Emily interrupted him, letting the internal thoughts become external. “What if he gets shot or worse, and I never see him again?”

He reached out, putting an arm around his daughter. He kissed her head, rubbing soothing circles against her back. Tears gathered in Emily’s eyes.

“He’s good at what he does.”

“Even the best agents get killed.”

Jaime nodded. He’d know some of those. He kept his mouth shut and let Emily talk. That was what she needed anyway. She talked through all of it until she started leaning into him more, words slurring with sleep until she all but fell asleep standing against him.

He smiled, guiding his grown, sleepwalking daughter through the house. He tucked her into bed, all the nights he missed when she was little flickering through his mind. It was these nights when it hit the most. The what ifs. What if he’d pursued more legal action against her mother? What if he hadn’t let the DEA whisk him off to Guadalajara without a custody agreement? The guilt of it all never left him.

He pushed the hair out of her face, setting one last kiss on her forehead. As he closed the door behind him, he heard her soft, slurred words. “Goodnight, Dad.”

He smiled to himself. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

[wooyoungisbaby]

Mark your first choice in each category, with bold or a funky colour and reblog/repost :) Note: || marks a new bracket Tag some people too if you'd like!

Albums

Main series || Treasure · Zero: Fever · The World · Golden Hour

Treasure series || All to Zero · Zero to One · One to All · All to Action · Action to Answer

Fever series || Part 1 · Part 2 · Part 3 · Epilogue

The World series || Movement · Outlaw · Fin: Will

Japanese releases || Shift the Map · Map to Answer · Into the A to Z · Beyond: Zero || Dreamers · Limitless || Paradigm · Not Okay

Other releases || Season Songs · Let's get Together || Kingdom: Who is the King · Don't Stop · Spinoff: From The Witness

Songs

Vibes

Bright || Eternal Sunshine · Wave || Illusion · Aurora || If Without You · Time of Love || Dreamers · Dreamy Day ||  Celebrate · Light || Stay · Blue Summer

Simply epic || HalaHala · Say My Name || Answer · Wonderland || Treasure · Fireworks

Resistance™ || Guerilla · Halazia || Cyberpunk · Wake Up || Outlaw · New World · This World

B) fun times || Crazy Form · The Real · Thanxx ||  Bouncy · Work

Swag tbch || Matz · Pirate King || The Leaders · Win · Rocky || To The Beat · Emergency || Django · Arriba || Blind · Shaboom

Yearning || Be With You · Utopia · Take Me Home || Mist · Turbulence ||  Dazzling Light · Silver Light || Empty Box · Not Too Late

Frenzied || Inception · HalaHala ||  Desire · Precious · Horizon ||  Siren · Not Okay

Hopeful, optimistic || Sunrise · My Way || Better · Still Here || Not Too Late · One Day at a Time || Good Lil Boy · Let's Get Together · Limitless

Genres (idk shit about genres, i got help from here)

Moombathon || Wave · Dreamers || Let's Get Together · Promise · Stay

Ballad || Be With You · Everything || Not Too Late · Star 1117

Synth || Cyberpunk · Take Me Home || Silver Light · This World · Diamond

Rock || Guerilla · Rocky || Wake Up · Dancing Like Butterfly Wings

Various types of hip-hop || Illusion · My Way · Thanxx || Outlaw · Emergency || Django · The Leaders

Double title tracks on the same albums

Pirate King · Treasure || Illusion · Wave ||  Thanxx · Inception || Eternal Sunshine · Deja Vu || Turbulence · The Real

Units and solos

Unit songs || Matz · IT's You || Everything · Youth

Mingi songs || Untitled · Tunnel

Jongho songs || Wind · Gravity || A Day · A Fairytale of Youth

Seonghwa covers ||  At My Worst · Angel Baby Yeosang covers || Hug Me · Don't You Forget About Me || To My Puberty · Crush · Only Then

Hongjoong covers + song  || Space Oddity · Starman ||  Black or White · Purple Rain · Billie Jean || Numb · Lemon Tree || So Long Time · Draw & Draw ||  Last Christmas · Cupid · A Walker

Other covers  || それがあなたの幸せとしても (YH) · Etham 12:45 (WY) || Dear Name (CS, JH) · Breathe (CS)

Choreography

Bouncy · Say My Name ||  Thanxx · Work || The Real · Crazy Form || Wave · Eternal Sunshine || Aurora · Illusion ||  Inception · Deja Vu || Answer · Wonderland · Fireworks || Halazia · Guerilla || Treasure · Pirate King || Be My Lover · Black Cat Nero || Rocky · Limitless ||  Not Okay · Paradigm || IT's You · Youth ||  HalaHala · Cyberpunk ||  Silver Light · Utopia || Django · Arriba · Outlaw ||  Good Lil Boy · Dancing Like Butterfly Wings || Horizon · Sector 1 · Desire

MVs

Pirate King · Treasure ||  Illusion · Eternal Sunshine ||  Deja Vu · Inception ||  Answer · Say My Name || Bouncy · Work ||  IT's You · Youth ||  The Real · Crazy Form · Thanxx || Guerilla · Halazia || Wonderland · Fireworks || Wave · Turbulence ||  Hala Hala · Don't Stop ||  Aurora · Promise || Rocky · Limitless || Paradigm · Not Okay ||  Dreamers · Utopia || Black Cat Nero · Be My Lover

Eras

Put the members' names by your favourite eras for them :) Pirate King [] · Say My Name [] · Wave [] · Wonderland [] · Answer [] · Inception [] · Fireworks [] · Deja Vu [] · The Real [] · Turbulence [] · Guerilla [] · Halazia [] · Bouncy [] · Crazy Form [] · Work []

Who owned each era? Pirate King [] · Say My Name [] · Wave [] · Wonderland [] · Answer [] · Inception [] · Fireworks [] · Deja Vu [] · The Real [] · Turbulence [] · Guerilla [] · Halazia [] · Bouncy [] · Crazy Form [] · Work []

The Lads

Bias || Seonghwa · Hongjoong · Yunho · Yeosang · San · Mingi · Wooyoung · Jongho

Dancer || Seonghwa · Hongjoong · Yunho · Yeosang · San · Mingi · Wooyoung · Jongho

Vocalist || Seonghwa · Yunho · Yeosang · San · Wooyoung · Jongho · (Hongjoong · Mingi)

