#wanted him to continue on even if he himself was severely ill with a rare form of cancer

[phregnancy]

i actually can’t think about phil’s dad without crying lol

[harryforvogue]

or the one where annaliese is sick and harry has never hated himself more <3

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***

Every morning, without fail, Harry gets up to make his wife breakfast and lunch before she leaves for work.

Lunch is the easy part – usually leftovers from the night before with a fresh salad and dressing, drink, and snack. She really enjoys having something sweet after a large meal, and she often falls victim to taking a nap after lunch, so to keep her awake, he packs a bar of dark chocolate into her lunch bag. 

Breakfast is trickier because sometimes she doesn’t wake with an appetite. Still, he’ll put out something small on the table. A single slice of toast with butter and coffee, or even just yogurt with his homemade granola. Something that will keep her fed until lunch. It was a part of his vow of course. Keeping her fed and happy. He can’t do the latter but he can certainly put all his effort into the first.

Once her bag is zipped up, and her yogurt is left on the dining table, he grabs an apple for himself and then returns to his room. She’ll be getting up in ten minutes. She gets ready quickly too thanks to her hair, outfit, and skin preparations from the night before, so he never has to worry about her coffee getting cold. It’s an unspoken routine.

Harry sits on his bed, knees drawn to his chest, waiting for her door to open so that he can go back to sleep.

Ten minutes pass. The door doesn’t open. He doesn’t hear the soft pad of her sleepy steps making their way to the bathroom down the hall. He gives her an additional five minutes. Perhaps she wants to sleep in. But then five minutes become ten and then fifteen, and then Harry worries she’ll be late for work.

He’s torn between waking her and leaving her alone when he hears a wet cough from the other side of the wall. His heart drops.

Harry quietly opens his door and walks to her room. Her door is closed, but when he presses his ear against it, he can hear her coughs, followed by a whimper of distress. Alarm bells ring through his head, his hand shooting out to grab the door handle without thinking. He stops himself just as he begins turning it open, his other hand balled into a fist in frustration at himself. 

At least Annaliese knows she’s too ill to go to work. Harry moves away from the door slowly and goes back to the kitchen, putting all the food he’s prepared for her in the fridge. He rolls up his sleeves, taking out several vegetables, stock, and a cutting board. He gets to work without thinking.

The sounds of Annaliese coughing travels through the house, hitting him square in the chest.

Had he missed something important? A pale flush of her cheeks that he mistook for the effects of the cold draft that swept her into the house? Several sneezes that he brushed off as allergies? A red nose that he blamed on the wintery February? Fatigue that he assumed was from the long day on her feet?

He feels terrible.

He should have known.

Harry cooks the stock on high flames, adding a tiny tinge of spice as she enjoys it. While that continues, he kneads dough and sets it aside for dinner later. He’ll make her a fresh, herbed loaf. Run the store to get that sweet cream butter she likes so much.

Once the food is done, he puts all the dishes on the tray, and carefully makes his way back to the rooms. He knocks on Annaliese’s door once before allowing himself in.

He rarely comes into this room anymore, so the memories of the shared space hit him hard. He keeps a neutral face, but his eyes dart around, seeing the things exactly that way he left them. Lamps in the same spots, the same curtains, the same number of pillows on the bed. His side of the bed, in fact, is messy, as if Annaliese often travels to that side during her sleep. The image of her reaching for him in the middle of the night makes him falter in his step, an odd pain near his ribs.

To his surprise, his wife is sitting up in bed, her wild curls in her face, one shoulder bare from the neckline sliding down too far as if she unbuttoned the top of her pajama set due to discomfort. She raises her head to look at him, but it’s so hard to as if her head is heavy. 

“Could you call the school?” she whispers, a quiver to her voice.

Harry nods and goes to put the food on the side table. At the sight of what’s on the table, though, his breath hitches.

A framed photograph rests in the center of the wood, an outtake that wasn’t put in with the rest of the photo album. It’s from their wedding: Harry feeding Annaliese a bit of cake, the two of them unwinding during their reception with Harry’s tie already undone and Annaliese’s veil abandoned somewhere in the hall. He recalls the moment violently, remembering how she looked at him from under her lashes, a wild glimpse of excitement at the promise of their new life together. It’s the first time he called her his wife. He kissed her messy mouth afterwards. 

Harry puts the tray down with trembling fingers.

She looks at the food curiously but doesn’t say anything more.

He hands her a large cup of water first, which she enthusiastically drinks. Then, he fixes the sheets around her thighs and places the tray beside her.

“Want this?” he asks, holding up a packet of saltines.

“Mhm.” 

He rips open the plastic and crushes the crackers into her soup. She holds her hands out for the bowl, shuddering delicately when the warmth hits her. "Thank you."

Annaliese tilts her head back and sighs deeply. Her fingers curl around the spoon, stirring the soup weakly. Her hair is still in her face, and she makes no move to give herself between visual access.

Harry hesitates, but then sits on the bed beside her legs, reaching out. She shudders when his cold fingertips touch the sides of her face – though it’s just barely. He unravels the curls, separating them from her clips, and then uses two of the largest ones to pin her hair back. Annaliese’s eyes flutter shut, and through the warm morning light, he sees her fever flushed waxy skin and parted lips. He somehow resists the urge to hold her face.

“Thank you,” she murmurs again, keeping her eyes closed. 

Harry doesn’t know what to say. So he stands, brings her medicine from the bathroom, and then goes to the kitchen to give her school a call. He introduces himself as Annaliese’s husband, details how she’s in no circumstance to get to work for today, and takes a wild guess to say she has lesson plans in her classroom. The administration must like her very much because the woman he talks to sounds sad to hear his wife isn't not doing well. It makes Harry feel better though, knowing that she’s well taken care of outside this odd routine they have.

He returns to her room, prepared to ask her if she needs anything more. 

She’s halfway done with her soup, and the overwhelming warmth has caused her hairline to go all damp. He enters the door with a hand towel, rolling it up. When she looks up at him with her tired eyes, he’s unsure if he should be the one mopping that sweat, or if she’ll even let him.

“Did they ask what time I’ll come in?” she asks instead, voice low as if she won't be able to get it any louder.

Harry’s brows furrow together. “You’re taking the day off.”

As stubborn as always, Annaliese says, “I don’t need the entire day off. Just the morning. My students have a written exam after lunchtime.”

“You are in no health to go to work today.”

Annaliese looks sad. She takes another weak spoonful of her soup. 

Harry suddenly feels the urge to explain himself. “I would have made something more if I had the time,” he says, wringing the towel between his hands. “But that’s all the stock we have. We didn’t have any carrots or eggs or I would have added them in. Maybe the celery isn’t cooked all the way through either.”

His wife shakes her head, and then winces. “It’s good.”

“Is it spicy enough?”

“Yes.”

“And the pepper?”

“It’s good.”

“The salt?”

“Harry,” Annaliese whispers. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He stops, though he has several more things to say. 

Annaliese looks up at him after a moment. “Will you sit?”

He does, towel still in hand. She looks at it, and then goes back to her soup until it’s finished, and she’s setting it aside. Annaliese has more water, and then she reaches for her medicine.

Harry beats her to it. He unscrews the top, pours a healthy bit into the tablespoon and then carries it over to her mouth. The dread is in her eyes, and she makes a face as she swallows it. Harry doesn’t realize he has a ghostly smile on his face until he’s putting the spoon down, watching her take several more gulps of water.

“I hate that taste more than anything,” Annaliese says.

“I know,” Harry answers softly, because he does.

Her jaw tenses, eyes glazed over with an expression Harry doesn’t have the capability to fully understand, and she slides down against the mattress, her head against the pillow. With her knees drawn up, they touch Harry’s thighs, and the briefest contact makes him yearn to feel the real touch of his wife. She closes her eyes, hands under her chin.

Her skin is still pale, her lower lip trembling with fever, and every part of him hurts knowing he can’t lay in bed with her and nurse her back to health. The reminder of his vows again deliver a swift punch to his gut, and emotion makes his throat close. The love he feels for her is binding, suffocating, and the pull to give in is so urgent, it’s a wonder that he keeps himself upright instead of draping his body over hers.

Annaliese doesn’t ask him to do anything more either.

So he takes a deep breath, rolls up the towel a bit better and then carefully lays it against her hairline. She shifts to let him adjust it better, lets him pull the covers over her bare shoulder to shield her from the cold and also to get the idea of kissing her burning skin out of his head.

It goes without saying, but he says it anyway. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Annaliese nods once, eyes still shut.

He wonders if she’s upset with him. The thought of disappointing her makes him want to double over with anger at himself.

He's entirely pathetic. How dare he think he can keep his wife satisfied.

As he’s exiting her room, he passes by the dresser. On it, more framed photos sit. Some from their wedding, some of their families. The picture that rests on her side table once sat with the rest on her dresser. He wonders when she brought that one closer to her. If she looks at it every night before she goes to sleep, every morning when she wakes. If she holds it under her pillow or her cheek to have him right beside her. If she stains the glass with her tears.

Harry turns his head to look at Annaliese once more. She’s asleep, and though she’s fed and being brought back to good health, Harry has never felt more of a failure in his life.

He shuts the door behind him when he leaves, puts the dishes in the sink, and then goes to his room wishing Annaliese would rip the bandaid off and find someone better for herself.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 71: Alexander's Appreciation

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tw: body control, torture, assault, solitary confinement, mind breaking

April 1815

The music didn't sound like music any more.

Lex had been playing the same piece, again and again, part by part, for what was probably several hours, which meant he still had most of the day left to go. He was occasionally afforded a glass of water -- as much as Lex sometimes wished he'd simply be too ill or injured for training, his master had a way of ensuring that he was just alive enough to continue.

And so he played his piece, which had ceased to sound like a song to Lex weeks ago. That was how long he had been practicing it, he thought. It wasn't a song, but rather a series of thousands of mechanical movements that all needed to be carried out with exact timing and precision.

It didn't even matter that Lex was so bone tired. It used to matter, back when he trained at the music school, back with Master Laurent and Master Nelson. They always encouraged Lex to play and sing with passion, with energy and feeling, and that was easiest to do when he was well rested.

The Maestro didn't want any of that. His idea of perfection was to strip Lex's performance of any semblance of personality, so that it may as well be the piano playing itself. And Lex had found that it was easiest to do when he was too tired to fight it, too tired to do anything but lose himself in the rhythm of the song and the feel of the keys under his fingers.

That didn't mean he didn't make mistakes, though. There were always mistakes.

"Three. An improvement," said his master.

Lex silently stood up, stepped away from the piano, and kneeled in the designated spot for his teacher to lay his blows upon him. They were mercifully light, today, and he barely noticed the pain, just grateful to have a chance to rest his fingers.

"That's enough for tonight. You're dismissed."

Lex kept his head bowed low to hide his surprise. "Thank you, master," he said, taking soft, measured steps out of the room before his master could move his legs for him. That training session had seemed much shorter than usual. Or perhaps his sense of time itself was off. Time held no meaning in this place, despite the tick of the clocks on the wall that dominated Lex's nights. Everything in the manor seemed frozen in an eternal, unchanging moment, much like his master.

As Lex walked down the gloomy hallway, carrying a flickering candle, he heard the sound of the piano behind him, playing the same piece that Lex was working on. His master often did this, and Lex was never sure if it was supposed to be instructive, or make Lex ashamed of his own deficiencies in comparison, or simply out of frustration that Lex's abilities would never meet his impossible standards.

There was a time when Lex would be glad to spend hours working out his mistakes in a piece, improving and refining it. Now, his playing was technically far better than it ever had been, but there was no longer a purpose to it. Even if he did achieve some nebulous perfection, there would be no one to hear it, no one with a heart.

It didn't matter any more. It wasn't music. It was a series of commands to carry out to escape punishment.

Lex tried to put his rumination out of his mind as he entered the kitchen. He was generally permitted to make himself a meal after his practice, except when his master arbitrarily decided he wasn't. Tonight, with the Maestro occupying himself at the piano, Lex felt somewhat confident in his momentary safety.

He made a plate of what was in the pantry -- bread, a bit of cheese, some dried meat -- and sat at the table. None of the other thralls were around. They usually gave Lex a wide berth, and Lex got the impression that they were pleased that their master had been so focused on his newest acquisition. Perhaps that would be his only escape. Perhaps he'd grow old, and the Maestro would find another young man with the qualities he sought, and Lex would collect dust in a forgotten corner of this forsaken place.

As Lex ate, he realized that he wasn't shivering and had no need to try and warm up his hands near the meager flame of the candle. The kitchen was significantly warmer than usual. Lex wondered if that meant it was warming up in the world outside his prison. It would have to eventually, wouldn't it? By his crude reckoning, it had been at least four months since the fateful night of his capture.

Spring… it would be spring in the outside world, in the places where time moved like normal. The snow would thaw and melt, and buds would appear on the trees, and flowers poke their heads out of the ground. The days would be longer and lighter, and the people of the city would emerge from their winter hibernation.

And Lex wouldn't be there to see it. He wouldn't see it ever again. He wouldn't see the fairs and festivities of the summer, he wouldn't see the riotous color of the autumn leaves. The freeze of winter would arrive again, and Lex would still be here, trying to eke out some warmth from a meager candle in the dark.

He'd never properly appreciated those days, always looking forward instead of stopping to enjoy himself. He'd always preferred to stay indoors with a good book. If only he'd known what was ahead of him, he would have soaked up as much fresh air and sun as he could.

He was startled by the loudness of his sob, only then realizing that he was crying. Stupid, stupid -- any unnecessary noise, any noise at all, would be punished. Practice had been light, there was food in the pantry -- this was as pleasant as it ever was for him, and he had to ruin it with his pointless ruminations.

Lex did his best to quiet his breathing and strain his ears, to listen for the approach of his master, the rhythmic taps of his feet down the hallway. Several minutes passed, and none came. Perhaps he hadn't heard Lex crying? That seemed impossible. His master's hearing was supernatural, and on previous occasions he'd heard Lex's smallest whimpers even when Lex was locked in his bedroom.

