#this has been in my dafts for 2 weeks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zeroinetoheroine · 2 years

Text

I'll make you an offer (you can't refuse), pt.3

pt.1

pt.2

warnings: noncon, reader is basically a sex slave, dabi's tongue, ass eating, again dabi's tongue!, this has like 0,2% plot, not beta read

(this was inspired by Hori's latest dabi sketch)

Your eyes follow the droplets of rain tapping incessantly against the window. It's been more than a week since you and Shouto moved into his brother's apartment. You still couldn't wrap your head around it - this situation, the one you didn't want or accept, was anything but conventional.

"S-Shouto...I don't want this -" You had finally gathered the fortitude to utter that morning. Shouto was brushing his teeth, and you were supposed to take a shower together. That was another thing, showering together - since it was three of you, one of them always found the time to use your body for relief even when you cleaned yourself.

He paused, tilting his head in the mirror.

"What, darling? You don't want to shower?"

Oh, how obtuse be was! You weren't certain anymore - was he really that daft or was his obliviousness a ruse. Sometimes the youngest Todoroki showed sides of him that you hadn't known existed - like when he offered to share you with Touya, when he deflected your protests, when last night he saw the heinous villain screwing you on the creaky bed and instead of stopping it he joined - holding your tresses until your head was hanging upside down from the edge, perfect angle for him to ram his long cock into your pliant mouth.

"Fuck, look at her throat -" Touya rasped, his hips surging into yours violently. Shouto took a sharp breath before his hand came down to feel the shape of his thick member imprinted from the inside of your neck. His heavy balls rested against your forehead.

They fucked you like that until cum filled both your pussy and your belly.

"N-no...I don't want to live with your brother." Your eyes drift to your feet because you already know it won't change anything. Shouto's mismatched brows knit together.

"Is something wrong? We have enough space-"

"It's not," you begin frustratedly. "It's not the space, it's him. Shouto, h-how can you think this is fine?! I am your girlfriend and you're forcing me to..." Your head shakes uselessly.

"I want to break up. I want to leave."

It's the first time you've articulated those thoughts. His cerulean and gray irises darken.

"You just need to get used to the three of us-"

"Shouto -"

"No, y/N!" He threw the toothbrush - it clanked loudly against the tiles.

"For the first time I have a good thing - me, you, and Touya."

Your shoulders slumped. You wore one of Shouto's shirts and a pair of panties. They didn't allow you much else.

"You love him...more than me. That's why you're letting him do - He hates you Sho! If you think he'll let you climb the ranks because of this...he's repugnant." The words died on your tongue.

"I love you both. You're my family." Fire and ice user enunciated simply. Just as you were to open your mouth, the sound of approaching footsteps made your veins shatter.

"Yo, puppet -"

Dabi leaned onto the doorframe, his marred, stitched chest bare. Your gaze flickered to him before it snapped back to the opposite direction - he was clad only in his navy boxers.

"There's a meeting with the crusty today, you gonna go?" His low-baritone made you physically ill. Shouto nodded, a faint ghost of a smile etching itself onto his features. His brother was finally inviting him into inner circle.

"When are we going, Touya-nii?" He picked up the toothbrush, washing it under stream of water.

Dabi's heavy-lidded orbs were glued to you. You hated how much he observed you, how often he touched you, how nasty, how vile he was even when Shouto scolded him for it.

"Who said anything about me? You're going instead." Ivory-haired Todoroki scoffs before spinning on his heels and disappearing into the hallway.

Shouto is too happy to care about your protests, to hear your concerns - he leaves and you're now alone with the fiend. As much as you hated being shared, you hated being alone with Touya more.

It seemed like sometimes he was only holding back due to Shouto's reminders.

"Hey, doll. It looks like's just two of us huh." Dabi drawls from his spot in front of the Tv. The wad of spit inside of your mouth is impossibly thick when you force yourself to swallow. He at least dressed more appropriately while you gathered the courage to leave the bathroom.

"Y-yes." You answer quickly, hoping, praying to all the gods his attention was undividedly on whatever stupid show he was watching.

The prayers fall on deaf ears because his head snaps sideways and he locks you with a heated glare.

"Repugnant, am I?"

Fuck.

He heard you earlier.

You shift your weight, appearing very much deer caught in headlights. The rapid, vehement thrumming of your heart is reactive.

"I wasn't -"

"Shut the fuck up." Touya sneers. "You act like such a bitch but when I ram my cock inside you, you turn into a real whore."

It wasn't the truth. You hadn't enjoyed a single orgasm he gave you. A few happened - they were perfunctory only.

"You don't know me," it escapes your mouth.

His muscles twitch, you can see it. Touya's heavy-lidded eyes are on you again, a turbulent inferno blazing inside them.

"What's there to know? You have a tight cunt and a pair of tits." His laughter rang against the walls. You shook your head and gave up, it was best to leave him be.

"Wait," the dread nestling inside your spine intensifies at his movement. Touya was now standing, his gnarly face turned towards you.

"Are you trying to say I don't fuck you good? Huh?"

You shake your head so quick your vision blurs.

"N-no...."

"You fuckin' like it more when that twat does it do you?" Touya snarls, and you think he looks like the devil himself. His pale strands wild, his mouth curved - stretching the stitches to their limit. You wondered what would happen if one of them breaks, if you break it.

"He's gentle and - "

"It's because he goes down on you, is it? You're so fuckin' predictable." Touya interrupted, his countenance nothing less than sinister. Your eyelids flutter several times as you're left wondering what the hell was this about. It's not like you could fight him, not to mention Shouto would get angry if you did.

You mutter something intelligible before practically dashing into the bedroom with the villain hot on your tails.

It just wasn't your day.

"Do you know why I don't do it?! You little bitch -" He is cursing and you do wonder why, why did it feel so off when he would kiss you, when his tongue invaded your mouth. It almost seemed like he was holding back - Dabi holding back was such an alien concept that your brain couldn't find an explanation.

"I...I don't care, please let me -" His hands are on you, gripping your upper arms and his frown is positively rabid, he looks a terror.

But Touya holds you in place before his mouth opens and for the first time you see the entirety of his tongue as he sticks it out in your face.

It's...long.

It's...stitched.

You hold back the gasp.

His tongue is so long you're sure it isn't even his.

Touya affords you with a nasty smile.

"It wasn't always like this...I had to stitch it back when I burned -" He halts mid-sentence.

"Well why the fuck do you care, I ain't tellin' ya. Lie on the bed."

The blood freezes in your veins.

L-lie on the bed?!

"Uh -"

"You should feel fuckin' honored, whore. You'll be my first."

Touya doesn't wait for you to make up your mind, he maneuvers you to bed and rips off your panties.

You shriek, trying to pull Shouto's shirt down but it's about all you can do when he slaps your arms away and warns you with a blue flicker erupting between his thumb and forefinger.

"Such pretty pussy you have," Dabi remarks, while his large, calloused hands keep your knees spread.

"Sometimes it goes numb on me but...," he tilts his head, observing your puffy folds.

"My cock can always finish the job."

You wail stupidly when you realize he's talking about his tongue and as if on cue he lets that weird thing out of his mouth. Touya licks the leftover of his bottom lip before he lunges forward.

His wet muscle glides over your slit until he reaches your clit. Involuntary shiver racks through your body and Touya smirks against you.

He laps at it again, and again, and again - until you start to squirm.

"Fuck me, you're such a nasty, little whore," he sings as drool slips from the corner of his mouth.

"Enjoyin' who knows who's tongue-"

You want to die on the spot when you feel your own juices drip onto his waiting face. There is something wrong with you for getting off from his deformed appendage.

Without warning Touya burrows the tip of it between your lower lips, tasting your cunt.

"Ah - s-stop," Whether he hears you or not is inconsequential. Inch by inch he's bullied between your narrow walls until you can feel the foreign metal against your slit.

'Stitches...'

The cremation villain has lodged his tongue so deep in you it might as well have been his cock. You could feel it twisting against your inner walls, savoring your syrupy juices.

You arch off the bed when you sense it wiggle over that spot. Touya notices too, like the bastard that he is, and yanks your hips closer immobilizing you.

His tongue devours your tight, little cavern edged by your moans and whines. It's when you can't take it anymore that it darts even further in - the metal stitches stretching the rim of your poor pussy - and you scream, both from shock and pleasure.

The pressure nuzzles against your most sensitive spot a few more times and you're falling apart.

Touya grins at your hopelessly twitching tighs, at the rhythmical pulsing of your walls for him.

"Fuckin' hell you taste good." The tone of his voice is aggravatingly smug when he pulls out of you. He stares at your heaving body with a pensive look about him.

Not giving you any rest, Touya's sweltering palms slid under your waist and he sweeps you off the bedding, only to toss you on your belly.

"W-what are you doing?" You squeak, still not over your orgasm. His cerulean eyes meet yours as you glance over your shoulder and the frenzied hunger in them silences you.

"I'm gonna taste all of you, doll." He snatches your thighs and pulls your rear up.

"There's no one to stop me from ruining your little asshole now," Dabi grasps your soft cheeks and spreads them apart. You try to shuffle away - grabbing at the bedding, telling him not to do something so filthy, mentioning Shouto.

It doesn't work.

His hot tongue prods at your puckered hole, circling around it, easing the tip inside. Your muscles clench at the intrusion and Dabi slaps your right cheek for it.

"Stop fucking resisting, you'll thank me later when I ram my cock inside this tight hole-" The corner of his mouth curls, and before you can answer he's lapping at your rear.

You try your best to relax as the tip of his tongue swirls over your back entrance, dipping in and out. A sharp breath escapes your lungs when the tight rim of your muscles succumbs to the pressure and his wet muscle fills your ass.

"D-Dabi...." You moan, hating yourself for enjoying something so filthy. Shouto had never done something like that - respectfully staying committed to your cunt.

'W-well, fuck him. He's the one who wanted three of u-us'

The scarred villain keeps a firm grip on your hips as he plunges in and out of your ass - you are certain, even in your hazy mind, that you feel the texture of his staples inside your hole.

Dabi wonders why was he so reluctant to use his lengthy, aberrant tongue on you when it's clear your holes crave it.

Pulling back, he offers you a toothy grin.

"I hope he comes back early and catches me balls deep in your ass," Touya unbuckles his belt.

"He took your cunt's virginity, so it's only fair -" His belt clanks loudly as it hits the floor.

613 notes · View notes

kaylinelizabeth4004 · 1 year

Text

Between Two Lungs/Heaven is Here Pt 2

SYNOPSIS: Y/N tries to process the idea of eternity and reincarnation. Aziraphale begins to identify his feelings for both Crowley and Y/N. Crowley is pining and moody

WORD COUNT: 7k

TAGS: Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley, Aziraphale x Reader, Aziraphale x Crowley, fluff, soulmates, pining, kind of confession, so much fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, pov third person, fluff and angst

A/N: i didn’t mean for this to be as long as it is, and I mean the story itself. But there will be a part 3. This focuses more on Aziraphale, next more on Crowley. Sorry this isn’t as long as the last but felt like it was wrapped up

She felt like she was vibrating as a human, small little shakes destroying her entire sense of balance. Nina had made her take her break, though it was far too early in her shift, and she sat in the back with her legs shaking so violently the table rattled. She'd broken her mug that was sitting on top of it. Y/N was absentminded the entire shift, messing up orders and stuttering with each customer she talked to. Eventually Nina pulled her aside during a lull.

"What is going on?"

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, eyes wide as she seemed to realize that this wasn't a 'here's the sugar, don't forget the napkins' spiel - the kind of spiel every new person got during the first month of their job, that was both helpful and insulting - but a 'you're fucking up spiel' - which was significantly less enjoyable and filled the receiver with such shame and embarrassment they considered the different cliffs nearby. During a particularly intense thought she considered the cliffs of Broadchurch, before remembering that was from a television show.

"Don't be daft. You've been a good barista these past few weeks, then that couple comes in and you're dancing like a bee."

"A bee?"

"They dance to communicate," Nina said plainly, as though it was an obvious comparison. Nina was sometimes so in her own head, tracking her own thought process, that she couldn't comprehend why it wasn't someone else's immediate thought as well. It was something her shrink told her to work on.

"Oh, sorry. I, they just rattled me." Y/N tried to ignore the image in her head of Nina moonwalking while firing her or someone salsaing on their way to tell someone their son has tried tragically. It was terribly funny and she was not in a terribly funny sort of mood. Demons and angels did that to a person.

Nina stared at her for a moment, "you a homophobe?"

"Oh! Oh my god, no. Never, that's not what I mean. No, no, no," she was rambling, not knowing what to say and now terrified her boss thought she was a homophone. She tried to consider how to explain to Nina that she wasn't homophobic, she'd just been pulled aside by a literal angel and demon who told her that her soul has been trapped on earth for more than 2,000 years eternally connected to them with their miscommunication and angst, which means that when the world does indeed end in fire she will definitely be there and might not have a place to go after the fact aside from miserable eternity. So she settled on saying something close enough to the truth that Nina wouldn't think she's a piece of shit that should be fired. "They, they made these comments about fate. Eternity and whatever. It wasn't bad, they weren't bad, I just got spooked. Not really religious, didn't know what to think of it."

Nina blinked rapidly and paused, letting Y/N's words sink in. "You're like this cause you're having a crisis of fate?"

"I- I, well yeah. It sounds silly. Just got to me."

"We get missionaries in here all the time, the Mormons won't leave me alone. You gonna be like this every time someone mentions God?"

"No! This is a one time thing, I promise. I'm not usually like this. I think it was the de - redhead, he drank like a lot of espresso and he was talking very intense-like." Whenever she got anxious her language devolved into likes and ums, stutters and little comments that only made sense to herself. She sometimes wished she could press an off button to stop the random shit that just decided to spew from her.

Nina looked at her with a sort of blanket skepticism she carried into each conversation. One of the things Maggie both loved and struggled with. Eventually she nodded, "right, okay. Life gets tough, people throw us off. I get it. I'm gonna send you home today, you're a mess even if it is a one time thing. Next time this happens, you tell me so we can fix it." Y/N's shoulders slumped at being sent home, feeling like she failed Nina. Nina, being surprisingly observant, went to reassure her, "shop closes in an hour anyways. Only one person comes in regularly and it's my partner, I'll be fine."

Y/N nodded, untying her apron and hanging it up. Nina gave her a smile as she left, trying awkwardly to comfort her. She really did appreciate the attempts, even if Nina's somewhat harsh demeanor failed to always communicate that.

Y/N loitered outside the shop for a minute, staring at the antique shop of 'Mr. Fell' who she'd come to realize just a few short hours ago belonged to the actual angel Aziraphale. She should go talk to them. They'd told her to. Aziraphale had insisted that she come over after her shift to discuss this situation more, maybe she could start to recover some of her past memories. She'd gotten a few initially, remembering the ring and Crowley's eyes. Crowley had suggested he just make Nina forget she was working and to let her go freely. While tempted by the demon's offer, she'd only had this job for two weeks and wasn't about to risk it all. Though it clearly wasn't the worst of her problems.

She began to cross the street to the building. It was tall and cute, tucked on a street corner and just old enough to be charming. Windows with drawn blinds teased at stacks and stacks of books, but even without approaching the door she knew it'd have a closed sign. Nina had told her when she first started at the coffee shop that the bookshop was never open, the owner liked having space for his personal library rather than actually selling any of his precious books.

Parked in front of the shop was a black Bentley. It was a vintage style though Y/N knew nothing about the year aside from it was older than 1980, and even then it was a hazarded guess. It was sleek, kept in prime condition. Inside one of the windows there was a film with two bullet holes printed on it, something that made Y/N smile. Her grandfather had one of them as well, said he'd bought it because of James Bond. In the back seat she spotted a cardboard box labeled 'troublemaker' with a plant sticking out of it. It's leaves were wilting. Somehow, without even being told, Y/N knew the Bentley was Crowley's.

She lingered in front of the doors. She wanted to knock, she had to knock, but it was bloody scary to face your entire past, present, and future in one go. But, with bravery unmatched since the laudanum accident in the '30s - the 1830s, that is - she knocked.

Behind the door she heard two voices talking, the deeper grumbling and getting closer as he walked to the door. Then it swung open with a gusto, revealing the shape of Crowley.

She swallowed. He was imposing, tall and thin as he peered down a just slightly crooked nose. His hair was beautifully curled back on his head, though the slightest hairs fell onto his forehead. Though his spectacles covered his eyes, she let out a breath knowing those eyes were still there. His eyes had been a constant in her life.

"We're closed- oh. It's you." He said, his voice getting hoarse as he stared at her.

