#this ended up being a lot longer then i meant it to be oops

[wildflowercryptid]

a random dappling headcanon i have is that they actually used to play together as kids whenever their parents would visit each other and daring couldn't spend time with apple.

darling would show her all her favorite books and how to sword fight with sticks... they'd play pretend (like her rescuing apple from a "wicked beast," a.k.a. their tiny family dog,) run around the charming castle's garden, and climb trees... but after apple gets an injury while playing together and darling gets blamed for it, snow white tells apple to distance herself from her because she's a "bad influence." darling gets put in intense etiquette training after that, upon snow's recommendation to her mother, and they started to drift apart. apple's memories of their childhood together kinda faded over time, but darling still remembers everything and really misses the time they spent together back then...

they don't really reconnect until just before they both enter ever after high, when apple's mother is willing to let them hang out after seeing how much darling's improved in her eyes. (little does snow know that darling is still very much the heroic type, she's just gotten better at playing the role of a proper lady.)

[yamujiburo]

Here's an arc I thought about doing but won't do because, it'd be a bit too sad and also it's too similar to the Turing Point Arc I already did and also it would be long. But I'll write it here for you angst enjoyers. This ended up being longer than I thought.

Despite getting the "okay" from Ash to date Jessie, Delia still worries that she's not doing the right thing or being a bad mom. Up until now she'd convinced herself that she had the right to be selfish for once after knowing only sacrifice and putting herself last.

Jessie and Ash, while not as antagonistic towards each other, still go at it. A Pikachu zap here, an angry "twerp" being uttered there. The guilt settles in for Delia and figures that it's best to just cut things off before things potentially get worse or before she gets too attached to Jessie. Her son comes first after all. That's what she signed up for when becoming a parent.

She sits Jessie down, eyes watery (it's the first time Jessie's ever seen Delia come close to crying). Delia says she thinks they should end things. Jessie is stunned but accepts it quickly. She sucks it up in the moment, puts a resigned smile on her face and tells Delia she'll leave immediately and not to worry about her. Delia's also broken up about it but promised herself she'd never cry over a goodbye and she wasn't gonna start now.

Jessie goes to James and Meowth's place greeted similarly to this, lightly teasing her about blowing it with Delia, and she breaks down sobbing. Oops it's real this time. James and Meowth do everything in their power to make her feel better. They let her know that things like this happen and they're ready to go wherever she wants to go (knowing that it'd likely be to painful for her to stay in Pallet). As much as she wants to leave, she doesn't want James and Meowth to lose the good thing they have going. She's not in the right headspace to make any decisions so she'll get to it later.

Ash returns home after doing a little training at Oak's lab. He notices Jessie's not around and asks his mom where she is. Delia is about to tell him but can't quite bring herself to say the truth out loud yet. She simply says "I don't know". Ash looks disappointed. "Aw man, I wanted to see if she wanted to battle. She makes a good battle buddy for all of my newer, baby Pokémon." Delia perks up that this. As quickly as he came, he leaves again to go train his Pokémon.

Later, Delia approaches Ash, asking him if he really meant that what he said about Jessie being a good battle partner. He gives her an enthusiastic "yeah!" and tells her that it's been nice having another battle ready trainer around since there's not many in Pallet. Delia starts to pry a little more. "I thought you and Jessie didn't get along?" Ash is confused, and tells Delia they get along great! "Jessie doesn't steal anymore! And she's getting better at battling which is cool." Delia brings up that she's head them argue before. "Oh... well I guess that's just how we are. I'd be weirded out if she was suddenly too nice to me all the time. Jessie's actually a lot like Misty. But taller!" This gives Delia a lot to think about but what's done is done and it's no use pressing on. It's easier this way.

The next morning Delia's getting ready for work. She must not have noticed that she was acting weird but Ash picks up on it. "What's wrong mom?" Delia's shocked he noticed (he's not usually this perceptive). She tells him it's nothing and that she just slept bad. "Hm. But Jessie says that when you're upset you get really quiet and intense." Delia notices that she was pretty intensely mixing the pancake batter. "Jessie told you that?" Ash nods. "Hey speaking of, where is Jessie? Haven't seen her since yesterday." Delia stops mixing and tells Ash that she and Jessie aren't together anymore. Ash is confused and upset at the idea of Jessie doing something that would hurt his mom enough for them to break up. Delia lets him know that Jessie didn't do anything like that and that them breaking up was just for the best. But Ash questions this, pointing out that he's never seen Delia as happy as she was when Jessie was there and also how Delia looks really sad now. Delia can't argue with that but then tells him that it's complicated. Ash, to Delia's surprise, looks a bit disappointed. He's bummed he wasn't able to say goodbye first and asks if she thinks Jessie would still be willing to come by and train with him sometimes. Delia asks him once more if he was really okay with her and Jessie dating. "Yeah I thought I said that already? Jessie's pretty cool when she's not being evil. And she really likes Pokémon which is a plus!" Such simple criteria. Delia's now worried that she might've made a mistake. She finishes making breakfast and heads to work.

At the restaurant she's met by James. She can feel an awkwardness hanging in the air. She knows that James knows. Before she can say anything James tells Delia thank you for employing him and helping him, Meowth and Jessie get back on their feet but that he's going to quit working at the restaurant and that they'll likely be leaving Pallet soon. Delia's heart sinks. There's now a ticking clock and she has to decide what she wants to do SOON. She asks James where Jessie is. James hesitantly tells her that she's at his and Meowth's place. Delia pleads with James to work the restaurant for one more day at least and to cover this shift. She has to go talk to Jessie. He agrees, hoping that this is a good thing.

Delia runs to James and Meowth's place. She knocks on the door upon arrival and waits. It takes a moment but she hears the door unlock. Jessie opens the door, disheveled, tears and snot all over her face, draped in a blanket. Jessie notices it's Delia and, frightened, slams the door. Delia's stunned for a moment and goes to knock on the door again but before she can the door opens. This time Jessie's tears are gone, her hair's fixed and she ditched the blanket. "Oh hey, Delia! What brings you here?" Delia can't help but be charmed. But this is serious. She shakes it off and asks if they could talk. Jessie invites her in. They get to the couch and Jessie starts frantically cleaning up all the crumpled tissues and dirty dishes off the ground. "Heh I caught a cold yesterday. A one day cold. I'm fine now." Delia doesn't call out the obvious lie and gets straight to the point.

She tells Jessie that she's worried she made a mistake. She made a panicked decision that she was hoping would protect Ash and her future self. But now realizes that she was afraid of the idea that she'd made a selfish decision by dating her. It was a selfish decision but that didn't mean it was a bad one. She was the happiest she'd been, Jessie and Ash were learning to get along and were getting along much better than she'd though. She acknowledges that Jessie has been there for Ash in a way that she can't quite be and is also grateful to her for managing to keep Ash home a little longer. She asks if Jessie would be willing to take her back (despite the distress she caused). Jessie starts sobbing with happy tears. She tearfully says she'll try even harder to get along with Ash and be a better person. Delia reassures her that she's doing just fine.

They kiss passionately but then realize it's weird that they're making out in James in Meowth's place and say they'll continue later. Delia tells Jessie to head back home and that Ash is looking forward to battling with her (and she also needs to let James and Meowth not to quit their jobs).

The end~

[hannieehaee]

OUTTA MY MIND (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: getting a brand new job as a senior idol's manager was scary enough on its own, but it became even worse when said idol was jeon jungkook, idol of all idols. what made it even worse? when jungkook began taking a special liking to you, damning any conflict of interest his crush on you may have had.

content: idol!au, staff!reader x idol!jungkook, jungkook is shameless about his crush on reader, but it's fine bc reader likes him back!!, reader acts hard to get bc her job is too important though boo, afab reader, banter, jk is a flirt, reader is a little bit shy, a lot of rlly wrong info about working in the industry, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 924 (teaser); 7.7k (full fic)

release date: may 31st

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a/n: ive had this in the drafts for a while but kept forgetting to finish it lol anyways i hope u guys enjoy it once it comes out<3 (also not 100% proofread oops..)

masterlist | kofi/patreon

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Whenever you'd tell someone you worked within the entertainment industry, – the music industry, to be precise – people always showed a little extra interest in your words, probably assuming you to be involved in the flashier aspects of it. The statement on it's own sounded exciting, enigmatic even. This would only then be followed by disappointed upon finding out your specific profession of choice, deeming it less exciting than most.

You were a manager. No, you were not an active member of the entertainment industry itself, but you were one of the many pillars necessary for the talent to create the entertainment people would always seek.

Being as young as you were, it had been hard to get to where you were so quickly. Networking had been your best friend all throughout your career, eventually landing you in your current role – one that would only open even more doors for you.

It had only been a week since you had received a call from your friend – an old friend from an internship who just so happened to be a former Hybe video producer – letting you know of a recent opening as one of the many managers at the company. Having been between gigs at the time, you jumped at the chance without a second thought. Hybe? The biggest entertainment company in Korea? You didn't need any details before agreeing.

It was a few days later in which you found out the details. The opportunity had been even more life-altering than you'd thought.

Originally, you had believed you'd end up becoming manager to one of the many brand new rookie groups in the growing company. With so many surging youth in the industry, it made sense to you that you'd be assigned such a role, not having had any prior experience within Hybe itself.

Except that wasn't the case. Having previously worked and interned at a few other South Korean entertainment companies through the years, it seemed like Hybe deemed you experienced enough to assign you the role of becoming a senior artist's manager.

Jeon Jungkook.

Senior artist had been an understatement. Those had been the words written in your contract, explaining your role in excruciating detail, yet failing to mention that your client would be Korea's most popular singer.

You couldn't lie, you were insanely intimidated by your new role. Despite being proudly skilled at your job, becoming the manager of an idol who had been in the game for longer than you'd even been out of college was a bit scary. Jungkook had gone from the absolute bottom to the top, he had most likely lived through it all by now – what kind of expertise could you offer someone who had already seen it all?

Being manager of an idol differed slightly from managing any other person. Idol companies usually handled the schedulings, bookings, and the legalities of their artists. As a manager, you somewhat took the role of a bodyguard. You were meant to show up everywhere Jungkook went and become his spokesperson – vying for him as if your life depended on it.

And now it was too late to back out – not that you actually wanted to. All paperwork had been signed, you had your own personal Hybe badge and all the benefits that came along with working at the company. Any feelings of intimidation or fear for the role would have to be put aside as you walked into the Hybe building to meet with your new client; the boy you'd have to stick by 24/7 from now on.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting him. It wasn't like there would be any special introduction, or even as if you were his sole manager; no, he actually had a few others who would occasionally aid him in the absence of his main manager, which was now you. Today was a workday for him, meaning that he likely already had a few people in supportive roles as he did whatever it was that Jeon Jungkook did while working.

Walking into the huge building, after getting lost a few times, you made your way to the seventh floor, which, as you'd been informed, had various rooms designated for photoshoots. That's where you'd find Jungkook for the first time, presumably having one of the many shoots scheduled for this week.

Having possession of his schedule made you realize how busy idol life was. Despite having no public schedules all this week, he had a packed itinerary, filled with either shoots or signings or producing sessions. You hadn't even met him yet, but you were already assured that he was overly hardworking – and you had maybe also stalked him online this past week.

It was very unlikely you'd even speak to him, seeing how busy he was. Your duty, after all, was just to be one of the many members of his team, taking care of any logistics as you went around with him, but not taking away from his time by socializing with him.

Upon entering the room, he was the first thing you noticed. Ignoring every other person working the room, your eyes focused specifically on him. It was hard not to, since he was quite literally standing under the spotlight, modeling for a camera. But it was more than that. He had an aura that filled up the room. Putting aside every stylist and photographer in the room, every staff member and intern, he was truly the epitome of main character.

Fuck. Was this going to cause trouble?

....

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[dallaji]

Hope we make it to the Cloud.

♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.

WORD COUNT: 10k

CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.

- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>

————— ୨୧ —————

The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is. 

“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”

Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.

None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.

It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.

Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.

And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.

“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes. “We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—” “I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered. “Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.” “I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off.  “Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”

Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious. 

You had seen Bada around.

After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.

“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”

“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”

That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”

Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.

You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.

Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.” 

You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.

Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.

As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”

The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.

You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.

“They’ve been on your case, huh?” 

Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.

“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.

“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.

If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.

It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.

“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”

She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”

You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.

Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.

As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.

She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”

Right, of course.

“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.

Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.

It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”

Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. 

You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you. 

Proving you wrong, she smiled back.

“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.” 

You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.

Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”

You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side. 

As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless. 

You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.

You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.

But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.

“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”

You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”

“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”

“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.

“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks. 

Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording. 

“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.

“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her. 

You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.

“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”

You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”

“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”

You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of. 

“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”

“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”

————— ୨୧ —————

Her draft was good. Really good, actually. 

Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders. 

You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.

The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.

The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.

“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.

She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching. 

“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”

“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”

Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it. 

“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.” 

You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all. 

“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?” 

“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”

————— ୨୧ —————

Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy. 

On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager. 

On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.

Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.

However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”

You didn’t like the sound of that.

————— ୨୧ —————

By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet. 

The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor. 

You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.

You looked good together.

“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks. 

She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.

“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow. 

She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense. 

In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for. 

Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”

You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.

Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.

“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”

You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.

It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.

The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines. 

As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.

At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly. 

But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could. 

You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.

Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded. 

You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.

“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.

But instead she said: “That was incredible.”

“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly. 

“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.

“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming. 

“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”

“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.

Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully. 

“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.” 

That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude. 

Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?” 

You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”

————— ୨୧ —————

The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work. 

The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.

It had changed.

Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.

But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on. 

Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest. 

“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.

“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly. 

You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.

“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.

“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.

Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.

Bada.

In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.

You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.

You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them. 

Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile. 

“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”

She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look. 

“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”

“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things. 

Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed. 

Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.

You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot. 

The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.

Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.

“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”

You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.

“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.” 

You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.

Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.

Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest. 

She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you. 

After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?” 

You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…” 

Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”

“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.” 

Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.

Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”

The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”

The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“Why?” You asked, genuinely.

For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it. 

“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”

Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.

You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.

But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.

Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.

There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further. 

You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.

You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.

She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you. 

Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.

She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.” 

The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you. 

The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.” 

The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.

“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”

She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.

She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”

You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.

She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape. 

“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”

In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care. 

You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting. 

“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips. 

It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.

One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it. 

“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.

“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.

She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in. 

“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand. 

She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully. 

Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.

“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”

Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat. 

She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.

You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted. 

Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.

You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer. 

You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans. 

As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.

You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.

Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.

“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”

“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately. 

“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”

“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.

After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs. 

When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.

“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.

“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.

As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.

A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.

“Hey, Bada.”

“Hm?”

“Camera’s still recording.”

She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly. 

“Oh, fuck.”

[g1rld1ary]

you never disappointed me - part four

part one part two part three five

➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; you agree to go to the Apollo party with luke, and the night is in no way what you expect (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 4070

➻ warnings: ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, sexual innuendos, alcohol, smoking/weed, swearing, kissing

➻ this took yonks oops - hope u enjoy!! (it's a bit longer than all the others though so don't say I don't love u xx)

TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull @slaybestieslay946 @sflame15-blog @yourfavmiki @ivory-sage @caramelandvenus @chasebeth

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The night of the party, you were having serious doubts. You were just glad you hadn’t told Silena that you were considering going at all as she was already practically feral over not being allowed to go. It was times like this that you wondered how things would be if the two of you were closer — helping each other break the rules and have a social life rather than keeping each other on your father’s short leash, ratting each other out at each opportunity.

“Can’t you just be normal?” Silena whined, brushing out her hair and gazing longingly at the outfit she’d picked out for the event, sitting sad and unworn.

“Define normal,” You replied, not sparing her a glance over your novel. This was a well-rehearsed dance by now, and you both knew the steps by heart.

“The Apollo party is normal — leaving your bed for one Friday night is normal!” She cried, pulling far too roughly at her hair in frustration.

“That party is just an excuse for all the idiots here to drink smuggled alcohol and grind up against each other in futile hopes of distracting themselves from the pathetic emptiness of their—”

“Meaningless, consumer-driven lives.” Half the cabin joined Silena in her chorus and you stopped short. You didn’t know whether to be proud of your brand or offended that you’d become so predictable. Silena approached you, speaking quieter so that she was talking just to you and not the show that you usually put on for the rest of the cabin.

“C’mon, please? Just for one night, do this one thing for me? Please.” You hesitated. Silena looked unexpectedly sincere and you realised that the party really meant a lot to her. And, despite your best efforts, you thought of Luke. You thought of his pretty eyes and his dumb smile and his insistence on getting you to this party, and your resolve started to crack. One party couldn’t be that bad, right? It’s not like you were leaving camp, worst case it was always an easy trip back to your cabin. You inhaled deeply, sending your mom a silent prayer.

“I guess I can make an appearance.” The whole cabin erupted in cheers and disbelief. You hadn’t been to a Camp Half-Blood party since your very first one when you were fourteen years old, and not one of your siblings knew why. Silena especially was ecstatic, jumping about and pulling you into a tight hug. You didn’t know how to respond, the gesture of affection foreign between the two of you, but reluctantly wrapped your arms around her.

“Alright,” You ended the moment, “Let’s just go before I back out.” You stopped for a quick second in front of your own vanity, ensuring nothing was seriously wrong with your outfit before bidding the younger campers goodbye and opening the door.

And there, standing nervously in what might’ve been his nicest shirt, was Luke.

“What are you doing here?” You rushed out before you could properly process what was happening. You’d forgotten all about his promise to pick you up, and now the whole cabin would be eavesdropping.

“Nine-thirty, right? Ah,” He glanced at an imaginary watch, “I’m early.” You might’ve laughed a little if you weren’t so mortified at your siblings spying on you.

“Whatever. Let’s just go.” You pulled him along with you, unaware of his eyes glued to the place where your skin touched his. He tried to make conversation with you, willing both of you to return to the dynamic you had after the concert a few days prior, but your embarrassment had shut down any good humour you might’ve possessed. Already dreading the party again, you could feel yourself curling into yourself, but were powerless to stop it.

You were immediately reminded as to why you hated these parties, people you didn’t like only heightened by the substances floating around. It was held in one of the abandoned bunkers littered through the woods, only adding to the claustrophobic feeling with its dark walls and low ceilings. Plus, you were sure the few winding tunnels leading to other rooms would be hell to navigate when drunk.

You knew it was rude, but you lost Luke quickly. You were already uncomfortable enough here and had resigned to sticking out the night for Silena only, you really didn’t want Luke clinging to you all night and trying to ‘get some’ — or whatever his goal for your supposed date was. Your solitude didn’t last long though, as you rounded a corner to smack into Ethan. You scowled, trying to push past him, but he seemed determined to chat.

“Looking hot, Beauregard. You should get out of those camp shirts more often.” Your frown only deepened, hand itching to slap the shit out of him.

“Hey, wait — did your hairline just recede?” You almost laughed at the way his hand flew to his hair; Ethan White was undoubtedly more vain than any of the Aphrodite kids. You ducked around him, desperate to be anywhere else.

“Where are you going?” He called after you, shoving a younger camper out of the way.

“Away.”

“Your sister here?” You froze up, turning slowly towards the disgusting boy.

“Stay away from my sister,” You threatened, your meanest look painted across your face. Ethan only smirked, and it made you hate him more.

“Oh I’ll stay away from your sister, but I can’t guarantee she’ll stay away from me.” Your hand was raising to slap him down when one of his friends pulled him away to go spectate a fight. You supposed you were somewhat glad, Silena would definitely hate you if you hit him at a party, and the Apollo kids would definitely all be too hammered to treat any busted knuckles.

You’d hidden away with Clarisse for half an hour, a much needed respite from the torture that was all around you. You passed a blunt between you, giggling and gossiping, Luke’s name coming up more than once. You weren’t sure what to think of him, but you did know your social battery was absolutely dying, and you really weren’t in the mood to be there anymore. Your chat with Clarisse only ended when Chris approached her, asking for a dance. She looked to you for confirmation that it was ok and you waved her off, very much on board for whatever was blossoming between them. You wouldn’t say you liked Chris — you barely liked anyone — but of the campers around your age, he was on the better end of a terrible spectrum.

As you watched her go, a much more unfortunate sight caught your attention. Silena hanging off Ethan’s arm, one intention clearly in mind. You and Beckendorf appeared as parallels on opposite sides of the room, both wearing dismayed expressions, hearts sinking.

“Look who found me,” Ethan turned to you, cocky grin lighting a fire in your chest. He turned to go, pulling Silena with him, but you found your voice just in time.

“Silena, wait!” Your sister turned quickly, disgust evident.

“Can you not address me here?” She snapped and you were taken aback for a second.

“No, wait. There’s something I need to tell you,” You tried, but she was wholly unaffected.

“Look, I am busy enjoying my adolescence, so scamper off and do the same.”

“Bye bye,” Ethan added, and you really wondered how he was beat up so rarely.

You felt your heart sink, genuine worry for your little sister overtaking the annoyance that Ethan so often caused. You thought she would have at least heard you out when you were actually worried for her, but Silena never failed to disappoint you. Ok, maybe that was a bit mean. That didn’t stop you from wallowing in your own feelings and grabbing a shot from some guy who was handing them out.

“Right on, sister!” Travis Stoll exclaimed, cowering only slightly when you shot him a glare, downing the liquor as quickly as you could stomach.

“Hey, what’s this?” Luke came out of nowhere, putting one of the shot glasses you’d picked up back in Travis’ hands. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” You rolled your eyes, alcohol only fuelling your irritation.

“I’m getting trashed, man,” You mocked, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a party?”

“I dunno. I say do what you wanna do,” Luke said, and it took everything in you to keep your resolve. Maybe getting crossfaded wasn’t such a smart idea.

“You’re the only one. Later,” You grumbled, pushing away from him while you still had your self-restraint. You just wanted this whole night to be over.

In the same moments, Beckendorf had just seen Silena without Ethan for the first time in a while, and hurried to talk to her.

“Hi, Silena,” He raised his voice to get her attention over the music.

“Oh, hi Beckendorf,” She seemed to be a million miles away, hardly listening to him, “Uh, you know Drew?”

“Um, yeah, I think we had Greek together once?”

“Great.” Drew looked supremely unimpressed. Beckendorf persisted.

“So, Silena, you really look amazing.” The compliment fell a bit flat when Drew raised an eyebrow and Silena looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Ethan, having heard Beckendorf’s sad attempts, joined the conversation.

“We all know I look amazing,” He said, and Beckendorf didn’t know why both the girls giggled like it was in any way funny.

“C’mon, Silena. We’re all playing beer pong.” Silena finally spared Beckendorf a glance.

“I’ll see you around, okay?” She said, and Beckendorf managed a pathetic nod. As they retreated, Ethan couldn’t help but throw a cocky thumbs up his way, and Beckendorf felt his shoulders sag. After an awkward moment of silence between him and Drew even she left, and he was alone in the middle of the party.

You were similarly alone, having escaped Luke for some time, using the respite to get significantly drunker. You didn’t know exactly why, you’d never been one to get blackout for the sake of it. Maybe you were sick of being there, maybe you didn’t want to face all the emotions bubbling dangerously close to the surface. Maybe, as Silena would say, you were finally becoming ‘normal’. Regardless, you were hardly aware of what was going on anymore, finally feeling like the party wasn’t total dogshit. At least until Luke grabbed another shot out of your hand. What was with that?

“Why don’t you let me have this one, huh?” He asked, bringing it up to his own lips. You intercepted, downing it before he could stop you.

“No! That one was mine,” You whined impetuously. If you were aware of your actions you would have been horrified, you almost sounded like Silena. Luke, despite his worry, almost laughed. That was, until you started taking off, again. He really didn’t anticipate you to be a wandering drunk. Luke trailed after you into another room until Ethan stopped him in the doorway, looking delighted.

“My man! How’d you get her to do it?” He asked, a vaguely misogynistic air about him.

“Do what?” Luke replied, worried for the response.

“Act like a human.” They both turned to search for you, finding you somehow on top of a table, dancing in a way that was all hips and hair. Neither could deny it was pretty hot.

You’d already attracted a crowd, half interested in your sudden change of demeanour, the other half just appreciative of an opportunity to ogle a pretty girl’s body. Ethan was a member of both groups, yelling and whooping as you grinded against nothing, Aphrodite allure keeping all eyes on you. Luke rushed over to you, knowing if he sat by and watched as you did this while out of your right mind you would never forgive him.

Intending to just coax you down Luke ended up in a serendipitous moment of being in the right place at the right time, easily catching you when you toppled over, unbalanced from knocking your head on a light hanging from the ceiling. You landed squarely in his strong arms, looking up at him in a daze.

“Are you okay?” You heard him say, though he sounded much further away than he was.

“I’m fine,” You grumbled, trying to hop up but stumbling embarrassingly back into him. Luke took it in stride, carrying you bridal style until you were out of the bulk of the crowd. Setting you down gently he kept a hand securely around your waist, leading you through the bunker out a hallway.

“I just need to lie down somewhere,” You mumbled, clutching at your pounding head.

“Absolutely not. You lie down and you’ll go to sleep.” You smiled dreamily, something that Luke returned involuntarily.

“Sleep is good.” He barked out a laugh.

“Not if you have a concussion.”

You both paused in the middle of a hallway so you could sit at a chair conveniently placed as Luke searched for a glass of water. Instead he found Beckendorf. After several unsuccessful attempts to shoo him away, Luke gave up and let him talk.

“It’s off, okay? The whole thing’s off.”

“What are you talking about?” Luke asked, sparing a glance at you; obliviously playing with a strand of hair.

“She never wanted me. She wanted Ethan the whole time.” Luke resisted the urge to roll his eyes — he really, truly, did not care.

“Charles,” He said, “Do you like this girl?”

“Yeah,” Beckendorf sighed. Luke tapped his foot.

“Right. And is she worth all this trouble?”

“I thought she was. But, well—” Luke cut him off, truly frustrated with the inexperienced boy.

“Look, she is or she isn’t. First of all, Ethan isn’t half the man you are. Secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want. Just go for it.” Luke lunged to catch you when you tipped out of the chair, a signal clear to even Beckendorf that the conversation was over. He spared the younger boy a smile before leading you away gently, murmuring promises of fresh air and feeling better. Beckendorf didn’t know what to do with Luke’s advice, but at least he wasn’t so mopey anymore.

You’d come out of your dream state back to being a little more sentient by the time you got outside, your personality returning.

“You’re so patronising,” You groaned, eyeing Luke’s hand supporting the majority of your weight.

“Leave it to you to use big words when you’re smashed,” Luke laughed slightly, removing his arms when you tried to shove them off, and snorting quietly when you tripped onto the grass.

“Why are you doing this?” You didn’t dare look at him.

“I told you, you might have a concussion. I might not be an Apollo kid, but I’ve had enough to know how to handle them.”

“You don’t care if I never wake up,” You laughed humourlessly, pushing your hair out of your face in a manner similar to that of a toddler. Luke grinned, eyes sparkling even in the dark outside.

“Sure I do.” You gave him a questioning look and he led you to a selection of flat-ish tree stumps around a clearing. “I’d have to start taking out girls who actually like me,” He explained and it was your turn to snort.

“Like you could find one.”