There was something else odd. The faraway sound of the piano had also stopped. Where was his master? The dread was getting to him.

His next chore this evening was sweeping, a chore which always took hours due to the size of the mansion and the fact that any missed spot that his master noticed would incur a punishment. Sweeping offered a thin excuse to look around to see where his master was and possibly how he was disposed. So, despite the warning in his mind, he walked back down the hallway towards the music room under the pretense of sweeping.

The dread chill in the air as Lex approached the music room made it clear that his master was still inside, but there was still no sound at all. Even the cleaning and maintenance of the instruments would produce some small noise.

Lex poked his head barely into the doorway, just enough to try and make out what was happening. The gas lamp was still lit from Lex's lesson, and as Lex's eyes adjusted, he could see the silhouette of his master at the piano. He was hunched over strangely, a far cry from his customary ramrod-straight posture. Lex had never seen him slouch or relax even slightly.

It looked as though one of his hands was covering part of his face. And was he shaking? Actually trembling?

Was he crying?

The more Lex watched, the more certain he became. It was a sight Lex never thought he would see, and it made him absolutely furious. Oh, he suspected almost from the first that his master was miserable -- it was written in every withering glare and disapproving word. But he couldn't stand the idea that the Maestro was crying in secret, as though he didn't hold all of the power, as though this wretched excuse for life weren't entirely of his own making.

Without warning, the Maestro whipped around to stare directly at Lex, eyes filled with unbridled fury. Before Lex could even scream, the wind was knocked from his lungs as he was thrown to the floor with invisible force, elbow cracking against the wood. Two slender, bony hands grasped the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall, the impact especially painful due to the enthrallment holding his body absolutely rigid.

"You were crying," the Maestro said.

So were you -- Lex bit his tongue before he could say it. "Yes, sir," he said, knowing that even the hint of a lie would earn him more punishment.

"You were feeling sorry for yourself."

"Yes, sir."

"What cause have you to feel sorry for yourself?"

Lex despised this, these questions that were always traps, where his master demanded answers and every answer was wrong. He had to pretend that missing his family or longing to see the sun again were transgressions that he must repent for and not the natural state of any man in his situation.

"I noticed that spring must be on the way, sir," he said, "and I was thinking of how much I'd enjoy seeing the outside world again."

"You wish to see the outside world?" his master said evenly. "You want to feel the sun on your face and the grass beneath your feet, smell flowers in the air and hear the laughter of people?"

The way his master described it almost made Lex start to cry again. "Yes, sir."

"And is that more important than achieving perfection in your musical studies?"

Music had been Lex's chief passion in life, and he'd thought he'd valued it over almost anything. But now, there was no doubt in his mind that he'd give it all up, never play the piano or sing or even listen to music ever again, if only he could be free.

"Yes, sir, it is."

"And what good do those things do you? What purpose do they serve?"

"They make me happy, sir."

"And this is why humans can't be trusted with their own fates. They'll choose an ephemeral notion of happiness over their own potential every time." He lowered Lex to the floor and forced him to kneel with his hands behind his back and head bowed low. "Humans so often fail to appreciate what they have, wouldn't you say?"

It felt like a trap. "Yes, sir."

"Then we agree that you need to be taught this valuable lesson."

Lex's body began to march stiffly down the hallway, with his master following along behind in lockstep. Terror filled Lex's heart. They weren't headed to the room where the Maestro kept the bulk of his tools of punishment. Whatever was going to happen, it likely wouldn't be an ordinary flogging or burning or carving of his skin. It would be something new, and in this place of stasis, novelty was always a threat.

The rickety spiral staircase leading into the basement creaked under Lex's feet as he was made to descend down, down, down into the dark. Lex's candle had been left at the entrance of the music room, and the Maestro carried no light. If Lex were not being puppeted by his master, he would certainly have fallen down the stairs.

Lex walked further into the inky pitch of the basement. He heard the rattling of chains, and an iron shackle was placed around one ankle, followed by the closing of a heavy metal door, the footsteps of his master, and then nothing.

Nothing.

Even as the minutes ticked on, Lex was entirely blind, as there wasn't even the smallest sliver of light to allow his eyes to adjust. The basement was completely silent as well, except for the sounds of Lex's own breathing and the clink of the chain on his ankle. He cautiously walked forward, outstretching his hands, and found a rough concrete wall on two sides of him, and thick iron bars on the other two sides. The floor beneath him was cold, and there seemed to be nothing else at all in the small amount of space that had been left to him.

His master wasn't returning to flog or beat him. His master wasn't returning at all. Lex realized with growing horror that the cell itself was the punishment -- his master intended to leave him here in the pure darkness, with no comfort and nothing to occupy his mind but his own dark thoughts.

"Master? Sir?" he called out. "Master, I'm sorry, sir."

There was, of course, no answer.

With nothing else to do, Lex did his best to make himself comfortable on the cold floor. At least, perhaps, he could sleep without being disturbed. If he could sleep through most of his punishment, it would be bearable. He closed his eyes and tried to dream of home.

---

His master's footsteps awoke Lex from his uneasy sleep for what might have been the hundredth time. So far, each instance had been a hallucination produced by his wary mind, on guard even in sleep, dreading his master's return but also dreading the thought that he might be left here in the dark forever.

It wasn't until the familiar power gripped his limbs, forcing him to kneel on the cold, hard concrete floor, that Lex knew the footsteps were real this time.

"Have you learned your lesson?" his master said. "Have you learned to appreciate what you have been given?"

His master could always, always tell when he was lying, and Lex certainly hadn't learned to appreciate the bleak hell of the manor just because he was alone in the basement. In some ways, it had been a relief. The floor was uncomfortable and cold, but he could rest and let his mind wander freely. His master wasn't flogging him or puppeting his body around or sinking his vile teeth into his flesh.

"No, sir, I haven't."

"Very well."

Lex heard the sound of a tray being placed on the floor.

"Bread and water, so that you don't perish before you've been educated."

"Thank you, sir." Lex had pushed his hunger and thirst from his mind as best as he could, but now it flared up again. As Lex carefully fumbled in the pitch darkness, careful to not upset the pitcher of water he'd been given, the rhythmic footsteps receded from his hearing and he was plunged into silence once more.

The bread was stale, but he gobbled it anyway. He'd learned not to be precious about his food early on. He'd never experienced actual hunger beyond being so engrossed in a book that he forgot to eat, but here, food was only provided at the whims of his master, and his master was so often displeased with him. So he ate whatever he was given without complaint. He was more careful with the water, reasoning that he would need to ration it.

Perhaps this is how it would be from now on. Perhaps he'd never go back upstairs and live the rest of his life in the dark. Perhaps he could endure it.

---

Lex dreamed.

He dreamed of sun and rain and wind, of the crunch of leaves under his feet and of soft snowflakes landing on his coat. He dreamed that the pitch blackness of the basement was actually a night sky filled with stars, and the concrete floor was actually a meadow blanketed with flowers, and that he was free.

He dreamed of his family, of his father's loud laughter and his mother's gentle smile. He imagined coming home to them somehow, bruised but unbroken, and being met with embraces and tears. He'd be swept up to his old bedroom as though he were a child, given a warm bath and tucked into bed, and the world of vampires would once again be no more than a frightening story.

He dreamed of going back to school, singing in the choir, attending to his studies, reading, reading, reading. He dreamed of seeing Anders again, as jovial as ever and ecstatic to see his old friend. He dreamed of a bright smile and strong arms and of other things that he'd rarely let himself entertain.

When he was unable to control his hunger, he dreamed mostly of food. His mind would conjure up a grand Christmas feast, the dining table filled to the brim with roast goose, fish, and mutton, mince pies and warm bread and butter and plum pudding. The wine flowed as freely as the laughter, and he could eat until he was stuffed and contented, falling asleep by the roaring fire. There was hot tea and wool blankets and candied fruits and nuts.

The dreams which always surprised him were the ones of gentle touch. Lex had never been the sort to desire caresses, even as a small child. He was often alone and preferred it that way. But here in the dark, that unfamiliar desire for touch became a desperate yearning. The thought of an embrace, a pat on the head, a soft hand in his -- it all set his nerves aflame as though it were something he needed more than food. Even his dreams did not sate him.

He dreamed of being a child again, of being in his mother's arms. It was the sort of thing that would have made him ashamed once, thinking he was too old for such things. It didn't matter any more. Few of the things that had filled his mind with worry then had truly mattered.

When his master arrived with his fourth tray of food and water, Lex once again said that he hadn't learned his lesson. He could bear being left alone with his dreams.

---

The precious boon of sleep that had made this punishment tolerable had left Lex, and he couldn't seem to retrieve it. He slept in fits and starts now, his anxious mind continuously jumping at illusions of noise.

His ability to direct his dreams went away along with his precious sleep. He no longer dreamed of friends and family and food and comfort. Now, when he dozed, he saw his master in every shadow, ripping him away from his home again and again. Even the imaginary comforts were torn from his grasp, leaving Lex shaking and gasping for air. The embraces he so wished for were replaced by blows from crops and fists, and the scar on his chest seemed to burn once more.

He was wrong. He couldn't take it any more, couldn't last one more minute alone in the darkness and silence. He could hardly even tell the difference between waking and sleeping, as both were plagued with nightmares, and the world was even darker with his eyes open than with them closed. And there was nothing, nothing, nothing to distract his mind or prevent him from slowly going mad.

He dreamed of being let out of the cellar, of being taken back upstairs and sitting in front of the piano once more, of being berated and flogged for his mistakes.

And in those dreams, he was happy to be out of the dark.

When he woke from that dream, he wept, because he knew then that his master had broken him.

He was still weeping when his master approached, unable to stop himself.

"Have you learned to appreciate what you have been given?"

"Yes, sir," he said, and he truly meant it this time.

"More than the sun and the grass? More than the spring? More than the outside world?"

"I don't understand, sir."

"You've learned to appreciate my instruction more than the void. Do you appreciate it more than the sun?"

No. The answer was no, of course. How could he ever prefer those bleak and torturous nights to the sunshine? But he couldn't bear to say that, to tell his master no and be left alone in the dark again. He heard the tray being set down and his master starting to walk away.

"Please, sir!" he cried out. "I appreciate what you've given me! Please take me back upstairs! Please teach me, sir!"

His master left, and Lex wailed into the empty basement, utterly wrecked. If that was his master's condition, then he'd never leave this place. He could never learn to value the bleak manor and his master's torture over his freedom. It was impossible. Not only would he never see the sun again, he'd never even see the warm light of a flickering candle.

Unless…

Unless he could convince himself of the truth of it. Down here, he had all the time in the world to convince himself of anything.

---

Lex sat up as straight as he could against the concrete wall, placing his fingers precisely on the imaginary piano, practicing his musical piece in the air, the sound of the keys so clear in his head. He played it over and over again until he was too weary to go on, and when he made mistakes he slapped and pinched himself.

He would appreciate his master's instruction. He would. He did.

He sometimes still dreamed of his family and of Anders, but the dreams had turned sour. He dreamed of Anders forgetting him, moving on with his life, joyously greeting a summer that Lex would never see. They were out there, and they were happy, and they would never understand what Lex needed to do. They'd never understand that his perfection was more important than his happiness.

Lex continued to play even as he saw the flicker of a gas lamp, certain that it was just another illusion to distract him from his studies. He didn't stop when the flames illuminated his master's face. He only stopped when his master's power took his hands and stilled them.

"It's time for your lesson," his master said.

"Then… then I can return, sir?"

"You may."

His master bent down and unshackled Lex's leg. Lex could never stand on his own, weak as he was from his imprisonment, but his master's magic graciously forced him to stand. He followed his master out of the basement, as docile as a lamb, eager to serve.

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Next week, Oliver takes ill.

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[mx-jinxous]

Steve groaned at the light that invaded his closed eyes, trying to hide his face in the pillows. It had been nearly a week since he was kidnapped and, not for his lack of trying, had done his best to seclude himself. His first night after his recapture Steve had tried to escape through the door only for it to remain bolted in place. The only way out was when someone came to check on him, however, since the escape he’s only allowed to have visitors of two or greater so he couldn’t pull any more tricks.

Typically that left him with Gareth who was Joyce’s guard dog, very rarely was there anyone else. The woman seemed to be his designated babysitter, regardless that his wound and illness had cleared up. It was rare that she wasn’t the one bringing his food, clothes, or anything to get him to speak.

Since he was recaptured he’d taken a vow of silence, noting how Joyce was the only one not giving in to the irritation. Any conversation was carried by her while he made a point to remain quiet. Steve spent most of his alone time reading the books the healer continued to bring in, trying to find something to occupy his time.

Kas had yet to make an appearance to make demands, or to punish him for slapping, so he was surprised he got to keep his hand after all that. He didn’t believe the king was keeping away from him, not trusting Joyce not to say everything he had said, no matter how small it was. Steve had denied several calls He refused to act like he was happy to be forced into this life.

That’s how he found himself curled up in his nice, yet temporary, bed, boots tossed on the ground carelessly while he read one of the various books. He’d made it several chapters into the tales of a knight and a scholar when the door opened to Joyce and Gareth, taking it upon themselves to be invited in, Steve choosing to ignore them.

“Afternoon you sire. How are you feeling this day?” The healer asked like every day with the same patient smile. He just shrugged, keeping his head in the book. “I see you have moved on to a new book. What is this one about?” Her tone was softer, like she always did, all the while Gareth just glared. Neither boy trusted the other, the tension so thick you could run a blade through it, leading to a silent waiting game. “Could you possibly set it down and follow us? King Kas has ordered you to have an audience with him.”

“He can shove it. I’m done talking with him and if he is so dead set on conversing with me he can drag his royal hiney to my jail cell.” Steve scoffed, flipping through the book even though his attention was lost on it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gareth’s chest puff out.

