#I have also been preparing this for posting upon the new year... which. well. has now arrived :'D

[sl-ut]

princess of the north

in case i dont end up posting again over the holidays, i just wanna say i hope everyone has a great holiday season and a very very happy new year!!!!

pairing: cregan stark x fem!targtower!pregnant!reader

description: cregan has grown older and happier throughout his years as warden of the north with his beautiful new wife at his side. however, when he married into the royal family, he had not considered how frequently he would need to interact with his in-laws. 

warnings: NO DANCE AU!!! (rhaenyra ascends the throne peacefully), weird blend of book and show timeline, slight description of character (silver hair, purple eyes, that’s it!!!), smut, reader gets pregnant like halfway through, pregnancy sex, oral, piv, SEX IN FRONT OF A FIREPLACE ON A BEARSKIN RUGGGG oml

words: 9.7K

date posted: 10/12/24

part two

The winter had been very forgiving, thank the gods. It had been remarkably short, just under eight years in total, meaning that it had come to a close with plenty of food still in storage and northerners who were more than willing and able to transition into the oncoming summer with ease. 

Winterfell was left in a generally stable state, aside from the fact that there was a greater need for livestock now that they not only had an additional mouth to feed, but also a fully grown dragon who resided in a make-shift dragonpit only a few minutes ride beyond the walls of the castle–a wedding gift that the Lord of Winterfell had prepared in anticipation of his new wife’s arrival. Otherwise, the North seemed to be in greater shape upon the dawn of this new summer than it had in all of Cregan’s years. 

The greatest of Cregan’s accomplishments, of course, was his new wife. At the beginning of the winter, he had not expected that he would be married by the end of it, but with the arrival of Prince Jaeaerys on his official tour of the realm also came his proposal of marriage between Lord Cregan and his own aunt, the youngest daughter of the late King Viserys I and his second wife, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower. He had been hesitant to consider this offer–he’d never met the woman, which was not uncommon for marriages of such high status, but he’d been fortunate enough to have been able to form some sort of friendship with his late wife prior to their union. Jace had brought along with him the terms offered by his mother, in her own hand, of course, as well as a portrait of the woman in question. 

Cregan was not above admitting how taken he’d been with the sight of the princess, even if it were only a recreation of her beauty on canvas. He’d heard of her beauty before, it was rumoured around the realm, but seeing it was entirely different, a sort of beauty he could not have imagined on his own.

“Tell me, my prince,” Cregan asked him, hardly drawing his crystal blue gaze away from the portrait, “you are her blood and have grown up with the princess, is this painting to her likeness?”

Jacaerys smirked, “Of course, Lord Stark. My aunt is known to be one of the most beautiful women ever to live.”

Cregan pursed his lips. He was aware of the strange customs of the Targaryens, having married brother to sister and uncle to niece for generations. Jacaerys could be speaking the truth, for he himself could hold some sort of affection for his aunt, but Cregan did not suspect as such. Intead, his greater question was whether Jacaerys could be lying to him out of political gain; as his mother’s envoy, it would do him no good to suggest that the artist had not accurately painted her. Her looks were of no concern to him, but he valued honour and truth over all else. If they were attempting to attract him to the deal by portraying the princess as such a beauty over anything else, he would be personally insulted to discover that he’d been lied to, a snub from the royal family would not be taken kindly by House Stark. 

“What say you?” Cregan turned to the group of men standing just to the left of the prince, all who seemed alarmed at Lord Stark’s attention being turned to them, “How do each of you vouch for the princess?”

The men, one at a time, attested to the princess’s beauty until he stood before the smallest and visibly youngest of the men.

“And you, lad?” 

“I’m afraid the portrait fails to depict the princess, milord,” The boy grew rosy in the cheeks as he imagined the princess in his mind, eyes drawing towards the portrait, “That is her, yes, but only as close as the Master Holbein could have made it, for I do not think it possible to recreate such beauty. She is gifted by the gods, surely, milord, both in beauty and manner. She is kind, brings food and toys to orphans in Flea Bottom and ev’rything, milord.”

Cregan, taken aback by the answer from the youngest boy, turned back to Prince Jacaerys, who seemed equally as surprised as he did pleased with the answers of his men.

“This is true, milord,” Jace said, “the princess is known among the people for her generosity, among her other talents and traits. It cannot be denied that her mother, the Queen Dowager, was not fond of my family, nor us of her, but the princess was raised better than any of us, I would say. Take the night to think on it, I would hope to send word to the queen before I leave Winterfell at noon.”

Cregan did as instructed, thinking on it long and hard. Her beauty had been their main selling point, something that could not be denied from the portrait sent of her. Lord Stark had half a mind to hang it upon the mantle in his bedchambers whether he takes her to wife or not, but it was not her beauty that had truly swayed his decision. Instead, he thought over the young lad’s words; a southern lady scarcely thrives in the North, a nation nearly as large on its own as all of the remaining six kingdoms put together. The weather was harsh, and the people were harsher, something he could not imagine a Targaryen princess handling well. However, he’d heard of Alicent Hightower’s assertiveness and ability to lead while her husband was incapable and Rhaenyra was in Dragonstone. If what Jacaerys had told him was true, the princess would be dutiful and loyal, and according to the prince’s men, kind beyond words. Beauty may have factored into his decision on a personal level, but he also met the prince the next morning with his acceptance mostly on the basis that he believed that the princess would be wholly capable of helping him rule the North.

He wrote to her a week after Jacaerys departed from Winterfell, certain that the news would have already arrived in the capitol and she would already be aware of their arrangement. He would have little time between her arrival in the north and their wedding to meet with her in private, so this was his best hope. He was pleased to receive a raven in return only three days later, neat handwriting befitting a princess scrawled across the parchment. It was not much, but Cregan was able to learn some things about her through the letters, making it seem like he was less-so marrying a stranger and more as if she were a distant friend. 

The month following, the princess would depart from King’s Landing in a procession he was told seemed a mile long. He waited with anticipation, Winterfell in a flurry of servants and guards to prepare the castle to house the royal family and their household, as well as for the wedding itself, and only one more month would pass before his bride had arrived within the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan had bowed respectfully to the Queen Dowager as she stepped out of her wheelhouse, then to the two silver-haired princes who arrived on their steeds. His eyes scanned the growing crowd for any sight of his betrothed, finally catching sight of her as she took the hand of a Dornish white cloak to balance herself as she exited the wheelhouse, a pretty white fur-lined cloak wrapped around her shoulders, almost blending into the pale blonde of her hair. She was, indeed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had traditional Valyrian looks, but also held an aura of softness. 

She was nervous as she curtsied before her, but seemed happy enough with his appearance and manners as he greeted her with a kiss to her leather-gloved knuckle. The moment was broken apart by her mother’s level tone, requesting to be brought to her chambers for some rest before supper. That evening Cregan found the portrait of the princess that he’d received months earlier and personally hung it above the mantle in his bedchambers. He thought it was safe to say he was smitten.

The princess appeared bashful in his presence, though he was partially certain that her discomfort was brought on by her ever-present family, each looming nearby as if waiting to intercept his attempts of conversation with his betrothed. He could not decide who he had grown to loathe the most; Aegon had already drank a generous portion of Winterfell’s wine cellars even before the wedding, and often joined the conversation with the goal to tease his sister and see her shrink in embarrassment; Aemond was constantly looking to best anyone in his path, and seemed almost possessive over his sister’s attention; her mother had hardly allowed them a moment alone, constantly insisting on supervising any time that he would invite her for any sort of activity, or set one of her brothers after them instead. Alicent had a habit of speaking for her daughter, meaning that Cregan had no opportunity to truly know her while her mother was present, while her brothers made it impossible to even speak to one another at all. 

He was finally glad on their wedding night, when he’d arranged the head table to be broken into three, leaving the happy couple to sit above the rest and finally receive some alone time. She had been radiant in her gown of white furs and fleeces, meeting him beneath the weirwood tree with her eldest brother at her side to give her away. He’d been glad to tear away the cloak of red and black, intricately interwoven into a field of green and gold at the bottom–it would be unlike Alicent Hightower to allow her children to wear the Rhaenyra’s colours without her own as well. It would be hard to tell whether she looked prettier in the harsh colours of her maiden cloak or in the dull ones of his own, but he couldn’t help but note how greys and blues suited her better than he could have imagined. 

He could tell her family was less than pleased with this arrangement, making an effort to step in for every miniscule matter that caught their attention. Cregan watched her from the corner of her eye as she shakily took a long drink from her cup. He finally found time to chat with his wife, slowly watching in awe as her walls slowly began to come down as she found herself giggling along with him and whispering into his ear. 

“What of the leftovers?” She’d asked, breaking their previous conversation topic.

“Leftovers?” Cregan repeated.

She nodded, staring at him with wide eyes expectantly, “The food. There will be plenty of leftovers–they should be brought to the nearest towns.”

“Is that a command, princess?” 

She appeared bashful at his response, walls slowly building back up around her, “I-I- My apologies, Lord Stark, I–”

He grinned at her playfully, his large palm cupping her cheek affectionately, “If you wish it, you shall have it. I intend to make you very happy, my love.”

She smiled, her beauty shining through even stronger as she became more and more comfortable around him, “Thank you, husband.”

Cregan pushed himself to stand, the sound of his chair pushing back cutting through the chatter and music and laughter filling his hall, all eyes turning to him expectantly. 

“My lady wife has made her first official command as Lady of Winterfell,” his voice carried through the hall with stern ease, and the attention of the crows quickly turned to her, “Lady Stark has decided that all leftovers from our wedding feast will be donated to the people of Winterstown.”

The crowd had been quick to applaud, deafening cheers throughout the great hall, northerners seemingly pleased with her decision or, at the very least, just excited to have another reason to be celebrating. He caught the glance she sent to her mother, and the happy grin that covered her face as the Dowager Queen sent her a sign of approval. His lady wife was kind, and sweet, and he was certain that, once she gained her footing in the North, would serve as a strong and dutiful Lady of Winterfell, all of which he muttered into her ear as he had her for the very first time that night. 

Three years would pass, he’d been right to assume such things of his wife. He’d quickly discovered that she was able to thrive without the looming shadow of her mother and brothers. She had been slow to find her footing in the beginning, some of his bannermen even questioning his choice in wife, but she was determined to prove them wrong, and in doing so, warmed Cregan’s heart even more. 

They’d discussed children in the past, and both had decided that they were happy enough with Cregan’s son from his previous marriage for the time being. They were not trying, but they were also not not trying, which is how she found herself swelling with her first child just as winter came to an end. Her husband had been insatiable in their first year of marriage, but once he knew that she carried his child in her belly, there was scarcely anything that could stop him from having her each and every night. 

Summer brought a homier feeling to Winterfell. People were not quite so afraid or negative as the desolate conditions faded away. Summer in the North was nothing compared to the many summers she had spent in King’s Landing, where she had once enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin, exposed beneath her more revealing gowns than those she was able to wear in the North; the lords of the North had criticised her choice in dresses early on in her marriage, and she had no doubt that their wives spoke harshly about her in her absence. She was by far the youngest of them, and was also the only one who could afford to wear such fine silks layered over her thick fleece and fur underdresses. Cregan knew better than to try and argue against his wife’s will–Lady Stark or not, she was a Targaryen princess through and through, and now that he had helped her build up her confidence, there was no way he was about to take that away from her (especially when she looked so so beautiful). She was thankful that she was able to cut down on the layers she needed now that the weather had transitioned from inhospitable to frigid, though she knew it was coming time to transition her wardrobe as well now that her breasts and belly were beginning to swell. 

The change in season also brought a wave of new duties. Winter was undoubtedly the most difficult and busy season for the lord and lady of Winterfell, but the transition to summer also brought the beginning of the agricultural season. Farmers and fishermen alike flocked to Winterfell to speak their needs and wants to their liege lord and lady, and Cregan found himself busy with attending to the replenishment of all of the North’s resources for Winterfell, all of his bannermen, the Wall, and all of the towns in the North. He’d made his wife agree to take a lesser load of duties now that she was expecting, dealing with issues within their own household so he could instead focus on bearing the burdens of the North all on his own, though this meant there was less and less time that they were able to spend together. 

Each morning, Lady Stark was awake and on the move early enough to meet with the maester and stewards and advisors, sharing no more than a few sweet words and touches with her husband as he watched her dress before she was out the door. They would see each other in passing throughout the day, sharing loving glances across the courtyard as they attended their duties and occasionally catching each other in the corridors, and she was normally in a deep slumber by the time he came to her chambers every night. Both of them were growing restless in their time apart, especially with her ladyship’s heightened emotions and hormones. 

She had just finished speaking with the mistress of the orphanage in Winterstown when the maester came to her, a neatly folded piece of parchment in hand that bore her mother’s seal. She smiled to herself as she brushed her thumb over the thick spot of green wax, glad to have a response for her most recent letter to her mother to deliver the news of her pregnancy, along with a request for some new silks to be sent in order to accommodate her changing body. Breaking the seal, she scanned over the letter with her eyes, a small gasp leaving her mouth as she read over her mother’s words.

“My lady?” Maester Elryn asked, concern evident on his wrinkled features, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she smiled tightly at him, “My apologies for my reaction. Could you ask Lord Stark to come to me when he is free?”

“Of course, my lady. Anything else?”

“That is all, thank you, Maester Elryn.”

Cregan came to her two hours later, finding her seated at the small desk in the corner of her chambers. He paused to drink in the way she looked, having scarcely seen his wife for more than a moment all day. Her body was changing in the most glorious ways possible, and the bodices of her gowns were growing even tighter than before, her breasts threatening to spill over the neckline with every breath, and her belly growing firmer and rounder to accommodate his child. His smile widened as she turned to glance over her shoulder, her eyes softening as she finally took note of her husband’s figure in the doorway.

“You called, wife?”

“My love,” she greeted, pushing herself to stand with a gentle hand cradling her barely-there bump, “It seems it has been forever.”

His heart thumped against his ribcage at her action, chest growing warm at the sight of her maternal instincts already kicking in before she had even passed through her first few months 

He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to meet her before she was able to move too far. His palm cupped her cheek, the other finding its place over her own against her belly, “Longer than forever to me.”

She grinned, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, giggling to herself as he chased after her and grunted as she pulled away. He pressed small kisses to her cheeks, across the curve of her jaw, and down the column of her neck, leaving small nips in his wake. His wife pushed at his chest helplessly as she continued to laugh, the soft growth of hair along his own jaw tickling her with every brush of his lips on her skin. 

“I called you up here because I needed to speak with you,” she whispered to him, body slowly relaxing against him as she sank into his embrace.

“Speak, then,” he ordered, thick fingers tugging at the laces of her dress.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at his antics, “I wrote to my mother a few nights ago, I need silk for new dresses. I’m sure you’ve noticed that my own are growing rather…tight.”

His mouth dropped to nip at the bulging flesh of her breast peeking over the neckline of her gown, “I certainly have.”

Her head tilted back, letting both a laugh and a breathy moan at her husband’s attack on her chest as he quickly laid her back on the bed, “She has written back to me. She says I shall have as much silk in as many colours as I wish.”

Cregan hummed in response, quickly peeling the layers of her gown away until she was left in only her thin white shift, her words going ignored as he tugged and pulled at her clothing until she was bare before him. He stared down at her, running his hand over his jaw as his eyes trailed over her breasts, heaving and swelling with milk, then down over her small bump, and finally to the place where her thighs clenched together. 

She pushed herself up to sit before him, her own hands reaching out to tug at his clothing. He was quick to help her, shucking off his layers and boots until he stood before her in only his heavy leather breeches. His wife grinned up at him, pressing a gentle kiss against his own belly, a layer of soft flesh over his firm, almost inconspicuous muscle. 

He pushed at her shoulder, chuckling as the mattress bounced beneath her as she was laid back again. He crawled over her, returning to mouthing over her neck, over her shoulders, and finally coming across her breasts.

“She says she will deliver them personally,” she uttered, whining in protest as he paused, pulling back to focus directly at her face. 

“Personally,” He repeated, more for his own sake than a question of clarification, “your mother intends to come to Winterfell.”

She pouted at him, fingers carding through his long hair as she attempted to soften him to the news, “She wishes to be here for the birth. I know she can be…difficult, but it would bring me comfort to have her with me as I bring our firstborn into the world.”

He sighed, his head falling into her shoulder, “If this is what you wish, then this is what you shall have. 

She smiled, remembering when he spoke the same words to her on their wedding night. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, winding her legs around his hips and hugging her tightly to her chest. 

“Thank you,” she smiled at him as he finally pushed himself up to gaze down at her once again, “my mother can be difficult, as I said, but I wish for her to know her grandchildren, as she does my niece and nephews. I promise you, she will be on her best behaviour.”

“I believe you,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, mumbling against her, “but I must ask that we do not speak any more of your mother at the present. I do not think she would appreciate what I plan to do to you.”

Cregan did not allow her another moment of peace before his kisses grew in intensity, tongue intertwining with her own while his meaty palms pulled her legs further apart and began to rock his hips into hers. He smirked at the whine that escaped her throat, pressing himself further into her.

“Cregan–” 

“I have missed you, my love,” he moaned against her lips, “you cannot possibly believe how much I have been longing for you.”

She chuckled, “I think I can. The maester told me pregnancy can bring on many side effects; discomfort, fatigue, desire…”

Cregan pulled back for a moment, “Should I be concerned about these conversations you have been having with Maester Elryn?”

She scoffed, “You are far too jealous for your own good, my love.”

“You might be too, if you were married to the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms–nay, the world.”

“Flatterer.”

“Can it be called flattery if it is the truth?” Cregan pushed himself to kneel between her legs, palms continuing to push her thighs upward to bare her completely to him. He let out a desperate groan as his eyes settled on her core, barely hidden beneath a neat patch of silver hair, “gods, have you ever been this wet?”

She snorted, raising her leg to press her foot flat to his chest, “It is the pregnancy, as I said.”

His long fingers wrapped around her foot, tugging it up to press his lips against the slope of her ankle, “Then perhaps I should keep you like this, eh? Would you like for your lord husband to fill you with his child, again and again?”

“I am already with child, my love,” she smiled at him, drawing a deep breath from his throat, “I’m afraid you will have to wait a few moons longer.”

“And I will spend every second I have with you perfecting the craft then.”

She sighed in relief as he finally reached between her thighs, fingers catching against her slick hole.

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, “do something, anything.”

“Anything?” He asked, breathlessly, his own chest heaving in anticipation as she nodded excitedly. 

A loud gasp tore from her lips as he finally sunk his fingers into her, her wetness audible to them both as he began moving with slow but purposeful thrusts. His thumb settled on her sensitive bud, making slow, tight circles over the swollen bud, his free hand gliding up from her thigh to tug at her breasts. Her hips rocked in sync with his every movement of his thick fingers, stilling as another one easily slipped inside.

“My love,” she panted, “e-enough, I need you.”

He quirked one of his thick brows at her words, “Should I not prepare you, my heart?”

“I am pregnant with your child, and as we can both tell, I am more than prepared.”

Cregan snorted out a laugh, withdrawing his fingers with a small whine from his wife, “How should you have me then, wife?”

Lady Stark smirked to herself, legs wrapping around his back and forcing him to fold over her, “Take me as you did on our wedding night, only you do not need to be so gentle with me.”

He slipped inside of her easily, a strained hiss sliding between his teeth while her own teeth sunk into his shoulder. Cregan did indeed take her like he had on their wedding night, but against her wishes, was almost as gentle as he had been, out of respect for his child’s personal space, as he had muttered to her. In truth, he simply wanted to take his time with her as he pulled her apart bit by bit, not wanting to rush their first time lying together in the few weeks since summer had come. 

When they were finished, he remained inside of her for as long as he could, but the warmth of her and the air around them was far too much. His wife, despite the progress she’d made in the years of their marriage, was a southern woman and despised how frigid the castle could be, earning herself the warmest room in Winterfell and a required constant upkeep of her hearth. Cregan did not mind coming to his wife’s chamber when she needed him throughout the day or early evening, but there was a reason that they’d made a habit of sleeping in his personal chambers each night, where the air was cooler but he was able to keep her warm at night. He carefully pulled away, meeting her for a final kiss before he peeled himself off of the bed, slowly strutting across the room to haul the window open and feel the cool summer air against his burning flesh. 

She watched him through hooded eyes, gaze raking down his muscular back, over his plump ass, and down his thick legs. She pursed her lips, pulling one of the heavy furs around her shoulders as she padded across the stone floor to wrap herself around him from behind, fingers hooking together around his belly as her bare chest pressed to his back. After a moment, one of his hands came over to cover her own as she pressed her lips to his shoulder blade. 

“My mother wrote that she expects to be here in two moons,” she murmured against his warm skin, “I should begin preparations for them on the morrow.”

Cregan hummed, eyes scanning over the horizon for a moment before he comprehended her words, “Them. How many attendants does she plan to bring with her?”

He felt his wife tense behind him, “About that…”

Two moons later Cregan found himself standing tall in his own courtyard, jaw set as a procession of horses and wheelhouses began to file through the front gate of his ancestral home. He’d been a touch angry with his wife when she had finally revealed to him that it was not only her mother coming, but rather the entire royal family; the queen, her king consort, and all of their children; the dowager queen, the remaining four of her children, as well as Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena’s three children. Winterfell was about to be overrun with heads of silver hair, something Cregan had hoped would only happen as a result of his wife’s genes overcoming his own among their children. 

At his side, his wife nervously chewed her bottom lip–a nasty habit he’d grown to detest after she’d drawn blood one night. He knew exactly how her family could be from their short stay during their wedding festivities, and the way that her mother and two older brothers alone were able to affect her, let alone the entire living Targaryen dynasty. 

On her other side stood young Rickon, gripping her hand tightly as he struggled to compose himself. The boy was only six years old, but he already seemed to understand the importance of his role as the heir to Winterfell. He’d taken to his stepmother rather quickly, having been an infant when the fever took his own mother. He’d been in need of a maternal figure in his life, and her presence in Winterfell had done nothing but draw father and son closer together with every family supper and breakfast she had insisted on over the years. Seeing her welcome his son into her heart so openly only further pressed Cregan’s instincts to bring their own children into the world, wishing for nothing more than to give his boy dozens of siblings for him to play with. 

The procession finally came to a halt just as two large, intricately carved wheelhouses entered the gates, flanked by the king consort and all of the elder princes on their horses. Lady Stark’s nerves only heightened at the sight of the silver-haired men, particularly her elder brothers who almost immediately turned their gaze her way. The queen soon climbed out of her wheelhouse, followed by her own litter of children, Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya. The second wheelhouse opened, producing Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena and her own children Jahaera, Jahaerys, and Maegor. 

The queen came before them, regal as ever in her red cloak lined with black fur. She watched stoically as the three bowed before her. 

“The North is yours, Your Grace,” Cregan spoke loud and true, “my family and I are honoured to host you and your family in Winterfell.”

“Many thanks, Lord Stark. I commend you on leading the North through yet another winter,” a smirk tugged at her lips as her eyes turned to his wife, who lowered into another curtsy under her stare, “I hear that Lady Stark has taken to her role quite well. I believe motherhood suits you, sister.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Stark nodded in thanks. 

The next line of Targaryens filtered through the short lineup of Starks, first Daemon, who scarcely offered any of them a second glance (aside from his niece, who he stared at for a moment too long in Cregan’s opinion). Prince Jacaerys greeted Cregan like an old friend, clapping him on the shoulder heartily while he offered his aunt a polite hug, his younger brothers following, though with less familiarity. 

Then came her mother, who hardly offered Lord Stark a moment of her time before she began fawning over her daughter, hugging her tightly before pulling away and pawing at her swollen belly through her layers of fur. A tear escaped the red-haired woman’s eye as she pressed a sweet kiss to Lady Stark’s cheek, then offered a greeting to sweet Rickon, who had shuffled closer to his stepmother in his nervousness. Aegon skipped over Lord Stark altogether, though he certainly was not complaining as he could smell the stench of wine radiating from the eldest prince even before noon, throwing himself onto his sister. She’d stumbled in her attempt to catch him, sending her husband a warning glance as he moved to rip him away from her. Aemond, at least, was more courteous, offering Cregan a polite greeting and kissing his sister gently on the forehead. Helaena was soon to follow, her greeting to Cregan leaving him with a puzzled look as she moved on to place her palm to her sister’s cheek.

“I am so happy to see you, sister,” Lady Stark’s eyes welled with tears. Cregan had been aware of how disappointed his wife had been when her sister had not been able to travel with her for their wedding, but she had not blamed her for choosing to stay behind while she was in her sixth moon of pregnancy, not to mention the poor state of her mind.

Daeron was the most reserved of his good-siblings, showing both Lord and Lady Stark his respect, though he had no personal relation with either. He’d spent most of his childhood in Oldtown under the care of his grandsire’s brother, the Lord of Oldtown, and his own uncle Gwayne. He’d been rather hesitant to even return to King’s Landing after being away for so long; his own mother was a mere stranger, and his siblings had gone on to marry and produce their own children without even a second thought of their youngest brother. 

Winterfell’s hall was overflowing with Targaryens and those who served them. Cregan could hardly recognize any of the faces at the tables nearest to his own, his men being pushed farther back into the hall to accommodate the royal family. He, himself, had even been pushed one seat to the right to offer the queen the highest seat in the hall. He was not pleased to be doing this, far too used to southerners coming to the North with such entitlement, but he would take the treatment silently for the sake of his dear wife, who had been so excited for the arrival of her family and had been overtaken by anxiety of ensuring the visit went well. 