Stage presence/performance || Seonghwa · Hongjoong · Yunho · Yeosang · San · Mingi · Wooyoung · Jongho

Rapper || Mingi · Hongjoong · (Seonghwa · Yeosang · Yunho)

Main ships/duos || Matz · Yungi · Jongsang · Woosan

Other popular dynamics || Woojoong · Woohwa ||  Seongsang · Sanhwa || Sansang · Woosang · Woosansang

Styling

hair unless otherwise specified

Hongjoong Mullet · Oreo || Blue · Orange || White · Red || Soft pink · Fireworks || Grey w/ bangs and eyebrow fun · Rainbow || Cheetah · White bowl cut

Seonghwa Pink · Blond || Sidecut w/ shaved design · Long || Red · Grey || Kingderland coat · Deja Vu zipper outfit ||  Vampire corset · Elle dress

Wooyoung Oreo · Red || Blue tinted · Blond || Pale purple · Dark blond || Hair band · Fur jacket

Jongho Red/Black · Dirty blond · Purple

Mingi Orange · Red || Hot pink · White || Grey · Oreo

San Black with turquoise · Black with red || Oreo · Pink || Red · Blue

Yeosang Mullet · Green highlighter || Pale pink · Hot pink || Blond · Oreo

Yunho Turquoise · Soft pink || Blond ombre · Red/Black || White · Silver

Kingdom performances

Symphony No. 9 · Answer: Ode To Joy || Wave: Overture · Rhythm Ta · The Real || Colours · Wolf · Love Poem

ty @hongjoongsgoat @leethinktherefore @sxcret-garden @babymbbatinygirl and @sillyspero for your inputs :))

[runnning-outof-time]

K’s Reading List — SEPTEMBER

Hey there! Thanks for stumbling upon this reading list! I figured that as a way to support the lovely writers within this fandom that I’d compile a reading list of all of the stories I read over each month.

September was a wonderful month filled with incredible stories. Below is the list of stories that I read. I hope you will find some that you like as well!

As always, please make sure you heed to the warnings on each fic!!

🧡 — denotes a story written for my 3.5k celebration

@call-sign-shark

Perfect Lines - Arthur Shelby x Reader/OC — 🧡

Boxing!Arthur thoughts/blurb - Arthur Shelby x OC

@evita-shelby

Happy wife, Happy life - Tommy Shelby x Reader — 🧡

@youtifulsunshinelixfics

September Drabble Challenge - features several different Peaky characters

@notyour-valentine

Come Hell or High Water - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@little-diable

I Remember Everything - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

Tommy Shelby Blurb - Tommy Shelby x Reader

The Woman In the Painting - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

Fly Away, Butterfly - John Shelby x Reader

Behind the Green Door - Interactive Fic set in the Peaky Blinders World

Storks and chimneys… - Alfie Solomons x OC

One Last Kiss - Alfie Solomons x Reader

In his arms - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@cryingforlife

Daddy’s Bad Girl - Modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

Until We Meet Again - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@strayrockette

A Daughter’s Letter - Wartime!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@zablife

Tommy Shelby Blurb - Tommy Shelby x Reader — 🧡

The Changretta Calls 4 - from ongoing series

Michael’s Wedding Gift - Tommy Shelby x Mrs Shelby

@moral-terpitude

The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie - Tommy Shelby

@anotherblinder

The Ring - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@sneakyblinders

summer beach house pt. 1 - Modern!Tommy x OC (on-going series)

@loverhymeswith

Forever is the Sweetest Con - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Only Bought This Dress So You Could Take It Off - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@cillmequick

Behind Closed Doors - Modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

Til Death Do Us Part - Tommy Shelby x Reader

The Dress, Part 4 - Cillian Murphy x Reader (on-going series) — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@gypsy-girl-08

Blind Date - Modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader (ongoing series) — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

Seventeen Days - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Just A Minute… - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@mystcldydrms

Always On Your Side - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@darthannie

grand gestures - Tommy Shelby x Reader

water works - Tommy Shelby x Reader — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@hb-writes

“I’m not pissed, I’m hurt.” - Ada Shelby & Sister!Reader

@emotionalcadaver

Nocturnal Me - Tommy Shelby x OC (Succubus AU!) — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@toms-cherry-trees

For This Love - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Arthur Shelby Blurb

Tommy Shelby Blurb 1

Tommy Shelby Blurb 2

@darklydeliciousdesires

She Belonged To the Wild - Tommy Shelby x OC — contains 🔞 NSFW themes!

@jakeotters

Dating Tommy Shelby - headcannons

@peakyswritings

Lullaby - Tommy Shelby x Reader

@there-goes-thefighter

Check On You - Tommy Shelby x Reader

[axilog14]

.... I'm running out of space again.

Yep, my blind box BJD collection has doubled since my previous update. And I still have a couple more on the way. My self-control has gone to hell.

I've been eyeing the Chess Club girl (the blue one on the right) from the Teennar Student's Club series for some time now, and I finally lucked out on a decent price for her. The little wire glasses are scarily fragile, but fun to switch around.

All three of these lines (Peetsoon Male Classmate, Teennar Student's Club, and Liroro Summer Island) are by Simontoys. Something ridiculous I discovered is that none of their hairpieces or faceplates are compatible with each other. The faceplates are all different molds (with Student's Club being the smallest), and you can only switch them out with a doll within the same series.

Compare this with the Penny's Box dolls, which afaik are all compatible with each other. I only own dolls from two lines - School Haunting and Puppet Kingdom - and they do switch hairpieces and faceplates with each other seamlessly. (I'm pretty sure the mermaids, centaurs and dragons work with these too.)

[bimsha]

Series : 100 WAYS TO SAY I LOVE YOU

Inspired by: 100 ways to say I love you

Fandom: Tokyo Revengers

I Was In The Neighborhood

Pairing: Rindo Haitani x Reader

Tags: lovers, rain, fluff, powercuts, thunder, falling in love all over again

Tw: cursing

Word count: 1.6k

Note: Guess who's back! My writing has gotten a little rusty. Idk if people are still into TR. Let's see I guess <3 I'd continue if people read these anymore or else I'd move onto something else probably.