“Guard captain, would you give us a moment alone?” Joyce’s smile went straight, eyes not leaving Steve.

“You know the rules.”

“I do, however, I need privacy with a patient. The king will understand.”

“I do not believe he would.” The young guard scoffed.

“How about you both take this out there, it’s hard enough reading this book without arguing. If he wants to speak to me I’m not going to play the good little prisoner, so he can march his ass down here.” Steve growls, losing all hope to even get back into the thrilling tale.

“Your attitude is due for an adjustment.” Gareth doubled down, the two glaring at one another.

“Enough boys. If the king wishes to have a word with me after his meeting then we shall. Now out.” Joyce huffed, shoving the guard towards the door. He left with mumbles, leaving a door cracked to keep an eye on the two.

Once she knew they were going to have an uninterrupted meeting, her attention fully returned to Steve. “May I sit?”

“You’ll do it anyway, not like there is anything I can do to stop you.”

“Contrary to popular belief, well more like rumored, I do have manners. If you are not comfortable with my presence in close quarters then I will not invade your space.”

“Just sit before can-man freaks out and comes back in.” She did as told, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“How is your arm feeling?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does. Your arm had a minor infection from whatever concoction Brenner laced the knife with. I would like to repay you for bringing him to face judgment.” She spoke, holding out a hand. Steve dragged his eyes to the woman, trying to analyze her motives.

“It wasn’t my doing. He offered to help and turned out to be a psycho. Just another shitty day.” He grumbled, laying his arm in her hand.

“Well, I would say that your shitty day has truly been the best day for me. Do you mind a story while I examine your injury?”

“Sure, might as well.”

Joyce removed the wrapping on his arm before speaking, looking at the angry red slash. If he’d been at home he’d have picked up some ointment, but sadly he’s stuck here indefinitely. “Brenner used to be a well-respected man in our court, a man of science. Sadly, he was obsessed with breaking magic down to a scientific level. My husband and I assumed he was crazy but harmless. In a moment of distraction, he managed to kidnap my daughter and younger son.”

She rotated his arm, looking at the cut before placing a glowing hand over the wound. “Will never spoke about what occurred, but Ellie said he tried to experiment with magic properties and the twin’s bond. Kas had ordered his head, but he had escaped. It took a while for them to be a fraction of who they were. Will is timid and El tries to act strong for both of them, but she pulls in sometimes. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you for bringing him back to us for punishment.” Pulling her hand away the skin looked less angry, smaller even. Joyce lathered his arm with some paste before wrapping a clean bandage around it. Steve didn’t say anything, just watched her tightening the wrap.

“I don’t understand why he was so obsessed. He was going to kill me for this bracelet, which I don’t understand the hype about it. I’m sure King Asshole has a whole stash.”

“This bracelet has a special place in the royal family. I am certain the king will explain to you if you would ask. Possibly in exchange for information on how you managed to obtain it.” Steve pulled his arm back, holding it to his chest as he looked over the gem. “So what? You can go and relay it to your boss. I told the truth, the king gave it to me.”

“If you dare to trust this old soul, I will see if it is worth telling the king I will tell the bare minimum. If I see nothing useful then it shall stay between us.”

“No offense, but why should I trust you? I have no ties to you.”

“Trust that as a mother, I owe you. A mother’s love is stronger than loyalty.” Steve huffed, curling into himself. He didn’t know what a mother’s love was like, his mother loved possession over him, and that’s what led him into this mess. He only worked because his parents forced him out of the only home he ever knew. A mother’s love is a cold, brutal, and empty thing.

Joyce seemed to notice his withdrawal, “You are not close to your mother?”

“No. I was a necessity, not a want. She constantly reminded me how I ruined her body. To say we weren’t close is an understatement. She never wanted me and blames me when good ole dad decides to be unfaithful.”

“I am truly sorry that your family is so frigid. I never have agreed with people having children as a lineage requirement. It has proven to be a cold performance, a loveless act.”

“I grew used to it, often left alone to my own devices.”

“They sound like unfit parents. A child is a blessing and I am sorry that you have an unfair, unloving pair.” He shrugs, fiddling with the gem on the bracelet. “It is their loss. I hardly know you, yet you have proved to be a decent young man.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I would like to know you, as a citizen instead of a prisoner.” She smiled gently, offering out a hand. “If you join me to the king and tell your side, I promise that I can show you what a real parent is. I will pledge to you in front of the king, that you will live with my family, no guards or magic locks.”

“You would take in a dangerous taking in a man that has proven to be a threat.” Steve never took his eyes off her hand, contemplating in his head.

“I see only a scared man, a protector. You could have killed that guard or Brenner. Instead, you only subdued them in order to escape. I do not assume you find joy in harming people let alone children.” He remained silent, avoiding her eyes. “I have faith that you are a threat when you are as I see you, a scared man in a strange situation. I do not agree with the way they treat you like you are a threat when you seem forced into this situation. We are not terrible people, just wary of what has happened. Please allow us the chance to prove that our initial response was not a true representation of our people.” Her hand hovered between them, unwavering with patience.

Steve never called himself smart, he’s got a big heart that led him blindly into hurt. He didn’t know this woman aside from who she worked for and the patience to wait out his stubbornness. He’d have to be a complete idiot to blindly trust her, but he has been craving the outside for a week.

“Can we go outside, give me a moment in the sun before facing his royal asshat?” He hesitated before taking her hand. Joyce smiled, nodding as she waited a moment to see if the young man was going to back out.

“We can go visit the gardens before we visit King Kas. I believe my children are having class outside. You would get to meet those you avenged.”

“I guess.” He mumbled as she helped him climb from the bed, the healer pulling him from the room. They stopped in front of Gareth, who looked irate as he held up shackles. Joyce held a hand up to stop him, catching the attention of both men.

“No need for that. We will be visiting the garden, please tell the king we are ready for our audience when he is prepared to see us. Do come find us when he is.” Gareth groaned, holding back something before turning and walking away. “Come, young man, let us hurry before we are pulled into a meeting. They are terribly dull as a maiden’s gossip-ridden knitting circle.”

Joyce rolled her eyes, smiling at the young man before turning and leading him down the corridors. When they breached the outside the light invaded Steve’s eyes. He flinched, eyes taking a moment to adjust. When they did he was met with the sight of preteens playing amongst the garden flowers.

They were in a group, some jumping rope with a vine, others playing a game of tag. Off to the side were two men around his age, playing with some flowers as they sat talking and watching the younger children.

Like an alarm went off, attention was dragged to the two, a dozen eyes falling on Steve specifically. They bared into him, studying him like he was some weird specimen to study under a magnifying glass, and to them he probably was. He had climbed out of a grave, dressed in his work clothes, and the first thing he did upon meeting their king was punch him. They seemed on edge, muttering amongst themselves, which put Steve on the edge.

Joyce had waited back, allowing the strangers to grow accustomed to one another. Sadly out of both groups, the only one who seemed to brave it was a young girl. Steve had recognized her from his first trip through the garden, wavy brown hair bouncing as she closed the distance between her and the older boy. Her eyes burrowed into his, trying to peer into his soul for the answer he refused to share.

The young girl came to a stop in front of him, tilting her head without breaking eye contact. Steve could feel the sweat rolling down the back of his neck, the return of the panic that he felt that night in the museum. He didn’t know what this girl could do, but he was her prime focus.

When it felt like too much for his heart to take she took a step forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. He was frozen to the spot, arms held up in uncertainty, gazing over at Joyce. The healer was smiling at her daughter, the young girl's head resting on his chest. Before his mind could even process anything happening she backed away, smiling wide as she gripped his hands in hers.

“Vindex.” Her voice was small, the language something unheard to him. The confusion must have been written on his face because the healer spoke up.

“It means protector or avenger. This is my youngest of the twins, Ellie, but she prefers El.” Her hand tightened, pulling Steve towards the group who still seemed on edge, but less tense.

“Come play with us.”

A laugh left Joyce as the young man stuttered, being dragged into the children’s playing circle. All at once the garden was filled with overstimulating yells from the preteens, screaming over one another as they pulled him into a game. In his overwhelmed state the kids had decided on a game of hide and seek.

He jumped as the young girl pulled him down, and another child tied a blindfold around his eyes. “Do not remove until we are ready, then come find us.”

“W-Wait! What!” His stutters went unheard as they spun him in a circle, giggles echoing Joyce’s warnings of no powers when non-mages are playing. He came to a stop and the giggles disappeared.

“Ready!” One of the boys yelled, Steve hesitantly reaching up to remove the blindfold. The world was still spinning when it came off, nearly toppling over before his eyes settled. When they did, he was greeted with an empty garden. “They are hiding. Perhaps a game with the children will pass enough time till the king calls.” Joyce says from behind, taking a seat on a cement bench.

“I guess it’s better than waiting at his beck and call.” Steve scoffed, looking around the garden and hearing snickers and shaking bushes. A smile slid on his face as he took a step towards the bushes. “Ready or not, here I come!”

Kas groaned as he rubbed his temple as he paused signing another document. He’d been signing since down, his hand was cramping and the words were starting to dance across the page. He’d been waiting all morning to talk with the intruder, who seemed to be a stubborn ass every other time he’d asked. His attitude had begun to get under his skin, despite the pretty face, yet he couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to meeting him again.

When Gareth told him that Joyce had finally wheedled him down into an agreement with him. Unfortunately, the paperwork had to be finished before said meeting could take place and his body was paying for it. Gareth stood against the door, a smirk on his face as he watched Kas’ features shift from annoyance to exhaustion. He knew the king would give up eventually, so he watched, taking in his entertainment. When the limit hit, he threw his head back with a groan louder than his prior ones. A snicker left the guard as he straightened and walked towards the king.

“Giving into the hierarchy’s demands for the evening?”

“Gare these parchments are idiotic and most require to feed the wealthy and leave the poor with nothing. It is exhausting and irritating. I am going on a walk, take a moment to give my body a rest and cleanse my body of all these negativities.” He stood, popping his neck with another groan. “Will you join or stay in this depressing room? I am thinking of checking the gardens.”

“I regret to inform you that the children are using the garden as a classroom. Who am I to presume it is in pristine condition?”

“I need a break, regardless of the mess they have caused, I have not been able to check up on the children. Come, follow me if you wish.” With that, both young men walked from the study. The walk was full of teasing gripes and playful shoves that disappeared once they were in a more public space.

Gareth followed Kas out into the garden, preparing for the loud squeak of the prepubescent, which there was. However, what took both men by surprise was the sight of the intruder blindfolded, hands outstretched. The children were running around him, clapping and yelling to lead him in the opposite direction than they went. He fell for the bait, hearing squeals as he almost captured them. What stuck out was the bright smile that played on his face.

It was the first time he’d seen anything other than a scowl, and it made his face glow and soften.

It was short-lived when he finally caught one of the children, taking the blindfold with a victorious smile. It fell when his eyes set on Kas. They locked eyes and the tension returned with full bloom. The pleasant smile and moment was gone.

———————

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[eternalmarvel]

MK1 BI-HAN X READER ~ feint ~

an: no wayy almost close to 100 notes in just a day of posting my first work in so long thanks so much everyone 🫶 in honour of this ill be posting a short drabble (lets see how long this really is after im done writing) anyways this work is inspired by THIS tiktok linked below vvv !! if u don't watch it u won't understand what prompted this fic so highly advise u watch this before u read

note: bi-han and reader are married in this story

also guys this story WILL be having bespectacled bi-han bc u can NOT tell me that man does not wear reading glasses when he gets older. i can totally see his vision getting worse and him having to begrudgingly resort to glasses to read documents and books .... i included a rough image of what that looks like (dont come for me im not an editor)

it was not often that you saw your husband battered from kombat. most days when he went out to spar or fight, there's be a few bruises and scratches here and there sure, but nothing that was so severe that you had to sit down and tend to his wounds. even if he did get injured, most of the time he patched himself up before you could lay eyes on him. it was a bright fall day at the lin kuei stronghold, with most of the ombre-braised leaves littering the ground of the courtyard. you had taken over as a mentor at the lin kuei, focusing on the academics of each initiate's journey to becoming a ninja (though it took a lot of convincing your dear old husband before he ever agreed to let you onboard).

~~

"c'mon, bi-han. you can't just train the initiates physically. they gotta be trained mentally too! you can't possibly think the only problems people face are the ones in front of them -- it's the ones that are in their heads that they gotta defeat too."

bi-han propped himself up against the headboard of your marital bed, his hair messy around his head with his feet outstretched in a relaxed manner (which was much too rare for the grandmaster). he had his reading glasses on and a lounge hanfu wrapped loosely around his body, skimming some documents. rather than entertaining your antics, he ignored you and continued to read the ledger in front of him. you groaned sheepishly, prompting bi-han to look up at you with a hint of annoyance, as you plopped yourself right beside him.

"it's a good idea and you know it.....you just won't admit it..," you playfully pouted. bi-han continued to skim through his document as he gently ran his fingers through your hair and your scalp, prompting a deep sigh from you.

"not a sustainable idea, (name)." you quickly got up and faced him, determined to make a point. "i can make it sustainable! you have to give me a chance to prove it though."

bi-han closed his reading and you could now see the glasses perched up on the plateau of his nose. he was older now and his cryomancy did no favours for his vision -- as he increased his use of snow, his vision degraded. it was you that gave him the nudge to rectify his vision but he didn't budge, said that his vision was fine. it took getting suckerpunched by a VERY apologetic initiate at close-range for him to finally realize that his vision was nowhere where it used to be and if he wanted to retain his position as grandmaster, changes were going to have to be made. you made sure to help pick out his glasses, choosing the frames and lens meticulously and helping him put them on. you could hardly control ur salivation looking at him try on reading glasses that made him look all sophisticated and scholarly. after much pushback, you both decided on a subtle and sleek pair that wouldn't garner too much foreign attention (spoiler alert: it absolutely did). the first few days that bi-han wore the glasses, everyone found it hard to pry their eyes away from him. tomas had to stifle his giggles out of fear that bi-han would strangle him, kuai couldn't help but tease him everytime he laid eyes on his glasses, and the younger initates mistakenly (accidentally? who knows) referred to him as "dad."

bi-han leans forward, his hair clinging to his face, leaning for a kiss but you put your hand between the two of yours' lips as a barrier.

