#using kin tags because people look at it

[academiabat]

making another post so my account is easily findable. i’m a bruce wayne fictive, primarily from gotham.

[lucalicatteart]

A new sculpture! Finally... I feel like I never sculpt anymore since I'm always sick or have some 500 other things going on or projects to finish, but I'm trying to schedule time to do it more often this year hopefully..! Just a generic fantasy creature as usual, but did try making the eyes a little more sparkly this time.. hrmm..

[iiscpr]

tactful cropping..

[damn-stark]

Chapter 10 Heart of Ice

Chapter 10 of Moonlight

A/N- I was giggling and kicking my feet tehehe ;)

Warning- some swearing, talks of miscarriage and death, ANGST!, FLUFF, mild NFSW, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There it is, standing so tall that it looks like it’s touching the sky. It’s mesmerizing no matter how many times you’ve seen it, and it never fails to steal your breath.

Yet the wall is at its prettiest when it weeps when the sun hits it just as it rises from the ground. Right now all it does is bring forth an icier chill as the wind blows, making you hold onto your cloak for warmth.

You can only imagine how Jacaerys is fairing, this is his first time at Castle Black.

“How are you holding up?” You make sure to ask your brother as his eyes stay stuck on the towering wall.

“My balls are about to freeze off,” he makes no effort to talk properly in front of you, nor do you remind him to.

You smile at him and look at him with a soft endearment only reserved for those you deeply cherish. “It will be worth it, I promise. I cannot wait for you to see it,” you muse and cup his shoulder.

Jacaerys finally takes his eyes off the wall and meets your gaze with such a warm smile that it’s capable of melting the thickest sheets of ice.

“It better live up to everything you have said,” he remarks lightheartedly, making you drop your head to laugh softly at the ground.

“It will pass your expectations,” Cregan interjects as he finally rejoins you and leads the way to the lift that looks a bit unreliable, but all the people at Castle Black use it, and you have survived after using it so, you walk in. Slowly of course, and you don’t dare pay too much attention to the sounds it makes as it starts moving Jacaerys, Cregan, and you to the top.

“You know,” you take the attention of the rackety noise. “Perhaps one day I will send one of my children over here to take up a role as guardian of the wall.”

“Is that so?” Cregan probes.

“One of your seven?” Jacaerys jokes and you laugh softly but don’t take back what you said, catching him by some surprise.

“It’s a rare thing for a Targaryen or Velaryon to come be a brother of the Night's Watch,” you explain your thought process to the curious men. “But we are the families the people look up to. I mean I understand the sacrifice, but I believe that for us to have a good relation with the North, and for us to protect our realm against what may be out there, we too should be here with a dragon or two.”

Cregan briefly meets your gaze and hides well those emotions you stir up inside since your brother is standing at his other side, but he doesn’t stay quiet, he takes a deep breath before he parts his lips.

“You are right, the sacrifice one must commit is great, but duty is sacrifice,” Cregan begins to say. “It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price. The North owes a great duty to the Seven Kingdoms, one older than any oath. Since the day of the first men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. Through its long tradition, the Night's Watch cultivated its strength from doomed men who had their life as their only possession. But my ancestor, Torrhen Stark began a tradition by making an offering at the onset of winter; one in 10 men from our household was to be chosen to fortify the Watch. This is not a sentence but an honor. A duty embraced by all who serve the North. Even by mine own kin. Thus I respect your decision, My Princess.”

He talks so well that even these long comments captivate you, and that’s hard to do because you get so easily bored.

“The North must stand ready,” Cregan adds without losing a breath. “Winter is coming.”

“Coming?” Jacaerys interjects. “What is this, then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?”

You roll your eyes away and scoff softly.

He thinks he’s so funny.

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince,” Cregan says something he’s already mentioned once before. “In winter, it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten.”

You look through the gaps on the wooden walls but the lift then shakes so you step back and stand closer to Cregan.

“It pleases me to think that over a century ago our ancestors treated in this very place,” Jacaerys mentions with a lighthearted look on his face. “The Conqueror and the King in the North.”

You can’t help but smile at the thought and the history the Starks share with your ancestors. It’s so bittersweet. But it’s all so corny of Jacaerys to say, he sounds just as infatuated as you.

You would tease him, but now doesn’t seem like the time so you just smile wider to yourself.

Cregan’s gaze wanders to you after your brother's words, and you share some of that sweetness with him because regardless of it all, you are happy Jacaerys expressed his fondness for Cregan.

And when Cregan does see your smile some of that hardened demeanor melts.

“You, at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon,” Cregan quips at your brother jokingly, leaving him silent until he queries.

“Did my sister threaten you with her dragon?”

Does he think of you as some wild beast or something?

Regardless, Cregan's eyes soften before he shakes his head and tells him what you did do. “No, but she did threaten to go over the wall and escape when she first got to Winterfell six years ago.” He says and tilts his head over to you, but you look out the window and shake your head.

“I was having a hard time adjusting,” you remind him. “And I did not end up going over the wall.”

“No,” he mutters softer as if speaking with admiration. “You did not.”

You lift your eyes off the icy wall and let yourself meet and hold his gaze with a soft look just until the lift finally lands on the top because when it comes to a sudden halt the wooden lift shakes, and you’re reminded why you hate coming to the top this way—You almost reach out to Cregan to keep yourself balanced and safe, but you stop yourself and just stand stiffly until finally he opens the door for you and your brother, letting you feel like you can breathe again when you’re on stable ground.

“My Prince, My Princess,” one of the brothers greets you while you slip your arm around your brothers to hold onto more warmth as the coldness nips at your skin.

“My Lord.”

“My Lord,” other brothers greet Cregan while he walks after you until finally he catches up and leads you to one side.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would’ve sooner died than bent the knee,” you chose to return to the previous topic as you watch Jacaerys’ eyes fall on every single detail you pass by. “Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

Cregan nods. “You are right in that,” he agrees.

“That unity is now threatened,” Jacaerys goes on for you with another clever workaround to the subject at hand. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Viserys and to his rightful heir.”

Again you can’t help but be proud of the way he speaks. But you also know this second attempt won’t mend Cregan Stark’s choice.

“Stark’s do not forget their oaths, my Prince,” Cregan reminds him proudly. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between North and South.”

Jacaerys glances over at you with discreet disappointment, and you press him an, ‘I told you so’ look right back.

“In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing,” Cregan strengthens his argument. “I need my men here.”

You swallow thickly as you come to a halt just under a post, and Jacaerys turns you around with him to pass Cregan a hard look that furrows his eyebrows. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne,” he remarks.

You grip onto him as a warning for him to calm down, but he doesn’t understand.

“If my mother is to defend her claim,” Jacaerys presses while Cregan guides all of you up the stairs. “To hold the realm united she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North…” Jacaerys trails off when he reaches the top and finally sees with his own eyes the never-ending land beyond the wall, the beauty that you promised, and what you could never fully describe in words.

He moves toward the end of the post and you let your arm slip off his to let him admire for himself the beauty and the mystery that is the North, and the freedom it holds in its cold wilderness.

You can now honestly say you know the pride Cregan felt when he first brought you up here because you feel it. You are not from here, but seeing your brother be so captivated by what’s beyond the wall makes you fill with excitement that you can’t put into words, you can just express it with admiration and awe in your eyes.

Cregan notices and admires you while your brother's attention is far away, and to his surprise, you feel his stare and return his soft gaze while you also let your gloved knuckles brush against each other as you let yourself be swooped up once again by the comfort you have been fighting to feel.

Yet you don’t let yourself get completely carried away, nor do you cross the line by letting your fingers touch, you keep your smile and join your brother's side.

“Was it everything you expected?” You ask before you’re brought back to the cruel reality.

Jacaerys laughs softly and nods. “It was everything you said and more…it feels like I could stay here and admire this forever.”

“It would get cold,” you joke, making him chuckle.

“It would be pleasant,” he murmurs.

You nod in agreement and dread returning to the sore subject, but you will lose yourself.

“I brought your sister, and my father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall,” Cregan finally rejoins your company. “His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it.”

Jacaerys snaps his head to you and probes for more. “Even adventurous Astraea?”

You look out and nod. “Yes. She perches herself on the wall but never once does she fly over, nor does she dare fly over just to turn. I tried to command her to cross but she disobeyed me,” you back up Cregan's argument and feel a chill crawl down your spine at the reminder.

“Do you think my ancestors built a 700-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” Cregan presses your brother in a colder tone that almost works to frighten you.

“What does it keep out?” Jacaerys asks.

Cregan leans in closer to your brother and speaks one word. “Death.”

You swallow back nervously and share your uneasiness with your brother with a simple look that actually helps him let go of some of that tension and ignorance he held.

“I have thousands of graybeards,” Cregan finally offers and breaks the speechless moment between Jacaerys and you. “Who've already seen too many winters. They are well-honed.”

You loll your head to the side and snicker, while Jacaerys says what you were thinking. “So they’re old?”

“I can ready them to march at once,” Cregan assures him and you.

Jacaerys breathes out and accepts the offer. “If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them.”

“They will fight hard,” Cregan states with a hint of pride and some faint smugness. “Like Northerners.”

You glance over at him and catch that smugness on his usually serious face and you can’t help your heart from skipping a beat when he glances at you with the same look.

“My Lord,” a man calls for Cregan’s attention, making his face fall hard once again. “A ravens arrived.”

The man approaches the post breathing hard as if in a hurry and hands Cregan a scroll. “Urgent news from Dragonstone,” he announces, making you understand his urgency, and causing you to fall serious and nervous yourself.

But if it is bad news wouldn't it be sent directly to Jacaerys and you?

Maybe?

Unless—

You can’t let yourself think the worst, but you still share your worry with your brother before you watch Cregan unravel the scroll to read what the news is.

He doesn’t take long to read, but it feels like he is reading for eternity in the waiting silence until finally he puts the scroll down and meets your gaze. This time when you lock eyes your heart skips a beat out of worry instead of awe, this time a smugness doesn’t play in his eyes or tug the corner of his lips up, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched like when he makes his face hard, but you can read him clear as day as you simply hold his gaze.

You can see the pity pulling his lips down, and a soft apologetic look in his grey eyes that makes them appear darker. He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that what he read wasn’t a simple warning or a call home, they’re dark words that he almost but says.

You want to ask, he knows that, he sees your worry heighten in your furrowed brows and parted lips, so with a simple blink his face softens as he gives you sorrow, making your eyes immediately cloud with tears. While in the back, Jacaerys sees it, your shared past. He figures it out in the exchange that is far more complex than one friends should share, but it all makes sense now.

Your friendship always slightly caught his attention, it bugged him in some way. Not because he felt bad for Aemond that you were so sweet on another man, but all your interactions were always weird he just didn’t figure out why until this very moment as Cregan fails to look over at him after what he read, as he watches this speechless interaction and sees the deep aching softness on the Lord's face and a deep set heartache in your eyes.

He had only seen such a speechless complexity in his mother and Ser Harwin. He was too young to realize it then but as he got older he understood what happened around him, and doesn’t fail to understand now.

Yet as much as he wants to give into this anger he feels boil within him at the thought of Lord Stark taking advantage of you in your five years in Winterfell, the news that awaits him helps him stay collected. Thus he steps forward without causing a scene and finally, Lord Stark drives all the attention to him, letting him finally receive the scroll, and leave you waiting longer without focusing on Cregan any longer. Now you turn to face your brother as he reads what was sent.

Once again it feels like what was written is getting read at an infuriatingly slow pace, but now you’re not impatient to know. You’re scared to know or read Jacaerys' face now. But you keep your eyes on your brother and watch his jaw unclench and his lips part to let out a soft gasp, while his once steady hands begin to tremble, and his eyes…water.

“Jacaerys,” you almost plead his name out.

That anger he had at the waiting completely disappears and he slowly looks up at you with a loud and heartbreaking sorrow.

“Jace,” you mewl.

Said man licks his lips and sniffles before he grabs your arm and gently pulls you aside.

“Listen to me,” his voice quivers and only makes your heart race faster than it’s already beating.

“Is it…” you trail off to catch your breath. “A-Aerion?”

Jacaerys shakes his head and keeps in those tears that fill his eyes. “No, Aerion is fine,” he assures you but you don’t feel relieved.

“What?” You beg for an answer and reach for his hands, but he lifts them and tucks loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“When,” he says shakily. “Lucerys was in StormsEnd, Aemond…”

You start to shake your head and his bottom lip trembles.

“Aemond killed Lucerys,” Jacaerys finally reveals quietly.

A cold breeze hits you and all that you had been feeling gets lost in the wind, leaving you numb.

Jacaerys calls your name but you stare ahead blankly. Theres nothing that crosses your mind, there’s nothing you feel that makes you react. You know it’s heavy and painful news, you knew they were dark words when Cregan told you speechlessly, but you can’t accept the truth that’s given. You don’t want to, you can’t because if you do then it means you will accept that your husband, the man you love…did what was written, and you don’t want to accept that.

However, Jacaerys calls out for you again and this time he grabs your arms and steals your attention, forcing you to once again connect to what you refused to feel.

“No,” you blurt and push him back. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

Jacaerys shows you the scroll as he gets close again. “You can read it yourself. It’s the truth, Lucerys…he’s,” he strains to say. “He’s…dead.”

Your heart drops and a flood of emotions rams through you, knocking the air out of your lungs, and making your legs weak.

Jacaerys grabs your arms and holds you up before you can fall and pulls you to him, letting you see how red his eyes are, and how drowned they are with tears he’s holding back.

“Jace,” you mewl and cover your mouth to sob.

Your brother nods in understanding without you having to express the rest of your sorrow. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

“Oh gods,” you gasp and drop your head while grabbing at your chest as you can’t seem to catch a breath. You can’t breathe. There’s so much air where you are, it’s so crisp but you can’t manage to take in any which in return only lets you feel the pounding of your heart, the rushing of your blood, and a rush of memories of your little brother Lucerys.

All you can think about is Lucerys, you imagine his last moments, and with every memory and every fake scenario the more you fail to grasp for air.

In the distance, Cregan watches how you’re breaking down, but no matter how much he wants to, he has to stay put even if it hurts not being able to help you when you need him the most. He does get close to trying something small since you are in so much pain trying to breathe, and your brother seems a bit lost on how to help you, but Jacaesys then does the first thing he thinks of and pulls you into an embrace.

Thankfully right away, at the feeling of your brother's weight, and at the feeling of his warmth, all those rushing memories slowly disappear, letting you draw in a deep breath. You pull him closer and bury your head in the crook of his neck whilst you wrap your hand around the back of his neck, and push his head down to let him bury his face on your shoulder so he can express everything he refuses to show to the public.

When he clutches onto the back of your cloak your heart comes to a slow pace, but it doesn’t stop weeping. With every ba-dum, you feel an aching pain in your chest that doesn’t go away.

Eventually, after a short time, Jacaerys pulls back and gives his back to Cregan to wipe away his tears before facing him with a sorrow that isn’t able to wipe off. “We need to go, my Lord. You’ll have to forgive us for not accompanying you back to Winterfell, but with our dragons here we need to make haste to return to Dragonstone.”

You grab at your chest and gently caress it as if that would cure you’re heartache while Jacaerys shares something you agree to without the need for a discussion.

Albeit Cregan is the one who protests. “It will get dark soon, why do you not wait until first light to take flight? Wait until you both have collected yourselves so you don't do anything rash in the heat of the moment.”

You shake your head and interject in a broken voice. “The storm won’t pass, Lord Stark. We’ll just face it head-on and leave, our mother needs us.”

Cregan steps forward, gaining a brief glance from you. “Just eat, and rest…I know the pain of losing a brother, I understand your grief, my heart is with you,” he tries to relate so you would listen. “I have lost many others too, I know the anger, please just let yourselves calm down before you return home. I will stay with you here.”

You know your brother too, you know how angry he can get. You know that once your grief really settles you’ll also start thinking of what happened and you’ll get upset too. Thus you don’t hurry to answer, you look at your brother and he looks at you. And without a word, you come to the same conclusion.

“All right,” Jacaerys says for the both of you. “We will stay, but leave at first light. Thank you, my Lord.”

——

*LATER*

Nothing makes sense.

Why? How?

Those questions are what runs around and around in your head accompanied by different terrifying scenarios that could’ve led to the act. A lot of it points to an accident, you want to believe in your heart of hearts that what…Aemond did was an accident. You don’t want to believe that this remorse got the best of him, he’s supposed to be better, he’s supposed to keep it in for your sake.

He knows how much you love your brothers, he knows he can hate them all he wants, but he can’t hurt them. And yes! You know that war was going to happen no matter what, and violence was going to be dragged in between your families, but Aemond went out of his way to…kill Lucerys when all he was was an envoy.

He killed your brother. Your husband killed your brother, and in turn, betrayed you in the worst way possible. He tore your heart out, and what hurts more is that he hasn’t said what he did in the multiple ravens he’s sent! Just like always, he never tells you a thing!

What are you supposed to believe, but the worst? You want to believe he’s good behind all that hard demeanor, you defend him against your family when they say something bad because you want to believe he has a good heart, but what does killing Lucerys prove? That you’ve been wrong all along?

Gods!

Damn it! Why did he have to do it? Why did he take Lucerys?

A knock raps on your door, but you’re so drowned in your heartache that you don’t hear the sound. It’s not until you hear your name being called out softly behind that door that you almost wake up from your stupor.

“It is I, Cregan,” he announces without the need to, you knew who he was the moment he uttered the first word. “Can I talk to you? You didn’t come for supper.”

You blink repeatedly to relieve the dry spell in your eyes after not blinking for a few seconds and clutch onto the ring you were fiddling with before you get up and unlock the door. You don’t proceed to say anything, you walk away from the door and stand against the fireplace, but Cregan takes the unlocked door as an invitation and walks in, finding your food untouched, you in your nightgown, and your head down.

“I came to check on you,” he says softly as if careful not to hurt you even more with his voice. When he gets no response or even a small breath, he walks in further and notices now how unkempt you are; you’re usually so precise with the way you keep yourself, you always look so clean and tidy, it was only in the morning when you first woke up that he would catch you off guard, but now it’s like you don’t care how you look.

“I hope you are not going to bed with your hair down like that,” he tries to be lighthearted. “You hate having your hair tangled in the morning.”

He waits for a reaction, a soft ‘oh’, but you stay quiet and it just deepens his concern.

“Darling,” he uses your pet name and you finally break from your stupor and turn partially to face him.

He expected a sweet look just out of instinct, but those usually wonder-filled eyes are clouded by agony and tears that can’t even fall down your cheeks anymore; while the fires fierce light brings clarity to your deep set frown, knitted brows, and puffy face worn out from crying.

