#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.

[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.

———————

To everyone that are interested in keeping up with Set in Stone I have set up a few different ways you can keep up. Unfortunately the tagging process isn’t working for everyone so if you’d like to keep up here are a few options. This will be the last tag set. I will no longer bring tagging in future chapters of just this work.

1. Follow the setinstonesteddie tag on tumblr

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[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.”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Adoration

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem. Reader

Summary : You and Aemond have gotten married, and are off for your wedding night. How will it go for you both?

Themes : Soft | Slow burn | Smut

Warnings : Aegon trying to be a loathsome cad | Height difference | Kissing | Foreplay | Oral (f. receiving)| Dirty talk | First time |  Penetrative sex |

Word count : 5.4k  words

Minors DNI | 18+

Translation: 

Kēlītsos - Kitten

This is the final one-shot of three separate fanfics, this time featuring Aemond. I’ve changed several things, and I hope you all enjoy it. 

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

All eyes were on you and your husband, some staring so intently you could feel holes being burnt into your back.

The prince, on the other hand, seemed to pay the gawking no mind. He kept one arm firmly around your waist, holding you as close to him as possible as the two of you made your way around the floor, your right hand snug in his left. And so small, compared to his. The prince was so tall, towering over you, your head not even reaching his chin. He had barely uttered a sentence the entire time, save for the vows he said in front of the High Septon.

And you had been warned about it. Aemond was a private man they said, given to few words. You were warned of other things too, that the prince preferred books and swordplay and solitude to anything else. You even experienced some of it, the silence, the guarded looks, the respectful distance. You sighed, determined to make the best of your circumstances.

“Are you alright?” He asked suddenly. “Is something troubling you?”

You had caught the king leering, his eyes half-filled with anger, his fingers white at the joints, and stiffened. “Nothing, husband,” you swallowed, hoping not to offend by complaining about his brother. For good and for ill, Aegon was kin, after all. “I’m fine.”

“Please do not lie to me,” Aemond whispered as his gaze skimmed over the floor, looking for the source of your sudden discomfort. When he caught Aegon staring, in front of his own wife no less, he ground his teeth. Aegon was never one for subtlety, he thought with disgust. “And do not fear my brother. Aegon is coming nowhere near you.”

How was that even going to be possible tonight? “But the bedding ceremony…” You had heard of this strange Westerosi custom and dreaded it. The thought of that lecherous king coming anywhere near you made you dread it even more. 

“I did away with it, made it clear that I won’t subject you to such a humiliation. And as my mother would tell you, I did it in the least polite way imaginable.” Aemond leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “Why do you think the king looks like he’d swallowed a live toad?”

His confession made you gasp, then giggle. “You threatened the king?” you tsked and whispered. “Very bad form, husband.”

Aemond’s eye twinkled, a rare thing with him. “You’re wrong, wife. I didn’t threaten the king. I just… educated him on all the things that could go wrong as he went about his day.”  

That was the end to further talking as others joined the dancing. The two of you continued to sway to the music, wrapped in a bubble of blissful silence. Aemond’s thoughts circled to what was to happen later when the two of you retired for the night.

He kept thinking of that night over a decade ago when Aegon thought it fit to take, no, drag him over to the pleasure house. The woman in question was skilled and showed him many things, but Aemond never truly cared for it and just wanted the night to end. He never went back, only ever kept one bedmate and no more. He turned to you, doubt plaguing him, worrying him. He prayed to all the gods who would listen that he didn’t ruin tonight. For now, though, he would content himself with running a thumb over your fingers, rubbing his hand over your back as the two of you danced. He swallowed when you leaned into him, his heartbeat roaring in his ears when you tucked your head under his chin.

You took a steadying breath when you felt his thumb rubbing over yours. Aemond was called a monster by many, ruthless and vengeful, yet here he was, being gentle with you, putting an end to something you knew you weren’t going to look forward to. But did that mean he’d be considerate in other ways as well? You heard the stories, of how some husbands took their pleasures without care or consideration, like the king, but would Aemond be like them? Or would he be different?

“What are you thinking about, wife?”

You look up at him, stunned by him talking again. “I,” you licked your lips nervously, heat blooming in your cheeks when his gaze drifted to your mouth. A thousand excuses flashed before your eyes. “I was thinking about…” do not lie to me, he’d insisted. You sighed, deciding to be truthful. “tonight. A-after the feast, I mean.”

Aemond focused on your lips, and how they moved with each word. “I was thinking about it also,” he somehow managed, his gaze moving up quickly. “But there’s no need for you to worry.” His gaze slowly drifted to your lips again, his mind haunted with visions of your mouth opening under his. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

"I will hold you to that," you mumbled tartly, your hands flying to your mouth when you realized what you said. "Forgive me, husband, my tongue got the better of me, and--"

Aemond took your hands back into his as a new dance started. "Please don't fear me," He pleaded softly. "Many people already fear me, my wife shouldn't be one of them."

The prince is bound to have some goodness in him, you were reminded of your mother's words, the ones she told you when your parents first talked to you about the engagement. Try to see it.

Stopping the bedding ceremony, asking you not to fear him, promising to be gentle with you. Were those glimmers of the goodness you were asked to seek?

A hand gliding over your back startled you and made your head reel. A sound blew out on your next breath, soft and dreamy, something between a whimper and a soft sigh. Aemond melted when he heard that dreamy sigh. He wanted the feast to end and for everyone to leave. Between you arriving in Kings Landing and everything turning into a flurry of wedding preparations and heavily chaperoned outings, he didn't have a chance to truly be alone with you, and he was counting the minutes to do so.

                              ✵✵✵

There were speeches.

Followed by the finest Arbor wines.

Followed by more speeches. One such was a particularly long and boring lecture from the High Septon. Several guests came close to nodding off. When your eyes grew heavy, your head started to droop, and you muttered quietly, "Now I know why people call him warm milk." You could have sworn Aemond chuckled under his breath.

“That’s probably the kindest thing people have called him,” he mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear, making you smile. 

Finally, it was over, much to everyone’s visible relief. 

Then, a large, elaborately decorated cake had to be wheeled into the feasting hall. You take in the sight of the cake as it is brought over slowly, inch by inch, trying to figure out how much such a confection would have cost. Clearly, the royal family had spared no expense for the ceremony and the feast. "To remind everyone who is in charge," you had heard one guest mumbling to another. "Especially those who supported the blacks."

The hint seemed to have been well received, judging by some of the looks in the crowd.

You went forward with Aemond to cut the cake. Again, you had to place your hand in his, as he held out his sword. Dark Sister, the one he won after slaying Daemon Targaryen, in a battle that nearly cost him his life and the life of his dragon, Vhagar. The sword was light, clearly made for a woman. Ripples in the blade seemed to gleam and then grow darker as if they were absorbing the surrounding light. There was magic here, and the blood of countless souls. You shivered. "Don’t be afraid," Aemond whispered. "It’s just a sword."

You wanted to roll your eyes. Just a sword, he says. Right.

The blade came down, and the cake was cut. Aemond’s hand seemed to warm over yours, keeping your grip steady as steel bit into soft cake. You would have relished eating as much cake as you wanted but you couldn't do it. The cake meant the feast was about to end, and the two of you would depart for your wedding night. Still, you made yourself eat a slice as all eyes were on you. Aemond toyed with his, moving pieces about with his fork, his eyes darting around the hall. He seemed to be as nervous as you.

Aemond looked around, waiting for the cake to be served and for the feast to end. He caught you eating, daintily gliding your lips over the pads of your fingers, picking up cake crumbs and bits of icing. Seven help him, but the very sight of you doing it made him dizzy, made him crave your lips on his. When the Master of Ceremonies signaled an end to the festivities, Aemond was the first to stand up. 

"Come, wife. It is time," said Aemond, as he helped you out of your chair. You take his hand, your palm going cold and clammy out of nervousness. There was a reassuring squeeze as if telling you everything was going to be well. When you turned to him, you could have sworn Aemond winked. 

The king stood up with the rest, abruptly left his table, and made his way toward you both. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Otto Hightower quickly jumping out of his chair and making his way over. 

"Brother," Aegon smiled brightly for everyone's benefit, but you weren't fooled. You could still see anger in his eyes. He wasn’t pleased with being denied, that was obvious. "Congratulations again on your nuptials."

Aemond put himself in front of you, trying to block Aegon’s view. His sword arm inched towards the hilt of Dark Sister. "Thank you, brother." He forced himself to respond, his words dripping with ice. "For your wishes."

Aegon, now resorting to a leer that made you shrink back, did not attempt to leave. "I hope you’ll be staying here, in the Red Keep?"