"you get nothing unless you agree to my idea, grandmaster."

bi-han leaned back against the headboard, faced towards you. he took a few brief moments to speak before giving you a soft small smile and gazing at you cautiously with his mellow brown eyes.

"if that is what my wife wishes," he whispers lowly.

~~

you had given most of the initates a set of books that they were to have studied by the end of the year. this prompted a bunch of groans and boos from some of the students, seeing that they wanted to get to the 'ninja' side of things rather than slowly well-rounding all their skills. no one dared to personally say anything to you though, considering you were the grandmaster's wife and any complaint directed at you would be personally dealt with by the grandmaster himself (and it would not go well for the complainant).

you drew out an elaborate web of themes and concepts on the board in front of you.

"alright students, which one of you would like to tell me what this represents. how can we use it practically in our routine?," you say, pointing to one of the themes on the board. the room was pitch silent and you could hear a few yawns here and there.

"come on guys. i'm not doing this for myself, i'm doing this to help you guys out. the quicker you guys can answer this, the quicker we can get out of here," you say matter-of-factly. before you can continue on with your lesson, you hear people arguing and yelling outside. 2 of the initiates at the back of the room pry open the training room's doors ajar so they could take a look and listen to what was going on outside, but you didn't entertain this at all. yelling, fighting, whatever it may be, it was a stronghold, of course it would be common.

"hey. there is nothing going on outside that you need to be familiar with more than what we have in here. pay attention to the lesson please!" you exclaimed with an exasperated expression. the initiates nodded their head and let out a meager "sorry ma'am" for their inconvenience.

"now, everyone. as i was saying, wh-" before you could finish your sentence, the doors to the training room were thrown open. you could probably punch a whole through the wall with all the anger you were feeling. who the hell decided this time that it was a good idea to interrupt you?

"(name), ma'am, the grandmaster is injured and i think you should take a look at him," one of the initiates breathlessly whispers. it's clear that he ran all this way to get your attention.

"what?! oh my god......is his condition stable right now? is he doing okay? where is he?" you exclaimed.

the initiate gestured you to follow him and you agreed.

"alright students, just a mere diversion but by the time i get back, you all better be done the next chapter because i'm gonna grill you on it!" you proclaimed as you zoomed down the stronghold's corridors. when you finally made it to the room bi-han was in, you walked in to see kuai, tomas, sektor, and cyrax crowded by his bed in the infirmary.

"bi-han...." you whispered quietly as your eyes went wide. your husband was laying in the bed, resting like a mummy. bandages curtained his chest, arms, and forehead. his face was stressed -- he was asleep and yet a frown graced his face indicating that he was conscious but unaware of his surroundings. your first instinct was to push past sektor and sit down beside bi-han on the chair. kuai had intentionally left the seat empty so that you could comfort bi-han.

"how the hell did this happen kuai?" you asked, furiously. kuai grimaced at your expression.

"don't blame this on me, (name). he's your husband. you know he takes too much on himself and then ends up all injured."

you looked at the physician who had just finished cleaning up your husband's wounds in desperation, wondering what the hell even happened.

"he's alright. i've patched up any severe wounds and stuck him to an IV. you'll have to nurse him for the next few days though." the bespectacled physician prompted, pushing his glasses to the ridge of his nose.

you chuckled, putting your hands on your bandaged husband's chest, caressing him. "nurse him? what is he, a baby? you said he should be fine."

the physician prepares for a response before bi-han stirs awake. you smile at him as you await him to fully regain consciousness.

"huh....who is....wha..." bi-han murmurs as his eyes adjust to the natural lighting of the infimary.

"bi-han....you're awake! i'm glad." you smile brightly, as your hands move up and down his treated chest. bi-han glances between your hands on his upper body and you, before letting out a loud groan and plopping his head back on his pillow.

"don't."

you look at him confused. "what?"

"i have a wife......she'll kill you if she finds out you've laid your hands on me," he says sternly with his hoarse voice.

you get up from your seat and lean in closer to him with a big smile shone across your face, a light blush spread across your cheeks. you found it adorable that even in such a horrible condition, your husband was loyal to you and you only. kuai looks confused at bi-han, wondering if dementia has caught up to him after all these years while tomas lets out a small chuckle at what his grandmaster was saying knowing that bi-han is too weak to really do or say anything to him.

"i am your wife, my love."

bi-han looks back at you with a neutral expression on his face and you can see his face shift into surprise, then pure flush. you stand there beautifully over him with the hair moved from your face, your scent lingering over him. there is a perfect mix of concern and amusement engraved into your expression, much to bi-han's arousal. a heavy blush creeps onto his face, unlike one you've seen before, and the monitor regulating his heartbeats goes off the charts. it's evident that bi-han's heartrate has boosted EXPONENTIALLY.

"well i'll be damned. our grandmaster might just have a crush on someone." cyrax states. you and the rest of the ninjas turn around and look to cyrax, chuckling but bi-han's gaze remains on you. it's almost as though he is in awe that he married someone like you.

"clear the room," you demand authoritatively. the ninjas and the physician bow their head and comply with your demand, leaving you and your husband alone in the emptiness of the infirmary.

"do you need more heat? are you doing okay my love?" you ask as you get closer to your husband. he looks at you carefully before speaking again.

"perhaps....a little more heat." you smile and obey, grabbing a few candles from the cupboard in the corner of the room and bringing it closer to him. bi-han props himself up against his pillow and disregards everything you're doing just to stare at you. it puts a bit of pressure on you and you get nervous. even if he was on litres of morphine, he was still a LITTLE intimidating. he grabs your forearm gently and starts to bring you close.

"i meant in perhaps a different manner....."

you entertain him.

"i'll let your wife know that you desire to engage in intimate relations with me," you smirk bringing yourself closer to him. he leans back and looks at you in pure confusion and a hint of disgust.

"but i t-"

you ignore his protests and put your lips on his, murmuring "joke, my love" into his mouth as he kisses you back passionately. the morphine was doing its job and bi-han was entranced by the passion. you could get used to your husband being all submissive like this for you for a while now.

[earenwen-leafwhisper]

Kinktober : Bath

Pairing: Baelon Targaryen x Wife reader

Summary: Baelon finds his wife in the bath.

Warning: Light smut

Author’s note: I’m a lot late, I know. Maybe when it would be easier to write smut for me, I would rewrite it. Oh and English is not my native language, I try to not leave mistakes and if I do leave any. I would correct.

Y/e/n = Your enemy name

Y/f/s = Your favorite smell

---

The night had been falling for several hours now, the children placed in beds slept deeply, their doors guarded by guards to ensure their safety.

You were the second wife of Prince Baelon, though the beginnings were the most complicated, even to the limit of disaster. By listening, gentleness and patience, Baelon had opened himself to you. He probably never admit it, but the fact that his sons loved you a lot, was an important part of this opening, after all, if Viserys and Daemon loved you, it’s because you didn’t hurt too much. Your bond was formed over time, and as you two were having moments of each other, it became more and more common. Except this last week.

This week had been long, very long, juggling between the visits of nobles to the castle, children ask for your attention, between games, their learning where when they progressed came showed you their progress before going to see Baelon to do the same. Not counting the incessant letters from your parents, worrying about the lack of children in your womb, questioning you on why of how, to which you just replied that everything was fine and that even if a child did not come from your womb, Daemon and Viserys were like your sons, and you cherished them as such. You didn’t explain to them, the little time spent with Baelon this week, not wanting to spread your private life.

---

The water was hot, a soft steam surrounded you, encompassing the place where the bath was placed in the room that you shared with Baelon. Two maids were at your side, one would prepare your clothes for the night, while the second helped you to take your bath so that you could relax from this long day. Two guards were placed at the entrance of the room, ensuring your calm and impeding the visit of Lady y/e/n, who seemed to be most frustrated that you married Baelon. She had set her mind that she would be the next bride Baelon, seemed to have made a whole life at his side and decided to have his dreams come true. Until she found out you were chosen. She decided to make your life miserable, wanting to approach Viserys and Daemon, playing with them, but the children did not want, one day Daemon even expressed that he did not like that the lady who spoke ill of his mother approached him. Since that day, she was forbidden to approach the children, as well as you. She no longer approached the children, but she continued to send you letters and come to the castle at rare moments. Alas, for a week she and her husband had come to see the king to discuss current affairs in their region. Was it interesting for the king? No, but it allowed the ord not to lose the reason for his wife’s obsession with Baelon and you. If it had been at the judgment of Baelon, they would be banished from the castle even from Westeros, but he was not the king.

---

In a y/f/s smell, you could hear the movement of water as the servant dipped the cloth she had in her hands into the tub. The sound of footsteps against the stone floor, the opening of heavy doors in cupboards and drawers, as the second maid looked for a specific room for the night, while she hummed a music you had already heard, but the words escaped you. You had to close your eyes, an arm outside the bath, your breathing was calm, almost at the edge of sleep, the tentations of the day accumulated in your muscles fade over time.

The door of your room opened slowly, you thought that the maids were taking care of your clothes had just left the room, but at the door of sleep you did not pay too much attention to it, nor even when the second maid moved away from you.

"My sweet." That was the voice of Baelon.

You opened your eyes slowly, while raising your head to look at him. Baelon upon entering the room had silently ordered the servants to come out, and had approached you, sitting on the stool placed at the edge of the bath.

"Baelon..." Your voice showed fatigue.

"You had a long day." Baelon gently placed his right hand on your cheek, caressing with her skin thrusts.

"Not as long as yours..."

"The board was very quiet today, I would have preferred to be with you and the children." Baelon smiles.

"Now you’re here..."

Baelon smiles taking your hand with his left hand, caressing the palm of your hand, his fingers move on the back, then your forearm slowly rise up, giving you slight shivers although in the heat of your bath. Baelon took advantage of it to place gently kisses on your shoulder.

"Rest..." His words were sweet.

His hand was going up more and more towards your shoulder, except that he deviated to go towards the top of your chest, stroking with the tips of his fingers the bottom of your neck, slowly descend to the top of your chest, rising up to your neck, performing this movement several times. He took all his time, enjoy having the possibility of you free for him. His kisses went up your neck, up to your chin, move to the lobe of your ear that he mordilla. To the sound of your groaning, he smiles more beautiful.

"Let me do, all you have to do is relax..."

"Baelon..."

"You are so sensitive..."

With his words, Baelon moved his hand between your breasts, caressing their contours, lingering on each of the two, the caresses taking time on your halos, before gently pinching your nipples, while a bigger smile appeared on his face as your moaning became louder. The gentle dance of his hand, he continued, descending on your belly. You moved into the bath, allowing him better access to the base of your body. Raising one of your legs at the top of the parchment.

"You are so eager, my sweet..."

"Please Baelon..." This made Baelon laugh softly.

"My sweet Wife needs something?"

"Baelon..." You became more and more frustrated with time.

"Use your words pretty wife of mine."

"Touch me... Please..."

"I’m already touching you..."

"Not there..."

"Where?" He liked to play with you.

"My... my pussy..."

"Oh... That i Can"

Baelon turned his head away from your face, wanting to look at every single line of your face. He took it well, because he liked every movement, when he puts his hand against your vulva, plunging his hand lower, making slow movement, wanting to savor the moment.

"We have all the night."

---

[luimagines]

A Steel Thorn

Another commission!

This is the companion piece to A Glass Rose, which you can read right here.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“The battle’s not done.” You say through gritted teeth. You don’t want to look at him.

“My Jewel-”

“Go.” You say, coughing. He thinks he can see some spittle of blood shot from beyond your lips. You merely roll over to block his view from the worst of it. “You’re needed.”

“You need me.”

“Go.”

The Fierce Deity growls. He won’t leave you. Not like this. He must atone. He must make up for his sins in blood. But his and his alone.

Unless this was a punishment from the heavens and you were to pay with your one blood.

The thought enrages him and he finds himself reaching for his sword once more. He’s blinded by the injustice. He sees only red.

But he can’t allow you to see it. This wasn’t a side to him that he wanted you to be privy to. Grabbing the hilt of the sword, he charges toward the main hoard that continues to make itself a threat to your wellbeing. He needs to make space. He needs to get away from you unless he wishes to commit a higher ransom than the blood already spilt.

The battle sounds continue and you know that they won’t last long, not if he was reason to be wrathful. You groan and grunt, pushing yourself up to the best of your ability. The blood has already begun to stain your outer layers. You can feel it slowly trail down your throat now that you’ve righted yourself.

You feel ill and sickly already. You feel both warm and chilled to the bone. You have to fend for yourself now that the Fierce Deity has left you to deal with eradicating the threat in its entirety.

You gulp- not surprised at the iron taste in your mouth.

It’s a bitter taste.

You hadn’t wished to show him the plight you’ve found yourself in. Only marginally aware of the cause of the injury, you had only come to think that he was right in the end.

He was much stronger, bigger, tougher, virtually indestructible. While here you are, only a step into the battle and taken down for the count.

Your shoulders work to maneuver through your side bag. You can’t reach for a spare weapon nor would it do you any good. Your hope for a steady and quick recovery is either a fairy or a health potion. You tried to make it a habit to carry either for the rare occurrence of your injury. You had always assumed you had to Fierce Deity to protect you.

And the one time to step away from his protection, you find your blood on the outside rather than where it belongs.

Your fingertips glaze over a bottle and you can feel your body sag with relief. You doubt it would be enough to heal you completely, but you’re going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You pull the bottle out of your pouch and prepare to pop the cork off- only to find it empty.

Dread sinks into your stomach like a lead weight.

“My Jewel…” The Fierce Deity appears beside you once more without revealing his presence. “Your injury.”