"Who is it - oh! Dear, you're here. Come, come in." Aziraphale said from further in the shop, standing with a book in his hands and spectacles on his nose. He looked kind and sweet, back straight and plush, pink lips curved into a smile. Crowley moved aside for her, letting her cross the threshold with anxious steps. He slammed the door shut.

The bookshop was exactly as she expected. Stacks and stacks of slightly dusty book shelves, covered with as many books as possible. There were horrors, romances, histories, science fictions, fantasies and Bibles. A remarkable number of bibles actually. They had a whole row shoved full of copies of the Bible. Y/N didn't feel like analyzing why an Angel would want well over 20 copies of his group's history but who was she to judge? She owned 5 copies of her favorite book, the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Perhaps a little boring as it was a classic, but the story had hooked her since she saw the enamoring - although a slightly questionable choice to be a children's movie - Disney adaptation. One look into the music and she was glued to the story. The shop smelled of vanilla and old books, a combination that helped calm her racing heart.

"Hi," she said softly once she realized the unearthly beings were staring at her expectantly.

"Hi," Crowley said back. He hadn't taken his spectacles off, and she didn't like that.

"I, um, I love the shop. It's so warm."

"I can, err, lower the temperature if you require, dearest," Aziraphale said, wanting to help calm her but not knowing how.

"No, I meant the atmosphere is warm. Like a hug. But t-thank you," she said. Then after a pause she added, "Aziraphale."

"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Aziraphale said finally after a long moment where the three exchanged glances at one another, unaware of what to do next. The tension was so thick she briefly wondered if she jumped from a ledge if she’d be caught in it’s stupid bloody web. A weird and kind of stupid analogy but it seemed to bring her back to reality. Silly things always did.

She let out a breath, "fuck yeah."

Crowley chuckled at this, sauntering back to where he'd been sitting by Aziraphale's desk. Aziraphale gave a curt nod and went into some back room. She lingered by the door.

"C'mon over here, I don't bite," he said, taking a sip of wine from a glass she hadn't seen sit on the end table. His posture was sprawled on a comfy chair, one leg hanging over the arm of it.

"I'm beginning to doubt that," she said with a little laugh, grateful for his relaxed energy to bring down some of the tension. She walked over and sat on a sofa that was surprisingly comfortable, letting herself sink into the cushions.

"Only if you ask, darling," Crowley said with a wink. He immediately regretted the wink but tried not to let it show. He was never an intentionally flirty individual so when he did say flirty things, often by accident, he cringed at himself.

But she just flushed at his words and got comfortable on the sofa. She wasn't upset, in fact she shot back with a, "only in your wildest dreams, love." The term love sent his human heart racing and he quickly looked away. Only Aziraphale had made him feel this way and he hadn't even begun to process those emotions, let alone do it a second time for her.

Aziraphale returned with two steaming mugs of tea and a bottle of wine which he promptly handed over to Crowley. She thanked him and sipped the drink, letting out a happy sigh at the cinnamon thrown in. She loved cinnamon.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" Aziraphale asked, his eyes wide and full of concern. "It can be a lot to take in."

"I'll admit I've kind of been in a state of shock. It doesn't feel real. Not that I don't believe you, I mean you did stop time and I remember your ring. It's, it's kind of frightening, actually? If that doesn't sound childish."

"Earth's full of s'frightening things," Crowley said in a strange sort of reassurance.

"Right, well while I appreciate that sentiment, you two aren't from Earth. So it's another layer of frightening."

"Perhaps we could help ease your worry by answering some questions?"

"Oh, I don't know. I have so many, I don't want to waste your time." She said, running her tongue over her lips quickly. She was struggling to maintain eye contact.

"Darling, you aren't a waste." This kind statement came, surprisingly - or unsurprisingly depending who you asked, as Aziraphale watched with a fondness towards a certain demon Y/N couldn't explain - from Crowley. "We could ask you some as well if you'd like. Even the scales a bit."

She blew out a breath, nodding. Her heart was racing inside her chest. Strangely enough she did trust these two unearthly beings, but she didn't know what to do or say. She'd never imagine herself being in a situation like this before, and she couldn't fathom the words. They slid on her tongue but wouldn't come out. So she meekly said, "you first?"

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a glance. Aziraphale smiled when he looked into Crowley's eyes, remembering how he and Y/N had agreed they were the demon's best feature. They made him look so kind, even if it seemed a roundabout sort of way. Crowley, on the other hand, was admiring the way Aziraphale guided what felt like such a new and unknown conversation. The Angel took lead with a breath and a kind smile, "what is your favorite dessert?"

Her mouth dropped slightly as her eyes lit up, she hadn't expected such an innocent question. "I- I don't know. I can be quite picky. Maybe Tiramisu? I quite fancy that."

"How lovely! Such a wonderful choice." Aziraphale clapped eagerly, now craving a nice cold Tiramisu with a warm cup of coffee right beside it. And of course water as a palate cleanser. Oh and perhaps -

"What-," she started, then seemed to lose steam. Y/N straightened, setting her mug down and sitting more firmly. "When did you meet me? First meet me?"

Crowley gestured for Aziraphale to start. The Angel began, "we met you in 55BC. You couldn't have been more than 25, maybe a little younger given you were unmarried at the time. Crowley and I went to eat oysters, and you were in a corner crying. Julius Caesar had just announced his invasion on Britannia, and you had a brother and father who were both in the Navy. You worried over their safety. I blessed you eternally, and Crowley cursed you eternally."

"What made you curse me?"

Crowley looked embarrassed, "I wasn't used to the whole cursing thing so it was a surprise for s'both. You tripped over my foot and called me an asshole."

Her eyebrows shot up and she laughed slightly. Then she stilled, searching her brain for as much memory as she could. It was hidden in the back of her head, hazy ideas of what happened with no coherent life story. She mused to herself that all those hyper realistic historical dreams she had must have some founding in her experience. Her experience. There was a Y/N that existed out of this body and this name, and she existed over 2,000 years previously. She was a sister and a daughter, she had fears and worries just like she did now. It was a frightening concept.

Crowley seemed to notice Y/N sink into herself, mind moving so quick with all these ideas. He couldn't well tell her not to overthink it because even trying to think about it was overthinking it, but he knew he had to be careful with it. Ease her into the world with little memories here and there. "You like Shakespeare?"

"Oh, I, yes I do. I love Shakespeare's works. I performed in one of his plays in secondary school."

"Which one?"

"Taming of the Shrew," she laughed. "Horrible meaning nowadays, but I was lucky enough to be Katherine. It was fun yelling and banging things up on stage."

Crowley and Aziraphale chuckled, they would have loved to see that performance. They imagined her standing brave, eyes sharp and shoulders pulled back as she spat venomous words to all of the men who dared to stand in her way. She was a passionate woman - time couldn't steal that - regardless of her acting ability, they wanted to see and feel it all.

"Did I ever see Shakespeare?"

"Funny you mentioned it, dearest, but yes. We met you once at Hamlet's rehearsals. You were quite enamored with the stage," Aziraphale looked wistfully into Y/N's eyes. "I know it seems odd to say given the strange circumstances, but it's one of my favorite memories of you. Before I realized who you were, I always thought fondly of the girl who broke in to see a Shakespeare show. You were so excited to be alive and experience life, that can be quite refreshing for an immortal creature."

Y/N's chest felt tight and she tried to swallow the emotion in her chest. She'd been there, seen it with her own eyes with people she didn't know she'd known and would know. The idea of reincarnation, of a soul going through the motions of life forever, haunted her and she suddenly felt as though she couldn't breathe. They were being wonderful with her, patient and kind. They knew that the concept of eternity wasn't easy, a brain couldn't wrap around it just right. It was so much, it was too much. She felt trapped and stupid, so stupid - shouldn't she be able to process this? Characters in film and book seem to understand the confusion around them like it was common sense, they don't panic over each thought related to what it is. Her chest was tight, she closed her eyes and tried to fight back tears she didn't know were there. This was too much, why would some God give all of this to humans?

She suddenly felt a hand along her back, gently rubbing up and down. It was Aziraphale, hands large, warm, and consistent along her spine. She released a shaky breath. "Breathe with me, dearest. Inhale... exhale. Inhale..."

Crowley appeared, sitting on the floor and leaning against the coffee table. He pointed to her hand and asked, "May I?"

She nodded and he lifted it, letting his fingers rub mindless circles into her palms. They were short and sweet, running up to her elbow and down to her finger tips. They made her shudder but in the best way.

Her heart started to calm down, the world stopped spinning beneath her. She focused on Aziraphale's warm hands on her back, Crowley's ginger touches to her arm. They were kind and gentle. It made her feel safe, it made her feel appreciated. In the back of her mind she felt those stupid, mindless thoughts about self loathing and incompetence.

Crowley seemed to sense these feelings. Whether he could read her mind or she was just that transparent she didn't know, but he jumped in. "Y/N, it'snot bad to question the universe. The universe is bloody strange, no one can make sense of it."

She opened her eyes now, blinking away the tears, and looked into his. His glasses were still on and she slowly went to remove them, to reveal the eyes she remembered. These eyes were raw, these eyes didn't lie. They were kind to her. She nodded.

"Dearest, if you are comfortable, would you like to take a rest? I have a bed upstairs if you'd like," Aziraphale said. She turned to look to him. His eyes were glassy and his nose pink, as though he was fighting to hold back tears himself. She liked his face, he had a pretty face. Pink lips with a perfect little Cupid's bow on the top, turned up in an attempt at a smile. She could tell he was struggling, wanting to help her.

So she nodded, stood up on wobbly legs and followed after Aziraphale up a winded staircase to a cozy bedroom. It was small, but covered with antiques and precious books on a desk in the corner. A large bed took up most of the room, made up nearly with beige sheets and many, many fluffy pillows. Aziraphale took his time fussing, folding back the sheets and making sure the pillows were just right. She climbed into the bed and laid her head down, smiling in affirmation.

"Now, dearest, we will be right downstairs. You remember that this situation is frightening, you are not wrong. If you need either of us just call."

She reached out for his hand and kissed his palm, muttering "thank you," against his skin. He nodded, flushed cheeks and ears, and hoped for her to sleep well. She closed her eyes, willing to be swept away in a world without fear.

—————

Aziraphale went down the steps quietly, meeting Crowley back where they were. Crowley had put his spectacles back on, sprawling in the chair. However, Aziraphale knew Crowley well enough to know that it wasn't as casual as it looked. He could tell by the way Crowley adjusted awkwardly that he, too, was trying to hide his emotions. Aziraphale sat down on the couch where Y/N had sat, his hands on his legs awkwardly before he sighed.

Aziraphale poured himself a glass of Crowley's wine, savoring the sharp taste. Crowley's brows shot up and he smirked, "bad day, eh?"

"I still do not understand the concept of sarcasm."

"It's funny, Angel."

"Hardly, if it was funny I would laugh."

Crowley chuckled to himself, sipping the wine. Aziraphale was so unintentionally hilarious sometimes. He glanced outside the window, peeking through the blinds as the sun started to slip behind the buildings. Crowley wondered vaguely how Y/N was feeling, wondered how they could ever make her feel better. There was no good way out of this situation, it'd never happened before and was certainly not going to happen again.

As Crowley thought about Y/N and the world, Aziraphale was caught thinking about the demon. He thought back to how kind he had been to Y/N, how he'd asked for permission to distract her with light touch. His reassuring words she hadn't asked for but he seemed to know she needed to here. The way he understood how terrifying the prospect of life truly was. Aziraphale had had this thought for a while, but it seemed to suddenly strike him that Crowley truly wasn't evil at all. In fact, he was kinder than most angels Aziraphale knew.

Questions. All it has been to cause Crowley to fall was some questions meant out of kindness. And yet questions were what he encouraged, what he did to help Y/N and help Aziraphale. He asked Aziraphale about anything, knowing how the Angel loved to learn and discover. He prompted him to reach farther, do better, not settle for what is known but look for more. Questions paved the way to understanding, which might not always lead to happiness, but it can settle the soul. Crowley had learned a long time ago that knowing is half the battle, but he'd rather stand half a chance than not at all.

"You were very kind to her," Aziraphale eventually said.

"Ngk, she was s'panicking."

"You didn't have to reassure her."

Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat as though he resented that statement, "yous might say that but when you trap someone to eternity, she deserves ki - not bad stuff."

Almost a dangerous slip up. Crowley was typically very aware of the words he spoke and how it could get him in trouble. Though his affiliation with Hell was pretty much done, they still had the power to torture him need be. No use letting the word out that he could ever be 'kind.' Crowley remembered what life was like after the 1830s, and his back seemed to burn with the memory. Scars that never truly heal, but reform, each step more painful than the last. But that was a moment for a different day, different circumstances.

Aziraphale went to speak, then doubted himself. Then he strengthened, reminding himself that things are different. He was going to make a move. "Crowley, I was planning to read my book. Would you - would you like to sit with me while I do?"

Crowley blinked, not understanding Aziraphale's poorly explained request, "I am sssitting Angel."

"Over here." Aziraphale said awkwardly, gesturing to the space around him.

Crowley didn't understand what Aziraphale meant. On the angels lap? Certainly not, neither of them were ready for that level of intimacy. Right beside him? Perhaps, but Aziraphale patted his thigh so perhaps not. The Angel cleared his throat, "I thought, perhaps, you could rest your head on my lap while I read."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. Ah. Despite himself his cheeks flushed pink, but he wanted more than anything to fulfill the angel's request. He'd never dreamed that Aziraphale would prompt anything.

They stared at one another, realizing what this meant. In this moment they were acknowledging an unspoken part of their relationship, that they were certainly more than friends or acquaintances and far from enemies. That they might 'fancy' each other, as the humans say. This was their person, and they were wrapped eternally with one another. Crowley knew another fact, they were wrapped eternally with Y/N. And they couldn't make their relationship with her function if they could not understand themselves either. He also knew that Aziraphale looked very handsome, ankles crossed and book posed in hand as he waited for the demon.

Crowley sauntered over, laying closer to the edge so his legs could dangle off the arm. Then he let his head fall on the angel's lap. Aziraphale had very strong thighs, always had. They were warm through his trousers, and all of him smelled of vanilla and old books. Crowley let himself close his eyes, cherishing the warmth and surprising comfort of the position.

He felt soft fingers start to scratch lightly at his scalp, musing with his hair as gently as possible. Crowley let out a small moan at the feeling, Satan it felt good to have your hair played with. Aziraphale chuckled.

"What're you reading?"

"Henry V."

Crowley swallowed before asking, "Can yous read it to me?"

Aziraphale smiled, "of course, darling." He flipped back to the first scene for Crowley's sake. "The chorus sings 'O for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest Heaven of invention' ..."

Though they wouldn’t say the words until much later, until emotions seemed to swirl round them and they couldn’t not address it, this was the best way they could say it.

It crossed a demon’s mind for the first clear time, I’m in love with an Angel.

It crossed an angel’s mind for the first clear time, I’m in love with a demon.

—————

She woke up the next morning to the sun blinking through the blinds. She hadn't slept that hard in a long time and she let herself wake up slowly, sleep threatening to take her over again. Y/N sighed, that was nice. Aziraphale's room was organized chaos, and as she woke up she let her eyes adjust to all the little things throughout the room. Trinkets.

A snow-globe that looked like early 1900s, multiple copies of Beowulf in various conditions stacked on his desk, a note from Crowley signed with a large signature taped to the wall, a map of England with a pin sticking out of a town called Tadfield. A whole person's history in one collection.

Y/N was significantly calmer this morning that she was yesterday. She'd woken up for a moment during the night and began to let her mind wander to all the possibilities, before stopping herself and falling asleep. Today, she found herself more used to the idea. It was strange, uncomfortable even, but she wasn't panicking.

She got out of bed, rolling her ankles and stretching her body. Her bobble had fallen out during the night and she grabbed it to pull her hair back and out of her face. Then she carefully went downstairs, smelling the warm scent of baked goods wafting its way to her. When she entered a kitchen that seemed hidden behind rooms full of books, she saw Aziraphale in his vest and trousers paired with an apron covered in sweet little hearts.

"Good morning, my dear!" He said when he saw her. He was making some tea and gestured for her to take a seat at the island table while the kettle finished boiling. "How did you sleep?"

"Really well, actually," she said with a little laugh, her voice hoarse from her first words.

He turned to her, smile so genuine it shocked her, "I'm so glad to hear it. I am making us some cinnamon rolls. I've also decided to slice up some apples to go with it, I thought the freshness of the fruit might be nice first thing in the morning."