"No." That was one thing that pleased Aemond, saying no to Aegon. "On the morrow, I’ll be taking my bride with me to Driftmark."

The seat of the now-extinct House Velaryon. Aemond had been given lordship over it after the war. Having repelled Myrish and Tyroshi attempts to overtake the island, he’d proven himself worthy of the title.

"You're taking y/n and leaving?" Aegon hissed indignantly. "What the fuck for?"

First the leering, now this. "Why does that concern you, your grace?" Angered by his brother’s lack of respect towards their sister and you, Aemond took a step forward, forcing Aegon back away. The king wilted when the white-hot need to murder burned in his brother's eye. You rushed to Aemond's side, wondering if it was wise to intervene and potentially create a scene.

In the end, Otto saved you from making that choice by quickly coming between the two brothers. "It doesn’t grandson," he smiled grandly, desperate blue eyes resting on his second grandson. "His grace is merely being curious, that is all."

“Curious, mmm. Interesting choice of words though, don’t you agree...” Aemond turned to his grandfather, trailing off when Otto looked at him as if begging him to stand down. Everyone was watching, Aegon especially, and with scheming eyes. Not wanting to leave you exposed or vulnerable, Aemond ground his jaw and composed himself. By tomorrow the two of you would be on Vhagar’s back, flying to your new home. Aegon would never come to Driftmark for he loathed life on the island, and Aemond had little interest in life at court. "Of course, grandfather," he said. "We will bid you both goodnight."

As you walked away you caught snippets of Otto Hightower giving a quiet but sharp dressing down to the king. “So the rumours are true?” Unable to help yourself, you asked when the others were well out of hearing. “Your grandfather is the only person who could truly control your brother?”

Aemond just sighed in defeat. So much for their efforts in concealing the miseries of his immediate family. “I’m afraid so,” he said, as he escorted you from one corridor to another, up stairways, and through different rooms. There was no point in hiding such things from you. You were his wife now and bound to hear more as time went on.

The very notion filled you with dread. “Then what happens, husband, when Lord Hightower dies?”

Aemond had considered the possibility of the realm falling into chaos once his grandfather has passed on and he had no interest of sticking around and cleaning more of Aegon’s messes. Within a week of your arrival in Kings Landing Aemond started making plans, to take you with him to your own country the moment Otto Hightower’s body was put into the ground. “Let’s just hope the king follows him not long after.”

                            ✵✵✵

Aemond’s chambers were airy, with balconies that opened to the sea. The air here smelled subtly of salt. 

You walked out and looked out into the night. Under the light of a full moon, you could see a large hump on the adjoining strip of the beach. There was a low, deep, rumble, the hump went up and down as if it were breathing. "Vhagar," Aemond said, almost startling you. "She finds it harder to wake up now."

You could hear it, the faint tinge of sadness in his voice. Vhagar came into life when he was older than the others, a dragon only a few had been able to claim. Vhagar was far too old now, too slow, her fighting days well and truly behind her.

"Fighting Caraxes weakened her, left her with wounds that never truly healed,” Aemond looked on fondly at the beast that had carried him throughout the war. "The Maesters are giving her three more years. Five, if we’re lucky."

"Just three years?" The last living connection to the conqueror and his sisters, the last true war dragon, snuffed out in three years. "And will she be strong enough to take us to Driftmark?"

"We have to use her. Otherwise, the old lady will never let me hear the end of it if I leave her here and she has to follow me to Driftmark." Not wanting to think about Vhagar’s demise, Aemond went back inside and got a fire going to steady his jangled nerves. "But enough of that. Why don’t you come inside, mmm?"

There were butterflies in your belly when Aemond took off his boots and removed his rings. You gulped and went in, walking towards the four-poster bed, your hands working on the clasps of your dress. You felt his eye on you, watching your every move. Aemond could tell you were nervous by your fingers struggling with the clasps, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He came over, his hands gently pulling yours away. "Let me," he said. 

You stand still, your cheeks burning, as your dress loosens around your body. "You’re still frightened," Aemond murmured. "Why?"

You had been trembling despite your efforts to calm your nerves. "I—I’ve never been with anyone before and…"

"No handsome stableboy stealing your kisses? No," He cut you off and ground his teeth, as a sharp pang of jealousy stabbed him in the gut. "Dashing sellsword winning your favours?"

How it pleased you so, seeing him worked up like this. You felt tempted to say yes, just to see what his reaction would be like, but you stuck to the truth instead. "No." 

"But you’re Myrish," said Aemond, as he undid the last of the clasps. His hands then moved up to slip the dress down your arms. Goosebumps spread over your skin when his hands glided down your exposed flesh. "I thought your people were – freer – so to speak, with their affections."

"Not all of us, no." You stepped out of the dress that had now pooled around your ankles, your body only covered in a thin silk shift. "And I have heard of your," you remained motionless once more, this time as large hands reached back to undo the braids and coils in your hair. "Reputation."

Aemond arched a brow, his violet eye glinting in the moonlight. “My reputation, wife?” His eye gleamed as a braid came loose, and there was a soft ping, of a clip hitting the ground. "And what kind of reputation is that, mmm?"

"That you’re a kinslayer." More braids and coils came undone, allowing your hair to flow freely around you. "That you’ve done terrible things during the war."

Aemond let his fingers curl around your hair. How many nights had he lain awake, dreaming of all the times he could run his fingers run through your hair. "The gossips are right, wife. I am a kinslayer, a murderer.” He turned around, so you could undo the single braid in his hair. Having to stand on the tips of your toes wasn’t easy, but you did it. Aemond closed his eye when your palms glided over his shoulders. He swallowed, counting the minutes till he could feel your hands all over his body. "I've killed more people than I could care to count during the war. Cursed by the gods, that’s what I am. I’m vengeful, always carrying a grudge, always wanting to settle debts against those who wronged me."

You trembled when he turned to you again. "But I could be just your monster," he whispered as he took off his coat, and his tunic, leaving his chest bare. "If you let me."

The large pink scar that covered most of his torso was hard to miss. A burn no doubt, a parting gift from Caraxes and the Rogue Knight. Temptation came over you. You let your hand glide up his chest, your heart thrilling when Aemond whispered don’t stop under his breath. "Just my monster?" You asked, your cheeks flushing again when Aemond removed his belt and threw it to the ground. 

"Not just your monster." He shook his head, curling a finger under your chin, tilting it up. Aemond, thinking it best not to remove his eye patch on the first night, dithered on what to do next. Should he lean in and kiss you? Should he scoop you up and carry you to bed? Or perhaps he should loosen his tongue and tell you all the things he had wanted to say since he first saw you. "I wish to be so much more to you."

"Oh?" You grew nervous when he turned you around and moved your hair to one side, so he could undo the lacings on the back of your shift. "L-like what, husband?"

“I wish to be so good to you.” You calling him husband, how Aemond enjoyed hearing it. "I could be your shelter from the storm." Aemond pulled out the last of the laces and slipped a shoulder strap down your arm. His arms hooked around your waist, and hands callused by years of fighting and dragon-riding rested over your tummy. "To be the sworn shield that strikes down all who try to hurt you." 

It felt like your bones turned to water when Aemond pressed his face against the nape of your neck, brushing his nose over your skin. He worked on the other shoulder strap, gradually loosening your shift until it slid down to your waist. “I want to be your island of peace,” Aemond mumbled as you stood perfectly still, your nervousness slowly crumbling to dust when soft kisses pressed against your skin, warming it wherever they landed. “Even when the rest of the world is falling apart.”

 “W-what else?” you hummed when his fingers curled over your belly. You couldn’t see it, the flash of need in his eye when he held you flush against him. You could only feel him, how his body trembled with every breath he took, how warm his skin felt against yours. How good would it feel to surrender to him, you thought, as you closed your eyes and tilted your head to the side. "Tell me more. Please."

Aemond’s tongue loosened even more and he didn't care. If he couldn't confess to his wife then what was the point of being married? “I want to love you. To worship you.” Your eyes flew wide open at the revelation. Everything he just told you was a revelation, but this both shocked and pleased you. “I want you to come to me,” Aemond whispered, his hot breath against your ear sending tingles up your spine. “With everything. Your dreams. And your fears. And your lusts.”

You collapsed into him when he cupped your breasts, his fingers gently playing with soft buds that puckered under his touch. His name rolled off your tongue in a gasp.

Oh, that was all he ever wanted to hear that night and every night after that. His name, rolling past your lips.

Aemond kept touching you, letting his hands glide all over your stomach, the cleft between your breasts, your arms, before moving to your breasts again in slow, teasing caresses. Heat pooled in your core, warmth spread all over your skin as those large hands caressed and squeezed, as his lips latched onto the crook of your neck, gently sucking at the soft flesh.