---

The howling wind slapped past the quiet streets of Shibuya. You looked out the windows, the gloom welcomed you save for the solitary street light flickering on and off, trying to survive through the tortuous summer storm. You sighed, pulling down the shades, closing off the desolate world outside. The weather reports had warned all the citizens in Shibuya to stay indoors and take cover. And you could see why, this storm was one of the worst ones you’ve seen in a while. 

The shades didn’t block the howling of the wind or the clutter of rain. You ignored it as you walked to your kitchenette to make a small dinner. The earlier you go to bed, the better it is. You were not sure how much sleep you could get tonight. But at least you can try to get some decent sleep. 

You searched aimlessly through your drawers, hoping to find some decent ingredients that wouldn’t give you diarrhoea. In the next moment, the dim-lit kitchen glowed with a strike of sudden light, a moment later, the sky growled, piercing the quiet night of Shibuya with its force. To add flavour to the surprise, next, the lights went out. 

You stood in the middle of your kitchen, one hand hovering over the air, the other still inside the pocket of your hoodie as you waited for the comforting light to flood back any moment. Realising your fruitless attempt, you crossed your living room, peeking through the blinds to see the sea of darkness outside. The whole street was wallowing in darkness save for the flashes of occasional light of lightning. 

You frowned, your eyes tracing the edges of your furniture, looking as if they would come alive at any moment.

Did I even have any candles? You thought, turning on the flashlight of your phone as you shuffled through your drawers only to discover an empty box of candles, only the scent of wax clinging to the cardboard. “Well, shit.”

You momentarily wandered heading straight to your bedroom but your stomach growled in protest, reminding you of your lunch which was a granola bar before you ran into your next class. You let your mind wander, trying to distract yourself from hunger. You had come to the decision that you would eat when the power came back. Till then, you could sit on your aged sofa and think. 

You didn’t get much time to stop by and think these days anyways. 

But a knock on the door drove you back to the situation. There was one thing more eerie than facing a storm alone in your apartment with a black out, it was facing a storm alone in your apartment with a black out and you hear a knock on your front door. 

That is how horror movies always start, doesn’t it?

You stayed glued to your sofa, straining to hear the knock again. Have you imagined it? You frowned when another knock followed and this time a voice called out. You could barely hear the words through the storm outside. But your heart picked up pace as you reached the baseball bat you kept in the coat cupboard. Inching towards the door, you strained to hear a sound when again a muffled voice said, “Y/n, it’s me, Rin.”

You blinked, oh shi-

You turned the lock and threw the door open to see a half-soaked Rindo standing on your doorstep. The storm was raging and flakes of water carried by the brutal wind attacked your face as you took his arm and dragged him inside. He was still looking at the baseball bat in your hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“I thought it was a thief! Gods’ sake Rin, you're not supposed to be here today.”

“You don’t like me being here?” He asked, smiling teasingly as he dropped the plastic bag he was carrying to the counter as he took off his coat.

“You told me you have a meeting today.”

He shrugged, “It got cancelled, and I was in the neighbourhood. So…” 

Despite the light banter, relief took over your heart. You were glad to see him, ecstatic even. You had never been a big fan of the darkness, and it didn’t seem as if the storm was going to let out anytime soon. “Do you have any candles Y/n?” He asked, walking to you, standing disoriented in the living room. 

“I don’t think I have.”

A sigh echoed from where he was standing. “Don’t give me the parental disappointment stare,” You chided, trying to manoeuvre your way to your sofa.

“You can’t even see me!”

“But I can feel you,” You said. The two of you were on the opposite side of the room, screaming over the sound of the rain. You listened intently to hear any footsteps when he shone the flashlight of his phone on your face. You hissed, averting your gaze. Rindo chuckled.

“There you are, I brought food. Let’s eat.”

You peered into the plastic bag he brought as you two sat around the small table in the living room. Rindo balanced his phone on one side of the table before taking out two steaming cooked noodles. You knew the label, it was from the shop down the road. “I thought I was going to starve tonight.”

Rindo raised his brow, “Well, you don’t even have candles here.”

“Stop with the candles.”

“I will speak about candles in our marriage itself.”

“Is that a proposal?” 

Rindo choked on his food and started coughing. You burst out laughing as you slid the water bottle across the table to him. After several gulps, he leaned back with a heavy sigh when thunder rumbled overhead. “Jesus christ,” Rindo muttered under his breath, picking up his chopsticks. 

You both ate in silence for a while, when a strike of lightning illuminated the living followed by thunder. You dropped your chopsticks, startled. “Son of a bitch-”

Rindo reached across the table, “Language, m’lady.” His fingers caressed your skin as you blinked out the panic. It was not that you’re scared of thunder, but sometimes the screams of heaven took you off guard. 

You laced your fingers against his, holding onto his hand tight as the assault of the sky continued. Rindo gave it a comforting squeeze. “You alright?”

You nodded at him, “Yeah. But I’d prefer if the light came back.” True to your words, the lights flickered on. You looked at Rindo with dramatic surprise on your face. 

“What sorcery is this?” Rindo chuckled. 

“I’ve always told you I’m an undercover witch trying to have revenge against all humanity,” You shrugged.

He rolled his eyes, standing as he picked up the two empty bowls, walking to the kitchen. You followed like a lost kitten not wanting to be far apart in case the lights flickered back out. He didn’t comment on this, instead welcomed the warmth as you wrapped your arms around his waist as he washed them. You listened to his breathing, the soft material of his sweater comforting against your skin. “I’ve missed you,” You murmured as Rindo wiped his hands on a clean towel. 

“I’ve missed you too. Sorry I’ve been a bit busy with work.”

“It’s alright,” You said when he turned leaning back against the counter, just looking at you. You remembered how when you first started dating people were sceptical how long it would go on. Rindo was not someone who liked to be committed, someone who would give up everything for a life of two. But surpassing all the expectations there they were, dating for two years, his hands on each of your cheeks, looking as if you’re the only girl left on this very earth. 

“Let’s go back. Movie while cuddling?” He suggested. You smiled nodding. 

“Sounds like a perfect night for me.”

He leaned over, and kissed your ear, whispering. “Of course it can be.”

You flushed, swatting at him as he jumped out of your way with a loud laugh. He walked towards the corridor. “I’m going to use the washroom. Stay there.”