"That sounds amazing," she said. "Where is Crowley?"

"He said he had some business to attend to. Shouldn't be out long, I assure you, dearest."

She mulled over in mind what 'business' Crowley had. She knew from some of their explanations in the cafe that they don't necessarily work for Heaven or Hell as they used to, they're more or less independent. That left them to live life as they see fit, so what business could a demon have?

"Thank you, Aziraphale. For everything."

He glanced up, surprised. He came over and grasped her hand lightly, "my dear, this is a strange thing that has happened to you. Crowley and I wish to support you."

"If I can ask... why? You could have not told me, you could have continued without dealing with the consequences. I'd have never known."

"We couldn't do that. You didn't choose this, and we did not mean to do it."

"I don't want to be your responsibility, that's not fair either."

He blushed, "It's, err, it's more than that. We want to be with you. In whatever way you'll take us, myself and Crowley. If I may be forward, we've yearned for you for too long to lose you the first time we realize what we have."

"You've not even known me? I could be horrible."

"You are not horrible, dearest. I could feel it if you were. It's ... odd. Our souls are drawn to you and we want you in our lives, even without knowing the details. Both Crowley and I have longed for the woman with the strange encounters throughout time, and we finally found her. The souls are linked, even without reason, and we'll take you in any way we can."

Her mouth dropped open, forming a little shocked 'o.' That was hot. Is that weird to say that was hot? She'd never had a man - granted he wasn't a man just presenting male - confess wanting her, in any way, like that. It made her toes tingle and her heart warm, and she stared deeply into Aziraphale's blue eyes to be certain this was no joke. She knew he was an Angel but she put that aside and looked at him. He said they were drawn to her, and without saying the word implied they'd loved her for years without knowing. She isn't the sort this happens to, she doesn't have creatures who want to know her and understand her like this. It was a pure connection, one built on a link they couldn't understand but knew all the same. Mysterious ways of the Almighty and all. She kept looking into those eyes, searching for any sort of trickery. Despite herself, she knew he wasn't the sort to lie.

The kettle started to screech and Aziraphale pulled away to pour the cuppas, destroying the moment. He slid hers in front of her, just as she likes it. It was delightful.

Y/N watched Aziraphale move around the kitchen. He wasn't a particularly tall man, but he wasn't short either. She let her eyes fall along his strong forearms, revealed by his sleeves rolled to the elbow, lightly dusted with hair. His hands were capable, yet she knew they were soft. He might not be the most conventional sort of attractive, the type that movie stars are, but she was struck by him. Aziraphale had a draw to him that made her blush and glance down, suddenly shy in his presence yet knowing she was safe in who she is.

She realized that she wanted to know more about him, she wanted to hear his stories about his life, regardless of if she was in it. She wanted to know more about his relationship with Crowley, and what they had that seemed to be left unsaid. Y/N couldn't believe the fantastical reality that started playing in her head, a world where she lived and loved a demon and an Angel. Love was getting ahead of herself, she should be more careful. She longed for a good relationship with them, but that didn't mean that it had to be a romantic relationship. But, as she looked back at the Angel she sighed, damn did the Angel have great thighs.

"Dearest?" He asked, eyes wide and mouth just slightly parted as he stared at her.

She glanced down. Her tea had gotten cold and a warm cinnamon roll with apple slices on the side sat in front of her. "O-oh. Thank you."

"Is everything alright?" Damn him for sounding so sincere, blue eyes sweet like candy.

"You won't laugh?" She asked with a small smile, though she'd already made the decision to tell him honestly. She had a feeling lying would not make things easier in this relationship.

"No," Aziraphale answered precisely.

"I was distracted by you. You're so handsome."

Aziraphale seemed to have a little shock, as though he didn't believe that is what she said. "Pardon?"

"I," She laughed softly, embarrassed to revealing that so boldly. Y/N always admired those who were bold, and in the moments it was needed to she would, but she didn't often express those thoughts. Mainly for a fear of being seen as a creep, but also because rejection is a scary thought. But Aziraphale was sweet, and seemed flattered that she thought him to be handsome. "I think you're very handsome. I like looking at you."

His cheeks flushed pink and he took a rushed sip of his tea, "well, thank you darling. I- I hadn't quite expected that. I've been told I'm soft."

She laughed, "so? Soft isn't a bad thing."

"Do you like soft?"

"Sure, I like soft, I like hard. Besides, I believe personality and talent makes a person attractive anyhow, it's not too important what it might look like to society."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, there's plenty of people who look just as the world wants for beauty. And I don't mean to say they're unattractive, they are. But I personally believe that a kind, talented man who might be ugly to the papers is the most attractive you'll encounter. And a mean, untalented man touted as attractive tends to be ugly. Words change appearances."

"You're very wise, my dear," Aziraphale said with a warm smile, placing his hand over hers. She took a shaking breath, looking up at him. He was close to her now, hot breath that smelled of cinnamon hitting her cheeks as a hand lifted near her cheek, "May I?"

She didn't know what he was asking, but she nodded because she knew she'd relish in it all the same. First Aziraphale's hand went to the bobble round her hair, gently releasing it so it fell down. Her scalp itched from the strain, and his fingers gently massaged it. His hands were strong, capable.

She was struck for a moment with a memory that seemed forgotten. Her holding the hand of a kind stranger as she slid a finger onto his finger, the way he'd clutched hers as though he might lose her. They were warm then, kind. These hands had also blessed her when she wasn't looking, guided her safely home, and cared for her at the bank of the river at St James's park. For Aziraphale it was a flash, a mere second as the memories went through her mind but she felt them deeply, surrounding her. She could feel the dirt floor of the Globe theatre beneath her feet, or the way her heart had jumped when she spotted him in 1865. It was overwhelming and beautiful, she saw a whole person's history in her interactions with him, with them. It was stupid, it was silly, but she wanted to know them. She wanted to experience the life she could only remember in fragments.

Y/N hadn't realized that tears had come down her cheeks until those hands that spoke the history came to hold her face. She leaned into his touch, the pads of his thumbs wiping the tears away.

"My dear, may I?" Aziraphale asked, his voice suddenly huskier than she'd ever heard it. Her eyes opened, staring into his. He cried also, gentle tears down his sweet cheeks. She hadn't realized she'd been holding onto his vest.

"Aziraphale... I remember you."

That was the invitation, the consent, he needed. With a gentle sort of ferocity, Aziraphale leaned in and took her lips in his own. It was eager yet restrained as it held her in place, imploring her to feel all that he felt. All 2,000 years of yearning over an unknown idea. She kissed back with an intensity she didn't know she had. She hadn't much kissing experience, not the sort to fancy many people due to her high standards that seemed only met by non-humans, but with each inexperienced stroke she paired it with passion and enthusiasm. He guided her, led her through the kiss with grace. It was like a dance. It was messy at times, noses clashing and tear stained cheeks brushing, but it was perfect. It was Aziraphale and Y/N, and they seemed to understand what the other needed.

They parted from air, their mouths not far from one another's as they let out gasps. Y/N wanted more, this Angel was dangerously close to becoming her own brand of oxygen and that kiss was the best bloody one she'd ever had. Her first was a horrible sort, a lad with no lips and horrible breath.

Aziraphale leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Y/N's lips before pulling away more definitely. They were both right messes. Mouths swollen and pink, cheeks flushed, and hair ruined. Y/N hadn't even realized her hands had gotten buried in those soft curls, and his explored her locks that now hung free. She had a thing for good hair, and it seemed the Angel did too.

"Did - did I overstep any boundaries?" He asked, having to clear his throat. His voice came back to his normal register, though it seemed to ring with suppressed emotions.

"No," she said simply. "You didn't."

Aziraphale blew out a breath, letting his forehead fall against hers with a soft laugh, "I worried, my dear, that that was a rash decision on my part. You have only, technically, known me for two days."

"I've known you for a lifetime, love."

The nickname seemed to roll off her tongue, as it had the other night with Crowley. Comfortable, easy. And Aziraphale tried to stop the way his vessel's heart jumped at the thought of love. Too early, yes.

"Let's eat our breakfast, shall we?"

"I'm starved," she answered back, sitting on a bar stool and pulling her plate towards her. "This looks delightful."

They ate together with small bits of conversation intermixed between flushed glances when they caught the other staring at them. Aziraphale's food was as good as it looked, sweetness baked into a cinnamon delight that made her roll her eyes back. God she could eat this whole. Or, she supposed, she should say Aziraphale she could eat this whole, remove Her from the equation. Soon Y/N realized that she had a shift coming up at Nina's cafe, and needed to run to her flat to change.

"Your apron is at the front, dearest, with your purse from yesterday. We left them untouched."

"Oh, good, thank you Angel."

She went out and grabbed her purse, checking to make sure she had everything she needed. Then she realized her hair falling in her face. "Aziraphale?"

"Hmm?"

"I need my bobble back."

"Your what, dearest?"

"My bobble, hair tie thing. What you took out of my hair."

Aziraphale hummed as he walked into the main area and towards his desk, an odd yet attractive set of glasses on his nose. "I've not the faintest idea what you're talking about, love. Perhaps it fell."

Ah. Unlikely story. Especially unlikely given the bobble now on the angel's wrist. Guess he fancied her hair like that, round her face. She rolled her eyes and made to leave, before hesitating at the door. "Thank you, Aziraphale. For.. for taking me seriously. It's a strange idea, my soul being immortal and what not. I'm struggling to adjust. But I know that I want you and I want Crowley, I want to figure this out."

Aziraphale's chest seemed to lighten at the words and he smiled at the woman standing before him. She was beautiful and calm as she said this, her hair looking radiant. Y/N was quite right, he fancied her hair indeed. "I'm glad to hear that, Y/N. After your shift, if you'd like, you may come back to the bookshop?"

She smiled, "I'd like that. I, I think I'll pop round to my flat after work first to wash my hair. Let me write my number for you."

Y/N quickly scribbled her number on the front page of a very modern copy of Hunchback of Notre Dame, handing it to Aziraphale and saying, "it's my favorite book. Thought this new copy could handle the defacement."

Then she left quickly and the Angel watched her figure race past the door towards her flat, lips still pink from kissing an Angel.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #aziraphale x crowley #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #fluff #aziraphale x crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #so much fluff #angsty fluff #emotional hurt/comfort #binging broadchurch #accidentally made this a series #didn’t mean to but now there will be probably a part 3 and 4 #so sorry to the people who were really invested #sorry this is short

92 notes · View notes

prongsiess · 2 years

Text

To elaborate further on my multilingual!harry raised by Jegulus, it seems very unrealistic to me if they didn’t send Harry to muggle primary school. So, as Harry reached school age, Lily and Mary take these 2 daft, pureblood dads to the school near their house to help them sign up their godson for his Year 1 (Harry didn’t attend nursery or reception since Naanee and Graipee babysat him for that period of his life). And so, after navigating a horrific amount of muggle paperwork made thrice as hard to fill out by the fact that Harry is a wizard and none of his documents quite match the muggle counterparts (and the fact that he has 2 dads and we’re still just in the 80s so the secretary gives them a hard time. Well, until Lily snaps at her for shaming her best friends and threatens to report her to the school board), Harry is finally enrolled in muggle schooling. And so, on his first day of Year 1, he’s escorted to school by his teary-eyed papa, his sobbing dad, all of his uncles and aunts, Naanee, Graipee and Granny Minnie ("I don’t care that it’s Septembre first Albus, my grandson is more important"). He gives them all the biggest hugs and waddles away to his first day of lessons. At the end of the school day, James comes to pick up Harry and was surprised by the fact that Harry’s teacher requested to talk to him. Getting ready to deal with all types of discrimination (because he is very aware that Harry has 2 dads, 2 sets of queer aunts, 2 sets of queer uncles, not to mention his other queer aunts in uncles in hetero-passing relationships, and a lesbian grandma that Harry adores and talks about 24/7 on top of the fact that Harry is very flagrantly desi and that his mum packed Harry’s lunch that morning with all types of Harry’s favourite indian goodies), James deflates more and more the closer he gets to the classroom. Though, to his surprise, he finds the teacher petting Harry’s head as his son tries to teach some of the other children what his welsh story book is about (because obviously he asked uncle moony to pack his favourite book so he can show his new friends). Gesturing to her desk, the middle aged woman urges James to sit down and informs him that his son is very well-mannered, but his new friends have trouble keeping up with his frequent language changes and how impressive it is that he speaks so many languages so fluently. So for the next 15 minutes or so, she asks about what languages Harry speaks and how he learned them, expressing how impressive his vocabulary seems to be in all of them. To which James proudly gloats about his kid genius and the wonderful people who thought him all he knows. As the weeks went on, Harry, who spoke a very tangled mix of all 5 languages before attending school, starts to jump around languages less. By winter break, Reg and James are slightly worried Harry’s started to loose touch with his multilingualism, or at least that’s until Harry asks his dads if he could have a friend over, to which James and Regulus promptly say yes to, but them ultimately panic because "this is a very wizard-esque house, how are we going to host a muggle child here for the afternoon". And so, about a week later as Harry little friend Lilibeth walks into their muggled-home, they hear her speak hindi to Harry, which garners a weird look from her parents. "She’s picked up this language at school and we can’t quite figure out what it is”, the mom says sounding puzzled. Its a that moment that Regulus and James realize what’s been happening at school and their fear for Harry multilingualism magically melts away. "Oh yeah, Harry speaks English, Hindi and French at home and also knows Welsh and Scottish Gaelic", James says, "your daughter just told our son that she had a very happy Christmas and wants to see what toys he’s gotten”. The woman seems shocked but very impressed as to how her daughter picked up a new language so quickly. And as the years go on, and Harry invites more friends to the house, James and Regulus never fail to hear them speaking to each other in Hindi, French, Welsh or Scottish Gaelic.

#jegulus raising harry #jegulus #harry potter #desi james potter #james potter #french regulus #regulus black #multilingual #lily evans #mary macdonald #marylily

395 notes · View notes

str8aura-no-not-that-one · 1 year

Note

how do you make mashups

heres what youre going to do. First you need to have a really good ear. I don't have perfect pitch or anything like that, which I imagine makes my quality suffer as a result, but I listen to 10,000 songs a week, and as a result I'm pretty good at identifying BPM. That's a must- you can slow down or speed up a song a little bit, but if you do it too much to make it fit, it just becomes slush.

Once you've got an idea, listen to the instrumental, and try to sing the desired acapella over it a bit. Do it multiple times, testing to see what lyrics go where and how the instrumental bends to it. Pull up the lyrics and recite them in your head if you don't know them all, see how it feels.

Then comes the hard part. You gotta find the instrumentals and acapellas, and the more obscure the song, the harder its going to be. Not all of them are gonna work out. Those AI sites that handmake acapellas for you? They're bullshit. Only use them as a last resort, and only for songs where the music is quieter than the lyrics.

I use audacity, everyone tells me i should use another software, but these are the same people who tell me i shouldn't draw with a mouse, and look where not using a trackpad got me. My goal has always been 'spend as little money as possible'. Make of that what you will.

Slap both the instrumental and the acapella in, try to keep the instrumental whole. The acapella is what you're going to want to be chopping up and dissecting. take that first verse, line it up where it needs to go so the first word hits the note running- make sure to keep in mind what the original artists wanted, they probably know better than you. See that little gap of empty space in the provided picture? I left the opening to the song untouched, and only brought in the new lyrics where the original lyrics came in (with a little bit of guesstimation, given one is Daft Punk, but thats the general rule of thumb.)

Now start listening, and hard. Music that's out of sync instinctively sounds wrong. Listen to that instinct, and listen to it closely. Speed up or slow down as it demands, until you can listen to it all the way through and nod your head in rhythm the whole time. Experiment, see what instrumental breaks you can fill, and what goes where.

Sometimes the instrumental or acapella are longer than the other track. It's okay to flub it once or twice and copy-paste a verse, but don't rely on it too much, or you start to sound like a hack. If you need to, cut out pieces of the instrumental, but be careful and make sure the transition is seamless. Keep an eye on how long the distance is between those big spikes- those are the key beats that form the BPM.

This is just my personal tip, and a lot of artists dont follow it, but I usually suggest keeping the pitch of the lyrics as close to the original as they usually were. Speeding up or slowing down is gonna make it sound like a bullfrog or a chipmunk is singing it, and that just sounds ugly to me. @chongoblog doesnt bother with that, god knows why, but I imagine he knows better than me.

If you cut up a vocal track, watch the end of it- make sure the syllable fades naturally, and doesn't just suddenly cut. Nothing will take the listener out of the track more than an abrupt lyric cut.