Feeling you go lax in his arms, your body open to all that he was doing, proved too sinful and enticing for Aemond and he gave in, his hands pulling down on your shift, yanking it past your waist until it fell to the ground, gathering around your ankles in a puddle of fabric. You were so small next to him, he could picture himself carrying you to bed and easily tossing you around as he had his way with you, but not yet. Not until you were comfortable with him and trusted him completely. “I am yours, kēlītsos,” he crooned against your neck, your trembles intoxicating his senses like a heady drug. “All that I have, and all that I am, is yours.”

With that, he whipped you around and dragged you in for a kiss. Your head reeled, your lips yielding to his, soft purrs rising from the back of your throat when his tongue slipped past your parted lips, eager to savour the warmth of your mouth. “As I’m yours,” you heard yourself murmur between kisses. “Now and always, husband.”

Aemond groaned into his kiss. He could already feel it, the arousal in his loins, his body overcome with the need to take all you were willing to give him. When your arms wrapped around his waist he walked you backward, not stopping until you were right up against the bed. “Get in bed,” He cooed, his hands going to work on lace cords. “And lie back.”

You moved up to the pillows, your eyes never leaving his. Aemond peeled off his breeches, a smile tugging at his lips when you blushed furiously and looked away. “Look at me, kēlītsos,” Aemond said gently, as he made his way to you.

Your lessons in High Valyrian had been so few, your grasp of the language so weak. You knew only the basics, Kēlītsos being one of them. Kitten, it meant. “Why do you call me that?” You croaked when he hovered over you, his thighs pushing yours apart as he settled between your legs. “Kēlītsos?”

“Because I want to,” Aemond let his hand glide up your calf, along the inside of your thigh, his breath shuddering as his palm skimmed over soft, supple skin. He knew your body was soft, he felt it while dancing, but he didn’t think it would be this soft. "Does it displease you?” Fear overtook him. Had he made a mistake by calling you that? “I- I could say something else if you like.”

And there had been your family, warning you not to anger him tonight. Oh, if you could only tell them, how their fears were unfounded. “I- I don’t mind,” you trembled when his fingers, callused and hardened after years of fighting, drifted up your belly. “Really.”

 Aemond smiled, really smiled, his entire face lighting up with pleasure. “Good. Then that is what I’ll call you then. But when we’re alone, yes?”

“Yes...” the rest of your answer was cut off when his lips found yours, slow, drugging kisses that robbed you of the very air that you breathed. Your fingers found their way to his hair, to soft locks that seemed to slip through like water. His lips were so soft, his tongue wet and warm as it traced over your lips, his teeth sharp as they gently grazed your lips, leaving them bruised and puffy and you aching when he pulled away. Wet kisses skimmed over your chin and glided over your throat. When you groaned and arched your back he grew bolder, his lips moving lower, leaving a wet trail over your ribcage, your belly, moving along your hips, the insides of your thighs. “A-ae-mond,” you groaned, your fingers scrabbling for purchase against the sheets when his mouth moved to your center, his tongue flicking gently on your wet slit.

The prince moaned when your legs moved over to his shoulders, when your hands got all bunched up in his hair. He massaged your thighs as his tongue pressed deeper into your throbbing pussy, delighting in your babbling, your desperate pleas. An arm moved over to your abdomen and pinned you down even as he pressed his mouth even deeper into your cunt, savouring the very essence that was you. When you bucked your hips he growled and rubbed his thumb over your clit, whimpering, "Let go for me. Please let go for me."

Everything about him shocked you, from his tenderness out there in the hall, to his fire in here, in bed. You felt foolish for being afraid of him, for thinking he'd treat you the way he treated many others. Aemond had been wanting you to trust him, to share pleasure with him, and you could see yourself being genuinely happy with him. All sense of timidness deserted you and the air was thickly peppered with, “more aemond… right there aemond… harder aemond… aemond please.”

"Fuck," Aemond growled when you bucked into him again, when your legs clamped down over his shoulders as if not wanting him to move. He grabbed onto your thighs, discretely looking over at you. Seeing you arching your back, your eyes fluttering with each spasm that rippled over you, shook him. Never had he felt such hunger for a single person, not even with Alys, and Alys was the closest he had come to care for someone. This was different. No, he decided. This wasn't just different, it was so much more, something much stronger, the kind only poets wrote about. He mumbled in High Valyrian, words he'd never dreamt of saying to anyone. When you were safely situated in Driftmark, he'd tell you what they meant. 

Aemond then felt it, the slow coiling of your muscles, the growing trembles in your thighs. You were close, so close. 

No, he thought. Not tonight. Tonight he wanted you to first cum on his cock.

“Not this way, Kēlītsos.” Aemond pulled away and cleaned his lips with the edge of the sheet. He kissed his way back up to you, groaning when your legs slid open and rested against his thighs. He kissed you, his lips gently pulling at yours, purring when you sucked on his tongue. His hands held your hips steady as he drove into your center, his cock slowly stretched your slick walls. 

It hurt. You were prepared for it, but it still hurt. Aemond did his best to distract you, kissing you senseless, not giving a single word of complaint when your nails dug into his shoulders as he sank his full length into your aching cunt. The moan that followed when he claimed your maidenhead was deep and throaty. You felt wave upon wave of pleasure, and not just by your velvety walls clenching around his throbbing cock. You were now his wife in every way.

Kisses drifted over your eyelids as he hovered over you, giving you time to adjust to his presence inside you. “Are you comfortable, Kēlītsos?” Aemond brushed back your hair, his gaze filled with concern. “Do you want me to go on?”

You managed an eager nod,  ignoring the pain, the discomfort. “Yes.” You hooked your legs around his waist, savouring how full you felt with his cock inside you. “I’m ready for this.”

There was the barest hint of a smile. You closed your eyes and jolted when he moved, his thrust sending shockwaves and dragging out sharps gasps out of your mouth. As he began to rock back and forth, the pain slowly gave way, discomfort slowly gave way, pleasure slowly replaced all else, and all you could manage was to moan and mewl his name.

Aemond helped you up and had you straddling his lap as he pressed himself flush against you. This was so much better for you. Your hands reached out, touching, caressing, trying to match what Aemond was doing to you. Feeling your naked flesh against his, your nails raking down his back, your palms gliding over his scar, overwhelmed him. “You like this, don’t you, Kēlītsos?” He rasped into your ear. “Riding the dragon?”

Something about the way he said it aroused you greatly, made you crave to hear more. “Y-yes. I d-do.”

He chuckled breathily as he settled into a pace and rhythm you both liked. When Aemond was not telling you of the things he wanted to do to you, he was kissing you. And when he was not kissing you he let a hand glide over your body, grabbing onto your breasts, thighs, and ass, leaving bruises in its wake. You could only cling to him as he brought you closer, your walls pulsing all too intensely around his cock. “D-don’t s-stop,” you plead even as you arched into him. “P-please… p-please d-don’t stop.”

Aemond pushed you back into bed and quickly propped himself on his hands, slamming his hips, grinding them against the insides of your thighs, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air. You managed to hold onto enough focus, your hips driving back to meet his thrusts, your feet scrabbling for purchase against his back. Your hips kept driving back, not stopping, and your muscles coiled tight like they were about to snap. You push back one last time, and those coiled muscles shattered, the world skidding to an immediate halt as your orgasm ripped through you.

 Aemond felt it, heard it. Your body trembling violently under his, his name blowing past your lips in a half-moan, half-cry. He was far from done and growled, “Hold on Kēlītsos, hold on.” He thrust harder and faster, as his body plunged hard and plunged deep, barely holding on for a few more seconds. When he came it was with a deep, final thrust and an even deeper, satisfying grunt. He kept still while his seed continued to spill into your womb.

You swallowed as your heartbeat slowed and the world slowly started to come into focus. You hear the curtains rustling with the night breeze and the popping and cracking of firewood in the hearth. You felt Aemond moving, his weight shifting as he slowly collapsed next to you. He was exhausted, his chest heaving, his body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He reached over, pulling you to him, his hands brushing off the beads of sweat that had started to form over your skin. Exhausted but replete, you make yourself comfortable in the crook of his arm. “This night went better than I dreamed, husband.”

Incredibly relieved that he hadn’t ruined this night for you, that he hadn’t messed up the start of his marriage, Aemond cupped your cheek, his thumb grazing your jawbone. His kisses were now soft, and tender. “Anything for you, Kēlītsos.” 

[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.

[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.

[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.