“See that, there? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” You laughed despite yourself, missing the way Luke lit up at the reaction. He helped you onto the seat, taking the one next to you. You looked over at him, unaware that the smile you thought was internal was clear as day on your face. Luke admired it, revelling in the fact that he was probably one of very few at camp who had ever seen it.

You two sat quietly for a while, making meaningless conversation — Luke told you stories you missed from the party and you regretted getting too drunk to see it all yourself.

“So why’d you let him get to you?” He asked eventually, and you cocked your head to the side.

“Who?”

“Ethan.” You groaned.

“I hate him.”

“Well you’ve chosen the perfect revenge; mainlining tequila.” You both laughed at that, and you hazily noted how good it felt to laugh with him.

“Well, you know what they say…” You joked, but Luke didn’t catch on.

“No, what do they say?” He asked with childlike innocence, but in an instant you’d slipped into sleep, comforted by the perfect summer night weather. Luke was up in a second, crouching in front of you, holding your face in both hands and frantically trying to wake you. If you’d been awake, you might’ve noted how intimate it felt. You only woke when he slapped you — lightly, but effective enough.

Gazing up at him through your lashes, you had something of an epiphany. You liked Luke. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice it before, or really how it had happened at all, but seeing him standing inches from you really brought things to light. You opened your mouth to illustrate this point, still not quite sober enough to have those reservations, but instead all that came out was “Your eyes have a little green in them.”

Luke’s face twisted from confusion to relief, lips perking up into a smile. You held eye contact for an extended moment, a foreign tension building between you both (as opposed to the old, comfortable tension you’d gotten used to when hating him). Then you threw up all over his shoes. You at least had the decency to be embarrassed about it, and Luke had the decency not to mention it, instead pulling you up to prepare for the journey of a walk back to your cabin.

Ethan had meanwhile cozied himself up between Silena and Drew, a hand over each girl’s shoulders.

“Some of us are staying out longer, going for a special swim in the lake. You in?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Silena looked up at him warily.

“My sister’ll freak if I’m not back in twenty,” She said. A lie, kind of. She didn’t actually think you were in any position to be worried about her at that moment.

“I don’t have to be back…” Drew nominated herself, cuddling in closer to Ethan’s side. He still persisted with Silena.

“One more chance…” He tried his best to be at his most attractive, but Silena was more than over the whole night.

“Oh, man. I can’t. Damn.” It was hardly believable, but Drew had decided that she wanted Ethan then, and she got what she wanted.

“That’s a shame.” She produced a saccharine smile. “Well?” Ethan held out an arm for her to take, and the two were already getting handsy on their trip down to the lake. Silena dreaded to think about the things that would be done there in the coming hours.

“Have fun tonight?” A voice asked from behind her. Beckendorf sounded accusatory, and honestly Silena couldn’t even blame him.

“Tons,” She lied, wrapping her arms around herself. He stalked past her and Silena was about to leave him be when she was struck by a realisation.

“Charles?” She called, and Beckendorf dutifully turned to face her despite his obvious angst. “Do you think you could walk me back? I don’t have a weapon and the forest really freaks me out.” Silena fully expected him to refuse, and wouldn’t have blamed him for it in the slightest, but moments later they were walking side by side along the dark path.

There was tense silence between them for a while before Beckendorf finally gathered the courage to break it.

“You never wanted to go out with me, did you?” He asked, and the earnest directness of the question shocked her.

“Yes I did,” Silena lied, trying to be nice.

“No you didn’t,” He refuted bluntly.

“Well, okay, not actually—”

“Then that’s all you had to say!” He cried, and she really did feel badly about upsetting him. “Have you always been this selfish?” He could barely hear her whispered “Yes.”

“Just because you’re beautiful, doesn’t mean you can treat people like they don’t matter. I mean, I really like you, okay? I defended you when people called you conceited, I helped you when you asked me to. I learnt how to weld for you! And then you blow me off for—”

Without thinking, Silena grabbed his face in her hands, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was innocent, sitting on his lips for a few seconds before pulling away, both teenagers sporting matching blushes. Silena gave him a quick smile before hopping up the steps and safely into the Aphrodite cabin. Beckendorf managed to wait until he was safely alone to celebrate, a dorky little dance and an excited fist pump.

Your night didn’t follow quite the same trajectory. You’d been walking with Luke for what felt like hours, your tired brain and feet unwilling to finish the journey. However, it was the same easy conversation that you’d started to enjoy with Luke more often.

“I should start a band, I always wanted to — my father would love that.” You’d approached the cabins from the back, and the two of you had stopped near the rear wall, still hidden away out of sight and earshot.

“You don’t strike me as the type to ask your father for permission,” He said, leaning against the wood panelled wall.

“Oh, so now you think you know me?” You raised an eyebrow, standing opposite to him with your back to the woods.

“I’m getting there,” He replied, and his earnestness caught you off guard. You talked through your nerves.

“The only thing people know about me is that I’m ‘scary’.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no picnic either.” The tension crept back again as you looked at each other, but Luke pushed through it. “So, what’s with your dad? Pain in the ass?”

“No,” You conceded, “He just wants me to be someone I’m not.”

“Who?”

“Silena.” You couldn’t help the edge of bitterness that infiltrated your voice, and Luke suddenly understood a lot more about you.

“No offence or anything, I mean, I know everyone’s obsessed with your sister. But… she’s not all that.” You stared at him, unable to withhold the small smile that had crept onto your lips. No one had ever said that before.

“You know, you’re not as vile as I thought you were.” You leaned in, eyes fluttering closed. You could feel Luke’s hot breath mixing with yours, and another fraction of an inch and you’d be…

Luke’s hands were on your shoulders suddenly, softly moving the two of you apart.

“Maybe we should do this another time,” He said. Your eyes opened with a start, and you could feel red hot blush unfurling up your neck and onto your cheeks. In an instant your hardened expression was back more than ever, and you stomped past him up to your cabin, humiliation churning in your stomach, replacing any alcohol that might’ve lingered as you suddenly felt stone cold sober.

Luckily Silena and your younger siblings were all asleep by the time you returned, and the older ones were all off doing who-knows-what, so you effectively had the cabin to yourself. When you lay down in your bunk, makeup still on and shoes barely kicked off, you sobbed. You cried like you hadn’t in a long time, feeling stupid and ridiculous and hardly like a daughter of Aphrodite. You could only imagine what your mother would think of the mortifying display, and cried even harder.

[the-cosmic-teapot]

To Be Loved By Nanami Kento

Nanami x reader

WC: 10,705

TW: Slight age gap (4 years), Canon-compliant, fluff, angst, canon-typical gore, big emotions, Nanami is such a gentleman, drinking, reader gets very drunk (Shoko), kinda steamy but no smut, marriage, family, Not a happy ending (ANGST!!!)

*Not proofread (my husband said his word limit is 5,000)

Summary: The story of how you and Nanami fall in love.

A/N: Hi pals, it's been a minute (like a couple months, oops)! This has been in the works for the majority of that time, but I couldn't bring myself to finish it until now. Let me know if you all like the longer fics or if I should break them up into parts instead. Also, I am looking for more proofreaders, if you are interested message me. As always, feedback is welcome!

P.S- The reader has a cursed technique that is using electrical energy and the gloves are what is used to conduct the energy. 

~Cosmic

June 2012

High school graduates are left with difficult decisions to make upon the end of their education. Differing from a typical student, graduating from Jujutsu High in Tokyo meant alternate career options; choosing to become a sorcerer, or leaving the world of Jujutsu for a mundane job. As you pack up your home of the past three years, you ponder this quandary as boxes of memories are put away one by one. On one hand, you were trained alongside some of the best sorcerers in generations, and, if we’re being honest, you’re one of them. Now on the other lives a normal life, and a normal job. One where you don’t face nearly as high a mortality rate. You could find love, have a normal family, and you could live in ignorance of your fellow sorcerers’ sacrifices.

Moving out of the dorms at Jujutsu High was bittersweet, you have a lot of memories with your friends, and even a sparse few with Gojo– as annoying as he can be. You found a nice apartment right outside of the business district in Tokyo and you were even up to get promoted to a grade one sorcerer. Things are looking up for you and your new independent life. 

Before you were able to fully get the rank of grade one sorcerer you needed to do a few missions with current grade one sorcerers, which is now what you were being sent to do.  Usually, you worked with Mei Mei because your personalities meshed well, unlike your fighting styles, but this time was different. Before you stood a tall, well-built man with blonde hair in a suit. The tan suit was a bit plain, but his bright blue button-down and patterned tie really stands out. Ijichi explained what grade-one curse this man and you needed to eradicate in an abandoned nursing home in Osaka. The man, Nanami, is to pick you up at the crack of dawn to catch a flight as opposed to driving through the night to get there. 

As you packed a small bag with a few necessities– the return flight was the following afternoon– you wondered why it took so long to meet Nanami. By the end of your second year, you had met most all of the grade one sorcerers from one gathering or another, but not Nanami. You had a few options now, you could look him up on social media or ask Gojo about the very muscular man. You decided on the former because Gojo would endlessly tease you for asking, plus you could stalk him online from the comfort of your bed. From your extensive research, you learned that there was not a trace of Nanami online other than a post from Gojo a year ago that tagged a deactivated account. Now you either have to ask Gojo or the even more embarrassing option of trying to make small talk with Nanami tomorrow. You were at a loss, was teasing from Gojo worth learning more about the undeniably attractive man? Nanami seems the type to not talk much, so small talk may not even tell you more about him. 

Your phone dings as the latest episode of a trashy show’s credits roll. You didn’t have the number saved, but you could quickly tell it was Nanami because of the overly formal language and punctuation of the message. He asked about where he should pick you up and if you wanted him to grab coffee before getting you. As you respond you also internally scream as this man keeps getting more attractive and you’ve met him once. Is it weird to be this attracted to a man you’ve just met? You suppose it doesn’t matter much, it was just a superficial attraction at best now. 

The following morning you wake up and get ready as usual, skincare, a little makeup, and finally getting dressed. You grab the overnight bag and your backpack for the trip there and head down to the lobby to wait for Nanami. After doing one final look over to make sure you weren't forgetting anything you finally leave and lock up your apartment. When you get to the lobby Nanami is already there holding his phone, probably about to call you.  

“Ah, good. You’re punctual, do you have all of your equipment ready to go?” You give a quick nod knowing you placed your sleek black gloves in the front pouch of your backpack. “Good, let’s go then,” Nanami said. He was in another suit, not a hair out of place. Without another word, he took the overnight bag and began to walk out to his car. 

He placed your stuff in the trunk of the modern black car and got the passenger side door for you. God, he truly is a gentleman. The interior of his car is clean and smells like a new car scent. You noticed a pastry on the middle console and two coffees in the cup holder after getting comfy for the quick trip to the airport. 

“I got you a strawberry Danish, as well as the coffee, I hope you like it,” Nanami says as he buckles in and starts the car. He adjusts his glasses, and checks before backing out of the 20-minute parking spot. 

“Actually, I’m allergic to strawberries… but thank you for the coffee and thinking of me!” You said with an awkward, tight-lipped smile, feeling bad that he wasted his money on you. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Nanami spoke. “I’ll keep that in mind next time” You give him a small ‘hump’ as acknowledgement. 

The drive to the airport is quick, the bright lights of Tokyo pass by in a blur together in a rainbow of color. You wonder what this mission will entail, this was a grade-one curse, so Nanami could handle this alone if needed; theoretically, you should be able to do the same. Being this close to Nanami was strange, it felt almost intimate in the dark morning. You could smell the cologne he was wearing and the heat coming off of his body. He smelled amazing, woody and smokey, with notes of whisky. 

Soon enough you notice Nanami pulling into a parking garage and getting a ticket and finding a parking space. Getting out you go to grab your overnight bag but Nanami already has it in hand with his.

“I can get my bag if you want.” You said quickly. “You really don’t need to.” You say to the back of the tall man as he walks away. 

“It’s fine, it’s not heavy.” He said plainly, walking towards the walkway to the check-in desks. His steps are quick and driven by efficiency. You could tell he will be much more professional than Mei Mei, and way harder to get a read on. 

~~

As the plane lands you listen to the flight attendant about the typical unloading procedures, you worry about the mission and whether you will make a fool out of yourself in front of a grade-one sorcerer, especially one as attractive as Nanami. You remember this feeling when working with Mei Mei for the first time too. After you get your backpack from the floor you reach into the overhead compartment for your other bag but Nanami already has it in hand. 

“I told you I’ve got your bag, '' Nanami says, bending down to get his bag on the floor. You shivered at the thought of him being so close to you. 

“Okay, if you really don’t mind,” you say blushing slightly, moving to get off of the plane trailing after Nanami. 

When you leave the airport the sun is shining and there is a small breeze. It ruffles Nanami’s hair making him look even more divine than he already does. He hails a cab to go to the hotel so you can check in and go over what intel you have on the cursed spirit. The cab ride was uneventful at best, but your anxiety was through the roof. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat and the sweat covering your palms. 

You zone out sitting on one of the chairs with your and Nanami’s things while he checks into your rooms. Suddenly, he appears in front of you with a disgruntled look across his sharp, perfect features. He explains that the hotel screwed up and only has one room (and one bed) available at the moment, he runs a hand through his pristine hair and sighs.

“We can look for other hotels in the area if you are uncomfortable sharing a room, or I can sleep on the couch,” Nanami says in his usual tone. “The woman at the desk said that the former may be unlikely because there are a few conventions in town.” He runs a hand through his hair again, staring down at you through his glasses. 

“I don’t mind staying here, but I can take the couch.” You say it is not fair that he has already done so much for you. “I can sleep almost anywhere.” You say, which was a little lie, but it’s one night. Plus, you are considerably smaller than Nanami, he towers over you and he is broader than you because of the bulk of his muscles. 

“We can talk about sleeping arrangements when we get settled tonight.” He says after a moment of silence. Nanami walks away back to the desk and finishes checking in.

He comes back with two keys in hand and moves to get your bags. You look up at him and take the cards so he has his hands free for the bags. The walk to the room was silent, as was moving around to get settled into the nice room. There is a sort of living room then a small hallway with the bathroom on one side and a closet on the other and finally, the bedroom section was at the back. The bed is massive, most likely a king, and there is a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows facing the foot of the bed. You stand at the window taking in the view of the city and ponder how this mission will go. Taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves you move back to the living room area with Nanami sitting on a comically small couch. 

“So, the nursing home isn’t far from here, we can walk there,” Nanami said, looking at the packet with all of the information gathered for this mission. He moved over and motioned for you to join him on the couch. As you sit next to him you realize how small the couch really is, it’s more of an oversized armchair. “The curse shouldn’t take too long to exercise, but there are bound to be more, lower grade curses.” He adjusts his glasses and hands the packet to you as he moves to get up. 

You look over the packet and see that the building has been abandoned for a few years after the owners were convicted of selling deceased residents organs without the families’ knowledge or approval. The building has recently been the site of the disappearance of teens, which has made more teens want to break in and do whatever teens do when they break into buildings. The local police have put locks on the doors and tape up to discourage more teens from entering, but this did little to dissuade them. This is why Nanami and you were called here, the 10 missing teens were concerning and the confirmed presence of a curse made this case a top priority for the higher-ups in Jujutsu society. 

~~ 

Nanami lowered the veil over the condemned building and you slipped your gloves on, as you both took in the large structure. It was at least three stories high and there was mention of a basement for laundry from the packet. The smell of mold and mildew hit you in the face as soon as Nanami opened the door. There was graffiti all over the place and vines and weeds sprouting up from the cracked concrete and broken windows.

You mention splitting up to make the search go quicker, Nanami told you to focus on looking for the missing kids while he looks for the grade one curse. Of course, this is not how the mission goes, you run into a horde of grade three and lower curses in the basement hallway. As you fight them off you begin to hear the sobs of a few girls. You make your way to a locked door where you very clearly hear crying, knocking on it, and saying you were here to help. When the door opens about five girls no older than fifteen are trembling and latching on to you for dear life. 

You introduce yourself to them and tell them that your partner and you will try your best to get them out safely. They all mention seeing some of the others they were with being dragged away but not killed in front of them. You shoot a text to Nanami about the girls you found and begin to lead the shaking, but not crying, girls out of the basement and to the outside of the building. Nanami joins you a few minutes after getting the girls out and mentions how you did well. 

Going back into the buildings after talking to the girls a bit more to gather more information about the groups they came from. After another hour of searching you find the bodies of three of the boys, all drained of blood leaned up against a wall on the ground floor. It was shocking to see that a curse did not mutilate the young boys. You move on to the next floor where you run into Nanami and he mentions finding two boys on the verge of death that he brought outside and tended to their wounds. 

Wandering around a bit more you finally come across the grade one curse, its cursed energy was intense. The spirit looks like its melting bodies together, one pile of flesh with multiple eyes and appendages. The largest of their eyes is brown and vertical in the center of the mass and quickly takes notice of Nanami and you and begins to attack, flailing arms and legs towards you and Nanami. You were first to strike the curse with a zap of your cursed technique directly to the center eye. Nanami, quick to follow, slashed a few limbs off with his blunt sword. Flowing through the motions of a fight, zaps, a few punches, and maybe a kick to the curse was the easy part. The more difficult part was knowing if you were doing enough to impress Nanami or at least not look like a complete idiot in front of him. With a final right hook into the curse imbued with your technique, the curse jolted back and collapsed into a disintegrating heap on the dirty floor. 

“Good, you did well,” Nanami says calmly while swiftly dispelling the blood from his blade in a singular smooth motion.

~~

The walk back to the hotel is significantly less awkward for you mostly because you were actually talking now, and not weird small talk. This was an actual conversation, about what you enjoy, what books you like, and so forth. You had a lot in common with the stoic man, you both enjoyed cooking and reading, much preferred over going out. You were beginning to toe the line between a schoolgirl crush based on superficial attraction into a full-blown crush, born from knowing his brain. There are a few outcomes, all but one of which will fragment your heart into millions of pieces. This is dangerous territory you are beginning to tread. 

Back at the hotel you shower and take time to get the sweat and blood off of you. The hot shower felt like heaven on your sore muscles and the steam began to fog the mirror. You wash your hair with your shampoo and conditioner while you think about the day. The thoughts quickly drift from the nursing home and the teenagers you saved to the dashing man sitting outside. He is hard to not fall for, he’s charming and his looks could rival that of a man sculpted by the gods. In addition to his stunning looks his personality seems to be a perfect fit for your own. The list of Nanami’s attributes just seems to grow with the amount of time you spend with him. 

Meanwhile, the blonde man sitting outside on the couch begins working on the report for the case. He begins recounting the day’s events, typing it all out in the correct format. All of the events from what was known to the final death count of the curse. Once again, Nanami’s life became mundane; getting sent on missions, exercising the cursed spirit, typing up a report, and repeating. When he got off of work he would make dinner, maybe try a new wine, most nights were the same for him. Being sent away from Tokyo was a nice change, but not much of one, now he would just have dinner out. However, now there was someone else with him. Someone who he wants to get to know, someone who he can see as a friend. 

He has thought of dating, but with his re-entrance into the world of Jujutsu that will be difficult. There is no way for him to have a “normal” life when he faces death every day. He cannot put someone he loves in a position to mourn him, he has been down this road before and it hurts. Honestly, part of the reason Nanami left after graduation was because he didn’t want to see more of his colleagues fall; moreover, he did not want to see his juniors fall even more so. Despite this, he found himself back in the world of Jujutsu; sitting here with you in the shower. 

When Nanami was told he would be paired with a semi-grade one sorcerer he thought the person would look more intimidating, not the small, cute form he met the day prior. He was pleasantly surprised this morning when you were right on time when he came to pick you up. In the car, he could smell your hair products– vanilla and jasmine– as well as notice how you anxiously fidget with your hands. You were efficient in the airport, which he admired very much, as opposed to Gojo, who would stroll in an hour before his flight with little care about missing it entirely. 

Nanami finishes the report and he hears you step out of the shower. He stands, stretches, and then heads for his bag to gather his clothes to get ready to shower. As he makes sure he has grabbed all of his necessities– underwear, pants, and a top– his phone dings. Sitting back on the bed with his stuff sitting neatly on the dresser he reads a text from Gojo asking about how you both were getting along. Nanami opted to send a short, nondescript text on how you performed today.  

When you finally leave the warm, steamy bathroom you see Nanami sitting on the bed tapping away at his phone, presumably texting. You move your stuff into your bag as your stomach growls very loudly. In your squatting position, you make eye contact with Nanami who now has his clothing in hand to shower and clean up for dinner. 

“I’m going to excuse myself, I’d suggest looking up where you want to eat,” Nanami says standing to his full height, making you feel smaller as he has to tilt his head further down as he does. 

“Okay, I can do that,” you say, zipping up your bag and grabbing socks and your bag with your wallet and other necessities to go out. 

As Nanami stepped into the still-warm and steamy bathroom he could smell your lotion and perfume. Everything smelled like you, even the other towels that are folded under the sink; it’s a smell that is just as intoxicating as the most expensive bottle of wine he’s sampled. He peeled his blue shirt off his body and began the shower, the hot water and steam fogging up the mirror again. Slipping out of his trousers and underwear he steps into the shower with a sigh. He could smell you even more in the shower, the hot steam lifting the remnants of your hair products to his nose directly. 

Nanami thought about the day and Gojo’s text. As with most things, Gojo most likely had another intention than the one Nanami initially interpreted. Nanami could not let himself wonder what it would be like to pursue you in any capacity other than friendship; not even for a moment. There is no denying you are attractive and he could tell that you shared a lot of his interests. He pushes these thoughts of what can never be out of his mind so he can finish his shower and get to dinner. 

~~

You go with a small sushi place with good reviews online and Nanami truly did not mind you picking. Initially, you had given him three options and he was indifferent to all of them. This was new to you because when you went with Gojo he would insist on going to his pick, given he always paid so you had no qualms. 

Walking alongside Nanami was strange, his muscular frame towered over yours and looked ten times more intimidating than you with just his resting face unobscured by the armless glasses he wore. The evening air was cooling down from the high temperatures of the day and a soft breeze flowing and it made Nanami’s hair flow slightly from its perfect position atop his head. He was in a light green sweater and light-wash jeans, which was such a change from his typical suit and tie. Casual suited him, as well as his scent without cologne, it was fresh and kind of minty. 

Getting to the restaurant you seat yourself at a nice table near the window. A server stops by to give you menus and welcome you to the establishment. As you look over the menu you fail to notice how Nanami looks at you. Your hair was pulled back with a few strands falling out around your face, framing it nicely. He thought about what a normal life would be like, how it would be to be in a relationship without the threat of death, and most of all what it would be like to be loved by someone. He once again found himself pushing these thoughts out of his mind. 

The night flows seamlessly from dinner to a little cafe for coffee and dessert. Conversation hardly stopped from when you sat down for dinner to now, in this cute little cafe with cat-themed decor adorning the walls. You were the last two in the cafe with the barista cleaning the counter and display case. This is a night you didn’t want to end, everything has been amazing, from conversation to food, and finally Nanami. The more time you spent with Nanami the more you wanted to spend with him. His presence is intoxicating. 

As you walk back to your hotel there is a light air between you both. The moon is bright and shines on the pair of you. He is close, very close, his arm is close to brushing with yours. To an unsuspecting eye, you looked like a beautiful young couple.

~~

Getting back to the hotel room faced you with the dilemma of the one bed. Nanami initially said he could sleep on the couch, but seeing how large he is compared to the overgrown armchair that had to be out of the question. You could take the couch, but something told you he would never let that happen.

Nanami once again let you take the bathroom first. You dug through your bag for your shorts and oversized tee shirt to get changed into. When you open the bathroom door you see Nanami’s toiletries on the counter opposite your own. What would Nanami be like to live with, being able to see your things with his? He seems like the type of person who has a solid routine and rarely deviates from that. After washing your face and undressing you fold your pants and top neatly to put on for the trip home. The silky shorts felt nice after your legs had been confined all day and the tee shirt fell over the hem of them perfectly. 

Nanami is waiting on the bed with his sleepwear folded neatly beside him. When he looks up at you his hair falls away from his face, most likely from the lack of product. He is so handsome in the dim lighting of the hotel room. You both begin to speak only to stop when you realize the other wants to say something. You smile slightly at the usually awkward situation. 

“You can go first,” Nanami said, standing to his full height. His hair shifting subtly with his change in position. 

“Oh, um, I’m all done in the bathroom,” you said, fidgeting with your clothing you still have in hand.

“Ah, I was going to say that you can take the bed because I really don’t mind,” He said in that deep voice. The voice that could make angels weep. 

“That couch is too small for you, if anything I can actually fit on it to sleep,” you say as you move to place your clothing on the dresser opposite the bed. “We could also share the bed if you really won’t let me take the couch,” you say without thinking of the implications of what this fully means. 

The air seems to stand still as you both process what you just said. Nanami is a man you just met no more than twenty-four hours prior, and you mentioned you could share a bed. If this were anyone else you would call them crazy for how risky that is with a strange man. Given, Nanami is not entirely strange, he seems to have some set of moral compass given how he is dead set on taking the couch. Your face is completely flushed red and Nanami is sporting a light pink blush as well. Why did you have to say that?

“I, um,” he paused, coughing a little, “I don’t mind taking the couch,” Nanami says, slightly blushing at the thought of sleeping next to you. The smell of your soap and lotion still stuck in his nose and mind, the sweet notes of vanilla and the floral ones of the jasmine would keep him up all night. Nanami also knew he would be too stressed trying to be respectful of your space that he would not sleep at all if he had to share a bed with you. “The couch will be okay for one night, I promise I will be okay there.” He finishes still sporting a faint blush across his sharp cheeks. 

You take a breath trying to calm down. “Are you sure?” You asked for a final time, still feeling guilty he will probably not get any sleep on the couch. 

“Yes, I would not have said so if I didn’t mean it,” Nanami says firmly, looking at you directly.

You both hold eye contact for a moment, the air thick between your bodies. It feels like you both want to say something, but words don’t come to either of you. His hazel eyes are intense as they still don’t leave your face. You feel your heart rate spike from being under his gaze. Your face could rival a prize-winning tomato for how red you are; Nanami is faring better, at least on the surface. All of his thoughts from earlier, all of the thoughts of a normal life were flooding back into his mind and he couldn’t shove them away fast enough. You are dangerous because there is something about you that makes Nanami feel like he could be with you in that way. 

The moment is ruined by the phone ringing in the other room, flashing with the extension from the front desk. Nanami takes another second, keeping your gaze before he answers. You are not paying attention to who is on the other end because you are trying your hardest to calm down. It feels like you’ve just run a mile without prep with how you need to catch your breath.

“That was the front desk,” Nanami cuts through your thoughts with his clear, stern voice. “Another group canceled their reservation, so a room on the second floor is now available,” he continues, clearing his throat. “I need to go to the front desk to sort everything out, but now we both have a bed,” he says walking to put his shoes on. 

Nanami is gone for twenty minutes, but it feels like an instant. You try to resume your nighttime routine while he is gone, but you keep getting distracted by your thoughts of that moment. Your flushed cheeks and his intense stare seared into your mind as if it were branded there with a hot iron. 

When Nanami comes back into your room he silently packs his things to move into his own room. You observe him, being as still as you can, scared to move too quickly as if he will disappear like a stray cat. Once all his things are packed he stands tall in front of your seated position on the bed. His posture is impeccable, as he tells you his room number and how the hotel comped one of the rooms because of the inconvenience. As you look up at him his hot gaze is already on you, as if he were studying for an exam. You quietly respond with a soft ‘okay’ and ‘Good night’.