“Here,” he breathes out and catches a gleam coming from in between your fingers. When he fills his curiosity he notices that the firelight is dancing on a sapphire ring you cannot stop fiddling with in between your fingers; a ring he had not seen you take off once since he saw you. Which must mean your husband gave it to you.

He doesn’t want to ask for many reasons, so he approaches you from behind and gently starts braiding your hair in silence you cannot seem to fill. It’s almost like there was no one inside your body, you were a hollow body left soulless.

“I understand why you locked your door,” he mentions in hopes that would get him a simple reaction. “However, it does not seem necessary, your dragons are restless and it stirs up fear in the brothers. And I am here as well.”

Your back raises as you draw in a deep breath, but rather than filling the silence with a dry response, or some remark, you just breathe out, making him steal a glance at the side of your face that he can see from behind you, before he pulls out the leather strip that keeps half of his hair out of his face to keep your own braid in place instead. He then proceeds to shuffle to your side to grab your arm.

“Sit down, Princess.” He commands softly.

You don’t fight him, you let him guide you down to your seat, and once he’s feeding the fire more wood your hoarse voice finally fills the room.

“I should have gone back to King's Landing…A—He sent me a raven the day after when my grandsire the King died. He didn’t tell me of course, but he told me to go back…I should have listened, I…” you pause to catch your breath. “Maybe then Lucerys…” you trail off and whimper whilst you drop your head in your hands.

Cregan leaves the last piece of wood in the fire and then wipes his hands on his shirt while he stands up to close the gap between you.

“Don't,” he says firmly and crouches down in front of you to grab your hands and pull them down so you can meet his gaze. “Do not blame yourself for your brother's death. What happened is not your fault to carry. What happened is dealt with, don’t dwell on things that can no longer happen.”

You hold his gaze while you process his words for a second and then look down at the ring you still hold.

“I’m sorry,” he says sorrowful words that bring your heart some comfort, but also make your body tremble while those tears that you once couldn’t muster, come rushing down your already stained cheeks.

Nothing else is spoken, and nothing is asked of either of you, but out of instinct your arms slip around his neck, and he returns the embrace and follows you to your feet where he keeps holding you and lets you cry on his shoulder; for hours? For a few seconds? You don’t know, you dwell in his comfort that you missed and relish in it until you stop crying.

He probably should have been the one to pull away, but he doesn’t complain, not once. He lets you pull back on your own time, and even then he grabs your arms to keep you close so he can cup your cheeks and caress them for a final piece of comfort to your aching heart.

Yet that proves to be a mistake because as you linger in his proximity, your eyes fall on his lips and you’re overwhelmed with a passion-filled heat that pushes your lips against his.

At first, Cregan is so stunned by the warmth of your lips on his, and then he’s taken by the excitement of feeling your lips reconnecting that he closes his eyes and kisses you back, but when his lust begins to rush through his blood he pulls back and groans.

“No,” he shakes his head and slides his hands down your face to grab your shoulders, leaving a burning trail down your skin. “You are married. No matter what happened you are still married, and you’re grieving.”

You want to forget your pain for a moment and be consumed by the comfort, bliss, and excitement he provides, but he’s also right. And how can you do that to Aemond…

But…

Maybe you don’t care if it hurts him because he hurt you. He won’t know either way—But you will know, you will know that it’s something that can hurt him, and you…don’t care. But Cregan…is right.

“I’m sorry,” you throw out and step away from him, feeling a chill hit those parts of you that he kept warm with his touch—“you are right. I’m sorry.”

Cregan turns away and swallows back thickly, feeling somewhat disappointed that he has to turn down this heat of the moment. “Perhaps I shall bid you a goodnight now.”

You swallow back to hide your disappointed sigh and nod. “Yes, goodnight Cregan.”

Said man avoids looking at you when he turns. It makes it easier to walk away from you. But when his hand touches the door handle he doesn’t turn it to open it, he stands there frozen with his back turned to you as he feels his honor start to slip.

He turns his head but doesn’t peek over right away, he fights himself but quickly falters when he feels the ghost of your wet lips haunting his. And when he fully looks back and sees the shadow of your sculpted figure in your white nightgown his inner battle is lost. He only proves his loss by locking the door and turning completely to face you, turning around as well.

“Cregan?” You query, puzzled by his presence.

Said man draws out a deep breath before he strides back to you with determination in his step and surprises you by grabbing your face the moment he can. You want to utter his name, but a small gasp is all that goes past your lips whilst you drop the ring that Aemond had gifted you.

“I pride myself in my honor,” he says while his eyes flicker between your parted lips and your shocked gaze. “But when it comes to you it’s turned to ash, nothing stops me from wanting you, from…” he trails off and leans forward, but you don’t allow your lips to touch. You shift your head away, but he follows you to keep your breaths unfurling over each other's lips.

“…desiring you in every way a gentleman shouldn’t. I burn for you when you’re far, and even when I dream of you. It is wrong.” He nods, and you nod too without much effort. “But you are my weakness, you have always been my weakness. You’re my joy, the reason I laugh, and also the reason I don’t march to King's Landing and bring you to Winterfell to make you mine,” he whispers against your lips, making a smile make an appearance on your saddened face.

“Tell me this is wrong, tell me to leave now,” he tells you and drags his eyes up to meet yours so you can know he’s being serious. “And I will. I will leave your chambers and when morning comes I’ll bid you farewell with no remorse and as nothing more than friends.”

As if being hypnotized to his lips you lean forward, but only let your lips brush, leaving your heart pounding as it screams for you to connect.

“I still have to leave,” you make it known while you gently cup his jaw to touch some part of him. “I have to return to Dragonstone no matter what.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch together and he hesitates before he nods. “I understand,” he mutters and glances at your lips again. “But that doesn’t change a thing if you tell me to leave.”

You should. You're still married even if Aemond betrayed you by killing your brother. And deep deep down a lot of your conflict comes because you don’t know if you did stop loving the man who killed your brother, but that reason is also why you want to give in to your deepest burning desire.

That reason is why you’re selfish and don’t resist Cregan or stop your heart from swooning at his confession.

“Don’t leave,” is all he needs to hear to smile widely before he finally feeds your desire by kissing you slowly, fueling that passionate heat that completely takes over your body, and leaving you still and breathless for a moment as you relish in the sweet taste of his soft lips melting with yours, guiding your every movement, and driving you mad with lust.

You had forgotten this dream-like feeling, you had forgotten how fast he makes your heart race when he’s kissing you, and you forgot how hot you burn when his fingers explore the perimeters of your body. Furthermore, you forgot how eager he can get until you feel his grip on the back of your gown.

You pull away quickly and protest. “No, no, wait, do not rip it.”

Cregan fingers loosen and you start to giggle. “Why do you always want to rip my gowns?” You bring up, making his lips lift to a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between heavy breaths.

You press a kiss on his lips and then tell him, “gently.”

He breathes out deeply and nods once before he slides his fingers back to the ribbon tying your gown together, and slowly begins to untie it while you drift your lips to kiss the corner of his mouth, and then kiss his jaw before you graze your lips up and kiss the corner of his jaw.

Cregan lets out a groan from the back of his throat, making you feel chills grow on your skin.

“I hate all these layers,” he musters while you continue to leave a trail of kisses down to his neck. “They are so infuriating.”

You smile against his neck, causing you to feel his nails dig in your skin.

“It keeps me warm,” you tell him and lick a stripe up to his lips. “Your North is cold, my Lord.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “A little less with your presence,” he completely wins you over, making you grin and look at him in awe.

“I missed you,” he finally lets himself confess to you. “My darling love.”

You sigh and whisper back. “I missed you too.”

His eyes gleam brighter and that short absence is filled once again with your lips while he finally slips off your gown, leaving you under a simple sheer gown that he slips off with ease.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with awe, and his eyes dark with lust.

“It’s no fair,” you argue between kisses and slowly drag your hands down to help him pull off his layers. “And you say I wear a lot of layers,” you comment, making him scoff.

You finally end up pulling the last one off and throw it to the side mindlessly as you’re captivated by his toned torso and those thick arms that he unfairly hides under all those garments.

“Kiss me,” you command in a voice oozing with honey.

“Gladly,” is all he says before capturing your face to smash his lips on yours and this time make out more roughly as he’s filled with a much more hungry need.

Your own need lets you multitask by unbuckling his pants and tugging on them so he can pull them off in the brief pause you have between devouring each other. Yet when his member is out for you to see, you take a moment to admire how girthy and hard it is, and how perfect every vein is on his length.

You can’t help but start to go on your knees, but he grabs your bicep and pulls you back up to drift you away from that need.

“No,” he says out of breath and instead wraps his arms around you, and presses his lips on your neck to start leaving wet kisses on your flesh while he also slides his hands down your body, making you shiver at the feeling of his warm hands caressing you gently.

Without lifting his mouth off your neck he drifts his hand behind your knee, and with no explanation, he pulls your leg up to help you climb up and wrap your legs around his waist so he can walk you back to the edge of the bed, and gently put you down.

Once you’re lying on your back he pulls back but leans down to press his hands beside your head, and simply hold your gaze with this endearing look that makes his eyes smile.

“I'm going inside you,” he warns you, making you shiver and swallow thickly as you already imagine the stretch. “You need to be quiet.”

You part your lips but utter nothing, instead, you lift your head and he responds by giving you what you wanted, a deep kiss, while he grabs his length and aligns himself with your hole. When his tip touches you you gasp and he grins before taking your lips again to distract you while he slowly penetrates you.

Albeit the stretch is so wonderful and filling that you claw your nails on his back and scratch his back as he keeps going in deeper. Once all the way inside he finally pulls his face back to whisper. “You were made for me. You belong with me.”

You don’t respond with words, you cup his cheeks and brush strands of his hair behind his ears before you slide your hand to the back of his neck to gently pull him down. “Cregan make me yours,” you finally fill the silence, feeling as if his cock hardens even more before he finally starts moving his hips, filling you with a blinding ecstasy that heightens this passionate moment, and makes you only think about him and the pleasure he feels and gives you. You forget your sorrows and the grudge. You forget the war and the responsibilities you have.

You’re selfish in the lust-filled night and remain ignorant even before it's time to get out of bed. You just relish in Cregan's presence for a bit longer.

“Cregan…” you whisper, and the man hums in response letting you sigh before you share what’s been bothering you. “I do not like that I am the reason you disregard your honor. I do not like putting you through that.”

The hand on your back stops moving and a small huff rolls out of his nose. “I think it’s late to start thinking about that.”

You blink repeatedly with discontent and abruptly sit up to face him. “I am not jesting,” you press sharply. “I’m being serious. You hold your honor in high regard, I hate to be the one who makes it falter.”

A faint smile tugs on his lips without regard to your comment before he leans forward and assures you. “I have my honor, I never forget it, but I love you more. I’m being selfish without disregarding everything to be it. I know how to hold myself back,” he says firmly and cups your cheek to bring you closer to him. “I know where I stand, I am just choosing to have a taste of happiness. You, my darling, are my happiness.”

Your eyes water and your heart swoons, there’s nothing you can say that would measure up to the kind things he just said, all you can do is press a lingering kiss on his warm lips before you lay your head down on his chest, and hold onto him like he’s your security blanket.

“I…could offer you and your Aerion refuge here,” he offers and makes your pounding heart hurt.”

“Here? In Castle Black?” You tease without sounding too amused.

Cregan scoffs and starts to caress your arm. “Not here. In Winterfell,” he clarifies without a hint of falter at the mention of your son who is fathered by someone else who does bring him pangs of jealousy every time he remembers you’re married, and when he hears his name. “I would make sure no one could touch you and your boy there. He wouldn’t have to grow up around so much violence and you would not have to worry.”

You tilt your head down to kiss his shoulder before you give his offer an answer. “It's a nice offer, but my place is not hiding in a cage like some frightened bird. My place is out there, with my mother, with my brother, and the rest of my family fighting with the dragon I have. My mother needs me and I don’t want to leave her alone.”

Cregan doesn’t interject with anything, his chest rises and slowly falls back down, letting you know your response slightly wounded him.

“Instead of having her husband with her when she lost my sister,” you begin to say quieter but filled with frustration. “Daemon was out leading her council. I was the one who held her when she cradled my sister's lifeless body. I…have to be there for her now.”

“I understand,” he doesn’t falter to assure you. “But you must know if you ever find yourself needing somewhere to go, Winterfell is yours. You and your son are welcome.”

You lift your head off him to face him in the little space left between you. “I will always remember that. Thank you,” you say from the bottom of your heart.

A smile twitches on his serious face, and he proceeds to press a feathered kiss on your lips before he grins and says. “Sing for me? Just for me.”

You giggle and gently smack his shoulder. “No,” you answer bluntly and lay back down basically on him.

“Why not?” He chuckles. “It's not like you have to fear enchanting me with your song, you already have.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. Anyway!” You change the subject. “I was supposed to stop writing to you. I had already planned it.”

Cregan sighs and his chin rests on the top of your head. “I know,” he mutters. “You stopped writing as much as you would recently.”

Your smile falls but you grow desperate and hopeful. “But…you will answer me when I write to you in the weeks to come, right?”

He shrugs and interjects. “If that’s what you want, I will.”

You nod softly. “I do.”

You lift yourself up again to face him so he knows you’re being sincere. “I do.”

He grabs your cheek and his eyes soften. “Are you frightened?” He makes sure to ask.

You swallow thickly and shake your head. “No. Nervous, but not scared.”

He smirks and slides his hand down to caress your chin. “That’s my girl. You know how to fight, use that.” He tells you.

You laugh nervously. “I’ve never had to actually use my skill for violence.”

Your swordsmanship and your skills with archery were never for the intent of being some warrior, you like the idea of being like Queen Visenya Targaryen, and Princess Alyssa, but mostly your need to be trained with a sword and with archery was because you took it as a challenge. They said you couldn’t have it and you challenged them. Thus now that you’re having to face this war and the potential of having to use your skill, you’re honestly quite nervous.

You’ve never admitted that. You don’t want to admit it to anyone but him so they don't feel like you aren’t reliable.

“It won’t be easy,” Cregan says the truth. “But when you face your enemy, do not hesitate. Think quickly but be smart and do not let them gain the upper hand. You have a dragon, use her, and you have skill, good skill. Use it.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod in comprehension. He offers you a gentle smile and pulls you down to press his forehead against yours.

“You must know I will wait for you. Just a while longer.”

Asking what will happen after a while passes scares you, so you leave it be and just give him an honest response. “If fate ends up letting me choose, I will finally come home to you.”

He flashes you a charming smile that eases that worry in your heart and only works to sink you further down into this little escape.

“Now,” he coos against your lips. “Will you sing for me?”

You roll your eyes with a flattered smile featured on your face before you pull away to lay back on his chest and finally do as he asks of you as a parting gift where there aren't multiple people watching you, and pushing you down to hide or pretend that you’re nothing more than friends. You sing him a song for only him to hear before you take your leave and face reality once again.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. DRAGONSTONE*

What good is actually facing reality? Facing a dead beloved brother, and the fact that it was someone who you loved that killed him?

Dragonstone is a painful reminder of what happened while you were away. Only now that pain in your heart is tenfold and you don’t think anyone can actually know the pain that plagues you. Who can truly understand what it is you carry? No one is married to the man who killed Lucerys. They can hate him with ease, but you?

You want to despise him, you fought yourself the entire flight back to Dragonstone to hate him and view him as another enemy, to view him like you view Aegon, but as much as you think you hate him, your heart fights hard to try and tell a different tale. And that’s what makes it worse.

Thus it's easier, it was almost healing, having an escape with Cregan, but now there’s no one who will silence your cries. And what makes matters worse is facing your heartbroken mother. You don’t like seeing her cry or be hurt, when she lost Visenya your pain could never equate to what she was feeling, but you hurt too with every groan, with all the blood that she spilled, and every sob. Now you’re moments away from her and your heart and soul are already shattering.

However, after you watch your dragon disappear into the caves with Vermax, and take a step inside the castle, a hand wraps around your forearm and you’re pulled into a dark dead end where there aren't prying eyes or nearby ears.

“<Tell me the truth,” Jacaerys spats in a whisper so no one would hear the sound of his words also protected by High Valyrian. “About you and Lord Stark.>”

You can’t help yourself, you blink repeatedly in disbelief and gape like a fish out of water.

“< There's no point in lying,” he only further surprises you. “I figured it out when he got the letter from Dragonstone. I would see it every time you would talk but I never pieced it together until yesterday. It all made sense then, the glances, what you would tell each other, and every story you told about him.>”

Tears fill your eyes and your heart echos in your ears as you’re struck with shame. Not for loving another man, but that Jacaerys found out.

“<He touched you?>” He proceeds to ask in your shocked silence.

And it’s in that silence where he figures out your unspoken response and finally lets go of your arm to turn away with a scoff.

“<He never forced himself on me,” you defend Cregan. “Everything we did was because we wanted it to happen. We love each other.>”

Jacaerys turns on his heels with frustration and clutches onto your arms to sneer. “<You saw how much mother suffered because she was with Ser Harwin. Did you not learn anything?>”

You know he’s remarking all that stuff to your face because he cares. He’s being thoughtful in his way but it doesn’t stop you from crying, and when you shed tears you hit a cord in your brother's heart and he lets go of you with a sigh.

“<If you weren’t already married I would turn back and force him, but alas,>,” he mutters and sighs again before turning and dropping his head in his hands.

“<He would’ve too,” you defend his honor. “But I did not want Aemond to hurt him with Vhagar. I choose not to marry him, please don’t blame him. He’s a good man.>”

Jacaerys shakes his head in disappointment and turns to face you with his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare and his lips curled in a snarl. “How am I not supposed to blame him?” He remarks in the common tongue. “He had his way with you and did not do what he was supposed to do! What an honorable man would do!”

“I told you already, I told him not to because of Aemond.”

Jacaerys grabs his face and rubs the bridge of his nose, so you continue to try and calm him down.

“He was always respectful and kind. And…” you pause and lick your lips before you utter the reality. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. There's no use in being upset, I am married and that won’t change even if I love him unless Aemond dies. So please,” you plead softer and step towards him to grab his arm so he can face you. “Please Jace, keep it a secret. No one must know. It’s in the past. Please don’t tell a soul.”

Jacaerys eyes snap to you and he clenches his jaw as he looks at you thoughtfully for a few agonizing moments before he sighs and whispers. “Fine. I will not tell anyone only because there’s nothing I can do now.”

You sigh with relief and wipe away your tears before you offer him a thankful smile and a sweeter comment. “Thank you so much. Thank you, Jace, really. I love you.”

Jacaerys lets out a deep breath and his face slowly lets that frustration go, and instead slowly falls to express a soft sorrow. You slide your hand down his arm to cup his hand and slowly mirror that grief as you remember what you lost and that pain you both now harbor.