You nodded, sitting on the cold kitchen counter when his cell phone rang out its familiar tune. You peered to see Ran’s number flashing on his lockscreen. You answered the phone with a chirpy hello. Ran and you had been partners in crime for these two years. It was a bonus of dating Rindo. 

“Hello, Y/n! Did Rin reach there safely? God knows what was going on in my mind when he just stood from the meeting and decided to drive all the way through.”

“What do you mean he drove all the way? Wasn’t he in the neighbourhood?”

Ran let out a confused sound. “Uh… no? Am I busting one of his lies?”

“Probably-”

“Shit.”

“Shit,” You agreed as Rann mustered a half-baked apology hanging up. 

“Who was that?” Rindo asked, walking into the kitchen. He had changed his sweater to one of the t-shirts he kept here for emergencies. 

You placed the phone on the counter and launched yourself at him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you gave him a teasing smile. “Seems as if you were not in the neighbourhood after all.”

A rare flush spread through his cheeks as he held onto you for balance. “Ran?”

“Uh huh.”

He averted his gaze, his fingers tightening around your waist. “I heard people were having a power cut here, so…” He trailed off. 

“I love you,” You said in return. He blinked in surprise when you caught his lips in a kiss. Both of you stumbled back against the wall as you two kissed, hands exploring each other. 

When you finally parted his cheeks were fully flushed, but a grin had taken over his face. “I guess we’ll have to skip the movie after all.”  

[humanpurposes]

(Teaser) It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

A/n: I feel bad that it's been forever since this series had an update, and I'm just feeling silly today so I thought I'd share a lil something of what I've been working on (to hopefully motivate me to finish the chapter lmao).

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the ancient stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity. 

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at his laptop and they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planninging this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to every individual and family in Westeros who thinks they are even slightly important that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. 

There can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

His eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan in the main ballroom. Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind his eyes and in the crevices of his scar.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?” 

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease, and he has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it: a glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in the office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and grab some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move. 

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache. 

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again? 

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

[the-bjd-community-confess]

Hello, Anon, this is your Oldie Chinese Diaspora Anon™️. I am sorry to keep you waiting. As you’ve probably noticed, vinyl and non-resin dolls are usually not my forte. It took a while to dig up some information for you, but I hope to be able to answer your questions.

The advent of “Cheaper, affordable MJDs” didn’t come from the desire to make BJDs affordable. In fact, the technology that really elevated the production of this kind of MJDs started from what we understand as vinyl collectibles. These small figurines are made from a combination of PVC powders as well as a series of other emulsifiers, lubricators and activators (From the factory that produces them, here: http://www.dgzhonglinhb.com/news_content-859681.html ) Different companies have slightly different recipes, which would explain the different pliability of their final products. The technology was first created as a way to create memorabilia that are of limited edition and they were first considered as collectibles. They’re known internally as “Urbanvinyls” and include signed trinkets that can go for hundreds, if not thousands of dollars. Some examples would be KAWS, Kidrobot, Tokidoki, Bearbrick etc.

With the rise of “Made in China” soft power, the internally patriotic sentiment had fostered local artist-designed vinyl collectibles, which had eventually ballooned into the blind box craze that we see in the last 4-5 years. It also opened a door for vinyl/PVC based MJDs. I do not think they were specifically made to usurp the DD/SmD market, but since “moe sells”, a lot of the new doll companies go with the cute, anime-inspired aesthetic while the blind boxes cater to more design elements. These newly designed MJDs tend to be small, usually 1/12 and 1/6; larger ones exist, but they are rare. In all, they are created to be much more like their direct inspiration, the “blind box collectibles” than what we would usually consider to be articulated dolls. It also meant their target demographic is very different as well. The lower price point allows more people to impulse buy out of FOMO; these are things you buy on a whim instead of saving up to buy.

In this arena, Imómó is not alone in terms of aesthetic, pricing or packaging. Other companies in this group include Hüa Jüan, Tïny Fóx, UFdóll, CNDóll, Kimdóll, Pópmilk, Mónst and the upcoming YünLai/LückyDoll, etc (but not YMY – who has lost a battle with Piccodo for copying their body design recently). These dolls are created with a higher number in circulation in mind – but still limited enough to stimulate the FOMO behaviour – with shared features (sharing bodies, design elements, etc). To keep the production cost down, these dolls would be considered rather threadbare compared to BJDs. I have seen box opening videos where the floating “blind box” heads were packaged in a brown shipping box and wrapped around in clear plastic bags with no other packaging material. The “accessories” for these dolls are usually close to none as well – no or very simple COAs, basic box, air-filled tubes instead of fabric cushions, etc.A snapshot in time in online stores shows that Imómó is definitely not an outlier in the new era of MJDs: https://weibo.com/1448114577/Nj9fqfog3

https://www.dollyteria.com/product-list/58?page=1

If there’s something that really made Imómó stand out, it was the rumours that spread within Chinese doll collectors earlier in the summer of 2023 about the company not issuing legitimate receipts (usually with the intention to cook their books to pay less in taxes). They accuse Imómó of being a “Three Nothings” company (no date of manufacture, no QC and no source factory) with really awful customer service. They had registered the company as an “overseas-based” one so they would be in a different tax bracket. Some collectors also accuse the owner and their family members infiltrating doll collector groups to hype up their own products and downplay the complaints. A popular agent, SWDólls, were also implicated in helping them to not issue traceable receipts. (Details and screen grabs can be found here: https://weibo.com/7303299294/N8lHE6wGE?type=repost ) I have also heard of owners who complain about the parts not fitting well, the seamlines were wide and uneven as well as other imperfections that should’ve never passed QC, if there was a QC.

I understand that most of us, who are looking in from the outside, would wholly welcome a new era of articulated dolls that are affordable. They are a great entry point for people who want to get into BJDs or just want to collect these dolls on their own. I personally think they are great the way they are, because they are starting to populate a brand-new market for people who like dolls in general. However, the first company that most folks encounter in this group was probably Imómó. I cannot comment on the accusations made by the Chinese collectors; all I can say is, I am hoping that the other named companies start to make headway into the overseas market. We’d been waiting.

Note: The write up here didn’t include previously existing vinyl dolls such as Azóne and Obitsü or the vinyl versions of resin dolls such as Kinókó Jüice and Püyüdolls. This write-up only includes MiC, PVC-based, original, MJDs. My understanding is that they are not on par with the company in question in terms of price range, target market and country of origin. I didn’t think they’d make for a fair comparison, but your mileage may vary.