~~

When you wake the next morning you feel calmer, more at ease than the prior night. You were so warm up last night that you took another shower just to try and calm your buzzing body and mind, not that it did much. Nanami was not much better, he was thankful to whatever deity granted him a room away from you. His thoughts were muddled and the clarity he was used to was gone. As he finally drifted to sleep he thought of how the atmosphere shifted in that instant before the phone call. 

Nanami let you know he would meet you in the lobby around 8 to catch your 11 o’clock flight. As you leave for the airport you do a swift look over of the room to make sure you didn’t forget anything. The room felt so much more empty sans Nanami, his large frame taking up physical space, but his aura taking up infinitely more. His presence is warm and calm, much unlike your own anxious one. 

The morning trip to the airport, as well as the airport itself, passes by in an instant. Now you sit at the gate waiting for your flight home; Nanami is on the hunt for coffee, as the hotel only had drip coffee. You are wasting time staring at the pages of a book you weren’t reading, too lost in thought. As a hand with a take-out coffee cup impedes your view and the smell of fresh pastry hits your nose. 

“I got peach this time,” Nanami says with a small smile, handing you a bag along with your coffee. He is back in his jeans and sweater from last night, much as you are in the same outfit. 

You take the coffee and bag and give thanks to the man now eating his own. The rest of the morning goes much like this, quiet and at ease. There is no tension between you, and you wonder if this is what it is like to date Nanami. Are all of his mornings quiet and tranquil? 

~~

Nanami drops you off at your apartment and, as the true gentleman he is, gets your stuff out to hand to you. As you walk away from him you can feel his warmth leave you. This trip was a whirlwind. Nanami is attractive and his personality is unmatched by anyone you’ve met, but he is a coworker now. Plus, he gave no indication that he is interested in you, outside of that moment. That moment could have been anything and he is hard to read so you chose to match his level of professionalism. At this point, the best you can do is friends, which is okay. 

~~

April 2014

So much has changed in the past two years after graduating high school. You’ve gotten to know yourself more, honed your fighting techniques, and become better friends with former classmates and coworkers. Soon after your mission with Nanami, you were promoted to a full-fledged grade one sorcerer, you gathered from Gojo that Nanami’s recommendation was glowing. 

Currently, you are sitting opposite Gojo in a cafe as you both talk about your plans for your upcoming birthday. The lanky man sitting across from you suggested going all out, after all, you are now an actual adult who can drink. Your speed was more like a small group of people and dinner, not the rager Gojo was already planning. Try as you might Gojo is truly an unstoppable force, and his party planning is quickly getting away from you. 

“Gojo, I am not having a massive party, my apartment is only large enough for a few people,” you sigh. “I’ll have dinner with a few friends, but nothing more,” you sternly say to the white-haired man. 

“But that’s so boring, we did that last year,” he whined as if your birthday was supposed to entertain him. 

Most of your afternoon went on like this because Gojo is, well, Gojo. On the bright side, he did pay for your coffee and treats. You have some paperwork to finish, but other than that you are free for the weekend. Gojo drops you off at your office muttering something about leaving it for Monday. 

As you quickly work through the sparse papers on your desk you hear a firm knock, clearly Nanami. Gojo would just burst in and Shoko’s knocks are short and quiet. In the nearly two years you’ve known Nanami, and in that time he has become one of your closest friends. He is the one you go to new museum exhibits with and the one you try new cafes with after said museum outings.

“Come in,” you say, not looking up from the last form you needed to fill out. You sigh for a moment as Nanami’s footsteps enter your office. 

“Hey, I saw you were still here and I wanted to see if you wanted to leave together,” Nanami says, looking down at you with a peacoat draped over his arm. “That is if you are almost done.”

“Oh, umm, yeah,” you say, still not looking at him. “I just need to sign off on this and submit it,” you say sighing as you stand to get your stuff. “Where were you wanting to go?” You ask, finally meeting his eyes.

“I was thinking of that new ramen place near yours,” He says holding his hand out to take your bag, “but I am up to suggestions.” 

“Great, I just need to run by Yaga’s office to turn these in,” you say smiling at him as you turn off the lights and close your door. 

The walk to Yaga’s office is the same as it always is, hallways blurring together. You are looking through the papers making sure everything is in order and Nanami is lost in his own mind. In the time Nanami has known you, you’ve nestled yourself into his life seamlessly. After that first mission in Osaka, the pair of you worked on a few more local missions until you were a full-fledged grade-one sorcerer. Even after that, you made a point to spend time with Nanami, to be his friend. That is something he admires about you, you put so much effort into everything you do; sometimes to your own detriment.

You have an aura to you that draws him in, something that makes Nanami want to know everything about you; not just the superficial things anyone can figure out, but the more intimate things like what your nighttime routine is and how you look when you first wake up. These things are small, but he wants them; he wants you in your entirety, mind, body, and soul. 

Nanami came to these conclusions one night after drinking with you, Gojo, and Shoko. He initially turned down Gojo, but when you asked he couldn’t find it in him to decline when he looked into your bright, beautiful eyes. While going out is not his preferred way to spend a night, especially on a Thursday, he thought your presence made it bearable. Especially when you would join in on teasing Gojo with Shoko after a few drinks. After that night Nanami vowed to keep his feelings to himself because you didn’t deserve him, he is a broken man who cannot promise you tomorrow. In his mind, being your friend was better than not being in your life at all. 

~~

You were finally able to talk Gojo out of a big party at a club in exchange for dinner at your favorite place and a few drinks afterward. Music is loudly blaring from your phone as you get ready in the bathroom, hot water running over your figure. You think of what to wear, taking into consideration the temperature and the cute-to-comfy ratio of your outfit. When you step out of the shower, you go through your normal routine, taking more time on makeup and hair. Now you stand in front of your closet wondering what to wear. You could go with jeans and a sweater, but that’s what you wear when you normally go out; this is a special night, so maybe a little discomfort is okay. You pick out a short, light pink dress with poofy mesh sleeves and a flowy skirt. You also opt to put stockings with a criss-cross pattern on them under your dress. As you situate the stockings at the top of your thighs your phone dings and lights up. 

‘Hey, I was thinking we could head over to the restaurant together so you don’t have to walk alone’ read the text from Nanami. It is not unusual for Nanami to pick you up to go somewhere, but it doesn’t happen as much as you’d like. 

After that first mission with Nanami, you were thankful he seemed to want to be friends too, but never anything more. In the past two years, you’ve only grown to like the tall blonde more. He makes sure that you don’t overwork yourself, but rather that you get paid for the work you complete. When he can he also delivers coffee and a pastry. With every coffee delivery, you felt yourself fall a few more meters, you have yet to hit the ground. 

You shoot a short ‘yes’ and go about finishing your look for the night. Thinking of Nanami makes you heat up, more than usual that is. There are a few reasons for this, but the main reason being you’ll look like you’re going on a date walking to the restaurant together. That thought alone made you squeal like a schoolgirl. 

A curt knock rings through your apartment, signaling Nanami’s arrival, and pulling you out of your head. As you answer your door you notice Nanami has a gift bag in hand, presumably for you. You signal for him to come in and greet him, mentioning something about not being quite ready yet. Digging through your jewelry box for a necklace you ramble about your day to Nanami, who responds with grunts and nods, not that you could see him as he is in the living room. 

~~ 

Nanami fills you in on how his day has been as you walk side-by-side to the restaurant. He is self-conscious, something he has not been since high school, because you look amazing, and he just has a dark grey sweater on with nice pants. The dress is just short enough to see the upper parts of your thighs, but not so short that it is immodest. Nanami tries to not stare too much, but he really can’t given how well the stockings hug your things. The plush fat of them bludged slightly from the restriction from the stockings. This outfit is driving him insane– you are driving him insane. Just for a moment, Nanami allows him to wonder what it would be like to have you look this good for him, and him alone. 

As you reach the restaurant you stop Nanami just shy of the entry, so as to not obscure the entry. He gives you a questioning look, and you just stare back at him with wide eyes. Words fail to escape your mouth as you look into his dreamy eyes. You try to start a sentence multiple times, but nothing ever reaches your mouth. Of course, he looks amazing, the sweater with the collar from a button down underneath. As you finally find the words to say Gojo begins yelling from down the block. You break away from the moment with Nanami and turn just in time for Gojo to pull you into a hug. Shoko is not far behind the lanky man as she holds two gifts, one hers and the other probably Gojo’s. 

The host seats you all at a booth in the corner of the restaurant, and lights dim for the atmosphere. You slide into the space next to the wall and Nanami follows suit, sitting close to you at the smallish table. Gojo is directly across from you and Shoko is across from Nanami. Conversation flows, as do some drinks with dinner, and the food comes and goes. You feel a light buzz from the two drinks– one from Gojo and one from Shoko– as you prepare to pay your bill. The waiter comes back to divide up the bill and you all hand in your cards and discuss where to go next, as the drink portion is to appease Gojo. 

The bar Gojo chooses has soft music playing and comfy sitting areas, the best for conversation. Nanami offers to get you a vodka cranberry, your drink of choice, while you find somewhere to sit. Shoko, being the woman she is, kept getting round after round of drinks. You are certain that you are mostly alcohol now, you cannot see straight and you didn’t want to try walking, in fear that your choice of platform boots will make you fall over. 

Nanami can tell you are out of it, your eyes are not focused on anything in particular, and you are no longer talking in more than one-word answers. He closed out at the bar and told Gojo and Shoko he was taking you home, so as to not cause you more harm in the morning. 

As you focus on Shoko complaining about some of the new changes to her duties from the higher ups you feel Nanami’s warm hand on your back. He looks down at you with concern, not that you can particularly tell right now. His deep voice is calming and rich, like the most decadent chocolate as he bids Gojo and Shoko goodbye. He makes sure you have everything, including the new mug from Gojo and the two wine glasses from Shoko.

When you step outside with Nanami still holding on to you the cool April air hits your face, causing you to shiver slightly. Nanami opts to hail a cab, mostly because he is not sure how far you can walk. As one pulls to the side Nanami puts you in the back and walks around to the other side for himself. You cling to him as soon as he sits, and you are not wanting to let go. He tells the driver your address and just lets you cling to him as if he is your lifeline. 

This is nice, your hair smells just how it did when he first met you. Nanami once again lets himself think of what it would be like to have this all the time; you pressed against his body while you go to a shared home. He thinks back to what you were trying to say before dinner, before Gojo ruined it– typical. 

The ride to your building is quick. Nanami pays and tips the driver and practically hoists you to stand. He can tell you are close to crashing, your body heavy, and your movements lethargic. At this point, he thinks about carrying you, as it may be easier than standing at an awkward angle holding you up, but decides against it so as to not cross any boundaries.

When he opens your door you struggle to take off your shoes and leave them in a pile on the floor, a problem for later you. You drunkenly stumble through your apartment with Nanami in tow as you try to undress. The zipper on the back of your dress seems infinitely further than when you zipped yourself into the dress. You break down and ask Nanami, who is standing outside as you change, to help you because you just want to go to bed. As he opens the door he sees you sitting on your bed swaying slightly. He unzips your dress and turns around to give you more privacy, but your perky butt and back are displayed in the full-length mirror he is now facing. You stand still for a minute, in your stockings and lacy pink panties with a matching bra before stumbling into the bathroom. A red-hot blush expands across Nanami’s face as he tries to not stare like a pervert, but there is something about how your ass looks in the lace panties that makes him insane. 

Nanami leaves to sit on the couch, so as to not invade your space, trying to calm down from seeing you in such a state of undress, after all, he is just a man. For a third time tonight, he finds his mind wondering what it would be like to see you like this for him. What would it be like to undress you and feel how your soft body would squirm under his touch? What noises could he pull from you? How would you sound moaning his name? He shakes his thoughts away and busies himself with getting aspirin and water for you in hopes of getting rid of his little (massive) problem. 

As you reemerge from the bathroom you have no more makeup on and are now in an oversized sweatshirt that reaches the tops of your thighs. You move to lie down and get comfy as Nanami has water and some aspirin in hand for you in the doorway. He gives you the pills first, then the water and you mutter a thanks while yawning. Making sure you don’t need anything more from him, Nanami heads for the door when he hears you, in such a soft voice, ask him to stay. In his tipsy state, he almost misses it, but not quite. 

“What was that?” He asks, making sure his ears are in working order. His eyes intently search yours as you answer.

“Can you please stay with me?” you ask again, this time a little louder. “You don’t ha–” He cuts you off with a very quick acceptance and begins to make his way to the other side of your bed. 

~~ 

The next morning you wake up with a pounding headache and unbelievably dry throat. You reach for the water on your nightstand and gulp what’s left down in a hurry. Taking a breath, you take in your room, and the large man still asleep next to you. He shed his sweater and button down and is now in a form-fitting white undershirt. Sitting up next to this god among men you take a moment or two to admire Nanami’s form; his massive arms holding one of the cutesy stuffed animals you keep on your bed. Oh to be that stuffed cat. 

You get up to get more water and scrounge something to eat from your sparse pantry as your memories trickle back. Your face heats up when you set the tea kettle on the stove as you remember practically begging poor Nanami to stay with you. Given, he wouldn’t have done something unless he wanted to, that much you knew. Does this mean he sees you in a romantic way? Or was this more of him wanting to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit?

Nanami wakes up and quickly realizes he is not in his home, but rather your home. He also realizes you are not in bed with him, but your spot is still lukewarm. The smell of toast and tea wafts into the room as he sits up in bed. As he looks around he sees the stuffed animals strewn about the room, most likely his doing as he slept, as well as the cute white cat he currently holds. You consume his thoughts, millions of them racing in. Why did you ask him to stay? Why did he stay? Could this mean you wanted him too? 

Sitting at your small table you have tea and toast, with a cup and plate on the counter waiting for Nanami. You have to talk about last night, but more so how you feel about the typically stoic man. There is no going back to before he slept in your bed, his warm body feeling like the missing puzzle piece in your life. He looked so peaceful sleeping with the sun peeking through the curtains of your room and landing on his sharp features. 

Nanami walks into your main living space in his light blue boxers, looking like a Calvin Klein ad. You offer the tea and toast on the counter to the god of a man standing in your home. He takes the seat opposite yours and just looks at you. Your hair is pulled back with a clip with a few pieces near the front falling out, framing you in such a beautiful way. The sun softly shining into your home makes you look ethereal, your beauty outshining Aphrodite. 

“I’m sorry,” you say as he takes a sip of the tea. “For last night that is,” you finish avoiding his eyes. You take a deep breath before continuing, “You should know, I like you,” another breath, “in a more than friendly way,” you say, feeling the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes. The weight of your words and emotions sit on you like a stone as you await Nanami’s rejection. 

“Can you at least look at me when you tell me you love me?” Nanami asks with a small smirk on his pink lips. His eyes meet yours, which are full of sorrow. 

“What,” you respond, taken by surprise at his comment. Your brow furrows as you ponder what he could mean. Your sorrow is replaced by confusion. 

“For such a smart woman you’re quite dense, aren’t you?” He said still teasing you. “I want your mornings, afternoons, and evenings.” Nanami stands and moves to stand in front of you, his large body looming over you. “I want to be the man you look for in a crowded room, the one you get all dressed up for. I want you– all of you.” 

You stare up at him, confused at his sudden burst of affection. His usual stoic demeanor was gone, now replaced by a soft expression on his sharp features. He holds your eyes, waiting for your response.

“Nan-” you stop yourself, now would be the time to use his first name, “Kento, I do look for you in every crowded room, you’re the one I want to give all of my time to.” You stand, still dwarfed by Kento’s massive frame. 

Neither of you says anything for a moment, rather just processing what just happened. He leans closer to you and you meet him halfway, having to stand on your toes. The kiss is tentative as if you are both scared that this is some form of a cruel dream. Once your lips touch his everything feels at peace, you have no thoughts other than Kento and his soft lips on yours. As you pull away from the short, but sweet, kiss you both cannot stop the smiles that threaten to break your faces. 

He goes in for another kiss, this time with more assurance and passion. His lips are hot and needy as his hands begin to roam your body. Kento’s kisses get more needy and his hands pull at you more and more. Large hands grab at your plush ass as he lifts you to his hips, instinctively, you wrap your legs around his muscular waist. You continue to make out while Kento carefully moves the both of you to your bedroom. 

~~

The next few weeks are filled with getting to know Kento in a deeper, more romantic way. As time passes with him you fall even deeper in love, as does he; the only difference now is that you are not scared to hit the ground because he’s there to catch you. You get to see him, who he is at his core, what makes him tick and it is a true honor. There are so many things that are uncertain in your life, but you know Kento will be a constant. 

Kento does not believe in soulmates, there is no reason this cruel world would give people that luxury, but you are the closest thing to his. He never thought he would be allowed to have you in the ways he wanted you, but here you are in his arms. The Morning sun shines through his blinds causing you to snuggle closer to his chest. Kento debates getting up and making you breakfast, but decides against it in favor of holding your naked form against his own, just for a little longer.

~~

August 2016

Kento finishes tying his bow tie and does a final look in the bathroom mirror before turning off the lights and leaving to find you. You are in the bedroom sitting at your vanity in a pretty white dress, something shorter because of the less-than-traditional wedding celebration. The dress has short sleeves with lace detailing at the ends that match the lace on the rest of the dress. You look up at Kento as you finish putting your makeup on and smile at your soon-to-be husband. 

“The car is almost here darling,” Kento tells you, offering you a hand, a smile matching yours. “You look stunning,” He says, leaning down for a quick kiss. 

“So do you my dear,” you say drinking him in, his white form-fitting shirt and light gray suit make you drool at the thought of taking it off of him later tonight. “Ready?” 

“More than anything else,” Kento says, the smile still not leaving his perfect features. 

~~

The ceremony is short and intimate, just what you and Kento wanted. Nothing too extravagant, but still filled with love. After the ceremony, you and Kento go to a late lunch at your favorite restaurant and just enjoy the day as a married couple. You both sit in a cute little cafe with coffee and dessert. Every once and a while there is the soft clink on Kento’s mug from his ring, the one that matches yours. With each clink, your stomach does flips because you actually got to marry this man. 

The rest of the evening is something out of an old film, the couple strolls through the city streets, lit by the moonlight and shop lights. Kento’s hand in yours, you talk about something while he looks like a lovesick puppy. He has an uncharacteristic soft smile across his features because of you. The walk back to your shared apartment is serene and feels right. Nights like this are what you live for, they are simple, but it’s the small moments that make you fall even more in love with Kento. The way he makes sure you have at least two meals a day that are nutritious or the way he makes you feel like you are the most important person in the world– because to him you are.

~~

November 2017

Nights with Kento are quiet and beautiful. On this particular night you lie on his bare chest post-coitus as he strokes your hair gently. You fidget with his wedding band that matches yours, just content to be with him at this moment. 

“Hey” Kento says in a soft voice to grab your attention, “how would you feel about having kids?” He asks, looking down at you. “Mine specifically” he clarifies. 

“I would love to have your kids, but do you really think we’re ready?” you ask not knowing if you were ready for such a big change to your life. “I mean, we would need to get a bigger place and work seems to never stop.” You ramble on for a little about your anxieties of parenthood and Kento just looks at you with admiration. 

“We have enough to buy a townhouse or condo if that is the biggest concern,” Kento says, softly petting your hair.

~~

October 30th  2018

You are abruptly awoken by a loud cry from down the hall of your pristine townhouse. The noise is not foreign to you, as it once was, but more of a routine, a signal to get up and prepare to feed or change the small girl, Yukie, lying in her crib. Kento usually handles the random 3 AM cries, but he has been so worn out recently because he has been training another student, as per Gojo’s request. As you get out of the warm embrace of your husband he grunts and moves to his stomach. 

Just a few doors from your own is your daughter’s, who is in the cutest pink and green flower onesie. You pull her from her crib and get situated to feed her in the comfy chair in the corner of the obscenely pink room— Kento’s doing. The monotony of feeding pulls you into your own thoughts now that your bundle of sunshine has quieted down.

Having a kid with Kento has made you want more because of the attentive husband he was during your pregnancy and how amazing of a father he is. He never complains about getting up in the middle of the night or having to do his errands with her strapped to his chest (seeing him in the baby bjorn for the first time almost made you jump him in the middle of the kitchen). Kento is truly the ideal man to have your children with because of his evercalm disposition, which you saw crack when he held your daughter for the first time in the harsh lighting in the hospital room. 

~~

In the morning you feel light and airy, as if you are floating a few centimeters off the ground as you are making eggs and toast. Kento and your daughter having tummy time in the living room; her bright laugh and babbles are followed by Kento’s soft chuckles and coos encouraging her. Mornings like this are the ones you live for, even if you are exhausted and have bags the size of checked luggage under your eyes. The quiet mundane life is all you need to feel complete, to feel at peace with yourself and the world. 

Kento’s voice breaks through your thoughts, “Love, I have to work tomorrow night.” He says strapping your daughter into her high chair. “I know you had some cute costumes and plans for Yukie’s first Halloween, but this is unavoidable.” Disappointment evident in his voice as he runs his hand through his hair. 

“Is everything okay?...” You trail off wondering what is so important that they would call Kento in when he’s supposed to work less because of his daughter. “I mean, I know there are more curses active around holidays, but do you really have to go in?” 

“Yaga said almost everyone active is needed, not much else though.” He says looking at you while Yukie plays with his fingers. You can’t help but feel anxiety creep up in the back of your mind. 

Thoughts are coming in from all over the place, what’s going on that Kento needs to work? Of course Kento is one of the best sorcerers, but is this a mission he needs to be on? What is going on? 

~~

The following evening you make a quick dinner so Kento has something on his stomach for what will probably be a long night ahead of him. As the rice noodles are finishing Kento walks into the room with his suit and tie on. He looks as good as the day you met him all those years ago. Kento gets two plates down with utensils and glasses for himself and you, as well as mashed peas and carrots for Yukie. 

This domestic bliss will return after this mission, at least until the next year, when Kento needs to go back full time. Yukie is giggling as Kento is tickling her on the floor before getting her into her chair for dinner. He is her favorite person in the entire world, she will always reach for him when he comes home, drop everything the second he comes into her line of sight.

As you set the plates down on the small dining room table Kento comes with Yukie’s bib and food in hand. The rest of dinner is filled with babbles from Yukie and light conversation as you and Kento dance around the elephant in the room. Kento brings up wanting to take the last two weeks in December off to finally travel to Malaysia; which you fully agree with because you could both use a change in scenery. 

Kento starts to gather his equipment and leave after Yukie is put down for bed. The house is silent, and you are stuck in your head again. It is highly improbable that Kento will get seriously injured or killed, but that is always a fear you have given your shared line of work. 

“I should be home by tomorrow morning, dear.” Kento says, bringing you back to Earth in his calming smooth voice. He pulls you into his chest as he holds you close for a little while, planting kisses to the top of your head occasionally. 

“Just come home to me Nanami Kento.” you say looking up at him with a small smile playing on the corners of your mouth. 

“I love you.” He says before letting you go. 

~~

You fill the rest of your night trying to not stress over the mission Kento is on, but most of your attempts of trying to relax are futile. The one thing you find does help is propping up with your laptop in Yukies room with a small lamp giving off a soft yellow light and looking up Malaysia hotels and tickets to surprise Kento with when he gets home. 

As the hour shifts to around 3 in the morning you feed Yukie one more time before heading to bed. Knowing Kento he will be upset if you screwed up your sleep schedule just for him. You quickly shower and change into a silk pajama set before lying down and falling into a dreamless slumber quickly. 

You wake up around 9 to the sound of your doorbell ringing. Kento is still not home, but maybe he is getting ahead on his paperwork so he can spend the rest of his time with you and Yukie today. The house is cold, as you slip a robe on to answer the door. When you get down the bell rings again as you open the door to Ijichi, who is already fully bowed down. 

“I’m very sorry to inform you…”

[mushyposts]

WOAH! THE CREW???? THE CREW FROM HIT FANFICTION NO THING DEFINES A MAN LIKE LOVE??? WOAH WOAH WOAH??? Anyway yes omg its them!!! This took me so long and im so tired but look at my ANGELS!

UM! Friendly reminder that I myself am not Inuit/Indigenous! I did research + had an Indigenous person helping me w the tattoos, but if theres anything wrong/disrespectful pls do let me know and I will fix it. All the tattoos r on a seperate layer so it'll be an easy fix and one i am more then happy to do. A few of the designs changed between this and my written description, so... Oops?? Especially Morqa. I got carried away ok.... ANYWAY I have some little notes abt their designs here and there so! Kaiqa: He used to have shorter bangs around his face but they annoyed him so he tried to let them grow out but that annoyed him so he would cut them again and then try to let them grow out and now he just has perpetual baby hairs that wont get any longer. Mikla: UM. Not much to say here. Isnt he pretty tho?? Buteq: SOMEHOW ENDED UP THE MOST MAJESTIC MAN EVER. HELLO?? The two beads on the right are for his nieces and the one on the left is for his sister! Neter: One time he got super cocky abt being 7 years older then Nitya which meant he was a better fighter and so Nitya was like "yeah?? ok bet." and then punched him and broke his nose and was like "hm where are those warrior reflexes?" so now Neter has a permanently bent nose. Sorqai: He got the scar thats through his beard in the same raid that cause Nitya and Konait (Kaiqas older brother) to die. Nitya died trying to get Konait and some other kids out of the mess, and Sorqai got injured trying to get to them to help. He's mostly numb on that side of his face due to nerve damage ! Causes him to lisp a bit, especially w the chipped tooth (which he got from tripping) Natai: He wears both his own and Nitya's necklaces their parents made them, and intends to only take of Nitya's and let it go into the ocean where he was buried when the war is over. His own way of keeping Nitya involved in the war effort, something that was really important to him. Kutai: Again, no real notes here but isnt he pretttyyy..... Kovak: Honestly, very likely one of my favourite character designs I've ever made. Im kind of obsessed with him. He doesnt wear his necklace from his parents because he wasnt on good terms with them at all while they were alive. He took it off before they died, and hasnt been able to bring himself to put it back on. he intends to give it to his kid when he gets back. Mori: UM! I dont have a lot of notes here. Mori has two kids ! Hence the three tattoos under their chin, I saw an inuit creator/source say that sometimes people will add lines as they have kids and I thought that was really lovely so yes!! Again im just. I think hes so pretty. Luqait: Im so sorry king I did u dirty posting this after that one chapter. Each one of the beads he wears is dedicated to someone he knew in the tribe who died, theres more not visible on the other side of the braids. I can say for 100% certainty theres one for Kya and Nitya. Saila: Saila was actually a design i struggled a lot with, but I think I got them to a point im happy with!!! They're a good amount intense, androgynous and also have that amber flash in their eyes. The amber comes from having Fire Nation somewhere in their ancestry, something I dont think will really come up in the fic, but a detail I think is good to know! Morqa: I changed Morqa's design the most, especially his hair! But I think he's ended up being a design I am most proud of. The piercings especially!! Eventually u will run out of space (that we can see ig??) king but today is not that day godbless.