You gasp, jumping and ducking to cover the severity of it.

You miss the way his face twists into hurt. He hadn’t meant to frighten you…ever. Would you allow him to tend to you? To mend what he has broken? Would you now forever only see him as a monster? A killer? Designed only to destroy?

When you had first met, you had tried to break that impression of the people around you- but here, in this moment, he had only proven the naysayers correct. 

The Fierce Deity gulps in a rare show of trepidation as the nerves run wild under his skin. “I have a fairy.”

You flinch.

He takes a breath and lets the fairy out of her trap. She flies and happily focuses on your injury. On instinct you uncoil and allow the magic to do its work to your body. The Fierce Deity has yet to relax even as you begin to heal.

You turn back to him with a bite to your lip and nervously likewise energy. You can’t hold eye contact and instead find yourself looking away before the fairy is even done attending to you.

Something within the Fierce Deity is telling him to fix it. To say something. Do something. But for the first time in the eons of his life, he can say that he hesitates.

“I’m ok.” You say at last, spitting out the remnants of blood from your mouth. You turn to him, finally, and open your arms for him.

His heart stills, not sure what would be the correct choice of action. But you whine and instinct and desire overcome what he would consider a more rational part of his brain. He scoops you up, trying to be mindful of the injury and holds you dearly.

 “My Jewel…” The words get stuck in his throat.

“You were right.” You say with resignation. “I’m nothing compared to you.”

He shakes his head. “You are my everything.” His grip tightens by a fraction. “How is it that I can hope to compare to you?... It would have been my fault if I lost you.”

“You got rid of the monsters-”

“And yet it was my blade that dared to strike you in the first place.” He admits.

You completely still and instead shift your eyes to look into his face. The Fierce Deity isn’t known to openly show his emotions often- if ever. Which makes the tears crawling down his face all the more gut wrenching.

“H-hey…” You reach up to cup his face. “I’m still here.”

“And if you weren’t?” He whispers. “I was meant to protect you.”

“And you brought the fairy.” You put on a brave smile. ”It’ll be alright, you’ll see. I should have just let you deal with the threat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

[marshmellopie]

YOU THERE

Give me your spamton headcanons! Any kind!

loki i love you so much you don't know how much i've been wanting to share my headcanons oh my GOD [scans over my 20+ page headcanon doc]

putting it under the cut because it's a lot of random stuff, i didn't categorize anything so there might be whiplash between everything:

– Five feet tall, previously 5'10 when he was still an Addison. I made Puppet Spam was 4'5 for the longest time, but I decided to say fuck it and make him taller. Still short in terms of Cyber City residents though, I like to imagine normal Addisons are around 6ft.

– I sometimes forget to draw it and I can't really animate it consistently, but his knuckles are constantly bruised because he keeps punching things whenever he's angry. Experiences really severe temper tantrums/outbursts and usually resorts to violence.

– Do not touch his fucking hair if he doesn’t know you. He’ll legitimately plan your murder if you cut any of it off– and that’s not a hyperbole. He can’t grow it back and his hair is his pride and joy, so he will genuinely track you down and rip your goddamn soul out of your chest. It's also permanently black (besides the grey but that's from stress), he changed his coding when he was famous to have black hair. Could've been reversible, but some things kinda stuck after he fucked himself up and became a doll.

– Weird mixture of Addison and mannequin. Mysteriously fell incredibly ill with a virus that was destroying his coding after his phone went dead silent, and became desperate to the point of converting his remaining data into an inanimate object. Kind of like converting a PDF into a JPEG with the compressed quality and all. Kinda iffy with this one and not really canon-inspired, I swap between him gradually and suddenly turning into a puppet. Used to base it off the Acid Theory but I'm tryna be creative sjfkdsjf he did probably fall in/get pushed a few times but it didn't burn him to the point of no return, it definitely stung though

– Blurry vision in both eyes because he had the audacity to peek into the Shadow Crystal multiple times. Hacked his glasses to somewhat correct it, but it only works to a certain extent.

– Talks through a voice box. He really doesn't need to move his mouth at all to speak and has limited range of motion (he can't close his mouth all the way and has no tongue), but he tries to purely out of habit.

– gayest man in cyber city

– Eats basically anything. From spaghetti-code to cardboard, his body is kind of forced to digest all of it, but it obviously hurts him if it's not supposed to be eaten.

– Sometimes doesn't recognize his own reflection.

– Riddled with viruses for so long that he probably wouldn't ever be able to get rid of them. He could probably minimize them if he got treatment, but only to an extent. They're a permanent part of him now.

– His nose is simultaneously the strongest and weakest part of his body. Either pierces through metal or bends like a bendy straw depending on if you throw him or just lightly poke it.

– Terrifyingly amazing aim. Can throw a pipis at a specific target without much thought. His pipis explode.

– Calmed down a bit as the years went on (because he lost hope LMAO), which isn't saying much considering he's still extremely rabid. Was extremely volatile when he first decided to give up the good life and live in the dumpster. Frequently tried to break into the mansion, probably stole a few cars, mugged a few Plugboys, picked fights with other malware on the streets. He still continues to do these things, of course, but to a lesser degree.

– Spiteful cunt. Wrong him once and he'll never forget your name. Rarely apologizes even if he's in the wrong.

– Can't say names properly unless he's being completely serious.

– Upholds his end of most deals, but words himself carefully so that if what he has to bring to the table isn't up to par with what the other person asked of him (which is 99% of the time), he can easily swindle his way out of it. No refunds on the sword. It's broken? I told you that. Cut anything, two pieces. You heard me clearly, and you obviously had no qualms with it from what I could tell. (Except he'd say that in a really fucked up and more condescending way.)

– Constantly hears static, but it grows and fades depending on his mood.

– Laughs at the most inconvenient times. Someone's threatening him? He'll chuckle. He's nervous? A little giggle. He just received some devastating news? Roaring laughter.

– Very unreliable narrator and storyteller. Tends to exaggerate things that have happened to him (doesn't mean that he didn't go through some wild shit though).

– Doesn't celebrate his birthday, for obvious loneliness and conflicting self-resentment reasons. Also because he doesn't keep track of the time. He don't know what day it is fam.

– Can mimic voices really well, though he still retains that bitcrushed/noisy overlay and the ad pop-ups.

– Tends to chew on things occasionally as a nervous habit. He doesn't exactly have a tongue, so he instead picks up random small items scattered around (ie. a pencil) and chews on them. Worst case scenario he just grinds his teeth together.

– Gestures with his hands a lot when he speaks. It literally looks like he's going through an emote hotbar. Also very expressive when it comes to his face, despite rarely being able to frown properly. You can garner a lot about his mood from his glasses.

– Mostly bark over bite. Tends to make empty threats a lot when he's startled in hopes his loudness will be intimidating, but will indeed bite if he needs to… or wants to. Sometimes there’s no bark at all, and he’ll literally bite.

– Has a weird fascination with shiny objects. He steals many things that seem valuable or visually appealing and hoards them in his shop.

– Once you put the KEYGEN into NEO, it takes a little bit for him to actually take over the body because he's transferring his data onto it. Permanently. Even when he becomes small Spamton again, he's permanently linked to the machine now, so he can change into it at will. Technically not at will because he has trouble controlling it, but you get what I mean.

this was insanely long but thank you for letting me ramble <3

[j1rosan]

mine. || chishiya shuntaro

the alarm clock went off as you stand up from the bed and went to your child's room. you notice the continuous coughing of your child, bringing out the thermometer from the drawer and put it in between his armpits. when the reading is done, the results was 103°F (39.4°C), it made you worried. it's already 6 o'clock in the morning, you called your boss that you'll be off duty since your son is severely ill.

you went off to get a washcloth from the drawer and placing a cool, damp water in your son's forehead. you proceeded to the kitchen to make a okayu (japanese rice porridge), so that he can feel better after taking a spoon. it was hard for you to become a single mom, there are days when you can't fall asleep since your son is wide awake. tiredness went all over your body, your sleeping schedule has been broken ever since you gave birth to your son. he was well-behaved and acts like his father sometimes.

chishiya shuntaro. the name you wouldn't forget after leaving you. to be honest, it's either his fault, you didn't tell him about your situation and at the same time he broke you off after he said he'll be way more busy and will have no time for you. after making a porridge for your son, you made him sit up for you to feed him.

"just rest, okay? let's go to the clinic tomorrow!" you said with a smile in your face. your son nodded in response and went back to sleep.

####

10/21/17

it’s been years since you and chishiya had been together. the thoughts of getting married and having a child. it was just like yesterday when both of you got chosen as the class president and the vice president. chishiya is the president while you’re the vice, both always together for the projects that was assigned to the both of you.

chishicat are you down for a drink?

yeunie♡ yeah sure!

a big smile formed in your face, the excitement that you couldn’t stop, a hint of red blush in your cheeks. chishiya is a type of person who doesn’t like to show affection in public, but in private he surely do like to play with your hair. he likes to show his emotion in different kinds of way.

08/10/18

college has become tougher as days goes by, you don’t even remember the times you and chishiya spent alot of time together. not gonna lie, you miss it. both of you rarely see each other lately, no text or calls at times. atleast just for once, you want to see his face again, maybe for motivation.

2 weeks has already passed by, no sign of chishiya could be seen. you already texting him or calling but he never answers. you understand that being a med student is more harder, have strict schedules, and they barely sleep at all. minds won’t stop working 24/7 without seeing chishiya. you are worried that he might not be taking care of himself. but what’s more is the mood swings you’ve been having these days, is my period coming?

you texted him again and waited. no replies or calls you have received.

11/09/18

positive. it had two lines.

the pregnancy test made you think it’s fake. you tried so hard to calm, a baby is in your stomach. your feelings are messed up, chishiya is not there and you have no friends to talk about it, kuina is there but you don’t want to disturb her.

okay let’s think positive and not let myself be stress for the baby.

01/10/19

“let’s end it”

that’s the first thing he said when he agree to meet up with you. your thoughts are bewildred, devastated, and angry. while you’re still busy standing there, chishiya has already left you and went back to his work. tears flow down in your face as you put your hands in your belly.

the baby. what should i do?? when you’re back to reality, chishiya is already gone. mind has still not yet done processing over what just happened, you were excited to tell him. the cold air brushed through your skin, the start of your year has gone bad. amout of time has been wasted, crying for hours and still in bed in sore.

in the end, you told it to kuina and helped you for the medications. she defended you so many times. the protection she gave to you made you feel relax.

“i’ll be the best aunt that baby could have!” she said as both of you walk through the hallways.

she made your worries thrown away so that you could focus on your studies. the patients she have sometimes puzzeled you. she always there for you and you’re happy.

★☆★☆

the following day, you took your son to a nearest hospital, sakurazaka university hospital. you went to the lobby for an appointment, they said to wait for your name to be called out. the receptionist told the direction of the pediatrics department, you gave a sign of thanks to the lady and made way to the area. both sat on the comfy chair as you both waited to be called out. your son was sleeping in your lap whilst you caressed his hair.

after an hour waiting, a nurse came to you.

“sorry, but the doctor you were supposed to meet suddenly had a emergency to go, but we can appoint you to another doctor who is available at the moment” the nurse said with a apologetic look.

“it’s okay! we can appoint to another doctor!” you said with a smile on your without knowing who the doctor was.

“um.. then, this way please..” the nurse said as she took us to the room.

“please wait for the doctor to enter!” she said as she bow and left the room.

both of you sat at the chair. a message notified, you check it was kuina.

hkwuin darling, is the baby ok? just don’t go to sakuraza university hospital ok?

yeunie why not?

hkwuin let’s just say that your ex is working there :))

the text you just received made you feel so anxious about the thought of facing the guy who broke you off few years ago.

door clicks open indicating that the doctor is already here. you’re still not yet ready to face him but at the same time, you don’t want to look coward. you looked up, he is still handsome as ever but a major change of his face. he looks so soft.

“y/n onikuma” the voice you can’t help but melt.

“yes?” you said with a steady voice.

“how long has it been when he got his fever?” he asked.

“it just happened yesterday” you smiled

“can you describe the symptoms that he had?” you could feel his eyes on you.

“his body sometimes aches alot, had headaches, his cough keeps getting worse, and have a stuffy nose” you said you caressed his hair once again because his still sleeping.

“what’s the color of his phlegm?”

“itch shometimes yellow!” the kid said while trying so hard not to fell asleep.

“would you let me hear your heartbeat?” he asked, as he passed by and went to your son.

“listen to me. inhale and exhale” he said while doing the gesture. he stands up after checking your son. he picked up a small cup in his drawer.

“i’ll be needing a urinalysis for your child and blood test to see his blood sugar.” he said

“please come back when you’re done” after he said that, you take your son to the bathroom and explain to him on what to do.

blood test? what do he need a blood test? urinalysis is enough to see, right? did his allergy triggers the flu?

the amount of questions flooded through your brain. your son came back after it and gave you the cup, cleaning it first before giving it to nurse. another test are needed so you went back to the office. chishiya was there standing as he get ready for the blood test, his hands with an injection made you shiver.

“you’re back”

“y-yes..” you stuttered.

“please sit down from here” he calmly said, trying so hard not to scare the child.

“would it urt?” your son ask,

“yes, but it would be real quick” he assured the child.

“just hold on to me and it will be okay, if you want you could close your eyes” you said to him, trying to loosen him up.

“please sit back and relax. inhale and exhale” he said, as repeated it.

“i’ll be injecting it now” he announced. without a second, he injected it and sucked the blood, chishiya quickly covered it with cottons after removing the injection from the forearm. your son tried so hard not to cry from the injection.

“please wait for the results outside” he said, fixing his things and ready to give the blood to the nurse.

“sure” you smiled but a phone ring interrupted the situation. his eyes were on you, observing the way you move around the room.

“i’ll be on my way now” you mouthed and gently pull your son outside the room.

“what?” you answered.

“what hospital did you went to?”