No matter how hard you wish, there’s nothing in this world that can change what happened, no one can bring back your fallen brother. And what’s even crueler is that no matter how hopeful you were for the news to be a lie, you’re home now and that hope lies with Lucerys.

You both come to the same realization and speechlessly exchange it, bringing you both into each other's embrace to cry now without care.

And deep down you both want to stay close in just the way you are so neither of you run the risk of losing each other the way you lost Lucerys. It’s a foolish thought, but it’s one brought by grief, and a new fear set in both of your hearts because no matter how much you love your little brothers, nothing can compare to the bond the three of you had. A bond that now consists of Jacaerys and you. Just him and you.

“Jacaerys,” your moment is interrupted by a feminine voice that also speaks your name but does not belong to your mother. And when you both break away and look over you see Baela stand at the end of the hall with her hands clasped together and a pitiful look in her eyes.

“Baela,” you greet and wipe your tears away while Jacaerys turns to wipe his own tears away.

“Welcome back home,” she speaks sweetly.

You offer her a thankful nod before you walk over to her and meet her halfway with an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.

You nod and then interject. “Thank you.” You pull back and glance around in search of her twin. “Where’s Rhaena?”

Baela sighs. “In her chambers.”

You wished to greet her just as you returned home, but now you’ll have to speak to her after you speak with your mother.

“And what about…” you trail off and hesitate. “What about my mother?”

Baela glances behind you as Jacaerys approaches you and then gives you the answer you wanted. “I’ll take you to her.”

You offer her a thankful smile and watch her walk to Jacaerys to wrap her arms around him and offer him sweeter condolences. When the moment passes she guides you to your mother and your heart begins to pound, while your stomach twists and makes you feel almost nauseous at the anticipation. You already know you’re going to break even more, but there’s something about thinking about your mother being heartbroken that already tears you apart.

And maybe a part of it is because…it feels like you had a hand in her heartbreak because it was your husband who killed Lucerys.

It was not really you, you know that. You were oblivious to your husband's affairs, but no matter what anyone says, yes, that’s what is dwelling within, your guilt. It rattles you to the point you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.

As you get closer to your mother's quarters breathing gets hard once again, and your surroundings begin to dim, leaving only the narrow path ahead visible. You want to run away and not face the pain you’ll see. But when the doors to your mother's quarters open and you see her sitting across the fireplace, alone and in the dark, that panic settles as if she was the fresh air you needed to calm down, leaving you with the need to be embraced by her warmth and comfort, while also giving the same in return.

“Your Grace,” you greet her softly once Baela clears the room and leaves only you and your brother with your mother.

Your pounding heart starts racing once again, but it’s not out of fear, it’s racing out of a need to ease your pain, and the pain you clearly see on her delicate face. Yet you hold strong with tears stinging in your eyes already.

“Lady Jayne Arryn has pledged her support,” Jacaerys breaks the emotional silence to share the support you both gained when you were away on a mission. “…In exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale,” you hear the tear in your brother's voice, and when you glance over at him you see him fiddling with his hands while his eyes grow more and more teary, making your already weak hold, falter.

You still want to continue for him, but when you part your lips you can’t utter a word, it’s all lost in your grief that heightens the longer you watch your mother.

“And,” Jacaerys continues sounding even more brokenhearted by the second. “Lord Cregan Stark,” he pauses and takes a deep breath, but doesn’t seem to find the will to finish. He falls breathless and that wall he usually has up to be perceived as strong, and a protector crumbles, leaving him shaky.

You reach over to grab his hand while tears start to roll out of your eyes as you trail on for him. “…Lord Stark…promised 2000 men,” you manage to share with all the might you can muster.

Your mother doesn’t respond, she instead stands from her seat with her face contorting with grief and approaches the both of you, making you completely lose the faltering hold you had on your emotions.

However, when she’s close, Jacaerys reaches out first and she welcomes him in her arms. You want to do the same, you’ve been aching for it, but your guilt hits you and you stand there frozen with your head down.

“Mother,” you mewl with streams of tears. “I’m…sorry.”

Your mother pulls away from Jacaerys just slightly, leaving her arm around his neck to approach you and caress your cheek with no disdain in her eyes; nor does she look at you like you were the one at fault, her eyes are sad, but she expresses her reassurance before she slides her arm around your neck and pulls you in her gentle embrace and confirms that she doesn’t hate or blame you.

It’s such a relieving comfort that it works to lift some weight off your chest. Weight Cregan couldn’t ease when he talked to you.

Now you can ease in your mother's embrace without feeling like she hates you. Now you can caress her back without the fear of getting rejected.

Soon thereafter, neither Jacaerys nor you attempt to leave your mother's comfort. Nor does it feel like your mother wants either of you to pull away from her embrace that protects her two eldest from the cruel reality that took her third child.

You stay interlinked and weep on each other's shoulders until she pulls away to face you both.

“I have been waiting for your return to light…Lucerys pyre,” she shares. “Is it fine if we light it tonight? The sun is setting and the winds are calm.”

You and Jacaerys don’t find a reason to push the funeral back. You also know there are other matters to attend to that don't give you the luxury of sitting in your grief.

But, oh wouldn’t that be nice?

You don’t want to ignore what happened, no, that’s not what you want. You just want to take a moment to process what happened, and who did it, and tell yourself that you will no longer see your little brother Lucerys.

But no, war forces you to face reality and deal with your grief harshly on the same night you arrived from Winterfell, and at the same spot where your baby sister's funeral pyre was lit.

This time the crowd is smaller though, more intimate. Daemon isn’t even here, which isn’t surprising, but it is also disappointing that he can’t be at his wife’s side as she deals with the death of her son, and lights yet another funeral pyre. And what grows your hatred for him even more is that he can’t seem to be bothered to be a father to his daughter who just lost her betrothed. It’s a good thing Baela is at her side.

It’s also good that you can be with your family this time, dealing with your father's grief alone was devastating. There was no one besides your handmaiden Vanessa to hold your hand and embrace you when you wept. Comforting letters could never measure up to the comfort of your mother's arms or that of your siblings and your grandparents.

Now though, you stand amongst them around the fire that will burn away the only pieces you have of Lucerys, which are his things. There's not even bones to turn to ash, nothing was found of him but his cloak, and a part of his dragon's wing.

Thus Jacaerys steps up first and throws in a soft red blanket along with a piece of his clothes. Besides a few tears rolling down his face, he holds strong now, unlike before when he was in the privacy of just you and your mother, which is assuring. He definitely seems to comfort Joffrey, who throws a wooden horse in the fire, leaving you to step up next.

Yet when you step up and lift a small wooden ship you sob for the brother you’ll never be able to see grow into a man. You’ll never be able to see him marry, or see him command his fleets. You’ll never be able to watch him build a family of his own, nor will you be able to dance another song with him, he’ll be gone forever.

You throw away all those possibilities you’ll never get to see in the fire, and watch the flames eat away at the small wooden ship, and turn to ash everything you couldn’t watch your brother do.

Thick smoke rises, it infiltrates through your nose and stings your throat and eyes while also helping you realize something through the stinging pain, that being your hate for Aemond, your husband, and best friend. You were clouded with confusion before, you couldn’t let go, but you see it clearly now in the thick smoke, you hate him.

And it’s because of your realization that you don’t realize your mother is next to you until you catch her throwing in a piece of Lucery’s clothes with agony contorting her face and clouding her eyes. She lingers by the fire for a moment and you watch her shoulders shake before she steps back. You fall by her side and glance down at her empty hand before you reach over to grab it and once again be the comfort she needs in her moment of pain.

A need to go to Rhaena’s side does grow. You feel called to her side to comfort her, but once the fire starts to lose its power, and all the wooden logs turn black, you step away from your brother and mother's side, but come to a stop right away as you feel guilt again. Your mother might’ve speechlessly assured you, but Rhaena’s anger and grief is different, what if she does blame you for what Aemond did?

If you weren’t away you probably could’ve stopped Aemond, but you weren’t with him. What if she blames you for Aemond taking her betrothed?

You don’t want to be the source of more pain for your cousin, so out of fear and guilt, you don’t approach her. You avoid her and instead, let your grandfather give his condolences before embracing your grandmother.

“I heard the Queen made you her hand,” you interject and pull back to face her with a proud smile. “Congratulations, grandmother, I could think of no one more capable than you.”

Your grandmother caresses your face and offers you a sweet and thankful smile. “Thank you, my Sweet. How are you doing?” She asks with a concerned gaze.

You sigh. “I’m dealing with all my emotions, but I’m relieved that I at least don’t have to go through my grief alone this time,” you share, earning a faint smile.

“I was wondering…” you roll out hesitantly whilst you hook your arm around his to head back inside together. “…does anyone accompany you on your patrols?”

Without needing to hear the rest of what you wanted to ask, she figures out the direction you're taking this conversation.

“No,” your grandmother assures you.

“Oh, well I was wondering,” you finally get to your question. “If I could accompany you? The sea is large, together we could cover more ground. Besides,” you sweet talk her to persuade her. “Astraea is fast, and she’s grown large from her time at Winterfell. She’s good at sea. She likes to dive with me on her. And I am a good archer on Dragonback. We could help you.”

Your grandmother scoffs and flashes you a smile. “Well as much as I would like your help, we would have to ask the Queen first. Bring it up with her and if she accepts I would love to share patrol with you, it would relieve me of some work.”

You smile excitedly and nod eagerly. “Good, I’m glad. I’ll ask her at the next council meeting.”

Your grandmother offers you an encouraging smile and helps you feel some joy in the dark storm that casts over you.

Of course, no one or nothing brings you more joy than your little one, your beloved Aerion. When you see him fast asleep in his cradle your dim world lights up and you muster a happy grin.

As much as you want him to wake so he knows you’ve returned to him, you let him be and just crouch by the cradle to admire him as he sleeps.

You admire his cute round cheeks, his tiny little hands balled up to fists over his head, his thin eyelashes he got from his father, and those pink thin lips he also got from

Aemond. But most importantly you watch his chest carefully to make sure he’s breathing.

You could watch him sleep for hours on end and never tire. Especially because sometimes, just like now, you catch him smiling in his sleep and you just can’t help but swoon.

You always wondered what it is they dream about, fairytales mayhaps? Food? Their parents?

Does he dream about his father now that they’re apart? A father who loves him, and takes pride in his son? A father that you hate and…cheated on…

He killed your little brother, and you lay with Cregan because you wanted to, because you missed him, and you were upset and selfish, but now that you’re looking at your son sleeping away a different pang of guilt punctures your heart.

A guilt you shouldn’t feel, Aerion is young, he won't remember this conflict, but he will feel shame if he ever finds out you cheated on his father.

Yes, his father hurt you first, Aemond betrayed you first. He hurt you in one the worst ways possible! But…now…

Now you’re looking at Aerion and you think of how this could also hurt him. He’s young, a baby turning five months old soon, he won’t remember his life as an infant, but your secret won’t be forgotten, especially if in the future Cregan and you aren’t together.

It would hurt him so much if he ever found out. That’s what makes you cry with guilt. Not regret, you don’t regret your night with Cregan, he made you happy, but you do feel guilt and shame.

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

Does Aemond’s crime justify what you did?

You can’t help but think of that, you can’t help but think of the hate you harbor, but you also can’t stop thinking about him. About the way his family doesn’t show him the affection you do. He protects them and takes care of them, but they will never return it in the same amount.

He’s probably lonely, and brooding. He’s probably silently just lurking in his brother's council, and breaking his fasts alone.

You always tried breaking fast and eating dinners together. He always smiled when he saw the way you were dressed, especially when you wore purple. He always gave you a kiss before you drifted apart for the day, and when you saw each other he kissed you with need as if you had gone years without seeing each other.

When night came, or when you found yourselves just in a calm moment, he let his guard down and let himself be vulnerable. You loved those moments the most because it felt as if only he and you existed in this world.

Actually, he treated you like you were the only person he has ever loved. You came first all the time, even before your son. Which is selfish, but you never minded because who could treat you the same?

Cregan’s people come first, the North comes first no matter what he says. That’s why he’s not marching over here to fight himself because other priorities come first, but with Aemond, he may have his goals and his pride, but you were never held lesser than something. His anger got in the way. It’s blinding but you understand why.

You understood at least…because the truth is you can’t defend him now…

He deserves his solitude. You hate him for taking Lucerys away. That much is true and you put that over everything.

“Princess,” Vanessa’s sweet voice cuts through the blowing breeze of the sea, making you pick your eyes off your son to look into the distance.

“Vanessa,” you entertain your handmaiden with what you know she’s leading up to.

“I was wondering,” she parts her lips, but before she can finish her thought the sound of your name coming from someone else’s lips interrupts the conversation. You look back and smile faintly when you see your grandfather Corlys.

“Grandfather,” you greet sweetly as you stand up to watch him approach you at shore.

“I’m surprised to see you out here so early,” he mentions, making you scoff softly and look down at Aerion watching your grandfather carefully.

“When I saw Aerion he was sleeping, so I wanted to make up for it and spend as much time as I can before I’m called away,” you tell him and study him, noticing he’s standing up a lot straighter than before, and still using a very nice wooden cane. “I wanted to apologize for not going to visit you when you were abed. I’m more than glad to see you up now and attending to your fleet.” You smile brightly and watch him get close to watch Aerion in your arms.

“It's quite all right,” he assures you and meets your gaze. “You are a dragon rider, and the Queen's daughter, there’s a lot to do. I'm happy to see you safely returned, I know Aerion has missed you.”

You glance at your son, and as if he knew you were admiring him he glances at you and smiles before laying his head on your shoulder.

“Rhaenys and I would take him on strolls when the day gave us time,” your grandfather catches you by surprise. “The poor lad would be cooped all day with your mother gone.”

Considering Aerion the son of Aemond, you didn’t think your grandparents, especially your grandfather would much care for your son, but hearing his report really brings a warmth to your heart.

“I noticed that young Aerion quite enjoys being by the water,” your grandfather adds, making you grin and nod.

“Yes, he loves it when the waves roll over his feet,” you share giddily and caress your son's head as you return your gaze to your grandfather. “And he gets lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves.”

“He’ll be a fine sailor in no time.”

You hum happily at your grandfather's comment and then watch him glance out at the never-ending sea before he sighs softly, and then looks back at you with a faint smile that lets you catch a look in his eye that makes you think he’s up to something.

“Why don’t you and Aerion accompany me to Driftmark? It’s still early, and you can come back by dragonback before you’re needed,” he suggests.

You have been meaning to keep your mind off all the racing thoughts that kept you up at night, and well, you are extremely curious. It’s not common for him to invite you to accompany him anywhere. That’s what your grandmother does.

“Vanessa,” you address your handmaiden, and give your grandfather an answer. “Return inside, if anyone asks for me tell them where I am and that I will return soon.”

Your handmaiden offers you a comprehensive nod and goes off to do as you asked, letting you walk with your grandfather toward his boat under the morning sky pampered with fluffy white clouds that make you feel a smidge of joy as certain memories infiltrate your mind.

“On nice days like these my father would take me sailing,” you muse with your grandfather. “I’m pretty sure the septa giving me lessons would despise when he would pull me from my lessons since I was a princess and had no business doing boy stuff, but,” you grin softly. “He was the prince consort, he did as he pleased and my mother never minded. Besides, I encouraged him,” you pause and feel your eyes begin to sting without much warning.

“He taught me a lot of ships…I miss him,” you finish in a whisper.

Your grandfather lets out a deep sigh and you see him nod along with you from the corner of your eye.

“Did he teach you how to read maps?” Your grandfather wonders.

You nod. “Yes, and star charts. I could learn more about those, but I could follow the stars North and to King’s Landing with no map. He…never tried to leave anything out, he was always so excited.”

Your grandfather hums and you glance over at him to address something else on your chest. “I’m glad you decided to side your fleet and Driftmark with my mother.”

His dark eyes meet yours and he quirks a brow. “Why would I side with Aegon?”

Well besides him being a man, there’s also the fact that it’s highly theorized Daemon killed his son. You believe and hate him for it, but no matter how much you want to share that belief, you bite your tongue and shrug as if it was just a concerned-filled thought.

Your grandfather understands your speechless response and holds your gaze as he gives his vague response. “I had many reasons to side with your mother.”

You offer him a simple proud smile and reach his boat in a peaceful silence only filled by the crashing waves and the cawing of seabirds. You had hoped to feel a hint of those exciting and tender feelings you oftentimes felt with your father when you were out at sea, but even if you walk with his father, those feelings you ache to reconnect to aren’t anywhere close, reminding you that you’ll never be with your father ever again, or have a bond with any father-figure.

Albeit your grandfather does let you sail the boat to Driftmark, but as excited you do feel to show off your skills and once again maneuver a boat, you still feel empty within.

“My dragon loves the sea,” you begin to say with the intention of persuading him to use your aid at sea whilst you keep an eye on the distant waters. “And I have learned how to use a bow and arrow on dragonback, perhaps I could be the dragon rider to protect your fleet when battle hits our shores, or we attack theirs,” you finish and peer back at him with a sly grin, unknowingly reminding him of his son when he was your age and eager to prove his worth. You even wore the same sly smile Laenor wore when he was proving himself a fine sailor and dragonrider.

“That…” he starts off quietly but then clears his throat and sounds as mighty as ever. “That would honor me.”

You offer him a happy smile over your shoulder and then let your gaze fall on Aerion strapped on your chest, noticing him watching the waves with his eyes wide and full of wonder.

However, the wonder slowly gets lost as he starts to get lulled to sleep. He tries to fight the sleep to keep watching the moving waves, but he’s outmatched and loses himself to sleep not long before you arrive at Driftmark’s shore.

Unlike Dragonstone, Driftmark is more lively with people; both townspeople and soldiers from the fleets as well as those who work on your grandfather's massive ship. Some seem worried that something could happen at any given moment, while others seem to be happy just mindlessly living.

You begin to wonder about that happiness, you don’t envy their joy, a part of you resents all these people being so happy and living their lives unaffected by the death of Driftmark’s Heir. You wonder why it is they don’t feel what you’re plagued with, you want them to feel your sorrow.

But then you do realize that you’re just letting your pain cloud your judgment.

“Besides having you accompany me,” your grandfather interjects, pulling your attention away from the large ship. “I wanted to share something I have been thinking of as of late.”

You clasp your hands together and out of instinct reach out to fiddle with the ring Aemond gave you, but you’re then surprised when you feel that your ringer finger is bare.

You spare a glance at your finger and drift your gaze to the ground, but you’re then reminded of the fact that you left your ring behind in your borrowed quarters at Castle Black.

You probably won’t ever see it again…

“…I was hoping that when Aerion is older he could be my ward,” your grandfather catches your attention and makes you furrow your eyebrows and look at him with disbelief, and slightly bothered.

“Of course,” he continues, “he won’t have to join me until he’s much older, but he is Laenor’s grandson, I want him to know the sea, and I want to teach him about ships and how to command fleets like I taught your father.”