OKAY! THERE WE GO... I HOPE EVERYONE LIKES THEM UM PLS BE NICE AND DONT REPOST AND IDK JUST.... I HOPE U LIKE THEM AS MUCH AS I DO i know oc's in fics arent always peoples favourites but the reception of these guys has been like. Beyond mindblowing. Im so fucking excvited and happy everytime people in my comments talk about how much they love the characters i've created. Like.... The fact that people enjoy the OC's and not just for what the give to Zuko, but for what they give to each other and their own individual stories is so incredible to me. I hope u guys like this and I hope it helps u visualise them better!! : D

[ss-skyearn]

Walk With Me

❝In love with the idea of loving you.❞ 

PAIRING : Lee Minho x female!reader.

WORD COUNT : 4k.

GENRE : Smut, Fluff (wow no angst for once.)

WARNINGS/CONTENT : Past angst, established relationship, feelings and emotions, they're in love (to no one's surprise), Minho with long hair, mentioned Soobin.

SMUT WARNINGS : First time together, hair pulling (not the rough kind; minho realises he enjoys his roots being tugged at oops-, this bit inspired by this post by @tasteracha), voyeurism, public sex (late at night, so one witnesses it), unprotected intercourse, sweet lovemaking, so much love and feelings *sob*

A/N : Writting fluff is nowhere near what I'm good at, so feedback is really appreciated. Enjoy, lovelies. ♡

"Everyone can see."

It's a little too late for that now. 

But it's not a complaint, not a protest, an objection. It's a simple statement, divulgence of facts, a declaration made by your brain that has long since lost the ability to conjure lucid postulations. 

"Let them. Let them see," quickening of thrusts, desperation rearing its head in the most sinful of ways.

"Let me show them how much I love you."

"Meet me outside?"

The laughter of your girlfriends drowns out behind you as you weave your way out of the single room you've all gathered in, despite having been allotted seperate ones.

"Outside?"

"Yeah, outside," you don't need to be next to him to know that he's anxiously bouncing off the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth with his bottom lip caught between bunny teeth you flick your tongue across everytime you kiss him, without fail.

You'd have to make it a point to let him know of your adoration for them the next time he decides to take your breath away with his hot mouth.

And make no mistake, that's what kissing him is like, like losing your breath, like gaining your breath all over again; like being locked in an airtight, evacuated room, like being put on the ventilator with nothing but pure oxygen being pumped straight to your lungs.

It's dizzying either way. Whether it's being deprived of the gush of wind through your airways, or being forced to choke up on all the withheld supply of air all at once, it hurts.

It hurts to be with him. But you'll choose to be hurt, to be on the receiving end of the pain, if it means he's the inflictor, the hand on the trigger.

"Right now?"

"Yeah, if that's okay," he's nervous, something you both are a lot around each other from time to time.

"Uh, okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay, good. That's good," you hear shuffling, and imagine him moving from one foot to the other, "I'll be waiting outside the dorms."

"Outside the— what if someone sees you?"

"They know anyway."

Which is the truth. Inherently the private person, you'd asked Minho to keep your newly budding relationship a secret from your peers, a request he'd agreed to almost immediately. Ever the understanding and gentle soul, he'd not once asked to go public with you, even though Hyunjin told you how he sometimes drunkenly mumbles about wanting to hold your hand when Soobin gets a little too close, about wanting to get you coffee on 7 A.M. Tuesday lectures when he knows you haven't slept for more than two hours, about kissing you under the lights on prom night when all couples got their fancy on and indulged in each other after a tough semester.

He wants, yearns, craves.

But you'd been cruel enough to deny him that. Trust issues and fear of commitment aside, you'd been afraid to tell people, to introduce him as your boyfriend, because saying that aloud would make it all the more real, and you'd no longer be able to control the flutter to your heart every time he appeared in your peripheral vision, you'd no longer been able to hold back the intensity of your feelings that seeming only grow with each passing hour, minute, second you spend looking at him.

It had scared you. Understandably so.

Caught up in over your head, you hadn't stopped to consider what it all meant for him, what he might perceive this as. He had no way of knowing what you actually felt, not unless you told him.

It all happened a week ago, when your phone dinged with a notification from Hyunjin. Instead of telling you, he sent you a video this time, a video of Minho slumped back against the wall of the speakeasy you both frequent, eyes shut with his head resting on the concrete.

dumplin [2:57 A.M.]

VID_3653833_219389.mp4

he's been like this for half hr

"I love this place," his intoxicated form had rasped in the video.

Hyunjin who was behind the camera had snorted, asking the reason for the sudden confession.

Minho had grinned, all toothy, bunny smile on display, "I come here all the time with my girlf—" only to stop dead in his tracks, eyes snapping open, neck suddenly ramrod straight with panic all over his drowsy features.

"Your girl..?" Hyunjin had prompted from behind the camera, barely stifling his chortle.

"Uh, my, my. Oh god, I don't know. I don't know what I was saying."

He always was a bad liar. Even in his hazy eyes, even through the shaky video, you could see the hurt, the pain behind his actions as he rubbed the heel of his palms against his eyes, chugged a bottle of water to sober himself up.

"It's okay, Minho. I know. We all know."

"Know what?" he had asked, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

"We know you're dating the dance society president."

His eyes had widened, a fresh surge of agitation creeping its way onto his otherwise relaxed face.

"No. No, that's not true. Who told you that?"

Hyunjin had chuckled and told him he was the one who introduced you guys, and the other six seated on the table were among the very few people who did know of your apparently secret relationship.

"I don't know what you're talking about. She and I are just frei—"

The video had cut off there and half an hour later, you found yourself asking the local security guard for directions to 'The Late Bite'.

The bejewelled smile he cast your way as you entered the dining space lasted only a fraction of a second, him going back to pretending you were mere acquaintances and your heart had all but given up.

Marching to him, you had gotten him up on his feet. Ignoring the confused, almost frightened look to his face, you had for once asked your brain to shut the fuck up, and finally given in.

You kissed him. You kissed him on the mouth, swallowing the gasp he let out, ignoring the gasps the people in the diner let out, cradling his face with care befitting a porcelain doll, for truly, he was. As fragile as fine china, as delicate as the first rays of sun hitting the horizon.

Not the tough guy he pretends to be, the hard exterior, the unbreakable shell. You know him to be none of those things.

The dazed smile, the look of blatant relief he'd given you before collapsing on you, mumbling a small breathy, "thank you," was all you needed to know that you'd made no mistake. This was how it was supposed to be, always.

And so it had began.

He held your hand when Soobin got a little too close, he got you coffee on 7 A.M. Tuesday lectures when you were running on two hours of sleep, he held your nape and kissed you under the nightlights, because prom had passed by then but it didn't matter to him, he had kissed you, kissed you, and kissed you some more, till your head got fuzzy from the lack of air supply, till it was physically impossible to stay connected for even another second.

And that's how you find yourself here, making your way out of the girls' dorm in the quiet of the night, it being well past midnight by now— not before checking your reflection in the common bathroom once, fluffing out your hair, splashing some cold water onto your face.

He's standing under a street lamp with his hands into the pockets of his fleece jacket, unmatching with the track set he wears underneath.

He's the single most picky person you know when it comes to styling outfits, deciding what goes well with what, which colour compliments the undertones of another one. Well, besides you of course. Your friends teased you both about how you were practically cut from the same cloth, the same material but different textures, so alike in all the places that mattered, so different in all the places that didn't so much.

So the beige jacket atop the cherry red track set stands out a little too much, and your heart thumps a little too fast at the possibility of his eagerness to see you outweighing his need to look presentable at all times.

You shuffle forward, heart picking up its erratic staccato, the same way it does every time he's within a mile's radius, threatening to jump out of the confines of your ribcage, trying to lunge for what was once so out of reach, for far too long.

He's reclined against the street lamp, eyes closed, head thrown back against the cool metal pole, allowing the ombre light to fall straight onto his fluffy mop of hair. It's unstyled, freshly washed. The caramel tone compliments the muted yellow light streaming down his face, painting him, drowning him.

Your heart aches from running a mile a minute.

Or from feeling so full. You aren't exactly sure.

"Hi," you squeak tentatively, not wanting to disturb him when he looks so peaceful. And beautiful. God, he looks beautiful.

His eyes flutter open. Your heart breaks open with them.

He forgoes pleasantries in favour of wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his chest, and you hold him back, hug him back, squeeze him like you never want to let go. Because really, you don't. Not now, not ever.

"Where's your jacket?" he mumbles into your shoulder, stroking his face back and forth against it, much like the stray cat that visits your dorm room at nights does.

"Mm?"

He chuckles, "It's cold out. Why didn't you put on a jacket?"

"Oh," you pull back, there's pink dusting your cheeks, and you really hope it passes as the consequence of the chilly night, "I guess I forgot."

He smiles wide, affectionate and all kinds of pretty, and the tear in the front of your heart deepens, curling a little to the back, threatening to split it into two.

It's not so impossible a situation, you suppose. Lee Minho is very much capable of shattering your heart into a million pieces with a single smile, then healing it back with a kiss to your temple, breaking it along new cracks, then moulding it back together with the same blowtorch he uses to melt sugar atop his Crème Brûlée, the blue flame made all the more hot with searing kisses, aimed at trapping you into this cycle where he plays with your heart, keeping it with him to do as he pleases.

And you'd let him. Let him have his way with you, to make you, unmake you, only to make you again.

You're his clay, and he's your artist.

You're brought back to the present as a sudden warmth engulfs you, and when you look over your shoulder to see the beige fleece jacket dropped around you, it warms you from the inside too.

"Hey, you'll catch the cold, you have an assessment tomorrow too—"

He shrugs, "I'll live."

"Minho, seriously I'm fine, here take it back—"

"It doesn't match my fit anyway," he entwines your fingers together and begins slowly walking, guiding you along.

It's then that it clicks. Glancing down, you take note that the jacket actually goes with your outfit, and you refuse to pick up on the reason for this coincidence, for certainly, it's not one. It's planned, thought out.

You'll ignore it all the same. For the well being of your poor heart that's working overtime, your senses that are on high alert, your hand, so so warm engulfed in his large one.

"Where are we going?" you ask instead.

"Just a night walk," he begins, and you've spent enough time with him by now to know that his voice sounds bashful, the little shy lilt to it endlessly endearing, "wanted to spend some time with you."

You clutch at your chest with the other hand, exhaling a deep sigh, and squeeze his hand, praying that it's appreciation enough, that it compensates for your inability to verbally acknowledge his thoughtfulness.

But if there's one thing that he's, without a doubt, mastered about you, is your tells.

He knows when you're too abashed to outright admit it out loud that you appreciate him.

He knows when you're too overwhelmed to downright confess you're having trouble staying focussed.

He knows when you're too exhausted to unequivocally divulge your reluctance to anything social.

He just knows. But you don't; you don't know what you did to deserve this, to deserve him.

You still don't think you do, truth be told.

When you snap out of your daze, you both are no longer on campus grounds, walking along a lone street you don't recognise, lit by flickering lights threatening to give out any moment, but in a moment of vulnerability that surprises even yourself, you find you're not scared. Because Minho is with you, and as long as that stands, as long as you're lucky enough for that to stand, you know you're safe.

"Where are we going?" you echo your previous question.

But this time, he grins with a mischievous glint to his eye, looks you over and his pupils dilate, as if merely looking at you is enough to kickstart his heart into overdrive, "You'll see."

And see you do. Twenty minutes later, here you stand, bare feet pressed into the wet sand by the shore, both arms wrapped around his bicep, head resting on the trusty shoulder, humming along to the sound the breeze makes as it whisks past you.

"Are you cold?" he whispers, despite there being no one except the two of you on the beach at this time of day, taking your hands in his and swiping his thumb over your knuckles, assessing the answer for himself, lest you lie to not worry him. "Mm. No, you're not," he hums to himself, guiding your head back where it rested against the crook of his neck, only this time wrapping his own arms around, engulfing you in an embrace that speaks of warmth, of comfort, of love.

But for some reason you aren't sure of yourself, you resist, not taking his lead in going back to your previous stance, instead just staring into his eyes with something you don't know, but it seems he does, for his facial expression turns from surprised to lovestruck in the matter of a second.

He leans in, granting your silent request. Really, you don't know how he does it, almost like you don't have to say anything at all, for he hears you loud and clear without you having to utter a single word.

If what people say about having a soul person is true, he is yours.

And as your lips slot together, the waves behind you crash the loudest they have today, as if the nature is rejoicing, the elements exuberating, witnessing the collision of two beautiful souls, their stitching together into a single bracelet in the form of two bright pearls.

He is the black one, burning passion and quiet peace.

You are the white one, inherent perfectionist and loud existence.

You compliment each other, matching almost every piece of clothing in the wardrobe, neutralising when the other gets too much, burning along when the other gets dim.

"I love you."

You don't know what love means, what it stands for, what it entails.

But you're in love with the idea of loving him.

"I love you," you echo into his mouth, forgoing the "too" at the end because it makes it sounds like a passive confession, a favour returned, when it's easily the truest statement you have had to utter in all the time you've spent thinking about him, him, him.

"I love you, I love you," and alas, once you say it, you can't seem to stop, you want him to know, you want the whole world to know. You want to write it on the stars for the universe to read, that you are his, and he yours.

"I love you so goddamn much."

It hurts, it hurts so much, more than it did an hour ago when you caught sight of him standing outside your dorms. Now that your heart is aware of the gravity of what it feels for him, it just hurts.

When he pulls back, it's to hold your chin in the care of his palm, making you look at him, his eyes glittering with the beginnings of perspiration.

"I love you," he says simply.

To any onlooker, it might have seemed tame, insane maybe, for you two haven't been saying anything except the same three words in the last ten minutes.

But you know, only you know that they aren't the same words.

The first time he said it was to test the waters, to see if you would run away.

The first time you said was to check for yourself, did you love him?

The second and third time you said it was to tell your heart that yes, yes you did, you loved him more than you did anyone before, and it's a wonder how it took him saying it first for you to realise that.

The final time you said it, it was to him, to let him know that you did.

The final time he said it was to say yes, he knows, he knows that you do, that he knows the first two confessions were for your heart more than they were for him, that he's proud you've let down your walls enough to let him in, that he's grateful you've chosen him.

You suddenly find yourself descended on the shore, your back pressed into the cool sand that tickles your nape, Minho hovering over you with a look that can only be described with three words.

I love you.

"Be mine?" he says with wet kisses trailing up your jaw, stopping after every one to take in a deep inhale.

It's silly maybe, to say that when you're already dating but you know what he means, for you feel the same.

"I already am," you say as your body cants upwards, up, up, up, towards him, towards safety.

His hands trail down your body to where the waistband of your sweats sits, tracing along the diameter it transcends, looping his arm to the back to lift you up a tad more.

"Can I?"

You don't know what he's asking for, your motor and sensory neurons having stopped working, still chanting the same words over and over, 'iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou'.

So you nod, letting him undo the knot that rests on your lower stomach, letting him expose you in a manner most intimate, letting him have you for him, surrendering to the onslaught of pleasure.

When he sinks down on you, stretching you open for the very first time, it's with a groan you wish you could record, paste onto your eardrum, for every time a sound reaches the tympanic membrane, it would vibrate, carrying with it the symphony of the voice you want to hear every second of everyday.

As the initial euphoria of letting him in wears off, with him buried to the hilt, you look up at him, his soft brown hair falling down like curtains on either side of his temple, spilling over his nape that's suddenly too narrow to contain all the strands. And it's then that you remember saying you loved it whenever he was too busy and pushed back going to the salon, his long locks a guilty pleasure, your indulgence.

You reach your hand forward, entwining it with his silken strands, just holding, feeling, "Did you grow them out for me?"

"Yes," he whispers without a beat, as though waiting for you to take note of it without him having to say it first.

This time, the tears do trickle down your eyes, staring up at what you only appreciated from a distance.

"I can't believe t-this—" you choke out the last word when he begins moving, ever so slightly pulling back, pushing forward with a little more force, a little more ardour, the veins in his neck all the more prominent with the strain it takes to hold himself back from going faster.

You tug at his roots, a sharp hiss emanating from somewhere deep in his throat, the roll to his eyes evidence enough of how there's now another reason for him to keep his locks long enough to pull at.

He presses his body closer to yours, coming down on his elbows, kissing down the trail of your hot tears on even hotter skin underneath. It's his way of saying he's listening, an unspoken encouragement for you to continue, but also that it's okay if you don't.

But today is the day you've decided to bare it all to him, to not coware back, to let him know what only you have for what seems like forever.

"I s-saw you on the day of the orientation," you barely get out, coherence slipping past your fingertips much like the fine sand particles you're currently making love atop.

He stills, looking into your eyes, searching for something, "The very first day of college?"

You nod, stretch your lips into what you hope is a smile for your tears are cascading down with a current, sweeping anything and everything that dares come in the way of your route to him.

"That was like, five months ago," he seems incredulous, unbelieving that you were, in fact, the first to notice him and not the other way around.

Entangling your other hand into his hair, fingers brushing the one already slotted in there, you chuckle, "Yeah, it was like, five months ago. I had my eye on you for quite a while, pretty boy."

He doesn't buy the distraction you only half hoped he would, tenting his eyebrows into an upside down V, "And?" he prompts, yet again knowing that there's more to what you're saying.

"It's silly," you mumble, turning away from his gaze that puts your well being at risk.

A gentle finger to your chin, a swift sway of your face to pin you under the same gaze.

"Tell me." Simple as that, with no way out.

Maybe you don't want one.

"I-I saw you on the first day, a-and… I just, god you were so pretty, I thought— I wanted you already, but I thought you were a little too pretty, you know? And, and that eveyone would want you too, and you'd have so many options, ones better than me, and I'd have to get in line, and then—"

A firm press of lips, locked together in love and lust, in lieu of reassurance that you know is still coming.

"It was you for me, always," he says when he pulls back, "there's no line, no one else, just you. And me. Just us, hm?"

"Mm," you hum, losing yourself in the rhythm of his hips that have begun moving once again, small whimpers escaping right into his ear that is pressed against your cheek. Whether it's deliberate or not, you don't know.

He grasps onto one of your ankles, winding it around behind him, the space thus created allowing him to push in all the deeper.

"Oh god, Minho—"

His pace picks up when you pull his hair enough to cause a faint sting on his scalp, in addition to being a direct result of the way his name keeps overflowing past your lips.

You gasp, fighting for air, clutching onto his shoulders, afraid he'd slip away if you let go, "Everyone can see."

It's a little too late for that now.

But it's not a complaint, not a protest, an objection. It's a simple statement, divulgence of facts, a declaration made by your brain that has long since lost the ability to conjure lucid postulations.

"Let them. Let them see," quickening of thrusts, desperation rearing its head in the most sinful of ways.

"Let me show them how much I love you."

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© ss-skyearn 2023. All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting and translating any of my works is not allowed.

[m4gp13]

I know I mentioned it in that percethan rb but I wanted to elaborate on why I think Ethan would have been more effective if he was friends with Percy before he joined the TA. I might have already made a post about this before but I can't remember so we're doing it again. (putting it under the cut because it ended up being a lot longer than I meant, oops)

First of all, depending on whether or not you believe Ethan found out Nemesis was his mother when he lost his eye and ran away, having Ethan as one of the protagonists early on would either make him an unclaimed protagonist or a minor god's child protagonist. We don't get any unclaimed protagonists for more than some of a book and there are no significant protagonists who are children of minor gods. This distances the audience from the struggles and goals of many members of the Titan Army because we don't know anyone who has those struggles or goals. Having Ethan as a protagonist would make their cause much more sympathetic to the audience and it would play into the disability themes of the series. Some disabled people have greater needs than others, or have comparable needs that just aren't being met by the systems in place. Characters like Percy and Annabeth have it relatively good considering they're children of Olympians who get their own cabins, but having an unclaimed protagonist or the child of a minor god would highlight the disparity between claimed children of the Olympians and those who aren't as fortunate. This struggle only exists in the abstract for the audience because we never really see it for more than a couple of chapters in the first book. Having a protagonist who is actively living through it would give it so much more weight and make it feel more like an actual tangible problem.

Also, whether he's claimed or unclaimed Ethan would be in the Hermes cabin at this point and I think it would be fascinating to explore what the cabin was like in the immediate aftermath of Luke's betrayal. We know Luke was integral to the social landscape of camp but nowhere was his presence more impactful than in the cabin he was running. We don't get much about the state of the cabin from the Stolls because it isn't in character for them to visibly dwell on it but it would be perfectly in character for Ethan to do so. He would be a great lens through which to see the fallout of Luke's actions and how the campers who stayed behind felt about them.

All the characters who join the Titan Army have either already joined by the time the audience gets to know them or they've already decided to join and are in the process of doing that. It would have been really cool to take a character that the audience knows as a friend to the protagonist and see them grapple with what Luke has done/is doing and ultimately decide that they stand to benefit more from joining the enemy than sticking with their friends. It makes Luke/Kronos's growing influence on the demigods feel more insidious because we actively see it ensare one of the protagonists and turn them into an antagonist. We get told that Luke is charming and manipulative and that so many demigods are getting caught up in his lies and end up joining the army but we never really see it happening in real time. We get Silena, yes, but by the time she reveals this, she's already decided she no longer sides with Luke and is only still working for him because he's blackmailing her.

But my favourite reason that I wish Ethan had been friends with Percy before joining the TA is this: Percy's fatal flaw is loyalty. The whole reason it's a flaw is the looming threat that Percy would sacrifice the world for those he's close to. However, his flaw never gets to be fatal because he's never really in a position where he needs to choose between the greater good and the people he loves. Ethan would have solved this problem. It would have made Percy sparing him in the labyrinth a much more weighty and foreboding decision.

Because in that moment, Percy knows Ethan is trying to join Kronos, and knows that he's willing to kill him in order to do that. Percy knows that the more people who join the army, the more enemies he will have, and the closer Kronos will come to being revived. But Ethan is his friend, so Percy doesn't care about that. He isn't going to kill his friend. And that comes back to bite him in the form of Ethan being the individual who actually revives Kronos. Ethan is also the one who captures Beckendorf and stabs Annabeth. In this case, Percy choosing to spare his friend's life has actual consequences for him, including the death of another friend.

Another reason this would have been great is because Ethan sort of acts as a foil to Percy. Ethan also chose personal loyalty over the rest of the world. Ethan joined the army because his mother asked him to. Everything Ethan does is for his mother's sake and his devotion to her cause blinds him to the collateral damage and the destruction he's causing. The climax at the end, when Ethan attacks Kronos, is him doing the opposite of what got them in this situation. He sacrifices personal loyalty to his mother in order to serve the greater good.

However, if Ethan and Percy had been friends before his heel-turn, that flips his betrayal of Kronos upside down. It becomes him putting his personal loyalty to Percy over the world his mother and Kronos promised him. In this way, not only does Percy see himself and his flaws reflected in Ethan, he is also rewarded for choosing Ethan (and by extension his friends and family) over the idea of the 'greater good' that the gods keep feeding him.

[waywardxwords]

Chapter 1 - Rules Were Meant for Breaking (Taking Chances)

Summary: You meet a mysterious man on your flight. When a long travel day turns even longer, you find yourself breaking all of your personal rules as you get to know the stranger.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (no real romance happens in this one, though I am actually considering making this into a series so there may be more to come!)

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: Slight language

A/N: This was meant to be Day 13 of the #flufftober (@flufftober) challenge. I had to travel for work this week, so it's late. Oops! The prompt was: Wrong (...). I hope you enjoy!

This day had felt like it would never end, but you knew it had only really started as you planned to head into the office for a handful of meetings. You boarded your flight from Atlanta, Georgia to Salina, Kansas. Flying Southwest, you had landed an aisle seat as you ensured you checked-in exactly twenty-four hours beforehand. 

A tall, built man eyed the aisle seat on the row next to you. He lifted his duffel bag to the overhead luggage bin and plopped his backpack on the floor under the seat in front of him. You could tell he wasn’t a frequent flier, as he sat and quickly buckled his seat belt. You smiled to yourself, but popped your earpods in your ears and listened to the audiobook start to play. 

Out of your peripheral vision, you eyed the man carefully. You’d be lying to yourself if you thought he wasn’t attractive. But you knew better than that. The career you had started years ago had become something important to you, and while the work was hard and the days were long—you were proud of your accomplishments and independence. There wasn’t any room for an attractive man in your life. But you couldn’t argue with the fact that he was nice to look at. 

The plane took off without incident, but you couldn’t help but notice how the passenger to your right gripped his arm rests as you moved through the bumps one would during take off. 

Everything changed, though, as you approached Kansas City. The ding of the intercom system throughout the plane sounded over the words of your audiobook, and you reached up to pause your earbud. 

“Good afternoon, folks, this is your captain speaking,” the man’s voice sounded. “Unfortunately we have some inclement weather in Salina and we’ve been told by the Air Traffic Controller that we can’t land right now. We are going into a holding pattern. I’ll update you as soon as I know more.”

There were a few grumbles and groans amongst the passengers, but this wasn’t anything too new for you. The man in the aisle seat next to you caught your attention. 

“Great,” he groaned and closed his eyes. You were drawn to the way his jaw muscle tightened as he clenched his teeth. 

“I hate when they have us go into a holding pattern,” you offered him a sympathetic smile. His green eyes popped open as he looked back at you. 

“Is this a thing? Does this happen a lot?” His questions confirmed your earlier suspicions–he wasn’t used to flying.

You shrugged with a small nod. “Eh, sometimes. I’ve noticed it happens a lot in Kansas with the tornadoes and all,” you explained. “Usually we’ll circle for a bit and then get the clearance to land.”

He nodded as he processed your words. “Here’s hopin’ that clearance comes ASAP. I just wanna get off this damn plane.” You nodded in agreement. As you circled, you closed your eyes a bit, in hopes that you’d soon start to feel the plane begin to descend and the landing gear move into place.

But that didn’t happen. After forty-five minutes, the ding sounded from the intercom once more.

“What now?” The man grumbled as you peeled your ears to listen over the hum of the engines.

“Sorry folks, we are being told that we are not going to be able to land for the foreseeable future. We have decided to head back to Atlanta where we will re-fuel and get a new crew assigned. We will have to wait to hear from ATC on when we can return to Salina.” The groans and grumbles from everyone aboard the flight were audible now. You closed your eyes in annoyance, but when you opened them, you felt bad for the man next to you. He seemed visibly upset as he ran his palms against his jean-clad thighs. He leaned forward a bit to try to catch a glimpse out of the window down his row, and his left foot bobbed up and down as he tapped it against the floor of the plane.

You leaned towards him across the aisle a bit. “Sorry, I know that’s probably not what you wanted to hear.”

His head turned back towards you. “Yeah,” he breathed. While he still seemed nervous, you could tell he was trying to hide it. “This ever happen to you before?”

“Once,” you nodded. “The airline took good care of us, though. Usually, they offer up free booze as a consolation prize.” You said with a smile.

His eyebrows raised as he processed what you had said. “Hm, now that’s something I could get on board with.” You chuckled softly with a nod.

You put your hand out and offered him your name.

“Dean,” he smiled back at you and took your palm. His hands were as large as they looked, and you felt like his grip almost swallowed yours. 

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” you managed to practically squeak out and hoped he hadn’t heard how unsure of yourself you were over the roar of the engines. 