Listen. Don't publish it immediately. Take it on your walks, to the gym, wherever, just keep listening to it, and working on it until you're sure you've ironed out every kink, because as soon as you put it out you'll notice one more problem and want to kill yourself.

Export. Release. Don't profit, usually. Et voila.

Here's your homework: can you tell me the mistake I made around 2:14?

#my posts #music #mashup #longpost #daft punk #logic #eminem

31 notes · View notes

theforgottenmcrmy · 1 year

Text

Reprieve~ Part 2/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 19 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, mentions of miscarriage

Summary: He was finally in the presence of all three boys, two of whom he had once viewed as something akin to sons of his own, and the third he surely would have as well, had circumstances been more forgiving. However, with the passage of time, what Harwin had feared long ago had come to pass, and the painful realization of it was most unsettling. To the young men standing before him now, he felt like nothing but a stranger.

A/N: Thank you guys for the birthday wishes and all the love and support on part 1, especially giving my mini stint of a hiatus.🖤 I hope you enjoy this next part. also, for the sake of this story, we saying that Jace has perfect posture, and is most definitely not te epitome of that one meme

Part 3 with the Targaryen-Velaryon-Strong-Tyrell dinner should be up on Saturday 4/1. I hope you have a great end of the week!🖤🖤🖤

The young Lord Selwin Strong had never been one who was frightened easily.

On the contrary, there was little that did scare him. Throughout his youth, his parents, tutors, and many elders around him alike constantly reminded him that he could never possibly be cautious enough. Between too many ambitious rides down the Rose Road and nearly out of sight of the patrolling guards, and one too many impromptu swims in the nearly tumultuous Mander following heavy spring rains, many times had he tested his own luck. Selwin was not so daft as to think he had never given those around him just cause to fret after him.

Not even Harrenhal, with all the ghost stories his father had recounted to him over the years, had been successful in casting any sort of wary effect on him. Upon first sight of the castle, the crumbling stone towers, blackened with Dragonfire, only inspired interest, not fear. And he was nearly twice as old now as he had been then.

But there was something particularly unnerving about Dragonstone.

As Selwin followed closely behind his elder brother, their footsteps upon the stone floor echoed off the dark, dimly lit corridors and ceilings that seemed to kiss the sky. But Derrik did not seem afraid, and if there was no cause for alarm to be had by him, the cautious, ever careful and meticulous Derrik, Selwin had to reason with himself that there likely was not much to be worried about at all.

Even if the castle was rather haunting.

“Remind me again what our aim is?” Selwin questioned his elder brother, still not daring to speak any louder than a whisper, lest his words echo and spread leagues away from where they stood. “We will never find the princes by simply wandering about these halls.”

Ser Alren had volunteered to keep an eye on both of them- but they had managed to slip away whilst he settled into his own lodgings. Now unencumbered from prying eyes, the young men had been free to wander about Dragonstone’s many halls for nearly an hour.

“We cannot simply ask where they are, either,” Derrik countered, not taking anywhere near as much care to muffle his voice as Selwin had. “Their mother is the queen now. Their uncle means to take away her birthright, and by extension, their own birthright, at this very moment. If we happen to come across them, that is one thing. But it would be in poor taste to purposefully pull them away from their duties. It is doubtless that they have been given plenty of vital tasks to keep them busy.”

“Regrettably, we’ve not been near as busy as we would like.”

At the sound of a third voice, Selwin nearly jumped out of his skin, and humorously enough, so did Derrik beside him. The pair whirled around, and only when the familiar faces of Prince Jacerys and Prince Lucerys came into view were the Strong boys able to begin to settle their rapidly beating hearts.

The Velaryon princes looked much the same, at least in the face. It had been almost seven years since all four boys had seen one another last, but there was no mistaking those in front of them as Queen Rhaenyra’s eldest sons. Striking dark hair, even bolder eyes- like their grandmother, Princess Rhaenyrs, they heavily embodied the strong and prominent traits of House Baratheon.

“My princes!” Derrik bumbled after a moment.

As his elder brother rushed to bow, Selwin hastily followed suit.

“Please,” Prince Lucerys reached out a hand, as if to stop them. “There is no need for such formalities… especially not amongst ourselves.”

Prince Jacaerys nodded in agreement. “Despite the cruel gossip from some particularly malicious individuals who despise our mother-“ -it was clear by his tone that Jacaerys was thinking of a few specific perpetrators- “we know the two of you are not our brothers. Regardless, Luke and I have always viewed you as such. Address us however you please.”

“One need not always be of the same blood to consider another a brother,” their mother had once told them.

“Gods, Selwin!” Lucerys exclaimed suddenly, his eyes wide as he regarded him with something akin to wonder. “You sprouted up like a tree! You’re so… tall!”

Selwin eyed Derrik, who was tall even for his age, and whose height he still nearly matched. But all his elder brother did was shoot him a bemused look. Sheepishly, Selwin replied, “Must be something in the crops from the Reach, I suppose.”

“Must be something,” Jacaerys concurred, looking thoroughly entertained by the turn of conversation. “Now, did I overhear you mention that you were seeking us?”

Selwin affirmed Jacaerys’s suspicions at the same Derrik denied them.

Smirking, Jacaerys replied, “No matter; we have been found just the same. Fortunately for all of us, we shall have the entire day to catch up.”

Derrik frowned in confusion. “We could not claim your time in such a way. Surely the queen must have tasked the two of you with something that is more deserving of your attention?”

“We are all at a standstill, it seems,” Lucerys chimed in. “Until our grandsire Lord Corlys reaches these shores, our mother has been reluctant to hold any further meetings with her council… Although, now that Lady Y/N and Lord Harwin have arrived, there may be more to discuss.”

“Lord Corlys? He is well then?” Selwin asked.

The last he and Derrik had heard of the infamous Sea Snake, he had suffered a grave injury, one believed to have been life threatening. It was that event that had caused their mother to depart from the traveling party and go to King’s Landing to offer the family’s support. There had been no word of Lord Corlys’s passing in the weeks since, but that had not necessarily spelled good news, either.

“He is feeling well enough to sail,” Jacaerys confirmed.

For the Sea Snake, they all supposed that was right as rain.

“Well… If the queen has not kept you busy, what have you been doing to pass the time?”

“Waiting for your family to arrive, mostly,” Jacaerys admitted. “Looking after our younger brothers… and spending time with Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena.”

“Our betrothed,” Prince Lucerys clarified.

At this, Selwin did a double take. They were only boys when they last saw one another, and now, the princes were to be wed? It was a bit odd, Selwin could admit, that the princes were betrothed to their step sisters. However, despite the queen’s second marriage to her uncle, Prince Daemon, Lady Baela and Rhaena were of no closer blood to the princes than cousins, and such arrangements were not uncommon among nobility in the least. Additionally, the girls were said to be just as lovely as their late mother. If the gossip was to be believed, it would certainly explain the small twinkle in Jacaerys’s eyes, and the muted redness upon Lucerys’s cheeks, as the princes spoke of their intended.

Though he was encroaching upon the age where it was a genuine possibility, Selwin had not given much thought to a betrothal, let alone a marriage, at all. Neither he nor Derrik had been betrothed as of yet, but their parents had mentioned potential candidates in passing before. As the elder of the two, at least Derrik was likely to be wedded off before him, Selwin thought with mild relief.

“Congratulations on your betrothals,” Derrik told them cordially. “Neither Selwin nor I have had the honor, but we have heard nothing but praise of Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena. Our mother has spoken highly of them both.”

“We shall have to introduce you to them,” Jacaerys promised. “But that may be a few hours yet. In the meantime, I would ask a favor of the two of you.”

A favor? Selwin challenged, “Name it.”

“It has been ages since Luke and I have had a change of sparring partner,” Jacaerys noted pointedly, not bothering to hide the mischievous smile that threatened the outer corner of his lips. “Care to try your hands?”

As the Strong boys looked to one another, the unspoken question lingered between them. Selwin knew their parents would probably be looking for them soon.

But the offer sounded mighty tempting…

And who were they to deny a request from princes?

In a state you had seldom ever seen her, Queen Rhaenyra was truly and thoroughly stunned to silence.

As she attempted to come to terms with Larys’s betrayal, which you had yet to truly come to terms with yourself, you busied yourself with accepting her previous offer and enjoying your cup of wine. It was strong- a Dornish Red, you suspected- but perfectly delicious. The great many complimentary flavors reminded you vaguely of a traditional spiced wine from the Reach that you enjoyed during the winter months.

Once she had found the words, Rhaenyra declared, “Your tale is most disturbing. As you are more than aware, I am no stranger to betrayal from a brother. However, I have not been given cause to believe my father died under mysterious circumstances… yet. What you are accusing Larys Strong of is very serious, Y/N. Not only was Lyonel Strong Larys’s father and kin, but he was the Hand of the King as well- should Larys be found guilty of orchestrating his father’s death, that would merit additional charges.”

“I agree. I understand that this is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

“Harwin has always been so devoted to his brother and sisters… However, I suppose the pair of you would not be making such serious accusations against Larys without sound proof to back up these claims.”

You thought back to the letter, written in Larys’s own hand, which alluded to your premature death and unwittingly proved his involvement in the coordinated attack on the road. Harwin knew of its location at all times since its discovery; it was safe with him. “I assure you, Harwin has such infallible proof in his possession, Your Grace.”

“Then I will see to it that justice shall be done,” she avowed. “Once I take King’s Landing, it seems there are many trials that will need to be had.”

The thought of the queen, Prince Daemon, the Velaryon princes, and even the Lady Baela flying to King’s Landing, retaking control of the city, and forcibly rooting out the Usurper and every other traitorous Green from the Red Keep almost brought a smile to your face. But the thought of Larys slinking beneath the shadows, as if to avoid being felled by the wide sweep of justice’s blade, killed your inclination. You could only hope that between the queen’s desire to set the tone for her reign, and Harwin’s thirst to avenge the wrongs against his father and your family, that Larys would not be able to scrape by without having answered for his crimes.

“Since we’ve discussed the more troubling matters, mayhaps we could move forward onto less… upsetting topics? Now, a few weeks ago, I believe I was promised an introduction to your daughter.”

You froze. Rhaenyra would never do your daughter no harm, of that you were certain. But you could not help but fear that granting her request at this particular time would unintentionally cause her further pain, which was something you greatly desired to avoid.

“Are you certain, Your Grace?” you questioned, not disguising the uneasiness in your voice nearly as well as you had hoped to. “Perhaps it would be best to wait until a later time. She is likely to be tired from all of the traveling, and you must have more important things to attend to.”

Rhaenyra laughed once, but it was a bit dry.“Such as? Meeting with my council? While I appreciate your concern for me, I would rather not delude myself with the illusion that my own daughter was one to have ever truly lived. I have known you for many years. You are one of my closest confidants- my friend. I have been most impatient to meet your daughter. It is high past the time we were introduced… Almost three years past time, if I recall correctly.”

If her words weren’t convincing enough, the hard look on her face alone would have made it abundantly clear; there would be no dissauding Rhaenyra from her request.

“Very well. She is with her nursemaid now, but it should not be too difficult to find them.”

Dragonstone was unlike any other castle, holding, or keep Harwin had ever seen or been inside before. It was no surprise to him that its training yard would be any different.

As Harwin stepped through the tall entry archway, his eyes were instantly compelled to trail up the walls and towards the high stone ceilings that gave off the same cavernous effect as almost every other room in the castle. The various thuds, clangs, and quips from the ground below echoed off of the three walls, for there was no fourth.

Instead, the far right side of the room was completely exposed, and open to the elements. The sea, looking stronger than Harwin recalled it having appeared just a few hours before, whirled as far out as the eye could see. A single stone handrail was all that separated one from a rather unfortunate- and steep- drop. The rail was tall enough to prevent such an accident if one merely bumped into it, but short enough so that one could easily vault over it with minimal effort, if they so desired. As odd as it was, It did not make much sense for the dramatic feature to be for viewing purposes only. Nay, Harwin was inclined to suspect that perhaps the handrail had not always been there, and that perhaps, many years past, such a large opening would have made a convenient location to call for and mount the infamous Targaryen beasts at a moment’s notice.

Once Harwin had soaked in the grandeur of the training yard, he turned his focus to who was occupying it. To his surprise, there were not many individuals present. A few house guards, donned in the Targaryen red and black, made up the majority of the gathered group. There was also a stern looking man, whose arms were crossed, watching the trainees actively moving about on the floor with dedicated interest; Harwin could only assume the man, whoever he was, was the master at arms.

To his right, standing just inside the entrance, was Ser Erryk Cargyll. Harwin held no ill will for the knight who had once replaced him as Princess Rhaenyra’s sworn shield. In fact, Harwin greatly respected him; their time serving together on the City Watch, while short, had allowed him an insight into whom Harwin believed was an honorable man.

Interestingly enough, his twin, Ser Arryk Cargyll, was absent. But Harwin did not dare to speculate further as to why that might have been just then.

To Harwin’s left, standing post just as diligently as Ser Erryk, was none other than Ser Alren. In the wake of the incident whilst traveling to Duskendale, Ser Alren had yet to return to his usual self. Once he had recovered from the shock and realized you were- physically speaking- unharmed, Harwin had been tempted to lash out at Ser Alren for his inability to keep the group safe, and for allowing you to break away so far from the main party. But Harwin was quick to conclude that doing so would have accomplished very little, if anything at all. The look on Ser Alren’s face as the survivors buried their fallen men off the side of road back in the Crownlands was clear enough of an indication that he was taking their deaths very seriously.

Though Harwin might have refrained from critiquing Ser Alren’s defensive capabilities, Ser Alren himself would not. He had withdrawn unto the shadow of his former self, taking his responsibilities more seriously than Harwin had ever known him to in the years since his service began- and Ser Alren had never been one to shirk his duties. In fact, after arriving at the castle, when you and Harwin were requested to follow Prince Jacaerys to the throne room to speak with the queen, Ser Alren had volunteered himself personally to keep an eye on your sons.

Which was why it was particularly curious that, when Harwin’s eyes scanned the training yard once more, neither Derrik nor Selwin were anywhere to be found.

As if reading his mind, Ser Alren greeted him with a stiff nod, and supplied, “Your sons are retrieving some things from their chambers, My Lord. I will admit, they managed to sneak out of my sight for a bit whilst I settled into my own room, but I caught up to them shortly after. They told me of their intent to meet the princes here.”

Once more, Harwin would not fault Ser Alren. He was the farthest thing from their nursemaid, and his sons were more than old enough to know better than to seek out trouble, especially as guests. Nor did ‘sneaking’ out of sight sound too uncharacteristic for either of them. Derrik and Selwin were well-intentioned most of the time, but on the rare occasion they were not, they’d been known to make quite the mischievous pair.

As Larys and I once were, Harwin thought to himself ruefully.

“I am certain they will join us shortly then, Ser Alren,” Harwin replied reassuringly, taking great care so as to not leave any room for misinterpretation in his tone or words. “I appreciate you keeping an eye on them whilst My Lady and I were called away. I fear I may have underestimated the size of Dragonstone, let alone my ability to navigate it.”

“This place is… interesting,” Ser Alren agreed tactfully after a moment of hesitation.

Ser Alren was of the Reach, the home of chivalry, where life and art was generally more fair and lighthearted in nature. Dragonstone, while rightfully powerful and imposing in its architecture and design, had to have been a far cry from Ser Alren’s home of Old Oak. Seven Hells, had Harrenhal not been as ghastly of a keep as it was, Harwin might have been a bit unnerved by Dragonstone, too.

“Your sons are almost men, My Lord, but I still believe they could benefit from having a watchful eye upon them. This keep is foreign to them, and there is no shortage of strange fixtures that could spell trouble.” Ser Alren tilted his chin across the room, towards the massive opening of the cavern. “Why, poor little Lady Luciya could slip through those rails as though they were not even there to begin with.”

Harwin grimaced immediately at the horrific thought. Before he could think of how to respond, someone called to him a short ways away.

“Lord Harwin!”

He was unsure what surprised him more- the fact that another had called for him by name, or who it was that had called for him.

Prince Lucerys Velaryon stood by a nearby rack which boasted various practice weaponry. His hand was outstretched over a blunted sword, his thought of grabbing it apparently having been abandoned as soon as he had spotted Harwin. Much to Harwin’s relief, the young prince was looking over at him with what appeared to be a genuine smile.

Nonetheless, Harwin chided himself to tread carefully, both physically and figuratively, as the two met one another halfway. “Prince Lucerys.”

The queen’s second son was grinning at him as he appraised him thoughtfully. “You look… the same.”