[ponuchuu]

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

[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

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Lavender and Starflower (Mobster AU) – Chapter 11

The Dekarios Clan reigns over Waterdeep as the city’s protector for centuries. Suddenly, the Clan gets challenged by Cazador, the head of the Szarr Clan that rules over Baldur’s Gate. Of course, such an attack won’t be tolerated and the intruder must be forced back and out of the City of Splendors. While fixing destroyed protection sigils, Gale, wizard prodigy and heir of the Dekarios Clan, meets a charming stranger called Astarion. And Gale makes the biggest mistake of his life; he invites the pale elf into his home.

Trigger warning (18+): graphic description of sex, graphic description of violence and torture, non-con/rape, manipulation, derogatory language, gore, vomiting, PTSD responses, angst, emotional rollercoaster, mobster AU

Additional trigger warning: dead dove don’t eat, seriously, folks, this isn’t a pretty chapter!

I was inspired to start writing this fic when I saw this artwork by @arczism

In the game, the inscription on Astarion's gravestone reads "Astarion Ancunín: 229 – 268 DR", thus, he died and was turned at the age of 39 (which is very young for an elf since they claim adulthood and an adult name at 100 and can live up to 750 years)

According to D&D lore, elves rarely sleep (usually only to heal from illnesses, wounds, or severe exhaustion) and prefer to go into reverie, a meditative trance-like state that has sleep-like effects.

This is obviously an AU that isn't related to my other work.

Astarion had made his decision. Still, he was scared shitless of the consequences. His whole body trembled as he entered Cazador's safe house. There was no point in running and hiding, his master would find him anywhere anyway. Astarion swallowed down the bile that threatened to come up and entered the dining room. As expected, Cazador sat on his chair, skimming through some reports and notes.

"Where's the wizard?" he wanted to know without looking up from his work.

"I –" Astarion interlaced his trembling fingers. "I can't do it, Master. I don't want to."

"You don't want to?" Cazador finally lifted his glaring gaze, staring daggers at his spawn. "What gave you the impression that you can choose what you do? Aren't you old enough to know that that's not an option? Haven't I punished you enough already?"

Astarion started to shake even more.

"I wanted to do it, Master, I really did at first, but then..."

"Then what, boy?"

"I..." Astarion screwed his eyes shut, bit his lip, and lowered his head.

He couldn't say it. If he said it, Cazador would –

"Oh, I see... oh, you poor thing." His master laughed cruelly. "You caught feelings, didn't you? You always were the romantic innocent. Well, I don't blame you, you were still so young when I made you mine."

Cazador stood up and sauntered over. Astarion prepared himself for the surely occurring pain. But, instead of hitting him, his master, stroke his cheek. Confused, Astarion blinked and looked up at him.

"Master, I'm sorry," he croaked out.

"Sorry for what, boy? For disobeying me, or for falling in love with the heir of the Dekarios Clan?"

"Both."

Cazador laughed again and said: "Maybe, if you wouldn't have a heart, you wouldn’t lose it."

Astarion's eyes widened in fear.

"No... Master, please..."

"Shut your mouth, pet, and follow me downstairs," ordered the vampire lord and his spawn immediately felt himself obey. Over his shoulder, Cazador snarled: “You reek of the wizard. It’s disgusting.”

If Astarion hadn't been so frightened, he would have been gleeful. But instead, he silently trailed his maker. The basement looked rather similar to the kennels in the palace.

"Now... what's to do with you, my dense little pet?" thought Cazador aloud in a sing-song-y way. Astarion couldn't say anything since the received command prevented him from speaking. But it wasn't necessary anyways, Cazador loved to hear himself talk. As he walked along the wall, inspecting all the different torture devices, he continued his speech. "I am disappointed in you, of course, but you know that I love to hear you scream. From all my spawns, you're the one who sounds sweetest." A whimper got stuck in Astarion's throat. "And your heart, pet... your heart's the culprit of your disobedience. We must change that." Cazador turned around to stared his spawn down. "Undress and get on the table. Your romantic, fluttering heart must be punished."

Astarion felt sick to the stomach, but he had to follow orders. He shed his clothes, climbed onto the table, and lay down on his back. Meanwhile, Cazador collected what he needed and walked up to the table.

"The heart's a fickle thing, isn't it?" he said in a conversational tone. "It's full of emotion and can break so easily, but at the same time, it keeps a body alive. Well, only if one has a living body, of course." The vampire lord took a scalpel and carefully carved a small circle onto the other elf's chest. "Astarion..." Oh, Gods, not the use of the first name! That was never a good sign. "How old were you when I turned you? You can speak again."

"Thirty-nine," the addressed croaked out.

"And were you in love then?"

"Yes."

"How did that feel?"

"Good," whispered the vampire spawn with tears pricking his eyes. "Loving someone made me happy."

"Hmm..." Cazador looked thoughtful. "Your heart was always a troublemaker. It's time, we take a look at it. Do scream, pet. I want to hear your sweet, sweet cries."

And with that, the vampire lord took the bigger knife and started to carve Astarion's chest open. The latter screamed, of course he did, but he couldn't move otherwise, held down by his master's order.

"Good," praised Cazador while prying open his spawn's thorax further. "Good, boy. Scream for me."

Involuntarily, Astarion shouted himself hoarse while Cazador shoved his hand into his open torso, picked up his heart and carefully moved it outside.

"Here, boy, hold your own heart in your hands," ordered the vampire lord. "Look at it closely."

Astarion took the organ from Cazador and yelled when the latter helped him into a sitting position.

"Now, look at it and tell me what you see."

Tears were running down Astarion's face as he obeyed.

"I see my heart."

"And what is it?"

"Dead," wept the spawn. "My heart's dead, Master."

"Exactly," purred Cazador and stroke the other elf's hair tenderly. "And as we all know, a dead heart is incapable of love." He kept stroking Astarion's hair while the latter cried and held his own bloody heart in his hands. "But you couldn't have known, of course," mused Cazador. "You were still a child when I made you mine. You never learned to separate love and sex." He kissed his spawn's ear. "Therefore, you cannot know that the wizard doesn't love you. He loves your body, naturally, but he doesn't love you. You confused lust with love, my poor little foolish pet." Astarion sobbed and his maker licked up the tears, revelling in his spawn's pain. "But I'm the one who knows the difference and I'm the one who knows who you truly are. I know you inside out – literally and figuratively speaking." Cazador gently lifted the other elf's chin up to look at his tear-stained face. "You're such a pretty little thing, Astarion, and I'm the only one who truly loves you." The vampire lord kissed his spawn and the latter wanted to retch. "Now, behave, and look at your heart until I put it back where it belongs."

"Yes, Master," answered Astarion hollowly.

He was left in the basement for hours, so, he sat there as ordered, with his head bowed, his dead heart in his hands, and tears streaming down his face.

After Cazador had finally put Astarion's heart back into his chest, and had sewed up the flesh with rough stitches, the vampire spawn was left alone again as he felt into an exhausted restorative trance.

When Astarion woke up hours later, his skin was healed and his bones only hurt a bit, but he still felt bruised and unwell. Nevertheless, he was summoned upstairs. The vampire spawn walked into the dining hall where Cazador already sat on his pompous chair, drinking from a gold chalice. The colourful paint layers on the window glass were thick enough to keep the daylight out, but one could still see that the sun was shining. Cazador pointed at the chair on the very end of the table and ordered: "Sit, boy."

Astarion obeyed.

"You surely must be hungry after your little lesson, aren't you?"

"Yes, Master," the vampire spawn answered dutifully. It was true though; his stomach hurt and his fangs itched.

"Well then." Cazador clapped his hands and Aurelia walked in with a covered silver platter in her hands. "Because you were such a well-behaved pet, you get a reward."

"Thank you, Master," said Astarion, hoping that the rat was at least only half-rotten. The vampire lord smirked.

"Enjoy your meal, boy."

The cover was lifted off the silver platter, revealing a heap of fur. Calico fur.

"No..." Astarion's stomach churned. "Master, please, no." The tears blurred his vision as he looked up at Cazador who nonchalantly sat at the head of the table, sipping at his chalice of blood.

"What's the matter, boy? It's just an animal. Eat your reward."

"It's a thinking creature," whispered Astarion while stroking the unconscious tressym's fur. Cazador chuckled darkly.

"I don't think it is. Now, feed, boy, or you'll feel sorry."

Astarion felt sick to the stomach as he lifted the animal off the silver platter, just as it started to stir. The tressym stared at him with big, confused eyes, and miaowed.