“sakurazaka university hospital! and wait- i was already here before you even texted me about it !! okay”

“so? what happened?” she curiously asked.

“nothing! just a normal doctor and patient examination” you said

“really?” she doubted.

“yes!? now will you please stop and just come here” you said with a irritated voice.

“sure sure! but i’ll go there hour later because maybe i might interrupted something” she said said, giggling.

“the fuc-” she ended the call.

“mom! i’m hungry!” you son called out.

“sure, i’ll buy you anything! what do you want??” you asked, a cute smile plastered in your face because of the cuteness of your child.

“i want dango! onigiri! and taiyaki!” he said with a cute smile.

“i’ll buy it for you okay? just stay right there!” you said and walked away but you still look back wanting to see that he is okay alone.

★☆★☆

you’re done buying stuffs that your son wanted, but sadly dango is not there so only onigiri and taiyaki are available. when you are close to your son, you saw another figure talking with him. the white blond hair man, he saw you and stands up from his seat.

“thank you for checking up for my child” you thanked him.

“ryutaro” he give him a smile before going back to his office. he explained the medication he need to use and the things that he shouldn’t eat for awhile. chishiya gave us the result, thank god his sugar level is far from diabetes.

“thank you. let’s go home” you said, and went first to the cashier to pay the bills, without a doubt that someone already paid the bills.

“oh no, it’s okay you can go home already!” she said, a hint of a smirk in her face. you fadely walk away from the entrance of the hospital.

“thanks mira” chishiya said as he looks at you.

“be grateful that you have a friend that will support you even though you’re the one who hurt her!” mira scoffed at her friend’s shameless act.

“so, did you get the results already?” she said, curious of the outcome.

“the dna test results has still yet to come” he said, before leaving mira alone in the lobby.

“i know for sure that he’s your child. his eyes is like yours” mira reassured, chishiya just smirked at her and walk off.

★☆★☆

it’s been a week and your son is back to school. late nights have increase after a week of your absents, more works has given to you. sometimes you’re more worried at your son than yourself. he always waits for you patiently whenever you’re late, he said that he understand. and it’s also been a week since your child mention about a guy who always plays with him and walk him home.

“darling, would you like to tell me his name” you asked kindly.

“no! he said i can’t say it to you!” he said while pouting.

“c’mon! you’re siding with that stranger rather your mom!” you whined.

“he is not stranger tho! neither a acquaintance” he said smiling at you.

“is it tatta?” you asked,

“no!”

“arisu?” you guessed again.

“no!”

“then who?”

“that blonde boy!” he shouted out of frustration.

blonde boy? chishiya?

the moment you know who is he, you started doubting that he knows but a part of you knows that chishiya isn’t easily fooled by an excuse so maybe he knows already.

“what did the blonde boy did to you?”

“he asked about you a lot!! he even asked if you’re doing fine or not! he is a good guy! he also told me that if ever you knew him, go to the place where you first met!” he said jumping around the bed with a smile on his face.

“what else did he say?”

“nothing but he always treat me food!! and.. and.. he also give me a new toy!!” he grabbed a stuff toy with his tiny little hand and show it to me.

a cheshire cat

“he said i look like a cheshire cat but tiny version” he said as he giggles.

“do you like him?” you asked curiously.

“yeah!! i want him to be my dad!!” a cute smirk plastered in his face like his dad.

“you act like your dad sometimes” you whispered it to yourself.

“mommy!! here!! he wants to give it to you!!” holding a small paper with a cute cat attached to it.

===

the shade of the lamp glows around the dark room, it was already night time. your son has already fall asleep after hours of playing, with all the reports and papers given to you for the past few weeks, his cute smile is your medication. you’ve been doing a good job as a mother.

sound of the door creaks as it closed quietly. your gut is telling you to read it but you don’t want to. you went back to your own room and lay down to your bed. for about 30 minutes, you’ve been shuffling around the bed. it’s not that you’re curious about something, it’s just that you couldn’t fall asleep. with no doubt, you gave up on your pride and read the note.

let’s meet me at our usual spot. — c.s.

crumbling the paper and throw it out to the trash can. you don’t why you did it, it just your instincts. after curing your curiosity, you have fall asleep not so peacefully.

★☆★☆

it has been a week since that happened, you’re gladly that ryutaro still doesn’t know about the fact his father is shuntaro chishiya. but there will be no day where you weren’t stress, and right now it’s raining as hell. you looked up at the sky, guessing that it wouldn’t stop.

why does it have to rain now? my son is left alone in the school!

a few minutes passed, a car stopped infront of you as they honk, making you jumped. the window rolled over revealing your son.

“hi mom!!” he was waving at you with a smile.

you look towards the driver’s seat, chishiya shuntaro. he fetch ‘your’ son, you were about to rambled but was interrupted.

“w-why a—”

“just get in the car, i’ll drive you home” he said while opening the passenger’s seat for her. you climbed and sit.

the drive from home was awkwardly silent. no one dares to speak up except from your son who is busy playing. neither both of you wants to take the move first. eyes only focus on the side view mirror to avoid having eye contact with him but the feeling of being stared at gives you chills.

“mom! look what i’ve draw!” your kid, standing up from the seat while holding up his drawing as he lean in to let you see.

“wow! so cute but who’s that g..uy?” you asked, eyes knitted in confusion.

“oh! it’s dr. chishiya! he is now part of the family!” those words made you freeze for a moment before looking at chishiya, who is smirking at those phrase.

“why though?”

“mm.. he’s always there to pick me up! his face looks kind of similar to me! plus.. plus i want him to be my dad!” those word made you stunned. you can feel the stare of chishiya with his smug smirk.

“really? i can make it real” chishiya responded while you’re too busy to know what’s going on.

“home is near. clean up your mess, taro” you said, while ignoring the man’s stare with that smirk.

===

picked up your child from the seat as you put him in the ground and started walking towards your house. you don’t look back to see him there, you can feel him staring at you. trying your best not to stumbled on the way.

“taro is sleepy!” he announced, giving a sign to carry him. you carried him with his bag.

“wanna help?” he shouted.

“no! no need to!” you said and continue walking.

★☆★☆

work is overload with paper, stressed out from getting scold at. you came back with a unexpected visitor.

as you walk towards your house, a voice you clearly heard a couple years ago is in your house, having a good time with your son. the laughter and small talks, it was really lovely but.. why does it feel so irritable. opening the door, you saw both of them cuddle at each other as they play. the bunny smile that you once missed showed up from your home.

“mom! you’re back!” he said, getting untangled from chishiya’s and running towards you, a hug was presented.

“what is he doing here?” you asked him, the awfully good minute of staring at him.

“i let him in!” he said as you slowly went to your room, trying to hide like a coward. your son run towards the person while you’re in room.

standing infront of the mirror, you touch the necklace in which chishiya gave to you in your first anniversary. mind going crazy over the fact he is here again, close to you, at your home. in a minute, you were to engrose with a thought to the point you didn’t notice him entering the room. only when he puts his hands around your waist and snuggle on your neck. cold air hits you like a bullet shot through you. it was too fast. the touch you missed, the warmth you’ve been craving for years is back again, arms wrapped around you like he doesn’t want to lose you again. you don’t want to hurt again, you tried to get away from his touch but he make it sure that he will not let you go again like what he did back then. to him, it’s a mistake.

“um.. can you please let go?” you tried getting away from him.

“i... i.. i’m sorry”

“just let go” avoiding the eye contact in the mirror. you look away, so that he wouldn’t see how weak you are when his around. you don’t to fall again to the same man who broke your heart.

“please.. i’m sorry!” he was now crying in your shoulder. you were looking at him in the mirror and you can see the sincerity in his action.

“let’s go back to where we started.” you said, both of you are now staring at each through the mirror.

“let’s restart our book and began a new chapter” a tiny hope has made chishiya smiled with ease. you just gave him a nod and he let go as he kissed you in your cheeks.

“meet me at our usual spot, yeah?” he said, before walking out the door.

after chishiya left, you suddenly fell down to your knees. a sudden heart beat made you feel so bewildered and confused on what’s happening to you. you promised to yourself but you broke it off. while you’re still spacing out at your room, your son enter happily with his toys.

“mom! mom! is it true!! that dr. chishiya is my father??” a cute eyes staring at me.

“did he tell you that?” asking calmly

“he kinda did tho! he gave me this piece of paper!!” he said while waving the paper in his hands. you snatched it from him, only to realize what it is.

the result of a dna test.

“that’s the proof that you are his child, darling” you said, caressing his face while smiling happily at him.

★☆★☆

every single day, chishiya would fetch you in the morning to have a breakfast near his hospital and take you to your office after. he mostly courting you at the moment, but your son was enjoying every moment that both were doing. a normal family.

as the years passed by, you accepted chishiya and move to his house. ryutaro has to change school because of that but he wouldn’t careless ‘cause he has a dad already.

both got married after awhile. kuina and ann was very kinda moody but happy at the same time while arisu is overly happy because he always wanted to see you in that dress and proud to be his artificial brother. mira was there too, clapping happily.

“let’s have another one again” he whispered within your lips.

“oh shut up!”

both giggled at each other until the wedding ceremony has ended. they had a wonder and twisted life they have to began with.

THE END.

© iaminlovewithnijiro ; tiktok (imagines, povs)

it’s my first fanfic.

[sandwormrp]

I Should Be Pleased By This?

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x Irulan Corrino 496 words

Summary: Dune Messiah AU. After a twist in events, Irulan is wed to both Paul and Feyd, bringing Chani in has been another added layer of issues. After a fight between Feyd and Chani breaks out, Irulan goes in search of where Feyd is sulking.

OOC Notes: This thread takes place in the Polycule Throne AU ( Want Ad Link ). It occurs in the timeline after the conclusion of My Word Above All.

Fuel a writer's fixation by liking & reblogging their work!

Feyd-Rautha, now Baron of House Harkonnen, stood in a place unfamiliar to him. Not because he had never been in the room itself before, but because he had so rarely been in its kind before.

It was a study. A library, in truth, arrayed with cases of books, a writing desk, several comfortable seats, and stone table. His uncle… May his wretchedness rest in piece... Feyd thought… had held many a meeting in one study or another, but Feyd had never used them himself. As a youth, there had been those who had tried to teach him. To conform him to one noble softness or another. To curb his violent proclivities which, even now, he felt clawing at the edge of his desires, demanding release.

And so, rather than flip tables and crush chairs, Feyd breathed, considering the room with which he was so unfamiliar. The Arrakeen Palace had not been the headquarters of House Harkonnen during its initial decades of rule over the fief of Arrakis in the first place. In fact, it had been the home of the Count and Lady Fenring as Imperial representatives. Planetologist Liet Kynes who had met their unfortunate end in the deserts that she had studied with such fervor, also worked out of this vast building. The Harkonnens had made Carthag their capital… But Baron Vladimir and Rabban had used Arrakeen after their re-invasion of the planet. Always with their eyes on the Atreides… Drawn like fish to a lure of envy and hate. The hook bites, uncle. Brother.

So this study had been that of Count Fenring. Anything of the Count’s, or his Ladyship’s, had surely been removed from the room upon their departure during the Atreides’ ill-fated assumption of rule. Still… This was the space of that most deadly man, notorious assassin and reportedly the only friend of the now-dead Emperor. The man for whom Feyd himself had fought under Kanly…

He did not turn as the door opened, leaving his back to it. He trained his ears to hear who the entrant might be…

Continued on our jcink rp!

[soullessjack]

SPN?

1) honestly jody and donna , i know they aren’t entirely canon but both actresses support the idea and that’s good enough for me ^_^

** secondary is jack/harper i LOVE them and we deserved to see more. #letjackfuck2k24

2) rowena and jack!!!! i see their dynamic as an aunt/nephew type thing and I love (almost) every time they’re together (omitting the time jack witch-napped her to bring back Mary). I wish we got to see more of them </3

3) Sam and Amelia. usually i can handle the show’s bad moments as enjoyably bad but season 8 was paint-drying levels of boring. Amelia was a bland nothing-burger of a character and the rest of Sam’s normal guy arc did absolutely nothing for him or the season

4) hmmmmm….. not sure I have one actually 🧐

5) JACK <3 my most special boy in the entire world i love him more than anything ever Even my other special interests and fixations 😭 he’s been deeply important to me for 7 years now and probably will be for the rest of my life!! I self-ship with him and plan on getting several tattoos for him and hopefully I’ll be able to meet Alex again someday :3

6) Lucifer/Nick, hands down. Lucifer stopped being an interesting villain to me around like S7 or so honestly, and every time he got brought back it just felt like such a lazy move from the writers or a painful excuse to keep mark on the payroll

7) something that should’ve happened…very broad question for this show. Destiel should’ve happened, a better finale should’ve happened, some deleted scenes and scripts should’ve happened, Jack being covered in more blood and maybe having a longer lasting ‘villain’ arc should’ve happened …many such cases

8) something that shouldn’t have happened…again, many choices, but to save time I’ll just leave it at Nick’s entire character. besides (see #6) he straight up shouldn’t be alive. Dean shot him in the head with the Colt all the way back in S5 lmao

9) hmmmmm……i think my entire blog is full of rare (if not downright unpopular) opinions, but if I had to choose one that is Extremely rare, I’d go with this one: Dean is one of Jack’s dads. As frustrating as his initial behavior is, he does grow past it, and he puts genuine effort into being a better mentor/father figure to Jack—not only because he does care about them, but also because he literally could not forgive himself for how he acted and wanted to make up for it as much as he could.

obviously they do have a very complicated and rough relationship, but that’s literally every other relationship on this show, and it’s kind of agitating that they aren’t given the same nuance or understanding that the others get—especially when half of the discussions surrounding it can be boiled down to “bad man mean to helpless baby” (which is another thing on its own but ill stop here). I don’t mean this as an excuse or apologia for Dean’s behavior, but when you consider that he’s a severely traumatized person with a relatively small support system and a canon tendency to verbally abuse/emotionally distance himself from people as a coping mechanism (literally what he had a breakdown over in Purgatory) it’s a little easier to understand it.

everyone is quick to talk about how he said “Jack’s not family,” but nobody paid attention to the fact that in the script, he’s mildly horrified at Jack agreeing with him (if you truly meant an insult, wouldn’t you’d want the target to agree?). or that after jack restores the world from chuck’s damage, Dean not only fully expects/wants them to go back to the bunker with them (IE continue living there) but he also literally fantasizes about buying jack a big screen tv and recliners for saving the world. so id love if the fandom ixnayed on the “uncle” shit. ironically the only one of TFW to actually be Jack’s uncle is Cas, biologically

alternatively for a rare opinion: i want jack kline biblically, carnally, horrendously, homosexually, expeditiously, and so on and so forth.