Harwin let out a chuckle before he could help himself. Clearing his throat, he countered, “You look to be nearly a man grown, My Prince.”

Prince Lucerys carried little physically of traits that would discern him outright as a Targaryen. His dark hair and eyes were the more striking of his features. But his smile- it was a mirror image of his mother’s, and one that had the tendency to outshine most else.

Tact would compel Harwin to believe that the Baratheron genes were prominent in Lucerys from his grandmother, the Princess Rhaenys. But Harwin could not help the small part of him that felt as though he was catching a glimpse of a ghost- the specter of a young Barathon lord who had passed only the year before.

“I am not the only one who has grown. Derrik and Selwin are just as guilty of that offense as I,” Lucerys noted, his smile unwavering. “Especially Selwin. I remarked that he sprouted up like a tree.”

The corner of Harwin’s lips twitched upward. Selwin was rather tall for his age. “He takes after the Tyrells in that way, I am afraid. But forgive my lack of manners, My Prince- I would like to offer you my apologies for the loss of King Viserys.”

At the mention of the late king, Lucerys’s grin faltered. “Thank you, Lord Harwin. The past few days have been… difficult.”

“I can only imagine,” Hariwn sympathized, his own smile dissipating as concern crept into his mind. “Though the whole realm may mourn the loss of King Viserys, I suspect the burden you carry is heavier, as you have also lost your grandsire.”

Before the young prince could respond, a particularly loud clang echoed throughout the room.

In the middle of the training yard, a younger boy had dropped his practice sword. An older, taller boy- young man- stepped out from behind the training dummy and into Harwin’s line of sight.

Prince Jacaerys.

He too, reminded Harwin vaguely of the shadow Lord Borros’s only son and heir once was. But the way with which Jacaerys carried himself, standing tall and proud, chin up and looking at whomever he was speaking to directly, was reminiscent entirely of the way that those select Targaryen few who rode upon winged beasts tended to do.

The prince briefly raked his eyes over the boy, wordlessly ensuring that he was unharmed. Once he was reassured that nothing was amiss, he leant down and swiped the shortened- and blunted- practice sword off the ground. He rose, sword in hand, and turned to the man whom Harwin had assumed was Dragonstone’s master at arms. “This sword is too heavy for him. He would fare much better with a lighter one.”

The man remained still, arms crossed, and completely unbothered. “I disagree, My Prince. He shall get stronger the more he grows, and repeated practice is the only way he will learn. Give him time; he shall become comfortable with the weight.”

“That is what he always says,” Lucerys grumbled under his breath beside Harwin, so quietly that it was likely he had not intended to be heard.

Jacaerys opted not to respond to the master at arms, though it was unclear whether he felt the conversation had reached a natural conclusion, or if frustration prevented him from furthering it. He held out the sword to the younger boy to return it, but the point was moot, for the young boy was distracted. Harwin realized a moment too late that the boy was looking at him.

Jacaerys followed the other boy’s gaze, and when his eyes landed on Harwin, he could have sworn he saw the eldest boy sigh.

So he hadn’t imagined the subtle, though still strange, look Jacaerys had given him upon their arrival.

When it was obvious that the younger boy was not interested in immediately recommencing his drills, Jacaerys placed a guiding hand on his back, and the pair crossed the room, headed straight towards Harwin and Lucerys. And all of the sudden, it dawned on him. Harwin’s gut sank as one of the moments he had dreaded ever since the decision to leave Highgarden had finally arrived.

He was finally in the presence of all three boys, two of whom he had once viewed as something akin to sons of his own, and the third he surely would have as well, had circumstances been more forgiving. However, with the passage of time, what Harwin had feared long ago had come to pass, and the painful realization of it was most unsettling. To the young men standing before him now, he felt like nothing but a stranger.

The youngest of the three was oblivious to his internal struggles, and he wasted no time at all in stepping before him.

“This cannot be Prince Joffrey,” Harwin feigned. Despite his internal conflict, he was unable to stop himself from smiling as the youngest Velaryon prince gave him a grin that shy a few teeth.

The youngest Velayron prince, like his elder brothers, shared the looks of the commonly known Baratheon traits. He was yet a boy- not yet a serpent of the sea, nor a dragon. Not even a stag. Only time would tell which side of the family his personality would tend to take after. But, unlike his brothers, the carefree manner with which Joffrey regarded his surroundings, innocent eyes greeting a stranger with the kindness one would an old friend, and the pure jovialness that all but radiated from his short frame was eerily familiar to the unbothered and relatively amicable demeanor of the late Ser Laenor Velaryon.

“Joffrey, this is Lord Harwin of Harrenhal,” Jacaerys introduced.

Prince Joffrey gave him a prim and proper bow, which, judging by his stiff but precise movements, Harwin suspected he had been recently practicing with his tutors. Harwin indulged the young boy by returning the gesture.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Ser. My brothers and mother have told me a lot about you.”

“My Lord, Joffrey,” Jacaerys was quick to correct him, politely, but firmly. “He is Lord Harwin now, not merely ‘Ser’.”

Determined not to let the youngest prince frown, Harwin quickly intervened. “I was a knight long before I became a lord. ‘Tis no slight to be addressed as such every now and again. It does one good to remember where they began.”

“I appreciate your insight, My Lord, but he is old enough to know the difference,” Jacaerys disagreed curtly. Turning to Joffrey, he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Let us get back to it. Perhaps Ser Joran is correct- you will not get used to the weight of the sword unless you practice sufficiently with it.”

Harwin tried not to let the hurt show on his face as Jacaerys led Joffrey back to the middle of the yard. He had anticipated somewhat of a cold shoulder from the eldest prince, but it was not enough to properly prepare him from the actuality of it.

As Joffrey picked up his sword and turned his attention back to the training dummy, Lucerys spoke softly beside Harwin.

“Forgive him, My Lord. The past few days have been difficult for all of us. Jace is taking his new responsibilities very seriously, but I fear it is affecting his mood a bit more than even he realizes.”

If that were true, and Harwin could easily believe it so, that would have certainly explained the lack of warm reception. But worry continued to gnaw at him, and perhaps the root of Prince Jacaerys’s cold shoulder towards him was something far deeper than his younger brother’s proposed explanation.

“What of Prince Daemon?” Harwin could not help but ask. “Prince Jacaerys is no longer a boy, perhaps, but it is indisputable that your step father is long past coming of age. Has he helped to shoulder the burden your brother now believes he carries? How does he aid our queen in this troubling time?”

The grimace on Lucerys’s face was answer enough. Still, he said, “Daemon is… Daemon, My Lord. He has not been the same since Grandsire passed. Mother pretends as though nothing is amiss, but he has barely spoken a word to any of us in the past few days. He does not dine with us, either.”

Harwin’s brows furrowed. The loss of a child, which Harwin presumed had transpired, had to have been impactful indeed. But even for Prince Daemon, the described behavior seemed peculiar. In the limited capacity that Harwin had known him, seldom had the Rogue Prince let his emotions run so freely. Prince Daemon allowing himself to become compromised by them was nearly unfathomable.

“Is he here now?” Harwin wondered, eyes flickering about the yard briefly with great caution, as if merely speaking of it would make it a reality.

Lucerys shrugged, unbothered. “Lady Rhaena believed she saw him making his way to the Dragonmont when she saw him last. But that was last night. He has been keeping odd hours as well.”

Strange indeed.

In the middle of the training yard, Joffrey successfully landed a solid thwack against the training dummy, for which he earned Jacaerys’s applause. As the youngest Velaryon prince basked in his victory, his sword nearly pulled him down to the ground with its own weight.

The commotion brought Harwin and Lucerys back to the unfinished topic at hand. The latter said then, “Jace is too stubborn to admit it now, and I doubt he ever will. But he has missed you. I have missed you.”

Pangs of guilt tugged at Harwin’s chest, threatening his resolve. “I suppose a letter for your name day and a few others throughout the year are not very sufficient.”

“‘Twas better than nothing at all.”

The young Lucerys that Harwin had once known was an optimist, but not naive. His flippant reaction gave Harwin relief and increased the burden of guilt he felt even more. Harwin contemplated his next words very carefully, feeling incredibly torn. Part of Harwin wanted little else than to give Lucerys the truth he deserved. Another part of him knew doing so was likely to put the boy in more danger than he and his brothers already were in.

Ser Laenor might have been their father- but he was not their sire. Jacaerys and Lucerys were old enough that Harwin did not think it impossible for them to have reached that conclusion on their own. If there was even a small chance that they doubted their parentage, Harwin outright denouncing his suspected involvement in it would only raise more questions. And, if there was even a semblance of the children he once knew within the young men before him now, Harwin was confident that Jacaerys and Lucerys were still just as bright as they’d once been. It would not take them long at all to question whether their Barathon looks truly passed from Princess Rhaenys through Ser Laenor…

When Harwin spoke, it was under his breath, and just as loud as he dared, given their current audience.

“I am sorry any hurt that I and my family distancing ourselves may have caused the two of you. You may not believe me, nor would I blame you if you do not, but none of it was meant to be a slight against you. We only wanted to do what we thought was best… What we thought would keep you, Jacaerys, and Joffrey safe.”

Lucerys gave him an enlightened look that implied he was even more observant than he had let on. The understanding in his eyes suggested he had deduced the unspoken words between Harwin’s seemingly innocent sentiments with great ease.

“I know, My Lord.”

He knew.

There was no doubt about it. Lucerys had outright said the very words himself, intonation implications and all.

He knows.

Even if Lucerys lacked the knowledge of his true sire- and Harwin was not entirely certain whether he did- having been spared the task of personally and formally refuting his rumored involvement with the queen came as a massive relief.

And now that Lucerys knew, or at least knew enough to understand that whilst Harwin might not have been his sire, but was indisputably still alive, Harwin hoped that would garner some additional patience with the Velaryon princes. If he was to be welcomed back into their lives, he knew it would take time, and likely copious amounts of effort. But he was more than willing to see it through. At the very least, the boys were owed a stable fatherly presence in their lives. Harwin was not perfect; he was anything but. But neither could Harwin imagine a world in which Prince Daemon Targaryen was the flawless encapsulation of fatherhood. And if Harwin could provide an additional guiding voice for the beloved sons of one of his oldest and dearest friends, even if that meant stepping on the toes of the Rogue Prince, he would.

If Lucerys noticed Harwin’s shock and internal debating, he did not show it. Instead, his attention reverted back to the middle of the training yard, where his older and younger brothers were preoccupied, instructor and student respectively. “You will not meet much resistance with Joffrey,” he decided thoughtfully, answering the question that Harwin did not ask. “He gets along well with everybody.”

Harwin could not help the small smile that came to him as he watched the youngest Velaryon prince attempting to give the training dummy what for, despite the crutch of an unreasonably heavy practice sword. “And Jacaerys?”

“Give him time,” Lucerys advised helpfully. “Once he realizes that he does not have to be so serious all the time, he will remember what life was like in King’s Landing, when our families spent more time together than apart. And he does, he will be glad that you are here… as I am. As we all are.”

The crashing waves were much louder outside of the castle than within. The white sands of the beach and the cloudy water washing upon it were rivaled in intensity only by the murky grayness of the sky.

You walked at the queen’s side along the wall in a comfortable silence as the pair of you drew closer to your destination. You glanced out at the sea every now and then, noting it was beginning to look a bit more tumultuous than it had seemed to be morning. Perhaps a storm was coming. You spared a brief moment of thought to hope for safe travels for the Sea Snake as he sailed towards Dragonstone.

Up ahead, Bryna and Luciya were also taking in the views. Even from a bit away, you could tell that traveling had taken its toll on your daughter. As Bryna tried to direct Luciya’s attention towards the beach with a few points and encouraging words, Luciya remained unmoved. She might not have been throwing a tantrum, but you expected you would soon find a small pout on her face.

Your theory was proven correct when you approached. It was not an ideal situation, but Rhaenyra had been persistent… And given all the terrible things you knew she had endured over the past few days, you would not deprive her of another which might bring her some small comfort.

You could only hope Luciya’s mood would improve.

Bryna continued her attempt to capture your daughter’s focus to no avail. When she spotted the two of you, she temporarily abandoned her efforts in favor of offering a deep curtsy to the queen.

“Your Grace. My Lady.”

In typical childlike fashion, once Bryna’s attention was no longer on her, Luciya had suddenly begun to want it. She turned her head to see what had distracted her nursemaid, and once her eyes landed upon you and the queen, they widened like saucers.

“Forgive me, I do not believe travel has agreed with the young lady,” Bryna apologized.

You politely waved off her unnecessary apology. “Travel takes its toll on us all.”

“She wishes to walk along the beach, but the waves look too rough. I thought it to be too much of a risk.” Bryna glanced down at Luciya contemplatively. “I would not wish for us to disrupt your stroll. I will take Luciya back to the castle, so that you may continue on undisturbed.”

“Thank you Bryna, but there is no need. I shall take her off your hands for a few hours. How about you take the time to get your own belongings settled?”

Bryna was reluctant. “Are you certain, My Lady?”

“Yes. Please- go and enjoy some time to yourself, you have more than earned it.”

“... If you insist, My Lady.”

With another curtsy to Rhaenyra, and a respectful nod to you, Bryna left without another word, leaving the three of you in silence.

You crouched as delicately as you could before your daughter. Though she eyed Rhaenyra with both apprehension and wonder, once you were before her, her focus fell entirely on you. Her curls, now looking a bit unruly, blew in the wind, often lingering over her face. To her credit, she ignored the inconvenience of them in favor of paying attention to you.

“Luciya,” you beckoned her, grabbing her small hands in your own, “This is my friend, the princess. Do you remember me telling you about her?”

Your daughter nodded dutifully, but only after stealing another curious glance at Rhaenyra.

“Good,” you praised, unable to stop the smile playing on your lips. “Only, she is no longer the princess. Now, she is the queen… Do you remember how one is to greet a queen?”

Luciya nodded once more. With a satisfied smile, you rose back to your full height, and Luciya turned to face Rhaenyra. When she glanced up at you with a look of uncertainty, you tilted your head towards the queen, silently encouraging her.

Luciya bobbed into a curtsy, and though it was a wobbly one at that, if left you practically beaming with pride. Once she had precariously placed herself back onto two feet, you looked over to Rhaenyra, both intrigued and wary of her reaction.

Rhaenyra was looking down at your daughter with a smile of her own. It was a small one, perhaps, but no less genuine, you realized, after seeing the stark look in her eyes. Her purple irises were teaming with an odd, but completely understandable, mixture of grief and joy. Your old friend’s reaction to your daughter’s seemingly small gesture was nearly overwhelming, and you quickly averted your eyes, a bit of a loss as to whether to be polite or feign off your own slight discomfort.

Her words from earlier echoed in your mind. But the children… The children could never be replaced… The letter, detailing the offer of peaceful terms from Dowager Queen Alicent, suddenly felt as though it had the weight of stones in the pocket of your skirts. You knew you had to read the contents of them for yourself, and soon- and to have an important discussion with Harwin very soon thereafter.

“That is very impressive,” Rhaenyra complimented Luciya softly, her voice thick with emotion. “You are a clever girl. Though not unlike your mother, I suppose.”

You felt something brush up against your skirts, and with a confused downwards glance, you realized your daughter had used them to shield her bashful face. You gently maneuvered her from your side and out in front of you. Besides you, or Brynna, there was no other woman than Rhaenyra in the entire Seven Kingdoms whose presence your daughter would be safer in. But Luciya was young, and a bit shy with those whom she did not know; she needed time to realize the truth of the new queen for herself. The woman was a friend to you, perhaps, but a stranger to her.

Having had several young children of her own, notably, Lucerys and Viserys, who were also quite shy, Rhaenyra immediately sensed Luciya’s hesitation. She bent down slowly, as to minimize the potential of Luciya perceiving her actions as a threat. “Your nursemaid is right,” she told your daughter, earning the young girls attention once again, “The waves are a bit rough now. They can be dangerous, but only to those who do not know them.”

There was a suggestive hint to your friend’s tone that did not go unnoticed by Luciya. The young girl took a brave step forward, small chin tilted upwards as she stared at the blonde haired, purple eyed stranger before her.

“I have lived on Dragonstone for a significant part of my life,” Rhaenyra informed Luciya. “I know these sands almost as well as the back of my hand, and the waves even more so. In fact, I was debating on whether to take a walk along the shore now.” She slowly reached out, extending a hand towards Luciya. “Would you like to join me?”

Your daughter surprised both of you by grabbing Rhaenyra’s hand without another thought.