"Forgive me, Tara," cried the vampire spawn and bit down on the tressym's neck. The latter yowled and hissed, and Astarion sobbed while he took his first gulp. As soon as he'd swallowed, he felt the telltale stabbing pain in his skull that he got whenever he defied his master. The vampire spawn reared back, gagged, bent sideways, and vomited.

"Ugh... Gods..." he groaned and dry-heaved.

"What –?" Cazador jumped off his pompous chair. "I ordered you to feed, boy!"

"I tried, I can't," whined Astarion. "I physically can't. Master, please..."

"Hand me that wretched thing! I'll kill it myself!" roared Cazador and sped over like a fury. Despite trembling in fear, Astarion clutched Tara to his chest protectively.

"No!"

"'No'?" The vampire lord narrowed his piercing eyes at him. "Astarion..." Oh, no. Oh, Gods, please, no. "Must I remind you how it feels like to be flayed?" The addressed whimpered. "Must I remind you how much I enjoy hearing your sweet cries? If you don't hand me that thing in an instant, I'll make sure you regret it bitterly." Astarion wanted to throw up again, but his stomach was empty. Cazador smiled at him cruelly and coldly. "Now... hand it to me, or else..."

Tara growled angrily, fluffing up her fur, but because she was still pressed against Astarion's chest, she couldn't unfurl her wings. The vampire spawn swallowed and came to a conclusion.

"Shit," he whimpered, hating himself for his decision. His master looked pleased. And then, Astarion jumped up, hurled a fireball towards the windows – even though he was punished with a pounding headache, because he disobeyed his master's order regarding spellcasting – and threw Tara out of the resulting opening into the blinding sunlight.

"You fool! I'll make you pay for this, boy!"

Astarion was shoved onto the floor and straight into the strip of sunlight that fell through the damaged window. It burned. The blinding pain was like nothing he'd experienced before. Astarion screamed as he writhed on the marble floor. He could feel his skin blister and flake off. By the Hells, this was almost worse than being flayed while conscious.

Finally, Astarion was pulled back into the shadows.

At least, Gale has his beloved Tara back, he thought while staring up at the ceiling.

But, instead of being dragged back to the basement, Cazador stared him down and ordered: "As soon as the sun goes down, you'll go back and bring me Gale Dekarios. Kill anyone who gets in your way."

Oh, no.

Astarion felt how his master's order took control over him. His body straightened and his still sizzling face lifted up haughtily.

"Yes, Master," he heard himself say.

"Good," growled Cazador. "Now, follow me, boy."

Astarion had to obey and trailed him to the bedroom.

"Strip and lay down."

"Yes, Master."

Astarion's mind screamed and writhed, but he had to comply. He was disgusted. Cazador leaned over him, grinning sharply.

"My dense little pet still hasn't learned a thing," he scolded viciously. "Be glad you're so pretty and I'm so gracious."

There was nothing gracious about Cazador, but Astarion kept quiet. His master inserted two fingers into him and made a face when they came out covered in oil and Gale's spent.

"You disgust me, little whore," spat the vampire lord. "But you are mine."

He freed his cock and pushed into his spawn. Astarion cried out, arching off the bed.

"What a lovely sight," taunted Cazador. "As I told you; I'm the only one who truly loves you."

And with these words, he buried his fangs in Astarion's neck, right where he'd already marked him as his property two hundred years ago. The vampire spawn sobbed. Cazador drew back, teeth dripping with red, and kissed Astarion viciously. The latter's burnt face hurt, but it couldn't keep him from moaning at the taste of his own blood and Cazador's perfectly sharp thrusts against his prostate. His master stared daggers at him.

"Who do you belong to, pet?" he asked.

"Gale," whispered Astarion, trembling in fear and pleasure.

"What?" Cazador's eyes flashed with anger. "Who do you belong to?"

"Gale," his spawn moaned, much louder this time.

"You dare to –"

"Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep."

"Silence!"

Cazador smashed their lips together again, biting down on Astarion's tongue to lick the blood off. His spawn moaned, rolling his hips up. Snarling, the vampire lord sunk his teeth back into Astarion's neck to drink more. To mark what was his.

"Gale," his spawn moaned sweetly. "Gale. Gale. Gale!"

And to his utter horror, Cazador realised that, for the first time since being turned, his spawn climaxed without his aid or command. The vampire lord stared at Astarion's orgasm-drunk face and roared: " Thou art mine!"

He slammed his hips into his spawn, spilling his cold seeds into him. Astarion only moaned, muttering: "Gale..."

And Cazador wasn't sure if he wanted to rip his spawn's throat out, or break down crying. His favourite pet wasn't his anymore. He had lost it to a mere human, to that godsdamned wizard of Waterdeep.

"When I kill him, you're mine again," Cazador stated. He was appalled that his voice was shaking. "Bring me the wizard, boy, cost what it may."

Astarion's blistered face turned into a lazy smile.

"Yes, Master."

[outofangband]

Silmarillion and Sleep and Dream Thoughts Part One

So I have my post on complex trauma and sleep in general but I wanted to share more thoughts with example ideas as well as cultural concepts of nightmares

This could not encompass every culture obviously and I want to make another one with more specific character headcanons so please feel free to request!

-References to specific nightmares are relatively few in the Silm and related texts. There is Idril’s nightmare of Eärendil’s death, Túrin’s fever dreams, Húrin’s uneasy nightmare filled sleep in The Wanderings, and a few other instances of uneasy sleep or nightmarish visions, including some prophetic ones

Some general thoughts

-I talked about elven states of consciousness here! And that goes a bit into different dream states. In short, I believe that while Irmo is the master of visions, not all nighttime dreams are attributed to him or his Maiar (though it might be believed that it is due originally to their Song that these exist), one reason why elves distinguish between a variety of dream states and states of consciousness.

-Lucid dreaming is more common in the elves and practices involving it are done by many cultural groups including the Vanyar, Doriath Sindar, some Avari groups, and some of the Nandor.

-Nightmares of trauma plague the first elves, both who went to Aman and those who stayed. Some believed them to be an aspect of Morgoth’s dark powers rather than an effect of the lasting fear of them

-Elves seem to be able to go into a sort of half sleep where they can continue to move and function while part of their mind are shut down. I will be distinguishing between this and traditional sleepwalking which is not a conscious choice

-On that note traditional sleepwalking is fairly uncommon among the elves and is viewed differently by different cultural groups, some viewing it as a sign or warning, others as something inherently disordered. 

-Interpretation of dreams and even what sort of dream is significant also varies among cultures 

 Language thoughts:

-There are no known words created by Tolkien himself in any of his languages for nightmares (though there are words for dreaming, day dreaming, and visions) so these are my headcanons

-Each elven language has a word for frightening or upsetting dreams. Most have more than one and many distinguish between frightening dreams that could potentially warn of a future incident and ones that are unpleasant reminders of the past though obviously these are not mutually exclusive

-The Noldor have words for anxiety dreams around crafts and projects as well as for restlessness that comes from having to sleep when work is unfinished 

-Some of the Avari have specific words for dreams without any speech or elven figures in them

-Bëorian and Hadorian Taliska have words for dreams that invoke fear specifically that are usually meant to mean dreams of being chased, pursued or attacked. The language of the Halidan has more words for a variety of dreams including words for nightmares that cause sleepwalking and dreams not remembered. Many have a negative connotation similar to words for illness. All have a word for dreams one remembers only vaguely or from emotions. Several of these words come from Silvan dialects and the language they spoke in the East

Angband Related Things:

-I’ve talked about the Maiar of Námo and Irmo who were recruited or taken by Melkor before and it is due in part to their influence and spell work that sleep is so disrupted for prisoners within the fortress. True dreams for example are extremely rare and often heavily controlled.

-Former prisoners of Angband obviously suffer nightmares. Their sleep tends to be disordered and sleepwalking and talking are much more common. Many come to fear their sleeping hours and take precautions during them to avoid encounters with others (I’ve spoken for example about Maedhros despising sleeping near others especially ones he does not know because of what he might say in his sleep or act in the twilight between sleep and wake) Others have the opposite and hate sleeping alone, becoming acutely aware of the shadows and darkness around them, suffering paranoia and insomnia. 

-Many, especially those who had been slaves in the mines, experience panic upon waking over the fear that they should not have slept or have slept in the wrong place, the punishment for either within Angband being an awful one

-Sleep is an area where there is a lot of stigma and mistrust regarding captives. Those who return under the will of Morgoth often are described as being sleepwalkers (a translation for a term I made up that is neither the half sleep of elves or traditional sleepwalking but something in between)

Other:

The exact nature of elven foresight is somewhat unclear from the books. According to Laws and Customs of the Eldar, elven mothers often give their children names from their own foresight of their fate and there are numerous instances of visions, premonitions and dreams that predict or hint at the future as well as more explicit examples such as with Galadriel in The Lord of the Rings. 