You glance at your sleeping son and cradle the back of his head as if protecting him from being parted from you.

“He’s the son of a second son, he won’t inherit a crown or a castle from his father, but he could inherit…my title.”

You snap your eyes over to him and come to a slow stop as you’re overcome with surprise. You want to be filled with pride and joy, but there’s an obstacle that stops you. “But,” you mutter your thought out loud. “He is Aemond’s son. A man who opposes us. A man who killed your heir.”

Your grandfather turns away from his ship and faces you, and doesn’t fail to nod in agreement. “Aye, he is the son of Prince Aemond, but Aerion has salt-littered blood. He is the grandson of Laenor Velaryon, my son.”

Aerion is also your son, and you are also your father's firstborn, and only biological child, but he doesn’t seem to ever mention that! What are you, a painted portrait?

You would’ve loved to inherit Driftmark and his title of Lord of the Tides, but no!

You would ask about Rhaena getting that chance before Aerion since she is the daughter of his only daughter, but you don’t see that having a good answer, so you don’t even waste your breath.

“What of Joffrey?” You bring up. “He should be your heir.”

Your grandfather sighs and nods stiffly but quickly counters you. “Perhaps, but I want it to be Aerion. The grandson of my son.”

It’s not hard to realize the actual truth behind his response; Joffrey is the bastard son of your father. With Lucerys gone, he can actually name an actual Velaryon his heir. It doesn’t seem fair, your father loved your brothers whether they were his or not, but who are you to deny Aerion of a fruitful future?

He comes first now, and it doesn’t seem like your grandfather is actually asking your permission or for your actual thoughts, his mind seems mind up, so with a deep breath and a hesitant smile you accept what he brings up. “That…would make me happy. And I’m sure it would’ve made my father happy.”

Your grandfather offers you a smile and surprises you by patting your shoulder as an endearing gesture that brings a…silence where you smile faintly out of pride, but you can’t help but think what next. You’ve never actually spent so much time with your grandfather, and if you do your grandmother has always been with you.

“Why don’t you show your knowledge on the ship,” your grandfather luckily drifts the attention over.

However, just as you approach the plank resting on the dock, he stops you by grabbing your shoulder and interjecting loudly. “Alyn!”

You follow his gaze and blink repeatedly in surprise when you see the same Addam of Hull who fought in your engagement tourney.

When the man’s eyes fall on you beside your grandfather his lips part in surprise, but when he reaches you he closes his mouth and bows his head. “Princess,” he greets you properly right away.

“Ser,” you greet him quite excitedly.

“Good,” your grandfather cuts in and steps back. “You remember each other.”

You drift your gaze to your grandfather and express your confusion with knitted eyebrows that he helps ease with a quick response. “I sent him to check on you for me when I was fighting in the Step Stones.”

Instead of going to you himself?

Whatever.

“Really?” You ask with more surprise. “Well thank you, he was a very excellent jouster who brought Driftmark and me great pride.”

Alyn offers you a stiff smile and bows his head as a thank you.

“Good, I’m glad to hear he can’t show his skill,” your grandfather fills the man’s silence. “Why don’t I let you get reacquainted.”

Without room to argue he walks away and leaves you alone with Ser Alyn—or is it just Alyn since it was your grandfather who sent him?

“Seeing you again makes this world feel small. I never thought our paths would cross again,” you fill the silence to avoid awkward silences.

“In truth neither did I,” he admits. “But it is an honor.”

You offer him a smile and notice how much more muscular he is now compared to before. He’s also a lot more serious too.

“Who—”

“Alyn!”

You both turn your attention to the caller, and you see a tall and thin man with long dreadlocks approaching with a bright and charming grin that immediately works to intrigue you.

Albeit when he notices your unique white hair, your long and elegant red gown finer than any material he’s touched; accompanied with shiny gold jewelry on your hands and neck, he realizes that you are no ordinary woman. The man’s grin slowly disappears at the realization and he slows down towards Alyn. Once he’s finally nearby he straightens up and doesn’t fail to bow when he joins you and Alyn.

“My Princess,” the mystery man greets you with a nervous but charming smile that actually serves to completely get rid of any tension or awkward atmosphere he could’ve brought.

“Princess,” Alyn interjects and looks at the man in blue beside him. “This is my brother Addam. Addam, this is the Princess, granddaughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon.”

You and Addam meet each other's gaze and that snobby princess Addam already imagined you’d be upon laying eyes on you completely falls apart when you offer him a bright smile in return. You perhaps are one of the most majestic beauties he’s ever laid his eyes on, he can’t help but think. Even from afar you were luminous and almost like an illusion, but from up close he could see your beauty was no illusion, he could see a sadness in your eyes, but so much more that intrigued him.

You give him your name and Addam’s eyes proceed to fall on the sleeping infant strapped on your chest. “Who is this?”

You cradle your baby's head and introduce him to Addam and Alyn. “This is my son, Aerion Targaryen.”

“Hm, not one to care about first impressions I see,” Addam throws out boldly, making his brother shoot him a warning glare. You, however, laugh genuinely in return, which is something that surprises even you. You didn’t think you could ever laugh the way you just did again.

“He takes after his father,” you mirror his humor.

“Well, we’ll let this lad get away with it this time.”

You scoff and nod. “I’ll make sure he’s more prepared next time,” you remark lightheartedly.

He hums and glances over at his brother. “Could I ask how you met?”

“At a tourney,” you answer for Alyn. “Last year. Apparently, he was sent by my grandfather.”

“Tourney?” Addam asks as if it’s the first time hearing of it. “Aren’t you supposed to be a knight?”

“Actually I was trying to get to that too,” you share and both wait for a response from the serious man.

“Well I was surprised to see what money could buy,” he remarks. “I was deceitful when I entered. I am no knight.”

You hum and ease his growing worry right away by assuring him. “Well, I would say you were actually quite entertaining and impressive. You fought well and won.”

Addam pats his brother's back and whispers, “I’m proud of you.”

You watch Addam offer his brother a very faint smile and you can’t help but remember the grief you had pushed aside as you remember the brother you lost.

“I was hoping to have some early brunch with my brother,” Addam now directs at you. “But it seems insignificant now that you have graced us with your presence.”

You can't help but smile with amusement and feel slightly flattered. Addam is surely more outgoing than his brother in a way that doesn’t fail to catch your interest and actually helps bring attention to his fierce spirit that you can’t help but feel the need to get to know.

Actually meeting him makes you feel like you found something you had been in search of your whole life.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- romantic or platonic? (For those who have read moonlight before already know but please don’t spoil it for the rest heheh :)

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638

[izukuisbaby]

⊹˚.⋆ OUR FAVOURITE DILFS WITH A FAMOUS S/O - JUJUTSU KAISEN

℘. flora's notes : I've had this idea forever but I couldn't manage to write it UNTIL NOW. my idea was that reader is a model so it's kind of based on that, though you are free to be famous for whatever reason u want 💀

℘. send me a request ! : i would love to write this for other jjk characters (especially TOJI) but please give me ideas cuz i can't find anything :((

℘. gn, male, female reader 💓

m.list | comment and reblog if you enjoyed ! i am not posting at peek hours i would rly appreciate it if u could reblog w related tags 🥰

★ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

℘. he 100% stalked you on your socials and knew everything about you

℘. it's also very likely that he slid into your DMs shamelessly

℘. something cringe like : " what a pretty human in a pretty restaurant, we should go there together sometime 😏"

℘. but we all know this mf, he didn't stop at ONE DM

℘. no, his name is elegantly followed by "9+ messages" all of them being cringe pick up lines to beg you to go on a date with him 😍

℘. and you eventually agreed but it was mostly for him to leave you in peace

℘. he was convinced you'd fall for his charms and unfortunately, he was right... can't blame you I would too

℘. and since your first kiss - which was an officialization of your relationship to him - he would not shut up about it

℘. everytime y'all are out in public he makes it clear he's your boyfriend for the paparazzis

℘. gojo loves attention... so he LOVES paparazzis

℘. he thinks y'all are the most goal couple to exist and brags about it

℘. "y/n, can you imagine what other people must think of us : "the strongest and the most famous (your job of choice), they were meant to be"

℘. you have 100% your own ship name and fanpages, you're labeled as the "hot couple" who is edited on tik tok 24/7

℘. I don't think I insisted enough on how he BOASTS about dating you to whoever shows a spark of interest in his life

℘. the poor nanami hears about it every second of the day and is FED UP with it, but his last straw was when gojo was talking about you to a curse they were suppose to eliminate...

℘. he has you and him on a fun fair date as a wallpaper and purposely leaves his phone on during meetings so everyone can see he's dating you... and also to get yet another occasion to brag

⊹

★ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

℘. HE WOULD BE SO SUPPORTIVE

℘. he will attend all of your shows and interviews, always on the front row. sometimes walking for a show can be pretty stressful for you but seeing his angel face calms you down and gives you back your confidence in an instant <3

℘. ... he's very active on LinkedIn and he reposts your achievements/front pages with a professional yet sweet and admirative commentary

℘. he likes to go backstage before your shows so he can give you one last forehead kiss and compliment

℘. never hesitates to tell paparazzis to back off, he doesn't like his privacy invaded but he will gladly take pictures of you with a fan for them

℘. his favourite photo that he has everywhere is one a selfie you took before a show with a world renowned brand. you looked so stunning and confident, it never fails to make him smile when he looks at it

℘. i feel like he didn't really know you, just saw you from one or two front pages but it didn't click until you told him you were a (your job)

℘. i don't know why but i think you would have met on a dating app 😭 like nanami is tired of being single and he told gojo about it WHO OBVIOUSLY WAS KIN ON HELPING ! and he got to discover your personality first, which is the most precious part of you in his opinion

℘. because yes you ARE attractive but no one but him knows the part of you that is the most beautiful and he loves that

℘. i think he can't help but be a bit jealous that people simp over you so he would never refuse to take a cute picture for the world to see

℘. on your third date, he asked you to be his partner and gave you a ring as an officialization. since them, you've been wearing it as a lucky charm and you never take it off

© izukuisbaby. comments appreciated ! although do not modify, translate, copy, claim as your own or repost on any app/platform/social media (this applies to all of my content)

[interstellarsystem]

This isn't at anyone in particular, but it's very disheartening to see that the otherhearted AND otherkith tags are full of.... Posts that are almost completely unrelated to those experiences. Otherlink tags are much the same.

A few in there are geared toward all alterhumans in general, that's fine, but... Posts specifically only about therians, otherkin or fully nonhuman identities without so much as a mention of heartedness don't belong in the otherhearted tags. Therian/otherkin specific posts don't belong in the otherlinking tags either. It's so hard to find anything related to being otherhearted or otherlinking because it's almost all content that only explicitly relates to therians or otherkin. It really looks like they sometimes just slap the smaller tags on there for reach.

It doesn't get your therian posts reach though, because as far as I'm aware, hearted people and otherlinkers follow the tags for posts relating to those specific experiences. Sure, people can be more than one thing and there are definitely therians and otherkin following those tags, that's fine, but it's not why those people follow them. Flooding the hearted and otherlink tags with otherkin posts really only makes it impossible to see anything from other individuals who are otherhearted or otherlinkers. The people who want to see your posts will be following the otherkin or therian tags.

You don't need to tag in different community tags for reach, this is tumblr where tags do actually matter because they're the primary way of finding posts. There's no algorithm at all if you don't use the "for you" page. And when you're putting therian and otherkin only posts in tags that are for much, much smaller communities like otherhearted people and otherlinkers.... It becomes impossible to keep those communities present here.

I don't know if there's separate tags that otherhearted people and otherlinkers use that aren't flodded with otherkin-only posts but if there is I haven't been able to find it because the only post we can even find recently in the hearted tags thats actually about heartedness is one we made today.

We've went on about how the term "alterhuman" isn't just for otherkin content before. We're sad the tag for it has less variety than the community really encompasses. Yes, otherkin are alterhuman and have the right to post there--no one is saying they don't--but a lot of the times people post "alterhumanity is about being an animal and no one knows" or something when it's definitely not always the case. Alterhuman isn't the same as nonhuman. I want to see more diversity and acknowledgement that there can be other alterhuman identities aside from identifying as an animal. As an umbrella term, alterhuman encompasses a lot more than nonhumanity and I don't like that even the hearted tags are covered in unrelated material.

I really think that non-kin and human+ or just plainly still human identities that fall under the alterhuman umbrella need to be acknowledged and respected enough to not be flodded out of their own tags.

[a-dragons-journal]

bit of a rant re: that one post about terminology: my biggest pet peeve about it is that it is had made it absolutely impossible to find the kind of stuff I used to come to tumblr for back in 2012. I'm dragonkin and nearly 40. I've known I was 'kin since before the year 2000. i used to be able to follow a couple of kin tags and find art, poetry, and essays on the things we all have in common. once in awhile there would be music. Now all I seem to see is people arguing about who's allowed to use what term, who is 'valid,' and people splitting hairs to the finest down on microlabels. I am, in my head and in an experience sort of way, a big reptile who flies and hunts and, frankly, isn't very bright. I have not really kept up with terms in the past decade because it seems like every time I look, the words mean different things, and I cannot be bothered to follow all that. none of it changes the way I feel my scales or how there is a part of my brain devoted to tracking good hides and good takeoff locations. none of it changes the fact that I have to make rent with a brain that wants to be tracking air currents and chasing small game. And none of it changes how delighted I am every time I eat a good piece of fruit or a slab of chocolate with an omnivore's ability to digest plant matter. obligate carnivores can't enjoy sugar the way my human body does. it's great.

a moose and a tuna are very different creatures, but they would both complain about orcas and sharks in their feeding grounds. someone who is a pterosaur and someone who is an angel can both talk about missing the feel of air beneath their wings. a mantis shrimp and an alien and a bat can all talk about how light looks through human eyes. someone who is a little bit of a werewolf sometimes and someone who is 100% a housecat all the time will probably both be able to talk about managing prey drive. I miss having places on the internet where we could talk about shared experience in this way. I couldn't care less what words people use to argue about how different they are. we are all using human hardware to run incongruous beings. Two bog-standard human siblings who grew up in the same home will argue that the same scene in a movie shows different things. everyone's different. there's always gonna be some way to split yourself off from the group.

I just miss being able to find solidarity with fellow Internet Weirdoes (affectionate). if you only share your stuff with your micro-group you're going to miss out on all the others who you could be talking to who may understand, at least in part, what you're going through.

and most of all, I miss the art.

Yeah, I feel that. I feel that.

[anonymooseforever007]

Shadow by the Bed

(Mainly Finn & Tommy platonically) + (Technically Finn Shelby x Unnamed Girlfriend)

Summary: It's the middle of the night after a family party and everything seems calm. Until Lizzie's woken up by a shadowy figure standing over her and Tommy's bed.....

A/N: Hi Y'all! No trigger warnings other than Finn and his Girlfriend getting drunk. Also even though this was made as a Finn x Reader fic in mind, it really is a Finn and Tommy funny fluff fic, and I actually didn't use Y/N in this one at all. I think I want to connect it to some more ideas I have for the same girlfriend in mind, hence the tag. But the prompt for this one has been on my mind for a while and it was super fun to write! Also I looked it up and it seems the first "instant portable camera" so to speak was invented in 1923 which I checked on that fact! Enjoy❤️

WC-4.2k

Main Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Lizzie who woke up in the early morning to the sound of master bedroom being entered. The squeak of a doorknob broke through her previously unconscious mind, and the soft stumbling steps towards the bed woke her even further. And for a second, her sleep idled mind thought it was Tommy.....but he was ,for once, sound asleep next to her. Then she thought it could be Charlie, trying to find comfort in their bed after a nightmare. But when she looked over, her blood ran cold and she froze, seeing the tall figure standing by the side of the bed, cloaked in shadows too dark to see his face.

The intruder looked at her for a second, and tilted his head, as if he was confused to why she was there. Tommy himself still hadn't woken up which served to scare Lizzie even more since he was probably the lightest sleeper she'd ever met. Every time she went to check on baby Ruby, or when Charlie tried to sneak in because of a nightmare, Tommy would be wide awake as soon as be heard the turn of the doorknob or footsteps by the bed. So the fact her usually vigilant husband was still softly snoring while an unknown man stood over them both, only increased her growing fear of what was about to occur. But before she could open her mouth to scream or hit Tommy awake, the figure moved again. He raised his hand and waved at her, almost eagerly, like he finally recognized her as someone he liked a lot.

"Hiii Lizzzzieee!"

Finn. 

It was Finn standing beside the bed in the middle of the night waving at her. He was drunk too, very drunk in fact, but Lizzie recognized her youngest brother in law. She remembered the party the family had that night. By then end of it, the only two people remaining in the living room were Finn and his girlfriend who, sat on his lap as they eagerly talked, lost in their own little world again. Evidently, after the rest of his kin had gone away Finn decided he wanted another drink... or four. Placing her hand over her chest, she took a few breaths trying to calm her racing heart. Now it made sense why Tommy hadn't woken up. 

Thomas Shelby was a hard man to sneak up on, even in his sleep. He was a light sleeper and had been since before the war. Almost every little creak or bump in the night was enough to wake him to at least open one eye and see what was going on. It was like his mind perceived any noise as a possible threat he needed to size up.  And as he grew older it remained that way. But for some reason, Finn was the only one able to move around at night and not wake up Tommy. It didn't matter if he was trying to be quiet or accidentally knocking over the dining room chairs at three o'clock in the morning. It was like Tommy's internal danger sensor had a glitch that would skip over any ruckus made by his youngest sibling. And there was a reason for that too. It was likely caused by the years of young Finn sneaking into Tommy's bed at night. Whether it was because of the cold or nightmares or just because he wanted to, there were many nights before the war then Tommy would wake up to his youngest brother sprawled out on his chest hogging all the blankets. And even if in the beginning Tommy would wake up, it seemed he got use to it. So much to the point where his little brother's movements at night became a background noise he could recognize even in sleep. One he recognized as nonthreatening and thus not a reason to wake up. And it was a noise he could apparently remember even years later today. Hence why Tommy was currently laying on his bed eyes closed and breathing peaceful, while his youngest brother and his wife stared each other down. 

"Hiiii Lizzie....."

Finn repeated again, slurring slightly, noticing he didn't get an answer the first time and in his fogged mind figured she hadn't heard him. Lizzie ran a hand down her face once and finally composed herself again, whispering to the freckled twenty year old who grinned at her drunkenly.

"Finn? What are you doing here? Is everything alright," she questioned, hoping that nothing had happened to him or his sweet girlfriend after the family had left them. She couldn't think of any reason why he'd be here otherwise. Something must have been wrong. Tommy grumbled slightly and shifted in his sleep at her words.