Harwin was keeping a mindful eye on Joffrey, who continued to spar with the training dummy under Jacaerys’s verbal tutelage and the occasional glance from Dragonstone’s Master at Arms. As he observed, Harwin continued to make small talk with Lucerys, who had abandoned his original intent to train alongside his younger brother. Instead, he opted to wait for the imminent arrival of Derrik and Selwin.

Fortunately, the young prince did not have to wait long at all. Footsteps from behind prompted Harwin to straighten instinctively, but he relaxed as soon as familiar voices filled his ears. Harwin turned his head and watched curiously as his sons strolled into the training yard.

“Father!” Selwin greeted him cheerfully.

As soon as his sons entered the training yard, Ser Alren fell into step behind them. He gave Harwin a wary look.

“We did not expect to see you here,” Derrik added as the pair of them came to a stop before Harwin and Lucerys.

“I told your mother I would find you. We feared you might have found yourselves in some trouble,” Harwin informed them, his eyes finally falling upon the source of Ser Alren’s unusual expression- the swords at his sons’ sides. “You do not intend to use those swords to spar with the princes, do you?”

The swords were gifts for their respective fourteenth name days- and entirely real. Not the sort of sword one should make a particular habit of training with, unless they were training for actual battle. And with the gods’ good fortune, it would be some time before either Derrik or Selwin were to see true battle with their own eyes.

Derrik, looking positively affronted, shook his head at once. “Of course not!”

“We merely wished to show them to the princes,” Selwin insisted. Under his breath, he muttered, “And perhaps take a good few swipes at some training dummies while we’re at it…”

So long as his sons did not intend to draw real, sharpened steel against the princes, friendly as they might have been with them, Harwin had to force himself to be at ease. Sel Alren still looked uneasy, but he too made an effort to relax, the tension in his shoulders visible lessening.

“Here,” Selwin said to Lucerys, handing over his sword without delay.

Lucerys swapped the sword Selwin extended to him for the training sword he had in his hand. He lifted Selwin’s sword a few times thoughtfully, particularly mindful of the blade and its close proximity to others. Then, with a slight scrunch upon his face, he abruptly exclaimed, “It’s so… light!”

Selwin nodded, grinning. “It is. Better suited for someone of my stature, I was told. My mother says my uncle’s sword was one just like it- and it never failed him.”

A truthful statement, as it was no blade that had felled Lord Derron Tyrell. Harwin knew you still had your brother’s mentioned sword, but it was tucked away safely back in Highgarden. After Derron’s passing, you had briefly contemplated the idea of having it buried with him, but the idea was ultimately abandoned. It was a Tyrell family heirloom, having been passed on from ancestor to descendant long before it came into the hands of your older brother. It would only have been right for another Tyrell descent to take up the blade in the future, when the time was right.

Selwin made a similar show of testing the weight of Lucerys’s practice sword, frowning immediately as he did so. “The same cannot be said for yours. ‘Tis too heavy, I’d wager.”

At this, Dragonstone’s Master of Arms- Ser Joran, Prince Jacaerys had called him- who still remained across the training yard and who had shown no interest whatsoever in their ongoing conversation, let out an audible huff. Skilled as he was, with the likes of Prince Daemon wandering about, it was hard to imagine Ser Joran’s training methods had never been thoroughly questioned… Although, if he had had his doubts about the other man’s methods, perhaps Prince Daemon had never voiced them openly.

Hand extended outward, Harwin bid his youngest son, “May I?”

Selwin wordlessly handed over the training sword. Harwin frowned as well, the weight of it proving no match for him physically, but it did catch him by surprise. Derrik and Selwin watched their father thoughtfully, but Lucerys looked the most attentive, almost visibly anxious to hear his opinion.

“Aye, too heavy,” Harwin agreed with Selwin after a few moments of silence. Looking back up at Lucerys, he asked, “How can you be expected to learn any sort of proper form if you are unable to comfortably lift the blade?”

Lucerys’s eyes flickered over to Dragonstone’s Master of Arms, Ser Joran, with visible uncertainty. “I… I do not know, My Lord.”

Placing the training sword back onto the nearby rack, Harwin suggested, “Perhaps you should try Selwin’s blade, if only to humor us all. Go on- make a few strikes against that spare training dummy over there.”

At this point, Jacaerys’s tutelage of Joffrey had briefly suspended once more, and the attention of the other Velaryon princes had turned to Lucerys and the scene on the other side of the room. Ser Joran crossed his arms, watching the unfolding spectacle with a rather hard and intimidating look.

Lucerys was still hesitant. “I shouldn’t, My Lord. ‘Tis not my blade. It would not be right.”

“I do not mind at all, My Prince,” Selwin promised. “Give it a go!”

Lucerys nodded to himself, eventually reassured by his friend’s encouragement, and finally broke the uneasy exchange between him and Ser Joran across the room. He approached the training dummy a few paces away slowly, but with determination. Once he reached it, he took a few moments to prepare himself.

…

The swipes he took at the training dummy were not perfect. But they were quick, clean, and mostly precise. And as soon as tufts of hay exploded from the fabric it had been contained in, Lucerys grinned in relief.

Harwin, feeling particularly emboldened by Lucerys’s sudden bout of success, shot the stubborn Ser Joran a challenging look.

But the other man said nothing, recusing himself from the training yard altogether and accepting- what Harwin suspected would only be temporary- defeat.

About an hour’s worth of walking along the beach, chasing and then subsequently running away from the incoming waves, was more than enough to sufficiently tire out Luciya.

The three of you trekked back from the shore to the castle in a comfortable silence, having thoroughly enjoyed the time spent caring about little else than avoiding making a complete mess of your gowns. Even as it was, the bottoms of your skirts were damp and covered with sand. But neither you, nor Rhaenya, and especially not Luciya paid them any mind.

Your daughter was practically falling asleep against your shoulder as you carried her back, prompting Rhaenyra to speak softly when she chose to break the silence.

“Will your family be joining us for dinner tonight?”

“If you will have us,” you answered without a thought.

“I suppose I would make a poor host if I did not at least extend an invitation. But your presence is desired, regardless.”

You smiled at her gratefully.

“With all the excitement, I am worried that we might have lost track of the time. ‘Tis probably best we part ways soon to ready ourselves. But would you mind if we stop by the training yard first? My sons are usually caught up there about this time of day. I would like to make sure they have ample time to make themselves presentable.”

“Of course.”

You followed Rhaenyra throughout the corridors, while Luciya continued to doze off and on in your arms. The closer you drew upon the yard, the clearer the commotion within could be heard.

The three of you entered the training yard to discover a rather entertaining scene.

Countless training dummies littered the middle of the floor, while several bodies weaved in and out around them, striking at the inanimate foes at their will. You caught flashes of the backs of their heads mostly- but it was more than enough to deduce that it was none other than Lucerys and Selwin.

Behind them, on the farthest side of the room, Jacaerys and Derrik were engaged in a rather focused sparring match. Thankfully, it appeared as though they were armed only with practice blades. A few bystanders in the yard had crowded around them, shouting cheers and jeers whenever the match dictated it.

But your focus was then drawn to Harwin, who was a bit away with another spare dummy. The back of the head standing before him was shorter than the others. Joffrey, you realized.

Upon hearing the voices of her elder brothers, followed by her father’s, Luciya roused herself from the clutches of sleep and began to look about the room. You suspected that if you were to set her down, she might have wandered over to one of them, despite her weariness.

As Harwin was instructing Joffrey, and showering him with praise after a few successful swipes at the training dummy, and as the elder four boys were busy with training of their own designs, the sudden reappearance of the queen and yourself had gone by completely unnoticed.

You looked over at Rhaenyra, whose attention was upon her youngest son, still being mentored by Harwin.

Her eyes did not move as she spoke her next words, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her lips as she did so. “Harwin is a good man, my friend.”

Still taking in your surroundings, your heart felt warmed at the sights, and you could not help but agree. “The greatest one I’ve known.”

After a curt nod, Rhaenyra cleared her throat, before finally making her presence known to those within the yard.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 🖤 Part 3 should be up Saturday 4/1.

65 notes · View notes

andmaybegayer · 6 months

Text

Last Monday of the Week 2024-04-01

Boopin' Monday

Listening: Sometimes you go a while without listening to a performer well understood to be solidly good and you forget that they're solidly good and then you listen to them and you're like yeah this is good. Daft Punk's Human After All album.

youtube

A positively wet album.

Reading: Finished Glory In The Thunder, by 0xabad1dea. A very strange book to read, like, it's a peculiar mix of extremely by the book fantasy and the peculiar "teen queer perfusion" style that 0xabad1dea was aiming for. A lot of plotlines but very well plotted, they weave in and out very neatly and intersect at the right times. It's a satisfying book to read but also I get the feeling that 0xabad1dea is having more fun writing it than I could ever have reading it.

If nothing else I should understand more of her posts now, since many of them are notebook sketches of these characters. I'll get to the sequel another time but I'm busy digging through my book list for what to read next.

Watching: Not much! A lot of short web stuff most notably the new Antimemetics Division short film, which has part 2 coming out in a couple days! Exciting stuff.

youtube

Playing: Forza Horizon 5, the Audi Quattro Rally S1 is up as a reward this month and I was like hey I want one of those, although I ended up scoring one through the rally DLC quests. I did wrap up the rally DLC storylines though so I'm caught back up with all the big quests, still haven't finished a ton of the ones that came out since I kind of stopped playing it as much as I used to because I was wasting a lot of my time in that game. It's too easy to get sucked into just cruising between races idly for hours.

Making: Started poking at LÖVR in detail, started writing a boids simulation but I fell down the rabbit hole of locomotion methods in VR, dealing with the dual coordinate spaces of the headset position in space and the virtual space positioning transforms is a little daunting, I expect I'll have to write some helpers to simplify it. Slowly relearning how Lua works.

Also sat and sanded the NAS case, I was planning on painting it this weekend but I was a little sick so that is on hold until probably Friday when the workshop opens again. Also need to go finish signing up for a library card so I can use the library system's shared workshop for smaller things, it looks cool.

Tools and Equipment: I have been responsible for rescuing a dying storage server at work, and I would like to pitch mdadm. If you're still using hardware RAID, stop that. It is a bad idea. You are setting yourself up for problems. CPU's are fast enough now that software RAID is perfectly performant and it makes sure that you don't end up in the situation where something silently goes wrong with your RAID card and you don't realize that your data has turned into giblets.

mdadm is actually really nice when you aren't dealing with inscrutable bugs that I see because I'm in the bugfixing division. Very simple to manage, good documentation, comprehensible metaphors, handles itself when possible, and has several sets of instructions that are basically guaranteed not to break anything that was no already broken, which is handy if you are dealing with an already fragile system.

#last monday of the week #Youtube

11 notes · View notes

oscarwetnwilde · 1 year

Text

James Wilby in You Me, And It and the birth of his daughter during the filming of it.

James’ real-life baby Florence, was born during filming for the series- a happy but rather ironic coincidence.

“In fact, there’s a scene where I have to visit Barbara in hospital, after she has had an exploratory operation- and that was when I’d just hot-footed from seeing Shana in hospital with our brand-new baby girl!” “I’d missed Barnaby’s birth because I was in Manchester filming A Tale Of Two Cities, so I was determined to be there this time. Shana went into labor at 2 a.m., Florence was born at 5 a.m. and I ended up having to tear down the M3 for the fictional hospital scene, having been up all night; I was singing, quite euphoric. You might just detect a daft, permanent smile on my face in that scene; I’d just become a father! It really brought home to me the frustration of our characters."

-Western Daily Press, March 27, 1993

“I’m a happy father of two. But our second child was a wee while coming, and then my wife had a miscarriage. The whole thing was very traumatic and certainly gave me an idea of what it must be like not to be able to have children.” In one of the hospital scenes, James confesses to feeling very sleepy because he’d just left another hospital where his real-life wife had given birth. “I was in a daze,” he remembers. “I was so happy, I was there at the birth, had been up all night, then had to jump in the car and go to work.”

-Kensington Post, March 24, 1993

“She arrived at 5 a.m. and I was back on the set of You, Me, And It three hours later. I was totally knackered.” He was delighted to see Florence’s birth as he missed Barnaby’s delivery, as the baby arrived 7 weeks early: “I was filming A Tale Of Two Cities in Manchester at the time, and I had to drive through the night to get to the hospital where Barnaby was born."

-Bristol Evening Post, March 26, 1993

James and Shana’s joy was shattered when she suffered a miscarriage, but she became pregnant again and Florence was born, ironically, while James was filming You Me And It.

“It was while we were filming You Me And It and Shana had gone into hospital because her waters had started to leak. But the doctors said it could still be a couple of days. I happily went home, relaxed and went to bed after a couple of glasses of wine. Then I got a call at about 2 a.m. and had to drive to the hospital-probably over the limit. The baby was born at 5 in the morning and then I had to go on to another hospital where we were filming one of the scenes. I just hope the viewers don’t notice the permanent smile on my face- I did have rather a lot of champagne that lunchtime!”

-Mercury, April 2, 1993

“I was there for Florrie’s birth,” said James. “My wife, Shana, had already gone into hospital-they intimated it might be 3 or 4 days but it wasn’t- it was that night. So I rolled up at about 3 in the morning and the baby was born at about 5. I spent about an hour and a half with her and Shana, and I was on set at 8. Funnily enough, we were doing a scene in hospital about Barbara having a laparoscopy. It was very strange.”

-Liverpool Daily Post, March 23, 1993

#James Wilby #You Me And It #James Wilby Interviews #James Wilby and children #Archived interviews and newspapers #1993 #Reading about his joy over his daughter's birth is wonderful #The whole thing is sweet

26 notes · View notes

tokuvivor · 1 year

Text

Duckverse June Week 2: Happy Birthday Day Daisy, Della, and Donald

Okay, now I think I kinda got the hang of this. Anyway, I give you…

Surprise and…Surprise Again!

“So, Mom, Uncle Donald, why exactly did you want us to have a super-exclusive family meeting on the houseboat with just the five of us?” Huey asked.

“I mean, I’m all for exclusivity, but what gives?” Louie questioned.

“I’m so glad you asked, boys,” Donald answered. “Well, Daisy’s birthday is in a few days, and we were thinking of putting together a surprise party for her.”

“There’s no way in he-I mean, heck we can pull it off on our own,” Della added. “So we figured we’d ask you three.”

“We’d love to!” Huey replied cheerfully.

“Between the five of us, I’m sure we could put together something great for Aunt Daisy,” Dewey added.

“Yeah, let’s get the ball rolling on it!” Louie finished.

“Okay, good,” Donald continued. “Thanks, boys. So, who should do what?”

“I’ll try and figure out what the party should be like,” Huey suggested. “I can write out a list of things Aunt Daisy likes, and then go from there.”

“I call music!” Dewey called out. “I can bring back DJ Daft Duck for this one!”

Huey and Louie grimaced, remembering the last time Dewey pulled out his DJ Daft Duck persona at a relative’s birthday party.

“Okay, fine,” Dewey groaned. “I can just as well put something together music-wise just as myself.”

“I’ll do decorations,” Louie added. “Because the party has to look worthy of a fashion designer’s tastes.”

“I’ll work on inviting people!” Della exclaimed. “My sister-in-law is going to have the best da-uh, dang birthday party ever!”

“Honestly, I don’t want it blown too out of proportion, though,” Donald commented. “Maybe just try for semi-immediate family?”

“Semi-immediate family. Got it,” Della reported back.

“Good. And I’ll work on the food and keep track of the gifts,” Donald finished.

“Uncle Donald, don’t you think Aunt Daisy would notice you cooking a lot in your kitchen?” Louie questioned.

“Phooey. Right. I’ll ask Mrs. B if I can use the kitchen here,” Donald reasoned.

“Alright, I think that’s everything,” said Huey, tapping his pen against his notebook. “Oh, this is going to be awesome! Aunt Daisy will love this!”

“Mom, what’s so important that we have to meet in your office to discuss it?” questioned May.

“Well, as you know,” Daisy began, addressing the three girls in front of her, “your dad and Aunt Della’s birthday is next week. So I figured it might be nice to do a surprise party for them.”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Webby burst out. “This is going to be so fun.”

“But how exactly will we pull it off in just a few days?” June wondered.

“We’ll definitely have to put our heads together on this,” reasoned Daisy. “Webby, do you have your notebook?”

“Of course!” Webby replied, rummaging around in her backpack and pulling the sparkly notebook out. “Gotta be ready for anything.” She turned to a blank page.

“Fantastic,” Daisy replied. “So, what can the three of you work on?”