For humans, it’s even more complicated. 

Does Huor have prophetic dreams or visions? His final words to Turgon, “from you and me, a new star shall arise” obviously foreshadows the fact that from his line and Turgon’s, Eärendil will be born and eventually become a star point in the sky. No explanation is given in the text for this and whether it is dramatic irony or textual foreshadowing or if Huor is truly capable of seeing or knowing into the future. 

To be continued 

[gremlintiny]

Defender (1)

~Everything here is just a work fiction. Every person, place, institution, event and etc. is not a representation of any of the real ones. Written purely for entertainment.~

Word count: ~5800

Genre: lore, mystery, alternative universe

Warnings: mild angst (yet), unnoticed loneliness, hidden information from OC/MC, illness, mentions of latin names (I'm sorry, I had to-)

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After several days of migraine, nausea, vomiting and fever, Mikaela could finally spend a day without strong symptoms of his sickness while learning about the structure of the human brain. It was indeed a nerve-wrecking subject which still had solvable mysteries in it and many thought that they would be the one to find an answer to at least one of them in the future.

Mika was like that too. He hoped to discover something new, something significant to engrave his name into the history books of Strictland. Although when he shared this information with a faint smile on his face, his colleague looked at him with a puzzled expression and told him not to smile again. When he thought about it later, also remembering what he was taught in school several years ago, he recalled that it was a sign of an emotion, ‘happiness’. He didn’t even notice it until the other party mentioned the fact that he was showing something like a ‘feeling’. It came naturally, but he didn’t feel what the books described. Although it went somehow like ‘happiness is nothing but a trick to distract our precious mind from trying to gain more knowledge’ which sounded kind of awful when one wanted to become a known researcher.

So, he tried not to think about meaningless things when he finally could rest and train his ‘precious organ’ without having to fight against the virus. It was pretty exhausting to work like that too, being completely isolated and he was only allowed to go in to do crucial parts of the progress. Pig and chicken neurons won’t measure themselves and produce enough ingredients to work, will they?

When he finished a part about the eighth, vestibulocochlear nerve, he got up to make some nutritious supper while listening to the radio’s news. He usually paid attention to the evening programme, mainly because he had the most time in that interval and he developed this habit.

Hearing that nothing unordinary happened, besides people making bad or reasonable decisions again, he went back to his book to continue the previous topic. It was timely as well, since most of his migraine was located next to his nerve VIII. He only scoffed a little silently because he had no problems with his hearing and the doctors assured him that his health should be restored after a few days or maybe 1-2 weeks of rest, at max. It had nothing to do with his brain nerves.

Soon, the young man felt sleepiness creeping up to him. He finished the current part (“The colliculus inferior and cell types”), put down the now closed book and headed straight to the shower.

In fact, he was a man of habits. He woke up around the same time every day and went to bed in the evening as well, after eating a meal that won’t upset his body or brain. He had to work six days a week which meant he could only improve his knowledge about human anatomy in his little free time, so he tried to use all of it to the maximum extent. He needed to provide enough energy to his body to function effectively, therefore he rarely forgot to eat or drink, although he had to pay extra attention to his posture, which tended to be similar to the Pandulus borealis, aka the northern prawn’s shape.

He also liked talking to himself. Pretty much. Even in his workplace, but fortunately, his colleagues were sort of maximalists as well, so they didn't pay much attention to him and they didn’t have to spend 10 hours together inside one room either. The separation and required workaholic mindset solved this problem. It didn’t help Mikaela take good care of his throat though, even the intelligent scientist wondered sometimes why his vocal chords hurt when he excused himself after clearing his throat.

When something wasn’t going right or was distracting to his mind, he got somewhat disoriented that wasn’t left unnoticed by the others around him. A researcher suggested once a ‘mental disorder’ test, that ‘can analyse up to 200+ diseases with a high accuracy’. Mikaela declined this rather too pushy offer and just practised staying rational in those weird situations.

During his quick, cold shower, he was thinking about his life. He went through it from time to time, just to imagine himself as a lead doctor in the Academy’s main laboratory. It always caused a convenient biochemical reaction in his body. As he was a scientist himself, he tested this in the office with the most equipment. He did this during a short break instead of going for a walk in the simple garden so he only had time to check the dopamine and cortisol levels. The first was higher than what was written in his medical report and the latter one was lower.

He didn’t even notice the small smile sitting on his lips as he put his toothbrush back to its place after finishing the fancy thought and walked to the bed with a bottle of water in his hand. A newspaper awaited him on his nightstand that included the happenings in his area. He speedily ran though some pages but nothing significant was in it. His gaze lingered around the pictures of some rebellious individuals and a photo collection of a new historical event. He swore to visit it when it opened and he had a day off before putting the paper down and steadily slipping into the territory of sleeping.

His first, supposedly freshly healed day started off with another headache. Although it was different from the ones haunting him during his illness, it still left Mikaela in a less organised state. At least it disappeared right after he drank a shot of the usual whole body ‘booster’ dosage, as some called it.

He ate a protein rich breakfast, packed his lunch and the prescribed immunity system support tablets, then he walked to the institute. Most workers lived a few blocks away in order to make it easier to approach the building. Generally, people had to stay near the place they had to visit almost every day, such as the office or the factory. This way, the government saved a lot of money, just as the residents. It was only rational like this.

The day was pretty normal, Mikaela didn’t have to stop as many times as he thought he would and most of his coworkers greeted him with professionalism, although some seemed to behave differently. Since he didn’t have to meet those often, he simply didn’t think about it more. They were probably either scared of getting ill as well or thought it was wrongful to let somebody rest this much without giving them a warning.

His research was going more or less well, most of his material was kept neatly and his absence only caused them to have more time to adjust to the new environment. Not like it meant anything, many scientists just leave their subjects alone to die without having to use anything and still collecting data from them. Yet, Mikaela couldn’t really agree with them. His main test substances were cells, mostly neurons from different animals but he couldn’t bring himself to just let them perish from not getting enough one of their primary needs.

After all, his job was at that time to grow organoids to run different kinds of experiments on them to discover what part of them reacts to various factors which could happen to the real organism. He had heard about a person two days ago in another section of the company who was assigned with the lead team in studying ‘emotions’ and how to stop their harmful effects. The fact that he was almost completely separated from the others was the really strange part of the news. Despite that it was probably because he could focus more on the research and the chance of distractions or reactions was lowered significantly. He had to be a pretty remarkable person, since usually only one person got this promotion out of a hundred chosen scientists a year.

Mikaela was inspired to work harder from that point on to achieve that title too. By this driving thought, he continued planning out several tests to perform after the current one ended. Or if he got the permission to start another one in the meantime, during it. Many were running at least two experiments at the same time to have results ready faster, but only those got authorization who proved themselves worthy and collected enough to divide their attention. Or, more like, divide their time into two or more segments and they only focus on the one they wanted to, then jump into the other task with full force.

This section’s main commission was to examine livestock and other useful animals to enhance their nutrition score, then with the additional time and money, to provide more information about their nervous system, hormones and yet not 100% known regions.

This is how Mikaela got his job. He specialised in the human brain, but his knowledge was proven worth in this field as well because his goal object in his tender was to improve the encephalon’s nutrient uptake that can help with mental performance based on the support of the modification of molecules found in food.

Still, his thirst for human anatomy was not fulfilled with only reading and watching detailed videos of it. He wanted more. It is why he pursued a long-wanted dream of his, especially after he had just heard that somebody was randomly promoted to such a crucial position.

Maybe this is why his next week was spent mainly in the institution, under the artificial lights’ cold touch. But he wasn’t really different from the people working there, he was used to this environment and found purpose in it. If the particular test was successful or could at least give him some new information. Naturally, it was an impossible task since most experiments will be a failure at first, and only after some tries, can it be fruitful and stay consistent. Or one might have to give up that specific test for some time, if it is proven impossible at the moment.

Despite that it seemed like Mikaela’s efforts were rewarded with more and more answers, he still had a long way to go. But that day, he sensed something. He was a little bit more sloppy than before, less efficient and his mind occasionally wanted to turn itself off, like it got tired of thinking so much. But it has been functioning like this for decades, what’s the meaning behind the change?

The silent evening reading sessions were getting worse and worse too. Mikaela felt like his head was going to burst if he looked at one more paragraph in the suddenly thick looking book. He still enjoyed knowing more and not so common facts, but the dry, monotonous hours made him exhausted sooner than normally.