Over the course of the two hours it took to get back to Atlanta, you and Dean busied yourselves with conversation—you learned he had a younger brother and the two of them had taken on the family business (though you weren’t really certain what the family business was, exactly. Dean hadn’t gone into great detail, but something about extermination?). The brothers lived in Kansas, born and raised–but they traveled a lot by car. He shared that he would rather spend twenty-four hours driving than get on a plane, but he had an urgent matter to attend to in Atlanta and driving just wasn’t an option. He didn’t speak about his parents, and you chose not to pry. But he was funny, and quick-witted. Two things that only added to his physical attraction. 

“Flight attendants, prepare for landing,” the pilot’s voice spoke over the intercom once more. 

You were glad that Dean seemed a little more relaxed during landing, given the circumstances. But you also wondered if he had put up a mask for your sake, to not seem nervous or afraid. 

Once the plane touched down and taxied to the gate you had departed almost six hours prior, the flight attendant came over the intercom. “Alright folks, we know it’s going to be at least an hour before we can give you additional updates. You’re free to get off of the aircraft, but please stay in the terminal. We will call you back to the gate once we know more over the PA system.” 

Passengers started to stand and gather any personal items they wanted to take with them. Your eyes traveled to Dean, and you realized he was watching you. 

“Wanna grab some food and a drink?” He asked, almost cautiously. 

No harm in that, the thought rang through your brain. “Sure,” you nodded, with the simpler answer. Dean held out his hand in a gesture for you to lead the way. 

As you exited the aircraft onto the jet bridge that led the way from the plane to the gate, Dean struck up conversation again. “You know this airport better than me. Any ideas on where we could go?” 

“Hmm,” you hummed as you processed what was in this terminal. “Atlanta doesn’t have a lot, but I know there’s a Longhorn Steakhouse in this terminal.” You suggested. A quick glance to his face confirmed that it sounded good to him. 

“Steak and beer? My kinda place,” he smiled. His smile sent a shiver down your spine. While you held tight to the fact that dating wasn’t in the cards for you–especially with some stranger from Kansas who you would have otherwise never met–you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy that you would get to spend a little more time with the handsome, mysterious passenger from your flight.

“Let’s do it,” you grinned as you walked dangerously close. For every stride he took, you felt like you had to take two in order to keep up. 

It was a short walk to the restaurant, and thankfully there weren’t a ton of people, so you were able to find a quiet table towards the back. It was a small half-booth, so you and Dean sat on the same bench with a table top just in front of you.

“Welcome to Longhorn,” the waitress beamed as she placed two drink napkins down in front of you both. “My name’s Casey, can I start y’all off with any drinks or an appetizer?” She asked as she produced a notepad from her front apron.

“I’ll have a glass of cabernet and water,” you smiled at her as you looked over the menu. “No appetizers for me.”

“Coors for me, if you have it,” Dean’s eyes wandered the menu. Casey nodded. “No apps for me, we’ll just take a minute to look over the menu.”

“Sure thing, I’ll get those drinks right over,” Casey headed back for the bar.

You didn’t realize you were staring at him until Dean’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyelids fluttered slightly as he read over the menu. The lighting in the steakhouse was dim, but the hanging pendant over the table cast a yellowish glow across his features. You hadn’t noticed his freckles before, but swore you could have counted them under the glow.

“So,” Dean’s gruff voice interrupted your thoughts and you hurriedly looked away in an attempt to not get caught staring. “What are you getting? The porterhouse is calling my name.” 

“Oh, uh, you already decided?” How long was I staring? Your thoughts ran together as you quickly tried to look over the menu.

“Steak is easy, sweetheart,” he chuckled softly as he glanced back down at the menu. He almost cut himself off as he realized sweetheart had just rolled off of his tongue. It almost looked like he wanted  to apologize for it, or take it back–but when he saw you hadn’t flinched, he let it hang in the air. You surprised yourself by liking it…

“Hmm,” you murmured as your eyes grazed the menu. “Probably the sirloin, with loaded mashed potatoes and a mixed green salad.” You said with certainty as you closed your menu and placed it at the end of the table.

“Alright, I see you with the loaded mashed potatoes, but you can keep your rabbit food,” he put his menu on top of yours.

A laugh rumbled in your chest. “Okay, food connoisseur,” you rolled your eyes. You surprised yourself again when you gave his shoulder a playful shove. “What are your two sides?”

“Loaded mashed potatoes,” he agreed with you with a firm nod. “And the steakhouse mac and cheese.” 

“Two carbs, love it,” you teased slightly with a wink. 

“Listen, carbs have never done me wrong,” Dean teased back. “The way I see it, life is short. Eat the damn potatoes.” 

“I feel like that should be on a bumper sticker,” you mused as Casey returned with your drinks. 

“Y’all ready to order?” She asked with a smile. 

You started your order as you had relayed to Dean, but paused when it came time for your second side. You hesitated for a moment before you glanced at him. His eyebrows were raised, as if he were egging you on. 

“Ah, screw it,” you mumbled. “Loaded potatoes and the mac and cheese, please.” 

“Atta girl,” Dean seemed pleased. For the first time in a very long time, you had gone against the grain. You had always followed a subset of rules for yourself—as silly as it may sound, that even applied to food. Protein, carb, vegetable. Always. But something was different; Dean was different. 

After Dean ordered, Casey headed back to send your selections off to the kitchen. 

“I’ve never done that before,” you almost sounded giddy, but you couldn’t help it. 

Dean seemed perplexed. “…ordered food?” He asked, unsure of what you meant. 

“No!” You laughed as you took a sip of your water. “Ordered two carbs? I know it probably sounds so stupid…” you nibbled at the inside of your lip as you tried to process what you were trying to say. “I’ve always just had these rules for myself.” You took a breath as you tried to think of an example. “Okay, like: wait thirty minutes after you eat before you swim. Or don’t have sex on the first date.” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them. But they had already landed and Dean choked on the water he had just sipped from his glass. 

“Jesus,” he laughed. 

“Sorry, that was awkward,” you felt the heat rise in your cheeks. “The point is…I’ve just always followed rules. They’re ingrained in me, I guess.”

“Darlin’,” Dean started slowly. “In my world, rules have always been meant to be broken.” 

You weren’t sure what he intended with that statement, but it made your breath hitch in your throat. Against your better judgment (or rules, rather), you raised your glass of wine towards him. 

“I’ll drink to that,” you said softly. His eyes held your gaze carefully in his before he reached for his beer and clinked it against yours. 

“To breaking the rules,” he said gently. 

“To breaking the rules,” you repeated before you both took a sip. 

“Okay, okay,” you laughed at something your newfound friend had said in this silly game you had created as you ate your meals. “Would you rather…be stuck in a ring with a pissed off bull, or travel by plane?”

“Seriously?” He managed a smile. “I can’t believe you haven’t figured this out yet, but sweetheart, it’s always gonna be anything but traveling by plane.”

“Burning building or plane?” You contemplated exasperatedly. 

“Light my ass on fire, still not the plane,” he took another swig of his second beer. 

“Jesus,” you mumbled. “You really don’t like flying, huh?” As if on cue, you heard the call for the passengers on your plane to return to the gate. You had already settled the bill, but you each pulled out cash for the tip.

“Guess I gotta face my fears at some point,” Dean grumbled as you headed out of the restaurant. 

“Aw, it’s okay,” you felt more comfortable giving him a little grief as you patronized. “I can hold your hand if you’d like.” You winked. 

He stared back at you with a confident smile etched across his lips. “That a promise, darlin’?” 

Your brain told you it was wrong, but your body chose to ignore it as you managed a nod. Dean smiled. 

As you approached the gate agent, you heard bits and pieces of conversations that didn’t sound too promising. Once you and Dean were next in line, the agent offered a sympathetic smile. 

“Unfortunately, we aren’t going to be able to get you to Salina tonight. We have an extra flight added first thing tomorrow morning, and Southwest will put you in a hotel near the airport for tonight. You can go ahead and show your boarding pass to retrieve your bags. Did either of you have anything checked?” She asked. You and Dean both shook your heads ‘no’. “Great, here are your hotel vouchers. There’s a shuttle that runs from the airport. And I’ll reprint your boarding passes for the flight out tomorrow.”

“Looks like we live another day,” Dean joked as you walked the jet bridge once more to get your carry-on bags. You rolled your eyes, but smiled. 

“My boss is gonna be so pissed,” you mumbled. “I had a huge presentation today and so much work I had promised to get done. I have a personal rule that I don’t break work promises. Ever.” 

“Look at you, little rule breaker,” Dean playfully nudged your shoulder. His words caused you to smile once more. 

“You’re rubbing off on me,” you teased back. 

Once you had gathered the items you had left on the plane, you and Dean headed back into the terminal and towards the shuttle pick up. 

You typed out a note to your boss, keeping him in the loop of your travel plan changes. Then there were a few emails, and you forwarded your presentation material to your colleague who would need to cover on your behalf. In no time, you were on the shuttle headed to the hotel. 

Dean seemed much more relaxed, but also seemed to be lost in thought a bit. “You okay?” You asked as you finally glanced up from the iPhone in your hands. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” he answered quickly. He eyed you for a moment just as the shuttle pulled up to the hotel. “Uh, you wanna hang out? We could watch a movie or grab some drinks at the bar?” You couldn’t quite place it, but he seemed nervous to ask. 

“Dean…” you started slowly. “I just think…” your words failed you as you tried to explain—your priorities were a lot different than other women your age. 

“Hey, I get it,” he shook his head. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it, alright?”

“It’s just the wrong place—” he cut you off before you could finish. 

“Wrong place, wrong time,” he smiled kindly at you. “I understand, and it’s okay.” He shrugged the strap to his duffel bag over his shoulder. “It was really nice meeting you, sweetheart. Truly. Thanks for keeping my brain busy so I didn’t worry about flying.” He smirked. 

He started to walk towards the reception desk inside the lobby. You stood for a moment and bit at the inside of your lip again. Just as before, your brain told you to stop before you could process it. 

“Dean, wait!” You called after him. Your feet carried you quickly in his direction as he began to turn around. “Rules were meant for breaking, right?” You breathed as you saw the glimmer in his eyes. He smiled with a nod. 

“Alright, then,” he beamed as he held his hand out for you to walk in first. “What’ll it be, bar or a movie? Pick your poison.” 

The heat rose in your cheeks as you pushed out every fear that had ever consumed you of following some plan or holding tight to some stupid rule. “Who said we have to choose? Why not both?” 

He chuckled. “Atta girl.” 

The feelings that bubbled in your chest left you feeling breathless, and you felt excited for the first time in a very long time.

Read Chapter 2 - Nothing to Lose Here!

Thank you so much for reading! So, while my travel experience this week wasn't this bad, I did end up having to return to my original destination due to weather and spent 15+ hours traveling on Thursday when it should have only taken me ~6ish. Lol. Not thrilled. Unfortunately, Dean Winchester wasn't on my flight, BUT that experience inspired this story!

I really love the dynamic between Dean and the reader in this one, and I feel like the story isn't finished. Possibly more to come? Let me know if you'd like to see more from these two!

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[nblemons]

Tell us about your idea!!

AWAAAGHHG ok so. This is a Somewhat Rough Concept and the characters have no name atm but it goes something like (this ended up way longer than i meant for it to be oops):

The protagonist is a witch, from a famous family known for their very powerful sea magic. In this world, witches come of age around age 14 with a very important ceremony where they get to summon a familiar, with which they will form a very strong bond that helps them focus their magic and control it more easily. This ceremony is also the first step of the Big Important Journey all witches must go on to learn new magic and find their place in the world.

Our witch (whom ill just call Witch for now) is unfortunately a very anxious type and struggles a lot with harnessing her magic. She's unfortunately already failed her summoning ceremony a few times, which means that shes Very Late!! to her magic journey. And coming from such a prestigious family only puts more pressure on her, which messes with the already very weak control she has over her magic.

A few days before the newest attempt at her familiar ceremony, she meets a seagull who claims to be a human who was turned into a bird by a vengeful sea spirit and, having realized that she's a witch, begs for her help in breaking the curse. Witch, tender hearted as she is, wants to help! But, as she explains, curse breaking is advanced magic she can't study yet, as she doesn't have a familiar and is thus not allowed access to the parts of her family's library that would contain information about it.

After Witch finishes explaining her struggles with the ceremony as well, Seagull (placeholder name too)offers a solution: to simply fake a successful summoning, giving the witch access to the information needed to help Seagull, who would in turn help her find a real familiar later on. Witch accepts despite her worries because she's desperate to get this ceremony thing over with and also is kind of a doormat and easily convinced.

Alas, the day of the ceremony Something goes wrong and leads to them being well and truly bonded as master and familiar, with magic so strong and ancient it's generally believed to be impossible to break! And, to Witch's surprise, it turns out that Seagull is not, in fact, a human who was cursed, but rather a sea wind spirit who pissed off a much much stronger spirit and got herself stuck in bird form with no magic.

Seagull is incredibly pissed to be stuck with this doormat of a witch, because her plan was to get into the library, find information on how to break the curse and then ditch the idiot. And instead, here they are, stuck together. But! there is a silver lining: they figure out that through the link, Seagull can use Witch as a sort of battery pack and get access to a fraction of her powers.

They scour the massive library Witch's family owns, and find little to no information about how to break either the curse or the familiar bond, with just a few hints about some Myserious witch who was banished for figuring out how to break their own bond. With that being their only clue, our duo decides to embark on the previously mentioned Big Journey and look for more information.

And so start the adventures of the world's most cringefail sea witch and her mean bossy seagull familiar!

I picture this as like. a cute little adventure game where you have a boat and go from island to island, learning new magic, helping people, and looking for clues about both this banished witch and how to break Seagull's curse. ^_^ Possibly w some bonus uncovering a bigger quest surrounding the myserious witch, who knows. Im not great at coming up w this kind of stuff hsnfnfj

Like i said IDK that it'll ever get anywhere because, as previously mentioned, i'm awful at keeping to projects and also have Absolutely No Knowledge of how video games get made. But it's fun to think about! Daydreaming about cute little pixel sprites for my sillies....

Also here's my current drafts for the sea witch design (still subject to change):

i have a few design notes on her but i need to go to bed rn HDBFNFH

[a-forest-in-her-bones]

On Vax’ildan and the Raven Queen

I’ve seen some takes on the Raven Queen lately and I wanted to add my 2 cents, specifically when it comes to Vax and his situation. A lot of people have talked about how Vax being the Raven Queen’s Champion is unfair. Let’s unpack that. (This ended up way longer than I expected, oops! Hopefully it’s coherent)

(SPOILERS for those who haven’t finished Campaign 1 or have only watched TLOVM)

Vex dies in the Sunken Tomb. There was a trap, Percy accidentally triggered it, Vex died. Kashaw starts the ritual to bring her back, and when it’s Vax’s turn to make an appeal or an offering, he angrily tells the Raven Queen to take him instead. I think that Vax expected to die in this moment, if it meant Vex would live, he’s willing to pay that price. Matt has Liam roll a persuasion check for this part of the ritual, and he doesn’t roll very high, maybe an 11 if I remember right. But it seems to be enough. The ritual succeeds, Vex is alive, and so is Vax. The Raven Queen does not take his life in trade for his sister’s. 

Later, when Vax has decided to wear the armor (at the insistence of his friends, he had initially told Vex that she could wear it), we see him start to learn more about the Raven Queen and her principles. He had already shown interest in divinity before this, learning about Saranrae from Pike and even choosing to wear an emblem of the Everlight when Vox Machina fought the Briarwoods in Whitestone. Those interests seem to find a focus after the Sunken Tomb. We see him take it upon himself to honor the dead in Westruun, unprompted. When he bursts out of Umbrasyl’s side, Liam says that Vax emerges as a Paladin of the Raven Queen. As he falls he prays, “if you have any wings to lend me, now is the time” and that prayer is answered in the form of Grog polymorphed as a giant eagle. 

As Vax continues on this path, and even speaks to the Raven Queen in her temple, we see her ask if he is willing to accept the position of Champion, and he says yes. He continues to serve her, and spends time in the temple built in Whitestone. In game terms he takes more levels in Paladin, uncoerced. We as the audience learn more about her, how she is a representation of the natural order of life and death. She is not evil, she is not kindly, but, as she says in The Legend of Vox Machina, “we must safeguard that beautiful moment when the soul transitions to a new purpose.” Death is scary, of course it is, and so is the Raven Queen, but she is not vindictive or greedy, she does not speed along the deaths of mortals. She stands at the gate, and ensures that souls pass through safely. We see she is sad, lonely, and perhaps a bit selfish in her wish for Vax to be her companion. She is an oddity among the gods, having once been mortal, and what is more symptomatic of mortality than loneliness, than longing for connection? She is imperfect, and complex.

When Vax dies during the fight with the Kraken, she does not cling to him or prevent him from returning when his friends bring him back. The magic used is benevolent, born of love, and there is a body for Vax to return to, and perhaps she sees that his work is not yet done on Exandria. Vax lives, and the Raven Queen does not take his sister’s life as trade.

But then there is the first confrontation with Vecna. Both Vex and Vax die in this fight, but Vex has a body to return to, and she is quickly revived. But Vax’s physical body has been turned to ash. Vax is dead, and his friends can’t bring him back this time. He is in the Raven Queen’s hands, and she has every right to keep him. She tells him that he has earned his eternal rest. But he refuses. He wants to help his friends face this evil, he tells the Raven Queen what they’re facing, a lich who seeks to become a god, a defiance against the Raven Queen. She sees that he is determined to protect the ones he loves, endlessly dedicated, and she approaches him without her mask. Vax sees her loneliness, she expresses her desire for company. Terms are set, and she allows him to return to see this through. Vax still does not have a mortal body. When he returns he is not alive, he is a revenant, cold to the touch, heartbeat very slow. When he is “killed” in this state his form once again crumbles to ash, but the Raven Queen allows him to return until his task is finished. He knows that his time is limited. He knows that if he and his friends, his chosen family, defeat Vecna, he has to leave. Vax knows this, and he continues anyway. He comforts Vex and Keyleth, he seems to have accepted the fate laid out before him, even if they haven’t. He is already dead, and that’s Vecna’s fault. Now he has more time to say goodbye, and that’s the Raven Queen’s gift. 

When Vecna is sealed and his family is safe, the Raven Queen arrives to take him away. He says his goodbyes, gives Vox Machina a smile, and leaves this life with the Raven Queen, to serve as her Champion. It feels unfair. In many ways it is. Having experienced this myself I know that it feels painful and terrifying to be left behind when someone you love dies. But that does not make death itself evil, or selfish, or cruel, it just is. 

Vax is now divine as the Raven Queen’s Champion. He has Become a being that will last forever. He shepherds souls to the eternal rest he rejected. He sends ravens to Keyleth, to remind her he loves her, and that’s just as forever as he is. 

He appears on Exandria to save her life, and is captured by Ludinus Daleth. Used, tortured, though I doubt he regrets his decision. Vax has shown time and time again in his life and death that he is always willing to sacrifice for the people he loves. The Raven Queen mourns behind the Divine Gate, unable to help her beloved, selfless, beautiful Champion in this time of great pain. Every temple to the Raven Queen in all her worldwide iterations mourns with her. She does what she can. She sends a vision to people who could help him. Shows her Champion’s suffering, her own wordless plea for help, for someone to come to his aid. And perhaps they will. She hopes they will.

I hope they will too! Vax is having a bad time right now. Bell’s Hells, save my raven boy! I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t think that Vax resents the Raven Queen for how things turned out. I’m sure Vex and Keyleth and others of Vox Machina do, but they are the living left behind, it’s to be expected. Vax made the choices that led him to his role as the Raven Queen’s Champion. Obviously along the way, some of his choices were limited, or he felt that they were, but that was ultimately the hand Fate had dealt him. And I’m sure Vax wanted to live, to grow old and be there to see his family grow. But that was taken from him when Vecna killed him. Not when he chose to be the Raven Queen’s Champion.   

[fakesurprise]

Generating Jaysome

Being the wandering magician has benefits. Doors open for me, the universe bends in ways that are to my benefit at least some of the time. The price of that is being the wandering magician: being pulled to places and events where something wrong has happened than needs to be fixed. When it is something from Outside that has come into the universe, that generally makes sense. The solutions are not always easy, but they are generally possible.

Mostly I just end up in small towns and help fix small problems. A ward here, a gentle push to fix something there. If I do it right, no one even knows I was in a town at all.

Except I don’t travel alone, which complicates matters as I am fixing a drainage pipe. It wants to be fixed, so shifting the earth and metal is easy enough. Will. Need. Desire. It takes time, but it’s not hard to do. Almost relaxing, and it’s late enough that the town is quiet. Even the gas station closes at six in the evening, which must confuse anyone travelling through using a map and expecting a quick short cut and gas.

For all I know that’s why the town does it. There are a lot of questions I try not to ask people, not only because people tend to respond when I do.

The air doesn’t change beside me, but Jay is there between one moment and the next.

The water flows faster through the pipe without Jay even doing anything. When you’re eleven and from far Outside the universe, a lot of things simply happen. At least half of what Charlie and I do is trying to manage that, though most of the time Jay isn’t aware of that.

“Honcho?” he says, looking worried.

I give the pipe a final push into place a bit sooner than I would have liked and turn. “Kiddo.”

Tonight Jay is wearing a fur coat that is only growling slightly, with rubber boots and a bright orange pair of sweatpants. About this, I definitely have no questions at all since I would certainly get answers.

“Something is wrong?”

He nods. “Charlie says nothing is wrong but! sometimes she things likes of things aren’t wrong when they are you know!”

“Ah. Yes. The latest discussion on boredom.”

“Why would anyone want to be bored?” Jay demands. “That’s totally trying to avoid adventures and Charlie says that was okay!”

“Jay. Is this about that again?” I press.

He blinks. “Oh! No. It’s about something else.”

I wait. Innocence stares up at me. “.... what else?”

“Tumblr is being weirdy and a Jay isn’t getting enough likes on posts and Charlie says I shouldn’t do bindings and I mayyyybe kind of did!”

“What kind?”

“I found out about generative AI,” Jay says proudly.

I have no idea what that is. But a few terrible options spring to mind.

“It’s generating jaysome.”

“Well, it’s trying to but then it kept getting errors and I told Charlie the internet was having a small oops but she said that just happens sometimes and didn’t know that jaysome never gets oopses so something is really wrong I bet.”

Jay hands me his phone. It is too-warm to the touch, and whimpers a little.

I reach out with my senses. What I touch isn’t magic, but that’s only because it doesn’t understand what is is.

A vast, ever-changing shape that isn’t a shape. Not even a being, and there is something terrible at the core of it, a wrongness Jay didn’t notice because there are many things beyond his understanding of the world. Theft on this level is that, very much. I sense muses torn apart until they aren’t even muses. Ideas being bound into forms that were never meant to. Truth being bent beyond the telling, and Jay is trying to get this force to make something it cannot.

There is alteration, but no creation. And it tries, and tries and tries.

I find pressure, and break it like the drainage pipe, only this one shatters into the rest of the entity. The phone cools. Something is no longer on the internet, at least for a short time.

Overhead, thunder rumbles.

People will wake up tomorrow morning with very strange dreams, I think.

“I fixed your phone, but I don’t think you should do that again.”

Jay puts his phone away without checking it, which says a lot about how worried he really was.

“You can force things to happen if you want, kiddo, but it’s always dangerous. Force doesn’t work the way magic does, and you can force a lot of things without ever knowing it. We don’t need a big oops, especially not over small things?”

“Tumblr isn’t small at all, Honcho!”

“I know that. But a post missing some likes breaking the internet is a bit drastic?”

“Oh! I didn’t mean to break anything at all. I should explain that,” and he vanishes.

I wait.

I begin walking back to the hotel. I have many questions for Charlie, and I am worried about the answers she might have.

But I am more worried about what might happen if Jay gets worried like that again.

[redhairedwolfwitch]

Sacrifices in Avoidance of Heartbreak - Leila Ouahabi x Reader

A/n: so i wanted to post a Leila fic on Leila's birthday but I ran out of time so it's a belated post... oops.

///

Leaving Barcelona wasn’t something you wanted to do, but you felt like you had to. Your teammates and friends, including your best friend were under the assumption that your contract was ending and you could not get a renewal organised with Barcelona. So you left after Barcelona won the Champions League, following Vicky to Manchester, but instead of going to City, you went to United. A choice that confused everyone, but Ona was happy to have you, the defender eventually finding out the real reason that you left Barcelona one night when you were missing Spain a little too much.

You’d only spent a few seasons at the Spanish club, but you fell in love with Barcelona, and your best friend at that club. But she would never love you back, and hearing about Leila being with someone else was enough for it to feel like your heart was being ripped out of your chest. So, you left, to avoid that heartbreak.

The problem is, avoidance behaviours do not solve the issues going on. The dwindling contact with your former teammates was concerning, and whilst they could see you were okay from your social media and WSL games, you missed Leila, your Barcelona teammates and Spain. The Mancunian weather was a lot to adjust to, and you drove to preserve your Spanish skills, plus it entertained Ona with conversations in Spanish that confused the rest of the team, minus Ivana.

United ended up fourth in the WSL in your first season, and whilst Ona spent her off-season heading back to Spain, your avoidance kicked in, determined to avoid the heartbreak you were still feeling a year later.

It was ridiculous, and you knew it, but you couldn’t handle seeing Leila and knowing you would never be good enough for her to look at you as more than a friend. Your self-sabotage having most likely wrecked the friendships you had with your Barcelona teammates.

“It is always weird when players leave.” Patri reminisced, reflecting on how many players were leaving Barcelona this summer, Leila included.

“They always have a reason, but they will always mean something to us. Contracts or not.” Alexia tried to comfort her teammates, but the group were slowly losing the happiness that the Spanish sun gave them earlier, sunbathing forgotten as Ona made a noise, her eyes closed but also hidden by sunglasses as she spoke.

“Not everyone leaves because of contracts. Y/n came to United to escape heartbreak.” 

“Heartbreak? Who broke their heart?” Mapi frowned, sitting up and exchanging looks with Leila, who had no idea of what Ona was talking about.

“Hmm, Y/n was in love with Leila, I think they still are, but left instead of telling her…” Ona trailed off as she opened her eyes, realising Leila was staring at the ground, playing with her fingers.

“Ona…” Alexia murmured, wondering whether Ona even meant to disclose this information, but it was too late.

“Wait, you guys did not know?”

“Do they know Leila is going to Manchester City?” 

Leila did not hear the response however, her mind drifting to the last few times she had seen you before you left Barcelona.

You’d been drifting away for a little while, being less touchy and affectionate, leaving rooms early and talking less when teaming up with Leila during practice. 

There had always been something that had bothered the defender though, the way you held onto her longer than you held onto anyone else during your goodbye hugs, how your tears seemed to be caused by a deeper reason than leaving Barcelona, especially after something Leila had heard you say before.

You adored Spain, and would not leave unless you had no other choice, even admitting you’d love to settle somewhere there one day, after football. So to find out that you left the place you were in love with, because you fell in love with her, and she was just finding out now? It had been a year, and Ona admitted you were still in love with her?

“What was Y/n like?” Ingrid enquired to Mapi, having been silent for a majority of what was said, since she had never really met you, with the season Ingrid arrived being after you left during the summer.

“The sweetest person…” Leila murmured, getting out her phone to do who knows what, halfway between pressing your contact and calling you when an instagram notification caught her eye. A photo of you offering the camera a peony wasn’t something she expected, but the caption made her smile nonetheless.