She sat next to him, dressed in a fine silk gown (new, a design brought by her mother), a deep emerald with golden stitching across the bodice and around the cuffs. Cregan hissed through his teeth when his wife entered the hall, a happy grin on her lips as she cradled her round belly over the dress of her mother’s house rather than her own, though he was eager to greet her and accept her gleeful kiss on the cheek, and he was glad enough to see that her hair had been braided among the stems of various flowers, all of which being indigenous only to the North. Her mother could try with all of her might to try and hold tight to her daughter’s familial tether to the South, but Cregan knew his wife had transformed into a woman of the North–she was no longer simply a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider, she was also his wife, Lady of Winterfell, and mother of his children. 

It never escaped Cregan’s watchful stare everytime the Dowager Queen gripped her daughter’s arm when her attention was not focused solely on her, or how she forced a smile each time he joined their conversation at all. If the woman had not been his wife’s mother, he would have gladly warded her away from his wife’s personal space. He understood well enough that his wife was bound to miss her family, especially her mother and sister, but he was afraid to see her begin to slip back into her shell, which had taken him a considerable amount of effort and care to bring her out from in the first place. 

He was quickly tiring from the responsibility of hosting an entire flock of Targaryen princes, all of whom considered themselves above the northerners and their laws, customs, and expectations. They most often gathered in the training yards, each more eager to prove themselves over the northerners and each other than the last, except for Aegon, of course, who would rather spend the mornings in his chambers before he would disappear into Wintertown, most likely gone to spend the rest of the afternoon in the only brothel within twenty miles of Winterfell. 

Throughout the two weeks to follow, they had barely found a moment to themselves that was not in the early hours of the morn or when the castle is alight with only the light emitted from torches and the moon itself, where Lady Stark was usually so worn out that she had barely enough energy to cuddle into her husband’s side and share a handful of words before her snoring would reach his ears. He made an effort to seek her out when he was granted a brief moment away from his duties, but there was hardly a moment when she could be found without at least one member of her kin at her side; in the nursery with her mother and sister, discussing her duties with the queen, reading with Aemond in the library, or comforting Aegon amidst another bout of alcohol-induced sickness. 

The one moment he did find her alone in her personal study, not wasting a single moment before he was hoisting her into his arms and kissing her breathless. He’d been pleased to find that she had no fight in her, easily melting into his embrace and winding her arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as small mewls of pleasure vibrated against his mouth. He’d almost forgotten that the door to the study had been left ajar, making his good-mother’s entrance even more silent, though he likely wouldn’t have noticed even if she had knocked, fully taken with his wife’s affection. 

“Ehem.”

“Mother,” Lady Stark pushed away from her husband, face still with shock and, quite evidently, embarrassment, “I, we did not hear you come in.”

“Yes, as I could see.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Cregan nodded to the woman, though his tone was laced with his annoyance, “I’m afraid you’ve been subjected to a moment of weakness.”

“Nonsense,” Alicent’s lips tightened into a strained smile, a touch of tenderness on her face, “it comforts me to know that my daughter is cherished and loved, even so far away. We are not all so lucky to find love in these circumstances.”

His wife rounded the desk, meeting her mother with a tight embrace. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for the red haired woman–it was true, most marriages of such caliber did not afford the couple any form of affection, and he was more than aware of the fortune that had fallen into his lap that day that Prince Jacaerys landed at his gate. The moment came to a crashing end all-too-soon as his good-mother once again dragged his wife away from him, not to be seen again until she was deep asleep in their shared bed.

He’d arranged for a hunt during the visit of the royal family, where he was forced to play the peacekeeper between the queen’s sons and their uncles, all while keeping his eyes peeled for the prize he’d been hoping for; his wife had mentioned more than once that she wanted to find the perfect blanket to gift to their first child, one that can be used again and again with each babe they brought into the world, so it seemed only fitting to him that he be the one to bring her the pelt. 

It would be weeks before the warmth in his chest subsided after witnessing her grin and laughter as he presented it to her, two rabbits of a similar white and brown pattern, drawing her away from the large elk that had been brought in for their supper that night. It was a brief moment of privacy amongst the crowd, where she curled her fingers beneath the neckline of his leather doublet and dragged him down to her height, pushing a soft kiss to his wind-bitten cheek, though he was thankful for every moment of it. Her mother stepped in a moment later, grasping her daughter’s hand and willing her to join her in the nursery, where she could continue to preach her wisdom and advice for the soon-to-be mother, though Cregan hoped his wife was smart enough to take it with a grain of salt. 

He’d spent the rest of the day both tending to his duties, which have seemingly doubled since the arrival of his wife’s kin, and also offering a hand in preparing the elk when he had a chance; his cooks could do wonders with elk meat, but the kitchen maids often made a fuss when such large animals were brought to whole or at least without being skinned first. He had barely even spared a moment to clean himself and change clothes before supper.

When he arrived in the dining hall, a smaller yet more formal area where he hoped he, his wife, and their many children would all dine together whenever they could. He was, however, miffed to discover the dining hall filled with princes and princesses and queens alike, only two seats left empty–his own, and his wife’s. 

His immediate thought was that perhaps she was still readying herself, perhaps she had gotten carried away in the nursery with her mother, and she would be there soon enough. Then, his eyes fell upon the red-haired woman a few seats from his own. 

He cleared his throat, drawing silence across his hall, “My apologies, I expect Lady Stark in only a moment.”

Alicent furrowed her brow, directing her words to the rest of the royal family rather than to Lord Stark, “I’m afraid she will not be joining us tonight.”

Cregan raised his own brow, “Why not?”

Alicent’s gaze flickered to his own, “She was unwell this evening–a pain many women know while carrying their children, all she needs is rest.”

“And why was I not made aware of this at once?” Lord Stark felt his blood beginning to boil.

She looked somewhat taken aback, “These pains are normal, they are expected for how far along she is. My daughter–”

Cregan’s heavy palm landed flat on the wooden tabletop, “My wife is my main concern. Any news concerning her or my children should and will be brought to me at once.” 

Alicent pursed her lips, appearing to have a few words of choice for her daughter’s husband, though he turned his attention to the queen opposite him on the other end of the long table and looked equally as surprised and amused at the altercation as she sipped her wine.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” he pushed himself up to his full height, “forgive my absence this evening, but if my wife is unwell I would prefer to be at her side.”

Rhaenyra smirked at him, nodding her head at him, “But of course, Lord Stark. I am honoured that you take such care of my sister. After all, family is everything, is it not?”

He ignored the way that her words seemed to have been aimed at the red-haired woman, who had slouched back into her own seat as a soft pink tinged at the apples of her cheeks, instead nodding at the queen and fleeing the room at once, his hurried and heavy footfalls carrying him through the castle and up to his wife’s personal chambers. He was disgruntled to find that they were empty, save for a servant girl who had been tending to the hearth and directed him to his own chambers.

The hinges creaked as he pushed his way inside, finding two handmaidens hovering worriedly over his wife as she hunched over on her hands and knees atop the plush bear-skin rug, back arched upwards like he’d only seen done by a cat. The two servants froze at the sight of the broad figure crossing the threshold.

“Lord Stark,” one of them rushed to him, “Lady Stark, she is alright, but–”

“Alright?” He scoffed, “She is on the floor in pain, she does not look alright.”

“Cregan,” Lady Stark glared up at him, voice strained with discomfort, “do not speak to my ladies like that.”

He let out a deep sigh, offering the servant a quiet but genuine apology, “Now please, just tell me what is wrong with her, and what I can do to help. Should I call a maester?”

The servant fought a soft smile, touched at the lord’s concern for his wife and child, “Lady Stark is experiencing little more than body aches. Normal for women carrying a child, especially their first. I’m afraid all the maester could do is offer milk of the poppy for discomfort, which could potentially do more harm to the child than good to the mother,” Cregan swallowed at the thought, “We’ve allowed the princess to soak in warm water, and the stretching helps while we prepare a hot pack over the fire.”

His gaze flickered to the small grate across the embers of the fireplace, holding three large black stones over them. He nodded, turning back to his wife, who had turned her face back into the rug while the other servant girl carefully massaged gentle circles into her lower back.

“What can I do?”

“The hot pack should help with the aches, but I’m afraid the best thing may be to keep Lady Stark as comfortable as possible, anything to keep her mind away from the pains.”

He nodded, “Leave us, I should care for my wife on my own.”

The door closed behind the two women as they hesitantly left their mistress’s side, loyal to the very end. Cregan wasted little time in removing his leather doublet and abandoning it on the plush bed, leaving him in only his breeches and thin linen shirt. He crossed the room, kneeling beside his wife and carefully laying his palm flat to her lower back, a small smirk appearing on his lips as she sighed from the relief brought by his large, warm hand. 

“If you were not so obviously in pain, I would guess that you were enjoying this, my love,” he chuckled as his hand copied the same circular pattern that the servant girl had applied.

“Shut up,” she turned her head to the side so she could glance up at him, “this is your fault.”

“My fault?” He scoffed, “As I recall, your current condition is the result of your uncontrollable desires.”

She pushed herself up onto her hands, “My what? It was you who was gone to the Wall for more than a moon!”

“And it was you who kept me from my duties until midday on the day after I returned.”

She pursed her lips, “Alright, next time I will allow you to go about your duties without a word. Then we will see which one of us is so insatiable.”

“Be that the case, I’m afraid you may be with child for the next decade or more, my love.”

“Just get the hot pack,” Lady Stark rolled her eyes, lowering her head back down to the plush rug, muttering to herself with a small grin, “a decade or more…”

He obliged, wrapping the stones in a thick woolen cloth before pressing them against the small of her back, a dusting of pink coating his cheeks at the sound she released, back curving inwards as relief overtook her body. 

They remained there for a long while, one of his hands holding the hot pack while the other smoothed over her silver hair, braided and still damp from her bath. The stones began to cool against his palm until they were no warmer than her own body heat, finally being tossed to the side.

“How do you feel?” He asked her, hands cradling her head and hip as he helped her roll onto her side.

“Better. Still plagued with discomfort, but better nonetheless,” She smiled softly at him, “I only wish someone may have warned me of the unpleasantness of pregnancy before I agreed to it.”

He barked out a laugh, remembering the many times she had pointed out the many ways pregnancy could ruin any romance in their marriage before it even began, hence their decision to wait before finally trying to conceive. 

“If only, eh?” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

A twinkle appeared in her eye, “Well Maryssa did say that you should be doing anything to keep me comfortable…”

Lord Stark raised his brow at her words, “And what was it you only just said about me being insatiable? How have you gone from crippling pain to reaching for my breeches in such a hurry?”

She gasped, faux offense in her eyes, “I am not reaching for you breeches! What do you take me for?”

He quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, leaning down to press a slow yet meaningful kiss to her lips, “My very pregnant, very beautiful, and very impatient wife.”

She whined against his mouth, “I think impatience is quite appropriate given the circumstances. Your child has brought me the greatest joy and greatest pain of my life, and yet I constantly yearn for you, my love.”

“Constant?” He laughed.

“The maester warned me of it,” she kissed him again, “all a part of my hysteria, he called it.”

He hummed, “Which brings me to wonder why I was not made aware of this. I could have…relieved you of this suffering.”

She snorted a laugh, a sound he knew he could never grow tired of, “Cregan, if you do not take my clothes off now I would like to go to bed.”

“And what was it I said about your impatience?”

She pushed at his shoulder playfully, gasping as he grasped her wrist in his large hand and pulled her to sit up, moving to lift her and carry her to the bed when she pushed at his shoulder, shaking her head with a sly grin. 

“Here,” she insisted, “it is so warm, and this fur is so soft.”

He shook his head at her, rolling his eyes. Only his wife would be demanding enough as to where he had his way with her and choose anywhere except their marital bed. Only he would be so foolishly in love as to oblige her every whim and allow her to make such demands. 

Growing impatient, she began tugging at her own shift, struggling to lift her hips just enough to slide it over her hips and off completely, leaving her bare before her husband while the firelight flickered off of her soft, freshly oiled skin. His eyes fell from her own to her breasts, which had seemingly doubled in size through her pregnancy, then to her rounded belly; only a few moons would pass before she brought their first child into the world, and he could not be any more in love with her. He knew how excited she’d been over the last few weeks as her body developed with their growing child, spending much of her time with little Rickon, who was just as excited to become an older brother as she was to become a mother. 

“I am not simply here for decoration,” she growled, reaching up to begin tearing the linen shirt from her husband’s body, ignoring his laughter as she struggling to pull the fabric over his wide shoulders and causing his head to get stuck for a moment, “As I said, fuck me or let me sleep.”

His booming laugh echoed through the chamber, scarcely hearing his wife, a Targaryen princess and Lady of Winterfell, use such coarse language. It was the northerner growing within her, he decided as he obliged, kissing her with every ounce of desire he’d been forced to swallow throughout the duration of her family’s stay, pressing her back to lay flat against the dark brown fur. 

Cregan made quick work of kissing down her body, taking a few moments to kiss and suckle and squeeze at her swollen breasts, encouraged by her response to his touch on her sensitive skin as he continued further down. He pressed several playful kisses over her belly, whispering to their child to go to sleep so he could take care of his wife guilt-free. She giggled at this, causing a flood of heat to spread across his chest as he finally crested over the underside of her belly, coming face-to-face with the silver curls safeguarding her womanhood. 

Her legs fell apart easily, and he found no resistance as he eagerly began to feast upon her most intimate place. Her fingers curled into the fur beneath her as her whines and whimpers filled the room, unable to reach for his long dark hair with her belly in the way. He was pleasantly surprised to discover how much of her arousal had pooled between her thighs, two of his thick fingers easily slipping into her heat with practiced precision while his tongue massaged her sensitive pearl. 

Her body seemed more responsive than ever, thighs quivering against his shoulders as her peak crashed over her once, and then moments later, once more. 

He pulled away, noting how her hips had begun to pull away from him, her womanhood more sensitive than ever. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching through lustful eyes as his wife grabbed hold of his other wrist, taking the fingers that had brought her to bliss twice only moments before between her lips and sucking them clean. She stared up at him through her lashes, leaning up on her elbow to reach down and paw at the tent that had formed in his breeches, tugging at the laces until they fell open and allowed her to reach inside.

He let out a low growl at the sensation of her hand taking hold of his member, head falling back in relief. Cregan was quick to pull her hand away, shedding his trousers and boots as efficiently as possible so he could lay her flat on her back once more and finally press himself inside of her. 

They both let out long, breathy sounds at the stretch; no matter how many times they would lay together, she never quit got used to the intrusion of his thick cock inside of her, He remained still for a moment, regaining his wits as he willed himself not to finish far too early, though he could not guarantee that he would be able to fight his peak for very long after weeks without his wife’s intimate touch. 

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, nails scratching down his arm as she planted his fist next to her head, bracing himself as he began to work slow, deep thrusts into her warmth, his own grunts and gasps of pleasure falling from his lips while her lips fell open to allow wails of her enjoyment fall from them with every punch of his tip against her most sensitive place deep within her. 

“My love,” he panted, “For-forgive me…I do not think–”

“Give yourself to me, my love,” she whined, “I need to feel you.”

He nodded, eyes tightening shut as he quickened his pace, chasing his release with grunts and growls and groans until his hips began to stutter, his release pumping deep inside of her until he was shaking. His release triggered her own, pleasure crashing over her for the third time that evening, soaking his length in both of their releases as she clung to his broad frame for dear life. 

She whined when he pulled out of her, sensitive from her three climaxes. He took a moment to stare down at her, stormy gaze trailing from her cunt, where their mix juices had begun seeping from her warmth, to her belly, where their child grew. His eyes then moved to her breasts, which heaved with every deep breath the escaped her parted lips, and finally to her face, which shone with a layer of perspiration as she pulled him down to lay next to her on the fur, turning to press her back against his chest and settling into his embrace as he trailed sweet kisses over her cheek, jaw, and neck. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, sleep threatening to overtake her at any moment. 

“Thank you,” Cregan responded. “I love you.”

“I love you too, husband.”

Silence overtook the room for a moment, only the sound of their slowing breaths and the crackling fire in the hearth could be heard before he finally shared his final thoughts of the night.

“I cannot bear to not have you all to myself for even a moment ever again,” he mumbled into her flesh, “we are never hosting your family again.”

A small chuckle vibrated through her chest.

“I could not agree more.”

[dont-look-its-embarrassing]

Inner Ace pt.2

The Hunting Incident

I'm glad you guys like this idea! Personally, I couldn't really jive well with the image of Feyre just balls to the wall learning how to hunt suddenly and being perfect at it to survive. This storyline was my original bridge for that in my mind, so I am glad that it went well with you all :)

Update right before I post; I'm going to be honest I got EXTREMELY carried away with this one, so I apologize for the length...

Summary: As the time went by and tensions rose between the human lands and fae, the IC have been working tirelessly to try and maintain a balance and a new ally. As The High Lord and Lady cannot be outside their court for long (as other matters must be attended to in preparation for the war), Azriel is designated liaison for reporting back on the movements and whereabouts of the human queens. Having become friends through Feyre, Azriel finds himself spending more time with the human girl, coming to his own conclusion of close friendship and more? Late nights between the two have confusing tensions rise, that is until the Inner court makes a group stop to check in with Y/n before talking with the queens. An accident has not only the IC realizing this bond might go deeper then friends, but a realization within the Spymaster himself as he finds himself gazing at the beautiful woman more often than not.

Warnings: injury, cannon typical violence, fluff, sexual tension, (a little) angst, potential non-cannon faebane workings (ngl some of it is lost on me), non-cannon time (meaning it is a bit longer of a timeline bc wym this all happened in less than a couple years?!), injury, alcohol consumption

Pt 1 Masterlist

WC (I forgot this in the first part, oops): 11,301

The time that Feyre and the males came and went from her home left Y/n's head spinning. Although for a couple days, the relief and warmth within her home was notably missing upon their departure back to their court. Although Y/n understood that Feyre had in fact become an influential power figure within their world, the hole that she leaves when her presence is gone always has Y/n reeling. She wouldn't describe herself as some who is dependent on another person or her friends, but it sure does make the cold nights a bit warmer with the promise of seeing them tomorrow. Y/n had grown extremely close to the bunch within her home. As her status of 'best friend' with Feyre was any sort of key, the rest of the males quickly followed suit with dinners and time spent with each other talking and getting to know about the other party. Although Cassian had to be cut off with some of the stupid invasive questions he asked the girl, it only fueled the bond that they all began to share. It made the goodbye (although not for forever) harder for them all.

"You need to come back and see me." Y/n had eyed the Feyre down, not allowing her to break. "This isn't a request or some sort of bargain that I don't understand. You are going to make time for a sit-down gossip session like we used to have."

Laughing as if this plan would happen within a week, at most, Feyre had embraced Y/n in an all-encompassing hug.

"Of course."

Giving a nod and pulling away, Y/n's eyes had met that of the High Lord, Rhys. Upon a small chat with Feyre, Y/n had been informed that this man, or male, was Feyre's forever bond or something. He had offered a warm smile, one that Y/n sent back easily.

Again, something that the human girl didn't fully understand, but respected none the less.

"Thank you for letting us stay. I know that it was a risk, we won't forget that and are in your debt." The small eye roll that Y/n couldn't hold made him chuckle.

"Relax there, lover boy." A nickname that again, upon hearing about her best friend's lover, was given. It had caused an exaggerated aghast look when Y/n had used it only days ago, which also made her tense in worry that she had insulted him, but the loud laughs that Feyre couldn't hold in let her tension ease.

The chuckle to her right brought her attention to the gentle giant that she now knows as Cass. He was a breeze to get along with to say the least. Although her initial assessment as him being the biggest- thus- scariest was the most far off out of the three. Granted, he was a force to be reckoned with, but amongst friends he was nothing but a pile of jokes, laughs and warmth.

His large stature altered a bit sideways as he folded his large wings into himself further as to not hit his brother, turning towards Y/n.

"I'm offended I didn't get an invite to this gossip session." The human girl laughed while giving a hug into the side of the larger male.

"You can't gossip when the topic of the gossip is there." She joked. Shaking his head, Cassian offered another squeeze to her body before letting go and stepping back a bit.

Then all who was left was Azriel.

The very male that she admittedly harbored a small stupid crush on as his soft shadows continued to swirl around her space. They had had multiple conversations, but also multiple silences, just allowing each other to exist in the other's company. Over these past few days, it was found that they had very similar sleeping habits, finding it hard to find peace to rest and keeping them up to all hours of the night. Initially, the small creek of the Spymaster sneaking out of his room the first night had Y/n shooting up off the couch, throwing the book she had been reading to the ground. Azriel had apologized that night for startling her, but it was also the night they became comfortable within the space together.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice was soft, soft enough to have the spymaster's eyes flutter slightly at the sound. Her silhouette was illuminated by the hearth that still flickered in life, it made the curve of her form warm and inviting to his eye. The setting was oddly, intimate.

"No, sadly." He offered. Y/n nodded while taking ahold of her hands, laying them in front of herself. Azriel realized it wasn't a defensive or uncomfortable gesture, just one that was simply inquiring. Not knowing what else to offer, Azriel attempted to meet her halfway realizing he had stepped into her impromptu 'room' as she had given away her only beds to himself and his court. "Cassian snores."

Azriel winced the moment the sentence came out of his mouth. Never in his life has he felt so inept to talk to a female.

However, nothing could prepare him for the soft bell like sound of a hushed giggle that resonated from Y/n. Her eyes held mirth as she picked up the book from the floor and moved her bedding over on the larger seat, placing herself in one of the corners.

"Well, you are more than welcome to come here for some peace. I normally read until much later." Offering the seat on the other corner of the more comfortable couch Azriel couldn't push down the budding warmth that spread within his chest.

Y/n couldn’t help it. She didn’t know why her nerves settled with this fae in particular, but the dry remark of Cassian snoring had her defensive pacifism towards him dropping like the dead. He looked just as lost and hesitant as she was, she couldn’t help but giggle at it. The image of this tall, dark and handsome powerful being having the same reserves about someone as frail as herself made this whole ‘I should be worried’ thing seem petulant. If he truly meant her harm, she knew she would’ve already been dead.

He stood there for a moment, Y/n assumed he was trying to figure out what to do about the offer.

“There are some novels on the shelf under the stairs.” She offered. “You’re more than welcome to help yourself if you need something to pass the time.”

"Thank you." His tone was soft enough to match Y/n's as he took a step or two over to the desired pages. Assessing the shelf's titles, he grabbed one, grey in color. Brining himself back to the offered seat, Y/n made sure to do one more check to see if he had space to sit and adjust. Upon his weight settling on the cushion less than a foot away from her, she relaxed back into her position.

A soft silence settled over the two as the popping of the fire's light licked at their skin.

Azriel didn't know how much time had passed, he was a good chunk of his novel through, when he glanced back to the human girl. Y/n had been fully engrossed in the story that played before her. Luckily, the binding of the book didn't give way to the soft love story that unfolded within the pages. The glimmer in her eye caught by the Spymaster as a question flooded his mind. Without much thought, he let his inquiry slip through his lips, falling victim to the comforting nature of his company.

"How do you know how to read?" The deep baritone broke Y/n out of her trance. However, the question made an easy sly smile spread on her face. Slowly turning her head to meet Azriel's gaze, Y/n couldn't tell if it was the warmth of the fire that painted his cheeks in a dusty rose, of it he truly didn't think before he spoke.

Azriel wanted the floor to swallow him.

What was he thinking?

How do you know how to read? Really.

The laughs of his shadows taunted him as he swallowed, beginning to try and dig himself out of his never-ending hole.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that-" Scanning her face, that sly smile and raised brows queued him into her train of thought just enough to cut himself off. "You think it's funny." He whispered a deadpan.

"I think this is hilarious, to be quite frank." Y/n closed her book, placing it at her side while returning her attention back to the male. "Out of the two of us, I should be the one stumbling over my words and saying the wrong things."

A sigh followed through her lips; Az fought himself to lean closer.

"But here you are, all of you." Y/n gestured to the bulk of the male on the couch, "Do I make you nervous?"

Azriel allowed his shoulders to fall, melt into the space and even felt his guard lower enough for the girl to peek through.

"I haven't figured that out yet." He offered, placing his book down as well, allowing himself to turn towards the girl. A brief pause as they looked at each other.

"You were asking that because Feyre couldn't, right?" Y/n began. Az nodded a simple 'yes', allowing her to bring her knees to her chest, getting comfortable. "I barely knew myself when I found her, and we became close. I had maybe two, no, three books?" Y/n's eyes had glazed in memory.

"It was always on the list of things to try and teach her, but I could only work so fast." The spymaster quirked his head towards her at that, an elaborative gesture. "Survival seemed more important." Was all Y/n gave him. She had hoped it wasn't received as a 'I don't want to talk about it', but it was simply a sore spot for her. She had faulted herself on all the things she never got to do with her best friend, but truly, some things were more important.

"From when she left, I got better. Taught myself to read more sophisticated books to a degree and attempting to write when I could." Y/n looked down, blush coating her cheeks. "I still can't write very well. It isn't super legible."

Azriel had imagined this was similar to how his brother felt upon realizing the female in front of him was pushed aside on something so vital but simple.

"Would you like to practice? I can help."

"You are only going to be here for a couple days."

"I'll be back." Y/n was surprised at the instancy and promise that laced Azriel's voice. For her, she would be lucky to see Feyre again after this, but now, there is another promise for someone else to come see her. For someone else to care about seeing her.

"Okay." The heat didn't leave her cheeks for the rest of the night as their conversation continued after that, soft and vulnerable in nature. As the rest of the house slept, it would be a little secret of theirs and routine for the following days. Every night, right as Cassian would start to snore within the shared bedroom, Y/n could count on the shadow of wings and a soft hum of blue stones making his way down to the couch, grabbing a book on his way.