He began wondering, was this the aftereffect of the virus? He even questioned it at the appropriate person but he was reassured of being physically fine and it might be just a sign of retirement. Mika blinked a few times at this, because he was not used to these ‘bad jokes’ as some scientists called this kind of behaviour. After the explanation, he left with an even heavier chest - which has never happened before.

Fortunately, a few things could actually help to make this weight vanish. He listened more to the radio’s news and read more papers about not only scientific topics, but everyday events. Making food got longer as it was easier to do too instead of learning. He hasn’t abandoned his habits though, everything was going similarly with some changes in the activities.

Next day, he had to visit the industrial doctor because all of the colleagues he met informed him how pale he was. Even though he didn’t recognise any physical abnormality, the only strange thing was the supposedly existing pressure on his sternum and costae. He told this the medic as soon he was asked about any pain in his upper body, excluding his heart and head. An unidentified light flashed through her eyes, immediately disappearing after half a second.

Mikaela had to be discharged without any concrete results because she couldn’t find anything wrong either, but she looked like she wanted to say one more thing before letting the man go. In the end, she just closed her mouth, took a deeper breath and told him to be careful, it might be only some exhaustion but it could also mean a much worse disease.

With these weird words, his concentration dropped again. He didn’t even finish his lunch, the same type he eats everyday, destroying it to the last bite usually. ‘What’s wrong with my properly calculated portion? Did I make a mistake while making it? Or were the eggs larger, perhaps?’ Mikaela thought as he was stimulating a chicken heart organoid which was commissioned by another food processing company’s head assistant. A few important sponsors and patrons liked eating chicken heart containing meals as it had a convenient bite size and nutritious, ideal to consume regularly. In fact, Mikaela was also a fan of them since he could include them easily in his diet, although he didn’t do it that often. He preferred chicken breast, fish and eggs for some reason.

Seeing how the little heart reacted to different signals, did not help his appetite. He tried to suppress the thoughts of him being defective with the explanation of ‘I have used this ingredient in my own meals, and we get too many orders over the last years in connection with chickens. It is repetitive and not a real challenge.’ Another word popped into his mind as he was chasing away the other ones. ‘Boring’. He remembered it from a distant memory where a kid was saying it elongated. It happened probably during a lesson because an older voice lectured the child quickly. Being bored literally means the person feels a defined emotion and can express it as well. Which is pretty bad around here.

Luckily, a newcomer’s question broke him off this train of thoughts. The man has just finished learning in Prestige Academy and was already accepted for this government job as a full-time working researcher at the ‘human emotions’ fraction. He had to show more of his best to be able to stay there. But what was he doing here, again?

“Excuse me Mikaela-ssi, but I have been given the task of checking on workers who were forced to take a sick leave. I only have a few questions to ask, may you have the time for this quick survey at the moment?” The younger one was not too organised, maybe he hasn’t gone to many people yet. Even though his section is far away from Mikaela’s... There were probably only a few cases in the last month, nothing else.

“Sure, just give me a minute to put my equipment into a sterilising chamber.” The Gallus gallus domesticus organoid observing male did it promptly and neatly to secure the normal depuration. “Thank you for your patience, I can pay attention now without a problem.”

“Thank you too. First question; are all of the symptoms gone or do you still notice some changes in your health?” Mikaela of course answered honestly, even mentioning the light weight feeling on his chest. He didn’t see the same unknown light in the other one’s eyes appearing too, as it did in the doctor's.

“Okay. This is not uncommon in the cases of getting infected with a virus still in the testing phase, unfortunately. Second question; have you felt any changes in your work or everyday life?” It was a slightly strange thing to ask. The context was right but something simply wasn’t on track fully, although Mikaela couldn’t wrap his head around this matter.

He had to give an appropriate response though. “Well, truth to be told, only smaller ones. The biggest change is getting exhausted faster than before, but I also had to rearrange my schedule at home a little bit.”

“Could you elaborate more on the altered schedule?” Was heard the sudden interjection of the younger man. Mikaela had to blink twice to react quickly.

“Yes, of course. For example, the duration of making food got longer and I read more news instead of scientific books. I still do the latter one as well, but not as much as previously. My habits stayed the same nonetheless.” He tried to answer earnestly but the weight got somewhat heavier on his upper body.

The other party only nodded, finally looking away to write it down on his sheet. “I see, thank you.” The strange glow flickered. “Third question, based on your previous response; have you seen or heard anything in the news that was outstanding in any way?”

Mikaela’s head started to hurt, yet again. “No, not really. It’s more like I find the news more appealing after working.” Why would any of them stand out? It didn’t sound necessary to his illness and healing process.

The survey contained a few more questions, as he could tell by glancing at the paper secretly. “Okay. Fourth one; has anybody, who looks unreliable, approached you?” Mika simply said no since he didn’t know anymore what kind of questions were these.

“Thank you. Last one; what do you feel in general?” Did he make a mistake when looking at the sheet and there weren’t more questions in reality?

The older one had to blink more before answering. “My physical conditions are normal, I am able to do my daily exercises as well without serious problems and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with my immune system either.” That not promising light got weaker at the end of Mikaela’s sentence in the other’s iris. One couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.

The newbie nodded a bigger one and finished writing. “Thank you very much for your cooperation and time, Mikaela-ssi. You will receive your report within two days.” He almost stepped away before stopping his movement. “Ah, and have a nice day.” 

Mikaela’s head tilted faintly to the right without him noticing. “Ah, thank you for your time as well and… have a nice day. Is it another practice at the Human Emotions Department?”

The younger one’s moderately narrowed eyes weren't overlooked by the blue-eyed person. Even if he didn’t have any clue what they meant. “Something similar. Goodbye.” And the newcomer was already walking away, leaving a rapidly blinking Mikaela behind in the laboratory.

Something was off. He could tell, but had no idea what. Experiencing two similar things during the same day was almost impossible to be a simple coincidence. As the figure completely disappeared, Mika quickly noted down everything they had said and tried to write down what happened at the nursery too. He might encounter more strange events in the future and he can connect the dots - if there are any.

Concentrating on his project was almost useless with these new, odd phenomenas in his mind. Fortunately, he only had two hours left until his clocking out so he finished the important parts and left almost right away. In fact, he usually went home late after the end of his working hours but he hoped nobody would take it as a sign of something bad. He just needs more time after the long break. That is why they have to do these tests on him. To make sure he can continue working as an efficient person.

With many racing thoughts in his head, he headed home. Even went for a longer walk to improve his physical health even sooner, and to clear out anything that had been restricting him these days.

He couldn’t recall where this idea came from. Was it in a health related article or in a newspaper’s biology section? He only seemed to remember a blurry picture of a paper, with a running man on it. His mind was failing him once again, he usually could recite what he read a few days ago, but this time, it was just like a part of a dream.

He shrugged it off as he started walking faster, which felt exceptionally great at the moment. The air wasn’t contaminated as much as it usually was on weekdays, said the report coming from the speakers on the walls. Somebody was always on duty, telling the latest and most important events to keep the citizens updated. It was a first class way to have everything as organised as it can be, for example, proficiently preventing accidents.

After a good half an hour walk, he returned to his home to rest as well. Mikaela quickly took a detour to the store before that to restock the ingredients he uses the most and to buy more immune system supporting ones. Those ones aren’t his exact type but he knew some recipes to make use of them. They were also more expensive.

Arriving at the flat, he immediately headed to the kitchen after washing his hands and face. First thing first, the soup - an abundant soup of vegetables and collagen rich bones and meat. He made it extra spicy since certain ones, like ginger, can really boost the body when it’s needed. The second meal was a stranger one, but he had a weird taste to begin with. He prepared spinach and salmon, and tried to top it with fresh lemon juice and plump but he rather put it aside for his tea after the filling dinner. Ginger tea and lemon go with each other, if one’s taste buds like them.

The black haired man had to collapse into his sofa to avoid sleeping on the floor or at the table. Had to pay more attention to his posture too, and turning into a new life form with a bent back wasn’t his goal. He slowly turned on the radio to have something to listen to as he closed his eyelids.

He didn’t even make an attempt to fool himself. He was way too tired to properly process what they are saying in the show. Was it the weather cast? Or the news? Or an informative one? The last thing he heard was something about ‘black piranhas’ or what and his brain suddenly jumped into the darkness.

Around three hours later, he suddenly got woken up by a random noise, although Mikaela wasn’t sure that it wasn’t only in his dreams as he dreamt about him being clumsy in the laboratory. Don’t let an elephant into a porcelain shop, he thought to himself as he tried blinking and rubbed his face. His sleepy mind randomly recalled a saying that his parents usually told him in his childhood.