~Anonymous

[under-the-aspen-tree]

A Moth To You (Chapter 6 - Dragons and Jewels and Lovely Things) Aegon II Targaryen X (Bastard Velaryon) Reader

Series Summary: After a year travelling abroad, you have been called home to Kingslanding by your mother, Rhaenyra. Turns out your family has grown in your time apart.

Word Count - 5.7k

The days rolled on quite blissfully after your last encounter with Aegon, who had decided to leave you alone after your encounter in the hallway. You had spent your days in repeat, going to your lessons dutifully and then spending your afternoons with Helaena. While she attended to her sewing, you indulged yourself in books you had taken from the library, reading old ballads and stories of the Seven Kingdoms. When Helaena had giggled at your lack of educational or historical texts, fingers tickling your scalp as she wove pretty braids into your hair under the sun, you had informed her that you had no intention of studying for any longer than the Septa made you.

You had been in Kingslanding for well over a week now, having quite quickly found that you were quite dramatic in your previous disdain for the city. Though you were forced to learn and sew, you were also able to spend your time reading, listening to music, and riding Cerys whenever you wished. You and Helaena had spent many mornings delaying class to fly together, spinning in loops above the common folk and spraying the air with dragon fire, much to their delight.

It was a morning just like any other when you opened your chamber door to find a small package wrapped carefully in thin parchment upon the floor. Your new guard, an ageing man named Trystin with just a fine spraying of silver through his beard and a head void of any hair at all, said a servant had left it there in the hour of the nightingale without a word. He had frowned at the package with a level of uncertainty but assured you he had not touched the contents himself. With a gentle frown and a hum, you took it from his hands and brought it to your vanity, laying it out in the golden sun that poured through your window. 

For some reason, you took your time in unwrapping it gently, as though fearing it may fall apart if not, yet the box it held was sturdy and well made. A redwood of sorts, with beautiful carvings of carnations and marguerite blooms so intricate that you could feel the ridges of their petals as you ran your fingers along the box. No note lay within the packaging, so you would not have known it held anything within at all had you not stroked the carvings, for when your finger slipped against a slightly pronounced flower, you heard a subtle click. The mechanism unlocked the lid of the box, a small latch dropping from beneath it, and when you lifted the top you found a necklace so pristine and polished it could have blinded you in the sunlight, meant for only your eyes.

You almost gasped at the sight of it; a golden teardrop the size of your thumb made up of woven gold that glided around itself like an infinite stream. When you ran your finger along the divots and spirals, it was as soft as buttered honey, as smooth as silk, and a pearly moonstone sat in the base, clear as summer clouds.

You hadn't even pondered who could have given you such a gift, for you were certain that this was meant for you and you only, and were so hypnotised by its beauty that you hadn't even heard your door open, only jumping into a stand when you saw the green of Alicent's dress in the reflection of the mirror. The necklace, still in its pretty box, lay forgotten on your desk as you turned, dropping into a curtsy at the sight of the queen.

"Your majesty."

When you raised your head, you found she was smiling lightly at your courtesy, her hands wrapped together in front of her hips. Her dress was of a deep and enchanting emerald, high upon her shoulders and falling gracefully to kiss the cool ground. Her hair was wrapped up atop her head, and her circlet stood atop the bundle of braids and curls, gleaming gold and blue in the morning light.

"You must forgive me, princess," She began, walking towards you with measured steps. "I had meant to speak with you much earlier than this."

"Forgiveness is not needed, your grace." You assured her, fighting the urge to frown. Though her appearance had startled you from your thoughts, you couldn't help but ponder. Why was she here? "The cost of ruling Seven Kingdoms is a high one, I imagine."

"Yes," Alicent breathed a smile, placing a gentle hand upon your shoulder. You forget how well she conducted herself, ever poised and present with the tranquillity that must come with a queen. "One I hear you may take on, someday."

You faltered for a moment before smiling back. You hadn't expected such a visit, nor for her to allude to the possibility of your birthright. It made you feel slightly uncomfortable and needles began to prick at your previously warm skin.

"My mother has not yet chosen an heir." You confessed, suppressing your unease. Honestly, you were quite glad to remain in that safe middle ground, somewhere between princess and heir. Though not eager to tell your mother as such, you abhorred the idea of taking the throne for yourself someday and always had. Rhaenyra was noble and regal, with a cold strike of ambition that she had failed to pass on to the likes of yourself. Jace was a better suitor for the throne and you both knew it. It was he who trained in sword and shield, he who held himself with grace and dignity and kindness. When you had a problem, he was quick to find a solution, and he had always possessed a great ability with mediation. You, on the other hand, were quick to temper and even quicker to taunt. You had spent your childhood running from your Septas and had fled Kingslanding at the first opportunity to travel. You were quite content to resume your adventures someday and let Jace take his place upon the throne, so you kept your opinions to yourself and hoped she would come to a similar decision.

"Yes, of course," Alicent said breezily, tilting her head slightly with a smile. "Though it is often safest to debate the possibility of such a thing."

You hummed at her words, unsure of exactly what to say. 

"Please, sit."

You had to fight to keep the confused frown from your face as you sat down awkwardly at your vanity, watching her face from behind you in the mirror. She was a mask of grace and gentle authority, her expression never betraying the slight smile on her face. 'A well-trained queen,' you thought to yourself, spine and shoulders tight and hands clasped together upon your lap. To your surprise, she ran a finger through your hair, the hair that brought you the title bastard, before beginning to braid.

"I used to do Helaena's hair for her every morning," She said, as though this was a usual occurrence. "She doesn't let me anymore, of course, but I became quite good at it."

The feeling of Alicents' nails brushing against your scalp had you rigid in your seat, yet you kept your expression neutral, eyes flitting between her face and your own as you fidgeted. "She's very lucky to have such a caring mother."

Alicent let out a light laugh as she worked, twisting and pulling your hair into place. It was almost bizarre, to sit and wait as the queen herself weaved your hair. "I would like to hope she thinks the same, though girls are always tricky. I had a much easier time with Aegon and Aemond when they were young."

You smiled, yet said nothing, feet tapping lightly against the floor. You couldn't imagine a time when Aegon could have ever been considered 'easy'. Alicent worked for a moment in silence, fingers practiced and quick, before continuing herself. 