"I'll be back." Azriel said, bringing back Y/n the present. His tone wasn't as warm as that night, but the underlying promise still stood prominent between them. A small elbow jab into the side of Rhys had him turning to his mate, clocking the excitement in her eyes as she watched the two.

You are sending him back here upon the earliest opportunity.

Of course, Feyre darling.

Y/n hadn't moved from her spot and Azriel didn't know if he should go for an embrace like his brother or keep his distance. Everything in his being told him closer, closer, closer.

Closer. Closer. Closer. Embrace. She wants it. Embrace.

Or it was just his shadows pushing him towards her. Y/n had noticed during the time they spent together; his shadows couldn't help but flock to the similar nape of her neck like they had done the night they met. Upon its repeated offense, Y/n had assured the spymaster that it was a welcomed experience and to not worry about it. To her, she couldn't quite grasp the whole 'they are a part of me' conversation, so in her mind, every so often the slipped out from his control.

Azriel didn't correct this way of thinking at all. In fact, he indulged in it more than he probably should have. When she had left for the woods, a small cluster of them had followed her without much of her knowledge. Anytime her frame was out of his gaze a small tendril would follow, reporting back to its' owner of any inconvenience or issue that she might come across. It was a precautionary measure for his high lady's best friend, at least that is what he told himself as his mind eased with the quick sight of shadow darting behind her neck.

The brush of wind and breath against Y/n's ear had her shiver slightly. Even without a welcome embrace of the male, this was oddly more him.

As the group funneled out of the door, the promise of aid and help floated in her direction before they had disappeared into what seemed was the wind.

She wouldn't see anyone from that group again until a week or so later when a rapt on her door drew her attention from the meal she was prepping for that night. She hadn't been expecting anyone, her normal buyer for game wasn't set to arrive until next week and her produce hadn't grown in for the month yet to be selling, so Y/n was at a loss.

Hesitantly making her way to the door, she stopped to listen to see if anyone would inquire about who they were or what they wanted. Upon pressing her hands against the door in preparation to crack it open, a familiar breath against her ear made an involuntary smile take ahold of her features.

"You know, it is pretty cold out here. Could you please open the door?" The voice of Azriel came out muffled through the wood.

Y/n couldn't open the door quick enough to grab the male and drag him inside.

A small chuckle rung from him as he followed her in quickly.

"You can't do that!" She chastised, quickly closing the curtains and peeping out the window to make sure nobody was around.

"I didn't want to be rude."

"Ya? Well, be rude. You will get yourself killed otherwise."

"Am I supposed to just winnow in here then?"

"Win what?" Azriel stopped, placing a small sack down on the couch, turning to her with amusement in his eyes. His brow raised in question, asking to continue, it had Y/n nodding.

"Remember when we left?" Y/n nodded again; the motion making the spymaster's chest flutter. "It seemed that we just..." He searched for the word, "disappeared?"

"Yes, I assumed one of you had magic wind powers that no one told me about." Y/n knew she sounded stupid, ignorant even, but this whole experience made her ignorant to what felt like everything. However, Y/n would be as ignorant as she needed to be to elicit the loud laugh that came from Azriel. He was sat down now, all but sprawled on the couch in laze. The two had been comfortable before, now with his return it seemed they had entered a much deeper trust.

"No, that's not-" another laugh, "not how it works." Y/n followed suit, letting herself settle on the nearby seat. She giggled at the situation.

"What? You can't expect me to get that right first guess." Her giggles filled in the space between Azriel's now dwindling laugh.

"It is actually close now that I think about it." Looking to her again he began his short explanation. "It is some sort of magic. Cassian can't do it."

"Ah, I see. Doesn't have the ol' flare that the rest of you have?" The spymaster didn't want to think to clearly about the ease in which this girl pulled a relaxed smile from him.

"No, I guess not." He had continued with his little explanation, Y/n nodding the whole way through. Upon his finale she had adjusted herself to stand again. His eye's grazed over her form as she stood.

"Where are you going?" Her cheeks warmed.

"Just to add some more ingredients for dinner."

"Oh, speaking of which..." Az had reached for the bad he had tossed onto the furniture earlier, prying open the top. Reaching in he had grabbed a handful of a smaller pouch that resided in it. Upon tossing it towards Y/n, her hand instinctually catching it from the air. It was heavy and 'clinked' when it landed within her palm, that familiar weight and sound had the girl's eyes widening. "That is from the court."

"By the gods, this is a little much for a couple months, no?" It wasn't that Y/n was ungrateful, but a pouch filled as much as this one could have her living more than comfortably for a long time around here.

"It isn't that much Y/n."

"Yes, it is."

"Not for Rhys."

"Still, I feel bad."

"Why do you feel bad?"

"Because I feel like I'm using you guys."

"You are not using us."

"Really? Because how heavy this is I would say I'm using."

"Just take the coins Y/n."

"Okay."

Y/n twirled back towards the kitchen, quickly finding her stash of money and hiding it away. The quick banter between the two lingering in the air as a grin still remained on both of their faces. Following through with her plan, Y/n began adding some more portions to the already marinating meats.

The hours passed by quickly, an ease of comfort and warmth enveloping the two while Azriel got his tasks in order for what he needs to find and where he could go to find it. Y/n didn't pry much about his work, obviously seeing the tenseness gradually seeping into his form with each shadow that would return to him. So, as dinner came and went, the girl had made herself busy preparing his room and planning her route for the next day.

When she came back to the living room moments later, Y/n was surprised to see the lack of the hulking male that was once sat on her couch. Picking up her pace, she had quickly cracked the front door to see if he had left by foot. Upon finding no footprints on the snow, she shut the door and returned to cleaning up the place a bit more before his return.

Hours ticked by, Y/n had changed and prepped for bed quietly stepping back into her living room, grabbing the latest novel on her way. She had adorned a simple nightgown, nothing fancy or elaborate like what she had seen the Archerons wear after Feyre's departure, but the garment was divine to sleep in, emphasizing the "gorgeous silhouette" that her best friend had insisted about. She had worn it many times before, but the idea of the Spymaster seeing her in it had her heart skip a beat at the thought.

Y/n had taken her seat across from the fire that cackled, opened her novel, and began to read.

Azriel was annoyed.

He had gotten a whisper from one of his shadows about movement within one of the queen's guards and upon his departure, he didn't even have time to leave a note. Az knew that she wouldn't fret after hearing the summary of winnowing hours prior, but the thought of her looking for him without explanation about his absence struck a chord within his chest. He had been staked out for hours, not moving or even twitching from his position amongst the dark. The whispers continued to circle him, all reporting the same thing.

He had wasted his time tonight, there was nothing substantial going on with the Human Queen.

He let the vein in his forehead throb with the clench of his jaw. He had turned once more, checking the area around himself before settling on the decision to leave. His body almost longed for warmth despite his anatomy making it very hard for him to be actually cold. Azriel stopped his thought before he could dive any deeper on the thought of the specific heat he craved.

Home. Back. Beauty. Soft. Beauty. Leave.

It was a drug he couldn't quit. Without much else of a thought, Azriel had allowed his shadows to take him back to your little house that stood at the edge of the wall. Taking your prior conversation (and as much of a threat as Y/n could conjure towards him), he had winnowed right into the living room, bypassing the door.

Warm. Soft. Beauty. Look. Look. Look.

Azriel's eyes had trailed over to the couch, Y/n's form capturing his attention immediately. His shadows hadn't been lying, the way you laid was that of a spiritual sight. The curve of your body held gently by a soft looking nightdress that she must've put on after he left. The familiar lick of the hearth's light caressing her softly, almost akin to the most attuned lover, kissing her skin and shadows.

I was a sight that Azriel forced himself to memorize, and one that he knew he would see in his dreams to come.

It was obvious that you had been reading, the novel fallen on to the floor with some pages crinkled with its own weight.

Although Azriel didn't want to disrupt the sight of something so vulnerable and captivating, the thought of her sore body the next day from a fitful rest on the used couch made him move quickly. He had prayed to whatever deity that listened that his 'quiet' reputation proceeded him as he took steps on the creaking floor to get to Y/n without waking her. Upon his success, he let out a silent breath.

As effortless as she looked, Azriel had picked her up cradling her to himself as securely as possible without altering her form. Her slight sigh and twitch had him stalling for a moment, checking her heartbeat to ensure she was in fact still asleep. With his confirmation, he began his trek up the stairs and towards her room. He had passed by it multiple times during his prior time with his court, but holding her now as he placed her onto the bed, it stirred that inexplainable flutter in him.

Az had wanted to start helping Y/n on her writing tonight, but the subtle (although meaningless) shift in guard had pulled him away.

Tomorrow night then.

Y/n was ecstatic to have the spymaster around for as long as he did. Although only a couple days, the two had bonded and laughed with each-other. Much to Yn’s surprise, Az had been adamant on beginning her practice with a pen. It was a bit rough in the beginning, but by the end of his stay she was confident in some of the letters and how they flowed.

But sadly as all things do, he had to return home.

It was another awkward goodbye, this time the brush of his shadows lingered, almost matching the lingering gaze he shared with her. Y/n had sworn she almost got lost in it.

He had left her with the same promise as before.

“I’ll be back.” Then the male all but vanished from her door.

The next time he had stopped by it was in a flurry of motion, one that even had Y/n reeling. He had apologized before vanishing away only to be back in the middle of the night. Upon the sun rising, he had left a platter of produce on the table with another small pouch of coins and a note explaining his hasty departure.

It made Y/n smile, although disappointed she couldn’t see him more.

Occurrences like that became common for the two. His stays never lasting more then a couple of days at most before he was gone again. Through Azriel’s increased trips, Feyre had akin him to a letter boy with all of her messages and small trinkets that she wished to tell her still human best friend. As for Y/n? She couldn’t be happier in her life if she tried. Sure, Feyre wasn’t here with her next door and the male she has come to crush on like had their own demons to fight which took their time, but for the first time in a very long time Y/n felt remembered.

Even though the last trip that Azriel had taken tested the waters between the two, and Y/n would be damned if she didn’t stay up at night in embarrassment.

The breath against her ear didn’t startle Y/n anymore. She had become akin to the soft silken caress of the spymasters shadows and even reveled in their touch when they caressed her neck. The snow had officially begun to melt by now, the ground slowly becoming soft as the sky broke away to the sun once more.

“I need to wash the bedding in your room before you retire for the night.” She had twirled around, gentle and soft, adding to the allure of the scent of fruit that she had been cutting prior. There stood Azriel, as beautiful as ever, in her foyer looking over her form. It was a welcome gesture as since as much as she had tried capture his attention, he seemed as fortified as a fortress. Y/n would be lying if she said she didn’t attempt to try and test the boundaries between them. A glance here, accidental brush there, the best of her wardrobe when preparing dinner for herself hoping he would snatch her away.

The last thought was a bit much, but her mind didn’t care.

Az had noted a couple visits prior, sent a compliment towards her and the dress she had managed to adorn through the leftovers of the last coin pouch. It was a frivolous purchase, but she knew she needed to be a bit more open to receiving help as Feyre would have her had (and no doubt Azriel’s) if she didn’t.

“Don’t fret if it isn’t done until later.” The Spymaster assured. Y/n couldn’t help but throw a questioning glance at him. “I have to check something out for a bit and report. Might be a little while.”

“Shall I count you for dinner?” Y/n had hopes he would as she had missed him from his time away. “I’m going to grab some drinks from the market today, I was hoping you would try them with me.”

“I should hope so. If not this will be a long night.” Y/n smiled at that.

“Any specific types of drink you prefer?”

“Whatever you favor.” Azriel did not know much of human alcohol, he assumed there was the standard of wine, but that was as far as he had ventured. It wasn’t worth much to fae as it was not nearly as potent to have any sort of effects.

“Ah, I well then it’ll be a surprise to us both.” Y/n had turned around fully, back to her task, and also to hid the slight brushing of red that dusted her cheeks. She was embarrassed by her lack of experience, but he didn’t need to know that.

Obviously, Azriel figured it out, and quickly at that. Her hesitance with accepting his answer along with the slight rush of her heart and as a dead giveaway. Thinking about it now he assumed that there wasn’t much that this human girl could lie to him about that he wouldn’t catch. Az knew he can read people well, but this was almost effortless, as if he was attuned to those emotions.

He also knew that since her experience was limited, if at all, she would definitely have 0 tolerance.

Even if Az would be caught up in the most perilous situation (he wouldn’t be, but even so) he would make sure to find himself back at this little house by sundown.

As for Y/n, the idea that the male would be there for the experience brought a sense of comfort to her. Yes, it wasn't Feyre like she had hoped as since they had planned to get her 'inebriated' according to her best friend, but it was someone.

Y/n wouldn't be alone.

Plus, the person she would spend the experience with was a hulking dark and handsome male, so that was a huge bonus.

It wasn't long before Azriel had head out, making sure to bid a small farewell and promise to see her tonight. Y/n had taken this opportunity to not only tidy up the house, make sure his room was cleaned and ready, but also to make herself a bit more presentable to head into town. It wasn't often that she ventured this way, most times she was fresh from the forest and outside her house skinning the latest kill for fur and cuts of meat. Occasionally she would venture in with produce and some wheat she could grow year-round, both instances made for dirty work and one that wasn't very presentable.

Now as she ventures that way, freshly bathed, adorning new clothes and smelling like berries; Y/n felt new.

She had missed the glances her way from the men around her, and the warmth she was received with from the elderly women as she walked by. The way she had held herself was that of a below common person, but in the eyes of the people, she was anything but. If they hadn't watched the girl grow up there would be no doubt that she would be mistaken for the very thing they feared most from her beauty alone.

"Hello." Y/n found herself standing outside a small storefront, the walls adorned with bottles. Within the booth, a smaller man sat, a worn cap on his head. He received her with a smile.

"What can I help you with ma'am?" Y/n roamed her eyes over the shelf hesitantly. The different bottle heights, sizes and colors making her indecisive. The shop keep must've seen the nervousness in her eyes as he let out a small chuckle.

"I can give you some recommendations, if you would like?"

The breath of relief was audible from the girl.

"Yes please."

"What is the occasion?" The question wasn't targeted or sly of any sort, more so inquiring for a better understanding of what he should recommend to Y/n, but she couldn't help but nervously ring her neck where a small wisp hid as blush spread over her skin. She had a small hope that (despite not knowing how they work) her hand clasping over the small silken thing would stop it from potentially hearing the conversation.

"I have a friend coming for dinner tonight."

"Do you want something to pair with the meal or for after?" A small amount of mirth entered the man's eyes as he mentioned beyond the food. It made the color darken on Y/n's neck and spread to her ears.

"I'm not sure..." She hesitated; it was so out of her element for her to even think such a thing could happen for her. Yeah, aside a couple nights with Feyre where they wanted to "practice" and learn with someone they were comfortable with (at least some of it), Y/n hadn't been with anyone. The thought of her being entrapped in passion, much like the books she enjoys every so often, with another had her already nervous stomach filling with flutters. It only increased when the thought of the fae male being the one to spend it with. "Both?"

She didn't mean to say it as a question, really. The man's grin widened as he nodded, turning around to his inventory. He reached under the counter, shuffling some things out of the way before grabbing what he desired. Before a second passed, he had placed a short red bottle on the counter. Y/n eyed it carefully as the lowering sun's rays hit it perfectly to see the rose-colored liquid inside.

"Pair this with any sort of fruit or shoot it straight. It can be sipped on or mixed." Y/n nodded, checking the price as he turned around again. She could easily get the bottle and another with the ruminants of the coin purse that Az had brought his last visit. Upon fixing his room up earlier, she had seen another stashed away in his bag with her initial on it. She wanted to give the small delicate fabric bag back to the spymaster as she had felt bad for having it as long as she did, so a little drink would be the perfect occasion to use it on.

"Red or white meat tonight for dinner?"

As Y/n ventured back towards the house, the sun began to officially set beyond the tree line. She had picked up a bit of pace on her way back to make sure she had enough time to put on the slip dress she adored so much. Upon her arrival home, Y/n glanced at the windows (which remained curtain shut as to keep out the eyes of others) in hopes to potentially see the outline of a male. She had left fireplace lit and the candle lanterns around the house going as to make sure he had light if he did come back early. Entering the house however, Y/n didn't feel the presence of the shadows or their master within. Placing the alcohol on the table, Y/n made her way upstairs to change and freshen up her appearance.

Upon her satisfaction she made her way back downstairs and to the table where the drinks lie.

She had taken them out of the bag, placing the wine she had purchased for the meal on the small table. Keeping the smaller red bottle with her as she went to the cabinet, Y/n grabbed two cups.

She didn't have any fancy glassware so this would have to do. She highly doubted Azriel would mind.

Placing the cup she meant for him on the table next to the wine, Y/n couldn't help the wandering eye towards the little red bottle that stood ominously on the counter. The way the fire licked at the color looked taunting, but the continued flutter in her stomach at the thought of the spymaster had an idea popping in her head.

Maybe she should try it. Just a little.

Y/n had to make sure it was good before she served it, right?

Before she let herself think too much on the decision, the human girl had popped the lid off, poured a couple seconds into the glass, and shot it back.

The taste was not something she had expected in the slightest. It was sweet, to a degree, with a smoothness that allowed it to gently slide down her throat. The heat that came with the liquid surprised her. Her chest that had been tight all day with the image of her guest warmed and relaxed, the feeling still lingering, but did not have as much of a hold on her.

Y/n like this liquid, she had hopes Azriel would too. Maybe he would even compliment her for picking it out.

A small shy smile broke onto her features at the thought.

Azriel had watched as the sun receded below the tree line. He had done everything he needed to do with his report and check in, quickly making time to tie up any loose ends while he was there. Nothing violent (luckily, as he didn't want to scare a specific human upon his arrival home) but simple covering of his tracks and finalizing some plans before next month.

Everything was clicking into place perfectly as far as he knew.

Giving a small nod to himself, he felt his shadows pull him back to the small house, eager to see the girl within. He didn't fight them but simply allowed himself to appear withing the familiar foyer. The smell of food was the first thing that he had noticed. For a human, with the limited palette that they possessed, Y/n had somehow crafted her cooking to be palatable by fae standards. It had been a plus of his visits here as he could enjoy his time and not feel like he was starving unlike the trip to the other Archeron's house all that while ago.

The second thing he noticed was the bottle of what looked to be some sort of human wine on the table. Az allowed a small warm smile to spread at the gesture. It was sweet, like her, to pick something out that he knew she had heard him talk about prior when recalling his time with his family. It gave insight to just how much she had been listening to him.

The third thing he noticed was the second, smaller bottle sitting on the table slightly behind the human wine. It had been obviously opened as with his quick assessment Az guessed it was about half empty. Taking a step or two to the table, Azriel had picked up the bottle to examine it.

Upon a small sip of the liquid Azriel found It was strong, almost illusionary with its taste. Even he, as fae, felt the warmth go down his throat and a small heat to fill his chest. Confusion gripped him.

This was definitely not a human made drink. If he had any guesses, he would have thought this was some sort of sipping fae gin infused with some sort of floral to cut the bite.

Half the bottle gone made him notice the fourth thing within the house, Y/n's form on one of the seats reading. If the obvious red on her cheeks was any give away to her status at the moment, her lack of notice when he had entered the house would be the most obvious telltale sign.

Y/n was drunk. Deceptively so as she sat cozied up in the chair, obviously reading some sort of romance book.

Az had placed the bottle down a little harder than he normally would, allowing the small ring to jolt Y/n out of her fantasy.

"Azriel! You're back!" Springing up off the couch with more grace than any sane person who is drunk, Y/n had effortlessly gotten to Azriel and enveloped him into a small embrace. It made the male freeze, unsure if he should wrap his arms around the girl or wait until she removed herself from him.

How desperately he wanted to return the embrace.

So, fueled by the liquor that ran through her veins, he settled his hands just above her waist.

Y/n couldn't believe that he made it back for dinner. She didn't try to stop that joy from spreading to her face as the warmth in her body buzzed through her. She didn't mean to drink as much of the liquid as she did, but once she started, the confidence and buzz that came quickly after felt reliving from her crushing nerves.

"I have dinner ready! I also got some of the wine the man at the stall recommended!" Y/n all but burst at the seams with the male's small smile towards her.

"Did he also suggest the other bottle too?" The question was soft, careful to not seem as if she had done something unknowingly wrong. He wasn't upset or anything with her, just an ounce of concern resided in him for her head tomorrow morning.

"He did! It's wonderful too. Try it!" With or without her knowledge, there was very little Azriel wouldn't do for the look that Y/n gave him. Her eyes wide and shining towards him. Very few times had he every received something like this from someone. Az had watched his brothers receive these looks and vulnerability, but never did he think someone could feel safe enough with him to be worthy of it.

Here Y/n stood, almost toe to toe with the fae, giving the best attempt at 'the eyes' that Feyre had talked to her about when they were younger. It was stupid, she knew this, but it was the best time to try and test her effect with them. She made sure to bat her eyes a couple times to emphasize her request towards the shadow singer until he gave a little chuckle and broke away from the embrace. His scarred hands reached for the red bottle and not to long after he was taking a long draw of it from the cup Y/n had selected for him.

"And? Did I do well?" Y/n fished. Azriel gave in quickly.

"Yes, very well. It is quite good, just like how the food smells." Y/n jumped. "Is it ready?"

"Yes!" Y/n all but bounced over to the kitchen, grabbing a plate and handing it to Azriel who had followed behind her. They had sat to eat, allowing the small talk between them to carry. All the while, Y/n had opened the wine and began to pour for herself and Az. It was different then the red bottle liquid. More drinkable and less potent for her. The stall owner did in fact call the type to pair well as one glass became two, two became three, and soon the bottle was done.

Y/n was surely floating.

Azriel should have stopped her after the first glass. The slowing of her movements, softness within her eye, the normal sharp wit reduced to putty as she gently talked. All of it was also why he didn't. It had been so long since someone talked to him gently, reached for him softly, asked him about little details that would normally never matter about himself.

It was as addicting as the drink she had finished minutes before.

Her standing sent a small shock of surprise through him. Her reaching for his finished plate while holding her own had him slightly panicked. He had made notion to stand and take his own plate to put away, but the soft 'I got it' and gentle ease of her hand putting pressure on his shoulder to sit again kept him stationary. Everything in himself put the idea of her serving him in such a way put his nerves on fire. Maybe it was the gin, maybe it was the fact that he couldn't stop the way his eyes trailed the flow of that damned sleeping gown that had his hands twitching to grab.

"We can go to the couch if you want." She had returned to him and grabbed his hand, something that had Az analyzing her face to determine just how drunk she was. They had some physical contact before, but this was a new level.

Azriel luckily let her drag him over to the sitting room. She had guided him to the softest area to sit while she took position next to the male. Upon her placing herself next to him, all but draped on the furniture she let the drink drive her words.

"Is it cold?" Y/n forgot that the male couldn't read her mind, thus when the questioning look towards her and then the fire made a string of giggle slip from her lips. "When you fly silly."

Right, Az was the silly one right now. However, the inquiry was welcome as he settled into his seat and altered himself to see her more clearly.

"Not really. Only If I go really high, but it's dependent on the weather I guess."

"Really? I always thought it would be cold not matter what."

"I'm also just naturally hot."

"Yes, you are."

Azriel laughed.

"No, I mean physically."

"Ya, I know."

"No." Y/n couldn't help but let the confusion cross her face. She agreed with him, why was he laughing? Sure, she would listen to it any time he would give it to her, but it was lost on her why. "I mean I'm Illyrian, we are warm naturally."

The blush on her face all but multiplied and deepened in color, no longer just the drink affecting it.

"But I am glad you think I'm hot." Y/n tried her best to hide in her hands and hair, only for the male to gently reach for her jaw, tilting her head back for him to see. Y/n didn't stop his touch, nor did she stop her intrusive thought to test the theory of his warmth herself. She had strung her hand around his wrist, guiding his hand against her cheek. She didn't think it felt any different than her own hands., maybe it was because the fire behind Az's eyes distracted her.

She had shut her eyes, pressing his marred flesh into her soft skin.

Azriel was going to combust. He didn't know if it was from the ever growing affections for the girl (that he no longer fought as hard), or the growing issue she was causing if he let his thoughts slip for even a second (that he was fighting for his life against right now).

Y/n opened her eyes again, meeting Azriel's easily as a slow, easy smile spread over her. It was as simple as taking a breath. The comfort of it all was that of her relationship with Feyre, but this felt heavier. It was a welcome relief from all the cold and disdain she caught from her best friend's sisters.

"I'm really happy your here." Y/n dropped her hand, which still encased his. "I'm really happy you come to see me."

Y/n had to blink a couple times to make sure she wasn't imagining the slight color on the tips of his ears that she swore was not there prior. There was no look of surprise, or any sort of telltale sign of his that suggested that he was uncomfortable or upset at what she had said, but the wide-eyed look of his had her moving without her knowledge.

She felt her lips make contact with the shell of his ear before she had pulled away to see them doubled in color. Another giggle of hers bubbled out and into the room. Azriel was a statue under her touch, the only notable difference was his slightly heavier breathing that she caught sight of. Before mentioning it however, her head lulled to where his neck met his shoulder, trying to understand why the room seemed distorted more than it had before.

"I'm tired." It was the only conclusion in which she could come to about her predicament. She had felt the male above her nod and a rush of air. It seemed that the statue shadow singer had been holding his breath. Gently pushing her body off of himself much to her disappointment. He stood before her; however, Y/n gave no inclination to move. Her arms however raised in motion for him to succumb to her wishes as she didn't trust her legs to work. A small huff and chuckle exited him before allowing her to get away with such a behavior.