"Noo.. It's all fineee," Finn replied, his words being drawn out and trialing off as he spoke. But he still hadn't told Lizzie why he was there. She'd evidently have to try a new route.

"Ok, that's nice Finn," Lizzie spoke in the same manner she did to four year old Charlie when he showed her the croaking dirt covered mystery box he was trying to take to the bathtub one day. She still wasn't sure how he'd caught so many frogs... "Why don't you tell me why you're here ok? Wouldn't you rather sleep in your bed?l

"No. I want Tommy."

"Tommy?"

"Yeahhhh, I need Tommy right now," Finn raised a hand to rub the back of his head, nodding like everything made sense. He nodded to himself again, looking down at his sleeping brother  once more. Then to Lizzie's surprise, and with much more agility than a drunken boy should have, he sat on the bed and rolled to lay right on top of his older brother. It was the sudden weight on top of him that finally woke Tommy. Even if he could ignore the noises his little brother made moving around the room, the sudden, almost crushing heaviness on his chest was enough to scare him out of his sleep.

"Fucking fuck....Fuck!"

Tommy shot up, cursing as he tried to get his bearings. Well, he tried but the heavy mass on top of him, grumbling in his ear, made it hard to move. Fortunately, before he could grab his razor cap from the side of the bed, he recognized the annoyed whine of his baby brother coming from the man whose head he was trying to shove back. It was Finn. Why the fuck was Finn on top of him?

"Finn?"

"Tommmyyyy!," the mentioned man groaned lightly as Finn shifted on top of him. Despite being the youngest, Finn had nearly a head over his brothers and wasn't quite the tiny little thing he use to be. He practically blanketed Tommy as he sprawled over the bed. "Tommy I'm gonna sleep here tonight. I want you to rub my back."

A brief glance to his left, showed Tommy his wife who was quietly laughing at his predicament. After she got over the fear of his intrusion, Lizzie found the whole situation quite entertaining. It wasn't often Tommy was caught so off guard, especially when he couldn't just threaten or fight the person off like he usually did. Polly would probably beat his ass if he shoved Finn off him and left him to his own devices while this intoxicated. It didn't happen too often, but when Finn did get as drunk as his older brothers usually did, it never ended well. Last time it ended with him climbing a tree and refusing to get down even when all his brothers demanded it. To his brothers' slight annoyance, in the end, all it had taken to get him down was his girlfriend passing by on the street, who saw him and asked if he would come down to hold her hand. Before she had even finished her request, he was out of the tree, fingers entwined with hers, grinning like an idiot even though she was softly lecturing him on the dangers of drunk climbing. But now, Finn's girl was nowhere in Tommy's, admittedly limited, sight. That still didn't stop the growing annoyance towards the brother who'd interrupted his sleep.

"Don't you have a your own bed to do that? And stop moving your fucking legs, I don't need you kicking me in the balls."  

Somewhat defeated, Tommy closed his eyes again and laid his head back against his pillow. Lizzie, still laughing silently, obviously wasn't going to help him, and truth be told Tommy was still tired enough that he didn't want to keep trying to move what wasn't moving. Finn ignored his last comment, shifting again to get more comfortable, and buried his face deeper into the blankets on top of Tommy.

"I can't go to bed. My girl's there."

"Your girlfriend's in your bed?"

"Yeah, I have a girlfriendddd and she's reallyyy pretty and I lo..loveee her and she helps me read and she had this really cute fucking freckle on her top lip that's slightly off the middle and you can only see it if..." Finn's intoxicated rambling about his favorite person could barely be heard as he described his love. Rolling his eyes beneath closed lids, Tommy wished he could free one of his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"That's great Finn, she sounds great, so why don't you go to her and ask her to rub your back and play with your hair? Why don't you get in bed with her?"

It was a decent enough question too. What would compel a young drunk man to seek the company of his grumpy older brother over the girl he's so in love with? Especially if he wants affection. In fact, Tommy was rather confused why Finn came to him instead of her. He knew that when he was this young and drunk he would rather have been with Greta than Arthur any day of the week. He remembered the nights long ago when they'd both fall asleep on his small bed after a night out. She use to play with his hair and kiss his neck lightly while he drunkenly professed his love in Romani... But that was a long time ago. And judging by the way his head finally shot up in shock, and by how he attempted to...glare maybe?....At Tommy, Finn had other opinions.

"I'm a not fucking pervert," he slurred out slightly while mixing up his words and bringing up a hand to thump his brother on the head, almost as if admonishing him for suggesting such a thing. Which confused Tommy even more as it wouldn't have been the first Finn shared a bed with his girlfriend. He'd come across them curled up in Finn's room after a party on more than once occasion, so it wouldn't be a stretch for it to happen again. 

"What does that.... stop fucking hitting me... Lizzie grab his hand... Lizzie help me.... Lizzie help.... ok. What the fuck does that mean?"

Rolling his eyes (or trying to) and pulling up his head to scrutinize his brother again, Finn huffed.

"She's drunk. I'm not gonna get in bed with her if she's drunk," he explained as it was the most obvious thing ever. "She doesn't like doing it with me. So I'm not going to do it with her. It's respectful and all that shit."

"She's drunk?"

"Yeahhhh, we played a game to see who could flip a coin into a cup first and if you lost you had to drink and theeenn we both lost a lot. And she kept giggling and almost tripped on the stairs and then she was tired so she's sleeping in my bed. But I'm not gonna get in with her. Not tonight. No no no," Finn shook his head eyes closed as he recounted the end of his night with his girl. Even if he had too many drinks, he still remembered all the times she sent him to her couch for being a bit too tipsy after a night out. Sure, she'd still give him water and kiss his forehead, but she didn't want to risk getting thrown up on. Besides she had told him she didn't feel comfortable getting in bed with him when he was drunk and he figured she'd feel the same way about it if she was. 

Finn kept shaking his head to show how much he wouldn't be sleeping in his room that night, until the motion made him nauseous and he groaned burying his head back on the bed. He didn't notice Tommy's look to Lizzie, who was already grabbing her robe from the side of the bed to go check on the occupant in Finn's room. Though it was unlikely she was injured or needed help, the older pair felt it would be safer to check just in case. 

Now the only two people in the room were Tommy and Finn, the latter of whom was still sprawled out over his brother. Tommy shifted around once again, hoping that Finn would move to take the spot Lizzie left empty but to no avail. It only served to make Finn groan more as the consequences of the alcohol began to hit his his system. 

"Tommy.... rub my back... don't you love me?"

Finn had resorted to trying to guilt trip his brother now. It was something he'd done many times when he was younger. Asking for something and then questioning his siblings love if they said no. It was always done with the mischievous intentions of a sneaky child. It rarely worked on Polly, who was immune by now to the childish manipulation, but more often than not his siblings were more than willing to "prove" they loved him the most. 

Tommy let out another sigh, but this one was laced with slight amusement. Even if it was slightly annoying, there was some entertainment to seeing Finn this way. It felt nice for Tommy to be able to recognise the bit of youth still left in him. Truth be told, he didn't see it as much anymore. 

In recent years, Finn had become very different from the kid he use to be. And not in the fact that he was a bit harder like his brothers. No, Finn was undoubtedly softer than the rest of his family, something that wasn't necessarily bad. But as he'd grown, the effects of the pressure he felt from his family had become more and more obvious. Almost gone was the Finn young who use to ask lots of questions and run around, rather spending the day playing football than sit at desk. He was replaced with a quieter young man who often lacked the confidence his older brothers posed. He didn't laugh loud enough to be heard from the street like he use to, always unsure if it was the right thing to laugh at or not. He seemed to make a point at time never to be louder than his brothers. like they set all the limits for what should be done. Where his brothers gladly wielded the power their last name held, Finn didn't seem to know what to do with it. He was always somewhat tense even around his closest family and friends. Like if he fully relaxed and acted as he did when comfortable, he'd be teased or told to man up like so often before. Tommy wouldn't apologise for it, but he knew it was partially him and his brothers fault for that. The anxieties that came with what Finn thought his family would want him to say or do or enjoy often lead him stay quiet, and do nothing, rather risk the wrong thing. At it's worst, it came to a point where someone would have probably looked at him and the only words they'd have been able to use to describe him would be Shelby and Blinder. He's gotten so caught up in appeasing his family he forgot to have a life and personality outside the image he believed they wanted him to be. 

Luckily however, finding his girlfriend seemed to fix that. She was the sweet girl who had agreed to teach him how to read. One day their lesson plans switched from reading words in books to reading the word cards during a silent film. Then when she started taking him places with her friends and going to do the things they liked to do, Finn was able to get a bit of his younger self back. When he was able to find a place in life that was completely separated from the one he was strictly living, and have time to try interests he enjoyed independently, even if his brothers didn't care for them.... That's when his family noticed another, admittedly healthier, change in their youngest. He was more relaxed and comfortable making his own decisions, knowing that there was someone there for him at the end of the day, even if he'd messed up at work or the rest of his family was fighting. A little bit more social at the family gatherings again, he wasn't as annoyed by the teasing comments they'd always made, and felt a bit more confident to share his opinions, knowing he had someone who'd usually try to back him up or at least hear him out. His girlfriend had done some good in him, helping him recognise that he could still have a life outside of his family's expectations. And while it did hinder somewhat his brothers plans to toughen him up to the darker side of the business, they were glad to see Finn a happy as he was. When he was around her he reminded them of the bouncy kid he was when he still laughed loud enough to be heard down the street. And Tommy was glad for that. 

"Tommmmyy," Finn mumbled again, his eyes were closed and he was almost asleep. His words were barely audible. Tommy looked at the face of his twenty year old brother, seeing it was still so much like the one he'd had at five. Sure he'd lost the baby fat and gained a numerous amount of freckles and a few small scars, but it was still the face of the small boy who climbed in his bed because at night when Arthur's snoring sounded like a monster in his closest. It was the same face that shared a mischievous glint with Ada when he wanted to prank John. It was the same face that tears were streaming down on the day he'd left for France and the same one buried in his neck the day he'd returned. It was the face he kept seeing in nightmares for weeks after the Lee family blew up the car, imagining what would have happened if he hadn't got there in time. It was the face of Tommy's baby brother, he still didn't like to deny, even if he did it more and more often these days.

"Do you really want me to rub you back like I did when you were little?"

"Uh huhhh...." 

Finally relenting, Tommy rolled his eyes again, but this time he had a small smile on his face. Giving a somewhat dramatic sigh, the older brother was finally able to free his arms from the weight on top of him. Then, much to Finn's delight, Tommy moved his arms around to rub and scratch his brother's back. He did it the same way he'd done it all those years ago, calming movements all the way down and then rubbing a few small circles between the shoulder blades. Occasionally he'd move one hand to the base of Finn's neck and place some pressure there for a few seconds. 

Tommy's couldn't even hear Finn's mumbled thanks as the younger man had finally fallen asleep. The soft familiar snoring made it's way to Tommy's ears less than a minute after he'd finally given in, leaving him to chuckles softly under his breath. Finn always did fall asleep fast, especially when someone was rubbing his back. Tommy could have chosen to stop now, rescinding his hands and moving Finn off of him. He could have gotten up and gone to meet Lizzie in the guest room by the nursery that she was likely sleeping in now.... However he didn't. 

That night Tommy would spend another half hour rubbing his sleeping brother's back, before he fell back into his own, surprising peaceful, sleep. Finn remained sprawled over his brother, softly snoring in his ear, while Tommy's hand lay on his brother's back, softly gripping the shirt he wore. And once again the night was calm.....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Fucking hell Ada, go slower or you're gonna step on my balls"

"I am going slow, it's not my fault that John's fat ass is making the bed squeak."

"Fuck off, my ass isn't fat! Besides at least I'm not the one using his head to keep my balance."

"All of you quiet before you wake them."

Argued whispers broke though Tommy's mind a few hours later. It confused his sleep idled mind. Not the fact they were arguing, that was a regular occurrence, but just hearing the voices of Arthur, Ada, and John so early in the morning. Why was he hearing them this early?...

Or maybe it wasn't early, Tommy could feel a warmth on his back probably from the morning sun. Usually he was at breakfast before it came up. Still half asleep, he ignored their argument, not wanting to deal with whatever fight they were having now, and shifted to get more comfortable. Only to find that he couldn't move, still held down by a heavy weight. Moving agin to try and free himself he realized that not only had he turned on his stomach during the night, but the warmth on his back was from Finn, still asleep hugging onto his form. He also figured it was Finn's hand gripping his hair tightly too. The quiet ginger had a habit of doing that in his sleep to Tommy when he was younger. 

The hushed voices around the room froze, and he could feel eyes on his form. Then he felt the bed shift slightly and the soft thump of a hand hitting a chest. What the fuck was going on?

"Shit, Esme take it already."

Groaning at the bright light, Tommy opened his eyes and lifted up his head. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust and his nose inadvertently scrunched at having to wake up. For once, Tommy was actually sleeping well and he was mildly annoyed at having been disturbed. But that annoyance turned to more confusion soon enough. 

Ada, John, and Arthur were all situated on their own spots in Tommy's bed. He could feel the back of Arthur's knees by his head to the left side of the bed and it was Arthur griping his hair, apparently for balance. Ada seemed to be next to Arthur sitting criss-cross, the extra pressure over his back indicating that she was leaning some of her weight on Finn. And John he could actually see sitting directly on the back of Tommy's knees, keeping him from rolling over again.... had Finn not still been sprawled on top of him. Looking to right he saw not just Esme, but Lizzie, Linda, Polly, Michael, AND Uncle Charlie watching them. He also noticed Finn's girlfriend over Lizzie's shoulder, wrapped tightly in a blanket, watching silently with a glass of water for her own hangover. They were all observing the scene before them with equal levels of amusement as all the Shelby siblings plied into one bed for the first time in an over a decade probably. It was that moment Tommy, still half asleep, noticed the camera in Esme's hands and realised what was about to occur. But he didn't get the chance to protest.

"Shit he's seen it, ESME GO!"

A second before Esme took the photo, Ads raised her hand and brought it down as hard as she could on Finn's back. 

Scared shitless Finn shot awake and cursed, his eyes wide open. Instinctively he began fighting off whoever was on top of him, causing Tommy to groan in pain as an elbow was driven into his back. This started a miniature wrestling match between the five of them as Finn scrambled to grab whoever hit him, Ada, John, and Arthur, fought to hold him down just because they could, and Tommy, having enough of it all, fought to get up. They were all yelling, but none of them could be understood by the rest of the family watching on. Eventually, Finn tried to shove himself up again and succeeded to do so while also knocking Ada off the bed. When she fell she grabbed John and Arthur, who ended up grabbing Finn, who grabbed Tommy and they all ended up in another pile on the floor. 

Across the room Linda and Lizzie were almost crying they were laughing so hard. Uncle Charlie was holding onto Michael's shoulder to keep himself up right as they laughed. Polly was chuckling quietly but just mostly watched the scene with a nostalgic smile on her face, remembering the times when the siblings acted like that more often. It have been a long time since then and it was nice to see them acting like they did when they were younger. Esme's smile was partially hidden as she held the camera to her eye to take another photo of the pile on the floor. Finn's girlfriend was still wrapped with a blanket around her like a hooded cloak, and she was grinning while telling Esme the best spot to take another picture. In her hand was the other photo that had just finished developing. Arthur, John, and Ada could be seen smiling happily as they piled over their two brothers, Finn's face showed pure fear as he was smacked awake, and Tommy's half asleep confusion finally processing what was in Esme's hand. It was a perfect picture showing the Shelby siblings in their natural habitat....Chaos.

From the pile on the floor, it seemed as if Finn's body finally remembered the events of last night and he heaved slightly as the nausea kicked in.

"I'm gonna be fucking sick."

His siblings scrambled to get away.

....

Main Masterlist

[underdark-dreams]

I just binged all your Rolan x Tav fics on here (about to go to A03 and give kudos ❤️) and just wanted to say 😩😩 Perfect! AND! I saw you wanted suggestions! i would love to see the first interact/first meeting of Rolan and Tav from his POV if you felt inclined! No pressure! Thank you, keep up the good work! ❤️

I've grown so fond of this vague fem Tav I keep pairing with Rolan...so I hope these pronouns are ok for this request! Tav gets her name finally. (Cal and Lia also barged their way into this one in a big way)

Blades and Spells

A sanctimonious soldier isn't Rolan's idea of a good person to know, but is seems Tav is doing her damnedest to prove him wrong. The day of their first meeting at the Grove.

Tags: Fem Tav, Fluff, First Meetings, Sibling Bonding

Word Count: 4,322 [Read on AO3]

"We don't even know these people—"

"They're the closest thing we've got to kin, and you know it!"

The bright and promising midday had been punctured by a bloody ambush at the gate. Kanon was dead—a goblin booyagh's arrow and a nasty fall behind the front wall. No doubt his body was still cooling just a short walk from where the three siblings stood inside the shaded mouth of the Grove.

Their caravan's brief respite was shaken by the attack. Zevlor had retreated to strategize; the other Tieflings were on edge, a few downright panicked, the fresh tension around them only fueling the siblings’ words. 

It had been weeks since he and Lia had a proper fight—Rolan felt all the pent-up anger rolling out now.

Lia stood with fists braced on her hips. "And what about the goblins? I know you're handy with a spell, Rolan, but I seriously don't fancy our chances alone on the Risen Road."

"Did you not see what just happened?" Rolan said, casting an arm behind his sister toward the gate. "That treasure-hunting idiot just led them right down on our heads. There’s bound to be more, and I don’t want us sticking around to find out how many."

"That’s all the more reason to stay!” Lia’s voice rose to match his. “These people aren't fighters, Rolan. We’d be cowards to leave. We can protect them—we should—"

“Or keep making a scene,” Cal said from the sidelines, to no one in particular. The other Tieflings had grown used to their bickering many miles ago.

Lia was undeterred. "Is this about your precious Lorroakan? Because I promise you, Rolan, he'll still be there when we finally get to Baldur's Gate."

Rolan's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh of course not, why would I want to achieve my lifelong dream, see my family finally be safe and provided for along the way—"

"Don't put this on me and Cal," his sister warned. "It's all the same excuse, you'd have left these people yesterday—"

"Because they're not my kin!" Rolan practically shouted, not caring how far his voice carried. "No matter how many times you say it! I'm not going to risk all three of our lives, our futures, on people who can't seem to keep themselves alive. How do you think I'd feel if I let anything happen to you? Either of you?"

"We know, Rolan," Cal interjected, trying to bring a little understanding.

"If you care about me and my future—" Lia jabbed a sharp nail at Rolan's chest—"you won't ask me to turn my back on these people when they need our help."

As Rolan opened his mouth to respond, he caught motion in his periphery. He turned to see an unfamiliar face standing at the edge of their conversation. The stranger rested a hand on her sword pommel, looking on quietly curious at the scene.