"I hear you got along well with a trader's son during your time in Pentos?" Her words had an air of caution about them, of prying, but you were too eager to fill the silence, to distract yourself from the awkward conversation at hand.

"Yes, Illestrio. He was very kind to me during my stay." You found yourself saying, smoothing the sweat from your palms along your skirts. Alicent pursed her lips, though it could have been out of concentration as she threaded your lock of white hair into the braid.

"I'm sure he was very sorry to see you go in that case."

With that, she pinned the last section of plait to the back of your neck, smoothing and fluffing your hair slightly, before resting her hands on your shoulders. When you regarded yourself in the mirror, you smiled lightly. You looked just like Helaena.

"If you are to possibly sit the iron throne someday, (Y/N), you need to remember who your allies are."

Alicent's words awoke you from the trance like a bath of ice and you drew your brows into a frown, suddenly aware of her hands against you, light as feathers, yet tethering you to your seat.

"There are men all across the seven kingdoms who will wish to exploit you for your birthright," She continued, looking you in the eye through your reflection. "Who will grasp at anything they can to sit beside you, to control the country through you."

"I understand the politics of Westeros, your grace," You assured her, even more uncomfortable now than you had been when she first entered. The silk of your dress began to itch against your arms. "I know what it means to choose wisely."

"Do you?"

Alicent finally removed her hands to fix a strand of your hair, tweaking the braid slightly. You couldn't help but notice the mild condescension in her voice, as though she didn't trust a word you were saying. Your cheeks flushed; it was a pointless conversation anyway. Your mother would choose a husband for you, and the chances of you having any say in the matter whatsoever were close to none. When it became apparent you had nothing to say, Alicent sighed and removed her hands, taking a step back. You rose from your chair as though a spell of tension was finally broken, and you welcomed the fresh air into your lungs, free from her looming presence.

"I'm sure being back in Kingslanding will do you some good. There any many fine suitors here." Alicent smoothed out her skirts as though making to leave, fixing imaginary creases in the heavy silks. "Should you wish to speak with me further I would be delighted to see you again, Princess."

'Absolutely not,' you thought as she nodded. "Thank you, your grace, that would be lovely," you said.

Almost as a last thought before turning to leave, Alicent's eyes flittered across your desk before gifting you a knowing look. "A very pretty necklace."

As soon as she left the room, you tucked the box into the very back of your vanity drawers and clenched your teeth, mulling over her words. In all honesty, you had no clue what the woman was going on about, flitting from ruling, to her children, to your own marriage. It was a ridiculous conversation, a hindrance to both of your mornings, and you couldn't for the life of you figure out why she went about it in the first place.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that breakfast was pushed to the back of your mind as you threw off your silk dress in place of riding leathers. The journey to the Dragonpits would be achingly hot, but you desperately needed an afternoon in the skies, where you could finally be free of Alicent and her frustrating sons.

____

The afternoon sun was comfortably cool against your skin, catching in the soft leather of your riding leathers and sending whispering tingles against your neck and hair. Your eyes were closed as you drifted in and out of sleep, thoroughly exhausted from your day of riding, but the brightness of the sun left your vision stained red through your eyelids. Laying like this, you could almost imagine you were still in flight, souring across the ocean in great twists and turns, laughing at Cery's delighted roars. If you breathed heavily enough, you could still smell the salt flaking on your skin.

A chorus of early evening birds sang throughout the trees of a nearby orchard, smells of citrus and lavender drifting through the air in the gentle breeze. You could have stayed here forever, content in the gardens far away from the sounds of servants bustling and bells chiming.

"If a time came where you had to choose between future and past, which would you decide upon?"

Helaena's soft voice didn't startle you, but it drew you back to the present, to the grass poking soft threads into your scalp and the orange sun against your eyelids. It took a moment to decipher her words from where she was sitting beside you, her needle making gentle popping noises against her canvas as she sewed. 

"What do you mean?" Your voice came out quiet, foggy with light sleep, yet you couldn't bring yourself to come back from those tranquil daydreams just yet.

Helaena was quiet for a moment, simply popping her needle in and out of her fabric as she pondered. "Would you give everything up for the one you loved?"

You smiled a little, unprepared for such questions in your peaceful state, yet debated it all the same. Helaena often made little sense to those around her, yet if she deemed her questions to be important enough to ask, you would answer them, however much they confused you. "If that were true, I would be giving up everyone else I loved."

Helaena hummed, voice airy and light. "Or they, you."

You finally cracked your eyes open, blinking against the brightness surrounding you, and leaned up against your sore arms. Helaena was deep in thought, staring at her embroidery as her silver hair swayed gently in the breeze.

"Why do you ask?"

She shifted her line of sight towards the distant sea, her hand going still as she pulled on her thread. Despite Helaena's odd questions and statements, and the faraway look that often graced her eyes, there were moments when she looked wise behind her years. Staring at her now, contemplating something far from your reach, you knew you could never comprehend such a mind. "Just a drifting thought."

You had been together for a while, since the early afternoon when you dismounted Cery's and found her waiting outside the pits. She had come to see Dreamfyre but hadn't the energy to ride today, so had waited for your eventual arrival beside her great dragon. You sat together in the carriage ride back, mostly in a content sort of silence, glad for a day free from your studies. Helaena had suggested the walk in the gardens afterwards, made all the more appealing with promises of cake and cheese, and you had situated yourself against the grass not long after. It was a quiet spot, so far out from the keep that you almost reached the rocky walls to the far side of the castle. The two of you had found it years before, a nearly always deserted field lined with roses and lavender bushes, where you could just about make out the crashing of the waves below. It felt somehow isolated from the rest of the keep, where prying eyes wouldn't look upon you and you wouldn't be disturbed often. 

"I believe we are having supper together tonight."

"Oh?" Lost again in your daydreaming, you looked up to find Helaena bundling up her skirts so that she may stand. Once up with her skirts brushed from stray strands of grass, she offered you a hand.

"Yes, Father wished for us to all become better acquainted."

You giggled, accepting her help as you clambered to your feet. "And I'm assuming it's not just us attending this dinner?"

Helaena blushed a faint pink but did not stop to look upon you as you made your way back to the castle, still savouring the last sighs of the fading sunlight. "I believe your brothers and my own will be in attendance."