"Okay there little vixen, let's get you up." Her smile was contagious at the name, but she kept the rather heated comments to herself. As she settled into his arms, her own wrapped around his neck in a feeble attempt to try and make herself a bit lighter for the male, easier to carry. By no means was she a tiny woman, Feyre had gotten all the slim genes between them, and while she wasn't unable to live her life, Y/n had curves. Most of it was muscle from the years out hunting and foraging on her own, but it didn't stop the slight worry that she was in fact a bit heavy to Az as he carried her.

Each step that Azriel took was slow, calculated even. He had to try and control himself as to not scare the human girl staring at him so intently that it warmed him to his core.

He also prayed that if he moved slow enough, she wouldn't notice the problem that currently threatened to make itself know if she moves just a little. It sure didn't help that the flesh of her ass was held so easily against his arm, keeping her stationary against him.

Gods she was addicting, and so, so easy to become enamored with.

Azriel didn't understand how in just a couple of months that a human could be so dear to himself. He didn't doubt that the girl in his arms knew him in more depth than most within his life to this day. He truly believed she saw him.

He loved his family, but this was different.

Her bedroom came into view too quickly for Y/n's liking as she hadn't finished memorizing the feel of his chiseled body against hers. Swiftly, as the bed had come to view under her, Y/n had let go of the male and simply fell back into the comfy blankets and pillows below. Her mind swirled with her descent while the only thing that seemed to be in focus was the male of her affections.

"You can lay down too." Her own voice was foreign to her, no longer did she have control over the words that spilled out.

Azriel stood still, watching.

"I don't bite~"

Y/n had reached out to grasp his hand. Successful in her contact, she gently pulled him onto the bed, positioning him on his back, careful of his wings. Without much else of a thought, Y/n had moved his arm just right, allowing herself to curl up within the space it made against his torso. The warmth radiating from him had Y/n passed out in mere minutes, while the poor shadow singer fought demons to keep his composure and not jump the girl.

The next morning Y/n hadn't remembered the entirety of the night, but she sure did remember the little love-bite she had quickly delivered to his ear. She had apologized profusely if she had made him uncomfortable and swore off the sinning liquid. Azriel had insisted that she would in fact want to drink again, and that he didn't mind in the slightest about her welcome intrusion of his space. Y/n wasn't convinced but still took her apologies and made them breakfast while nursing her head.

Sadly, Azriel had to depart that day for a report he had to make to Rhys. This time however, he allowed himself to embrace Y/n, lingering slightly within her scent.

The most recent time in which Y/n had guests within her home, it was the entire Inner Court (or at least the ones she had met before).

"Y/n!" Feyre had yelled upon exiting the winnow into her house. Loud thuds had been heard from the second story before the familiar sight of the human girl raced past all the males and into the arms of her best friend.

"You're here!" If the embrace was any tighter, oxygen would be difficult to pass between them. The sight had made the males in the room melt as the familiar warmth of Y/n surrounded them. Even Azriel couldn't help the small smile that adorned his features despite the jab to his ribs from his brother.

"I am so sorry for the drop in with no warning, but the timing for our play with the queens seems to be now." Feyre had explained, pulling back to look at her.

"That is more than okay Angel, you're always welcome to come anytime you feel."

From the small amount of explaining and information that Azriel had given to Y/n prior through his visits, the timing of it all had seemed to be the most up in the air. They had enough on their plates and didn’t need another excuse to feel bad about being in her residence for the time being. 

However, despite having the support of the court even now, she did not have enough to plan for when they were gone in a week or so for her stock. Thus, the decision was that she had to go out to the market, and also the forest. She needed to hunt again just so she can tide her stock over and keep her clients that she had built within the market. Plus, Y/n had wanted to make Feyre's favorite from when they were kids, which required a deer.

"Take up the rooms you had last time," Turning to Rhys and Feyre she gave a small smile, "I'll wash everything and change it for you guys when I'm back if that is okay."

"Don't worry about it Ace, is the washing still where it used to be?" the fae girl prompted. Y/n nodded with a smile. "Then I got it, we have to organize our plan here anyway. It'll give us a bit of a break before getting back to work."

"Knock yourselves out then."

After giving a quick hug to Cass, Y/n's eyes settled on Azriel who had taken a couple steps back. Her body gravitated slightly towards him while he brushed the back of his hand against her arm. It gave the human a surge of confidence.

"Welcome back." Y/n had allowed the low tone of her voice to carry a soft undertone which had the spymaster checking to make sure his family wasn't snooping since they had wandered towards their living arrangements.

"I missed you." The softness in his voice made Y/n melt.

"I missed you too."

Grabbing her hunting bow and dagger, she stepped towards the door. Y/n hesitated before opening the door and looked to the stair that led to her old and new friends. As the sun began to set, the obvious specks of light suggested she would not be alone out in those woods. 

"I have to go and grab some things in the market and out..." Y/n trailed off. Azriel had glanced out the window briefly, not able to hide the small flicker of nervousness that showed there. Although Y/n didn't allow herself to let the moment proceed as she broke contact and turned toward the small table that resided near the door. She had taken out the small paper she had picked up some odd weeks ago and one of the pens Az had brought as a small gift. She had been practicing between visits and confidently scribbled the note down.

Out hunting for dinner. Be back soon, stay inside. The town is out.

Deciding that was enough, she strung her cloak over her small frame and headed out the door and towards the tree line, sparing a small glance at the shadow singer on her way out. Admittedly, she hated the forest during this time. There was a false spring that everyone had thought would bring the warm weather to only be hit by one more blow from the mother. With it brought a frigid cold and icy flurries that would no doubt melt by the end of the week. The snow and wind whipped all warmth she had away from her in a matter of minutes and the ever-concerning watchful eye of beasts who long to have her for supper also put her on edge. 

Her body still noticed the absence of her friend that used to go not these little missions together. Although the girl is currently residing back at the house, it still stung for when she would leave. Y/n never really got used to the feeling of loneliness that came with her best friend's freedom. Although it was a selfish thought, she did miss the time they would spend hours together just chatting and getting through this life together. She missed her. 

She was elated to have her back, even to this capacity. She would never stop being thankful for her return.

A cold tear shook her from her thoughts. Shaking her head, she wiped it away and moved on deeper and deeper into the forest. 

Although she pulled the bow closer to her body, she achieved no extra security and for some reason she couldn’t shake the feeling of lurking danger beyond the trees that surrounded her. The wind whipped louder, blocking out the sounds of the forest and any audible cues that would give away a predator or prey. It added to the nerves of it all. It's why nobody should ever have to do this to survive.

As her boots crunched in the snow below her, she allowed her mind to wander as she squatted down into the white below. Here she would stay for an hour or so waiting for a migration or flock to cross her path. Since the snow and wind was so bad however, she highly doubted she could cross many prey, let alone a deer. Predators however were another story entirely, and she was sure she would come across one. Settling down once again, she relaxed the bow and rolled her shoulders, causing the assortment of ash arrows and regular to jumble further. 

Hazel eyes flooded her thoughts as she waited. Specifically of a Fae man with wings that is currently resting within her residence that she had left at the door. One with blue stones and friendly darkness that always wrapped around the nape of her neck, it was almost as alluring as all the riches and security in the world. The night he moved her to the bedroom because he had felt unease about her resting on the couch while she had stupidly trusted a drink, the chance she opened her eyes and smiled at him, and he finally allowed a redness to spread over his face as she had kissed his ear. The late nights they would stay up and read, gentle conversation flowing from the both of them, it was intoxicating. Even more than the drink she is still haunted by.

Without the human girl's knowledge, Feyre had called it, and now Rhys owed her all new paints for her studio. The girl had probably the biggest affinity for the male in such a short time that either of them had seen. Granted it had been about two occurrences that the court had witnessed in person, but the closeness of the two and the flustered avoidance that the shadow singer would insist wasn't happening. It was all so obvious, and the first time that both of them where as readable as a book.

Hearing a snap in the twigs behind her, Y/n's body moved like water as she pulled her bow taught and aimed with a watchful eye to the intruder of her space. Loaded in the string was an ash arrow, until her eyes met with the very hazel she was just dreaming about. 

“It’s just me.” Azriel said with his hands raised, eyeing the tip of the arrowhead. Y/n sighed and lowered the weapon giving a small smile to him. Even with the weather around the two, the male didn’t look even the slightest cold. Sensing the small displeasure of the stare at her arrow she stepped closer and rubbed the back of her neck. 

“Ever since Feyre was almost killed and then taken by a Fae man, I’ve carried these. You never know out here, and I had a feeling if it were to happen again, I wouldn’t be so lucky.” She explained and he nodded slightly. The image of her suffering the same as his High Lady was nauseating but was worse as he knew she in fact wouldn’t be as lucky and most likely killed if she were to run into another enemy Fae. "I had it before meeting you all."

She had attempted to reason, hoping that he wouldn't take offense to her carrying the very thing that could kill him and his family.

Her nerves settled though when he nodded at her and offered a small smile to assure her there were no hard feelings.

“Why are you out anyway? I left a note; the town is out today, and I don’t want you all to get caught.” She poked before sending him a small smile as his shadows seemed to envelop her hands to try and keep them warm. The silken texture felt nice against her digits, as she brought them up to give a slight breath to hopefully add some warmth.

“I was worried.” It was simple and curt but the meaning behind it made flurries and warmth spread through Y/n's whole being. So much so, she felt as if she almost didn’t need the jacket. 

“Oh,” She paused and looked into his eyes again as she hesitantly stepped closer, feeling a heat radiating from the larger male form. It had been a since the drinking incident that they were so close together. Thinking back to that night, Y/n allowed herself to giggle.

“You aren’t even feeling the cold are you.” It was more a statement than a question, and it made Azriel let out a smile and sigh. 

“No. Perks of being an Illyrian I guess.” Y/n shook her head as she took another step into his warmth, allowing herself to fully engulf the memory of that night. He hadn’t stepped back or retreated from her body, so she took this as a chance to not only warm up slightly but also test the waters more openly, without alcohol. His eyes seemed to study her movements as his shadows still swarmed her hands, the curve of her body under the layers of cloth, the way her hair gently blew despite the howling wind, the way the snow reflected off her eyes. Even for a Fae she would be considered ethereal. 

Snap 

Before Azriel could even flinch and his mind could come back from the thoughts of the woman in front of him, Y/n had placed herself around his side with an arrow taught. 

A yell erupted from whoever broke their peaceful encounter as Y/n let the arrow fly. She registered the Faebane soaked sword before the male behind her could and the throwing knife that he let in the direction of the shadow singer. 

The arrow hit before Azriel processed what happened, and the man’s body hit the snow staining it with the familiar crimson. His eyes hardened at the sword that fell into the snow and the rage that permanently covered his face, he also noted the ash arrow that Y/n had buried in his chest with great pride. She was lethal, her abilities honed by pure survival and instinct. Even he was impressed by her response to danger. A pride that would soon turn to panic when the girl he became infatuated with turned towards him. 

“I understand why the inside part was necessary-” He began but shortly cut himself off when his shadows screamed, and his eyes found that very crimson on Y/n. “Shit.” He began. 

Y/n felt the dagger hit; she also knew that if she didn't put herself there it would've stuck the male behind her in the middle of his chest (although she highly doubted it landing as his shadows had coiled around himself without his realization she guessed). Luckily, she knew it didn’t hit anything too vital as it embedded into her shoulder, but it would leave one hell of a scar and at least a month of no hunting for her meals and trades.

“We need to go home.” She ground out. Azriel nodded quickly before scooping the smaller girl into his arms. 

“You know, when I imagined of your size in my arms, I did not have this scenario in mind.” He attempted to joke, but when it landed and Y/n wheezed, it was painful. He cursed again and quickly melted into the shadows to get home.

“You think about that?” Y/n wheezed out. Allowing a small tense chuckle to escape him, he took in the now significantly paler girl.

"More times than I care to admit."

Coming to the familiar door, he rushed inside whilst the few of his family talked over some food and a fire. His sudden appearance had startled the group, and it took Rhys to speak up about the startled and shaken look on his shadow master’s face. 

“Help her.” Such small words and yet the whole of the building into a frenzy. Launching up from the couch, Feyre cursed at the girl as she willed her magic into her smaller body to try and help heal her.

"What the hell happened?!" She exclaimed upon seeing the wound not close as she was intending. Unbeknownst to the group, Feyre had never seen her friend with this much blood on her. Sure, they had skinned and butchered game when they had got it, but it was never hers.

Feyre hated the sight.

Everyone did.

But none more than the male who had carried her back.

Cassian attempted to find any gauze and ointment that could take the edge off of her pain upon Feyre's directions to the cabinet, even if it was a slight improvement. The way the girl forced back her writhe of discomfort was not a welcome sight. Even Rhysand was with his mate tried to aid in the healing but to no avail, much to their shared displeasure. Azriel was on the other hand by Y/n’s face, watching to see any change and trying to comfort the small girl. 

“I’m not dead, just dying if you don’t get this thing out of me and stop the bleeding.” She bargained trying to sit up wincing as she went, but the High Lady of the house pushed her back down. 

“No, we are fixing this. Stay still. Please” Azriel grasped her hand trying to will his own agenda of her staying down and letting them heal her. He knew she would be fine. The wound wasn't fatal in the slightest and hadn't hit anything that would be a long-term issue.

The sight of this female, this human woman bleeding on a table with a throwing knife that was meant for him through his brain into a spiral. The nudge in his chest had begun to feel like the knife had hit him, not her.

“It won’t work.” She coughed. Everyone stopped to look at her as Cassian began unloading the things he found. “It was meant for Az, it’s coated in faebane and ash. Magic won’t work.” 

Scarred hands had grabbed hers, tight and almost pleading. A realization settled over Azriel as he held her steady. A realization that he didn't know what to do with, nor did he ever think would happen.

Almost if he sensed it too Rhys snapped his eyes to Azriel.

Rhysand looked to Azriel’s eyes for confirmation, he nodded and went back to holding her close, unable to think of doing anything else.

It was going to be a long month for Y/n.

Hope you all enjoyed! I got a bit carried away with everything.

Tag list: @rcarbo1 @cherryinsalemverse @kabekusa @hellohauntedturnstudent @optimisticbabydreamer @historygeekqueen @whhyyynottt @love-over-fears @alainabooks143 @ariaaira @snoopyspace @moonlwghts @meritxellao @paintedbyshadows @tiredsleepyhead @annaaaaa88 @willowpains @annamariereads16 @the-onlyy-angie @bbontenswhhore @rahdaleigh @casiiopea2 @littlemissfix-itfic

[littlejuicebox]

Swollen

Summary: This is another addition to my multi-part Dadstarion series. Tav is heavily pregnant and craving touch from Astarion. He's such a good husband, he happily obliges... but not without making it a bit of a game, of course.

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+, daddy kink, pregnancy is mentioned but I wouldn't call it a pregnancy kink... just an acknowledgement of the belly, Astarion has a foot fetish, light edging, light brat-taming, light spanking, Astarion being a tease what is new

Notes: HAPPY DADSTARION DAY! This started as a gift I was writing for @tragedybunny and took far too long for me to complete! Also, hello tumblr. My first posted piece in a while. I've finished moving and hope to get back into the swing of things here. Hope everyone has been well!

Word Count: 4K

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Her feet hurt, her back hurts, and she’s incredibly horny. 

The strange contrast isn’t lost upon Tav in the slightest, but the pregnancy hormones have her libido at an all time high. Seven months in with the twins, a stomach stretched almost to its limits, and yet she cannot get enough of her husband. She craves his touch, the feeling of his skin pressed against hers, the sensation of his cock splitting her open. She hears the whispers of encouragement and adoration that push her towards release in her dreams and longs for the moans of his own ecstasy as he follows her into oblivion. 

Tav is, more than ever, addicted to Astarion. Not that he seems to be complaining. 

But unfortunately for Tav, Astarion is still working in his office at this very moment. It’s midday; she has at least a few more hours until there is any opportunity to find her fix. 

After a quick shower and change into her robe, Tav convinces herself that she can be patient. Her feet are swollen, anyway, after her morning in the park with Gale — the three year old is taking a well-earned nap — so she will simply elevate them and wait for the inflammation to go down. After that, dinner preparations and putting their son to bed. And after that— finally— some well earned mommy and daddy time. 

Tav props her legs up on a pillow, closes her eyes for just a moment and… 

She is stirred awake by the feeling of strong hands gripping the soles of her feet. 

When her eyes flutter open, Astarion, appearing before her with the top buttons of his shirt undone, smiles and affectionately squeezes her feet once again. “Everything alright, little love?”

Tav hums a yes and then brushes a few strands of hair from her face as Astarion continues to massage her feet. She moves to prop herself up just slightly, aided by a few pillows behind her back. Her robe spills open, revealing swollen breasts to match her swollen stomach. Astarion blatantly admires the view, eyebrow arching with interest, as she gathers the fabric back together and tightens the belt with a sigh. 

“I must have fallen asleep for a moment,” she says, allowing her eyes to close again as she focuses on Astarion’s hands kneading the flesh of her sore soles. Gods, the magic of this man’s hands— and not a spell in sight. “Is Gale still napping?”

Astarion hums a yes in response. “We stopped early with the ledgers today — it’s Pascal’s wife’s birthday so I told him we would resume tomorrow. I was hoping to catch you two for lunch but by the looks of the kitchen you’d already eaten. So I made a quick bite for myself and then came looking for you.”

Tav groans, imagining the state of the kitchen, which she left in shambles. The maid won’t be back in until Monday morning. “I’ll clean the kitchen later, I just—“ 

“No need, love. I already tidied it. We can leave what remains for tomorrow,” Astarion cuts in before lifting her foot and placing an affectionate kiss on the outer edge. 

“For once in your life, just rest, woman. Would you like me to leave you so that you can go back to sleep?”

She shakes her head and then smiles softly. “No, I’d like for you to keep doing what you’re doing.”

Astarion chuckles, his eyes flickering across Tav’s face and then glimmering with mischief. He glances back down at her chest, now covered, and hums, his head tilting to the side. 

“Which part, darling?” He asks as he begins squeezing and massaging her calf with his long fingers. “This?” 

He continues kneading a few more times before he stops and moves to kiss Tav’s ankle. He lingers for a moment and then trails a few pecks along the side of her foot. She watches as his lips brush against her sole before he takes two toes into his mouth and sucks them lightly. He keeps his eyes trained on her face as his tongue swirls around the digits, causing her to squeal and squirm. Finally, he releases her toes with a sly smile. 

“Or that?”

“Both,” Tav responds, causing Astarion to rumble a chuckle in response. 

“You’re so needy, darling,” he teases, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips, the heat of his breath grazing against her toes. “But very well, if you insist. How could I say no to my very pregnant wife?”

His mouth his back around Tav’s foot in an instant, his tongue teasing against her toes. She gasps in response, her face flushing crimson at the… raw intensity with which he is worshiping her feet and the consistency of his gaze trained upon her face. The slickness growing between her thighs is, frankly, even more embarrassing. He’s done this before, every once and a while, but perhaps with not quite as much vigor. 

Astarion hums when he releases Tav’s toes for a second time, his lips pressing a trail of kisses against her calf as he quickly spreads her legs open. He’s soon on his stomach, his face just in front of her mound, robe expertly undone by one dexterous hand. 

He trails one hand up the inside of her thigh, his touch tingling along her flesh on his way to spread her folds and admire the wetness of her cunt. His mouth hovers not more than an inch away, lips curling up into a smug smile as he views the glistening arousal he’s coaxed from her. His breath brushes against her clit. So close, and yet so far. 

And entirely purposeful. 

Tav attempts to reach down between her own legs and touch herself, to relieve the nagging need at the apex of her trembling thighs. She groans in dismay and drops her hand, gripping the sheet when she realizes the swell of her abdomen is now too large for her to reach her own drenched folds. 

But gods, she needs relief. 

“Astarion,” she huffs, her voice tipping up into a whine as kisses are trailed along her thigh. “I know what you’re doing and I’m not in the mood for teasing.”

Astarion lifts his lips to chuckle in delight at her little predicament. His head tips up; she can barely see his eyes, shining with mischief, over the swell of her abdomen. 

“Darling, I usually have to physically restrain you so that you cannot touch yourself while I’m playing with your pretty cunt like this,” he purrs, a silver eyebrow cocked as his eyes lift and drag across her barely-clothed body. “This is a delightful development on my part.” 

“Astarion, I swear, if you don’t—“ Tav interrupts her threats with a strangled moan as two of his fingers easily slide into her walls. Her hips eagerly buck in response. 

“What you were saying, darling?” Astarion asks, cockily, as the flat of his palm presses against her clit. 

Tav is barely able to stifle the wanting cry that begs to escape her lips as she struggles to speak.

“What was that?” He teases again, as his fingers slip in and out of her entrance, the lewd sounds of her slickness filling the bedroom. He removes his fingers and trails them up to her clit, pressing down and rubbing forcefully, causing a shocked whine to shoot from Tav’s mouth. He chuckles. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you over all the moaning and whining, love. Did you want something else?”

“No,” Tav finally manages to gasp out through ragged breaths, her hips rolling against Astarion’s fingers as he slides them back inside. 

Astarion hums a contented sound from the back of his throat, entirely pleased with her response. “There’s my good girl. Now, how about you relax and let daddy do all the work, hm?” He asks, his eyes focused on Tav’s arousal dripping itself onto his fingers, beckoning his tongue to taste. 

Tav is left with no choice but to obey the command, and simply nods her head before tossing it backwards as she focuses on the pleasure building between her legs. She moans when Astarion’s lips lock against her flesh and cries out as his tongue slides along her clit. He smirks along her drenched cunt, his tongue lavishing the familiar trails of pleasure that he’s memorized after years of study. 

He takes his time, tracing around her overly sensitive nub in expert circles. He hooks his fingers to stroke along the sensitive spot that makes her toes tingle, grinning when he feels them, strewn over his shoulder and curled up in pleasure against his back. He flicks his tongue in the way he knows she prefers, listening to the muffled cries of pleasure that escape as she attempts to keep her voice down and avoid waking their toddler. He misses the way she used to scream for him. 

But she can still scream for him, can’t she? He’s certain he can make her cry out just the same. 

Astarion licks a final strip against Tav’s clit and then pulls back, his fingers still sunk deep within her, all the way to the third knuckle. He roams his eyes over his little love, up to the curve of her abdomen, stretched taut with the result of their coupling. His heart fills with pride as his free hand moves to rest atop her swollen stomach while his eyes wander and settle upon her face. Her mouth is agape, but there’s no sound coming out apart from a soft gasp or ragged breath every time he slides his fingers in and out of her eager entrance. 

Quite a shame, really. She makes the most beautiful noises when she doesn’t hold back. 

Tav’s eyes open, her face flushed and lids drooping with lust. She’s frustrated, he can tell, by the removal of his tongue. Her lips are dropping into a pout; her only response is a huffy whine. 

Astarion clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Now, now, patience, little love,” he chides, lightly, removing his fingers from the wetness of her folds and licking the slickness from them with a hum, all while ignoring the disappointed groan from Tav. “I’ll give you what you want… you just have to give me what I want first.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “And what is that, exactly?”

He grins playfully and presses himself up to standing. On the way to the door, he unbuttons and shrugs off his shirt. He quickly clicks the lock closed and spins around before lowering his trousers. 

Tav is watching him closely; he makes a show of sliding his bottoms down and freeing his cock. His length is twitching with anticipation, begging to plunge into her depths and spill its seed. And hells, she’s a tempting picture. Almost impossible to resist. The thought alone causes a drop of pre-fluid to bead at the head of his cock; he drops a hand to stroke his length. His mind fills with the urge to stuff Tav full and thrust into her until she is sweaty and dripping with his sticky spend. Until it is leaking from her hole and onto her thighs, spilling into the sheets beneath her. Until she smells only of sex and him. 

But he can wait a while longer, if only to make her just as desperate as he feels. If only to pull those pretty little pleas from her mouth. 

“For a start, use those beautiful hands of yours to cast a silence spell for me, won’t you, my love?”

Tav flushes but obliges, her fingers waving to cast a spell she’s performed hundreds of times before, though perhaps not recently, and certainly not in this context. A shroud of silence surrounds the room, insulating them from anything outside the four walls around them. Astarion smirks as he stalks toward the bed, the corners of his lips pulling up in a vulpine smile, eyes dark with lust but glinting with rougery. Quite like the vampire that used to slip into Tav’s bedroll at night. 

He has Tav right where he wants her, and he knows it. He’s no longer a vampire, of course, but perhaps the animalistic, predatory side of him never truly left. He’d always been one to toy with his food, back then in camp, hadn’t he? 

“Now then, darling,” Astarion purrs as he slides back onto the bed and assumes the position he’d been in moments before, his face nestled between her legs. He smiles smug, fingers spreading her folds, wetness seeping from her entrance. “How about we see if I can still make you scream?”

“You are an arrogant bastard, Astarion An–” Tav huffs, a sharp gasp interrupting her chastisement as Astarion’s tongue presses against her clit. Astarion chuckles in response, the sound causing vibrations to pulse against her sex and she gasps again, her hand instinctively coming to cover her mouth. 

Astarion growls in disapproval, extending his own hand out to yank hers from her face, fingers threading through hers to keep them there. She will scream for him; he will continue his efforts until she does. He presses more insistently into that bundle of nerves, swelling now, the result of his ability to play her body perfectly. Tav bucks and a fresh bit of slickness covers his chin. He dips his head lower, tongue sliding against her slit and down further to lap at the oasis between her legs. 

She always tastes divine. 

His lids flutter closed as he inhales the heady aroma of her arousal and tastes the musky sweetness of her sex. His cock throbs at the familiar combination. He laps eagerly and then returns his attention to her clit, using his free hand to plunge two fingers into her entrance and curl, landing on the spot that makes her cry for him. Tav bucks in response, her hips lifting up and against his face, silently pleading for more.