“Ooh, I think I have a general idea of what the party should be like!“ volunteered Webby. “Considering I’ve been researching their family my whole life, I can probably come up with something good. That, and the fact that I’ve gotten to know them fairly well over the past few years.”

“Impressive,” Daisy glowed. “May, June, what about you?”

“I can figure out the decorations,” replied June. “I’m pretty good at making stuff on my own thanks to Junior Woodchucks, and for whatever I can’t do on my own, I can probably find stuff in colors that Dad and Aunt Della would both like.”

“I’ll figure out some of the logistics, like who to invite and where we should have the party,” May added.

“I can figure out what foods they would both want, and go from there,” Daisy finished.

“If you’re thinking some kind of seafood for Uncle Donald, you should probably keep it away from Aunt Della’s array of food,” noted Webby.

“Ooh! Right,” Daisy exclaimed. “May or may not have to end up as sort of a Venn diagram of food, when all is said and done.”

“We can figure it out, though,” May added.

“Oh, I can’t wait for this!” June squealed. “They’re going to love it.”

Huey, Dewey, and Louie were in the dining room, making preparations for Daisy’s surprise party, when Webby, May, and June bustled in.

“Uh, what are you three doing here?” Louie asked.

“What are you doing here?” May shot back.

“I asked you first.”

“Fine,” May grumbled. “We’re putting together a surprise party for Dad and Aunt Della.”

Huey’s face went blank. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Oh, phooey.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Webby asked.

“It’s just that, uh, we were actually working on a surprise party of our own,” Huey replied. “For Aunt Daisy.”

“Yeah, we kinda figured,” June put in.

“What?” Dewey gasped. “But how-“

“Aunt Della already invited us to your party for Mom,” June explained.

“Oh, no,” fretted Huey. “This is not good. If they know we’re having a party, and we know they’re having a party, that means…that means-“

“We could put the two together!” Webby finished.

“Right! Yeah, of course,” resigned Huey.

“Huey,” Webby continued, facing the red triplet directly, her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We can totally merge these two parties together. We’d just have to keep all three of them in the dark to an extent.”

“And we can pull that off,” May agreed. “Right?”

Louie shot a look at Dewey.

“If Dewey can, we all can,” he added.

“Oh, come on,” Dewey argued. “If it’s for the three of them, of course I’ll try and keep mum. With the six of us together, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish.”

“Exactly,” agreed June, extending her hand out. “We’ve got this.”

The other five triplets piled their hands on top of hers. “Then let’s do this thing!” Louie exclaimed.

It was finally the day of the party. Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby, May, and June had figured out a way to combine elements from each of their parties into one, bigger party for Daisy, Della, and Donald, all the while working with their designated guardians separately so none of the three would know something was up.

Each set of triplets would set up on their own, and then they would convene. Eventually, everyone began showing up. Uncle Scrooge, Beakley, Gladstone, Fethry, even a couple of Daisy’s relatives.

“Okay, I just texted Mom,” Huey whispered.

“And…there. I’ve texted Aunt Daisy, too,” Webby replied. “The three of them are due soon.”

Louie turned off the lights in the mansion. It got very quiet. Eventually, the front door opened, and they all heard the birthday people approaching.

“Okay, we’re here,” confirmed Della.

Daisy was confused. “What’s going on, anyway? Why are all the lights out?”

“Well, you see-“ Donald began.

“SURPRISE!”

All at once, the lights came on. Daisy, Della, and Donald were absolutely floored. The entire room was covered in pink and various shades of blue. All of their loved ones were there. There was a long table laid out with food, including a massive cake in the center. The left half was covered with pink frosting, while the right half was decorated with swirls of light and dark blue frosting.

“What in Selene’s name is this?!” Della exclaimed.

“Well, we actually planned a party for you and Uncle Donald, too,” Webby admitted.

“But then we realized our plans conflicted somewhat,” Huey added.

“So we decided to work together and plan a party for all three of you!” Dewey finished, throwing a bit of jazz hands in.

“What do you think?” May asked.

“I-I don’t even know where to start,” Daisy admitted.

“I’m amazed, kids,” Donald said to his niblings and daughters. “You did all this for us?”

“Of course,” June replied. “All three of you deserve this.”

“Shoot, I think this might be the greatest thing ever,” Della concluded.

Donald and Daisy kissed, and then Della squeezed them both into a hug.

“Happy birthday, you two,” Daisy sputtered out.

“Happy birthday, Daisy,” the twins said in unison.

The three adults went over to the kids and hugged them, too.

“Thank you,” said Donald. “Seriously, this might just be the best birthday ever.”

“You’re welcome, Uncle Donald,” replied Louie.

“Now what are we waiting for?” Dewey questioned. “Let’s get our party on!”

And so the celebration commenced. It made Donald and Della realize just how thankful they were that they were together again, so they didn’t have to celebrate their birthdays apart anymore. And it made Daisy realize just how glad she was to be a part of this big, crazy, loving family.

And the way the celebration wound up happening, the three of them wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#ducktales #donald duck #della duck #huey duck #dewey duck #louie duck #daisy duck #webby vanderquack #may duck #june duck #duckverse june #happy birthday day daisy della and donald #ducktales fanfiction

35 notes · View notes

nellyofthevalley · 8 months

Text

truths, ch.8

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst, hurt/comfort, extended sickfic?

summary: this fic started as an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who never learned how to love. tav is kind of emotionally repressed and a bad communicator too, and he has to learn how to deal with this. with her, and her … affliction.

He can’t even remember the last time someone asked him what he wanted. In centuries of service, even the warmest victims were there for nothing more than midnight fun, unknowingly biting off far more than they could chew. It’s better that way, though. It’s always easier when he can’t remember their names or faces after, and he only ever remembered the ones that were sweet.

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut I totally posted this on ao3 forever ago and forgot to post it here

His mind swims while his fingers mend her clothes, re-stitching torn seams and mending rips he’d been staring at for weeks wanting to fix but refusing to be caught doing it. Astarion ponders over everything he said and did yesterday and how he could’ve done it all better; he thinks if he had another chance, he could’ve said something better than ‘I don’t know’, but it’s a foolish thought—even as he actively tries to convince himself, no other words bubble up and he knows damn well that’s the best he has.

He’s floundering thinking of what he’d say to her, but his mind just keeps fucking swimming and he’s so, so sure that if he’d had one more moment with her, he’d somehow manage to finish sentences cut short or have difficult conversations with her he hadn’t yet learned how to have with himself.

As he watches her body rise and fall with her breaths, it’s all he can think about.

Maybe he should’ve said the truth, he thinks: that he had it beaten into him to never care for another, that he’s bitter with her for saving everyone except him when the Gods never answered any of his prayers, and that he doesn’t know how to dig out of this grave of resentment he’s buried himself in despite how hopelessly charmed by her he is.

Every conversation they ever had starts to feel like it wasn’t enough, going all the way back to the night in the Underdark when he’d given her his coat. Though the truth of it is that he had plenty of time every time, and he chose to squander it.

It hurts to see her like this, with her body battered and bruised and too exhausted to wake…

It’s his own fault, he’s decided. He accepted an offer from Raphael and now she pays the price for it. Oddly, that’s all he ever thought he wanted: for someone to suffer in his stead, but he didn’t mean it like this! Not her.

Even worse, he pushed her into this—he questioned her when she tried to talk their way out of the fight (if only he’d ever learned how to have trust or faith in anyone) and he felt so off-balance during the fight he picked, allowing his mind to be clouded by a daft eagerness to get the shit over with and reap his reward.

Merregons got the better of her, crowding her and beating her bloody. He shouted when he noticed, calling for Karlach, Lae’zel, Gale, anyone—but they were all surrounded and by the time anyone made it to her, she was already down and out. None of them came out the other side entirely unscathed, but she was the only one who couldn’t carry themselves back to camp.

They remained settled at the Last Light Inn, trapped with nowhere else to go, and he fucking hates it here. Despite their efforts to clean up, every direction held some reminder of what used to be: blood stains they couldn’t get out, strewn about possessions, and an eerie emptiness that forced you to picture how it’d been when it was bustling and happy. Astarion doesn’t grieve for their lives, but he can’t push out the image of how distraught she was that night it all happened; how she wept and begged him to give her purpose will be burned into his brain for eternity.

Already, two full days have passed with her in this bed and Shadowheart and Halsin taking turns caring for her and breathing life back into her body little by little, while Astarion sits in his chair and simply waits.

Raphael came and went, fulfilling his end of the deal promptly. He paid Astarion a visit the same evening the orthon appeared in his humble abode and told him everything he’d asked for: details of Cazador’s deal with Mephistopheles and the tale of how poems carved into their backs bound them to a vile ritual that would sacrifice their souls for a higher power never seen by his kind before.

Ascension.

Astarion received his reward, but he couldn’t find any satisfaction in it. Not like this—not standing outside the inn alone, and even though only a thin wall sat between him and the room Tav lay unconscious in, he felt halfway across the world from her. Raphael left him there and it all felt like a cruel mockery: the price to be paid for his deal wasn’t even paid by him. He dragged Tav along for this and forced her hand and he never thought twice about it.

Until she couldn’t walk anymore.

He remembers it so clearly, hauntingly vivid—how he tore apart his foe and ran to her bloodied body, how he held her and shook her and she didn't wake, how he was nothing more than a useless bystander, watching hopelessly while Karlach carried her and Halsin tended to her…

He needs to be by her side, he needs to be in that chair when she wakes, and he hasn’t moved since Raphael left him here.

He’s deep in trance when she wakes, startled into consciousness by her tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt; he jumps in his chair and looks over to her, pausing for a moment as he fully comes back to the present and processes it.

“Gods, you’re awake,” he says, relief washing over him as he sits up and starts to stand. “Let me get—”

“No!” she protests in a low mumble, slowly sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Tell me what happened first.”

Astarion stops in his seat and starts to speak, “You—you were surrounded…”

“Not that,” she scoffs. “The deal!”

“Oh, don’t talk to me in that voice of yours,” he retorts. “You should be mad at me, you should chastise me! I took the devil’s deal all on my own, without even giving you a choice in the matter.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. “Just tell me what Raphael said.”

Astarion hesitates, taken by surprise; even after being bloodied and bruised and bedridden, she insists on hearing about his deal, first thing…

But he tells her everything, powerless to resist her demands.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I think it’s time for you to get Shadowheart,” she says with a cheeky smile.

He’s obviously miffed by her dodge but he does it regardless, returning Tav’s grin with an annoyed sigh as he gets up from his seat and fetches Shadowheart.

When he walks out, Tav eyes her clothes by his chair, neatly folded and washed clean.

The door creaks as Shadowheart enters, carrying a tray of food; stew and bread, the standard fare lately. The shadowlands have so little to offer for fresh food, but Tav feels her mouth watering the moment she lays eyes on it, stomach growling, and lights up as Shadowheart takes Astarion’s chair.

“How are you faring?”

“Sore, but well enough for poking the fire,” Tav answers.

“You know,” Shadowheart starts once Tav’s stuffed her mouth, “outside of talking with Raphael, he hasn’t left this room for a moment.”

Tav swallows hard.

Shadowheart picks up the mended shirt by the chair and turns it in her hands, looking it over. “Skilled with his hands,” she notes with a hearty laugh.

“Gods, stop it,” Tav chokes out, quickly swallowing the last of her food and laughing, too, and it aches her body but hells, a real laugh is what she needs right now. “I don’t know what’s happening with us.”

“You’re softening his cold heart, and dare I say he needs it.”

“No,” she replies. “His heart’s already soft… in some places, anyway. He just doesn’t know it. Or maybe he doesn’t want to believe it.”

When Shadowheart opens the door and leaves, it’s made very clear to both of them that Astarion was standing right outside, arms crossed and waiting to trade places. He picks her shirt back up when he sits, feeling a bit antsy and in dire need of something to occupy his hands, but he’s already mended every hole; now, he’s started carefully stitching her name in curved script into it, much like he did for his own shirts on long days and nights spent in the Szarr palace.

“So—”

“I think walking in the sun is very important to you.”

“And the power!” Astarion’s face livens instantly as he talks, giddy at the prospect of seizing the Ascension for himself. “I’d never have to fear anyone… and I could walk in the sun without fear of turning into a mind flayer.”

She can relate to that more than he knows. She chased power once too, and it cost her a sibling. The worst part of it all is that she’d do it all over again given the choice. Her patron bestowed her with great, elder powers after living as a street urchin, spit on and ignored by society for so long—and even with an illithid tadpole shoved into her brain, even after being surrounded and taken down in battle, even after questioning it that night in the cemetery, she remembers what it was like before and she wouldn’t give it up for nearly anything.

Besides, if she hadn’t chased the deal, it would’ve been something else. He would’ve left either way, whether it be the stealing or the pact or the souls she slaughtered in the name of revenge. He’d always been too gentle-hearted, and every time Astarion spits on her for being ‘too generous’, she thinks of how much she always hated her brother for the very same.

But even Raphael called the ritual diabolical, and he’d have to kill his brothers and sisters to do it… the brothers and sisters who endured the same punishments and torture as he had. Astarion pretends to care only for himself, but when he told her he pitied them with him gone, it was beyond evident how much he cares—he just wishes he doesn’t.

Astarion seems to be well-trained in confidently presenting himself as how he wishes he feels.

Tav would support him in completing the ritual himself in a heartbeat if she wasn’t so certain he does care and that he would regret it later. It would change him, she thinks, and not for the better.

But now’s not the time to dwell on that. They don’t even know what the ritual entails. Not yet.

She shifts over to the very edge of the bed and rests her palm on his forearm, prompting him to drop the needle and thread and set her shirt back aside. As he does, she spots the start of her name on it, in lovely gold thread on navy fabric.

“Will you kiss me?” she asks, hopeful to drag him away from dwelling on the ritual now. “It’ll make me feel better.”

“Oh, will it now?” Astarion gives her a half-smile and holds her face in one palm with a gentle—thoughtful—touch. “Then who am I to deny you?”

Tav lightly grasps at his upper arm as he closes his eyes and captures her mouth in his; this time, his kiss is sweet and tender and deliberate, not wary, not heated, not anything but what feels like a true labor of…

…love?

“The other night when you asked me what’s between us,” Astarion starts as they part, eyes fixated on her mouth as he speaks, “What would you like it to be?”

“What do you want it to be, Astarion?”

“I-I don’t know,” he says, taken aback. “It’s never mattered what I want. No one ’s ever asked.”

It’s better that way, though. It’s always easier when he can’t remember their names or faces after, and he only ever remembered the ones that were sweet.

“I’m asking you now,” she replies.

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, it appears I have plenty of time to sit and listen. So please, go on.”

Astarion brushes off her hand as he folds his arms, turning his gaze away from her and towards the ceiling, and they sit in silence for a moment as he considers what to say. Part of him hopes she’ll say something else and move on, but the rest of him knows that it’s finally time to have this conversation that he’s been neglecting.

Especially after spending the days and nights in this same fucking chair thinking about how he should’ve said it all months ago.

“I wasn’t just a slave to Cazador,” he says with a notable lack of confidence. He shuffles nervously and takes a long pause, inhaling deeply before continuing. “For two centuries, my purpose”—he practically hisses as he begins to recount it—“was to bring back pretty things for the master. Seduce them, lure them to the palace and leave them for Cazador to dine on… It never mattered what I wanted. if I didn’t obey, he’d have me beaten, impaled, or worse.”

His eyes pace around the room, gnawing for anywhere else he can look and digging for what to say. He doesn’t feel like himself, he almost feels sick. It’s too much, but he has to say it all now or he’ll never say it and it’ll loom over his head and the next time she takes so much as a single scrape in battle he’ll be distracted by it all over again.

“It was instinctual for me… to fall back into old habits and charm you, gain your trust, manipulate your feelings and ensure your loyalty. I needed you on my side to fight him, and I did that the only way I—”

“I am on your side. No matter what.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ll be as ridiculous as I like.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn. Look,” he continues, “I must’ve gotten on my back ten thousand times or more, and none of them meant anything at all; most didn’t even grant me a temporary bliss. But you…

“It was different with you. I’ll never forget the time I spent with you. I want—fuck, what I want is for this to be something real.”

Manipulating someone, getting them in bed, using them for his own benefit—all things he can do, things he is very well-versed in doing, at that. Losing himself in her was a complication. He is not so well-versed in complications.

“I do, too,” she says quietly.