"Yes?" Rolan snapped at her. Sticking your nose into a private conversation hardly deserved politeness.

“Wait," Cal piped up beside him. “I saw you at the gate after the goblins."

Lia was quick to follow, disagreement all but forgotten. “You fought out there just now?” She sounded practically jealous. “Sweet hells, that must have been a rush. We owe you.”

"Good timing, that’s all," the stranger replied, shifting her weight a little. From real or false modesty Rolan couldn't tell.

He finally recognized her then—the one he saw speaking with Zevlor for quite a while immediately after the attack. Judging by the flecks of wet blood on her equipment, and on that of her companions behind her, these were the surprise reinforcements he'd already heard other refugees chatting about in energetic tones.

They weren't so impressive in person. Scrappy, in Rolan's private judgment. His eyes passed over the pouting cleric, the murderous-looking Githyanki with a massive sword on her back, the elf who was glancing around himself as though trying to decide which element of his current surroundings he disliked most. 

The other wizard looked sane enough, Rolan allowed. He could practically feel the ripples in the Weave all around the man's shoulders. Perhaps Rolan would have a chance at an intelligent conversation in this place after all.

As for the one in front—she smiled pleasantly at Rolan despite having just walked from a goblin ambush. That, to his mind, marked her as the most eccentric of all.

"Tav," she said, extending her sword hand. Rolan glanced down at the dark stains on her fingers.

Wasn't this hovel filthy enough? His clothes already smelled of smoke and grease from days in close quarters; he drew the line at smearing them with goblin blood.

Tav tracked his eyes, letting out an awkward laugh as she moved to wipe her palm on her pants. From beside him, Lia firmly intercepted the handshake.

"Lia. Forgive my brother, you know how wizards are about their robes." His sister's tone was light, but she shot him a look from the corner of her eye. 

As if Rolan cared what some passing stranger thought of him. If he’d had his way, they wouldn't be here to have this conversation at all. But Cal introduced himself as well, looking a bit starstruck.

“Well met,” Tav told them, Rolan included. “Sorry, I know I’m interrupting.”

Perhaps sensing Rolan was about to agree, Lia jumped in. “Please. It’s a pleasure to meet people willing to risk their necks for a bunch of strangers, especially Tieflings. You all heading to Baldur’s Gate?”

“Aye. Same as you, I imagine—”

The inanity was enough to drive Rolan mad; it was like their first days on the road from Elturel all over again. He crossed his arms and zoned out as she and his sister made their meaningless smalltalk. He'd rather get his tail stepped on than do this painful getting-to-know with one more person they’d never see again. 

Then he heard Lorroakan's name, and his ears perked up.

“He’s taken Rolan as an apprentice,” Cal was telling Tav proudly.

"Have you met Archmage Lorroakan?" Rolan asked her, suddenly interested in the conversation again. Tav looked at him with hesitation.

"Not personally. Gale said—" She glanced down the slope deeper into the Grove, and Rolan realized that the companions behind her had all trickled away in the short moment he hadn’t been paying attention. Seeking rest and recuperation, no doubt. "Gale was saying he's heard of him."

The human wizard, Rolan gathered. Hearing a stranger speak the archwizard’s name somehow rekindled the fire in Rolan’s chest, one he hadn’t realized had grown so low on fuel. He clenched his fist beside his robes and felt the crinkle of Lorroakan’s letter there in his pocket.

Tav was regarding him with a quizzical expression. "I mean, if an archmage that famous has an apprenticeship waiting for you…I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to move on sooner than later."

"Naturally," Rolan said, a bit stiff. It annoyed him that this newcomer could see more sense than his own siblings.

Then she continued. "But Lia's right. You three seem like you can handle yourselves, and I'm not sure the same could be said for everyone here. We'll need every fighting soul to defend against that goblin nest. Especially you—" Tav directed the comment to Rolan. "Having another Weave caster could make all the difference."

Well, so much for sense. Speaking of we and us as if they all had the same goals. A transparent tactic. Rolan wasn't sure what altruistic world Tav had waltzed out of, but he'd heard enough rousing speeches on kinship and unity from people like Zevlor to last him a lifetime. He wasn't about to listen to one from a stranger.

She was correct, however, to acknowledge the value of his skills. No one on the road here had displayed anything close to what Rolan knew he was capable of.

He glanced one more time between his siblings. The set of Lia's jaw told him her mind was well made up. Cal just looked hopeful for a resolution.

Rolan swore. "Fine. We've only taken our damn time getting here, what’s a few more days lost? If we’re lucky, we’ll reach the city with a good story, at least."

"Thank you, Rolan." Lia was meek now that she'd gotten her way.

“You must be quite skilled,” added Tav, sizing him up a bit. "To catch the eye of the Archwizard of Baldur's Gate."

Rolan didn’t miss a beat. "I am.” Cal rolled his eyes over Tav’s shoulder, but Rolan ignored him. “I’ve been manipulating the Weave since I was a child.”

“It’s true,” Lia confirmed. Still feeling guilty about winning the fight, perhaps.

“Really?” Tav broke into a grin, clearly impressed. Rolan drank in the admiration. "Good thing you're staying, then."

Behind his pride, Rolan couldn't help but feel a bit manipulated. Perhaps Tav wasn't the unsophisticated sellsword that she’d appeared at first.

"Well, I should go find the crew before they make too much trouble.” Tav was turning to leave before she paused, sheepish. “Say—don’t suppose druids keep a blacksmith around? One of those worgs’ teeth put a big scratch in my baby here.” As she spoke she looked down at the sword belted to her hip, almost like an indulgent parent.

“Dammon can fix you up,” Lia told her at once. “He’s one of us, a Tiefling. And he’s damn good. Take a left down the hill and you can’t miss him. Follow the loud noises,” she added, with a grin to match.

“Cheers,” Tav told her. “See you all later?”

The three of them watched her figure disappear deeper into the Grove. 

"She stabbed a warg right up close,” Lia murmured, sounding morbidly inspired. “That’s incredible.”

Rolan scoffed at her. “Better to kill it from a distance and not damage your most valuable piece of equipment in the process.”

“Hey.” Cal glanced over to his older brother. “Did you even tell her your name?”

Rolan wasn’t concerned. “I’ll tell her later, if she’s still around.” She and her companions would remember his name soon enough—them and all of Baldur's Gate.

—

In these cramped quarters, it didn’t take long before they encountered Tav again. Her hands swung a bit awkwardly at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Her scabbard clanked empty against her greaves; presumably, Dammon was hard at work repairing her blade. 

Cal and Lia practically swooped down beside her as she approached. Rolan tried to hide his scowl at their eagerness.

"Have you been around the place yet? Cal and I can show you around, if you’ve got time.”

“I’d like that,” she told them both with a genuine smile. “Perhaps later, if you’re willing? Zevlor told me about your…druid problem. I promised him I’d have a talk with Kagha.”

Who had elected her emissary? Rolan glowered. "I assure you, the druids will tell you it's a foulblood problem."

It wiped the smile from her face, and Rolan found it difficult to feel bad. She wanted to dig through other people's problems? She could get used to uncovering ugly things.

"Yes…well. I'd prefer to keep an open mind," she told him evenly. With another small comment to his brother and sister, she continued on toward the deep clearing where the druids were gathering in preparation for their rite. A place strictly off-limits for Tieflings.

Lia rounded on him. "I swear, you embarrass me worse than Cal sometimes."

Cal frowned. "Hey—"

"Because you care too much about what people think," Rolan answered his sister. "Believe me, she and her people don't care about us. Didn't you hear her little speech before? She only wants more bodies for the fight."

Internally, Rolan was still bristling at the idea that Tav had complimented and cajoled him into staying at the Grove. He didn’t truly believe that was the reason for his decision, but the fact that she’d gotten to him at all unsettled him.

“Come on.” Lia knocked her arm against his playfully, an effort at reconciliation. “I’m just saying, Rolan. It costs nothing to be a bit nicer to people around here.”

Rolan heaved a sigh. Even he was growing weary from all the bickering they’d done today, though he’d never admit that to his sister. “All right. I’ll try, if it makes you happy. But believe me—people like her look after themselves. And I intend to look after us.”

—

Tav hadn’t been in the heart of the Grove for more than ten minutes before she reappeared, practically stomping up the path from the Kagha’s inner sanctum. Apparently the emissary work wasn’t going so well. Without her sword, her hands were clenched at her sides in empty fists. Her expression was thunderous.

“Have you seen Zevlor?” She asked the three of them as she approached, bypassing the smalltalk Rolan was beginning to expect from her. He directed her back toward the carved door in the corner of the cave. 

“Everything all right?” Rolan asked, curious in spite of himself.

Tav exhaled sharp through her nose. “Kagha was having a grand time interrogating a hostage. That little girl, Arabella.”

“What?” Cal’s voice rang with alarm.

“I guess she tried to steal the druids’ carving of Silvanus,” Tav told him. “The one they need for their ceremony. Her mother was nearly out of her mind…the child’s all right,” she added in haste. “Back safe with her parents now, but shaken up.”

Lia quivered with outrage at Rolan’s side. “Thank the hells you intervened.”

“Of course,” Tav replied at once, as if the situation called for nothing less. “I understand it’s the idol of their deity, but by all the gods…Kagha was ready to call her asp down on a terrified child.”

“That fucking viper." 

Cal wasn’t referring to the snake; his siblings both glanced at him in surprise. He was a gentle soul, but if Cal cared about anything, it was protecting the young ones.

Tav seemed of the same mind. “There’s something about her,” she agreed with a dark look. Abruptly, she wheeled on Rolan. “What do you think?”

She sought his opinion as a wizard, he realized. All three of them were watching him, in fact, hanging on for his answer.

“Ritual magic is quite different from the Weave,” Rolan replied carefully. “Especially druidic magic. I don’t have the same feel for it. But Kagha…” 

He cast his mind back to the first day their bedraggled caravan arrived in the Grove. The lot of them exhausted and bloodied after fighting off goblins and gnolls just up the road. Halsin, the massive elf who was then First Druid, squaring his shoulders above the smaller woman who somehow seemed to tower to his same height.

“She’s powerful,” Rolan decided. “Quite. Where it comes from, I couldn’t say.”

Tav was staring at him with an intensity Rolan hadn’t seen on her face yet. She looked far more intimidating than she had to him before. 

But then she let out a thoughtful hum, and her features were back to their usual lightness. “I guess that’s one more reason to find this Halsin sooner rather than later.”

They all watched her take her leave toward Zevlor’s makeshift war room, the stone door sliding shut again behind her.

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon and a stiff evening breeze picked up at the cave’s entrance, Rolan and his siblings settled toward the insulated back wall of the Grove where Okta was tending hearth. Whatever the old woman had simmering in her massive cauldron smelled a bit like damp wool, but the warmth of the coals underneath was toasty and wonderful against the skin on Rolan’s face and hands.

Cal and Lia were in wistful discussion on either side of him—something about which landmarks of the city they wanted to visit first. Rolan let the feel of the conversation wash over him without hearing the words. His eyes were on the glowing coals, but his mind was also on Baldur's Gate—that and its great archwizard. 

You are fortunate, young Rolan. The flourish with which Lorroakan had written his name floated through his mind's eye. Even the parchment itself was heavy and fine, almost promising of better things. Rolan’s fingers brushed the hip pocket of his robes again as if to assure himself. He still carried the letter with him everywhere, though he’d long since memorized its contents.

From behind him Rolan heard the sounds of a friendly disagreement and turned to look. Tav again. He shouldn’t be surprised; the woman seemed to be everywhere today. 

Across the path, she was engaged in a polite argument with Dammon at his tent. The smith held a hand up as if refusing something. Rolan caught sight of the polished sword pommel back in her scabbard once more, and surmised that Dammon must be turning down payment for the repair job after her help at the gate today. That seemed like his chivalrous style. 

Indeed, Rolan watched her tuck her leather coin purse away and offer a hand instead. Dammon accepted and shook it with a warm smile.

As he continued watching, the two struck up a friendly conversation. Rolan supposed a soldier would find much more to talk about with a smith than with an apprentice wizard. Her hand was draped at rest over her sword hilt again; that seemed to be an idle habit of hers. 

He remembered the city guard back in Elturel displaying the same gesture while posted at watch, and wondered whether she might be in a similar line of work. Back in…wherever it was she hailed from.

Insipid questions that Rolan nevertheless filed away in his mind to ask her at some point. If nothing else, it would make Lia happy to see him making an effort. Being nice.

Rolan glanced again at the dark stains on her fingers. She hadn't taken time to wash and rest yet since the fight. It was all over her, goblin blood and human, small flecks of it visible on her clothing and chestplate and even on the side of her face. Didn't she find it unpleasant? It would drive him mad. But it didn't seem to concern her, and Dammon certainly didn't look bothered.

The smith said something that made her laugh then, and a dimple appeared in Tav's blood-spattered cheek.

Dammon had an easy way about him that always seemed to earn him fast friends. Right now, Rolan found he was a bit envious of the trait. He didn't intend to come off as such a prickly ass, as Lia so affectionately liked to call him—though time and again he seemed to manage it. 

The constant setbacks between them and Baldur's Gate had just soured Rolan's mood in recent weeks, he told himself. His apprenticeship was all his mind could dwell on at rest, and each delay was harder to bear than the last.

But none of that was really Tav's fault. Inwardly, he could admit that Lia would have talked him into staying on her own anyway. Rolan found himself hoping that he'd made a non-terrible impression on the newcomer.

An elbow in his ribs broke his line of thought. "What?" Rolan looked around, rubbing the spot with a hand.

"I said, you're staring," Cal repeated. He and Lia were both looking at him—Rolan didn't like the expression on either face.

"Shut up," he said, though neither of them had spoken. "She's got blood all over her, who wouldn't?"

"I'm just saying." Cal put up both palms, his eyebrows raised. "From your face, you didn't seem that put off."

"Maybe she’d like to see your Thunderwave, Rolan," his sister suggested.

"You're both idiots." Rolan turned around with arms crossed, watching Okta pluck a dead chicken as though it might be interesting. The idiots on either side were not so easily deterred.

"There’s something about a woman in armor, isn't there, Cal?"

"I've always thought so." Cal leaned a forearm on Rolan's shoulder, sounding quite sincere. "Hey, you could offer to magic the bloodstains off her stuff for her. Use that presto—presti—"

"Prestidigitation," Rolan supplied, eyes still on Okta's cooking. A shockingly good idea from Cal. But it would be strange to offer that to a person he'd just met; Rolan dismissed the thought.

"She should've just taken the time to clean it herself before it all dried," Rolan said aloud. "The way her companions did, no doubt. Instead of running back and forth back here all day."

"Yeah," Lia drawled. "Saving little girls from pit vipers. What a waste of time."

“Well, only one way to find out if she’s interested.” Cal turned around and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Hey, Tav—”

Rolan would have smacked the back of his brother’s head had the woman not already turned toward the sound of her name. She approached their spot near the hearth looking politely curious.

“Lia was just wondering,” Cal started in—leaving Rolan’s name out of it, a smart choice for his skull— “won’t it take a long time to get all the stains out of your armor?” 

“Oh.” Tav sounded taken aback, but glanced down at herself as if just now noticing the state of her equipment. “Oh yeah, this’ll cost me a good half hour at least. And probably both my elbows,” she added with chagrin. “Damn. Got distracted by everything, I guess.”

“Because Rolan can magic it off in a second,” Lia said in a rush.

"Really?" Far from averse, she was looking at Rolan with sudden enthusiasm. "I didn’t know magic could—I mean, of course it can. I guess. Why, are you offering…?” She glanced between him and his siblings then, as if finally picking up on the strange energy between them.

Rolan felt all three pairs of eyes come to rest on him. He could hardly back out now. “If you’re interested,” he told her.

“Hells yes,” Tav laughed. “Are you kidding?”

Lia clapped her hands together softly. “Excellent. Well, since Tav’s interested—” She placed a strange emphasis on the word, one Rolan hoped only he noticed— “Cal and I should get going to set up camp. See you both later?”

“Right,” Cal agreed at once. With that, the pair of them slipped off in a few flicks of the tail. 

What a couple of damned children. Rolan let out a heavy sigh; they seemed determined to try every last slip of patience he had.

Tav followed him to a spot closer to the back corner of the Grove, a bit removed from the sounds and smells. A stream of cool air seeped in from somewhere outside the walls, and Rolan breathed in gratefully. He had found it hard to concentrate in the stale surroundings of this place.

“Right.” She stood opposite him, looking a bit unsure. “How does this work, exactly?”

“Just keep still,” Rolan advised her. This would be easier if she took off the pieces of her half-plate first, but asking her to do that seemed unthinkably familiar.

She did as he directed. “Sure you’re not going to transform me into a pigeon or something? Give me wings?”

“This is the simplest spell there is, I’m not an idiot.” Rolan’s tone was irritable, but it only made her laugh. He realized that she was teasing him.

Regardless, Rolan steadied his stance and reached out to the Weave. Whether or not it was technically correct, it was the way he’d taught himself. 

Breathe in—quiet each thought—feel the air above and the ground below—

Like a warm embrace from the oldest friend, the Weave flowed as a golden light into his cupped hand. Rolan formed the clear intention in his mind and guided the magic toward her. 

“It tickles,” Tav said in surprise, but he could tell she was doing her best to keep still. Her eyes were squeezed shut for some reason.

Rolan blinked at her, not sure how long she had expected this to take. “You can—it’s done.”

“Really?” Tav looked across her chest and shoulders and the greaves on her legs, admiring their new shine. “Wow…neat trick, that. So you’re saying Gale’s been watching us polish our armor and weapons every night when he could just use the Weave for two seconds?”

“The manipulation does take energy,” Rolan told her, not wanting to discredit a fellow wizard while he wasn’t here to defend himself.

Her expression changed a bit. Then she reached a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks for this, Rolan. It might be simple to you, but—” She dropped her arm and cast around with a tired laugh. “Life has honestly been…kind of terrible lately. Thank you for making it better.”

Rolan felt he could stand to hear more of that story, but he doubted she'd want to tell it. “You’re welcome,” he told her instead.

It was a bit awkward traveling back through the winding Grove together toward the entrance, but it could hardly be avoided. Their camps were both in the same direction.

The night patrol were watching vigilantly from the wall; the massive carved gate raised before them as if in anticipation. Rolan stepped out into the dark, cool evening with another grateful breath.

Beside him, Tav sighed wearily. "Well, 'night. Off to enjoy my extra sleep," she said with another smile to him before she turned away.

No such easy goodnight for him, Rolan knew. He imagined Cal and Lia perching awake on their bedrolls, eager to hear what chaos or embarrassment or both their meddling had caused for him this time. 