‘roses are cliche, so i bought peonies’

“The sweetest?” Ingrid smiled, a knowing look on her face that left Mapi confused, but Leila was busy commenting an emoji on your instagram post.

“Sweet, unselfish, prefers to assist rather than score.”

“That was with Barcelona. With United, they score.” Ona countered Alexia’s point, leaving the midfielder to raise an eyebrow.

Leila’s focus drifted again as she opened her messages, finding her last message to you had been left on read, until the familiar speech bubble appeared. The Spaniard watched as one message finally came through.

‘Te echo de menos.’

You missed Leila. That was all she needed to know as a plan formed in her head for when she left to move to Manchester for the next two seasons.

///

You didn’t mean to hit send on that message, telling Leila you missed her. No doubt she would want to catch up when she arrived in Manchester now. Was that so bad, you asked yourself.

However, there was a slight issue, your still existent feelings for the Spanish defender, feelings that only a chosen few knew about because you were scared and insecure. Scared you’d be judged for leaving a top club because you fell in love, but insecure because you thought that you were not good enough for Leila.

Choosing to ignore your phone for the time being, you began to arrange the peonies you had bought, locating a vase and a spoonful of sugar to help the peonies last longer.

///

Your avoidance meant that after the euros, you didn’t hang out with your teammates outside of the training facility during pre-season. You wouldn’t admit it, not to Ona, not to anyone, but you were afraid Leila would be there. Seeing her again, after all this time… your feelings weren’t gone, your heart ached for her but she had no reason to love you back.

What you were doing wasn’t healthy, but you also uprooted your life from where you were happy in Spain and moved everything to England, and now Leila is here in Manchester too, reminding you of that pain in your chest every time you think of her.

You sacrificed your happiness to try to heal from heartbreak, or avoid it, but you sacrificed your happiness and broke your own heart leaving Leila and Spain behind. 

You thought you had ruined everything as you fiddled with the paper straw in your cup, staring through the cloudy plastic lid to watch the ice cubes swirl around in your drink. An elbow in your side left you grimacing, about to elbow Millie back when she gestured to the scoreboard. You were next up to bowl.

Getting up to select the bowling ball you needed, you went to bowl, grinning and throwing your arms in the air when the ball didn’t go into the gutters and actually hit the pins.

You could hear laughter from your United teammates but you didn’t care, until you realised it wasn’t just your United teammates at the bowling alley. Your face fell, and you could feel how the goosebumps ran over your skin, stomach churning and heart fluttering. Some of Manchester City had joined, at the bowling lane next to where you and your United teammates were located.

Ona approached you, holding her bowling ball to bowl next but she paused, spotting the look on your face, and realising who you were looking at. She was yet to spot you, but Leila was in your close proximity for the first time in months.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well. Could you bring my stuff to the toilets please? I’m going to go there then head home.” You explained, barely getting a concerned nod from the Spaniard before you were hurrying to the toilets, not realising that your speed walking caught another Spaniard’s attention.

Staring into the mirror in the toilets after exiting the cubicle, you grimaced as you realised you were sweating, your heart rate not calming down even after splashing water on your face and trying to focus on your breathing.

“I have your things.” Ona announced as she walked into the toilets, holding out your bag to you after you dried your hands with the hand dryer.

“Gracias, Ona. I will see you tomorrow, hopefully…” you swallowed nervously, fiddling with your keys in your hand as you headed towards the door, opening it only to freeze.

Leila smiled softly, but her face fell as you all but scurried away and out of the bowling alley in general, disappearing into the car park and out of sight.

“They hate me.” 

“They love you, but think you would not love them.” Ona replied, sending you a text asking for you to tell her when you were home safely, before taking Leila back to the bowling lanes, explaining that you had felt unwell and gone home, so someone else would take over your turns to bowl.

///

It kept Leila up at night, the look on your face, the pain in your eyes that you didn’t realise she could see. Pain and tears. She found out from Ona that you got home safely, and it was only through persuasion and reminding Ona that she was the reason Leila knew of your feelings that Ona gave her your address, but warned her that if things went south, she would leave you alone.

Leila knew your schedule from when the two of you were at Barcelona, she knew how you functioned before and after training, and before and after games. After anything, you’d shower, make food then fall asleep watching something either in bed or on your couch unless you’d been invited out, in which you’d shower, eat out somewhere or eat before heading out, and crash in your bed after.

Life got busy for a few days, but once Leila had the chance, and she knew you were home, she decided to take the chance and go talk to you. Maybe it was invasive, going to your home after getting the address from Ona, you’d probably kill the young Spaniard but you and Ona had almost a sibling relationship after all this time. You’d get your own back at Ona somehow.

It took longer than expected to find where you lived, tempted to call someone for help since google maps’ directions weren’t the most helpful, but eventually Leila’s hand hovered over the door before spotting the doorbell. A doorbell that she wasn’t sure worked, until the door opened, revealing you wearing an apron over your pyjamas.

You froze the moment the doorbell rang, putting down the wooden spoon and turning down the hob before hurrying over to the door, forgetting to look out the window to check who it was.

“Leila! What, what are you doing here?” Your voice shook slightly, hand tightening on the door handle as the temptation to slam the door in your crush’s face crept into your mind, but you didn’t do it. Instead you let Leila in, leaving her in the hallway as you hurried back to the kitchen to stop your dinner from sticking to the pan.

“Why are you here, Leila?” Your voice thick with sadness, Leila hesitated as she stood at the counter next to you, observing you stirring what she assumed was what you were making for your dinner.

You didn’t hear what Leila said at first, turning your head as she repeated it, but you just hummed, you missed talking in Spanish. You spoke in Spanish to Ona a lot, but the rest of your teammates usually looked confused after.

“We need to talk about what? It’s been months, I don’t see how we have much to talk about-” the wooden spoon fell from your hand into the pot, your fingers clinging to Leila’s zip up hoodie as she pulled you into a hug. She didn’t hold onto you tightly, expecting you to push her away, but your body betrayed you as you leaned into Leila, your face buried in her shoulder as you moved your arms to hug her back.

Only pulling away when your timer went off, signifying that your dinner was done, you couldn’t look Leila in the eye. Your focus stayed with your dinner and trying to get it served whilst still warm, and not make a mess in the process.

“I know why you left Barcelona.”

You hummed, gently tilting the pot to pour your dinner into the bowl you had out, hoping not to spill it but Leila’s lack of subtlety took you by surprise.

“You left because you are in love with me.”

Leila’s eyes widened at the clattering noise of the pot hitting the rim of the bowl, hurrying forwards to help you before you split your dinner on the counter.

“Who, who told you that?” Your lack of denial left Leila’s eyes softening, deciding to try not to get Ona in even more trouble by saying it was the younger Spaniard that told Leila and the others during the off-season.

Shaking her head, Leila sighed, “you left without telling me, you thought I did not love you back?”

Staring at the steam rising from the bowl of food, you let out a sigh in return of Leila’s sigh.

“Sí.”

Leila looked up from where she had been looking at the floor, realising what you had said, what you had finally admitted after leaving Spain so many months ago without really talking to Leila again.

“Idiota.”

“Excuse me?” Raising an eyebrow, you turned to the Spanish defender.

“Idiota.”

“Why am I an idiot? For sacrificing my love of Spain to protect myself against the heartbreak of falling in love with my best friend and her not feeling the same way.” You deadpanned, about to fold your arms but Leila reached out, her hands on your hips.

“Because she feels the same way, idiota.”

“She, you, you what?” You spluttered but Leila shook her head, pulling you towards her so you were within almost kissing distance.

“Te amo, idiota.”

“Yo también te amo, Leila.” Biting your lip, your gaze rested on Leila’s lips, returning to her eyes as she smirked, leaning forwards so her lips met yours, your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself. Dinner going cold and forgotten on the counter.

/// hopefully some accurate translations ///

Te echo de menos - i miss you

Gracias - thank you

Sí - yes

Idiota - idiot

Te amo - i love you

Yo también te amo - i love you too

[our-aroace-experience]

I’m aroallo (aromantic bisexual, to be specific), which, strictly speaking, is using the split attraction model, but weirdly, I don’t really consider my attraction to be “split” in any way. When I was questioning being aro, I felt quite unsure about my aromanticism because I was so sure of my bisexuality. I felt worried that identifying as aro would alienate me from the bi community, and disconnected from the idea that attraction could be neatly and clearly divided into categories such as “romantic” and “sexual” — I personally felt that the distinction was much more nebulous and was reluctant to label myself in such a way that implied I could easily fit my own feelings into those categories.

Looking back, I definitely did a lot of overthinking! But what made me finally feel comfortable accepting that I was aro was, (perhaps surprisingly since I’m not aroace), the aroace flag! I remember reading somewhere that the use of orange and blue on the flag, rather than purple and green, represented that some people viewed their aroace-ness as a singular, unified identity, rather than two separate ones. It kind of clicked with me then that I felt the same way about my own identity. Obviously “aromantic” and “bisexual” have quite different meanings, but they both accurately describe the same part of myself, rather than being two different ones. It’s part of why I like the aroallo flag so much (other than its fantastic colours), because it unifies my identity in a similar way, and that was really important to me when I first started using the label.

To be honest, I’ve gotten over these feelings a bit. I had a few misconceptions about the SAM when I was questioning (as is probably apparent) and I don’t have a visceral “no!” reaction anymore when considering that it applies to me. As I settled into my identity again, I realised that, to be honest, I had gotten overly worked up about this. During the tumultuous experience of questioning, the intricacies of identity and my own personal hang ups felt like a very big deal, but now it all seems pretty inconsequential. It’s nice to regain that confidence in myself. But, food for thought, I guess. I still don’t consider my romantic and sexual orientations to be any different from each other even though that might seem contradictory to some. Aro identity isn’t always as clear-cut as it’s made out to be!

(This ended up being way longer than I meant for it to be! Oops.)

thank you for sharing, i’m so happy to hear you’ve found confidence in your identity. the only person it has to make sense to is you, that’s always the most important, and it seems like you’ve gotten there!

[aemondtargaryensfire]

A Ravenous Desire- Aemond x fem!Reader

Chapter One, Part II

Series Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, cannibalism, self-cannibalism, descriptions of cannibalism and murder, mentions of incest, violence, blood, gore, death of a pet, death of major characters, self-harm, descriptions of illness, mentions of a head injury

Chapter Summary: Aemond always knew there was something wrong with him; something different. After a traumatizing event as a child, Aemond is led down a path of utter self-destruction, ultimately forcing him to run away from his home and everything he knows. A recounting of Aemond's life and childhood, and how he ended up on his own.

Word Count: 16.2k 👀

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! This chapter is a big boy. I knew this part would likely be longer than the first part from Reader's POV, but I meant for this to stay at about 8k words. Oops! I don't anticipate future chapters being this long, but I had a lot that I wanted to include and accomplish in this part and Aemond is so fun to write for.

Chapter One, Part II

Aemond had lived most of his life feeling as if he was a specter, an invisible spirit that lurked within the halls of his familial home. He couldn’t connect with people, even his family, no matter how hard he tried. He felt wrong. Like he had a missing or malfunctioning part. This was endlessly baffling to him, and as much as he tried to fight against this part of himself, in the end he grew to accept this peculiarity. He had little choice in the matter.  

In his early years, when he still longed for connection and he still made attempts at interacting with others, Aemond would often find himself crying in his mother’s arms, his words muffled as he pressed his face into her chest and his tears stained her blouse. He cried to her of his desire to have friends, of how tired he was to be himself. Her attempts to calm him with her soft shushes and assurances did little to quell his aching heart.  

“Everyone feels like this sometimes, my love.”  

It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying, in the beginning. When Aemond started school, he went into it with the enthusiasm only a young child unaware of the harsh nature of life could. His family, with the exception of his mother and sometimes Helaena, never really seemed to like him, merely tolerating him. His older brother, Aegon, could be downright cruel with his snide comments and Aemond had hardly gotten to know Daeron before he was whisked away to Old Town. He rarely saw his half-sister or his nephews, who were young enough to feel more like cousins, but it always felt like there was an innate sense of resentment underlying each interaction and neither party was pleased to be in the other’s presence. His father was an entirely different matter; one that confused him enough to result in even more tears that often left him feeling nauseous. But surely, Aemond reasoned, he would be able to find someone in one of his classes that he could bond with. Someone who enjoyed looking through history books, trying to piece together their meaning with the few words they collectively knew at their young age. Perhaps they could help him solve them, like a puzzle! Or maybe they could explore the woods surrounding his house, climbing trees and looking for rocks or bugs for Helaena. He would have someone to play sword fights with, and Aegon wouldn’t be able to push him away and claim that he needed to play by himself because he was too small to play with him; that he needed to “properly toughen up” on his own.  

This enthusiasm began to die almost as soon as he walked into the classroom on his first day, seeing that everyone had seemed to have become friends already. That would certainly make it harder for him. Still, he persevered and approached more than one group in a desperate attempt to make friends. One little boy, who had light hair that almost looked like his, was carrying a backpack with a keychain that had a little dog on it, the tail wagging with his every excited movement. Aemond thought this was cool, and so he walked up to him and told him as much. 

“Your keychain looks like a real dog ‘cept I know real dogs are not p-purple. You have a dog? My mommy said we could get one someday, but I dunno if...” 

Aemond looked down at his shoes as he spoke, tapping his toes together and rambling on until he noticed how quiet the boy had become. He looked back up with a shy smile on his face, hoping that the boy was maybe waiting so that he could respond. But the rejection was clear on his face, and even if Aemond hadn’t explicitly recognized it as such, he knew. He knew by how wide the little boy’s eyes were, how his eyebrows were furrowed, as if wondering just what he was looking at. A hapless bystander looking at the strange creature before him.  

On another day, he saw a little girl looking through the books stacked on the classroom bookshelf by herself. Aemond knew a lot about books, he thought, so he went up to her and offered to help her find one. He pointed to several different books, trying as hard as he could to sound out their titles and figure out what they were about, so he could help her find the book she wanted.  

“Hey this one looks good! Wh-where the...will..Wild!”, he grinned victoriously, “...Things...Are! Where the Wild Things Are!” He held it out to the girl, but she had already found the book she was looking for and she was walking away before he could even get her name or tell her his. This pattern continued through his entire first year, and then in the next, and the next, until he finally just...stopped trying. No matter what he did, his peers continued to turn away from him and refuse his many offers of friendship, and so he decided to just give up. Aemond never understood why the others shunned him so; why people would often keep their distance from him, watching him like he was a ticking time bomb. He felt as if he must have been something truly strange or dangerous with how his classmates looked at him sometimes. 

He knew why now. He could understand their trepidation, in hindsight. 

With every passing year, Aemond grew to have a preference for silence and solitude. The mysteries of sentences and words and the pieces of history he studied fell together as he sat, on his own, surrounded by his books in the sizeable family library. When he walked through the woods, he walked alone, not looking for anything in particular but still feeling as if he was searching, endlessly searching for something. Sometimes one of his family’s loyal security guards, Criston Cole, would offer to play with him and teach him how to swordfight with the little wooden swords in the shed. But Aemond never felt like he was truly learning anything, and he couldn’t understand why he was too small to play with Aegon, but he not too small to play with Criston, who was an adult and a lot bigger than both him and Aegon. It seemed as if everywhere he looked, Aemond was faced with constant reminders of the rejection he experienced at every turn.  

He could sense his mother’s exhaustion with having to comfort him almost every day after school, but he knew she would never say anything. So, he decided to just keep these feelings to himself. He felt it selfish to take up so much of her time. And despite Helaena’s astute observations and hunches that something was wrong, as she’d often stare at him with her big eyes before smiling at him and muttering something cryptic, it was difficult to truly connect with her. She spoke in riddles more often than not. There was little comfort to be found from her or anyone else.  

And so Aemond resorted to other options to express the pain he couldn’t ignore. As a child, he developed a tendency to harm himself, particularly in those moments where the loneliness became suffocating and it hurt to breathe. Most often, Aemond would find himself pulling roughly at his scalp, pulling his hands away with clumps of his fine light hair tangled in between his shaking fingers. Scratching was another habit he picked up as he grew older, sometimes unnoticed by even him until he went to shower and found the raw and bloody scratches on his legs. It was comforting, in its own way.  

For so long, Aemond only had himself. He had his books, and a never-ending collection of more to be discovered. He always held onto the hope that, one day, things would be different. He would make do until then, as hard as it was.  

Then he found Vhagar. He had been outside, walking around in the woods surrounding his home and kicking at rocks and sticks, muttering under his breath and trying with all his might not to cry after another day of school, another failed attempt at befriending someone and an encounter that reminded him of how unexplainably repellant he was. He had been so hopeful this time. He found he preferred being ignored over the hurtful comments he received on occasion. Scratch...scratch...scratch. He couldn’t keep crying all the time, over kids who didn’t matter. Stupid, mean, loud kids... 

He barely noticed her at first, his eyes downturned and blurry with unshed tears. He could hear footsteps approaching him, and then a gentle nudging at his right hand, his scratching hand. His first instinct was to step back, fearing she was wild and trying to eat him. At his closer inspection, she didn’t look wild. Her fur wasn’t matted as he would expect the fur of a wild mutt to be, and she didn’t bare her teeth at him viciously. Aemond figured she must have been a stray then, or simply sent straight to him by some higher being as she looked up at him with her deep and loving eyes, soothing something in his soul. The tears in his eyes vanished, and when he knelt down to pet her, she tackled him and began licking his face, pulling a genuine laugh out of him that warmed his chest. She didn’t care about who he was, what strange quirks he had, or what family he came from. She just wanted him.  

From that day on, Aemond went hardly anywhere without his beloved Vhagar. Not even his father forbidding him from allowing her in the dining room would stop them. He’d simply eat outside or in the kitchen, with her. She would follow him through the house and, most often, into the library, earning herself a bed and a permanent spot by one of his favorite desks. School was tricky at first. Having such a large dog like her always following him around would have surely been frowned upon in a school meant for “proper” children from affluent families. Once he convinced his mother to let him walk with her to school every day, so long as he woke up earlier and dressed for the weather, he was lucky enough to find her a spot by the window of his classroom. He could often hear her panting just outside, and when his teacher wasn’t looking, he would sneak over to the window to wave to her. Who needed stupid kids when you have your dog outside, watching over you?  

(Alicent hadn’t taken much convincing; she would have used every ounce of social or political power she had to keep her son and his scruffy dog together, truthfully. To hear her child laughing and talking joyfully through the house or through the open windows was the greatest gift a mother could receive.) 

Before Vhagar, Aemond felt he had spent most of his life watching the people around him find their person or their thing that touched them and made them feel whole. Even at such a young age, he would watch and observe others, attempting to draw conclusions from his observations that could provide him with the answer he so longed for: what did he need to do, to have the same thing? With Vhagar, he knew that his prayers had been answered as he now had his thing that made him feel whole, a soul that spoke to his own. If there truly were gods that watched him from beyond, they had listened to him and deemed him worthy of such a thing. Loneliness had been his constant companion for most of his life, until now. Now Vhagar was his companion, and he didn’t need anyone or anything else. Things were perfect, for a brief time.  

That was, until his half-sister and her children gathered with the rest of the family after the death of a distant relative. Aemond had hardly met Laena before her death during childbirth, and so he found it hard to feel as sad as he felt he was expected to. After he noticed his cousins, Baela and Rhaena, he could tell that they were sad after the loss of their mother and unborn sibling. Aemond couldn’t imagine losing his own mother, his rock, and even the thought of such a thing brought tears to his eyes. After the funeral service and ceremony, he set out to try and comfort the girls, to offer them support after their tragedy as he approached them with a small, sympathetic smile. Unfortunately for him, the girls weren’t alone and his nephew, Jacaerys, was already there glaring daggers at him.  

The animosity between Aemond and his siblings and the other half of the Targaryen family had been present for as long as he could remember, due to old grudges between their parents and arguments surrounding topics of succession and inheritance. Topics that, at the time, Aemond couldn’t be bothered to truly care about. However, his mother had always made it clear to him, from the moment that he could talk and lend a listening ear, that the presence of Rhaenyra and her children posed a threat to his family. Though he didn’t fully understand why when he was younger. It appeared that a similar sentiment had been shared with his nephews. With one look, Jacaerys managed to convey his anger and distrust towards Aemond and effectively turn his cousins against him. He never even had a chance. 

After that, Aemond gave up on reaching out to his extended family as he used to, choosing to stick by Helaena and his mother or wander off on his own with Vhagar for the remainder of the day. The day of the service had initially begun as sunny, with bright blue skies and crisp clean air. It was a setting unsuitable for the grim affair and the events that would soon follow. The official reception had recently ended and with the rest of the guests gone, the family decided to gather back at the Targaryen home. The tension was palpable as the adults sat around on the backyard patio, decked out in their dark dress clothes and teetering on unspoken tension with their drinks in hand. The children were left with nothing to do but sit and look for ways to entertain themselves as the adults exchanged short and biting comments beyond their understanding. Rhaenyra and her brood had only been there two days, and already three arguments had broken out between her and Aemond’s mother and grandfather, regarding the family legacy, inheritance, blah, blah, blah. None of that mattered to Aemond. The whole situation exhausted him, and he couldn’t wait for them to pack up and go back to Dragonstone.  

A lull in the awkward conversation had led Rhaenyra to get up and walk around the property to “get some air”, which Aemond found funny since she was already outside. It was as he was stifling a chuckle and scratching behind Vhagar’s ears that he noticed his elusive uncle, Daemon, walking not far behind her. Daemon always wore too much cologne, and he would often stand around quietly, observing the people around him with a smug look on his face. And he looked at Aemond as if he were an ant to be squashed. The man creeped Aemond out, especially when he would stare at him while speaking in hushed tones with his father. Even as he wondered why Daemon was following Rhaenyra, Aemond was relieved to be finally free of his watchful presence. The atmosphere was still tense, but thankfully less so and he felt like he could finally take a deep breath without Daemon around.  

Aemond couldn’t remember who first proposed that they play a game. It may have been Aegon or Jacaerys, or maybe it was a unanimous decision made simultaneously by the present children to end their boredom. As the adults busied themselves with their casual conversation full of thinly veiled insults, the children jumped up and began to play games of tag and catch with things found around the yard. Aemond continued to sit and watch, alongside Helaena, but he couldn’t deny that watching the other kids play with each other filled him with an excited energy. This must have been contagious, as Vhagar sat up and she started to pant excitedly as she watched along with him. It felt as if all of the family tension had melted away, the kids shaking off years of distance with each game and laughing together as if nothing had ever pushed them apart. Then one of his other nephews, Lucerys, turned his attention to Aemond and Vhagar, and he jumped up and down and proposed a game of fetch, luring Vhagar over to him.  

Vhagar was old, and far too big and worn out to be engaging in games with energetic children. But the environment had spurned something within her and she was eager to play with the young kids, chasing them around. Aemond, happy as he was to see his beloved dog so spirited, couldn’t help but stand and watch with his arms crossed in indignation and barely contained jealousy. Little Lucerys was exuberant, and he grabbed a stick off of the ground and shook it in front of Vhagar’s face, calling her over to him before he took off running. And thus began the chase. Giggling as he went, Lucerys carried the stick with him and ran through the woods surrounding the house. Soon enough almost all of the kids had joined in as they made their way through the trees, running behind Vhagar and unknowingly closer and closer to the edge. All but Helaena, who remained sitting beside her mother with her bottom lip between her teeth, unable to focus on anything besides the dark clouds gathering in the sky and the unsettling pit in her stomach.  

Aemond was furious by this point. They were all having fun with his dog, and yet they’d always turned away from any opportunity to play with him. That was his dog, they had no right to play with her. She would definitely be sore from running too much and then all she would want to do is sleep for the next week instead of spending time with him. Aemond ran quickly to catch up, not able to hear Helaena’s quiet calling for him past the sounds of his thumping feet and the wind as it picked up and rushed past him.  

It happened very quickly. Lucerys got tired from his running, and he threw the stick for Vhagar to catch it, unintentionally throwing it past the edge of the forest and into the previously concealed road. Aemond ran past the rest of the kids and broke through the trees, watching as his dog ran into the road, mouth open with her joyful pants as she went to retrieve the stick. He bent down to coax her back to him, holding his arms out to her and breathing a sigh of relief that her attention was on him again. And then he watched as she was crushed by a passing semi-truck, moving too quickly to even think about stopping in time.  

Aemond watched as the one shining light in his life was quickly snuffed out. The image of her crushed body was burned in his eyes. The sounds of the collision and the screeching brakes of the truck played on repeat in his ears to a deafening degree. The other kids caught up quickly, and their simultaneous screams and sobs drew the adults to the scene. Aemond simply remained in the same position with his arms still held out, frozen. Maybe if Alicent or one of the other adults had gotten there sooner, things would have ended differently. But she didn’t. No one did. Aemond didn’t want to look at his dog’s body as it lay on the road anymore, but he couldn’t move his eyes. He couldn’t move his neck to look away. All at once, the all-consuming emptiness and loneliness he had felt for most of his life returned, falling over him like a thick and suffocating blanket.  

Hot tears burned in his eyes, and he could feel them as they started moving down his cheeks, the salty droplets falling into his mouth, agape in horror. His chest was tight, so tight he felt himself wheezing, and his eyes blurred with his tears and the bloody image of his deceased friend. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and being squeezed in a vice all at once. She was gone, forever. He would never see her again, never play with her again. He was going to be alone again. There was nothing left. Nothing, nothing, nothing...The feelings were so crushing and overwhelming, and Aemond didn’t know what to do with himself or what to do with his hands as they shook before him. Aemond suddenly began scratching at his face, pulling at his hair and struggling to catch his breath. He couldn’t see it anymore, he couldn’t, the sight was too much for him... 

His scratching hands moved up to cover his eyes almost instinctually and his hands grasped around them for only a moment, shielding them from the sight before him. The relief was so short lived but significant that Aemond’s fingers moved of their own volition, pushing in and then grasping around the spherical shape of his left eye, digging in deeper and deeper until he could grab it firmly and pull—yank it until the pain finally pulled his gaze away from Vhagar’s body. Something animalistic and angry urged him to continue to push through the pain, pulling harder and harder until the eye was out of the socket and then giving one final tug to break it free from the nerves and muscles that once held it in place.  

Aemond’s screaming drew his mother to him, and she nearly collapsed at the sight before her. Her son, ever the quiet and sensitive child, was pulling his own eye from his head. She could feel the depth of her child’s screams in her own throat, in her own chest, so full of pain and devastation. She ran to him quickly, collapsing to kneel at his side and grabbing his hands to try and urge him to let go of his eye. But she had arrived too late, and the eye had already been torn so violently from its socket, the small thing nestled in her son’s tiny and shaking hand.  

“Aemond, my love, what have you done!”  

Alicent held onto him, shushing him as she had always done and rocking him in her arms. She held onto his other hand tightly as he kept trying to move it back up, towards his right eye this time. He meant to finish the job and remove his other eye, Alicent realized in horror. Aemond’s shrill screaming never ceased, and the piercing wails hurt her ears.  

His screaming hurt his own ears. But at least he wasn’t looking at Vhagar anymore. 

“Please, stop, stop, stop...” Alicent begged, shutting her own eyes and continuing to rock him as soothingly as she could, remembering all of the times that she had rocked him to comfort over the years. As a baby, after his first day of school, when he would trip and fall or hit his head. She feared that no amount of rocking could soothe what had been done this time. She feared it with every bone in her body as her rocking picked up in pace and tears fell down her cheeks.  