[puppetgearing]

Do you have any other Genshin OCs or is Niko your only one ?

oh lord what gate have you opened

but yes i do ! i have... so much that i barely use or even touched anymore help. ill show case you all whom they are and a brief of their story qjdnsjdj

First one is Ziyu ! My very first genshin oc and my baby, i actually still really like her a lot. if i were to remake her she'd be a dendro !! If she likes you, she'll steal your stuffs expecting u to go to her place so she can see you again, she dont know how to express affection ok leave her be-

Her story was that shes an orphanage from inazuma who was later transferred to liyue, hench her very inazuman outfit, shes a kleptomaniac thief who loves shiny objects and usually steal to take care of herself and her orphanage siblings until she was adopted by a jeweller that saw potential in her being able to find very rare and special gems and he treats her like his very own daughter but he later died due to old age and left his shop for her as his will, Ziyu managed to make the business booming tho because of her keen eyes for shiny rare materials.

Next is Flancre ! Pronounced "Flan-sir" and hes a nomad who just travels around region and just so happened to run into the traveler constantly.

His story is that he's severely sick and can only live so long, due to that he's mostly home but he barely get to rest as being the son of a well known fontaine designer put him in a spot where he has to work constantly and barely get to sleep. He escaped now tho but since he wanted to see the world before he died he decided to travel.

god seeing old art is gonna take a toll on me

Anyway, Covette !! a famous designer in Fontaine, well known for his rather intricate design that speaks emotion to those who wear them.

His story is... pretty long but in a tldr way is that he and his twin sister got into theater, sister died and he drowned himself in studying law to forget about it until he decided to continue his designing career to honor her.

This design goes hard af and i might use him as a normal oc too.

His name is Ebi, yes like the shrimp and since Inazuma doesnt have train (seriously why) he operates a ship and is a captain. He likes Fontaine's water a lot

His story is pretty simple, his mom used to be a captain but after having him she just... disappear, leaving him with her crew and her crew just decided to raise him themselves. Autism real hes rlly socially awkward.

THERE ARE MORE BUT I DONT THINK I KEEP THE ART SORRY AJDJSJDJ

[lady-wallace]

Whumptober Day 14: Left for Dead

We're still on the Vampire AU kick for today's @whumptober but this one is a La Squadra case fic!

Prompt: Left for dead, hunting gear, 'i want you to know what it felt like' Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5 (Vampire Hunter AU) Character: Prosciutto

~~~~~~~

Read on Ao3