More concerning to him right now was the way his shoulder seemed to radiate where she'd placed a grateful hand before. Rolan rolled his arm a little, trying to shake the tingling warmth near his collar bone. It didn't quite work.

But perhaps he'd think about that tomorrow.

[cyborgpuppyofficial]

Hey! Before I begin this thread, I just wanna say, DON'T HARRASS ANYBODY. If you find the original post about what this is, then don't harass them or send them threats. They just have a bad take, that's all. Don't look for them, don't engage, just ignore their ass.

Trigger warning for Transphobia, and general dumbass takes ahead. This is gonna be a long one, so strap in! ^w^

So there's this assinine thread that is spreading around in the Sonic Headcannons tag, and I'm here to ratio it, and debunk it. Because it's been REALLY on my nerves, and I wanna talk about it in a longer format. Again, don't look for this person. And if you find them, don't harass them. That's not cool, and I blurred their name for a reason. Anyways, let's begin! In this first screencap I took, they talk about Sonic not being Trans because it doesn't fit with his character

Now me personally, I don't see Sonic as Trans. But I do see him as Demisexual and Demiromantic as two parts of my headcannon for him. So I'm gonna tell you that it's NOT THAT DEEP. Sonic can still be Trans or Cis, and still have the same personality. It's almost like Trans people are human beings, who have personalities outside of being Transgender! Who would've thought! What a crazy concept!😱 Which by the way, his personality changes in many interactions, look at Sonic Prime, or Sonic Boom for example. In Sonic Prime he acts way more goofy, and in Sonic Boom he's more of a sassy dork. But they still like the same things as far as we're aware. Do you know what would change about them and their personalities if they were Trans? If you said absolutely nothing, congratulations, you're not a braindead idiot! >w< Sonic can still run fast, be cocky, eat hot chili dogs and lie, as well as being Transgender! Because being Trans changes nothing about a person, especially not a FICTIONAL CARTOON HEDGEHOG.😱😱

Also Sonic is a fictional character, he's not even from nature itself, and it's fine if he were to change his gender. Which by the way, MOST TRANS HEADCANNONS MAKE HIM FTM, WHICH CHANGES NOTHING ABOUT HIS PYSICAL APPERENCE OTHER THAN TOP SURGERY SCARS. Side note about this first part, whoever actually uses "Woke Propaganda" in a non ironic way, I'm not gonna take you seriously. >:3

This next part of this weird take talks about how Trans Sonic is not representation, and that I can call them a transphobe all I want. So I will! Okay Transphobe, and I will fight you.🥰

Sometimes people like to just put headcannon things onto characters they kin, or they genuinely have reasons for thinking Sonic is Trans. Either way, Sonic and someone's headcannon of Sonic aren't the same! Someone drawing cute little top surgery scars on Sonic isn't going to change the Sonic Brand. It's not cannon, and Sonic being Trans is a headcannon for a reason. It's just a silly thing that lots of people agree with, and it literally harms nobody that some people draw Sonic as Transgender. People can still love Sonic the character, and still draw him as Trans.

They aren't doing a disservice to the franchise by making him Trans, people are just having fun. You should try that sometime! It's better than spewing hateful opinions, and unironically using the word "Wokies" to refer to anybody who DARES to draw Sonic with two little lines on his chest. By the way, bellow is what they're SO PRESSED ABOUT!😱 Isn't that just the scariest thing you've ever seen!? Just two little lines on a character's chest area! Woah! I'm never gonna be able to sleep again!/silly Grow up.

(I don't know who the original artist is, if ya'll know, please tell me!)

Last screenshot I promise, but I'm not sharing their image they included with their lovely post.

Uhh, Trans teenagers exist in real life. Sure a lot of them don't get surgery, but that's the beauty of FICTION. Also why do you care so much that if he is a Teenager and Transgender? That seems a little gross to me. Trans people are able to make their own decisions, and can choose to, or to not get surgery. I'm not Trans myself, and I think that people should wait until they're older to get surgery. But I'm not going to throw up in disgust because someone made a choice for themselves. And it's really weird that you're pressed over a fictional teenager with top surgery scars being drawn on them.😒

People can draw their favorite characters as Trans to kin them, or just because they feel like it. In either scenario, it's a drawing. A fictional drawing that was made for fun. And what exactly are you "helping" by saying this take? Just exposing yourself for being scared of little lines on Sonic's chest? What changes about the video, or drawing, or media you consume because Sonic is drawn with, or without top surgery scars? Again, ABSOLOUTELY NOTHING!🥰🥰 Unless you're reading or watching a comic about Sonic's journey with being Transgender, which is a fanmade thing. Then nothing about certain videos or fan content changes in the slightest. And I think it's so strange that you're hurt enough by Trans Sonic, that you had to say it was the worst headcannon BY FAR. What about those headcannons that Sonic is in love with Tails, or where he's a stalker, or a creep? I guess those aren't nearly as bad as a Trans person existing according to this lovely individual. And I guess a Trans person is the worst thing he can be. (GROSS TAKE)

Fuck off, get a hobby, cope, L+Ratio.😒 Also Trans rights are human rights, and all my Trans fans are valid! And they're allowed to headcannon whatever character as Transgender, since they aren't hurting anybody by doing it! ^w^

Thanks for reading all of this if you did. Again don't look for this person, and don't harass them! I just had to get this off my chest as someone who's been harassed for my own Sonic LGBTQ+ headcannons before. Continue doing your headcannons, as long as you aren't being mean about them. And I hope you... enjoyed this post I guess? XD I hope I did well debunking this weirdo. I'll be sharing my own headcannons, as well as their headcannon designs over here hopefully sometime soon.

Trans rights are human rights! And have a wonderful day everyone, peace out! ^w^

Boo! Ahhh so scary!/silly

[gojos-thot-patrol]

I'm thinking of Soft!Sukuna again. This time in fall weather.

Sukuna, who while he may not understand your obsession with fall, he finds it too precious to question.

He notices how happy the falling leaves make you and how much you value them, so when he finds a particularly cool one, he brings it to you.

Carving pumpkins is such a fucking odd ritual, but anytime he gets to play with knives he's happy. Though, he is a little offended when you tell him his is "too scary" to put on the porch.

He loves watching scary movies with you. Not because he particularly gives a shit about human cinema, especially not this cinema. But he's entranced by the effect theses movies have on you.

He's not paying attention to the blood and gore on screen, he's paying attention to the way you hide your face in his side, flinching away from all of the "scary" parts.

The way you trust him to protect you from all of the monsters of the world- dispite the fact that he is one of them. It makes him melt every time, knowing just how much faith you put in him.

He holds you close, rubbing your back comfortingly as he promises you "don't worry Darling. I've got you." And he's never ment anything more in his life.

Hes been quick to snap and snarl and quite literally every other being in the world. Every being except you. He's as docile as a baby bunny in your touch.

Even when he's on the verge of a full murderous melt down, all it takes is an ounce of your attention to being him back to earth.

It's an ability you have to use frequently when shopping. He fucking hates people, ans whoever designed Wal-Mart is a sociopath that could rival him. But, right before he gives in to his violent tendencies, you're there. Asking him to smell this pumpkin spice candle, or feel this throw blanket that you're thinking of getting.

Do you even know what you're doing?

He absolutely does not understand the ritual of giving treats to random ass children dressed as monsters. It just doesn't compute in his brain.

He is agahst when you tell him you will be partaking in this ritual by escorting your little cousins around while they participate in the candy collecting ritual.

But, he tags along if for no other reason than to protect you and your kin. After all, this little brats make you happy, and who knows what creeps would be using tonight to take advantage of people? Still, he's not keen on spending all night with a kid who just learned how to run off, and a kid who still needs a stroller.

That is until he sees you with them. How sweet you are, how good you are at wrangling them in, how well they listen to you. You were made for this.

And now all he can think about is your family together. How precious you would look holding a baby he gave you. He had never wanted to be a father before, but something about you makes him feel scarily domestic.

The candy you get to take home at the end of the night is just a major bonus, considering stroller child doesn't have any teeth yet.

As the two of you sit in your couch, eating candy while you hide in his chest from the poltergeist, your new candle steadily burning away in the background, it finally hits him. He's safe.

He doesn't have to fight and kill for what he deserves anymore. He doesn't have to constantly sleep with one eye open. He's finally reached a place where he can just relax with the love of his life.

He knows you find safety in him, but he wonders if you know just how much safety he finds in you.

[hongluboobs]

(sending myself an ask I got on Retrospring a while back because I was able to get a really interesting answer with help from a friend and I think more people need to be aware of this stuff. the original asker was anonymous and this question was sparked because I was compiling Hong Lu's lines for something and noticed just how many tildes and ellipsis he uses... and that it was making its way into my own typing patterns lmao)

about the hong lu ellipsis/tilde thing: i remember hearing an offhand comment from a kr speaker that hong lu's speech quirk is talking girlishly, and while i am not an expert in korean by any means, i've read that women tend to speak softer and more passively, drag out their last syllables (probably the reason for all the tildes), and end their statements with rhetorical question tags more often, among other things. it's unfortunately generally theorized this is a result of misogyny in korean culture. i wish i could say more but i really don't know korean and i don't how it compares to like, everyone else in the cast

(Original post can be found here )

This was interesting to me and i’m lucky enough to know someone who natively speaks korean and plays limbus in kr so i asked him about it! All credit to Ciel @/10seisan for this incoming text wall :)

Here’s what he had to say:

I, too, read that Hong Lu’s tone and speech patterns as being more feminine. Specifically, I would describe his tone as sounding like a mixture of customer service and feminine speech, if that makes sense. His vocal inflexions are more noticeable and they tend to go upwards in pitch, which is associated with feminine speech patterns. I would say that what the asker sent about how women tend to speak here is accurate, and I think that misogyny plays a large role in it as well. As an example, the passive speaking, we have the word 돌려서 말하다, which means “to indirectly speak about a topic” or “beat around the bushes”. This is somewhat expected for people of all genders in formal situations to be polite, but women tend to do it more often and in less formal situations as well due to societal pressure to not seem “aggressive” by coming across “too strong”. Tangents aside, Hong Lu’s tildes in the text corresponds to the voice lines where he drags out syllables, speaks more softly, and/or has a particularly noticeable rise in inflexion at the end of a sentence, so they certainly are indicative of his feminine mannerisms in speech. As for the ellipses, this depends more on the context, since they can be used simply to indicate pauses, but I wouldn’t be surprised if at least some of them coincided with something specific to his speech mannerisms as well. As for how he compares to the other sinners, I would say that, in some ways, his speech sounds similar to Rodya’s, actually—more so than the other sinners. Especially when it comes to the (canonically) male sinners, his speech is not at all similar to any of them. Yi Sang may be the closest if I were required to choose—solely due to his voice being on the softer side—but even then, Yi Sang has very little inflexion and typically ends his sentences with a fall in pitch, unlike Hong Lu

(Ciel’s thoughts end here)

This is all really interesting to me because as an english speaker (and as a person who tends to tune out vocal performance in general, esp if it’s foreign) i can only catch some of it. The delivery on Hong Lu’s lines make sense, especially when taking his background from his source book into account. (whether you want to purely read this as overly formal speech bc of the whole “family is like a cohort of kin looking for a chance to stab you in the back” thing or you want to read gender in it is up to you)

The fact it’s most similar to Rodya’s speech patterns is interesting too… I notice this in the english text as well (i’ve seen people mistake abnormality log text written by Hong Lu for Rodya and vice versa on numerous occasions) Rodya plays up her feminity a lot as a mask so it makes a lot of sense that it’s the closest to Hong Lu’s but still. very interesting. I’m a huge fan of their dynamic in general but that’s a tangent for a different ask, it’ll just be interesting to see if/what can make Hong Lu drop those speaking patterns…

I could yap a bit more on this but i think i’m just gonna leave it be for now because Ciel did a really good job at explaining it all :)

[spacebarbarianweird]

Silent Scream

Summary: Another night and yet another nightmare. Tiriel and Astarion are discussing their traumas.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, post-game, named Tav, established relationship, f!tav

Thanks @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Tiriel wakes up.

She doesn’t quite know where she is - the surrounding is too soft, too warm. Unlike anything she’s gotten used to.

The room in the inn.

Tiriel looks to her right and sees Astarion. He is on his back, eyes shut and hands on his chest as if he were resting in a coffin.

Is he sleeping or meditating?

She smiles, looking at his features. He is beautiful when he is this peaceful. Tiriel truly hopes that nothing is haunting right him now.

Tiriel gently touches his soft curls.

Life is so good with him. To have him under the same blanket with her—naked or dressed. To feel his kisses, to hear his voice.

Tiriel had never known bliss like this before she met Astarion.

Before, she always had to stand vigilant. Always be ready to fight back. A lonely woman on the road is always a target, though people who tried challenging her had their hands and heads cut off more often than not.

Before, she always had to be strong. As a woman full of rage, she turned to ale to numb the everlasting pain, if only for a little while. And no one had ever asked how she felt because people like Tiriel the Barbarian don't know pain.

Before, she had always been alone. Her mother had beaten her mercilessly. The stepfather who’d been oh so kind to accept a bastard child openly lusted for Tiriel even when she’d only been ten years old. No one had bothered to give her a name - she was a fairy, a pixie, a bastard. “I wish I had strangled you the moment I saw those disgusting pointy ears!” the woman had yelled, and her voice still echoed through the years, clawing at Tiriel and forcing her eyes to prickle with tears.

Don’t let them touch you. Don’t let them pity you. Don’t let them see you.

Always strong. Always independent. A woman of no home, no kin, and no purpose.

But this is all in the past.

Now, Tiriel sleeps without worries - Astarion guards her, never letting anyone mistreat her.

Now, Tiriel can be weak. She can cry in pain or let herself be carried away from the battlefield. Astarion washes her hair and tends to her wounds. Tiriel can complain about anything she wants and he happily listens to her.

She isn’t alone. As a child, Tiriel used to lull herself to sleep because her mother had refused to touch her. Astarion never lets her hand go. They can spend hours in each other's arms never having enough. Both are extremely touch-starved and even though they have been together for more than five years, the desire to hold each other hasn’t ceased in the slightest.

Tiriel props herself up on her elbow to see Astarion’s face better. Young and old at the same time, he is absolutely breathtaking.

Tiriel smiles.

When she was little, the village healer told her a story. It was about a warrior whose ancestors were giants and an enchanted prince who had been turned into a monster. The warrior fell in love with him, killed the witch who cursed him, they married, and their descendants became the inhabitants of the Sunset Mountains. The prince was described as the most handsome man the heroine had ever seen, and little Tyriel was sure he was an elf.

Suddenly, Astarion sits up and presses his knees against his chest.

“Are you all right?”

No response.

Astarion clenches his fingers and his body shudders.

Something is wrong.

The fairytale ended with the wedding and no storyteller can tell if the prince suffered from nightmares and whether his warrior wife had to cradle him in her arms throughout the night.

Tiriel knows better than to touch Astarion right away. It’s always different. Sometimes he craves touch and begs Tiriel to hold him. Sometimes he snaps and pushes her away. It depends on what he saw in his nightmares.

If it was sexual, he feels his skin burn - and touches make it worse.

If it was torture, he just weeps in Tiriel’s hands until it all goes away.

Tiriel sits in front of him.

This is bad.

His eyes are shut but his mouth is open in a silent scream. His nails pierce the pale skin and there are droplets of blood.

The only time Tiriel saw him like this was in the mansion when he stood over his dead master’s body.

She didn't dare touch him back then. Just stood in front of him before Astarion managed to see her.

“Astarion, I am here,” Tiriel whispers. “Ikwe”

It doesn't help. Tiriel grabs a hunting knife and slices her wrist. The blood spills over blankets.

And she once was so afraid of vampires…

She puts her wrist to his lips and Astarion sinks his fangs into her skin. It is painful as hell - Tiriel thinks she will never like the sensation of being bitten. But her blood is the only medicine that saves Astarion from pain and nightmares.

“Seldarine,” he whispers, closing his face. “You are here.”

“I am.”

Astarion bursts into tears as silent as the screams before them.

“I killed you,” he finally manages to say. “I fucking killed you.”

“Nightmare, then.” Tiriel returns to bed and pulls him to her so that her nose almost brushes against his “You killed me?”

“Yes. I was… in that fucking mansion. And… you tried to talk me out of Ascension. When you refused, I… I murdered you. I was so sure it was real I was afraid to look back at your side of the bed.”

He keeps weeping and Tiriel strokes his mutilated back. When his tears cease, she asks:

“Astarion, what do I do to make you feel better?”

“Nothing. Go to sleep.”

“Be honest with me, please.”

“It’s just unfair to wake you up like this, considering you need more time to feel rested.”

“ It’s all right, Astarion. Tell me I will sleep better if I know you are all right..”

“Can you… tell me some fairytale? Please.”

Tiriel nods, and Astarion positions himself over her as a weighted blanket and she immediately runs her fingers through his hair. “A fairytale?

She often sings for him - ballads and songs of the Sunset Mountains, sometimes sad, sometimes cheerful. Astarion even thought for the first months she composed them herself before she managed to explain that her people are illiterate and pass down their stories by singing.

Astarion is less interested in human fairy tales, though she has told him one or two.

“Ok, I will tell you how the people of the Sunset Mountains came to be. A thousand years ago when the world was younger…"

He chuckles. “Darling, a thousand years ago isn’t some ancient time. It’s one elven generation”

“... There was a woman, whose father was a giant…”

Tiriel whispers the fairytale into Astarion’s ear. She heard this story only once when she was nine. A village healer told it to distract little Tiriel from pain after her drunk stepfather had cut her right ear. For some reason, Tiriel remembers the story word for word.

She notices Astarion gets unusually silent once the story comes to the enchanted prince part. The evil witch made him a monster and as a monster, he attacked the heroine. But she managed to see past the enchantment clouding his eyes and recognized his true nature.

By the end of the story, Tiriel feels her eyelids getting heavy. Astarion elbows up and kisses her cheek.

“For real, Tiriel? A woman who wielded a two-handed ax met a disgusting monster, decided he was a prince, saved him from the evil witch and they lived happily ever after? Did I understand everything right?”

“Yes. That’s my favorite one.”

“Because you see yourself in this… ancestor of yours? And wanted to get a prince?”

“I did. I also wanted her cape. All black with three golden runes. Home, Fire, Mountains. When the prince returned to his human form,” she yawns. “He was naked and she wrapped him up in that cape.”

Astarion chuckles.

“I am far from a fairytale prince.”

“Who said?”

“And you didn’t try to wrap me in your cape.”

“Because you were like an open wound.”

“I was.”

Tiriel yawns again and drifts into sleep.

** Astarion sits up on a bed. The vision of the nightmare is still in front of his eyes - a mutilated body, a cry of pain. But Tiriel is there. She is always there. Through his nightmare, pain, and suffering. Never giving up, never leaving. Her red hair and half-elven ears are the first things he sees when he wakes up and the last when he goes to meditate.