Silently.

Oh. She’s remaining quiet on purpose, isn’t she?

That won’t do. 

Astarion lifts up and away from Tav, his eyebrow arching in somewhat of a challenge. He unconciously licks at the slickness on his lips as he huffs, “Must you insist on being a brat?”

Tav’s eyebrow lifts in return, her gaze steady as she stares back at him, straining to keep her chest from heaving. “What? You thought this would be easy? That I would be easy? Not the first time you’ve miscalculated, my love.” 

“Really,” Astarion says as his eyes narrow, the hand that had been threaded through Tav’s fingers pulling away. He grips into the plushness of her ass, holding her firmly in place. “Don’t pretend I didn’t have you screaming for me in the Elfsong with nothing more than my tongue, Tav.”

“It’s been so long since then, I can hardly remember— ah—!” 

Astarion laves her clit with renewed vigor, his fingers pumping in and out of her entrance in rapid time. His hand grips into Tav’s flesh, holding her against him and minimizing the movement of her hips. His tongue swirls around and around in steady circles, fingers curled to press back against the spot that makes her gasp with every thrust. He can sense she is holding back, in the trembling of her thighs and the movements of her hands, firmly fisted into the bed sheets. He can also tell she’s not far from reaching her peak.

But far enough. 

He can keep her on the edge, like he used to quite frequently, when the taste of her blood was made better by the taste of her wanton anticipation. Back when he would latch onto her neck and suckle more for comfort than sustenance, keeping himself on the edge just as much as he’d kept her there. 

More, perhaps, in truth. 

Astarion rolls his hips at the thought, stiff cock dragging along silken sheets, and lets out a moan of his own. No longer thirsting for blood, but the memory of the intense, desperate thirst and the feeling of utter satiation still causes his desire to flare. 

Nothing and no one has ever or will ever satisfy him as much as Tav. That much is certain. 

Astarion almost gives in and lets Tav come. Almost gives in to the desire to taste her ecstasy in the only way he can, nowadays. Almost. But just before her thighs are about to clamp around his head, he remembers the game at hand. His pride wins out. He slows his fingers and reduces the pressure from his tongue, grinning when he hears Tav whine. 

“You absolute bastard!” Tav hisses, fist pounding into the mattress. 

He chuckles, fingers lazily dragging in and out of Tav’s entrance as he lifts his head up to once again peer over the swell of her abdomen. His eyes lock onto her exposed chest, tits swollen and stretched, skin glistening with sweat. He licks his lips; he can taste nothing but her. He trails his gaze upward, to the sharp, narrowed eyes glaring down at him and smirks as he slowly lifts himself onto his knees. 

“Is that really any way to speak to the father of your children, my love?”

“Is this really any way to treat the mother of your children, darling?”

Astarion pouts, a fake jut of his lower lip before his expression pulls up into a smile, just a bit arrogant, but mostly sweet. “You know what I want, darling. Stop being stubborn. Just give it to me, and I will give you what you want, hm?” 

“You’re going to have to try harder, then, Astarion,” Tav responds, her eyebrow arching again. She lifts her chin in another bit of a challenge. “Or perhaps you just aren’t as skilled as you once were, hm?”

Astarion’s eyes flash something fierce. “Now, now, darling. I know you don’t mean that. Take it back.”

“Make me,” she replies, the challenge a clear invitation as her face flushes in anticipation, eyes shimmering with desire. 

Oh, so that is how it’s going to be, then. 

He’d been much gentler with Tav, in her first pregnancy, far too unsure about the safety of such activities. But this time around, and after much assurance from both Tav and Shadowheart, Astarion has grown quite used to being a bit more… typical in his activities with his wife. He’s rolling her onto her stomach in an instant, pillows dragged lower to cradle her abdomen, fingers digging into her thighs. 

“Is this what you want, darling? For me to take you from behind and make you scream for me?” he growls, skin flushing hot as he tempts himself with the same words he’s using on Tav. His engorged cock is begging for attention. 

But not yet. 

Not until she gives him what he wants. 

Let it be soon.

“Yes,” Tav responds, voice raspy, no longer able to keep still as her desire takes over. She presses herself back against Astarion, the length of his cock sliding temptingly along her folds. 

“Beg, then,” Astarion demands, one hand trailing up her thigh to sit on the curve of her ass. He lifts his hand and smacks down, reveling in the sound of Tav’s delighted keen. But after that, further fucking silence. Tav continues to roll back against him, trying to tempt him into giving her what she wants. 

Naughty thing. 

He smacks the side of her ass again, harder this time, ripping a startled moan from her throat. His cock begins to leak pre-fluid at the sound of her voice mixed with the rocking of her hips. He’s becoming quite desperate, himself, his ears turning hot, cock throbbing, heart thudding in anticipation. 

Perhaps a bit more enticement, then. 

He presses the tip of his cock forward, almost losing control and thrusting to the hilt when he feels the warm suction of her walls. Tav whines when he pulls away and then holds steady, just pressing the tip of himself into her with barely-there thrusts. He purrs, “Won’t you beg for me, darling? Three little words, that’s all it takes.”

A moment of silence. He trails his fingers across her flesh, over the curve of her ass, up the side of her spine, igniting goosebumps in his wake. He rolls his hips languidly, his cock just filling the very entrance of her hole with each pass. 

And then finally. 

Finally. 

“Please fuck me.”

The plea comes out muffled, Tav’s face pressed into the sheets beneath them. Astarion’s cock jumps. He uses the last of his willpower to pull his tip from Tav and slide instead along her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal. He’s won. And yet, he cannot resist the urge to tease her just a bit further. 

“Mm… what was that, dear? I can’t quite hear you past the pillow.”

Tav lifts and turns her head, her eyes wide and desperate. Face flushed red, sweat glistening down her cheeks. She murmurs her second plea, almost a whine, nearly breathless, “Please fuck me… daddy.”

His cock aches. 

Oh, she knows exactly what she is doing. Little devil. 

Without another word Astarion slams himself into her entrance, immediately taking her to the hilt. Tav’s head rears back as she moans, loudly, at the sensation of being filled. Astarion’s length throbs and threatens to spill on impact. He watches Tav, her eyes still turned toward him as she begins to press back into him again. 

“So very eager, aren’t you, love?” he asks, as his hips begin to roll in time with her movements. Before long, he is picking up the pace and she is following. Her walls clench around him in a steady rhythm. His arm wraps around her waist — not a particularly easy feat nowadays — fingers searching for her clit. He finds the nub and begins working it insistently; Tav emits high keens as he rubs his fingers into her clit. “Do you want to come, darling?”

Tav whines when Astarion thrusts into her quite sharply, hips canting at a near-supernatural pace. The plushness of her ass bounces with each thrust, cushioning the impact of his harsh movements. “Yes!”

“Then won’t you come for me?” Astarion coaxes in a coo, groaning as he feels Tav clench and pulse around him, signaling her imminent release. He adjusts his hips just slightly, aiming for the spot inside her walls that makes her come undone, and knowing he’s found it when she lets out a sound that is something of a whining scream. He grins. “There we go… let me hear you, my sweet.”

Another roll of his hips and Tav is gone, her head tossing back as she braces herself on all fours, no longer able to match Astarion’s movements. Her cunt wraps around him eagerly, pulsing against the engorged length of his cock. She reaches a near-whistling shriek midway through her orgasm and the sound quickly causes Astarion’s resolve to shatter. He utters some sort of incoherent praise as his cock swells and then twitches while he loses himself inside her greedy walls. 

He needed this. She needed this. It had been far too long. 

The two are bound together, each riding the aftershocks of release. Both heaving with exertion and coated in a thin layer of sweat. Finally, Astarion runs a hand up to Tav’s waist, settling gently. “Everything alright, my love?”

Tav nods her response and then groans, chuckling softly. “I think… I think I’m going to need help rolling back over, Astarion.” 

Astarion laughs as he removes himself from Tav, arms moving to support her as she rolls onto her back with a labored huff. She ends the Silence spell with a lazy wave of her hand and yawns. Her eyes flutter closed as a hand trails down to her abdomen and rests upon her bump.

“I’ll need you to start making use of that spell more often, darling,” Astarion murmurs as he presses a kiss into her forehead with a smile. His poor little love is already drifting back into the nap he’d pulled her from. 

“Mmm…” she agrees, already half asleep, her other hand instinctively searching for his. He laces their fingers together as he lays down beside her, pulling the covers over them both, intent on joining her for a nap. Best to get their rest while they both can. 

In a few more weeks, sleep will be nothing but a memory. 

[anneapocalypse]

On the Former Scions and Leadership

Something that's kind of interesting to me about the Warrior of Light, which has always been there but which Dawntrail has me thinking about in a new way, is that the WoL really isn't a leader.

(Disclaimer: Obviously everyone has their own version of the Warrior of Light and is free to headcanon over and rewrite parts of the story to suit their character, and so what I'm saying here may not apply to everyone's character! For our purposes here, I'm just talking about The Warrior of Light as written.)

(Further note: I understand that there are a variety of feelings out there about the new characters and everyone is entitled to their own opinions about that; however this post is not an invitation to trash those characters in the notes so please refrain from that here; thank you.)

The Warrior of Light is a hero, but not a leader. Thanks to the linear nature of FFXIV's storyline, the game can't really offer us the conceit of making real choices, and so pretty much everything the WoL does is a result of someone else asking them to do it. So many of our major relationships with NPCs are with leaders: Minfilia, Nanamo, Kan-E-Senna, Merlwyb, Aymeric, Raubahn, Hien, the Exarch, Vrtra, Fourchenault, Wuk Lamat and Koana, every guild leader in our job quests. The WoL is someone called upon by leaders rather than being a leader themselves.

The Scions themselves have an interesting relationship to leadership in general. I've written before about how much the Scions feel like they're living in the shadow of Louisoix, especially in ARR, and how this affects their actions. As the leader of the former Circle of Knowing, Minfilia steps into the leadership position in his absence. I love Minfilia dearly; I think she has a true gift for bringing people together, making people feel welcomed and not alone, and helping them find purpose. I think all those skills probably availed her well as the leader of her Echo support group. It's when the Scions suddenly find themselves in the spotlight on an international scale following the defeat of the Ultima Weapon that I think the cracks start to show. I think that, very understandably, Minfilia is not prepared for the weight of that situation, and that's part of the reason she allows Alphinaud to step into such a leadership role himself (and also, and I say this with all the love in the world for both Alphinaud and Minfilia, why she even kind of lets him push her around at times). For Alphinaud himself, his experience of leadership with the Scions is disastrous, for which I think some responsibility also has to be laid upon the adults around him, who might have seen the red flags but didn't stop that train.

When Minfilia disappears, I think it's so telling that no one else steps up to fill the role of the Antecedent. Alphinaud is no longer so eager to take on that burden, and no one else is jumping at it either. Certainly the Warrior of Light isn't going to do it. (They're the boots on the ground, and the Antecedent is largely an administrative job.) The Scions instead just kind of agree to keep carrying on doing what they each do best, without an official leader. If anything, the glue holding the Scions together at this point is Tataru, who keeps the books and manages the budget and does her damnedest to keep certain people from putting overpriced purchases on the company card.

And that's not to say that none of the others have leadership skills! But it's interesting how, for those who do take on leadership positions, it's generally away from the Scions. After years of hiding under her sister's identity and "Papalymo's little shadow," Lyse takes an active role in the Ala Mhigan resistance, and helps to lead her people to freedom--a journey which ultimately takes her out of the Scions as she decides to stay in Ala Mhigo.

I'm counting G'raha as a Scion here since he does become one eventually, though not until after his hundred-year stint as the Exarch. It's clear both from the community that has grown up around the Crystal Tower, and from some really great G'raha moments in Endwalker, that he has real skills both at bringing people together for a common cause, and at taking charge in a crisis to protect the vulnerable. For the most part, though, he seems quite happy to take on a sidekick role after he returns to the Source. After a hundred years, I imagine anyone might be ready for a break from being in charge.

Y'shtola is harder to analyze because she's gotten less direct character development than most of the surviving Scions, and has remained largely in a supporting role thus far (though she remains a very interesting character to me, and I am hoping for a bit more of her in the Dawntrail patches given the setup for a cross-rift-travel solution). Y'shtola has always seemed reserved and a bit of a loner, and never seemed particularly interested in leadership until she threw in her lot with the Night's Blessed in the First. By the time we meet her again, she's become a trusted figure among the Blessed and the others clearly look to her for guidance and leadership. (It's also kind of interesting to me how both of the characters who wind up in leadership positions in the First are Seeker Miqo'te, and it probably was just a coincidence, but it'd be interesting to analyze how Seeker culture might prime a capable person to be willing to rise to the occasion where they see a group of people need.) Yet Y'shtola too seems perfectly content to settle back into a support role when she returns to the Source.

Endwalker is all about standing together, working together, the necessity of hope to overcome despair not merely individually but as a collective effort. The Scions all rally, each bringing what they have to offer, and they do so without ever appointing a new leader. They go where they see a need, like Urianger choosing to stay on the moon, or Thancred watching over the Warrior of Light and the twins when things go south on the relief mission to Garlemald, or the twins later taking a personal interest in the rebuilding efforts there. They also defer to leaders within the Eorzean Alliance where appropriate, happy at this point to work alongside the nations' armies rather than attempting to command one.

And the more I look at the Scions' history this way, the more their disbanding at the end of Endwalker seems inevitable and the logical end to the organization. In a very real sense they have completed the work that Louisoix and Minfilia set out to do. They've been leaderless for some time now already and it has not stopped them from doing good where needed. They are not leaders. Their goal was never to steer the course of world events indefinitely. They've all learned a lot about applying their individual talents for the greater good and having faith in one another to do the same, without having to be directed by one charismatic leader every step of the way--a major point of growth from where they were in ARR.

And all of this makes our role in Dawntrail really interesting to me, because it's all about leadership! And the Warrior of Light and their companions are, as characters, perfectly primed to take a supporting role and take initiative in that role where needed (see: Thancred and Urianger doing what needs to be done behind the scenes during the second act crisis). What the former Scions aren't, as a whole, at this point in their story, is people inclined to step up and take over. And this is a good thing for this story. Both Wuk Lamat and Koana need to learn and grow on their own, and in the context of their own cultures. The former Scions can help, they can support, and they do, but they aren't going to take over. Sure, they have opinions! At various points, we see characters on both teams (including the Warrior of Light) make some pointed faces at one another indicating that they have some doubts about the direction in which their candidates are taking things. But they withhold direct judgment or criticism for the most part and I think that makes sense both for their characters, and for the nature of the story.

I also think it was probably intentional that the former Scion with the most extensive leadership experience, G'raha, is not one of the characters hired by the claimants and doesn't come back to the plot until later. While I love G'raha and I did miss him, I understand story-wise why he couldn't be here; his unique circumstances mean that he has had more leadership experience than most people could ever have in a single lifetime, and it's probably for the best that that doesn't overpower the experiences of our young claimants who need to learn their own lessons on their own terms.

The support role of the former Scions also makes sense in other ways, I think, in terms of allowing the Turali characters and especially Wuk Lamat, as the main character, to shine in their own right and to avoid what could otherwise have been some problematic tropes. But I also think it works pretty well as a natural outgrowth of who these characters are and have grown into over multiple expansions, the Warrior of Light included.

[lilylife2010]

Sunrise on the Reaping Analysis (Spoiler Alert)

Thanks to Suzanne Collins we finally have the backstory to our favorite Hunger Games mentor in the newly released prequel novel, Sunrise on the Reaping, not to mention additional trauma to add to our psyches. The brash, tortured and alcohol-dependent former survivor of The 50th Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy, faces insurmountable odds when he is “reaped” into the 2nd quarter quell. As per usual I warn there are spoilers ahead and if you have yet to read the novel I advise you to leave this post and don’t come back until you have. With that...let’s get started.

Haymitch Abernathy has long been one of my favorite characters from The Hunger Games series, partially due to the enigma of his personal tragedy. Previously, we only had a summarized version of his televised Games to go off of when, in preparation for their own, Katniss and Peeta watched the clips to gain knowledge on how a quarter quell proceeds. We also got a tidbit of information out of Haymitch when he mentions the Capital executing his family and girlfriend. Other than that all we know about Haymitch and his personal traumas, is he drinks a lot (like a lot), he sleeps with a knife, and he appears to have no one he loves or cares for until Peeta and Katniss come along.

In true Suzanne Collins fashion, we soon discovered Haymitch’s story was far more twisted and tragic than we first thought. Not only was Haymitch selected by a chance of poor luck in a botched reaping, but the televised Games, in which Katniss and Peeta observed Haymitch survive the 2nd quarter quell, was more or less a steaming, hot pot of bullshit. 

Sunrise on the Reaping also gives us some information on the Covey clan and what their status is at this point in the timeline as well as some background info on Katniss’ parents. We learn that Maude Ivory has passed away and that the Covey’s made a gravesite for their members deep in the woods. It’s unclear how Maude Ivory died and it is still unclear if Lucy Gray is actually confirmed dead (did the Covey find her body or did they just assume she passed over time?), though I like to think her fate is still a mystery in lieu of the poem. Personally, I like the idea of Lucy Gray being a ghostly presence haunting Snow and the Capital for their crimes and not knowing her fate gives her that mysterious, ethereal power.

Katniss’ parents are finally named, Burdock and Astrid, as well as confirmed to be Covey (at least Burdock is), although we still do not know through whom. My guess is still Maude Ivory, but I am not as positive as I once was. Regardless, it was great seeing a bit of Katniss’ history and where she comes from. Despite Burdock only ever being mentioned in the original series (and never by name), his absence in Katniss’ life, and the impact his death had on her and her family, allows him to feel very much like a character who once lived and breathed, so it was nice to see him living and breathing.

Lenore Dove is also introduced as a new member of the Covey clan, and Haymitch’s lost love, alongside his hardworking mother who reminds me of Hazel Hawthorne (Gale’s mother) and his younger brother Sid. Their tragic demise is what ultimately drives Haymitch deep into the bottom of a liquor bottle. This loss, coupled with the trauma of the Hunger Games and the subsequent isolation from the citizens of District 12, lead us to the Haymitch we know and love. And don’t forget, his pain multiplied each year as he mentored tribute after tribute for the next 23 years, only to have to return to his district each time in the company of children’s coffins.

Another character, while not necessarily new but expounded upon, is that of Maysilee Donner. She just may be the breakout star of the novel. This fan favorite showed us a different style of rebellion than we have seen before. With her lovely outfits, her many jewels, and her refusal to eat with her hands, Maysilee refuses to allow herself to act like the beast or animal the Capital treats her as. Throughout her stay in the Capital and her dwindling days in the arena she held onto her humanity with both hands and told anyone who tried to take it from her to kindly, f**k off. This is not to say that she wasn’t lethal or that she went into the Games utterly prepared to die. But rather she simply said that if she must die, she would do it with dignity. She had a kind of resilience and authenticity to her that could be biting at times yet a gentleness and selflessness in the way she handled the tokens of her fellow tributes that plainly showed how important holding onto your identity was to her. Like Peeta, she wasn’t going to play the game on anyone’s terms but her own, and she wanted to hold on to who she was.

Of the characters introduced and re-introduced in this novel, Plutarch Heavensbee continues to be the most mysterious character in my opinion. I would actually be highly interested in seeing another prequel novel centered around Plutarch. There is so much we don’t know about him. How and why did he become disillusioned with the Capital? How did he come to know of District 13’s survival? When did he become a Gamemaker? In what ways since Haymitch’s games (and perhaps before) has he attempted to aid the rebellion? How prominent are the anti-Capital citizens within the Capital walls? Seriously, there is so much we could learn from a novel centered around Plutarch that could amplify the theme of building up to the revolution in the original series. If Katniss was the fire that was catching, Haymitch the flint striker that helped ignite it, and Lucy Gray the song that inspired the flame, then Plutarch was the one who aired it across live television until the entire nation caught fire.

One thing the prequel novels have done best is show the audience how flammable the nation was long before Katniss’ birth. The districts have sparked before and even those in the Capital have attempted to fan the flames, but either the spark doesn’t quite catch or the fanning was too much for too little. Rebellions build over time, and oftentimes they need a combination of strategy and sheer luck. 

Therefore, it makes sense that when Katniss comes along not only does she have an unprecedented amount of good luck, but those who’ve been in the shadows trying to build the rebellion have perfected their strategies over time. Fate or not, Katniss could never have succeeded if not for the seeds that were planted from the inception of the Games. These stories eerily parallel the events of WWI and WWII. With a large part of the events leading to the beginning of the second world war having been planted at the end of the first. And the murder of innocent tributes in the Games parallels the genocide of innocent people due to a corrupt dictator with lofty and evil ideas about race and class and a civilization that grows silent or even buys into the propaganda.

This is why The Hunger Games series is not only so relevant to our society today but also blatantly terrifying as it is a reflection of our history. People often comment on how our society isn’t too far from being a civilization capable of creating such an atrocious event, but our history already proves we are more than capable of it. The Holocaust, slavery, the Roman gladiator sports. Our world has a terrible inclination to allow tyrants to rise while turning a blind eye to the oppression of the backbones they build their civilization on.

On the flip side, these books also show that our world can be saved by the greatest attributes humanity possesses. Compassion, love, courage, mercy, sacrifice. When people are subjected to horrifying injustices it is easy to want to cower or hide. It’s simpler to hate or choose vengeance or seek survival for yourself and the ones you love. Especially when you lose time and time again. Haymitch’s story is an example of this.

Initially, he is very much like Katniss and even Peeta. He shares Katniss’ spark, her protectiveness of the weak, and an independence striving to break free from the bondage of the Capital. He is not easily controlled and he wants to hold the Capital accountable for the deaths of his fellow tributes. In addition to these attributes, Haymitch is also shrewd and calculating like Peeta, with an ability to empathize with those who are different from him, and a talent for manipulating words or actions with ease to suit a specific purpose. It’s a beautiful way of showing that by saving Katniss and Peeta in a way Haymitch was saving himself, because he didn’t just lose his girlfriend and family, he lost who he was only to find it again in these two tributes. Haymitch’s story arc in this novel serves as a cautionary tale for Katniss, but his arc in the The Hunger Games trilogy is his redemption.

If you read this far you are absolute aces! Feel free to comment or share your thoughts. I love hearing others POV on these stories, especially as my circle of friends are lame and aren't into this series. 😑 Hope you enjoyed, thank you!

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 22

Chapters: 22/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92, @bridkesby If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Your wonderful vacation in the Dreaming came to an end as Morpheus bestowed gifts and boundless love. Upon arriving at Cape Kennedy, you learned that Lyta's child had already been born. Subtle changes had occurred in everyone's lives, unexpected transformations altering their paths forever. You, on the other hand, faced a tumultuous return to work, grappling with severe physical fatigue back in London.

Author's note: Hello! I hope you guys have been well. Here's another lengthy update for you. I recently realized that in the previous chapter, the name the Reader gave to the deer—Astra—is the same as the little girl Johanna tried to save and lost. This was initially coincidental, as I couldn't recall her name at all. However, it sparked a nice idea that I'll explain towards the end of the story. I didn't want to leave anything to chance, and since the name felt fitting, changing it seemed inappropriate considering all the research I put into it. Instead, I've found a clever way to explain this "glitch" in the narrative. It's not something huge plot-wise, just something that will justify the repeated name.

Now, this chapter delves deeper into the lore of Cape Kennedy's side characters, all of which I've created myself. I wanted to explore a few specific aspects here, as things might become a bit chaotic/dramatic in the next update. I need to ensure I've covered everything thoroughly.

Also, I'm currently revising the first chapters, improving the wording and adding some enrichment. While the story itself will remain unchanged, I aim to make it sound consistent and cohesive from start to finish. After returning to writing in 2022, I've dedicated time to studying and practicing, which has influenced the story's progression. It's hard to believe this fic will be two years old in December!

(The upgraded chapters haven't been uploaded yet. I'll edit each one as soon as they're prepared and ready for posting.)

Gazing at the magnificent Dreaming scenery before you, you heaved a sigh of displeasure. You were fully prepared—though not emotionally ready—to return to Cape Kennedy and depart from the enchanting realm of dreams.

It was absurd, really. You could visit Morpheus's domain every night in your dreams, and he'd even invited you to return physically anytime in the future. There was no logical reason for such despondency; this wasn't a permanent goodbye, after all.

Yet, as you contemplated going back to your normal life, a nagging feeling deep in your consciousness reminded you of the Dreaming's importance to your soul. Leaving it behind felt like bidding farewell to the most beautiful vacation of your life, your heart already aching for it before you'd even left.

Morpheus's arrival heralded your imminent exit from his world. As you turned to greet him, your eyes were drawn to a wooden box nestled in the crook of his right arm. Its intricate design lent it a substantial appearance, adorned with golden decorations reminiscent of your chamber's style and Morpheus' preference.

Curiously, you asked, "What is that?"

He stepped forward, cradling the box in his hands as he examined it. "This is a gift I have prepared for you."

"Another gift? Morpheus, you're truly being too generous."

He smiled, drawing closer to you. "You need only ask, and it shall be yours. All that you long for."

Overcome by a fresh surge of affection for this extraordinary being whom you cherished above all else, you gently cradled his face in your hands and brought your lips to his. The kiss was tender, yet laced with unmistakable determination. "And here I thought nothing could top last night's surprise."

You leaned in for another kiss, finding yourself unable to stop, lost in the moment with the man from whom you could scarcely tear yourself away. Morpheus seemed equally content, returning your kisses with matching fervor until you were both satisfied.

"Do you not you want to see it?" he asked teasingly.

Clearing your throat, you reluctantly detached yourself, taking a deep breath. "Yes, of course."