"Oh," You curled your lip, eliciting a tinkling laugh from Helaena. 

"It will be fine, I shall tell them to be on their best behaviour."

Chuckling, you looped your arm through hers. "I doubt even that would be enough if my own brothers are involved."

The smell of dragon was still woven heavily into your skin by the time you reached the keep, so with promises that Helaena would walk you to dinner later, you parted ways. It had taken some convincing from your mother, but you had agreed to allow a new handmaid into your chambers. Kaira, a sweet girl of two-and-twenty, three years older than yourself, was a maid who had worked under your mother as far back as Dragonstone. She was friendlier than most, with a lilting village accent and an ability to make you smile no matter the day you had endured, though what you liked most about her was her loyalty to your mother. She turned her nose up at the green dress incident of your first day and declared you would not see such shame again under her watch.

A bath had already been drawn for you by the time you entered your apartments, filled with mint leaves and citrus oils that left the air heavy with fresh-smelling fog. Kaira, ever aware of your own independence, busied herself as you undressed and lowered yourself into the tub, emerging to untangle your hair and wash it gently, leaving you to shut your eyes once more as relaxation took over. 

Once the bath was done, your body slick with oils and creams that made your skin feel like butter beneath your fingers, she sat you beside the fire to dry your hair. Kaira was a beautiful young woman, with skin that took to the sun like a bee did honey. Warm red curls splayed over her shoulders to the top of her hips, and a wild sprinkle of freckles covered her from forehead to toes. Her eyes were as grey as Dragonstone itself, and she wore an adornment of silver all over her ears.

"How about this one?"

Kaira often forwent titles when with you, and you often regarded your partnership as something more of a friendship. Even after a week, you had grown closer to the girl than any maid prior, and you put a lot of trust in her. She held up a gown of deep sea blue, with bejewelled breasts that shimmered in the evening light from the open window. A delicate white cape was fastened to the shoulders with clasps akin to those your mother often wore- silver dragons that roared from either side of the neck. 

"That's perfect," You smiled, standing from your seat. Kaira had wrapped your hair in silk to dry into little curls while you dozed by the fire, and they were soft and gleaming when she unwrapped them, letting you shimmy into the gown before clasping the cape to your shoulders.

"How do you feel about tonight?"

You thought for a moment, regarding the view from your bedroom window. You could see the gardens from here, though not the one you and Helaena shared. These were stone pathways, surrounded on either side by blossoming hedges of fuchsia and evergreen.

"I don't know," From between your fingers, you tugged on a coil in your hair as Kaira sat you down, beginning to pin your curls back from your face. "Aegon's a piece of work in himself, and Jace is a simmer waiting to boil over."

You could hear the smile in Kaira's voice as she wove your hair with expertise. "That is the way of boys, I'm afraid. They're all far too eager to leap at each other's throats."

"That is true," You laughed, watching as the sun dipped against the sea in the far distance, letting orange light bounce and dance against the deep waves. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Helaena will be there, and I can hope my mother has instructed Jace to behave himself."

"I'm sure she has, princess."

When Kaira finished your hair, it was fashioned into a spectacular array of twists and curls that piled high at the crown of your scalp before spiralling down past your shoulders. She spun a silver collar around your throat and fitted a deep blue pearl ring against your first finger, before letting you on your way to meet Helaena. Your aunt was just on time, smiling from the doorway in a gown of mauve that fit her eyes perfectly. When you walked to supper, her arm was around yours and there was a skip in her step, one that made her straight hair bounce in waves of silver and gold. With a barely concealed grin on your face, you let the older girl practically drag you to the dining hall.

Jacaerys was waiting by the door when you approached, his stoic expression melting into a smile when he beheld you both. His clothes were of a fine black, broadening his growing shoulders and making him seem taller and older than he was at 18. "Aunt," He said, bending to kiss Helena's hand as a guard opened the door. "Sister."

You grinned cheekily at the flush that overcame Helaena as she smiled shyly back, and was glad to find the table empty as you sat down, steering your aunt so that she was sat on the other side of your brother.

Wine was poured, and once you were tucked neatly into your seat, you finally looked over at the boy. His hair still lay in a mess about his forehead, something he seemed entirely unable to tame, but his jaw was slightly pink from a fresh shave and there was a spark in his dark eyes when he looked at Helaena that had your heart soaring. It was clear Helaena, too, had made an effort with her appearance, more so than usual at least. Her hair was braided back differently so that it hung in layers of spun silver, and her lips shone with a pinkish oil that made her look all the more lovelier. You were stuck by the sadness that their marriage proposal was denied by the queen. 'They would make such a lovely pairing.'

It wasn't long before Luke made an appearance, taking his place opposite your aunt as you shared pleasantries and talk about your days. The table of six had just two chairs yet to be filled, and it was awfully characteristic of Alicent's boys to make an extra effort to be late.

It wasn't until you were beginning to grow tipsy, attention-rapt in conversation with Helaena, that the great oak doors to the room swung open to reveal your uncles. Your aunt pursed her lips at their lateness, but you refused to turn in your seat to watch them until they had rounded the table. Aegon spared his brother a small grin as he took his place opposite you, leaving Aemond to tense his jaw as a servant pulled his seat from the table, leaving him next to Luke.

Your own brother looked equally uncomfortable, eyes immediately flitting around the room to avoid looking at him. If you weren't so concerned as to how badly this dinner was about to go, you would have laughed at Luke's unfortunate situation. Aemond, at least, seemed to have put an element of effort into his appearance. His silver hair was swept back from his face into its usual half-ponytail, though his clothes were of a finer sort than those he wore regularly. Aegon, however, didn't share his brother's style of conduct. His curls were tucked back, his clothes fine, but he couldn't have looked more bored if he tried, his purple eyes sweeping to the ceiling as a serving girl filled his cups. You sighed, longing for the moment this would be over. 

It was Aemond who first broke the silence at the table. "Helaena, you look beautiful tonight." 

With a nod and a half smile towards his sister, he brought his gaze to you and stared almost pointedly with his single eye, actively ignoring you in place of your aunt. You spared him a tight-lipped smile as she thanked him, though you supposed it would be more akin to a scowl, as an array of plates began to pile onto the table. Dinner had waited long enough, it seemed, with the two men's absence, and you were eager to fill your stomach before you dared open your mouth, ever aware of the wine you had downed beforehand.