Her warmth, her kindness. Did that prince from the human fairytale pray to send him a hero? Was he too scared to recognize the hero in the half-giant woman?

Astarion prayed, that’s for sure. He hoped. Always hoped. And Tiriel came. Loud, rude, brave. His half-elven love who also fears nothing. No gods, no monsters, no vampires, no mind flayers. If the fairytale had any word of truth, she was a worthy descendant of that warrior of the past.

Astarion wants to do something for Tiriel. To give something to her, something she has never had. Something she will hold dear, something meaningful. Damn, Tiriel even didn’t have a name until she turned sixteen and took one for herself when she realized it wasn’t normal to be called slurs.

An idea comes to his mind and Astarion, making sure Tiriel is warm and comfortable in her bed, leaves the bedroom to disappear into the night.

**

It’s already late afternoon but she feels like she could sleep for another day or two.

“Hello, my sweet, awake already?” Astarion asks from the other side of the master’s bed. He is fully clothed and she notices blood on his jacket.

“Not really.”

“Well if you don’t get up you won’t see what I got for you.”

Tiriel tilts her head. “I am intrigued.”

“Get up, then.”

Tiriel stretches her back and stands up. She still feels dizzy but she also is hungry like a crag cat.

“I got up!”

“Such an obedient little warrior,” he smiles and reaches out for a soft bundle. “Take a look.”

Tiriel stares at the gift in disbelief.

It’s a black cape with bright golden runes.

Home

Fire

And the third one…

“I wasn’t sure what material your fairytale cape was made of but I assure you it’s very durable.”

Now it’s Tiriel’s turn to cry. “You made it tonight?”

“Lucky for me, you sleep like a bear.”

“But the runes? Those are Sunset Mountains runes! I thought no one knew them here!”

“Darling, these runes are quite spread among humans in the north. Though, I wasn't sure if I used the right ones.”

Tiriel sniffs and wraps herself in the cape. It is so thick and warm that it could very well protect Tiriel from both biting winds and freezing cold.

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do!” She plants a kiss on his lips. “Thank you!”

“Did I do the runes well?”

“I thought you were sure you did them right? Yes, Fire and Home are.”

Astarion looks up and Tiriel notices his uneasiness. It happens to him when he makes mistakes - an echo of two hundred years of punishments and tortures.

“The third one is a different rune, it doesn’t mean “Mountains”. It has many meanings. But you mostly can see them on wedding capes. Astarion, it means “love”, “family”, and “bounds”. Are you sure you didn’t make this mistake intentionally?”

He grins and Tiriel knows he really didn’t mean it. She sits back and wraps the cape around them both.

“Well, considering we’ve been together for five years, I accept your belated wedding cape, my dear prince.”

They laugh and fall back down onto the bed. Astarion’s strong hands tug Tiriel closer.

“I love you, salen aravae,” he says, caressing Tiriel’s cheek.

Ikwe - get back! Salen arael - my greatest joy

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96

[unhingedkinfessions]

istg. seeing someone say "this is my kinlist!!" and its just a bunch of characters they relate to heavily makes me (kinda) upset. and i saw one a while ago who did the same thing with the tag "kin for fun" which isnt even right too!! like just call it synpath or copinglink or something similar!! and a long while ago one of my friends from another site explained to someone that kinning was just relating to a character a lot and even had [character]* irl as his username in discord for a while. like no?? huh???? and all of this is coming from someone whos only actually kinned for not even a month and doesnt really care that much about terminology. im just tired of people misusing general kin terms for whatever theyre feeling

(*not revealing the character or the source because my friends use tumblr and they can guess pretty quickly who im talking about. also sorry if this sounds more than a kinrant or a complaint (kinplaint?) or something i just needed to let this out)

dude. i was on reddit the other day and . hold on.

sorry to out myself as someone who peruses reddit but this made me so mad when i saw it.

i did not experience the fucking HORRORS of 1. being sunny, and 2. reliving the trauma + guilt of all that in my current real ass life for several months, for fuckers online to talk about their "highest kin" being a character "you relate to the most." IM GONNA THROW UP!!!

wait i just looked at ops account and in their bio they have a list of 3 charas they kin. YOU ARE NOT KINNING!! what the fuck ever.

[findingoblivion]

Hello everyone.

I'm finally writing out a new pinned post, I feel like it's at least somewhat time. I haven't and probably won't ever move on but I've gotten a lot more interaction lately and myself have interacted a lot more so I think this is both needed and good to have.

Anyways,

I'm Anna! I'm pretty Butch (look pretty masc but I don't really identify as that), 28 (birthday is August 24th) and I'm primarily a shiny transfem (aka a dom/top and yes I stole this) who also just really likes helping people and tries their hardest to be nice. I have a LOT of kinks, and very few things are off limits to me.

Note that I don't like being called cute or a cutie but it's generally fine, I'll just turn it back on you. I'd also ask that you not reblog my personal or vent posts, which I generally try and tag with personal or vent.

Other things I generally don't like bringing to this blog are politics and doom scrolling, it's not that I don't pay attention to those things or care about them, but I primarily want this blog to be a place where people don't have to think about those things. I'm just here to chill and be horny, so if you don't bring that vibe it's totally fine, just don't expect much.

I'm pretty much an open book and I greatly enjoy people interacting with me so feel free to ask me anything (I probably have an infodump locked and loaded) or talk to me in the tags or reblogs, I do usually read them (horny bottoms don't think you can escape if you're horny in the tags)

You can call me Anna, Mistress, Queen, Goddess, or probably anything else, but don't call me late for dinner.

Not a full list by any means but my kinks are

Petplay, Dom/Sub, Animalistic, Prey/Predator, Bondage, Marking, Pain (giving), Sadism, Biting, Robots, Corruption, Dolls, cnc, watersports (maybe), breath control, brat taming, cum play, lactation, praise (giving) and degradation (giving), free use, worship (receiving), snuff, vore, breeding (BIG ONE), musk, armpits (a bit), feet (maybe), sensory deprivation, and probably all kinds of other stuff I'm not thinking of. Like I said I'm pretty open. I don't really tag my nsfw or kink stuff so I apologize in advance, if you ask I'll try but I will probably forget eventually because ADHD.

If you're a cis man or chaser I'd rather not receive dm's from you because I'm not into either of those things. Not a hard rule but don't expect much unless I know you already. Trans men, agender, non binary, genderfluid, bigender and anyone else who isn't cis are MORE than welcome to interact with me.

My favorite bands are Linkin Park, Rise Against and other similar bands. I really like anything that provokes emotions and thoughts in me or moves me.

My favorite video game of all time is the Nier series, mainly Nier Automata.

My favorite anime (among others) is Naruto (the OG) and Aria: The Animation.

I think that's pretty much it. If you want to be treated like a princess or a slave, you should definitely hit me up. Or even if you just want to experience some kindness and love, I will be happy to give you pets and hugs.

Astolfo is my favorite character of all time and as close to a kin as you can get. I love her and strive to be as much like her as I can.

I also consider myself a Ditto or Vampire for OC purposes mostly.

My discord is annastolfo (previously _astolfo until it was hacked) if you want to add me and are a mutual or we've talked before.

If you read this far, congratulations, you get a headpat! *pats*

[ofsappho]

Magindara

When invaders threaten your home, life, and people, you, a sirena, strike a desperate bargain with Dream of the Endless to save them all.

Dream of the Endless x mermaid!reader, one shot (for now)

Tags: war, gore, torture, death/murder, mentions of SA, slavery, things that generally come with colonialism

Inspired by the episode “Jibaro” from the Netflix show Love Death + Robots. This one shot draws heavily from Filipino mythology, culture, and history. I ENCOURAGE and INVITE people who don’t come from a Filipino background to read this story and enjoy! There is so much beauty to be had in cultures of color, for everyone. Just as I have read many stories steeped in Greek, Celtic, Norse, medieval England, etc cultures, without coming from those backgrounds, I humbly ask you do the same and entertain this little fic. Thank you. I may write a follow up if there’s interest. Glossary at the end.

-

From the banks of your river, you can hear the horses.

Metal plate clangs and screeches against itself, swords jostle in their sheaths, and shields bump where they rest on armored backs so loud that you want to scratch your sensitive ears out, just to make the sounds stop.

Your ates and kuyas hide deep below in the caverns known only to your kind. When you close your black eyes, you feel them tugging at the edges of your mind like little lights in the deep darkness of the sea. They believe that will be enough to save them.

Only you have braved the surface, because only you know what these strange men upon their strange beasts want.

They want the gold in the dark, fertile earth. You don’t understand why - it’s just shiny metal. Only the dwarves under the hills covet it. But the men who ravage your lands and your kin like wildfires, grasping everything and destroying it in the same breath, care very much. They want the never-dying orchids that line the banks and the brilliant emerald green vitality bursting from every leaf and vine that could keep a mortal alive for a thousand years. They want to feed their glory on your broken bodies. They want to take the people you protect for slaves, the women shamed and disgraced and the men subservient and humiliated.

You’ve seen it for yourself.

You’ve tasted the water of streams running red with blood, the iron like acid on your blue tongue.

You’ve swam farther and seen enough to make you hate. Families torn apart, children with their hair cut off and given names in an ugly language, forbidden to speak their own - the same language you speak. Fathers dragged onto large ships, larger than a butandíng, never to return. Altars burned. The men put your red sisters who live in the balete trees, their hair tangled with vines and lovely, fierce, flickering yellow eyes, to the flame. You witnessed their dying howls and curses for vengeance.

Some of the white-haired annani have already begun to clip their pointed ears, tear the crowns of flowers from their hair, and even cut out their tongues so as to lock away the magic these men desire, never to be spoken again. “There is no place for us,” Those tall, graceful elves told you. “We will be gone in a generation, by sword or by starvation.”

They’re coming.

The jungle is quiet as it has never been in a thousand years.

You could no more hide your tail, glittering blue and turquoise, with long, sweeping fins like ferns, than you could hide the long sweep of hair that reaches your waist, or the ink-black lines embedded on your skin, painting your face, your neck, and your arms with the story of your people and your home.

The calls that echoed from the depths of the river have stopped. It seems that your family has accepted that you won’t come back.

You look at your webbed hands, test your claws against your flesh. What is one magindara to a hundred conquistadors?

When the men spear you, they won’t just be slaughtering a mermaid. They’ll be killing the stories you keep. Centuries of stories. Countless names. Each pearl around your neck is a tribe, full of the old songs of grandmothers and the new rhymes of babies. You’re draped in thousands of shimmering strands of pearls.

You may not be the cleverest, or the most beautiful, or the one with the sweetest voice…

But you can be the bravest.

“Lord Morpheus,” You intone, frowning as the syllables ripple wrong and harsh from your throat.

You’ve never spoken to any of the gods beyond your islands before. “Dream of the Endless.” All you can do is hope and pray this one listens and comes to you in time. Will they be kind? Will it be merciful? Will he, or she, save your home?

Perhaps such a god does not exist at all, and you are praying to wind and sunlight, and soon your guts will color the cerulean water purple and black. The strange men will defile your body, no doubt. A week ago, you crawled from your river to cut down the corpse of a long-gone ate from a stake, jagged holes ripped into the tail of her corpse that made you vomit and her dead eyes full of pain.

Once you’d laid her to rest in the water, she dissolved into nothing. “Prince of Stories,” You sing. That is what faces everything you’ve ever loved if you fail.

“I beg you, save us. Save our stories, our dreams. We call for your aid.”

The men bark at each other. Any moment now, they’ll see you, your hands raised and your face tipped towards the heavens, inky flowers blooming on your forehead and cheeks and crocodile teeth tattooed on the sharp line of your jaw.

A new quiet falls over the world. Like nighttime, when things are resting, not dead.

You have called, and I answer.

A being stands on the banks of your river in the shape of a man. His hair is blacker than Bakunawa’s maw and his eyes are filled with gold and silver stars brighter than any you’ve seen before. His pale skin carries no markings.

He is as grotesquely, menacingly beautiful as the razor’s edge of shark teeth, as a great python curling in a tree, as an eagle with its claws stuck in the beating, bleeding heart of a monkey.

You feel the weight of his gaze on your brow heavier and hotter than the sun on the longest day of summer, burning out the truth in your heart. “I would bargain with you, Dream Lord. For my people, and my land, and my home, which I love more than my own life.”

What would you have me do? When Lord Morpheus speaks, his voice pours through your mind ringing like the purest, clearest freshwater.

The many jewels around your throat, pearls, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, plates of beaten gold, click as you swallow nervously.

The dream king stands so tall that he could touch the sky if he reached up. And he doesn’t look away or blink. You can’t read the inhuman planes of his face whatsoever, you can’t find any familiar sign in his long limbs that might bring comfort. For all you know, you’ve spelled your doom.

“Keep them alive. Keep our names and spirits alive. Bring our stories into your kingdom so that we won’t be forgotten. That is what the men want. They want to raze us to the ground and rebuild the world in their image but we will not go.” You pause. “We will never, ever go,” You growl, fierce and deadly, around a mouth full of fangs. In your words you pour the horrors you’ve seen, combined with the beauty surrounding the two of you.

The hot, muggy air, the warm rain, the scent of night-blooming jasmines. Orange mangoes, bursting with sweetness, bamboo sticks clacking as joyful youths dance in and out of them, laughing gaily. Rolling drums. Bright feathers tucked into black hair. A toddling child reaching out to her grandmother with a chubby-cheeked smile, pressing the back of the withered, ancient hand against her little forehead. Love, so much love.

I have not walked these lands before.

You found traces of Lord Morpheus scribbled in the margins of paper and in the back alleys of lost dreams. Your last and only hope.

When you went to Diyan Masalanta, she wept and showed how the soldiers bound her hands. When you cried out to her brother, Apolaki, the sun god called back and said the invaders took his shield.

Bathala is gone. Mayari is gone. Lakapati is dead. The conquistadors stripped her naked, cut her ribs from her chest, and planted her bones in the fields they set their slaves, your people, to work.

“They say you are Endless. You preside over all beings in all places. Please, I beg you, preside over us. Are we not worthy of your favor? Do we not deserve to live in your dreams and nightmares?”

If Lord Morpheus refuses you, you’ll cut your throat before you let your enemies have you.

He tilts his head like he can hear your thoughts. One shining hand stretches out, almost as if to touch your face. You sing prettily, little siren. You draw back with a start. Why is there hunger in his voice? A hollow, all-consuming, terrifying hunger?

You know what it feels like to starve when the fish are scarce. This is leagues away, a typhoon to your trickle of rain. Shadows bloom under his hollowed cheeks. His pupils eclipse his brilliant aquamarine irises.

He’s-

He’s aching.

Morpheus flashes his bone-white teeth as he bends at the waist to examine you further. His gaze traces your tattoos, your large, frightened eyes, and your body beneath the necklaces and bracelets.

As scared as you are, as convinced that you’ll bleed the instant his fingers brush your blue-streaked skin, your numb lips move.

“I vow to you now, Lord Morpheus, before every god and being I know, that should you render us this aid, I will give you anything within my power to grant that you wish.”

Anything?

“Name it, my lord, and it shall be yours.” With that, your eyes flutter shut as you await his judgment.

You can’t hide from him, even in your mind. You don’t see him, but you feel a straining pressure build where he prods at you, pushing on the fragile edges of your being like he’s cracking a duck egg. He claws and scrapes until-

I will aid your people.

You open for him like a sampaguita flower. Dream of the Endless picks through your soul like he’s picking blossoms, you feel how much he wants with every brush, every long moment where he sticks his fingers in and relishes the feel of you. Nothing has ever touched you like this before.

He’s on his knees on the riverbank, the dark soil pressing into his clothes. His hands clench the rocky edge of the bank. Your wet hair sticks to your back as you rise up, close enough that you can count his night-black eyelashes. There’s a dizzying amount of them.

“Thank you. Thank you. Salamat-po. And your price, majesty?”

You’ll do whatever he wants. Does his thirst demand souls? You’ll harvest them by the dozen. You can picture Lord Morpheus unhinging his jaw, swallowing those soldiers whole. Their swords wouldn’t even scrape him going down. Riches? You have no use for them if you’re dead. He can take every speck of wealth to be had.

You. I want you.

Your sisters and brothers wail. They sense the foreign king tearing at the flesh binding you together. They feel him taking a knife to your indigo heart and cutting it loose from your body. Your head tilts back as you gasp for breath and see him hold the organ aloft. Dark blood trails in rivulets down his wrists.

“I-“

There are no creatures like you in my realm. So I shall have you, in every way that I wish, and you’ll obey. Those are my terms.

Your tail lashes in the water as if you fight hard enough, you can swim away. The cavity pulses with searing, unholy pain. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve summoned- He is an aswang, a devil, a soul-eater, you’ll never see your home again, you’ll never touch the water you’ve known since birth.

Lord Morpheus brings your heart to his mouth. His lips are beautifully-formed. You can’t find it in yourself to hate such a wondrous creature. Even your amethyst ichor looks more beguiling when he’s covered in it.

It was never a question. “Yes, my lord. I accept these terms.”

His white teeth stain purple when he sinks them into your heart.

-

Glossary:

Ate (ah-tey) - sister

Kuya (koo-yah) - brother

Butandíng - whale shark

Balete tree - very cool large tree native to Southeast Asia

Annani - elves from the stories of the Ibanag people, who look like humans with pointed ears. They are kind guardians of the forest and often share healing knowledge with humans if treated with respect.

Magindara - mermaids from the folklore of the Bicolano people. Beautiful half human, half fish guardians of rivers/streams/lakes/the oceans, who sing to lure fisherman and warriors to their death but leave children unharmed.

Bakunawa - a great mythic serpent and god/goddess of darkness. Various myths place Bakunawa responsible for eclipses.

Diyan Masalanta - Tagalog goddess of love, war, childbirth

Apolaki - Tagalog god of the sun and war, patron saint of warriors, soldiers, modern day patron saint of Filipino traditional martial arts (Kali/eskrima/arnis) practitioners

Bathala - the Tagalog supreme creator god

Mayari - the Tagalog goddess of the moon, war, revolution, and justice. She fought her brother Apolaki for dominion over the heavens.

Lakapati - the Tagalog goddess of fertility, food, bounty, balance, and prosperity. She represents both male and female and has both male and female genitalia. Patron saint of queer/trans people.

Sampaguita - the Filipino name for sambac jasmine, the national flower of the Philippines

Salamat-po (sah-lah-maht poh) - thank you (utmost respect) in Tagalog

Aswang - overall name for the malicious/demonic/monstrous beings in Filipino folklore. Vampires, zombies, ghouls, organ eaters, cannibals.

I hope you guys liked this! Let me know if you have any questions or want to read more from this.