Instead of opening the box himself, he offered it to you expectantly. You took it with extreme care, almost afraid it might slip from your grasp and shatter. As you held it, you were surprised by how light it felt compared to its sturdy exterior. When you unlatched the front lock, a warm pulse of power emanated from it, tingling your fingertips and running down your spine.

You lifted the lid, revealing the contents nestled on a black velvet cushion. Your eyes widened in astonishment at the sight before you: a luminous pearl-white moonflower that glowed like a living lantern, a palm-sized amethyst crystal of the deepest, most mesmerizing purple, a small glass vial filled with sand— its cap tightly sealed with a thin cord, and a golden bangle that looked tailor-made for your wrist, its surface embellished with tiny, star-shaped crystals that glimmered brilliantly in the light. 

"This blossom shall retain its ethereal beauty, forever in bloom, defying the laws of mortality even as it graces the realm of the Waking," he explained. "The amethyst, a stone of grounding, shall grant immediate solace upon your touch."

"What about the sand?”

"This sand, harvested from the very essence of your Dreamland, bears the same properties as that which resides within my pouch. It is a fragment of your dreams made tangible."

Morpheus's sand, granted to you as a gift…?

"Can I really accept this? Your sand is such a vital source of your power."

"Though but a mere fragment, I am confident in your discretion to safeguard it from unworthy hands."

"That goes without saying. I'll guard it with my life."

He raised his hand, gently brushing the box and allowing his fingers to meet yours in the process. "I have placed tokens of my devotion to you in this vessel of memories, eternal artifacts that shall evoke recollections of your stay in this realm."

Morpheus continued to surpass your expectations effortlessly, offering gift after gift without expecting anything in return. His boundless generosity left you feeling humbled and almost insignificant in comparison.

The bangle needed no introduction. Its aesthetic perfectly complemented the starry theme of the Dreaming while matching the bracelet your mother had given you. As you admired it, you eagerly anticipated wearing them together.

"This is beautiful," you whispered, gently closing the box and caressing its ornate surface. "Thank you, Morpheus. This means the world to me."

“Should you wish for anything else, I will provide it for you.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's only one thing I'd love to bring home with me, but that's not allowed."

As you took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his cool ones, Morpheus immediately grasped your meaning and responded with a subtle smile. "I shall be with you always, my love." 

“I know.”

"Are you ready, my love?" Morpheus asked gently.

“No.”

His shoulders slumped slightly as he gazed at you with affectionate amusement. "Y/N…"

"Sorry, I'm kidding. Well, sort of. Maybe. Not really. But yes, I am ready."

Clutching the strap of your bag, you awaited Morpheus's magic. He gathered you in his embrace, his forehead gently touching yours as he closed his eyes, yours following suit instinctively. A gust of wind tousled your hair, accompanied by the soft swoosh of rising sand. You sensed your surroundings change, the Dreaming gradually fading into the distance, yet remaining forever tethered to you by an invisible thread.

As you remained motionless with your eyes shut tight, Morpheus called your name in a low, velvety voice. "Y/N."

“Mh?”

"We have arrived in the Waking World."

The familiar scents of Florida's natural environment and the subtle shift in ambient light confirmed your return to Cape Kennedy. Still, you found it difficult to release your hold on him, struggling to accept that the most unforgettable week of your life had come to an end.

It was childish, you reasoned, considering how much work awaited you in your waking life. You weren't truly separating from Morpheus or the Dreaming, but a part of you wondered if you could ever truly balance your existence between these two worlds, or if you were inextricably tied to just your own.

You were a mortal connected to an Endless being, with time's relentless march ever-present. Could you truly hope to make the Dreaming your permanent abode?

His lips grazed your cheek, his hands gently resting on your shoulders. "Do you intend to stand here indefinitely?"

“If I do, will you take me back?”

He tenderly caressed your jawline, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "My love, my heart longs to keep you eternally in my embrace. If only I could yield to such selfishness.”

With a resigned sigh, you finally opened your eyes to meet his countenance. "You could. I wouldn't complain."

He shook his head gently. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Everything." One hand clutched the memory box, while the other trailed along his chest, settling on his covered collarbones. "But I understand you have vital duties, as do I with my own responsibilities."

"Thank you, Y/N, for allowing me to bring you into my realm. Your devotion for the Dreaming is immeasurable, I cherish it with all that I am."

"The Dreaming is you," you said with a smile. "How could I not adore it?"

Every word you spoke to him, so honest and filled with humanity's most precious light, never failed to make him—the Lord of Dreams, an ever-darker creature—happier than he ever thought he deserved to be.

"I must leave you now, my love. Take heart, for I will seek you in your dreams.”

You nodded, letting your hand fall to your side. "I love you, Morpheus. You know that, don't you?"

"I do. And my love for you, my dear, transcends the very fabric of existence, encompassing all realms, both dreamt and waking."

He pulled you close for one last, lingering kiss before reluctantly letting you go.

"Ever the poet," you remarked with a grin. "Just one of the countless things I like about you."

"Are you attempting to keep me here with you?"

“Is it working?”

He let out a soft chuckle. "I am afraid not. But wherever you go, I will follow."

"That's enough, I suppose."

For a moment longer, you looked deeply into each other's eyes as a wordless understanding passed between you. Then, Morpheus's sand reappeared, rising from the ground at his feet and gradually swirling around his form. You stepped back, giving his powers room to work, as a cloud of grains swallowed him completely. In an instant, the sand twirled and dissipated, leaving no trace of Morpheus as he vanished back to his realm.

You exhaled, feeling a complex blend of satisfaction and wistful melancholy.

Hal's B&B stood just a few feet away. As you retrieved your phone from your bag and powered it on, you were astonished to find that barely a few hours had passed since leaving the hotel in Georgia. Morpheus had mentioned that time flowed differently in the Dreaming, but it was still mind-boggling to realize you'd spent seven days in his company, only to essentially travel back in time.

With a final loving glance at the box, you carefully tucked it into your bag and set off. The house's door stood unlocked, and as you entered, Hal's voice greeted you warmly as soon as you crossed the threshold.

"Welcome back!" He exclaimed enthusiastically. "How was the Cereal Convention? I heard it was brimming with fascinating events."

If only he knew the mayhem you had witnessed there. "Fascinating? That doesn't even begin to describe it.".

You wondered if the news had reported anything about the man who had taken his own life in the car, or if they had even remotely mentioned the rest of the cult, now cursed by Morpheus to a lifetime of regrets.

"I bet," he said mischievously. "Rose told me you got quite a pleasant surprise."

You blinked in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Come now, no need to be coy, sweetheart. You know secrets don't stay hidden for long in this house."

You realized Rose must have concocted a story to account for your absence. Whatever tale she had spun, you found yourself at a loss for how to navigate this unexpected situation. 

“Well…”

"Your boyfriend showed up unexpectedly to pick you up, didn’t he? Now that's what I call romantic!"

Oh.

You had to admit, that wasn't entirely inaccurate. "You've caught me red-handed."

He graciously helped you remove your jacket as you clutched your bag tightly, guarding it as if it contained your most precious possessions, which couldn't be nearer to the truth.

"No wonder you look radiant. I'd recognize that glow anywhere."

"What can I say? He has a flair for dramatic appearances."

As you entered the dining room, you found only Chantal and Zelda at the table, their brunch plates cleared. An unusual hush blanketed the house, a stark departure from its typical bustling energy.

“Hey girls.”

“Good morning, Y/N,” Chantal replied cordially. "Zelda says hello as well."

"Where's everyone else? Have they not risen yet?"

Hal joined them, gesturing invitingly towards an empty chair. "Ah, you've missed quite a bit. You won't believe what's happened."

Taking a seat beside him at the table, you narrowed your eyes. "Nothing bad, I hope?"

"No, no, quite the opposite. You see... it's about Lyta; she's given birth."

Your jaw dropped so suddenly that you half-expected it to clatter onto the floor. How could Lyta have delivered her baby so quickly? Could her time with her husband in the Dreaming have stretched longer, similar to your own experience with the King of Dreams?

“What…?”

"I know. Crazy, right? Did you even know she was pregnant? I don't think Rose ever noticed either."

"I didn't," you replied. "It's generally not something you easily miss... though, I've read about cryptic pregnancies before.”

"Yes, but can a belly grow that big overnight? It wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen lately, but…"

You pursed your lips, wracking your brain for a plausible explanation for such an extraordinary occurrence. Yet, try as you might, no rational justification presented itself.

"Rose and Jed accompanied Barbie and Ken to the hospital," Chantal interjected.

"We're heading there in a couple of hours,” Hal said. “Are you free? You're welcome to come with us."

You agreed without hesitation. "Absolutely. I've got plenty of time before my next appointment with Andrew, so I'm in."

"Great! We're all eager to meet the little one."

Despite the maelstrom of thoughts in your mind, you chose to set aside your confusion. There was little point in fixating on inexplicable events, especially since you'd come to understand that the Dreaming's magic and uniqueness often transcended conventional reasoning.

Eager to keep your mind occupied, you insisted on helping Hal with the cleaning, brushing aside his protests. After your ample rest, staying active appealed to you more than idling about in the living room. As he washed the dishes, you meticulously dried the tableware and set everything neatly in its place. Hal hummed random songs intermittently, his voice filling the kitchen with cheerfulness and positivity.

"So, this boyfriend of yours. Does he travel often?" Hal inquired, passing you a freshly washed glass.

"Mm, you could say he's practically omnipresent," you replied with a knowing smile.

"He must have quite an important job," Hal observed, his tone a mix of curiosity and admiration.

"It's vital, indeed. His work shapes the very fabric of our existence."

Realizing you had inadvertently revealed more than intended, you bit your tongue. Fortunately, Hal didn't seem inclined to pry further.

"I admire people like that. Those who can truly change the world."

"You have that power too, in your own way."

"I'm not so sure about that," Hal replied modestly. "Though I must admit, I'm finally considering selling this place."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Really? You're going to sell your grandmother's house?"

Hal chuckled. "I've been thinking; dreams can really change your perspective. No matter how bizarre they get."

You gave his upper arm a friendly squeeze. "Whatever path you choose, I'm confident it'll be the right one for you."

"I haven't made any final decisions yet, but I'm now open to giving my career a real shot. Who knows? Maybe next year you'll hear my name as the greatest Broadway performer of all time."

"I can absolutely see that happening. You shine on stage, Hal. I'm sure I've mentioned that before."

The conversation flowed naturally, weaving through various topics, from Hal's future aspirations to your creative pursuits and life in London. Amidst the discussion, he brought up the unusual dream experience that he and the others had collectively undergone, featuring Rose and the Vortex in action. Remarkably, they all vividly recalled the events leading up to Morpheus's attempt to halt Rose's power, but none of them could adequately describe or explain why—or how—this dream had manifested for all of them at once.

His willingness to openly discuss the event with you, regardless of your apparent status as an outsider and his unawareness of your actual involvement, left you astounded. Although he intentionally kept his descriptions vague, they unanimously agreed that Rose had been rather special since her arrival. 

You refrained from confirming or denying it. While the truth was irrefutable, you were reluctant to raise further questions about a girl who had already endured so much on her own.

The dream had left an indelible mark on each of them, sparking a self-reflection and personal development. Apparently, cracks had begun to show in Barbie and Ken's relationship, and Hal was confident it was only a matter of time before it crumbled completely. This revelation didn't surprise you, as you'd harbored reservations about Ken from your very first encounter.

As the late morning wore on, you carved out a private moment in your room. Seated on the bed, you gazed at Morpheus's gifts, a broad smile illuminating your face and a bright sparkle dancing in your eyes. You picked up the golden bangle, turning it over in your hands to look at its minimalist design. Despite its simplicity, it was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry you'd ever seen, with its diamond-like stars twinkling brilliantly in the sunlight. As you slipped it onto your wrist, you marveled at its perfect fit, neither too loose nor too tight. It sat snugly against your skin, complementing your mother's leafy bracelet perfectly, as if it were crafted specifically for this pairing. Considering Morpheus's particular attention to detail regarding your appearance, you realized that this harmonious combination was no accident, but rather a deliberate choice on his part.

You missed him deeply, craving his presence with an intensity that eclipsed even your need for breath. It was natural, given that you had been virtually inseparable during your time together, except for the brief absences he was compelled to make. 

Still, you found yourself contemplating your relationship from a new angle, considering the prospect of deepening your bond with him. Was it even possible for a mortal to unite in marriage with an Endless?

Theoretically, given the universal rule that barred Nada from being his lover, you might conclude the answer was no.  Nevertheless, Morpheus had speculated that your Goddess DNA could have shielded you from the dreadful fate his ex had endured as punishment for her transgression.

Ruminating on the matter excessively would only result in mental fatigue.

Shortly thereafter, you journeyed to the hospital with Hal, Chantal, and Zelda, feeling strangely fidgety since leaving the house. You couldn't pinpoint the source of your sudden unease, yet you were convinced it wasn't tied to any specific ill omen. There was simply an odd, indecipherable voice in the recesses of your mind, somehow linked to Lyta and the newborn child. You sensed that the baby's unusual conception, coupled with the Dreaming's essence flowing through its small body, had heightened your innate sensitivity, likely stemming from your deep affinity with Morpheus's realm and the Dream King himself.

Upon arrival, you found Rose and Jed already visiting Lyta and her newborn son, while Barbie and Ken waited patiently in the lobby for their turn. Barbie's characteristic cheerfulness and signature smile masked an entirely different story lurking behind her eyes. Ken appeared oblivious to her distress, his nonchalant demeanor indicating either genuine ignorance or—more likely—a callous disregard for her feelings.

Men like him were utterly contemptible, nothing more than walking deceptions.

The door to Lyta's room creaked open, prompting Barbie to spring to her feet and stride forward, Ken trailing behind. Rose and Jed emerged from around the corner, looking refreshed; their nightmarish ordeals hadn't been enough to break their spirits.

“My turn!” Barbie chirped, her laughter bubbling up.

"Prepare yourself," Rose noted with a smile. "He's pretty cute."

Ken exchanged a playful, masculine handshake and fist bump with Jed. “Oh, we are ready.”

From your seated position, you caught a glimpse of Barbie vanishing around the corner. Her voice dropped drastically, taking on a serious and resentful tone. “Uh, it’s one at a time.”

Ken's face fell, and you couldn't suppress a flicker of satisfaction. Bravo, Barbie!

“Wha… Oh, come on. Babe! Baby, it was just a dream!”

Glancing at Hal, you noticed he was equally captivated by the unfolding drama. "See? I told you," he whispered.

"Do I really want to know what he's referring to?" You asked.

"Oh, that he was caught being literally blown by another woman in his car? No, I don't think you want to know."

Your jaw clenched instantly. "Well, I'll be damned."

Chantal and Zelda, as composed as ever, exuded the aura of gothic countesses in their distinctive black dresses and veils. You'd grown accustomed to their dark appearance, finding them both incredibly beautiful and sophisticated.

Rose and Jed joined you in the waiting room, the girl’s eyes meeting yours with a silent understanding.

“How are they doing?” Hal queried, adjusting his position in the chair.

“Great,” she answered. “The hospital’s releasing them tonight and then we’ll fly home tomorrow.”

“Oh, so soon?” Chantal exclaimed.

Indeed, it felt as if no time had passed since you first met Rose. You'd grown so attached to her that it seemed you'd known her for years, not mere days.

“To New Brunswick,” Hal concluded. “How far is that from New York?”

“Mm, less than an hour. Why?”

“I don’t know, I had this dream last night and now I’m thinking, what if I sell the house and move back?”

Evidently, Hal's indecision about his future plans had dissipated, and his mind was now set on a clear course of action.

Rose's eyes lit up with delight, while Zelda and Chantal exchanged a meaningful look. Words were superfluous between them; Zelda's face, though usually expressionless except for her shy smile, conveyed all her companion needed to know with subtle nuances that only Chantal could interpret.

“We’ll buy the house,” she declared.

A collective gasp of shock rippled through those present, with Hal himself rendered speechless by such an unexpected announcement. The initial bewilderment quickly gave way to joyful smiles as everyone recognized how perfectly all the pieces were falling into place.

Your heart swelled with joy as you beheld the radiant expressions adorning the faces around you, a sight that filled you with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

As time wore on, Hal, Chantal, and Zelda took turns visiting Lyta and her unnamed newborn. Barbie's despondency had resurfaced, even as she tried to hide it from the others. Ken persistently badgered her to accept that he meant no harm, but any self-respecting woman would banish a man who dreamed of another straight to Lucifer's hell.

As you approached the vending machine for a drink, Rose excused herself and followed, clearly seeking a private conversation out of earshot from the rest of the group.

“Hey.”

"Hey," you answered with a warm smile. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay. I'm still a bit shaken when I think about everything that happened, but... Jed's here with me. That's all that matters."

"He's adorable, by the way," you commented.

"You should've seen him when he was five."

You cracked open your favorite caffeinated beverage, offering Rose one as well. She declined with a shake of her head, her eyes fixed on her feet, revealing a nervousness about what she wanted to say.

When she remained silent, you broke the awkward moment. "Thank you for covering for me," you said gratefully. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I figured they'd ask where you went. I wasn't sure when you'd be back, so."

"I must say, you're quite talented when it comes to coming up with excuses on the spot."

Rose laughed softly.  "It wasn't easy. I also had to tell them Gilbert returned to his country due to an "urgent family matter."”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

You leaned against the vending machine, sipping your drink as another silence settled between you. Rose crossed her arms, shifting restlessly with her foot—an anxious tic that only accentuated her growing discomfort.

You sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "Rose, it's okay. Whatever you want to ask me, go ahead."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry."

You shook your head reassuringly. "It's fine, really. I imagine you have quite a few questions."

"I hope I'm not overstepping, but... is there something going on between you and Lord Morpheus?"

While the question didn't catch you off guard, you considered your options. You could have lied, keeping your relationship with the Endless private and shielding your love from potential judgment. Rose had likely witnessed only the darkness surrounding the Lord of Dreams, unaware of the heart of gold it concealed; a heart heavily scarred from suffering and betrayal.

Ultimately, you decided against it.

A faint smile played on your lips. "Yes, Rose. We are together."

"Oh. Wow, I... I had a feeling, but..."

"You didn't want to jump to conclusions."

“Yeah.”She paused, collecting her thoughts. “It’s just… there's so much I don't understand. When Dream said Jed and I are ‘Children of the Endless’, what did he even mean?"

How could you explain it to her, considering her great-grandfather was one of the cruelest entities in the entire universe, willing to callously manipulate their own sibling and any mortal they came across?

"Is it related to the golden-eyed man Unity saw in her dreams?"

"I'm afraid I can't provide a definitive answer to that," you confessed, feigning ignorance. "In a way, you and your brother are very special, Rose. That’s all I know.”

She mulled over your words, clearly unsatisfied with the explanation, yet accepting it as sufficient for her current needs.

"He's not… really that bad, is he? Morpheus."

“No. He’s not.”

"I know he didn't really want to kill me. I was damaging his world without even knowing what I was doing. It was all my fault to begin with."

You gently touched her elbow, your hand warm against her skin. "You didn't ask to become a Vortex, it was just an unexpected twist of fate you didn't deserve."

"Yes, but I still hurt my friends. Lyta, Hector... even Jed, Hal, everyone around me."

Your hand slid along her wrist as you took her hand in yours. "It was the Vortex. Not you."

"But I was the Vortex. When Dream took Hector, I hated him. I thought he was a monster. Lyta was suffering, and I blamed him for it."

“And now?”

She hesitated, contemplating her response. "Now… I don't, really. It was harsh, but I was the one who set all this in motion. He did what he had to, I guess."

Your smile widened. “Rose…”

"And Unity," she continued. "She gave her life just to save me."

The pain she endured defied consolation, and a persistent guilt would likely shadow her for the foreseeable future.

"She was happy, you know," you revealed. "And very proud of you."

“Unity…?”

"I won't pretend to understand what you're feeling right now. The trauma you've endured is not something that can be easily erased. But I can tell you this: your great-grandmother is at peace.She made her sacrifice for you without any regrets.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Having weathered numerous losses throughout her life, Rose had honed the ability to remain resilient in most situations, a strength she maintained not only for herself but also for those she held dear.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Her voice quivered, and you pulled her into a comforting hug. She gratefully melted into your embrace, finding solace in the warmth she could no longer receive from her mother's arms.

“You’re welcome, Rosie.”

Lyta's baby was a true delight, innocent and tiny, with cheeks so soft they resembled the most delicate confection. You could feel the Dreaming's traces on the infant, yet to anyone else, he appeared perfectly human.  The moment you drew closer, his little hand instinctively grasped your finger, awakening an unexpected maternal, protective instinct in you. Lyta simply smiled, observing how you'd make a wonderful mother someday, a comment you met with a nervous laugh.

The strange gut discomfort you felt vanished as soon as you left the hospital. You had the impression that something about Lyta was not ordinary, but you couldn't quite discern what it meant. Perhaps it was a consequence of your travel between the Dreaming and the Waking World, causing unusual perceptions as you readjusted.

That evening, Lyta and her newborn son were discharged as expected. While Hal finalized the house sale with Chantal and Zelda, you joined the group for a pleasant conversation in the living room, idly toying with your new bracelet as you slid it up and down your wrist. You thoroughly enjoyed your time at the B&B, appreciating the company of wonderful people (with one notable exception) who helped brighten Lyta's mood. The loss of her husband had left an indelible mark, and you admired how everyone tactfully avoided the sensitive subject, refraining from asking questions about the baby's father.

Barbie looked somewhat distracted, her face less vibrant than usual, a subtle alteration that seemed to go unnoticed. She maintained a facade of joy and vivacity, barely interacting with Ken, who sat uncomfortably close to you on the couch. You felt urged to speak with her, but that would have to wait for a more appropriate time.

Despite the tragedies and misadventures he'd faced, Jed was an incredibly adaptable and optimistic kid. His face beamed with smiles, clearly overjoyed at being reunited with his beloved sister. At some point in the evening, you engaged in an enthusiastic discussion with him about popular superhero movies and comics. Rose playfully teased Jed about how, under Gault's influence, he had impersonated a Marvel-esque version of The Sandman. Her lighthearted comment drew genuine laughter from both of you, and Jed rolled his eyes, insisting he had been incredibly cool and powerful in that form.

As night fell, everyone retired to their rooms. Lyta excused herself first, cradling her precious newborn away from the adoring eyes. Rose followed shortly after, and Jed was offered the vacant attic room, formerly Fiddler's Green's quarters. 

Sliding beneath the covers of a bed that wasn't the grand canopy in the Dreaming felt oddly unfamiliar to you. You longed for the soft caress of your enchanted nightgown, the mesmerizing sparkle of crystals, and the soothing ebb and flow of gradient waves on the walls. It seemed paradoxical to long for a place you visited nightly, yet a strange void persisted inside you, like an emptiness you couldn't quite articulate.

With heavy eyelids, you succumbed to slumber, hoping to find Morpheus awaiting your return in the realm of dreams.

You felt weightless, adrift in an ocean of billowing fabrics that obscured the path ahead. Wandering without direction, you pressed forward into the unknown. A distant cry pierced the air, beckoning you closer. As you continued, the fabrics parted, revealing a crib in the distance. The surroundings were hazy and barren, bathed in an ethereal, blue glow.

The more you walked, the farther the crib seemed to get. No matter how hard you tried to reach it, it was as if you were walking on an infinite treadmill. The child inside was whimpering, pleading for you to arrive. 

You pressed on, yet the distance remained unchanged. Anxiety constricted your chest, making it hard to breathe, despite the absence of any visible threat. 

Then the crib began to fade, enveloped by a soft, nebula-like cloud, vanishing into nothingness. You were left uncertain about what you had witnessed, wondering if the baby represented Lyta's son or simply acted as a subconscious symbol; perhaps indicating fresh starts and possibilities. 

Unable to decipher its significance, you endeavored to interpret the dream's significance to no avail. As the vision continued, your consciousness gradually reasserted itself, and you immediately transitioned into an entirely new dreamscape.

You stood in an expansive, surreal forest where trees spiraled upward like great pillars, their trunks woven from shimmering threads of silver and dark purple. The sky above pulsed with colors you'd never seen before—streaks of emerald, amethyst, and soft coral flowing and colliding like auroras. A gentle mist blanketed the forest ground, and as you moved, flowers bloomed beneath your feet. With each step, you ventured deeper into the woods, where strange, beautiful creatures drifted past in the mist, unusual animals with translucent bodies and magical eyes. You felt at peace now, as if this place knew you, welcomed you.

Whatever the crib represented, it couldn't be anything sinister.

The fog lifted, and your heart skipped a beat as you noticed a figure nearby. From the shadows between the trees, Morpheus emerged, his presence both distinct and seamlessly integrated into the scenery. Clad in black that melded with the night's darkness, he seemed to carry the very stars in his eyes and attire. As he approached, the dream's colors intensified, responding to him like a lover's touch.

Your breath itched as he stopped before you, his gaze soft yet filled with an intensity that only Morpheus could hold. You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing his cool hand. He took it gently, as though grazing something precious. The bracelet he gifted you gleamed golden alongside your mother's cuff. 

"Your dreams grow more beautiful with each passing night, in ever more resplendent tapestries," he murmured, his voice resonating through the forest.

A smile lit your face, and he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you to bring you into his loving casing. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The dreamscape reacted again, a gentle breeze sweeping through the trees, sending petals into a soft dance around you.

"Every time I'm with you, I feel complete," you whispered.

Morpheus tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing your cheek as his eyes softened with a tenderness that was becoming more frequent. "Then let this moment last for as long as you're asleep," he said, his lips meeting yours in a kiss as warm and infinite as the dream itself. 