Steaming plates of sliced chicken, roasted potatoes, and honeyed carrots had your mouth watering. Thick spices of rosemary, sweet onion, and brown sugar wavered through the air, as strong as if you were walking through a bustling market, and you had to suppress a groan as you filled your plate. Soon enough, Aegon and Aemond were immersed in quiet conversation, with Luke looking timidly towards his brother as though for help. You brought your own senses to the two beside you, smiling as you forced yourself to eat politely.

"You'll have to let me ride alongside you some time," Jace was saying to Helaena with a grin. "Whenever I fly with (Y/N), she turns the whole experience into a race."

"That's on you for not keeping up with me," You boasted with a smile. "You should see Cery's now that she's been flying across the world; she is faster than ever, and-"

"You do seem awfully keen on spending time with our sister."

All three of you turned towards Aemond, who had paused in conversation with his brother to look upon Jace with an air of cold calculation, his voice silky smooth. Almost like a cat, he tilted his head slightly, sending a blanket of silver hair over his shoulder as he raised his cup to his lips questioningly.

Jace remained undisturbed, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, though you could see his ears reddening slightly at the insinuation. Helaena remained quiet.

"It would do us all well to become better acquainted," He said calmly, with a graceful smile upon his lips. Luke was looking up at his uncle with a straight face, but his eyes were widened slightly when he turned to you. You could almost see the pleading 'Help me' written across his features and suppressed a sympathetic smile.

"And yet you do not ask Aegon or myself." Aemond raised his eyebrows and nodded towards his brother, who seemed entirely uninterested in the discussion. You couldn't imagine anything more unlikely than Jace asking either of the men for a shared journey into the skies, though the thought made you smile.

Jace, ever a man of opportunity, nodded as though debating the words carefully before raising his cup. "If you wish to go flying with me, Uncle, all you need do is ask."

You couldn't help the snort that came from your throat at his words, looking down just slowly enough to see the fleeting look of amusement Aegon gave you. It seemed, even despite your differences, he could at least share the merriment that came forward when Aemond's solemnity met Jace's unwilling desire to taunt.

Aemond, however, did not seem to share his brother's high spirits. Pursing his lips, he kept his voice even and full of questioning authority. "If you do not recall, nephew, your betrothal to Helaena was denied." His eyes were full of steel. "You have no right to her."

"It is not a matter of right-" Helaena said with furrowed brows.

"No, sweet sister, you are correct." Aemond spared her a glance before returning his cold glare to Jace. "It is a matter of want."

You sighed, swallowing your food from where you had been watching quietly. "If you do not recall, none of us sitting at this table are betrothed. We may make alliances and friendships where we see fit." You raised your eyebrows expectantly to Aemond, who only returned the look with the barest twitch of a frown.

If you and Aegon had built up any kind of partnership in your shared amusement, it was thoroughly dissolved now as he finally spoke, his voice as dull and bored as he looked.

"The way I see it there is a good reason for a lack of betrothals."

You spared him a tight-lipped smile as he rested his chin upon his thumbs and laced his fingers together, apparently done with supper. If you weren't still tipsy, you probably would have thought better about your words, but you weren't, and for some reason, you delighted in any opportunity to bring a spark of emotion to his eyes, whether that be shock or fury. "If you are so concerned about marriage, Aegon, then perhaps you should look to the Vale. The Prince Daemon could take you of course." He shifted his hands from his face, leaning back in his seat as he straightened himself, his light brows twitching ever so slightly. You smiled. "You may find a sheep there willing to mate with you."

Aegon's jaw ticked as he brought his hand down hard upon the table, a look of pure malice suddenly burning bright in his eyes. The man had gone from being as cold as unlit coals to a brilliant, raging flame in less than a second, and the change brought even you to shock. It seemed you had gotten exactly what you wanted from him, though you looked back with your best act of pure innocence, ignoring your surprise, and bringing a cup to your lips to hide your smile. You could just about see Jace's lips twitching when Aegon opened his mouth. For a moment, the whole table seemed to hold its breath, Luke staring at you with both pride and horror.

"Lucerys!" And in a second, the tension faded as quickly as it had begun as Helaena startled you all into distraction. "Are you bonding well with Arrax? I saw him today in the Dragonpits; he is growing quickly."

You hadn't realised you were holding your breath until Luke began to speak very quickly, nervously eyeing his uncles as their composure faded once more. Aegon leaned back in his seat, palm leaving the table in favour of his cup, but he kept his eyes steadfastly upon you. Suddenly, you were not so hungry anymore. "It is well. Mother says he should be strong enough soon to bear my weight. The dragon masters are already working on a saddle for him."

Helaena smiled, and you were slightly shocked at her skills in mediation. You had never seen her so invested in the moment, nor so willing to move against her brothers. You allowed yourself a smile at the thought, unsure whether it was her confidence growing or her liking for Jace that motivated her. "That's splendid news. We must ride together when he is able."

Thankfully, it seemed you had gotten your outbursts over and done with as the table moved quickly back into its own conversations. Aegon and Aemond once again spoke quietly between themselves, though neither touched their plates again. That being said, nor did you. Despite the tension fading, and everyone slipping back into their cliques, Aegon's eyes did not leave yours. Even as you turned your shoulder on the man, listening intently to Jace and Helaena, you could feel the cold glare on your face and his obnoxious presence brought goosebumps to your arms. The feeling sent needles through you, sharp as valyrian steel, and you couldn't bring yourself to touch your food again for the rest of the night.

"You know," Jace had said, when dinner was finally over and he led you back to your chambers, Luke trotting aimlessly behind. "As much as I admire your courage, you really should learn to hold your tongue a little better."

When you looked up at him, you could see he was smiling despite his words, though his kind eyes held a degree of warning to them. "I know, it's just too easy."

Jace spared a laugh, a warm sound that had you grinning a little as you walked. "I fear you often have too much courage when it comes to our dear uncle."

It was all well and true, and you knew you really should start practicing your manner in the company of Alicent's sons, but even as you lay to rest that night, staring at the dark canopy above your head, you couldn't get your brother's words from your thoughts. When you eventually fell asleep, the only image in your mind was Aegon's cold, violet eyes boring into your own, and the goosebumps on your skin didn't go away no matter how many blankets you threw over yourself.