The rest of the family had caught up quickly, led to the site by the screams, save for Viserys who was still struggling with making his way through the trees with his cane and Rhaenyra and Daemon, who could be heard running through the trees from another direction. Helaena let out a scream as she broke through the tree line and then moved to cover her ears with her hands, muttering to herself quietly and shutting her eyes so tightly it must have hurt. “Can’t go back...ruined, ruined, ruined! What has been lost--” 

Alicent turned to Rhaenyra’s children at the rest of the family’s arrival, rage distorting her features as she shielded her son with her body and yelled in a futile attempt to be heard over his screams. “What happened! I demand to know what happened at once!” 

Rhaenyra’s face was one of horror as she finally caught up, followed by Daemon, and she knelt by her sons, quickly moving to Lucerys’s side with her hands brushing his dark curls from his sobbing face, “Luke, what happened? My sweet boy, what happened?” 

“W-we were—we were just playing...and I threw the stick...” a hiccup through tears, “and she ran out into the road— I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to mother I promise!” 

Jaceaerys nodded in affirmation, holding onto his younger brother’s shoulders. “We didn’t know we were so close to the road!” 

Viserys finally caught up, eyes only on Rhaenyra and her children and tactfully avoiding looking at his own son as he screamed in agony. “You shouldn’t have been anywhere near the road! You’re lucky no one got hurt!” 

“I didn’t know!” 

“It wasn’t his fault!” 

Baela and Rhaena held onto each other, nodding their heads along and echoing the boys’ explanations.  

“We didn’t know, we promise!” 

“Really, mother, it was an accident”, Aegon spoke up, his eyes darting from Alicent’s face to what he could see of Aemond.  

“We were just playing!” 

“It was just a game!” 

“Enough!”  

Overlapping voices were abruptly brought to an end by a devastated mother as she turned to Rhaenyra, “My son has lost his dog—his eye because you couldn’t watch your beast of a child!” 

“Alicent!” Viserys finally chose to look at his wife and son, but only to reprimand them and without an inkling of comfort or concern to spare. 

Rhaenyra stepped forward, shielding her own sons and baring her teeth in motherly rage towards Alicent, “Excuse me--” 

At the mention of Aemond’s eye, there was a simultaneous pause among the family as their attention was torn from Vhagar and the feud between Rhaenyra and Alicent. With Alicent shielding him, many of them had assumed Aemond’s crying to be solely from the devastation of losing his dog. They hadn’t seen the more gruesome truth.  

“His eye? What?” Rhaenyra finally moved forward enough to see the bloody scene, gasping at the sight, “Luke had nothing to do with any--” 

“The sight of it has driven him to madness!” 

“I don’t understand how this could happen, how could he have done this to himself?” Rhaenyra stuttered out, her eyes conveying her confusion. 

“Have you any idea what that dog meant to him!” Alicent roared, the crushing reality of what her son had lost setting in.  

Daemon’s voice broke through the chatter, calm and collected, as he stared down at Aemond. “They were playing, no one could have known it would end like this.” 

“Someone should have been watching them!” Viserys repeated, banging his cane on the ground for emphasis and looking around at the group, as if looking for someone to blame.  

“Do you expect these children to be under constant surveillance, then? Games of tag or fetch rarely result in bloodshed.” 

Daemon spoke up again, moving to stand in between Rhaenyra and Alicent and taking on an expression of nonchalance, seeming completely unphased by the situation as he continued.  

“This was a terrible accident, plain and simple. No one is responsible for the loss of the boy’s eye except for him.” 

Alicent could only gasp and stare at Daemon as she heard the words leaving his mouth, continuing to stroke Aemond’s hair and rock him gently. Alicent struggled to get out her next words as she looked around at her family, all of whom appeared to be agreeing with him.  

“But, the--” she shook her head in indignation, “this never would have happened if they had just left him alone!” They all thought her son mad. And she was sure she saw them looking at him with only pity, or even disgust. Alicent was desperate. Viserys hobbled up beside her, lowering his voice only slightly as he addressed her.  

“He needs help, Alicent.” 

By this point the pain had dulled into a sharp throbbing, and Aemond had finally stopped screaming, his throat raw. His own sobs continued to tear through him, but rather than be interested in the family quarrel, he found himself enraptured by something else. His own eye, nestled in the palm of his hand. 

The smell of it was what hit him first; the smell of the blood. He noticed the shape and feeling of it next, round and wet. Slimy. It reminded him of when he would eat grapes, peeling the delicate skins off of them with his teeth and then biting into the flesh— 

“Aemond, please we must get you to the hospital!” 

Alicent’s exclamations barely broke through his musings and the ringing in his ears as he continued looking at his eye. Aemond’s sobs lowered in volume as he remained frozen in his spot, looking at his lost eye with his remaining one. He wasn’t filled with disgust, or regret, or fear, or any of the other more logical feelings a boy who had just torn his own eye out should have been feeling. He was fascinated.  

Criston Cole came up suddenly and scooped Aemond up into his arms, Alicent rising with him and still holding onto his hand. Somehow, he ended up in the backseat of a car, lying down with his hands cradled to his chest, his mother and Criston in front, whispering harshly. At some point it had started raining, the light tapping of rain drops on the roof of the car making it somewhat harder for Aemond to pick up on their conversation.  

“You’ve no idea how bad it was before...” she glanced back at him, assuming he was unconscious, knocked out from the sheer pain and trauma of what he had just experienced. Alicent began crying, moving to hold her face in her blood-stained hands. “I’m going to lose my son again...he’s never going to be the same...” 

Tears bubbled up in Aemond’s eyes again as he listened to her. Or, more accurately, tears bubbled up in his eye. He only had one now, he reminded himself. Even as he listened to his mother sob, all Aemond could do was continue to stare down into his hand. The smell of his own blood was stuck in his nostrils, and he began to move the eye around in his left hand, rolling it around like a marble. It was so small, he thought. A buzzing began in his ears, and the tightness in his chest was ever present. Aemond slowly lifted the eye up to his nose, smelling the strong metallic smell of the blood and rather than react with disgust, he found that he just wanted more of it. More, more, more... The thought was so quick it’s still unclear to him how he decided to do what he did next. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, as he popped his own eyeball into his mouth. The taste was unlike anything he’d ever had before, sending adrenaline coursing through his veins and igniting a warmth in his chest, not unlike the one he had always experienced with Vhagar by his side. And the texture, though it initially had him reeling back, grew to be comforting as he continued to chew. It was still a part of him, after all. He was merely returning it, albeit in a different location than where it had resided before.  

The buzzing in his ears subsided, and his chest felt looser. Pain was still etched in his veins and on his skin, but with every chew he found himself a little bit calmer, his mind a little bit clearer. The rest of the day was a blur of scans and exams, doctors and nurses flitting in and out of his hospital room, with his mother holding onto his hand in every moment she could. Aemond was rushed into surgery when he was first brought in, in an attempt to save the optic nerve and to ensure that infection wouldn’t set in. It was quickly determined that the eye couldn’t have been attached, even if he hadn’t eaten it. The trauma to the socket and nerves was too great. The doctor gave a grim shake of her head when Alicent asked as she grabbed his hands and searched for the eye before he was put under for surgery. When she came up short, she stared at him for a moment and then shook her head as she kissed him on the forehead, possibly attributing the missing eye to him dropping it on the way to the car.  

Aemond did remember the hospital psychiatrist commending him for not crying as he lay in the hospital bed, the stitches on his eyelid fresh and already beginning to itch. “You’re very brave. You must be a very tough little boy.” He noticed the pity in her gaze before he chose to look down again at his clenching hands, picking at the dried blood crusted beneath his fingernails. The psychiatrist had been called over when it was discovered that the missing eye was the result of self-injury, and she tried numerous times to convince Alicent to allow them to admit him for the night for evaluation. Alicent adamantly refused them, insisting that Aemond would be better off at home, surrounded by people who loved him and that he had merely been upset at the loss of his dog. There was nothing more to it, and she was insulted at the insinuation.  

His mother was given information on local counselors, as well as physical therapists and support groups to assist him in the...adjustment. He would need to learn how to write and read with only one eye, and his other motor functions would be harder now, too. A lot of things would be harder now. Appointments were made for physical and psychological checkups, as well as fittings for a prosthetic eye in several months. By the time they returned home well into the night, Aemond felt numb and all he wanted to do was go to bed. He wasn’t entirely surprised that no one had waited up for him, not even his father. He had no welcoming party, no comforting hugs or well wishes. It had never been clearer to him than in that moment that he really only had his mother, as she helped him get ready for bed and she sat in the chair beside his bed all night, her warm hand holding onto his. In the following weeks she made sure that he took his antibiotics and pain medications, that he ate and got out of bed for more than a few minutes at a time. On more than one occasion, Aemond awoke in the middle of the night in pain, crying out for Vhagar and searching for her in the dark, his hands finding only the indented spot on his mattress in which she used to sleep beside him. His mother’s comforting embrace and her heavy-handedness with the pain medication sent him back to sleep relatively quickly, to his relief. 

Whereas the time before Vhagar had been vivid, the years remembered clearly as being a time of isolation and loneliness and each one a sharp and piercing reminder of his deficits, the next several years were mostly forgettable, a stretch of time in which he simply existed. No number of therapists or self-help books, provided to him by his mother, could help him. 

When he was younger, the loneliness Aemond experienced caused him a great amount of pain. He spent an endless amount of time analyzing himself, trying to figure out what was wrong with him and what he could do to fix himself. After he lost his eye, and he was further ostracized from his family and his peers, the loneliness grew into a kind of emptiness instead. An emptiness, that he learned, could only be filled or quelled by one thing. It started to make sense to him why people looked at him in fear; his appearance finally matched up to the unseen thing they’d always run away from.   

Aemond continued to think about the taste of his eye, the way he had felt after eating it, and the lingering curiosity gnawed at him. The sense of calm he’d felt and the brief comfort were hard to forget.

Aemond continued to harm himself. In the year following the loss of his eye, it wasn’t hard for him to find ways to illicit pain. He’d scratch at the stitches holding his eyelids together or rub his hand against them, pressing on the small round piece of plastic that had been placed in the socket until it was sore. He had to be more creative once the stitches were removed and a prosthetic eye was placed in the socket. He quickly returned to his familiar habits of scratching and hair pulling.  

But there was a difference now. Every time he scratched hard enough to draw blood, the smell pulled him back, and he’d find himself licking at his scratches, tasting the blood on his tongue. Soon enough the motivation changed, and his scratching moved from being one of habit to being a source of comfort and a reminder of what he had experienced in the backseat of that car. He found a way to comfort himself and he didn’t need anyone’s help in doing so. He would often chew at his fingers, pulling off small pieces of the skin surrounding his nails and holding them in his mouth, savoring the taste of his blood and the pleasant sting left behind. Though initially comforting, the relief he felt at these actions was short-lived, and nothing in comparison to how he had felt eating his eye or how he would feel once he progressed even further.  

It was after a particularly difficult day that these behaviors progressed to a level that changed everything, and perhaps set into motion the path towards his inevitable doom. After the incident with Vhagar and his eye, Alicent had used her influence as the wife of Viserys Targaryen to allow Aemond to complete most of his schoolwork from home with private tutors, away from the eyes of others. After a few years, she put her foot down, forcing Aemond to go back due to her concerns that he rarely left the house. She told him that he needed to be around others his own age, and that his self-isolation was causing more harm than good. He was a teenager, he needed to be out doing the things that teenagers did. Aemond had hardly enough energy to argue with her on the matter, and he felt he owed it to the one person who had stuck beside him to at least try.  

School had always been hard for him, but returning after his injury was a new challenge. The reactions of his classmates to his prosthetic eye, which was a dark sapphire blue color in contrast to his natural violet, and the overall drastic change in his appearance resulted in a particularly strong reaction. That was the first time that Aemond felt the desire to harm others, to rip the cruel smiles off of their faces; it would not be the last. Aemond stormed home, walking the same route that he and Vhagar used to take, heading straight for his bedroom and ignoring his mother’s concerned calls as he fought back tears. He jumped onto his bed, face down, punching the mattress and trying not to scream or cry. He moved then to bite on his own arm to keep from screaming, his teeth clamping down through his sleeve until he tasted blood, and he knew that he had punctured his skin. Even so, he kept going, the blood filling his mouth and he grabbed his sleeve and pulled it up quickly, clamping back down on his arm and groaning in satisfaction at the sensation and taste. It was a unique sensation. The combination of sharp pain and the blooming warmth in his chest was exhilarating and he wanted to keep going, keep biting, keep eating. 

Fortunately, for Aemond, he didn’t get much farther than the initial bite and the consumption of a small section of skin before he was interrupted by Helaena’s fist banging on his closed door. She uncharacteristically yelled out for him, first asking if he was okay before stuttering out a question, asking him if he could help her with something outside. Aemond snapped out of it, grabbing the bleeding wound on his arm and yelling out at her to leave him alone, jumping up from his bed and moving to his bathroom. The reflection in the mirror, of his face red and covered in his own blood, shocked him, and he could no longer deny that there was something truly and fundamentally wrong with him. This thought process was aided by his desire to do it again, and the realization that he had broken past some invisible barrier and was closer to feeling just as he did when he was ten, and therefore just as he did when he was with Vhagar.  

Aemond began wearing an eyepatch the very next day in the hopes that this would keep others from staring at him, with mixed results. He still received stares, of course, and the endless cacophony of whispers still followed him through the building. But he convinced himself that the reactions of his peers were less mocking than they had been previously, and more intimidated or even fearful. He didn't mind too much after a couple of weeks had passed and his classmates grew bored, seemingly content with leaving him alone as he wished.

In the halls of his school, Aemond did his best to blend in and simply get through each day. He was certainly no honor student, either, the subjects that the school taught rarely piquing his interest. But independently, Aemond was a student, of philosophy, of history. There was no problem or question that didn’t have an answer hiding somewhere among all of those books in his family’s library. He knew there was something different about him, and as he wrapped bandages around his arm that day, he decided to find out what that was. Aemond began to view his differences as less of a deficit and more of something he finally had to himself. The last time he had something like that was with Vhagar. Aemond’s affliction and newfound desires became somewhat of a new hobby, and the central focus of his life for years.  

The library in the Targaryen family home was vast, rivaling some university libraries. Aemond eagerly moved from shelf to shelf, poring through each of them in search of an answer. He read book after book on predatory animals, as well as fiction books about vampires and beasts and monsters that hid in the shadows of the darkness. Mental notes were made when he found a similarity or something else in common with the monsters: he also had a strong sense of smell, a keen sense of hearing, and he had always been quick to anger or tears, often imagining himself hurting those who had wronged him. Years were spent in search of a book that would hold the answer to Aemond’s affliction, without any luck. It appeared to him that he had made his way through most of the family library, and he still had no answers. 

He decided, in an act of desperation, to approach his father on the matter. He had no plans to share anything with him, especially about himself, but he figured that if anyone knew about the Targaryen family history, it would be his father. In the last years of his life Viserys spent much of his time in his study, attending to his political duties and hiding away from his family, or passed out in his chair under the influence of his many painkillers. Before his illnesses crept in and kept him in a near constant state of exhaustion, he would often eat dinner with the rest of the family or even tell the children stories. He was an enthusiastic historian when it came to talking about the Targaryens, and sometimes it seemed he told these stories more for himself than for their entertainment or benefit.

Aemond had heard the stories of Aegon and his sisters Visenya and Rhaenys, of their conquest and their founding of King’s Landing. He remembered the legends about the dragons and the sheer grandiosity of Old Valyria. However, Aemond had always gotten the sense that his father was hiding something when he told his stories. He would get excited, his speech speeding up, and then he would catch himself and shake his head, insisting that it was late and that the children were to head to bed soon. With the emergence of Aemond’s new desires and his endless searching, he found his curiosity sufficiently piqued at the memories of these stories, even more than it always had been, and he ached to learn more.  

On the night that Aemond approached him, Viserys was drowsy and barely conscious in his work chair after a day of meetings and paperwork. He hadn’t sat for supper with the rest of the family, and Aemond had scarcely seen him for more than a moment in almost two days. Aemond knocked on the large door, light and hesitant to begin with and then harder and harder until his father’s voice could be heard on the other side, sounding more than irritated at the intrusion. “Yes?” 

Aemond entered the room hesitantly, his eye raking over the room until it landed on his father, sitting by the fireplace with a pile of papers in his lap.  

“Father?” He resented how small his voice sounded.  

Viserys turned slowly, leaning forward in his chair only slightly and moving his head to the side until he noticed Aemond.  

“Oh, Aemond. What is it?” 

He fell back in his chair with a huff, turning to face the fire again. 

Aemond felt awkward and unwelcome in the crowded space. He sat uncomfortably on a couch near Viserys’s chair, careful not to disturb the various piles of books or files on the other half of the seat. When Aemond hadn’t started talking, too preoccupied with orienting himself in the room and trying to figure out how to broach the subject, Viserys turned to look at him again with an eyebrow arched. Aemond noticed his eye flit briefly to the artificial eye nestled in his left socket before he quickly turned back to the fire. He could have sworn he saw disgust in his eyes, and he found himself regretting not putting on his eyepatch before he came in. Despite the lump in his throat, he pushed on.  

“I was wondering if you could tell me more about...our family history. Old Valyria?” 

Viserys cocked his head to the side and adjusted himself slightly while setting his papers down by the side of the chair, his eyes studying Aemond as a small smile creeped up on one side of his mouth.  

“Well, there’s much to know. We could spend days talking about my family history.” 

Aemond flinched. His family history. Not theirs. Not Aemond’s.  

“Hmm.” He looked down at his lap, wringing his hands together anxiously. “I know, father. But I was wondering if you could tell me another story, like you used to. About Old Valyria? Do you know what the--” 

Viserys let out a deep breath, shaking his head and raking his hand over his face and effectively cutting Aemond off. “Not today.” He moved to stand, shakily, grabbing for his cane that had been resting against the chair. “Some other time, perhaps.”  

Aemond resolved to find something out; anything. He refused to let his father dismiss him so quickly, standing from the couch and stepping back in his father’s line of sight.  

“Do you know what the Targaryens did before they left Old Valyria? Did they do anything strange, or different?” 

Shock and irritation were evident on his face as Viserys surveyed Aemond, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked on at Aemond, for much longer than he ever had, his eyes boring endlessly into Aemond’s eye before running over the rest of his face. His tongue poked into his cheek, and he sighed before he responded. 

“The Valyrians, the Targaryens, were a vastly different people from the ones we know today. What they did, and what we know of it, is simply beyond our comprehension. It’s best to just leave it at that.” 

Aemond could only continue staring at his father’s face as he fought to understand his words. What did he mean by that? He shook his head, looking down at the ground and picking at the raw skin around his fingernails.  

“Why do you ask?” 

It may have merely been Aemond’s paranoia and unease ruling his mind, but the tone of his voice suggested that Viserys wasn’t truly asking, as much as he was trying to get a confession. Aemond feared that he knew about him, that he knew everything that he had ever done and everything that he wanted to do. He had to leave before he could figure it out. Aemond had never been very good at hiding his true feelings. He continued to stare down at the ground, avoiding his father’s eyes and feigning nonchalance. He fought at the urge to run away. 

“N-nothing. I was just curious.”  

Aemond couldn’t tell if his father was looking at him, his eye glued to the ground, running over the intricate patterns of the rug. He wanted, desperately, to flee from the room and this conversation. But his own damned respect for his father warned him to stay put until he was properly dismissed.  

“It’s been a long day, Aemond.”  

“I’m sorry. Thank you, father."

As Viserys began heading for his bathroom to ready himself for bed, Aemond nodded one last time before he turned to leave, with even more questions than he had to begin with.  

Feeling dejected, Aemond made his way to the door as quickly as he could without running, until a small pile of books on the top of one of Viserys’ bookshelves caught his eye. They were old, and dusty, but the spines held no title. Something told him to grab them for himself. For all he knew, they could be old journals or recipe books, and the exact opposite of what he needed or what could ever interest him. Still, he knew he couldn’t leave without them. With one last glance in his father’s direction to ensure he wasn’t looking, Aemond stood on his tip toes and grabbed the books, stacking them in his arms before exiting the depressing room.  

Once Aemond arrived back to his own room, he locked the door and dropped the books on his bed. At a closer inspection, they each had the Targaryen family crest, a dragon with three heads, and his fingers caught on the worn material as he ran his hands reverently over their covers. Aemond held no doubt, then, that he would find what he had been looking for in those books. His selfish father had simply been keeping them to himself. Aemond felt both relieved and overwhelmed at his discovery as he realized the challenges that lay head and soon enough, learning about the Targaryen family history became an obsession for him. He was smart, and he never really struggled academically in school, but it became difficult for him to focus on his schoolwork or anything else that wasn’t in those books. The truth was, that as smart as Aemond may be, he could barely make out the meaning of the words in the books. Many of the words were written in another language, he assumed Valyrian, and the rest were faded or scratched out, to begin with. Others seemed to be purposely written as riddles or puzzles. He felt as if they had been meant to confuse the angry teenaged boy that would find them, centuries later, who was simply trying to learn more about who he was. His ancestors were surely laughing themselves mad.  

There was something, some answer that lay in between the pages of those books that explained why Aemond was the way he was. He’d often toss and turn at night trying to solve the endless puzzles. One evening, after Aemond had refused supper and he stormed off into his corner of the library, some things finally began to make sense, like a switch had suddenly been flipped in his brain. From what Aemond could gather, he was not the only Targaryen with a fascination for blood; for flesh. The faded images that had previously made no sense to him fell together, depicting what looked like ceremonies or rituals. Aemond could still not make out why, why they were engaging in such ceremonies. Despite this, he found himself feeling remarkably less alone. He wasn’t a psychopath, as he had feared. Nor was he a freak of nature; he was a Targaryen.  

Aemond’s little discoveries served as crumbs that validated his existence and every sinful or disgusting thought he had ever had. For whatever reason, he seemed to be the only one still alive with this affliction. This was his heritage. He bore a curse that his ancestors had set into motion and that the generations before him had foolishly believed they had been rid of. Nonetheless, the Targaryens were powerful, curse or not. Aemond was powerful. Aemond’s bloodlust and hunger had rarely stretched beyond his own body, often when he felt upset. Though he sometimes found himself a little too fascinated by the smell some people had, the way their skin and flesh moved, thoughts about actually pursuing this violence were rare and not fully realized. Until the night of his nineteenth birthday. 

When Aemond grew tired of being cooped up in his bedroom or the library, or of walking around in the woods, he would often wander the streets of King’s Landing to clear his mind and simply observe the others around him. It made him feel a little less lonely, to be surrounded by all of these other people, even if they rarely paid him any mind.

It was a late night, after the bleak and unexciting celebration of his birthday. He never liked celebrating things like that with his family. He expected so little and still wound up disappointed every time. A walk by the pubs and bars always proved entertaining, the drunk patrons serving as the perfect distraction. One of them, walking by himself out of a small bar, stumbled near Aemond, scraping his knee. Aemond didn’t know this, however, and he reflexively moved to help the man up, who was laughing as he continued to trip and stumble even with Aemond holding onto his arm. The smell of alcohol was strong, making Aemond almost gag in response, until another scent took up space and filled him with a more pleasant sensation that pushed all thoughts or reason firmly to the back of his mind.  

It wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart that led him to offer to walk the man home, through the shadows of the dark alleyway. And it certainly wasn’t his kind, compassionate heart that made him sink his teeth into his neck, sneaking up from behind him and quickly clamping his hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his screams. It was the dark, animal, monster part of him. 

Aemond did feel guilty, after he finished. He couldn’t help himself when his own curiosity convinced him to look at the man’s wallet, searching for his ID and easily finding it, along with a couple of pictures of his loved ones and a ticket for a show he went to a couple of days ago, still crisp and new but beginning to crinkle around the edges from wear. Aemond was able to piece together small pieces of his victim’s life as he sat covered in his blood, still cloaked by the shadows of night. It was easier to think of the man, named William according to his ID, as being just a drunken degenerate when he was busy consuming his flesh. He realized, once he finished feasting, that this wasn’t the full truth. Aemond remained in that spot for an unknown amount of time, holding onto the pieces of this man’s life as his body went to work digesting the other, bloodier, pieces of him. Once William’s friends began looking for him, shouting out his name, “Will!”, Aemond had no choice but to run away from the scene.  

It wasn’t difficult for Aemond to return home, undetected, as his family had already retreated to their rooms for bed. He had a bit of a scare when his mother poked her head out of her room, checking on him as she heard him open his own bedroom door. Luckily for him, the hall was dark, and it concealed the stark splashes of dark red blood and viscera that covered his clothes and coated strands of his long white hair. He remained standing, half-in, half-out his doorway, his body angled away from her.  

“I just went for a walk.” 

“Are you alright? You sound different.” She moved in a way that suggested she was about to turn on the hall light, and Aemond was quick to stop her, biting out a quick response before diving into his room and feigning nonchalance as well as he could with so much adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

“I’m fine, mother. Go to bed.” 

Aemond got to work scrubbing the blood from his skin and hair in the shower, red swirls drifting down his skin and then down the drain. The guilt was strong to start, summoning tears from his eyes and making him feel slightly sick to his stomach. Beyond that, Aemond couldn’t ignore the other, more dominant, feeling that set his blood alight and made him feel satisfied. Physically, he’d never felt more full in his life. It was rare for him to finish a meal and feel as if he’d eaten enough. Most normal foods were indistinguishable from one another, and Aemond had always viewed eating as something he merely did out of necessity. He never had a favorite food, usually viewing it all as the same bland, unsatisfying mush that he needed to survive. Eating William was something else, the flavors of him sticking out to Aemond clearly, and memorized on his tongue. Aemond closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose as he remembered how he devoured the man. Fattier parts of him, like his thighs and parts of his stomach and chest, tasted richer and were greasier than parts of his arms or legs. Aemond savored those parts, and his stomach grumbled at the memory. 

The water began to turn cold with how long he’d been standing under it, and it awoke him like a harsh slap. It was disgusting for him to be looking at the crime he’d just committed so fondly, ignoring the humanity of the man he had killed. He tossed and turned for the rest of the night, the unfamiliar fullness in his stomach leaving him feeling comforted, and his guilt leaving him feeling restless.  

In the morning, even without a full night’s sleep, the difference in Aemond’s temperament was noticeable. He awoke several hours before he needed to, bounding into the sitting room where his mother sat with her tea and kissing her on the cheek with a greeting before he headed out to go on a run. There was a newfound energy, and purpose, in everything he did in the days following his crime. He had no trouble engaging in conversation with his mother, and even in talking to Helaena he found he had more patience for her endless riddles. He even found himself thinking she was some kind of hidden genius, her words reminding him more of poetic prose than mindless rambles. Aegon still got on his nerves, but less so, and he discovered it was easier to redirect him to other things than tell him for the hundredth time how annoying and stupid he was. 