You cuddled against him, sinking into the tranquility and depth of your connection, as the environment continued to pulse with revitalizing energy. 

As you parted, he held your face in his hands, his cerulean irises tracing your every feature as though etching this moment into his memory. "I am bound to you, in dreams and beyond," he uttered genty. "No place, nor time, can keep me from finding you."

"Never cease seeking me. Please."

"Never, my love. And you, forever call upon my name, through the realms of fantasy and waking.”

It was rather striking to reflect on how Rose and Lyta had arrived in Cape Kennedy as a pair and were now departing the B&B as a quartet, a poignant example of dreams' transformative power. Their journey exemplified how the seemingly impossible can indeed materialize into reality.

Hal assured he would join them once everything was properly settled and his belongings were packed, ready for the grand opening of a new live show; the next chapter of his life.

While you couldn't reveal to Rose the book she'd one day write, you encouraged her to pursue graduate school, confident in her potential for extraordinary accomplishments. Your time together had been brief, yet saying goodbye to her tugged at your heartstrings. What had begun as a simple work collaboration in Florida had flourished into something far more meaningful; you'd cultivated new friendships that you hoped would stand the test of time, enduring long after this unexpected adventure.

In the blink of an eye, the house suddenly felt much emptier.

Throughout the day, you noticed Barbie's conspicuous absence from the common areas, rarely catching a glimpse of her around the house. Ken mentioned that Barbie was feeling unwell and had decided to recuperate in their room. The situation raised suspicion, especially since Ken seemed more intent on hovering around you in the kitchen, attempting to engage you in unwelcome conversation. Oblivious to your signals, he disregarded your curt responses and clearly disinterested tone, persisting in his efforts at dialogue.

"You know, I was thinking, you haven't seen much of Cape Kennedy, have you? I could take you on a tour one of these days."

You froze with your cup of tea suspended midair, staring blankly at him as Hal cleared his throat.

"I appreciate the offer, but I have work commitments," you replied, your tone icy.

"Ah, yes, of course. But maybe I could, you know, offer you a ride after dinner one evening?"

You felt utterly disgusted, the tea suddenly losing its flavor in your mouth. Ken's partner was confined to their room, claiming to be ill. But here he was, attempting to flirt with you behind Barbie's back.

His behavior was reprehensible. You abandoned your drink, pouring it down the sink and hastily rinsing the mug.

"Oh! What about dining out? I know a lovely restaurant by the beach."

Ugh.

You considered answering with more excuses to make him desist, but you knew such tactics wouldn't deter a man like him. Ultimately, you decided that a razor-sharp response was your only way out.

"Look, I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate your persistence. And believe me, he's not the forgiving type."

Ken's grin faltered, though he still tried to maintain his charm. "I was just—"

"You're asking me out while your girl is sick upstairs. How considerate of you."

Hal, clearly intrigued by the unfolding scene, became more attentive, his eyes fixed on the two of you.

"You may be accustomed to women fawning over you, but let me be crystal clear: I wouldn't consider someone like you even if you were the last man on Earth."

Ken stood frozen, his smile fixed and hollow, utterly speechless. He seemed incapable of formulating any coherent sentence, caught off guard by your blunt rejection.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," you said, turning on your heel and striding away.

Without looking back, you left Ken to contemplate your rebuff as you climbed the stairs, the kitchen falling into a telling hush. There was only one pressing matter you wanted to address now: Barbie. If Ken was failing to provide the care and support she needed, perhaps a friendly visit could lift her spirits more effectively than her inconsiderate partner could.

You recognized that Ken's intentions weren't specifically malicious, but his casual fantasizing about other women and viewing dates outside his relationship as normal proved he was incapable of full commitment. How Barbie had managed to tolerate him for so long was incomprehensible, but you couldn't help admiring her patience.

You paused before her room, knocking softly a few times, and waited for a response that never came. Though you surmised she might be asleep, an intuition whispered otherwise.

"Barbie?" you called gently. "It's Y/N. Are you all right in there?"

Soft footsteps padded across the floor, followed by the click of the door's lock. As it swung open, Barbie showed up, looking visibly drained. Her face, devoid of its usual makeup, and her refined clothes replaced by simple pajamas, presented a notable difference from her typical polished appearance.

“Hey!”

Her forced glee hit you right in the chest, totally unconvincing, with puffy eyes revealing recent tears.

"Hey. Is everything okay?" You inquired again.

"Yeah! It's just a headache. Nothing serious!"

You exhaled softly, your brow furrowing with concern. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"It's nothing, really! I just need some rest," she insisted with another artificial grin, her voice wavering slightly.

"Barbie, I know I'm still relatively new to you, and you might not feel comfortable opening up to me. But if you need anything at all, even just a listening ear, I'm here for you."

She looked at you in silence, her veneer of cheerfulness intact but slowly crumbling. Her smile faded, lips curving downward as her head dropped in defeat. “Would you like to come in?”

Relieved, you nodded. "If I may."

“Sure.”

She stepped aside, inviting you in. As you entered, the door closed behind you, cocooning the two of you in privacy. Barbie walked to the rumpled bed and sat down, patting the spot in front of her with the familiarity of an old friend at a sleepover. On one of the nightstands, an empty mug stood sentinel beside a few untouched, stale cookies.

"I hope I didn't disturb you," you said, settling onto the mattress.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping at all.”

"What's wrong? I promise you, anything you say will remain confidential."

Barbie let out a chuckle that quickly morphed into a sniffle. "I feel like I can't confide in anyone. People would think I’m silly for even considering this."

You moved forward, tentatively placing your hand on hers. "It can't be foolish if it's keeping you locked into your room."

She shook her head slowly, her eyes welling up as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. "Have you ever felt like you've lost something important, something that doesn't even exist?"

“What do you mean?”

She released a desperate laugh, a hysterical sound that bore no resemblance to genuine mirth. "I... I used to have this beautiful dream. I had many incredible friends, talking animals that cared for and protected me. Can you imagine?”

You offered an encouraging smile, listening attentively.

"My closest companion was Martin Tenbones, a creature resembling a giant dog... or whatever he was meant to be. You probably think I'm crazy, don't you?"

"Not at all. I'm intrigued and would love to hear more about your dream world," you replied warmly.

"It's hard to put into words. It wasn't just a fantasy, it felt like another life. A place where I could be more than just 'Barbie', but finally myself."

"You're speaking about it in the past tense..."

Her tears flowed more freely. "I’m afraid I can’t dream about it anymore."

Oh…

"Last night, I had no dreams. I know it may not seem like a big deal, but I can tell that something has severed my connection to that world.”

Having witnessed your own dream beach reduced to an arid desert, you deeply empathized with Barbie's attachment to her personal subconscious place. Yet, you were fortunate to be with the Lord of Dreams, who could easily restore it to its original splendor, perhaps even enhance its beauty. Morpheus guided you through the Vortex's perils, extracting you from the Dreaming before your link to it could be irreparably damaged.

“I had a mission, something very important to do. And now I’m lost.”

“Barbie…”

"Ken wouldn't understand," she said with a hiccup. "He never does."

You squeezed her hand comfortingly, warmth spreading between your palms.

"I'm sorry. I told you this would sound stupid."

"Well, it's not," you replied with conviction. "As someone who understands the significance of dreams, I can tell you that your sadness is completely justified."

“Really…?”

"Yes. And please, forgive my frankness, but what do you see in a man like Ken?"

Her lower lip quivered as she wiped away her tears. "Honestly, I don't even know anymore. I thought we were perfect together, as ‘cliché as it can be, given our names."

You shrugged. "Names are just names. I doubt that's why you chose him."

"No. He made me feel special, loved… but I fear that was only a beautiful fairy tale. I knew he enjoyed flirting, but this? It’s just too much for me."

You hesitated to disclose Ken's invitation, fearing it would only exacerbate her distress. Considering her fragile emotional state, you couldn't bring yourself to be so insensitive.

"You deserve far better than what he's giving you. I can see that plain as day."

"I don't know. Maybe I set myself up for this. I should have seen the signs."

"We all make mistakes, we're only human. I've certainly had my share of faults in past relationships."

Barbie's lips quirked into a genuine smile, her first in a while. "Do you think I can find someone who'll treat me like a princess in the real world, too?"

"Not a princess. More like the magnificent queen you truly are."

Barbie chortled, and you joined in, feeling the atmosphere in the room finally lighten. "I mean it. You're beautiful, fun, sweet, and open to imaginative possibilities. You don't need a knight in shining armor, real princesses are perfectly capable of writing their own happy endings. Ken doesn't realize how lucky he is."

She swallowed hard, brushing away fresh tears with trembling hands.

"This is your life, Barbie, and I can't tell you what to do. I just hope you'll make the right choice for yourself. That guy's a perfect idiot, too immature to see how amazing you are."

As you stood from the bed, she sighed shakily, drawing her knees to her chest and curling into a ball. "Y/N… can I ask you something absurd?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think I'll ever be able to dream again?"

As you opened the door, you glanced back at Barbie's huddled form. Without Morpheus' insight, you couldn't fathom the fate of dreamers severed from the Dreaming by the Vortex. Lacking this crucial knowledge, you found yourself unable to offer a concrete answer to alleviate her sorrow.

Nevertheless, your heart told you there was only one logical, compassionate answer.

“I’m sure of it.”

The moment you left her to her own reflections, Barbie silently opened the bedside table's drawer, rummaging for an object she had discreetly tucked between books. As she retrieved it, she stared at the rose quartz pendant in her hand, now cold and lifeless, its power inexorably spent.

She clutched the pendant to her chest, inhaling deeply before exhaling, her resolve crystallizing.

As your first week in Florida concluded, your collaboration with Andrew grew more intensive with each meeting. More briefs poured in, shaping the project's trajectory for its official launch. When the first prototypes emerged from the workshop, it became clear that additional revisions were necessary. You had to conced that some of your ideas hadn't translated from concept to physical materials as seamlessly as you'd hoped. Undeterred, you offered to refine the sketches, either by incorporating crucial missing elements or starting anew with concepts that seemed to spring effortlessly from your imagination. This time, Andrew's approval wasn't required; his expression alone conveyed that the newly sewn sets embodied the perfection he had envisioned.

Meanwhile, Ken avoided approaching you in the house, hanging his head like a scolded puppy and barely mumbling greetings in the mornings. The atmosphere grew tense as Barbie silently declared her breakup with him by moving out of their shared room and into Rose's and Lyta's vacant chamber. Unsurprisingly, Ken's futile efforts to win Barbie back were nothing short of ridiculous, every excuse failing spectacularly, as if he were hurling himself against an invisible, elastic barrier.

To compound matters, Hal—Ken's sole confidant—had finally summoned the courage to permanently leave. With newfound confidence, he was determined to reunite with Rose and her family, bolstered by his belief that he could make it on Broadway. 

You had to admit, upon seeing Hal fully prepared with his suitcase and giant bag, he would likely be the person you'd miss the most in Cape Kennedy. Although Gilbert had quickly become your favorite (for reasons that now made much more sense), Hal had treated you like a best friend from the instant you emerged from Andrew's vehicle, seeing past your 'celebrity' status and addressing the authentic you with complete naturalness.

Moved by an irrepressible need to repay his kindness, you offered to create the perfect costume for his Dolly persona in the future, a gesture that made Hal's eyes sparkle with pure excitement. The prospect of wearing your design on stage made him feel like a star, and you eagerly anticipated seeing him perform for audiences worldwide.

As the days passed, the house grew more solitary, transforming into an unrecognizable place. Even Barbie decided to depart for New York by the tenth day of your stay, unwilling to endure Ken's omnipresence and compelled to rediscover herself through a new beginning. One by one, they were all witnessing their lives completely turned upside down, for better or worse, by the hand of Destiny. A fate that was clearly set in motion by the Vortex's influence, affecting their Waking World just as much as their dreams.

"Thank you, Y/N. You're a sweetheart," Barbie uttered gently, embracing you on the threshold. Her hug was so tight it nearly squeezed the breath from your lungs. "Let's keep in touch. I'd love to see you again sometime.”

"Absolutely," you said, gently rubbing her back. "Take good care of yourself, Barbie."

“You too.”

As the taxi pulled up, Barbie strode out of the house without a backward glance. Inside, Ken slumped on the couch, his face a portrait of total defeat. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had royally messed up, with no hope of mending the rift he had caused.

Barbie radiated a diva-like aura with her impeccably styled hair, flawless lipstick, and chic sunglasses that gave her the stunning look often adorning magazine covers. She waved at you, Chantal, and Zelda before entering the car, occupying the backseat with the grace of a regal swan. A large pink pendant hung from her neck, one she had never worn before, glistening and glowing under the sun.

In fact, it shimmered more brilliantly than any ordinary gemstone, causing your own necklace to suddenly warm against your skin. Before you could take a closer look, Barbie was gone, leaving her former home behind for an uncertain future.

You shook your head, dismissing that persistent feeling of déjà vu. Your attachment to the Dreaming was simply playing tricks on your mind, causing you to see things that weren't actually there.

Probably.

During your final days in Florida, you toiled relentlessly at Andrew's workshop, scarcely finding time to return to the B&B for rest. Chantal and Zelda seemed now solitary figures, quietly enjoying their drinks in the hushed house. Ken often disappeared into town, presumably in pursuit of a new conquest to seek solace in new companionship. Yet they looked unperturbed, their sweet smiles ever-present and nary a complaint voiced. 

While they genuinely missed their friends, Chantal and Zelda were self-sufficient women who found complete contentment in each other's company.

On the eve of your return to London, you had another vivid dream. While the recurring image of a newborn crying in an empty, bluish space persisted, your nightly visits to the Dreaming were becoming increasingly lifelike.

Morpheus accompanied you on most of your explorations, walking beside you or standing amidst the evocative landscapes of his realm. He always welcomed you with the warmest expression the Lord of Dreams could muster, his subtle smiles illuminating his face at your arrival.

After much hesitation, you finally broached the subject with Morpheus about Barbie and how the Vortex had removed her from the Dreaming. 

"Is there anything you can do to help her?"

Morpheus shook his head, giving you a thoughtful but firm response, rooted in his views on the purpose and temporality of dreams. “Each dream has its time, its arc, and its end. Her connection to The Land was severed as part of a larger design, one that is beyond any individual's desires, even mine."

Noticing your crestfallen countenance, he elaborated. “Dreams are both gifts and lessons, my love. They are there to guide mortals, but they must also be let go when their purpose is fulfilled. To restore it now would be to disrupt the path she must walk."

"So, she's unable to return to her dreams?"

"One day, perhaps. A dream is alive only when it meets the dreamer’s true need."

You averted your gaze, allowing his words to settle in your mind. After a moment, you turned back to him, your eyes glistening with emotion. "If I were severed from this world and from you, it would be unbearable. I can't imagine my life without the Dreaming, I would probably die."

Your words deeply moved him, though he tried to conceal it behind his characteristic gravitas. "You would not be disconnected from me, my love. Not truly. No matter the forces at play, I told you I would always find you, in dreams or beyond them."

He reached out to touch your face, offering comfort and promise, acknowledging your compassion and worries without dismissing them. "If ever such a fate were threatened, I would bend the realms themselves to keep you close."

Your smile returned as your fingers toyed with the lapels of his coat. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Even the King of Dreams is not immune to the fear of loss," he admitted. "And you possess a unique quality that no other mortal will ever match."

"Are you implying that the Dreaming would suffer without me?"

"Not only the Dreaming. I am its ruler, yet above all, I am a being irrevocably bound to your heart."

That very heart raced with exhilaration, sending waves of warmth cascading through your body like a gentle fireworks display.

"You’re so sweet,” you expressed.

“Sweet?”

You tilted your head. "I know you're all powerful and mighty, and that 'sweet' isn't typically associated with you. But with me, you're so wonderful that I doubt any other being in existence could ever compare."

He grinned mischievously, his eyes twinkling with veiled intentions. “Perhaps I should remind you of my true nature, my love. As befits the King of Nightmares.”

You laughed, crossing your arms with a glint of curiosity on your face. "Oh? Is that a challenge? Because, Your Majesty, I'm not one to run away so easily."

For a moment, silence blanketed the space between you. The air grew still, charged with electric anticipation as Morpheus's posture shifted. An otherworldly darkness seeped into the scene, dimming the ambient illumination. Cold moonlight took its place, casting elongated shadows on the ground. The world around you transformed into a vast canvas, painted in shades of deep blue and ink-black, completely bereft of stars.

With a flick of his hand, Morpheus stepped back. The space stretched into an endless void, where whispered secrets echoed and your surroundings dissolved into an illusion of midnight sky. His form began to transform, subtly at first. His robes billowed like storm clouds, infused with silver strands that glinted like trapped starlight. His eyes glowed with pale fire, and his hair flowed freely, no longer tethered by gravity.

Despite the imposing figure before you, you felt no fear. In fact, the beauty of it—the raw, infinite greatness—thrilled you to no end and made you shiver in awe rather than terror. He embodied everything he claimed to be: powerful, enigmatic, and fearsome—yet he remained, undeniably, the man you loved.

He circled you slowly, his breath ghosting over your ear as he leaned in from behind. His voice boomed, almost demonic, though unmistakably his own. "So bold… and so fragile. Will you not bend and yield to your Lord?"

You recognized this as an enthralling performance, a thrilling roleplay that left you completely spellbound.

"You are magnificent," you breathed, your voice brimming with admiration and something else. "Truly, I don’t need to tell you how willingly I'd surrender to you. You already know."

His hands wrapped around your waist, strong and secure. "It seems," he said with a wry smile, "that even the King of Nightmares cannot dissuade you."

"Never," you replied, tracing delicate patterns on his hands. "Not when I know that you'd never harm me."

His dark and menacing guise melted away, replaced by a soft chuckle as he reverted to his normal form. The inky blackness dissipated, giving way to the previously vibrant colors of the dreamscape.

With a touch of reverence, he lifted your hand to his lips. "Perhaps," he murmured, "I shall remain 'sweet' for you alone."

You threw your head back, sinking against his chest as laughter bubbled from your lips. Your eyes sparkled with immense happiness and love. "Now I wish I never had to wake up."

For the remainder of the night, Morpheus granted your wish, keeping you blissfully ensconced in the realm of fantasies.

As you settled into your seat on the plane home, you went through a curious distortion of time. The fortnight in Cape Kennedy and week in the Dreaming had passed in a blink, yet paradoxically left you feeling as though you'd been away for eons.

You were exhausted, the jet lag evidently taking its toll on you. Readjusting to your regular routine proved unexpectedly daunting, as you had to deal with frequent migraines and an unsettling tendency to nod off at inopportune moments throughout the day. 

You missed the friends you'd made, the cozy ambiance of the former B&B, and the tranquil Floridian nights that contrasted so starkly with London's bustling soundscape.

The newborn continued to make sporadic appearances in your dreams, but the crib remained just out of reach, its cryptic message undecipherable. Curiously, this recurring vision didn't unsettle you; upon waking, it often slipped from your mind entirely.

Upon returning home, you quickly established regular long-distance communication with Hal and Rose. They now shared a peaceful home as a family, along with Jed, Lyta, the baby, and an intriguing man—a friend of Rose's—who had seemingly won Hal's heart. Rose had finally submitted her college application and begun brainstorming ideas for her future book. Meanwhile, Hal was actively pursuing a career as a Broadway performer, eagerly anticipating news of a potential audition.

After carefully considering numerous options, Lyta finally settled on a name that perfectly suited her son: Daniel Hall.

Corbyn & Jones was busier than ever, inundating you with work the moment you stepped into the office. The company overflowed with orders and requests for new projects, which Ella presented as promising opportunities for the future. With the Fashion Show behind you and sales skyrocketing across online platforms, local stores, and social media, your friend decided to entrust you with an equally creative venture, one with the potential to become the company's crown jewel. Both figuratively and literally.

"Are you serious?" you asked, your eyes wide as you stared at her face in disbelief.

"I don't see why not. You've always had a passion for jewelry, and I distinctly remember you designing some back in high school."

"Those were just early experiments, hardly worth mentioning."

She grinned, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You used to say the same about all of your sketches. Yet here you are." 

You sighed, massaging your throbbing temples and stifling a yawn. "Fine, you've got a point. But I'm wondering, are we really prepared to take on more work? It's not exactly difficult for people to find quality accessories from other sources."

"We've received numerous requests for jewelry to complement our products. It's a bold move, but we can't afford to ignore our competitors."

You brought your finger to your lips, contemplating. "I guess you’re right."

"Look, I know you've just returned from Cape Kennedy and haven't had a chance to catch your breath, I can see how tired you are. Still, you're the only one I can trust with this," Ella explained. "Whenever I scroll through my social media feed, all I see are the same products being marketed as 'exclusive drop collections' by different brands or influencers, simply because they're trending. I don't want to slap our name on a generic necklace, bracelet or ring and claim we made it. I want something special, something that only you can create."

Ella had always been fiercely competitive. Seeing an opportunity to make a real impact, her eyes lit up with a reinvigorated enthusiasm.

"I'm not asking you to do anything complex, I swear. You have an excellent sense of style, and you're very distinctive. You emanate this constant aura that's simply goddess-like."

You couldn't help but chortle, amused by the unintended accuracy of her statement. Whatever she saw coming from you was no longer a coincidence, now that you were aware of your true origins.

"I'll cover the material costs, and Oliver has connections that could help with soldering services and gem sourcing. Perhaps you could do some research? Visit a few places, gather inspiration, and compile elements you find appealing?"

As Ella elaborated, you found yourself increasingly drawn to the idea. You couldn't shake the concern about managing deadlines with yet another project on your plate, but it was worth a try if it meant outperforming competitors and surpassing market projections.

"I've already got a couple of places in mind for you to check out."

Your gaze drifted to your wrist, where your mother's bracelet and Morpheus' bangle gleamed under the artificial light. With these treasures as inspiration, you realized you might already possess the guidance needed to excel in this new endeavor.

“Fine, let’s do it,” you declared.

"Really? You're on board?"

"I mean, you're still my boss. We might be friends, but that's no excuse for me to slack off or neglect my responsibilities. Besides, you might be onto something here, and I'm genuinely curious to give it a try."

Ella slammed her hand onto the desk with such force that you nearly jumped out of your seat.

"Ha! Those businesses better brace themselves. We've got a secret weapon right here!"

"Come on, Ella. I'm hardly a secret weapon."

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to us. And to me, because I've found my bestie again. I'm absolutely thrilled to be working with you!"

You nodded, a nostalgic smile playing on your lips. "Right. Remember how we used to daydream about this when we were teenagers?"

"How could I forget? I always wanted to run my own company with you as my creative genius. You'd tell me it was too good to be true, but I never stopped insisting it was possible. And now, look at us!"

"Indeed, I was wrong. I must admit, I was quite the pessimist back then."

Ella rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips with an air of confidence and satisfaction. "Yeah, and I definitely prefer this version of you."

"I could take offense to that, but honestly, I feel the same way."

“Yaaaaas! Slay!!!”

The office door swung open, and Oliver strode in, clutching a handful of papers. His eyebrow arched quizzically at the scene before him. By now, you were certain he'd grown accustomed to his wife's antics, yet the expression on his face was absolutely priceless, especially as he caught sight of her, arms thrust triumphantly skyward.

"What's all this ruckus?"

"Oops, sorry, love. Was I too loud?"

"I'd wager they heard you clear across the street," Oliver quipped, his lips quirking into a sardonic smirk.

Ella waved off his comment, taking the papers he offered. "Is this the list you mentioned?"

"Yes. I assume you've already informed Y/N about our new quest?"

"Indeed, I have. We were just discussing it."

Oliver pushed his glasses up his nose, turning his attention to you. "Given Ella's reaction, I take it you've accepted our proposal."

Your friend’s bouncing movements reminded you of a cartoon character, the passage of years only enhancing her comedic charm.

You gracefully crossed your legs, settling into the swivel chair with your arms and back comfortably supported, ignoring the looming fatigue and headache. "When do I start?"

Once again, you found yourself wandering through an unknown landscape, a twilight meadow bathed in the deep, velvety indigo of night. The profound quiet was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves as you stepped forward, drawn toward a soft radiance in the distance. Fireflies danced around you, their tiny lights twinkling like celestial guides along your path. The air carried a mysterious warmth, a gentle weight that felt both calming and comforting, as if something unseen were embracing you.

As you moved closer, the glow revealed itself to be a single flower blooming amidst the grass, its petals as bright and sparkly as moon dust. Intrigued, you knelt down, extending your fingers. The petals pulsed with a gentle rhythm, reminiscent of a soft heartbeat. Your hands hovered over it, sensing the energy of something alive, tender and delicate, yet infinitely strong. A deep connection stirred, an instinctive awareness that you were being entrusted with something precious.

When you touched the flower, warmth spread through your palms, wrists, and elbows, life itself flowing into your veins. You closed your eyes, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and sweetness. An overwhelming tenderness rose inside your heart: a love you couldn't describe, a caring that was simply boundless.

A delicate whisper drifted through the meadow, a soothing voice that seemed to come from both earth and sky. "This light now belongs to you," it echoed. "Soon, it will flourish. And so will you."

The flower dissolved, sinking into your chest like a subtle pulse settling inside your heart. You tried to speak, but your throat constricted, silencing any sound. A thin layer of bright blue fog descended, and then you heard it again, the familiar cry of a child, the now visible distant crib beckoning you.

You attempted to rise, but were anchored to the grass as if you were a deeply rooted tree. Strangely, you felt no desire to resist or struggle. A flicker of concern crossed your mind, yet an underlying calm reassured you that there was no cause for worry.

This time, your voice emerged, speaking a single name, the only one that occupied your thoughts.

“Daniel…?”

The baby neither reacted, cried, nor moved. Suddenly, silence blanketed the scene, and everything around you faded into nothingness.