Since it was already evening, he quickly washed the dishes, put the remaining food into the fridge for tomorrow and after, if it lasted, then went to grab the vacuum cleaner. As he finished his usual routine, because he needed it to keep order in his apartment, the man with light coloured irises was eyeing the mop as well. He really didn’t feel like doing it pshysically, but it was time to wipe the floor shiny. With a strong exhale, he began the operation.

Don’t squish all of the water out, let it wet the consistent dirt, it will soak it in anyway and one can just easily swipe with the mop and it’s gone. If not, repeat the process until one's eyes get dry from staring at that one spot too intensely to make sure it’s really not there anymore. For the naked eye, at least.

The poor radio was still saying its things in the background while the male was tidying as fast as a dying coral. A woman with a high pitched but somehow smooth voice told the audience about the new achievements in nanotechnology, then a man was interviewed who was a professional in hearing implants. The next member on this show introduced himself as a soon-to-be doctor who is currently studying and practising to be a special ophthalmologist, determined to bring light into more and more people’s nervous system through an artificial ‘eye’.

Despite these topics being pretty interesting, Mikaela had to concentrate on doing his chores and he only listened to it half as well as typically. He noticed a faint pain on the side of his head when he finally sat down, but it had been there for minutes, based on the stage of the physical feeling. Did it appear during the nanotechnology results’ short but compact summary or was it when the next one started talking about the diversity of problems that can cause the hearing to deteriorate and the many reasons behind the complete loss of it?

Because he could only try to measure the time accurately, he gave up on determining the exact time and wrote “Was doing normal household chores and didn’t notice it right away. Estimated headache duration: 20-35 minutes.” down in his ‘Health check’ notebook.

The whole flat was looking glamorous, he even cleaned the blinders. One can not be careful enough when it comes down to respiratory problems caused by dust or mould, although it was already the middle of spring.

Plopping on the sofa again, he exhaustedly glanced at the book he was reading in the last few days, then the newspaper, with all thoughts lost. It was soon time to sleep, why bother with doing it? ‘Maybe the paper, that should be fine before showering, I only have less than half an hour to do anything…’ He said to himself in his mind.

However, after a long and deep sigh, he grabbed the print and thudded back into the seat, sitting as normally as he could to help his spine, respiratory and digestive system. At least this was his excuse. Soon, his eyes widened a little bit as he was reading the articles. The young man found one about the human emotion cancelling program where a previous beggar, who even used drugs, successfully became a doctor in cardiac surgery.

The whole situation was exceptional, because they usually get dragged to the disposal site to make one last use of them. But a bunch of lucky ones got the chance to live another life, as a working and ordinary person in this society. If it could continue in the future, more and more lost minds could be integrated back to the public as normal people. Isn’t it the most reasonable solution to this problem?

But one shouldn’t run right into a good looking wall, head on, as soon as something new happens. It will take a long time and a lot of persuasion to actually achieve this goal. Endless hours of paperwork, permissions, approvals, results, presentations, public opinion, countless subjects and still, nothing would be guaranteed. Maybe the said person who graduated as a doctor, had already been at university for years but something caused him to quit it and the downfall began. What if the majority of those people hasn’t even put their feet into a school building or they aren’t even motivated the slightest to change?

Mikaela then moved onto the next news, because thinking about this wasn’t his job yet, despite the goals of his. His brain couldn’t process the first sentence as he was still brooding over this possibility and the thought of a new application to work in that department.

The light eyed one had to read it again because of that, of course. Then he just blinked quickly a few more times. The article was about a criminal organisation who wanted to spread the disease - human emotions. They call themselves the “Black Pirates” and they are overly dangerous since they would even use violence to make the residents of Strictland feel those threatening things. The writer included the known pictures of the main members, eight men, dressed in black, as the name suggested. If anybody sees them, they have to report it right away so the community can stop an epidemic of human emotions that might even end this world.

Mika stopped blinking faster than he usually does but at the same time, he didn’t notice his brows getting knitted. He found it absolutely irrational to cause the society to fall over some ‘feelings’ that can even hinder people. He was completely okay as a normal, emotionless person, working a useful and brain training job before going home to make food, read interesting books and news. Imagining the havoc it would cause if he tried to spread this theoretical disease made him shake his head as a sign of disapproval.

The man rather just finished reading the article, then jumped onto the next one to stop his mind running around this topic. What a useless thing to do if they could just live their lives in this paradise where everything is in order. Fortunately, the next subject was a better option to read before going to bed since it shared the results of ecological wins regarding bigger towns. A certain group gave their all in to upgrade the water system and many reported seeing the more sensitive species habiting the waters again, after decades.

The last conscious thoughts of Mikaela were about the re-education of defective ones and the walk he will take on the weekend to check on those new-old species. The rebellious gang didn’t cross his mind more than once, and only to recall the features he had to report if he saw them.

Since the weather cast had a high accuracy, he took their advice during the following days. He put aside the warmer clothes and only brought one plus sweater when he went to actually see the wildlife mentioned in the newspaper and overall the whole area as well. Mikaela made sure to carefully examine everything he wrote down in his notebook. He even added things he was able to notice, took pictures of many things to organise them later in a community group’s article. Numerous people uploaded information there to share it with the world and to document it easily.

A week later he finished this little project. He thought he had done a good job after gathering much data and comparing them to others’ studies and results. Of course, it was just a free-time programme to do but he still wanted to give his best. After all, he already had a connection to animals, why not upgrade his knowledge by spending more time in nature? It was also recommended by the main face of the health facility to go out more, which was heard on radio or on the streets and seen on the television a few times a day, but they suggested this strictly only for scientific reasons. No matter how bad the weather was.

Many went out even in a storm to collect enough information for their project. But most people spent the majority of their freetime in their blindfolded houses or flats. Mikaela didn't even know how other people lived their daily lives. Based on what he had heard from his colleagues, they spent their time similarly like him after work. 

He just shrugged his shoulders unconsciously before checking out the document for hidden mistakes and misspelt words, with his references opened on other sites. The days were grey almost all of the time anyway, there was no meaning of trying to do something more sensible. One was fine in the apartment, reading or doing chores, for example. He didn't need anything else to live and it was completely normal.

The success rate of his experiment got higher after he exercised his brain more in the afternoons, with the observation of the endangered species, the environment and reading much more of this topic on the net. His mind seemed to work perfectly again. He could breathe fine, just like before.

He didn't get any more strange surveys or questions either, so he thought he passed them and that there was no problem with him. It was simply a little aftereffect of the still not fully tested virus. The chances of him being a danger to the others were low to begin with, but when he got the last special medical report, where everything was good, he stopped thinking about it more than it was necessary to do.

His co-workers also didn't avoid him as much as during the last few weeks. He got into more conversations in scientific news or also regarding their own tests, which was a great way to improve one’s knowledge and way of seeing the world. Or, if not the world's, but a small project's that he was doing, too. Life went back to completely normal, and the weird pressure was gone from his chest too.

Mikaela stuck to his habits strictly most of the time, but he was able to be flexible about changing them or rarely even replacing one with another. The former one happened with observing the local species and reading newspapers. He didn't replace the latter though, it was simply reduced and relocated in other sessions. The subjects of his books stayed more or less the same, but he put his hands on more ecological ones to improve his view of the real universe.

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The middle-tall man was peacefully working on a new song he wanted to release soon. The pinch was decided a long time ago, but something was still missing. The problem probably lied in the rhythm of the drums itself, although he felt like something else was off.

After hours of trying to figure it out, he dropped down his pencil and smashed his head not so violently into the half wooden, half plastic desk. He truly was tired and the fact that he had been doing this painful, not so fruitful brainstorming for days straight during the nights after work, did not exactly help the man.

He exhaustedly glanced at his phone which showed him three unread messages from his brother, whom he hadn't seen for probably two months now. The thin figure slowly regained his power to sit sort of normally and answered the other one.

His brother wanted to meet him before the male and his group had to go on another tour, again, and also, maybe even to go home for a family lunch. The sleepily blinking one felt his chest getting tighter, his throat getting stuffed with a non-existent material and he just made one blink longer to think it through.

True, he will have time after next week. Yes, that could be just fine. Meeting his beloved ones might even charge him up a little bit. After fighting the urge to actually fall asleep, he typed it down to his brother, who was pretty happy based on his unsually qiuck reply.

The younger one smiled, with much love in it, and told the older sibling that he will go now to sleep, finally. The other man urged him to do it, half-jokingly scolding him for torturing himself like this again, and again. But both of them knew that the musician loved doing his job, with all his might and would even fight the whole world to bring this sensations to others.