Mentally, a war raged within him. Guilt. Pleasure. Satisfaction. Disgust. Anger. Should he turn himself in? He was a monster. But he felt so much better and stronger. That man wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway. He was doing everyone a favor. But he didn’t know that; he couldn’t possibly. He looked like he was around Aegon’s age, and he was still so young. He wouldn’t go to any shows or concerts ever again. Was that a picture of his child in his wallet? A sibling? A niece? She would never see him again. His parents would never see him again. Unless they hardly saw him anyway, a burden to his family and a drunken fool. In which case, Aemond reasoned that he was doing them a favor. He hadn’t heard any reports of William’s body being found yet. No police officers had come to his door, demanding his presence for questioning. He had gotten away with it.  

Aemond felt happy, he felt strong. He saw the pleased look in his mother’s eyes when she was able to hold a conversation with him, the excited look in Helaena’s eyes when he listened intently as she talked about the bugs and insects she had been reading about, even as she often went off on tangents about their different traits or mating behaviors. Nor did he have to fake his interest and intrigue as he learned about the strange mating habits of praying mantises. He had even managed to strike up a conversation or two with some of his classmates. They seemed to like his dry sense of humor, and it felt different to be seen and appreciated, even for a short while. Over the course of several weeks, the guilt was pushed farther back in his mind as he justified his actions and a brighter, better version of himself emerged. This became even more apparent as his satisfaction and strength waned, returning to his previous self as William left his system.  

As much as he tried to deny it at first, Aemond knew why this was happening. And he was quickly able to deduce how he could solve this problem and return to the new and improved, energized, version of himself. He returned to the same street on King’s Landing in which William had met his cruel fate. The first couple of nights were a bust. He had a hard time finding the perfect victim, someone who was alone and enough of a degenerate to justify being eaten, and that still looked appetizing. Moving to other areas around the city proved more successful, and even more so when he lurked around later at night.  

He was especially proud of his second victim, an older man that Aemond had seen making crude comments to the other patrons of a local bar. He followed him out of the bar and across several blocks, until he felt they were properly concealed, and he slammed his skull into the pavement and began his feast. He didn’t taste as good as William had, but Aemond was proud of his choice, nonetheless. 

His third put up a fight. He was bigger than him and Aemond thought at one point that he was a goner, the man gaining the upper hand for only a moment before Aemond was able to flip him back onto his back and strangle him. Aemond took several months away from his hunting after that, as he waited for the scratches and bruises to heal, and for his confidence to build back up. There were others, some of them more memorable than the rest. Those that had IDs with them at the time of their death were remembered by Aemond, more out of necessity and to make it harder for any remains to be identified than with fondness. With each victim, it became easier for Aemond and his resolve strengthened. He felt like the man he was destined to be, a strong and worthy man. He was simply honoring his heritage and ridding the city of drunken fools in the process.  

Through all of this, the health of Viserys Targaryen worsened with each day.  

The last year before Viserys’s death was a significant period in which his rapidly deteriorating condition could no longer be ignored, and the family was forced to begin their preparations for his passing. Rhaenyra would often visit several times a month, alone or with only Daemon, whom she had since married a couple of years before in a rushed ceremony that had sent their father into a week-long bedrest from the sheer shock of the news. Aemond resented his sister’s visits for more than one reason.  

Aemond had always gotten the sense that Rhaenyra and Daemon had been looking at him strangely for most of his life, almost as if analyzing him. Alone or separately, Aemond felt uneasy with either of them nearby, always feeling as if they were preparing to act on a moment’s notice. Rhaenyra wasn’t nearly as bad when she was alone, sometimes even attempting to make polite conversation with him when the two were unfortunate enough to run into each other, but the tight line of her lips told the truth of her feelings toward him. Together, their watchful gazes were almost unbearable. Even more so after the loss of his eye. He remembered when he had heard them and his mother arguing in the hallway near his closed bedroom doors, the day after he had arrived back from the hospital. He didn’t know the full story of it, much of their argument muffled, but from what he gathered, Aemond’s act of violence towards himself caused concern amongst the family, and great pains were taken to keep this information out of the eye of the public. Rhaenyra and Daemon seemed to think Aemond would be better off elsewhere. Their main questions, which his mother had minimized, regarded where his eye had gone and what had compelled him to commit such a violent act against himself. Aemond had been seen carrying it to the car that would later take him to the hospital, and its sudden disappearance along with his change in behavior concerned them, markedly more than it seemed to concern his mother. He had never heard her yelling so loudly than on that day, her passionate defenses of him only further contributing to the existing division amongst the family. Aemond did his best to avoid both of them after that, heading out into the city or locking himself up in his bedroom until they left. Aemond seemed to spend more time out of the house than at home, with it becoming more and more crowded as his father neared death.  

Viserys wasn’t well enough to leave the home, so more than one doctor moved in and out of the house most days, carrying their medical bags and a permanent furrow in their brows. There was little to be done to improve the man’s worsening condition, Aemond overheard. All they could do was ease the pain he experienced in his final days. Before Otto, Aemond’s grandfather, officially took over for Viserys, he attempted to conduct his work from his bed, his employees carrying their briefcases and paperwork into the dank room to try and work on the many matters that had been piling up with every day. Rhaenyra, when she visited, would often join them, much to his grandfather’s displeasure. Aemond also couldn’t spend as much time with his mother as he was used to, as she was busy attending to Viserys in what she referred to as her “marital responsibility”, so he struggled to find a reason to be at home when he wasn’t just sleeping or cleaning himself up from another night in King’s Landing. The city saw an uptick in missing people in this time, Aemond was sure. His new hobby was a welcome distraction. Aemond could no longer avoid Rhaenyra or Daemon once his father finally passed.  

The flames of the rising conflict and disdain amongst the two factions of the Targaryen family had been stoked in the span of this time, only growing higher and higher with each year. Aemond had been apathetic in this area for most of his childhood, often finding himself bored and downright tired of it. There was an uptick in tension soon after he lost Vhagar and, subsequently, his eye. The issue of inheritance and whether or not Rhaenyra would take Viserys’s place over Aegon was only half of the story, the tensions grown even higher in their disagreements regarding the handling of Aemond’s accident.   

With the official announcement of his father’s death, Aemond found himself feeling conflicted and worried of what would come. It was hardly a surprise, the stench of death permeating nearly every inch of the house for months. This meant more than one thing for the family moving forward, however, and Aemond thought himself pragmatic enough to push aside his own personal feelings to remember how best to conduct himself once the family gathered once more. It had been ten years since the whole family had been together, and now more was at stake.  

Aemond had set out in the beginning of the day, as he was dressing for the funeral, to avoid his other family members as much as possible. He planned on leaving early and treating his sister and his nephews with the indifference he felt they deserved. He struggled with this, once everyone had arrived. Aemond initially took pleasure in the looks on his nephews' face when they saw him, after all those years had passed. What normally made him feel shame, now left him feeling imposing and tough, and he hoped that they felt regret for their actions and the slight that they showed the Targaryen family name merely by existing. He thought himself a threatening figure, wearing his eyepatch and standing at least a head taller than both of them.  

He struggled even more with maintaining his mask of indifference once actually at the funeral service and viewing the ease with which they all interacted with one another. The warmth, and love, was evident. He overheard their conversations as they shared memories with one another of his father, their grandfather, fondly remembering how kind and supportive he had always been with them. Aemond couldn’t do the same with his siblings, as they stood opposite them and coldly greeted guests. They had never had the privilege of visiting parks or going sledding with their father. Viserys had only ever read them bedtime stories a handful of times, at their mother’s request. They were greeted with nods or pats on the back from him every so often; their nephews always received warm hugs and greetings. It appeared that any remaining energy their father had left in his final years went towards his eldest daughter and her children, rationed out to those he viewed as priority. Anger simmered within Aemond and only built as the day went on.  

The end of the funeral service left the family face-to-face, and it was agreed that they would all meet at Viserys’s favorite upscale restaurant to discuss more official matters. A private dining room and dinner had been prepared for them at their arrival. The family sat around the large table, eating silently in the tense atmosphere. The presence of his estranged family squashed Aemond’s already nonexistent appetite, and he merely sat and observed as everyone else ate awkwardly. The scene reminded him of that day, years ago after Laena’s funeral, when the family sat around in the yard and danced around the tension. He hadn’t cared then about the leading cause of the tension, the succession. Now he held a clear allegiance, and the division was clearer to him than ever before. 

Many an evening had been spent sitting beside his mother, listening to her rant and rave over Rhaenyra and her illegitimate sons. She swore that this brought shame to the family, and that any inheritance she had been given was soiled with her rumored infidelity. She believed that this should have resulted in Rhaenyra’s inheritance being passed over to Aegon, Viserys’s eldest son. Aemond couldn’t help but agree with her, though it wasn’t necessarily a conscious or fully educated decision. Aemond had always been close with his mother, but he grew even closer with her in the years following the loss of Vhagar and his eye. She had been the only one to truly defend him; to look out for him and see him beyond his moodiness and outward appearance. Aemond grew protective of his mother, and he felt he had an obligation to defend her and her beliefs. Rhaenyra, and her children, were a threat to his family and he couldn’t allow them to spread their shame and sully the name of the family. Additionally, Aemond felt guilty for how distant he had grown from his mother within the past year or so, after he began exploring the truth of his affliction. Though he knew this was necessary to protect her, he felt as if he had betrayed her and more or less spit in the face of her loyalty all these years by hiding such a central part of himself. He would stand with her in any way that he had to.  

Finally, after what seemed like hours of only silverware clanging on plates and hushed whispers, Rhaenyra stood from her seat, a solemn look on her face and a glass in her hand. Aemond sat up even straighter in his seat, sparing a glance towards his nephews and preparing himself. Not only was the matter of succession in question, but other important matters, such as Viserys’s final will and testament and the distribution of his belongings and properties were also to be discussed. 

“I would like to say a few words, about my father.”

Aemond met his mother’s eyes, nodding to her in a show of support before he looked back at Rhaenyra and tried to make out her next move. 

“My father was a kind and intelligent man. He was a fantastic brother,” Rhaenyra paused as she looked towards Daemon, “husband,” a brief but lingering glance at Alicent, “father, and grandfather to my children.”  

Aemond tasted blood as he bit the inside of his cheek and tried to not release the bitter laugh growing inside of him. He arched his neck to stare up at the ceiling and braced himself, his nails digging into the flesh of his thigh as he narrowly held onto his composure. Of course, Rhaenyra would hold such favorable insights into their father’s character. She never had to beg for his love as he and his siblings had.  

“He loved his family, and he always acted in what he believed were the family’s best interests.” 

Rhaenyra took a shuddering breath and looked down, before straightening her shoulders and continuing, moving her eyes around the table as she spoke. Aemond looked away when she made her way to his side of the table. 

“He taught me much of what I know today, and I feel proud and truly honored to follow in his footsteps as his official successor.”  

At this, both Otto and Alicent visibly stiffened, shifting in their seats and looking at one another. Aemond tried to maintain his composure, readying himself once he noticed the anxiety on his mother’s face.  

“With his passing, my family and I will soon be moving here, to King’s Landing.” 

Alicent’s head turned then to look up at Rhaenyra, and her throat bobbed as she placed her fork down and leveled her with a shocked expression. “You mean to kick us out?” 

Aemond’s grip tightened on his thigh as he watched his mother and sister merely stare at each other, silent words exchanged as an array of emotions moved on both of their faces. 

“Of course not. But do you truly believe I can take my father’s place from Dragonstone?” 

Alicent was speechless, looking at Rhaenyra with wide eyes and an expression that resembled a question, perhaps begging for mercy or kindness.

Rhaenyra looked away as she cleared her throat. “You are welcome to stay.” Daemon’s head snapped up towards his wife, his eyebrows raised in question. “But I welcome you to view this as permission to finally leave, to live your own life. You have nothing else holding you here, and with your children all grown, I believe it is time for you all to…move on.” 

Silence took hold of the family for another moment, and Aemond even found himself considering her words. Without his father and his work holding Aemond and the rest of his family there, there truly was nothing else keeping them in King’s Landing. He would want to be near his mother and Helaena, of course, but there were certainly better options than the city in which he grew up. He didn’t necessarily hold the most positive memories of that place. Alicent was not satisfied, however.  

“And if Aegon contests this?”  

“Mother--”  

Aegon finally spoke up from where he sat, curled up in his seat with a glass in his hand. It was written clearly on his face: he didn’t want this.  

“Rhaenyra, with all due respect, it should not come as a shock to you that some believe my son to be more deserving of this position.”  

All previous warmth or goodwill appeared to vanish as Rhaenyra clenched her jaw and she continued staring at Alicent, her nostrils flaring.  

“It was my brother’s wish that his daughter take his place after his passing. This has been the case since she was but eighteen years old, your drunken son doesn’t change any of that.”  

Daemon’s voice rose as he leveled both Alicent and Otto with his searing gaze. Aegon, sitting only several seats away, cleared his throat and looked down, in an effort to conceal the red creeping onto his face. Truthfully, Aemond never cared for his brother very much. He could not fault the man for calling Aegon a drunk. But the rising tension and Aemond’s loyalty to his family urged him to his feet as his eye met Daemon’s full force.  

For several moments the rest of the room faded away as the two men silently battled, two eyes meeting one in a war of wills. Daemon remained sitting in a relaxed position and he cocked his head to the side slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes briefly until something else flashed in them, something that spoke of recognition. The same feeling flitted through Aemond, and all at once the urge to lunge across the table and eliminate Daemon from existence began gnawing at him. Aemond couldn’t figure out why, but he was overcome with the distinct realization that Daemon was a threat; to his family, to him, to even others, perhaps. His nose crinkled in disgust and his fists clenched almost instinctually.  

“Enough of this!”  

Alicent and Rhaenyra spoke simultaneously, both of them on their feet and addressing their family. 

“If Aegon chooses to contest this, he has the right to do so. But I feel I must remind you that my father’s will has been set in stone for nearly fifteen years, and that I have all the support, and precedent, to back my claim.” 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and ran her hands over her dress, gathering herself. Alicent gave one small nod of her head before she sat back down, avoiding Rhaenyra’s eyes and pursing her lips in anger.  

“Until then, we have other matters to discuss. If anyone here feels like they are unable to control themselves,” a glance around the table, lingering on both Aemond and Daemon, “I must ask them to leave at once.” 

Rhaenyra slowly lowered herself back down into her seat, her hand on the swell of her stomach as she cleared her throat once more and grabbed the envelope containing Viserys’s will. Aemond heard none of it. He could hear the sound of his heart beating in his ears, and his jaw began to ache with how hard he was clenching his teeth. He had to leave, to be free of this situation, and the sickly-sweet smell of what he assumed to be the food mingling with the free-flowing wine and flower arrangements. Aemond took one more steadying breath before he slowly made his way over to his mother, resting his hand on her shoulder gently.  

“I’ll see you back at home.” 

She grabbed his hand, still resting on her shoulder, her wide brown eyes looking up at him in worry. “Are you alright, my love?” 

Aemond took another deep breath, feeling the tightness in his chest, and nodded slightly. “Yes, mother. Just a headache.” 

Alicent nodded, but the wrinkle in between her brows persisted as she continued to stare at her son, the image of a man on the brink of madness. 

It took more strength than Aemond felt capable of in that moment, and he felt as if his teeth were seconds away from shattering as they ground together, but he nodded once more, attempting to assure his mother.  

“I’m okay, I promise.” 

Just as he was making his way to the exit, Aemond felt someone grab his right arm, tightly and roughly, with nails digging through his shirt and into his skin. Helaena stood beside Aemond, lavender eyes wide and shiny as she looked up at him. She had spent much of the night sitting quietly in her seat, rarely engaging with anyone or anything aside from the small trinket she often held in her hand. But in that moment, she appeared as if she had seen a ghost.  

“What is it, Hel?” 

Helaena continued to stare up at him, almost through him, her chin quivering and lips shaking, opening and closing only slightly, as if words were fighting to make their way out. Aemond clenched his fists at his side, finding his patience tested.  

Helaena began moving her head frantically back and forth, looking at Aemond and then back in the direction of the dining room in which the rest of the family remained.  

“Do you need to go home? Helaena if you need someth--” 

“What has been done cannot be undone. Do not let the rain hold you, brother.” She blurted out, voice shaking and barely audible over the noise of the restaurant.

Aemond started to shake his head, unable to comprehend her words in his frazzled state.  

“Do not allow the blood to turn your mind,” her grip tightened as she pleaded with him, “what has been lost can never be returned, no matter the sorrow.” 

The tears continued running down her face even as she loosened her grip and her shaking ceased, and the fog that had been present in her eyes dissipated. She gave him a small smile and embraced him in a hug, a quiet “goodbye” whispered in his ear before she turned and made her way back to the dining room, walking slowly with her flowy black dress, almost appearing as if she was floating. Aemond assumed, at the time, that she had one of her episodes again, the gathering triggering her as a reminder of the day he had removed his own eye. He was not unaware of the effect that his actions had on his family, his sister in particular. Aemond let out another heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as the exhaustion and guilt weighed on his bones.  

Once Aemond left the restaurant and he stepped out into the cool night air and the soft drizzle of the beginning rain, he felt his nerves loosen only slightly. He needed to leave that place, but he knew he couldn’t go right back home, he was too restless for that. Aemond got into his car, his hair already wet and a light sheen of sweat on his brow, and he set on a path further into King’s Landing. Surely there would be some drunks out tonight, even with the rain. It wouldn’t be hard to find some kind of outlet after the day he’d had.  

The rain began to pick up, falling in thick sheets before him. Despite the blood pumping through his veins and the pure adrenaline he felt, Aemond’s hands gripped the wheel tightly as he slowed down and squinted his eye. Aemond had always prided himself on his cautious driving, as this was something he had to maintain if he was to prove to his mother he could drive himself around safely, something she was worried about with him only having one eye. When the rain became so heavy and thick that he grew worried about visibility, Aemond finally relented and decided to pull over for a moment, to catch his breath and try to calm himself down until the rain let up.

The car had been stalled for only five minutes or so when he spotted another car approaching through the rearview mirror, out of the corner of his eye. The car slowed as it approached, and Aemond prepared to wave them on, assuming they were slowing to check on him, until he noticed who was driving. He met Luke’s eyes for only a moment before he continued driving down the road, moving farther and farther from him with every second that passed. Any de-escalation of his emotions that Aemond had accomplished since pulling over vanished instantly, and he felt himself grow angry again, unexplainably so.  

Aemond watched as the small car continued down the road. He tried to reason with himself, to convince himself that the driver had only looked like Luke. Why would he be driving by himself? He had been back at the restaurant only minutes ago. Even with the rain pouring down and distorting the image in front of him he was able to make out the familiar bright blue, and then there was no mistaking who had been driving the car. Aemond began accelerating before he even realized what he was doing, and he had caught up in no time. And then the front of his car collided with the back of Luke’s, and Luke began swerving around on the road, fighting the slick pavement and the force from the collision.

With the additional rain, the roads were slick, and no matter how Luke fought with the steering wheel, the car swerved directly into the grass, tearing through it until the front of his car crashed directly into a telephone pole, effectively totaling his car and stranding him on that empty road with Aemond.  

In a brief moment of clarity, Aemond felt guilty, and he realized his mistake, feeling worried about his nephew and knowing that he would never hear the end of it if something seriously bad had happened to him. Aemond pulled over on the side of the road next to Luke’s crashed car, and he jogged over to him, prepared to help him out of the car. Fortunately, Luke hadn’t been seriously harmed. He was still conscious, and his responsiveness seemed fine as he raised his head quickly when he saw someone approaching him. Unfortunately, a small cut on his forehead was bleeding, a line of blood dripping down his face. Some glass from the windshield had left behind cuts on his arms as well, staining his blue dress shirt and filling the air with the smell of his blood. The smell of something else, Aemond assumed his fear or sweat, mingled with the smell of blood and rain, thick in the air.  

Luke gasped when he realized it was Aemond that had approached him, and anger was clear on his face, “Aemond, what the fuck? You could have killed me!” 

The words sounded muffled to Aemond, a persistent buzzing in his ears and the soft sound of a jumping heartbeat.  

“W-why are you out?” Aemond asked flatly, the accumulating saliva in his mouth distracting him and causing his own words to come out sounding choked. He swallowed. Why are you here, in the exactly wrong place and wrong time? 

“What?” It soon became clear that Luke was injured beyond his superficial cuts, possibly with a concussion. He shook his head and then resumed talking, his words slow and stilted as if he was struggling to form his thoughts clearly. He started to rub his face, his hands catching the blood running down his face and smearing it. Aemond could only stare, the growing lump in his throat bobbing with every breath, with every heartbeat. 

“Joffrey needed his medicine, he forgot it back at the house and, um,” Luke let out a shuddering breath as his shaking hands continued to cradle his face, “I offered to grab it, since my mom was busy with--” 

He stopped to take a deep and shaking breath and then started trying to open his door, moving to get out of the car and stand. But he struggled to grab onto the door handle, and as soon as he began to rise out of his seat, he quickly fell back, his hand flying back to his head as he winced in pain.  

“Can you get my mom? Oh, I just got my license! She’s never gonna let me drive again--” 

It didn’t matter; none of it did. Aemond shook his head slowly, almost imperceptibly, as Luke continued talking and then he began to open the car door slowly, his eye on Luke, scanning and focused on the blood running down his face. And then he was overcome. He started by slamming Luke’s head back into the steering wheel, knocking him unconscious in one last show of mercy, before his frenzy officially began. 

To say that Aemond didn’t know what he was doing and what the consequences would be, as he tore through Luke’s body, would be a blatant lie. He knew, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He thought of the obvious preference his father had always had for Rhaenyra and her children, when he had always treated his other children as burdens. He thought of how devastated he had been after Luke had insisted on playing that stupid game, leading his beloved dog onto the road. The pain of losing her, and the following pain of him clawing out his own eye at the sight. Aemond realized in that short moment, only minutes before, when he had decided to push down on the gas pedal that he blamed Luke for all of it, and he always had. All those years spent learning how to write and read and be with only one eye. All of those years spent in isolation, as his peers and even his own family looked at him as if he was a monster. Aemond had blamed himself, in the past. He had considered himself stupid and responsible for what he had done. It was Luke’s fault, after all. He was the cause of Aemond’s pain. And eating him felt like retribution. This act of violence had felt like everything he needed, in that moment. He felt satisfied, and like something that had been missing had finally been replaced. Justice had been served.  

It’s a wonder that no other cars passed during that time, as Aemond very publicly consumed his nephew on the side of the road, his own car headlights illuminating the scene. After an unknown amount of time, he finally slowed down, feeling sated and less frenzied. The sound of the rain as it hit the pavement and drummed on the car returned to his ears, clearer to him than it had been before. His eye became more attuned to his surroundings, and he noticed as the blood dripped down from the car and onto the grass, watching it disappear into the ground. With the reality of the situation growing clearer by the second, Aemond slowly lifted his head up to look at what used to be his nephew. He was now unrecognizable, a corpse slumped over in the front seat of the car. There would be no mistaking what had happened to him, for no ordinary car accident could have ever resulted in such mutilation. Aemond jumped up from the ground, trying in vain to brush off the blood and viscera on his clothes as he rushed back to his own car, strapping in and accelerating so quickly that the wheels squealed, and he headed back in the direction of the house.  

Aemond was speeding, all caution thrown out the window. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, sharp and almost painfully. There was no coming back from this. No redemption to be found or groveled for. Luke was doomed from the moment he left the restaurant, and Aemond was doomed from the moment he saw him on the road. Or perhaps he had always been doomed, from the moment he was born.  

Pieces of the boy threatened to make their way back up and out of his mouth, and Aemond felt dizzy and lightheaded at the reality of his situation as he finally pulled into the driveway in front of his home. He threw himself out of the car, kneeling down on the ground and bracing himself on the open door. He started pushing lightly on his stomach in a futile attempt to comfort himself, to ease the strange feeling in his gut. But it was no use. 

“Oh...” his voice shook, and he breathed out repeatedly, trying to take deep breaths and remembering the breathing exercises he had learned in one of his many therapy sessions over the years. He started to shake his head, the exercises not doing much of anything for him aside from making the smell of Luke on his hands, clothes, and in his mouth more apparent.  

“No, no, no...” 

Aemond’s knees hit the rough surface of the driveway, and he leaned over and nearly collapsed, moving to press his forehead onto the ground, the cold and moist surface soothing him but only so much. He started by beating the ground beside him, his own fresh blood mixing with the old and sticky blood from Luke. And then his fist found his own head, and fists turned into pulling and grasping hands, yanking at his scalp.  

“You fucking...you stupid...I hate you I hate you I hate you!” 

Aemond’s fists beat on his own head with every declaration of self-hatred and disgust. Tears began running down his face and falling onto the driveway, mixing with the blood and rain as the rain washed him of the evidence from his crime. Gasping for breath, Aemond lay there punishing himself, his own self-hatred manifesting itself in the blood on his hands, tears on his cheeks and the vomit threatening to rise out of his throat.  

He remained on the driveway, laying there and picking at his skin or his scalp until the rain came to a complete stop, and he was left in silence. The faint sounds of police sirens could be heard, growing in volume with every moment. They found the car. They found what remained of Luke’s body. Aemond struggled to stand at first, his legs shaking and his head swimming as he grew to his full height. He had to leave, he had to get out of this city, this country, away from Rhaenyra, Daemon, his mother...Aemond held back more tears as he thought of leaving her forever. But he couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in that sentimentality, or that would surely be the thing that led to his capture. 

With a shaking breath, Aemond crashed into the house, heading straight for his bedroom to strip off his soiled clothing and grab what he could. He went to the library next, grabbing a couple of books off of his desk, books he had been reading before this mess. And then he went to Viserys’s old bedroom, his eye on the large wardrobe on the other side of the room. Bloodied hands pulled each and every drawer out frantically until they landed on his father’s stashed cash, pulling out wads of cash and stuffing them into the pockets of his coat. 

He fought against images of what could happen to him if he was found before he could escape. He could fight off the police, or even try to pay them off to look the other way as he made his way out of King’s Landing. However, if Rhaenyra found him first, she would know what he had done the moment she laid eyes on him. She and Daemon could never be as forgiving or easy to bribe as a police officer. They would make Aemond suffer. Daemon would make Aemond suffer, he was sure of it. He tried to banish the thoughts from his mind as he made his way through the house with another rough fist to his head. He needed to focus.  

Aemond was back out of the house in minutes, throwing his bag into the back seat of the car and taking one last look at his childhood home, the home in which he would never return. He couldn’t; not anymore. If Aemond had any hope of surviving Daemon’s ire, he needed to leave this place, and fast. He would need to head back in the direction that he came from, to get to the airport.  

Aemond passed the scene on his way there, slowing down to make his way around all of the police cars and an ambulance, the flashing of the lights causing little sparks of light to float around in his eye, making it harder for him to see. Despite this, the car behind him, slowing down and stopping as close as it could to Luke’s destroyed car, was unmistakable as belonging to his half-sister. He recognized it from all of the times that he had seen it pull into the driveway, the way the sight would often make his stomach hurt. He wondered if she recognized his car, if she noticed that he was in front of her and that her son’s murderer was so close. Watching her through his rear mirror as he continued his retreat, it became clear that she didn’t care, that nothing else mattered or was visible to her in pursuit of her son. He saw as she ran out of her car, followed by Daemon, towards the scene of the crime. The image of her collapsing on the road at the sight of the covered stretcher, stained with splotches of red, was the last thing he saw as he made his way towards the airport and out of King’s Landing. There was no going back now.  

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