~~~~~~~

Though My Mind is Somewhat Jaded Now

(Vampire Hunter AU) Prosciutto and Pesci investigate a supposed demonic possession in a place from their past. However, they soon find out that the job is a lot more close to home than they realized.

~~~~~~~

The lowering darkness of the house brought back a thousand memories for Prosciutto. It had always looked like a thundercloud even on a sunny day and it didn’t look better now, rundown as it was and abandoned.

Pesci stood by his side, wringing his hands anxiously. “Do you really think there’s a demon inside?”

Prosciutto continued to stare, scrutinizing. Memories of cold, hungry nights pressed together with multiple children to a bed—the only thing that brought any of them any comfort. And worse days with cruel instructors, quick with a switch when you so much as dared look up when not addressed. It had been a particular kind of hell.

“I am not sure,” he finally replied to the younger man. “Places like this…the anger, the grief, the hopelessness…they draw evil spirits to them.” He could certainly feel something inside. He turned to Pesci. “We shall go and investigate further.”

He closed his eyes briefly, bowing his head. “Father God, protect us from the influences of evil, shield us from all forms of spiritual attack and grant us Your divine protection in the face of evil, amen.” He crossed himself and looked back up at the house for a long moment before stepping toward the door.

It opened with a desolate creak as the two Hunters stepped inside.

Prosciutto had been, admittedly, a bit hesitant on taking this job as soon as he had heard where it located. A request had come in to see about a possible demonic possession at an abandoned orphanage. The new owner of the property had hoped to fix the place up but upon sending several workers in to take stock of the damage, they had been chased out by a ‘violent spirit’ which had prevented anyone from spending any amount of time in the house.

It was rare that demons possessed places or objects above humans, but it did happen on occasion. Prosciutto had worked on an exorcism like that at a supposedly cursed family manor with his mentor and even now he counted it as one of the hardest jobs he had done. But this place in particular had ties to Prosciutto and Pesci’s past. He knew the dangers of going into an exorcism with any mental weaknesses.

He thought it had been long enough that he wouldn’t be bothered by the past. But as soon as he stepped through those doors, he was reminded of the young boy who had been forced to kill his posessed father. Who had been abandoned at this place by a mother who was too scared of her own son to understand the truth. The place where he had endured countless hours of abuse at the hands of the supposed caretakers and instructors and sometimes the other children.

He remembered the small boy he had pulled out of the closet where the cruel older children had locked him. Pesci was still scared of the dark, but back then he had been inconsolable, clinging to Prosciutto every night after, terrified of every shadow.

It had not been a good life. It had not even really been a livable life. Prosciutto had been lucky. He had been recruited by a priest when the man had found him reading books on the subject or possession and exorcism he had smuggled under his mattress. With some convincing Prosciutto had managed to bring Pesci along but had been forced to abandon his other dear friend who had already been ill at the time, and passed soon after, not giving Prosciutto a chance to get him out of there like he had promised when he left.

That still sat with him as one of his deepest regrets to this day.

But he caught himself as he started down that path of thought. He could not afford that weakness of spirit right now. He could not put himself into a position where he could be compromised.

“It feels…worse in here,” Pesci murmured softly, looking around. “Sadder.”

Prosciutto could understand what he meant. There was a certain heaviness to the atmosphere that may not have entirely been because of the possession. Though he could sense a strong presence.

“These walls have seen much tragedy,” he replied glancing over at the other man. “Keep your spirits up, Pesci. If you let the sadness overcome you you will be no good to me.”

Pesci nodded and started whispering psalms under his breath, a trick Prosciutto had taught him.

He stepped into the center of the large entryway. “The spirit who is in here, show yourself!”

The shift in atmosphere was instant. Prosciutto’s head shot up as something rattled the old rafters, raining dust down on the Hunters.

“I know you.”

The voice crawled up Prosciutto’s spine like a thousand spiders, whispering through the walls. Pesci fumbled with his holy water and crucifix, holding both in front of him like a shield.

Prosciutto stood his ground. “You know me, do you? Have I exorcised you before? You dared crawl back out of hell after I sent you there the first time?”

Doors slammed somewhere in the house. Prosciutto pursed his lips. This was definitely an angry spirit, but something felt off to him. Pesci had been right earlier about the sadness. He could feel it, pulsing through the decrepit hallways. Pain, desperation, and deep hurting. This didn’t feel like any demonic possession he had ever come across. It was more…human.

Demons were usually angry, bringers of sin and chaos. Their emotions were simple, if not non-existent, enjoying simple, sadistic pleasures when they came to terrorize their human victims. This wasn’t like that and it gave Prosciutto pause. It was possible, of course, that the demon was channeling the dark energy already permeating the location, but he had a feeling it wasn’t that simple.

Prosciutto pulled his cross and bible out as Pesci began sprinkling holy water around.

He started the exorcism and as expected it exacerbated the problem. The floor was shaking, and the walls and rafters creaked dangerously.

Prosciutto gritted his teeth and continued, until something cracked overhead.

He glanced up just in time to see one of the rafters break free, tumbling down where Pesci stood.

“Pesci!” Prosciutto cried, leaping forward and tackling him out of the way, both of them crashing to the floor.

Prosciutto pushed himself up into a sitting position, looking around for more danger.

He caught a brief flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and as he turned to look, part of the debris was flung toward him.

It struck Prosciutto in the side of the head and he fell backwards into darkness.

***

Prosciutto sat by the other boy’s bedside, listening worriedly to his raspy breathing as he tried to concentrate on the book sitting on his knees.

Pesci scuttled into the dormitory, a full handkerchief clutched in his hand.

“I brought you dinner, big brother,” he said, handing over the handkerchief. “There’s some for Luca too.”

Prosciutto glanced toward the bed, and reached out, shaking the boy’s shoulder. “Luca? Do you want to eat?”

Luca’s eyes fluttered and he tried to push himself up, a cough catching in his throat.

“Okay,” he said tiredly.

Pesci handed him a piece of bread and Luca nibbled on it as Prosciutto and Pesci also started to eat.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” Luca said.

Prosciutto felt a pang in his chest. “Yes.”

Luca didn’t reply for a long moment, there was obvious hurt in his eyes. “It must be nice. Being wanted.”

“I’ll come back for you someday,” Prosciutto said sincerely. “I promise, Luca, I’ll come back and get you out of here.”

Luca gave him a serious look before he spat in his hand and held it out.

Prosciutto followed suit, clasping Luca’s hand firmly in his own.

“I promise.”

***

Prosciutto woke with a sharp inhale of breath, coming to with the memory of the dream still trickling through his mind.

He lay on his back amidst fallen rafters, staring up at a ruined ceiling as he remembered where he was.

Prosciutto pushed himself up, head pounding as he scrambled around the floor for his crucifix and bible.

“Pesci,” he called.

A quick glance around revealed that Pesci was not in the entryway of the old orphanage. At least he wasn’t crushed under the debris but that left the question as to where the younger man had gone.

“Pesci!” Prosciutto shouted, heading off down the dark, long familiar corridors of the building. Peeling wallpaper reached out from the walls, spiderwebs catching against his clothes and hair. His heart was pounding but he could do nothing to calm it.

He finally came out into the area that had once been the boy’s dormitory. There were still several rusty bed frames leaning up against the wall.

Pesci stood in the center of the room, his back to Prosciutto.

“Pesci,” he called taking a step forward, before he stopped.

The powerful energy he had felt upon entering the house was pooling in this room. He could instinctively tell something was very wrong before Pesci turned around jerkily and stared at him with his eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

Prosciutto crossed himself. “God send me strength,” he prayed.

He stepped forward, glare steely. “You’ve made a grave mistake taking a human vessel, demon. It will only make it easier for me to exorcise you.”

A rough laugh gurgled out of Pesci’s throat. “Demon? Is that all you have to say to me now, Prosciutto?”

Prosciutto stopped. “Pesci?”

“No. He’s not here right now. Try again. Unless you really don’t remember me.”

Prosciutto felt a cold dagger pierce his heart as suspicion rose. “Luca?”

“So, you do remember. That almost makes it worse.”

Prosciutto tried to push the panic down. He hadn’t felt this out of control on a job since he’d started doing solo exorcisms.

“You’re the one possessing this place,” he realized.

“That’s right,” Luca’s spirit spoke through Pesci. “I died here, you know.”

“I know,” Prosciutto said quietly. “I tried to come visit you but—”

“You should have taken me with you!” Luca screamed and the whole room shook. Prosciutto planted his feet trying to stay upright.

Pesci strode forward jerkily and slammed Prosciutto in the chest. He flew backwards into the wall, pinned there with invisible force.

Prosciutto gritted his teeth, trying to move, but found himself unable to.

Luca stepped up to him jerkily in Pesci’s body, grabbing him by the throat.

“You come back now, only to force me out of here,” Luca snarled. “Maybe I wouldn’t have died if you had come back earlier. And we could have avoided all of this.”

Pesci’s hand closed around Prosciutto’s throat, squeezing tightly.

“Luca,” Prosciutto gritted out. “You are justified in your anger against me, but do not use Pesci for this. He does not deserve that.”

“I didn’t deserve to die!” Luca cried. “No one even cared after you left. I lay in bed, drowning in my own lungs. I died alone and was thrown in a hole out back.” He twisted Pesci’s face in a furious grimace. “I want you to know what that feels like. To die alone.”

Prosciutto felt a sudden crushing pressure on his chest, his lungs tight. He fought to cough, but he couldn’t. His eyes started to water but he managed to move one of his arms, grasping the crucifix around his neck and shoving it against Pesci’s hands.

Pesci released his throat as Luca howled in rage, staggering back.

The pressure eased enough for Prosciutto to get a breath, holding the cross in front of him as he commanded, “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you to release Pesci!”

Pesci shuddered but Luca seemed to hold on. Prosciutto peeled himself off of the wall and stepped forward, grabbing Pesci and forcing the crucifix against his chest. “Release him!”

There was a vaguely human roar as a spectral shadow was thrust out of Pesci. The young man slumped against Prosciutto and the exorcist carefully lowered him to the ground before he straightened to face the ghost who had materialized before him.

He looked the same as he had the day Prosciutto and Pesci left the orphanage. A boy of thirteen with sunken cheeks and lank dark hair, clothes hanging from his skinny frame.

He was shaking with fury, the floor trembling, the walls creaking.

“Luca,” Prosciutto called to him. “What has been done cannot be undone, but you can move on. I can help you.”

“How?!” the ghostly boy demanded.

Prosciutto held his hands out. “Did I not tell you that I would come back to get you out of here?”

“It’s too late for that,” the ghost rumbled.

“Do you really want to be stuck here forever?” Prosciutto asked.

Luca rippled slightly. “No.”

Prosciutto stepped forward slowly. “Then let me perform last rites for you. I can help you move on.”

“Promise?” Luca asked.

Prosciutto spat in his hand and held it out, waiting.

Luca hesitated before he did the same. An ephemeral chill enclosed Prosciutto’s hand as Luca touched it.

Prosciutto performed last rites and as he finished, Luca’s spirit had changed from the sickly boy, to the way he had been before. A light in his eyes.

“I feel…lighter,” he said. “Like I’m not attached to this place anymore.”

“That’s good.” Prosciutto said. “Can you show me where you’re buried?”

Luca nodded and led Prosciutto out behind the orphanage, past the yard they had played in to the lot where all the dead children had been buried to be forgotten.

Luca stopped at one particular spot. It was long grown over, no one would have even known there was a grave here.

Prosciutto knelt and stuck his crucifix into the ground as a marker.

“Thank you, Prosciutto. I should have known you’d keep your promise.”

Luca faded away and Prosciutto could feel the moment he left. He bowed his head and prayed that his soul would be sent swiftly to heaven.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, kneeling by the small forgotten grave, before Pesci hurried up to him.

“Prosciutto! There you are! I was worried.”

Prosciutto looked up. “I’m sorry for leaving you in there, Pesci, but it’s done.”

Pesci sobered as he looked down at the grave. “It was Luca, wasn’t it?”

Prosciutto nodded. “Yes. But he’s at peace now. Perhaps for the first time.”

“We were the lucky ones, weren’t we?” Pesci asked softly.

“Yes, we were,” Prosciutto said. “Which is why we need to do what we can to help others through their own trials.”

He pushed himself to his feet, fully realizing how bad his body and head were aching after the ordeal. “Come on then, Pesci. Let’s go home. Our work here is done.”

[mimisempai]

Fulfilled

Summary

When Dream realizes that Hob is really sick, he decides to take matters into his own hands. By taking care of his beloved, he realizes that sometimes it doesn't take much to feel completely fulfilled.

Notes For the Dreamling week, day 6 : Sick

Series : The life of a retired Lord of Dreams

On AO3

Rating G - 872 words

"It's nothing, just a little cold."

Dream had heard this several times since the beginning of the week, whenever Hob sneezed or coughed slightly, but today even Dream could see that it was more than just a cold, judging by his lover's condition.

He decided to take matters into his own hands, secretly happy to finally be able to do something concrete for his love. 

He said quietly to his lover, who was trying to suppress a coughing fit: "Hob, go back to bed.

Hob tried to protest weakly, "But my classes..."

Dream shook his head, put his hands on Hob's shoulders, turned him around and pushed him towards the bedroom, "I'll call the school, you do as I say. Go to bed."

Hob replied, "I love it when you're so bossy..." the end of his sentence ended in another coughing fit.

Dream chuckled softly, "That doesn't mean you shouldn't do what I say."

Hob didn't protest, a sign of his weakened state, and padded towards the bedroom.

When he was sure that Hob had gone back to bed, Dream called the school and then went back to the kitchen. 

He emerged thirty minutes later with a tray containing a bowl of steaming soup, a glass of water, and a pill.

When he reached the bedroom, he saw Hob curled up in the middle of the bed, shivering and wrapped in the covers. He could only see his face and was struck by how pale his skin was against the dark sheets.

He placed the tray on the nightstand and sat down beside him, asking softly, "Hob, dear, how are you?"

He gently brushed Hob's hair away from his eyes and sweaty forehead. Hob let out a soft moan as he opened his eyes to look at his lover before whispering in a raspy voice, "Not good."

The fact that Hob didn't try to downplay his condition said a lot.

Dream stroked his cheek gently and said softly, "My poor love, do you think you could swallow anything?"

Hob nodded weakly and Dream helped him to sit up. First he handed him the anti-fever pill and the glass of water, and when he'd swallowed them, he put the tray with the bowl of soup on Hob's lap.

Dream said quietly, "I made you some soup. I hear it's good for-"

Hob interrupted, "You made soup?"

Dream replied in a sulky voice, "Hey, I'll have you know I'm getting better at cooking. And Matthew advised me."

Hob replied in a hoarse voice, "Just kidding. I know you're perfectly capable."

He wrapped his hands around the bowl as if to soak up the warmth and brought it to his mouth, blowing on it several times to cool the soup before beginning to drink it slowly. Only a few moans of pleasure as the hot beverage flowed down his throat broke the silence. The fact that he spoke much less than usual was further proof that Hob was indeed ill.

Dream watched him in silence, and when he saw that the bowl was empty and his lover's head began to wobble, he said gently, "I think it's time for you to go back to bed."

Hob nodded, and as soon as Dream had cleared the tray, he immediately slipped under the sheets. Dream was about to take the tray to the kitchen when Hob's hand held him back and he asked, almost shyly, "Will you stay with me?"

As if Dream could refuse anything to Hob, who so rarely asked for anything for himself.

The time for his consideration must have been too long, because Hob continued, "Let it go. You don't have to. I don't want to make you sick."

But Dream had seen the longing behind the deflecting.

He replied gently, "You know I'm the Lord of Dreams, even if I'm retired and immortal and all that, remember?" then he climbed into the bed, wrapped his arms around Hob and pulled him against his chest.

With no strength to protest, Hob sighed in contentment before he started coughing again and had no choice but to lean against Dream as he rubbed his back to make the coughing fit go away.

When the coughing was over, Dream held Hob against him and whispered into his hair, "Try to sleep now," before kissing him gently on the forehead.

Hob hummed softly in agreement, and little by little Dream felt his lover's body grow heavier against his, his slightly wheezing breathing slowing and deepening, signs that Hob was fast asleep.

Dream didn't move an inch, even when his arm went numb from the position and weight of Hob's body against his own. Nothing in the world would have made him move if it meant disturbing his beloved's sleep.

For once, the Lord of Dreams felt fulfilled by something he'd done in a way he'd never felt before.

His lover had given him so much over the years that taking care of him during his illness was the least he could do. 

For any human, it would probably be something normal, even banal. But for him, it was one of the most satisfying things he'd ever done.

Taking care of his beloved.

Taking care of his Hob.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝I

Dreamling Masterlist here

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

for the character bingo maybe the perfect crime trio? it's three characters so it's cool if you choose to do just one of them :)

Yes!!! I love them all so much :)

Ranpo:

They are sooooo cool looking: I mean, Ranpo does look pretty cool. It's a good look for him. :)

Everyone but me is wrong about them/They're deeper than they seem: Ok, so actually this isn't totally true since I know some people here really get him... but I've also seen some weird takes and it's a shame because Ranpo is an excellent character who is a lot more than "really smart" and "likes snacks and praise". In fact, I've been writing a post about how Ranpo has a cohesive and consistent character arc in the story that I think kind of gets overshadowed by the major events of the plot, but it's still there, and Ranpo has done a lot of developing over the course of the series. It's just that not as much obvious attention is drawn to it as, say, sskk. Ranpo isn't the Agency's strongest for nothing. He's more than just a silly little guy.

Not as deep as they seem: ...at the same time, he is absolutely just a silly little guy who really just wants to do silly little guy things like eat candy and tease Poe and solve brutal murders and be praised for it. Ranpo is a complex character with simple needs I think... which might be why he can be a bit difficult to characterize.

I like them enough to project my own issues onto them/I'm mentally ill about them: Untold Origins... okay. So, I don't think I'm like Ranpo necessarily. But god if untold origins didn't hit a certain way. I spent a lot of my childhood being built up as a gifted kid then torn down for not being smart enough, often by the same people within the same day. It was confusing. Am I smart or not? Do you like me, or not? I was also that annoying kid who would correct the teacher's mistakes in class... except I wasn't doing it to be a showoff. It was wrong, and it does no one any good to be taught something wrong when it can be fixed right away, yeah? Well, my teacher didn't like that. Ever been bullied by your teacher as an elementary school kid while having no idea what you did to have someone hate you this way? Not fun. Do not recommend. So Ranpo's story brought a lot of those feelings back. Ha. I also have a lot of thoughts about a kid who grew up in a sheltered environment, suddenly left with the grief from the loss of his parents and no support, lost in a world he does not understand that terrifies him, and the way he is given the means to build a life for himself in spite of it all (even if it is based off a lie). I can't wait to write more about Ranpo. I really do like him a lot and I don't talk about him nearly enough.

I want to carry them in a handbag like a tiny dog: Not in the usual deranged way; I actually think Ranpo might like this tbh. He wouldn't have to walk lol.

Poe:

They are sooooo cool looking: Yeah. I have no idea why he dresses like that, but yeah.

Everyone but me is wrong about them: ...ooookay. So, maybe I'm just not looking in the right area. But, and this might be a bit surprising to hear given that I'm a fan of Chuuya, it's actually Poe's mischaracterization in fics that irritates me the most. He's not soft. He has anxiety. There's a difference (please don't write all socially anxious people as soft little beans, please...). Poe doesn't do things "just because", everything needs to be framed as an intentional challenge. He spent 6 years writing his vengeance. I know we all laugh at the "for some reason I can't say no to Ranpo" bit (who are you fooling man?), but like. He continues to rationalize his affection as traps and challenges. Poe isn't soft. He does still harbour some feelings of jealousy towards Ranpo - it's just that it's vastly outweighed by his (completely oblivious) fondness for him. He brings up how he feels he's "just being used" a few times by several people, but I've rarely seen this talked about. He's an easily startled goof but also more than capable of being very pushy when he thinks it's necessary - think of his placing blank pages in every room to try and get Mushitarou to write lmao. He's a drama queen, only just barely held back from full-blown theatre kid by his crippling anxiety. And he knows full well the value that lies in writing a memory (his softest moment is when he is in his element!). Poe is a complicated character in his own right, and while it is not explored nearly enough in canon - isn't that what fic is supposed to be for? I'd love more fics that explore him, and especially his conflicting feelings towards Ranpo, who he is very attached to and fond of (it's borderline a canon crush to me). He feels envious, but he wants to impress him, but he wants to beat him utterly, but he would do anything for him, he is his perfect partner in (solving) crime, etc., etc. Poe fears disappointing Ranpo and it's for a mess of reasons that are not just all "because he likes him", though that is, undeniably, a big part of it. It's implied he may even fear being replaced or seen as not very important to him, and, as is typical for Poe, he doesn't shy away and retreat - he immediately turns quite internally poisonous towards the "threat". Poe is full of strong, sometimes ugly, conflicting feelings that he rarely actually acts on, and I'd love to see these explored more, both in canon, and in fics. He's a silly guy too, but... you know.

Wasted potential (?): Well, I want to wait a bit before making any judgements here, but if Poe stays a comic relief character who only creates books for Ranpo to use, I'll be a little disappointed. His ability is so powerful. Unbelievably so. It also requires him to write, and with a Book being such a core part of the story, and authors tending to have strong influences on the plot (Odasaku, Natsume, arguably Yokomizo), I think it'd be really weird if Poe went nowhere.

They work better as part of a dynamic: Ranpoe my beloved <3 (I also love his kindness towards Mushitarou :') )

Mushitarou:

They're like a blorbo to me: I mean. You guys saw my deranged rambling about him already. You know I am not normal about him.

I'm mentally ill about them: You KNOW I am NOT NORMAL ABOUT HIM. I've written all my thoughts before. His story will never not make me emotional. I think he's one of the best written characters. I personally place him up there with Kyouka and Akutagawa for quality of writing and overall themes.

Why do they look like that: onceler looking dude...

They've never done anything wrong in their life: Well. He very much has done things wrong. But, much like Ango, circumstance and a lack of foreseeable alternatives pushed them into making a set of horrible choices that they will forever be haunted by. It's why I think they should hang out about it... maybe kiss...

[johanthedigitalartist]

My personal REALISTIC Simon “Ghost’ riley headcanons:

Tw:mentions of trauma, Eating disorders,mental illness, panic attacks. And mildly graphic content

Divider made by @cafekitsune

My personal REALISTIC Simon “Ghost’ Riley headcanons:

He’s a very internal person and has problems with bottling up his emotions. He will very rarely let himself be vulnerable around other people due to his fear of abandonment and betrayal.

He has panic attacks and flashbacks of his childhood trauma and the trauma he went through in the military, and he doesn’t like mirrors because whenever he has to undress to change or shower, he sees his scars, which is very triggering for him.

He’s always in a fight-or-flight state of mind, causing him extreme insomnia or very light sleep.

He’s so used to bottling up his emotions that he struggles to express and process them, even to himself. refuses to cry and can’t cry, or will cry and can’t stop crying. He hides it all under his skull balaclava.

His balaclava is what he’s known for—the mask that hides what makes him Simon; he’s attached to his ghost persona and the personality that comes with it of being cold, unfeeling, and commanding. Being without the mask makes him extremely uncomfortable and makes him feel exposed and vulnerable, so he keeps it on as much as possible. If someone were to take it off without consent, he would be very angry and try to hide his face as fast as he can so nobody knows what he looks like.

He has a big heart full of love, but he just doesn’t know how to express it properly since he’s never truly experienced love outside of his teammates in the task force. He deeply cares about those around them and watches over their safety, even on the battlefield. His closest friend is Soap, as he’s the opposite of Ghost, with a more bubbly and carefree personality despite their hardships, which is what motivates Ghost to continue his job.

He picks at his skin and scars often as a bad habit, especially the ones he got from being hung by the ribs. He wishes he could remove them and they could go away forever because the memory of that night haunts him so severely.

He hates physical contact but will allow it mildly, depending on the person; for example, soap, mild shoulder pats, and such. His skin is rough and calloused because he doesn’t have much time to himself outside of work to take care of himself.

He has extreme depression, anxiety, PTSD, and other mental illnesses.

He will either overeat or undereat, with no in-between; he feels as if he doesn’t deserve to eat and feels immense guilt sometimes. But sometimes he feels like he can’t stop eating; it makes him feel better about his situation and makes him forget momentarily that his body is so hungry from starving that he just wants to eat and fill that void