“Truth is, you make me feel alive again,” he admits, anxiously wiping his brow. “But I don’t know what real looks like, and I can’t give you what you deserve,” Astarion says, turning to face her; and whatever she may have expected to see, it wasn’t this—this awful, gloomy look he wears, like he’s in pain just thinking about this and admitting to it all. “Even though I know things between us are different, it still brings up all these feelings of hatred and self-loathing…”

“We don’t have to sleep together, for as long as you need. For forever, if thats what you’d prefer,” she says. “You’re important to me—however you are, whatever you’re dealing with.”

A small relief, but Astarion hopes for it to somehow come and fix it all like magic, and it never happens. Relief doesn’t make it any easier to get through this this. Relief doesn’t organize his thoughts or teach him how make someone happy. Without sex, what does he have left to offer? He never did figure that one out.

“I never learned how to care for anyone but myself. Cazador always made sure I knew that,” Astarion rebuts, as if he’s searching for any reason to send her away—get her to set her sights elsewhere, maybe back on Gale…

He can’t help but do it; much as he’d like this to be something real with her, he’s certain it’ll end in nothing but disappointment and he knows that’ll hurt worse than not having her at all.

“Oh, fuck Cazador! It’s not true, you know,” Tav protests. “If it were, you wouldn’t be in this room right now. Gods know I don’t know what the fuck real looks like, either, but it doesn’t matter. We—we can figure it out together, can’t we?”

Astarion’s brows lower and he looks at her in disbelief for a moment; ‘figure it out together’ is… beyond what he could’ve anticipated coming from her mouth.

Oh, she is stubborn, but perhaps that’s what he needs in a partner. Maybe he’s not even ready for this, he doesn’t know, but he does know that he’s in it too deep to back out. Not having her at all is a path impossible to take now, no matter how hard he could keep trying to shove her out.

“We—we can try?” he questions with an indecisive tone, though it’s really more of a surprised agreement. “If that’s truly what you want.”

The freedom to choose your own path is a foreign concept—fuck, is that really what he’s doing? Choosing his own path? He always thought it would feel different from this, that it would be more controlled and comprehensible; like he’d have a plan, some sort of routine to reference for his life, as with how he’d memorized and carried out the plans for his conquests, just… a little different.

“It’s what I want. More than anything,” she says, sniffling. “Fuck, sorry.”

“What’s…” Astarion’s voice trails off as he considers what to say next. Navigating this is beyond any of his expertise, and he almost feels like he did in the early days of Cazador sending him out to find victims when he was still learning how to just—just be fucking normal. It was decades before the master let him out, and after so many years stuck inside and subjected to punishment after punishment, he’d nearly forgotten how to speak. “What’s troubling you?”

“I’m fine. Gods, I’m more than fine,” she says, giggling as she wipes the tears from her cheek. “Will you lay with me? I understand if—”

“Move over,” he orders with a shooing hand gesture.

His heart would beat out of his chest if it could; there’s something about lying together in a bed in an inn, however decrepit and dreadful to reside in, that’s far more intimate than the nights she slept in his tent. Trepidation pumps through his body like blood.

And then, after he lifts the covers and settles in beside her, it simply dries up.

Tav starts to reach out for his hand, but stops short of it. “Can I touch you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” he answers, though truthfully, he loves that she does. It’s sweet. It’s unusual.

“I want to,” she says, prying apart his fingers with hers and interlocking them.

He could live in this moment forever. When she looks at him, there’s a special, heavenly look in her eyes that he never wants to lose. A pity for the lives lived without ever experiencing it. No one would ever look at someone like Cazador the way she’s looking at him now.

It’s hypnotizing and makes him want to give her the fucking world—and ascend, for more than himself, because this is so, so much bigger than him.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #my fanfic

18 notes · View notes

justanothergreb · 4 months

Text

"Tories to bring back national service"

You knew I would have an opinion on this so here goes...

1. Who releases grand policy statements at 10pm on a Saturday? People with no fucking idea that's who.

2. This is the type of dog whistle to the type of person, likely in their 50s+ who believes the country's gone to the dogs, there are too many foriegners, use the phrase woke and think millenials and young people are the scourge of the earth, a union jack in their bio and probably no profile picture or something daft like a bulldog in a union jack hat. The same type of person who acts like they (or their parents) fought in WW2 and pines for some mythical Britain which has never existed. The type of person who has probably never looked at their child and gone "how would any of this affect them" or "would I have wanted this for them at that age". The type of person who complains things are shit but blames everyone but themselves or the people in power. They will be eating this shit up.

3. Younger people deserve so much better than this. Ask yourself why so many countries no longer have national service and why some countries still do. Acting like young people have no hope, direction or drive when it's because of years of piss poor educational policy, savaging successive generations in the media for wanting to have better lives or calling out generational bullshit - why do you think some are so disengaged? Why do you believe they are the way they are? It's like some people have never spoken to someone under the age of 20 or do the classic of read one bullshit article and its gospel (god I've said that so much this week). Younger people have been failed by everyone and we now have to pick up the pieces. Working at a uni, you can spot all the various ways they've been let down - lack of confidence, lack of social skills, lack of guidance, unrealistic expectations (and the opposite of all these are just as insidious) to name but a few.

4. The sheer cost of this - £2.5bil - could go to our NHS, into education, energy and dare I say it our defence services. All things systematically cut by the Tories.

I'm getting off my soapbox for now as today is all about watching people go round in circles/weird shapes but seriously. Vote these morons out.

#british politics #politics #uk general election 2024 #i am so fed up of this country

4 notes · View notes

korasonata · 1 year

Text

So, we are fairly convinced that I in fact live in a haunted house. I’ve lived here for almost 10 months now. We moved mid September in the middle of the fall - an OLD old house with big bay windows, white picket fences, french doors, large yard, private garden, porch, basement, and cheap rent. Seemed a relatively good deal at the time.

I remember the day we saw it for the first time. Or more precisely, I remember the drive home where me and my roommate had poked fun about the house probably being haunted, had joked about burning sage and whatnot. You know, joking around as you do. When I tell you, the kind of shit we put up with from day ONE.

Now, I’ll start off by saying that my house has precisely 2 bedrooms, both of which have had their moments, but I will start off with mine. Now, my bedroom is very small. A tiny little shoebox of a room that has an insanely high ceiling and very limited floor space because my house is still heated by radiators and they are freaking huge. There is one small window that doesn’t open. To the left of this window, on the adjacent wall, is a tiny Coraline esk door, the top of which sits at about waist height from the floor up.

It is iterally bolted to the wall.

I’ve never opened this door, because I’m not daft, but I moved my dresser in front of it to block its entrance and I’ve never had any problems.

Although I should clarify, I’ve never had any problems with the door. The rest of my room however…

The first day we moved in was when we had our first incident. I was in my new room, I had no bed, no shelves, but at the time possessed precisely 1 dresser and a suitcase, which I was unpacking. My roommate was sitting in the living room on the couch just outside my door, reading. I was just folding some clothes and putting them in my dresser when I heard a loud THUNK from behind me, where I promptly turned towards the source of the sound. When I turned around I found a long, white candlestick in the middle of my bedroom floor, half used, and very clearly not mine. Now, I cannot stress enough that this room had no ledges, no shelves, there was literally nowhere this thing could have fallen from. My roommate was still reading on the couch, but she had looked up at the sound too, and she was just as confused and weirded out as I was.

This was just the start.

The second incident happened on my third night there, and also coincidentally my first night alone in the house. This incident moves us to the bathroom, where I had consistently been hearing scratching in the walls late at night. Our house is old enough that is doesn’t have a fan in the bathroom, but instead has a really tiny window which you can open to vent out steam. I’d had the window open because I had showered earlier that night. It was about 12-1:00 in the morning and I had gone into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed when I heard even more obnoxious scratching coming from inside the bathtub. I walked over to investigate, thinking maybe an animal was under the pipes or something when I heard something outside the window. The sound of digging, but not like an animal. Like the sounds of a metal shovel scooping up gravel. I’d checked the next morning and nothing looked disturbed. But this was not the last time I heard that sound. The scratching continued nightly for the next 3 months as well.

By week 3 my roommate had started having this recurring dream about her bedroom. Now her bedroom, unlike mine, is actually quite massive. It has the same high ceilings, but it has enough floor space to fit a king sized bed and full bedroom set, bookshelves, grand piano, possibly some couches and entertainment unit. It’s huge. The floor is also spongy as all hell. Every room except the bathroom and kitchen have the same floor - thin hardwood planks that had to have been over 100 years old. You could tell it was rotted underneath just by the feel, but her particular room was sunk down a full foot into the floor, and not by design. Like the supports had just kind of given out and the whole floor space had gone with it. Her room was also always infested with spiders. She hated spiders.

Her first dream reflected this fear. Her dream consisted of her lying in her bed where she recounts that the floor had started to swell. The wooden floorboards had started to expand out into a big bubble and when it popped she had gone to stare into the pit it had created. 2 large, dead, spiders had been thrown out and hit her in the chest, and she recounts that she had woken up suddenly, feeling like there was a weight against her chest. She had this same dream with different iterations of dead animals being thrown from the pit. Mice, rats, possums. Every night she woke up feeling like there had been a weight against her chest. On the final night she says she had found a man. A homeless man at the bottom of the pit, alive, amidst a sea of dead animals - there was a homeless shelter on the next street over. He asked her to let him stay. Begged and pleaded and grovelled with her to let him stay, to which she apologized profusely, saying over and over again that she was sorry but he couldn’t stay there, but she promised to help him find someplace to stay. 2 dead possums were thrown from the pit of their own accord. She once again woke up with a weight on her chest, but she never had the dream again after that.

About a month after that I was away from home. I had gone up to my cottage for the weekend, so she was by herself. I woke up one morning to 5 missed calls from my roommate panicking because the house had been making noises. She was yelling about something being in the walls. She complained about scratching sounds and really loud banging noises that sounded like knocking.

Some time in December I was woken up one night. I had woken up because I had heard voices. I remember sitting there with my eyes closed and hearing this kind of murmuring of voices from somewhere by my wall. At this point I remember feeling so exhausted that I didn’t even care. I remember squinting my eyes shut tighter and trying to ignore them because I was so tired that I just could not even bring myself to care about disembodied voices in my room. I remember feeling frozen in this sort of stasis for a while before the voices spoke again closer to my head. There were 2 female voices, the first of which I did not grasp what was said, only that the phrase spoken sounded like a question, and then the second voice replied “just one more”. Following this there were 3 swift knocks on my wall, as if someone had struck it with an open palm, and I bolted awake suddenly, startled by the sound, and yet feeling very well rested strangely.

These were isolated incidents, but there were several recurring things that happened far more frequently, like the scratching in the walls that occurred nightly like clockwork, or the knocking or banging sounds that sometimes, but not always, accompanied this. There was a night light in my bathroom that had come with the house that had no switches or buttons, that up until the 3rd week of living there we did not realize was actually motion activated because it had just been on all the time. But there were other things.

For the first 5 months, the lights in my kitchen flickered a lot. There was nothing wrong with them, they just seemed to do this whenever we were in the kitchen and had the lights on. It used to freak out any guests we had over a lot, but we had just gotten used to it. Sometime in the middle of winter it just stopped. We haven’t had any issues with the lights since.

Very occasionally I would be doing the dishes and then suddenly the basement door would pop open on its own - a door that had hinges and a latch and was also very difficult to open. It was very stiff, so you had to really heave on this thing to get it open, and yet it would just pop open on its own if we didn’t have it locked. This happened on several occasions, and you could hear when it did if you were in another room - it made this really loud, deep banging sound because it was so stiff and you had to really force it open.

There’s a unit above us as well. We live in the main floor of a house, and someone else rents upstairs, but the upper unit is actually completely separate from us. It has its own entrance around the back and there is no link between the two. They were selling both units when we moved in, but the upper one sat empty for a while - we had about 3 months of the house to ourselves before another tenant moved in. Now, I’ve never been in the upper unit, I don’t know what it looks like, but every night like clockwork a light would come on in the upper left hand window. We heard footsteps above us all the time. Something we heard very frequently was what sounded like heavy furniture being dragged across the floor - this would go on for about an hour and then stop.

It was an empty unit. Nobody lived there.

This happened several times when the new tenant moved in as well, it was just easier to excuse because there was actually someone living there now. The new tenant was a single woman that lived alone. Often we would be sitting in the living room and be hearing all manner of crashing and dragging of furniture for hours and we would go “wtf is she doing up there” only to discover she wasn’t even home.

The latest incident happened just a couple days ago. I hadn’t been home in 3 days, and so the first night I came home I had gone down into the basement to do some laundry. Now, I feel it’s important to note that this took place in the basement for several reasons, the primary one being that none of the above has ever scared me. Floating candlesticks being thrown at me from across the room? That’s fine. Doors that open on their own? Child’s play. Scratching, banging, scraping, dragging, disembodied voices in the walls? None of it has ever scared me.

The basement scares me.

Or I don’t know if scared is the right word, but it definitely makes me uneasy, and for good reason. See, if you thought the rest of the house was a bit decrepit, it doesn’t even hold a candle to the state of my basement. To get there you have to go down this VERY rickety wooden staircase that’s so steep it’s almost completely vertical. There’s holes going into the side of it, pipes that go right through the steps. As you get to the bottom there is a broken window on the left that is so dirty no amount of scrubbing could ever hope to get it clean. There’s holes and cracks in the walls filled with what looks like a dark sludge. Holes in the ceiling with all manner of hanging and severed wires draping down. Rotted insulation. Rotted wood. Spiders everywhere. Cobwebs cover literally every surface that isn’t the floor or the washing machine. Nothing down there is up to building code.

There is also 2 VERY sketchy side wings of this basement.

There is the main area right at the bottom of the stairs that has my washer and dryer, an old utility sink, and a half collapsed, half rotted set of wooden shelves that I use to store my laundry detergent. The light switch at the top of the stairs connects to this area, however the 2 separate side wings do not. It’s a bit difficult to describe, but if you go down the stairs and turn right and walk all the way to the other wall, you hit a sort of T intersection where you can go left or right and go around the wall on either side. Around the right wall is my circuit breaker that is lit with one of those old clicker light switches on strings. It’s a small space, so that side isn’t as bad. The other side however looks straight out of a horror film.

The other side has a bigger space. There’s a machine in there that takes up almost the whole room that I’m going to assume is a water softener but I’m actually not sure because the water softener I had at the house I grew up in looked nothing like this, but I don’t know what else it could possibly be. The foyer of this wing when we moved in was full of old rotted and broken shelves. There’s all manner of cobwebs everywhere - triple the amount of the main room. The wall is also wood here. I’m going to assume this was once the base of a crawl space that has since been very shoddily blocked off. It looks like they patched it with old pieces of wood fence, not even legitimate boards, also rotted because of course they are. It’s literally falling apart.

Some of the fence pieces have fully collapsed, so there is plenty of cracks and gaps, but behind it is just blackness. It’s like the mouth of some weird cave. If I looked in the gaps for too long I always got this weird lingering feeling like something was watching me. And it was cold. This room was cold unlike the rest of the house - I mean the rest of the house was cold, but nothing like this. The entire room is also dark at all times. There is 1 light switch which is on the opposite side of the room. Meaning you have to walk through this entire maze of machine, cobweb infested, freezing void wall encased room to get to the lights - a single lightbulb on a pull string that only lights up about 2 feet around it, so the majority of the room is still pitch black anyway.

We don’t go in this room.

I digress.

Anyway, I hadn’t been home in 3 days. I went down to do some laundry. 2 steps down I noticed something odd - a trail of wet footprints going down to the basement. Now, I didn’t particularly question this at first. My roommate had been home, so I figured she had simply gone down to do some laundry earlier. Nothing overly suspicious. It wasn’t until I went to go back up again that I started to question them. See as I had noted, the trail of footprints I had seen had gone all the way down the stairs, a clear impression on each step.

Down, but not up.

The main laundry area had been empty. We didn’t go into the side wings. It was then that I had the sudden realization that while I had seen my roommates car in the driveway earlier, I had in fact not seen my roommate once since I had gotten home.

I get to the top of the stairs, a little bit concerned. Afraid she was sitting somewhere in the left side wing murdered or something, I was frankly a little bit afraid to look, and was not about to investigate because this is how people die in horror movies. So I texted her. For peace of mind really, just to make sure she wasn’t, you know, dead. Just a quick “hey, you’re upstairs right?” She replied almost instantly with a yes she was just in her room. Relieved, obviously my first reaction is just “oh good, I just saw the trail of wet footprints going down to the basement and just wanted to be sure.”

Her response?

“I haven’t been down to the basement in 2 days.”

#haunted #haunting #haunted house #stories

19 notes · View notes