You awoke, the residual warmness from your dream still occupying your chest—a mysterious sensation yet to be understood. However, as comforting as it felt, the moment you pushed yourself into a sitting position, reality struck. You were drenched in sweat, your nightgown clinging uncomfortably to your skin. A wave of nausea surged from the pit of your stomach, twisting your face into a grimace. 

You dismissed it as insignificant, attributing it to the minor anxiety that had followed you from the realm of dreams into the Waking World. The recurring presence of that child in your subconscious remained an enigma, leaving you uncertain about its nature. As Morpheus had explained, Daniel Hall's conception during Lyta's dreams forged an unbreakable bond between him and the dream realm. Could the newborn be reaching out to you in Morpheus' domain for some unknown reason?

Despite wracking your brain for answers, you were simply left with even more questions.

You tried to lie down again, pushing aside the bedsheets as you took deep breaths. Unfortunately, the queasiness persisted. Instead of easing, it grew more intense, significantly so.

And then you felt it, that dreadful urge to expel whatever was churning in your stomach. You leapt out of bed with lightning speed, one hand clamped firmly over your mouth as you raced to the bathroom. You despised it and fought to contain it, but whatever it was, it refused to subside on its own.

Unable to hold it back any longer, you hunched over the toilet, your body convulsing as you violently ejected the remnants of your dinner. The ordeal continued relentlessly until you felt completely hollow, as if you'd purged every last morsel from your system—intestines and all.

When it was finally over, you relished the relief, washing your mouth and face to rid yourself of the sticky residue of sweat on your skin and the acrid taste persisting on your tongue. Your abdominal muscles contracted painfully, as if you'd just completed an intense set of sit-ups at the gym.

Good lord. You felt like a wrung-out dishrag.

Whether you had eaten something bad or were experiencing delayed symptoms of travel burnout, you desperately wished for this nausea to leave you alone. It had ebbed and flowed throughout the night, barely relenting even as you left the house. 

It was unusual, you rarely had digestive issues. Considering the whirlwind of your recent trip, flying to Cape Kennedy, physically moving in and out of the Dreaming, and then back onto the plane home again, it probably made sense that your body was finally feeling the strain. 

Fortunately, you made it through your workday without a repeat of your previous night's disaster, successfully keeping your lunch where it belonged. You convinced yourself it was just a random occurrence, a fleeting ailment that would pass as your body naturally recovered.

You pored over your sketches and scoured your Pinterest boards for further inspiration. With an array of gemstone pieces and chains spread across the table, you let your creativity flow, crafting designs that were both unique and original. Ella desired something innovative, jewelry that stood out from the current market offerings, and you were determined to exceed her expectations.

The process was unexpectedly enjoyable and fulfilling, surpassing your initial skepticism. Your research and material acquisitions produced impressive results, with several of your creations already sent to the workshop for soldering and welding. Weariness was a constant companion, testing your resilience and mental focus over the following days. Nevertheless, a few stifled yawns and tired eyes paled in comparison to the joy of seeing your efforts appreciated.

Just as you were ready to forget about your mysterious illness, the nausea suddenly resurfaced one day as you walked out of the shower. It lasted only a few minutes before subsiding, allowing you to sleep without feeling sick or making another dash to the toilet. 

Over a week had elapsed since your return, and with your appetite slightly diminished, you began to question whether your random symptoms were truly related to the trip and the tumultuous circumstances you had encountered in Florida. Ella and your colleagues appeared unaffected after your recent restaurant outing, yet you couldn't shake the suspicion that something on your plate might have caused potential food poisoning. 

On the other hand, you wondered if this physical disorder was merely a result of exhaustion. Your father had noticed your pallor and evident fatigue, expressing concern about how unsteady you seemed on your feet. With the new jewelry project underway you'd been bustling about, visiting stores and different studios to source new supplies. You hadn't exactly been cautious, willingly pushing yourself far beyond your limits.

During your walk home from a fruitful excursion, you had to stop multiple times due to unexpected breathlessness and lightheadedness. These strange manifestations left you feeling disconcerted, as your body behaved in ways you didn't recognize.

Ultimately, you dismissed your condition as a mere stomach bug or something equally benign. You saw no reason to fret over what you believed would be a short-lived malady.

Yet, was it truly so insignificant…?

You hadn't seen Hob Gadling since before your trip abroad, and your work subsequently left little room for socializing. In spite of his persistent invitations for drinks, you regrettably had to decline repeatedly. Hob, true to his nature, remained incredibly patient and understanding, encouraging your professional growth while reminding you to prioritize self-care.

Finally meeting him felt like reuniting after an eternity apart. His bright smile was better than any medicine, his company one of the most precious things in the world. To be honest, you felt so sleepy and generally under the weather that you were tempted to reschedule. However, you knew that finding a better opportunity in the near future was unlikely.

"Are you sure you just want tea? You're not ordering anything else? It's my treat, you know."

"I know," you replied. "It's just that I've been feeling a bit off lately."

"Oh, is that so? Sounds like you might be burning the candle at both ends again."

"My job keeps me busy, but it's nowhere near as hectic as when I worked in Wych Cross. I can sit for hours without being called away."

Hob bit into a piece of tart, humming in response as he chewed. 

"How are things going at school?" you inquired.

"Some students can be quite a handful,” he said after swallowing. “But you know how it is."

"You've become a role model for so many young people. That's something to be proud of," you observed.

"Well, when you've lived as long as I have, you inevitably accumulate quite a trove of useful experiences."

"It's not just your extensive knowledge that makes you awesome, Hob. You're intelligent, kind, and always attentive to those who need support."

"If you'd known me back in 1600, you might think differently."

"But I know you now, and I truly appreciate the man sitting in front of me."

His grin widened as he reached for your wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Or maybe, I have the best influence right here."

"Oh, come on. You were already like this when we first met."

Immersed in the joyful atmosphere, you savored the shared laughter and companionship of a treasured friend. While you loved your creative job, having a day free from work finally gave you the chance to unwind and momentarily set aside thoughts of impending deadlines.

The afternoon progressed perfectly until an unexpected disruption occurred. As the waitress approached the adjacent table, a potent coffee aroma wafted through the room. The scent went straight to your head, compelling you to abandon the remaining of your tea as a sudden wave of sickness engulfed you all over again, reminiscent of a rising tide.

"Are you all right, Y/N?" Hob asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Yes, it's just... isn't this smell a little too strong?"

“What smell?”

“The coffee.”

Hob furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. He sniffed the air, taking a moment to analyze it. "I don't know," he said. "It smells like normal coffee to me. I don't find it particularly overpoweri—"

You abruptly sprang from your chair, weaving through customers and tables to reach the mercifully vacant bathroom. Stunned, Hob followed in your wake, gently rapping on the door and calling your name with apprehension. Curious onlookers paused their conversations to observe the scene, while the waitress craned her neck inquisitively.

You heard him, but couldn't respond. Doubled over and coughing, you felt your fluids rushing out uncontrollably. The malaise hit you with full force, dropping you to your knees as your body eliminated its contents a second time, leaving your throat raw and burning. 

"Y/N, please say something. What's happening?"

Only when you were certain you had nothing left to expel did you open the door. A searing pain shot through your forehead, and the entire path from your trachea to your stomach felt inflamed, as if ready to burst from the inside out.

"I'm sorry about that," you mumbled, your voice hoarse. "I'm fine."

"That didn't seem like 'fine' to me. Would you like me to drive you home? I think some rest might do you good, Shortcake."

Completely drained, quite literally, you nodded silently and returned to your table. You gathered your belongings, leaving behind your dinks, unfinished and forgotten. Each step felt leaden and sluggish as you made your way to Hob's car, shrouded in a thick, uncomfortable silence. With a heavy sigh, you leaned back against the seat, shutting your eyes and clutching your bag's strap tightly.

"I'm so sorry," you apologized dejectedly. "I've ruined our outing."

"I'd rather see you feeling well than keep you out when you're sick to the bone. Why didn’t you tell me? We could have postponed it to another day."

You pouted. "I really wanted to see you today, though."

"And I want you to take care of yourself. I can't die, remember? I've got all the time in the world."

"I just don't get it,” you protested, your voice wavering. “I can feel fine for a few days in a row, and then suddenly I'm puking my guts."

"How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?"

"I've been feeling a bit strange since I landed last week, but nothing major, really. Just the occasional headache, fatigue, that sort of thing."

The car halted at a red light, its engine rumbling in the quiet street.

"You mentioned the coffee smell was particularly strong."

"Yes, I don't know why. I could not stand it."

“Mh.”

Noticing his unusual quietness and the contemplative look on his face as he mulled over your words, you narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

"Ah, it's nothing, Shortcake. I've heard there's some sort of stomach bug going around. You might have caught that."

The car resumed its journey, winding through the thoroughfares of London as you gazed out the window, your eyelids feeling impossibly leaden. “Yeah. Could be.”

Morpheus strolled through the library, his presence as ubiquitous as the tomes on the shelves and tables, as if they were fragments of his very essence. He returned the volumes borrowed from Lucienne: various dream records he'd examined to evaluate his realm's current state and its power's impact on the Waking World following the Vortex incident. 

He scanned the spines of the books before him, striding along the rows of shelves with his customary regal bearing. A faint smile played on his lips, a testament to his renewed control, now bolstered by your unwavering support and endless affection.

His fingers glided along the leather bindings, caressing centuries—if not millennia—of transcribed stories. From across the library, Lucienne and Matthew's distant voices wafted through the atmosphere, lively and tranquil, signaling the full restoration of every fracture caused by the previous disturbances.

Morpheus experienced an unprecedented, profound sense of bliss and inner peace. After innumerable centuries of existence, he finally grasped the true meaning of being cherished, and his understanding of love had undergone a drastic metamorphosis. A human had taught him more in a brief span than eternity ever could, smoothing the sharpest edges of his being. You had believed in him when everyone else saw him as a monster, perceiving his past misdeeds as steps in his growth.

Little did he know that his newfound self-assurance was about to shatter in the face of an imminent revelation.

As Morpheus turned to depart for the throne room, a whisper from behind arrested his attention. A large, weathered tome jutted out from the long row of books, awaiting the Lord of Dreams to hold it. The Endless paused, pivoting slowly, and gazed at the book with surprise as he approached. 

Its cover was pitch black, adorned with faintly scratched embroideries and devoid of any visible title. As Morpheus lifted it from the shelf, he was struck by its physical lightness, yet felt a spiritual weightiness emanating from it. Gingerly, he opened the volume, unsure of its contents. The title was emblazoned in large, inky letters on the first page:

Morpheus felt his blood run cold, his fingers turning even icier. He had heard of that name before, old tales circulating from one shaman to another, handed down to priests and storytellers until they remained nothing but a legend with no foundation. It was described as a book full of dire predictions, destiny itself written upon its pages, bringing forth catastrophic prophecies that were never proven.

Not once in his eternal lifetime had Morpheus encountered this book in the castle's library, or in any library, for that matter. He had long dismissed it as nothing more than a fanciful myth. 

Its sudden appearance in the Dreaming could only mean one of two things: either it was a product of someone's vivid imagination, or it heralded an impending catastrophe. Morpheus dreaded the latter possibility, considering all that he and the Dreaming had endured over the past 106 years.

The second page lay blank, its rough, ancient parchment unyielding beneath his ethereal touch. He flipped it over, and the third one featured a Celtic-inspired illustration in black and gold ink, depicting a tarot-like tableau of a full moon reflecting on still waters, with a solitary female figure wading into the depths. In the center, a short paragraph had been inscribed.

Morpheus's entire form tensed as he continued leafing through the book, only to discover another image, a counterpart to the previous one. Instead of the moon, the sun now dominated the landscape. The same woman stood with her back turned, clad in a long gown, still traversing the vast ocean ahead. In the middle, another caption stood out.

Morpheus staggered, clutching the shelf before him for support. These images weren't unfamiliar; everything depicted on those pages represented only one thing—what he treasured most in the entire universe: you.

He pressed on, both terrified and desperate to uncover more. With each turn of the page, he saw more of you, and even himself, intricately woven into the written lines and painted details. The book revealed something he had never wished to know, yet somehow, deep in the core of his love for you, he had already foreseen it.

A once-distant fear, something he fervently hoped would never recur as it had in the past, now a tangible possibility.

As understanding dawned, Morpheus sank to the floor, his legs buckling beneath him. His chest tightened agonizingly, as if a hidden power sought to tear his heart from his body and destroy it. He was in agony, metaphorically shattered into countless fragments, as the mental image of you splintered like a fractured mirror, your radiant smile morphing into the deepest frown.

Sequestering himself in that spot, he read the enigmatic messages obsessively, only to conclude they portrayed the most unfavorable fate imaginable. One he was determined to protect you from, no matter the cost, even if it meant sacrificing everything you represented for him.

And for the Dreaming.

Mere moments ago, he was elated at the thought of having you by his side, bringing out the best in himself, shaped by your unconditional love for all that he was.

The next, his eyes closed, a solitary tear tracing a silent path down his pale skin at the devastating prospect of what he had to do for your sake.

I'm sharing this for reference, so you have a clear image to associate with it; the bangle Morpheus placed in the memory box is essentially like this one. I purchased it online recently, and it reminded me of The Sandman and my fanfiction, so I've decided to include it. ✨

What did Morpheus find in the library just now??? 😱 😶 🙊 😭

Also, if you're wondering what I suspect you're wondering, the answer is… it could be either yes or no. 😏

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 23 (coming soon) ->

[laughroditee]

Once upon a time (specifically last year in 2024), I was finally writing a novel.

Again.

But this time would be different because I was prepared. This one wouldn't end up like all the other projects I've abandoned over the years because I've Learned Things™.

And then came my entrance into the COD fandom. Fanfiction became both my new shiny object and a way to practice exposure therapy, showing my work to the ether, and it was anxiety-inducing.

Fanfiction, for me, was a joy and an exploration, but also my way to try to break through my creative blocks that have been holding me captive for the past few decades. Words do not come easily to me anymore, like something's gummed up the cogs that used to be so well-oiled. That kind of loss of self-expression feels like a kind of crippling self-abandonment and has left me clawing and grasping for something that, in the past, had been almost too present. I feel abandoned by the muses I once had, who had always been with me, and I am left wondering how to get them back.

I have WIPs that are outstanding (as in not fulfilled, not excellent in quality lol), and I had to stop taking part in things like WIP Wednesday because I always end up feeling like they're broken promises to myself and just remind me of how much I'm struggling to write.

There's no real point in this post I guess, except to say that I'm struggling. Fanfic was supposed to be haha fun, but it's become hard, just like any other writing I do, or try to do.

My very first drabble (and entry into fanfiction) will turn one year old at the end of this month, and my first serial fanfic ("Your Ghost" - tw it's an exploration of grief) will follow in June. I haven't updated it since June 26th last year. The last chapter I wrote took a lot out of me both cognitively and emotionally (it's a very, very emotional chapter), and though it was rewarding to have written it because it was my first published sex scene (something I struggle with), it was SO HARD LOL!! I feel so bad for not being able to update it in an entire year!

While I did start writing further chapters, I had to put it on pause because I had to figure out where I wanted the story to go instead of getting myself into the usual situation of writing myself into a corner and then abandoning ship.

And now I'm wondering if it's even worth it, if people would read further chapters, or if I'd be wasting my time. (But then I remind myself that I'm basically writing this for myself to process things, so that's its value to me; it shouldn't matter what other people do or think.)

My fanfic experiment has basically failed is what I'm trying to say. Because it was supposed to help me be able to write my novel by providing a safe space to practice and have fun (my sandbox), while getting feedback sooner on shorter works. And I haven't touched my novel at all during this whole time. All my spell slots were eaten up by fanfiction.

Or maybe it has worked, just on a very fucking prolonged timeline, which is kind of par for the course with me as a perpetual late-bloomer. (Thanks, Saturn complex.)

It's frustrating to have all these things I want to say and write, and then when I get to the blank page, my mind is just as blank.

Anyway, that's it. That's the post.

I'm not looking for productivity hacks or anything like that; believe me I've got plenty. Just wanted to see my blog have some kind of update because I feel bad for also neglecting it.

Be excellent to each other.

🖤🤡🖤

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[godlygreta]

god is fair | j. t. kiszka

title | god is fair

word count | 7.7k

warnings | swearing, mentions of alcohol - nothing too terrible... yet ;)

author's note | i've had this in the chamber for some time now, i just lost the inspo to write, which is why i haven't in a long time. this isn't a promise that i'll post more fics as they come to me, seeing as i'm a senior in college who has a fuck ton of other things to do. there will be a part 2 to this fic, but i couldn't tell you when it's coming :)

also, very much so listening to god is fair, sexy nasty by mac miller while writing this & starting the next part, so take that as you will ;)

unedited as hell so pls excuse any mistakes !

You always had this rivalry since the beginning of freshman year. This guy, Jake, would never show up to any of the classes the two of you had together, but always got the highest grades on every single goddamn exam that your Intro to Bio professor gave out. It infuriated you.

You figured that in the spring semester, you would be freed from the disappearing boy, but you weren’t. While the teacher called roll, everyone shouted out here. She landed upon his name, calling out to the class and looking through the rows of students. He had been there for orientation, sitting in one of the middle rows, slouched in his seat.

You planned to confront him the next day you had class together, on Wednesday, but Jake was nowhere to be found. Your roommate and your friends had heard your exhaustive theories as to why he was never in class. “Babe, you sound insane. Just let it go.”

But you couldn’t.

Competition lived deep within your roots, having an entire competition with the second top student in your graduating class in high school. Though the rage held between each other was never taken far outside of the academic realm, the two of you never thought to be friends and encourage one another. Thankfully, the two of you resolved the competition when the two of you realized you would be going into two very separate fields of study in college. 

Camren, who knew she was going to be a chemist from the time she first learned about chemistry, had told you she loved the competition – made it fun and kept things interesting. And there you were, going to school for Pre-Med with the same feeling. The two of you kept in contact, updating each other on the strive for greatness in college as well.

You kept a close relationship with a lot of your teachers, making sure to get on their good side before classes had really begun. You emailed most of them, especially your Anatomy and Physiology professor, Dr. Sahnya Heinz.

She was incredibly skilled in her field, leaving the active medical field to teach the new and future minds of medicine. It was a cliche line she delivered on the first day, but it encouraged that familiar competitive fire that dwelled within you.

You don’t quite remember how you came to figure out that Jake was ahead of you, but you had found out somehow from your professor, although it was an accident.

It made everything in you burn with anger and frustration. Anytime someone mentioned him, or mentioned the fact that you were second, you clenched your jaw and your teeth gritted together. Your friends had an inside joke that you were only mad because you had a huge crush on him.

“I barely even know what he looks like, Mel! I fucking hate the guy. Don’t start shit.” You’d plead, beer can in your hand in the lounge of some fraternity floor.

Over the next few semesters, you kept trying your hardest, spending most of your free time in the library, reading everything that you could to prepare for every exam. You wrote papers early, having them done at least three weeks in advance. As soon as you would be told about a new one, you’d immediately start finding sources.

You sauntered around campus, thinking that you would be way ahead of him. He still never showed up to any classes, aside from orientation and exam periods. You’d stare at him for a few moments while the teacher passed out the exam, looking over his face as much as you could.

His long hair would obscure your vision on occasion, making it hard to catch any of his features at all. From what you could see though, he had nice, full lips. His nose was something you could have stared at the entire exam period.

You watched him as he licked his lips, whispering a thank you to Heinz before grabbing his pencil from his desk and getting to work. You looked away from him as soon as Heinz put your exam on your desk, offering her a small smile and a quick thank you before getting to work.

It was almost spring break, meaning some of your assignments had been slowing, some of them had been increasing. A group of your friends from different majors told you about one of the lounge parties a fraternity on campus was throwing. “Sigma Tau has the worst lounge parties, Tamia. You know this.”

“They’re joining forces with the Delta’s though, so it’ll be better than normal! You have to come, you’ve always got your nose in a book. You haven’t drank with us in so long, I forget what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t know… I need to work on this Midterm paper I have in Kainz’s class, it’s due next week.”

“Babe, it’s been done for weeks! You just keep editing it trying to find mistakes and there are none! I’ve literally read it five times. Please, go out with us, just tonight?”

You looked between Tamia and Mel, knowing in the end you would give into them anyways. “Ugh, fine! Tonight, and tonight only, just this once. If I don’t like it, though, I’m leaving and going to bed early.”

“You’ll have so much fun, I swear!” Mel and Tamia looked between each other, sharing expressions of excitement and happiness on their faces. You rolled your eyes, standing up from your chair.

You let them raid your closet, trying to throw something together quickly. Most of the time, Tamia and Mel never obeyed the dress code for the lounge parties, hating the idea of giving into the male gaze of the fraternity brothers. Tonight, however, was a bit different. The theme was Western, meaning it was cowboy hats and very tiny shorts.

You looked over the outfit that laid out in front of you, straw cowboy hat that Tamia had bought from Amazon (one for each of you), a pair of short shorts that may or may not show your ass a bit, and a red bandana top that Mel let you borrow last semester that you forgot to return. “I don’t know about this. I don’t even have the right shoes.”

“You forget we wear the same size, bitch, you’re going. No backing out.” They joked, tossing you a pair of white boots. “Just put that shit on while we heat up the curling iron, okay?”

“Fine, fine, okay.” You peel off your shirt, throwing on the one they picked out. Next to go were your pajama pants, which were replaced by the shorts. You kept the same socks on, knowing that nobody would see them anyways with the boots going up to the middle of your calf muscle. “I look fucking ridiculous.”

“You look fucking hot, now sit down while we do your hair and makeup,” Mel spoke, pulling out your desk chair while Tamia smiled wickedly with the curling wand in hand. You were nervous, looking at the both of them, but the good kind that settled under your skin and was left hidden behind the smallest smile.

You talked about upcoming exams with them while they did your hair and makeup, much to their dismay. They attempted to fill you in on the various drama situations going on around campus while you had been heavily plugged into your textbooks. You gasped often, finding shock and awe in some of the things they had been telling you about classmates.

They spoke about Jake, letting it slip that he had been planning on attending the party, joined at the hip with one of the girls he had been rumored to have been dating. One of the many. “Ugh, he just sounds like a douche. Gives me even more reason to hate him.”

“We’re not feeding into your delusion that he’s some douchebag. Dropping it.” Tamia spoke, putting her hands up in a surrender. Mel laughed, pulling away from you with an eyeliner pen in hand. “Maybe we’ll get you drunk enough to admit you like him.”

“I don’t like him, and I thought we were dropping the topic.” You looked at Tamia in the mirror, watching her face deadpan as she looked back at you.

“I have something hot in my hands, don’t be rude to me.” The three of you laughed, getting back into the rhythm of getting ready. You let them do their thing to you, curling the last bit of your hair and putting the finishing touches of highlighter on your brow bone.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the job they did. You thanked them for getting you all dolled up, watching them change into their outfits. It was mostly just them taking off the sweats they were wearing, throwing them over the back of your desk chair. You took a few pictures with them in your mirror before finally deciding to head out.

The party had started a half an hour ago, walking into the party late like most people did. The three of you got in easily with matching the dress code, immediately looking for the drinks table. The boys in charge handed the three of you a free shot of anything you wanted. Mel chose for you, starting the night out roughly with a shot of Svedka.

You grabbed a Sprite from one of the boys in one hand, the shot of Svedka in the other. The three of you tapped your glasses together before downing the shot. The alcohol burned as it slipped down your throat, trying to soothe it with the taste and coolness of the Sprite. You shook a bit, throwing the cup away in a nearby trash can.

“That was fucking gross, I hate you so much for choosing Svedka.”

“I could’ve chosen something even more nasty, like Jack.” Mel laughed, leading the three of you over to a section in the lounge where you could stand a decent enough distance away from one another, instead of being piled on top of one another.

“I would have rather taken a shot of Jack, Mel.” You spoke, sipping more of your Sprite. Tamia pointed out a few of the people they had talked about earlier, letting you put names to faces.

In the midst, two of the Sigma brothers decided to start a dance battle, capturing the attention of those around them. Everyone joined in, gathering around the two guys. Mel and Tamia joined too, but you had slipped out of their grasp by telling them you had to use the bathroom.

You were happy to escape the party, sneaking out with a bottle of Smirnoff the boys had left unattended. You walked outside, taking a deep breath in. You were thankful to be met with the smell of fresh air, not smelling sweat and booze everywhere. Your peace and tranquility was ruined by someone’s voice, “Well, don’t you look adorable.”

Your head snapped towards the voice, seeing Jake sitting up against the bike rack with a cigarette between his fingers. “Shut up.”

“What? I can’t compliment you?”

“No,” you started, crossing your arms with the bottle still in your hand. “No, you can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I hate you.” Jake looked at you, up and down, taking a drag of his cigarette. You screwed off the cap of the bottle, taking a pull. You tried your hardest to not make a face, looking away slightly when the familiar sting settled in your throat.

“Why do you hate me? I’ve never spoken to you before.”

“Do I have to have a reason?” You asked, walking closer to him.

“Suppose not. But if I knew why you hated me,” he tossed his cigarette butt on the ground, stomping on it with his boot. “Then maybe I could find a way to make you not hate me.”

“Unless you flunk your next exam, I guarantee that won’t happen.”

“Oh, I get it.” He chuckled, standing up from the bike rack he was leaning against. He grabbed his cigarette butt up from the ground, tossing it into the nearest garbage can. He turned towards you, staring at you with his brown eyes. “You’re just mad because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re never in class. You shouldn’t be ahead of me.” You glared at him, lips moving into a frown.

“Just because I’m never there doesn’t mean I’m not getting the information. I work five, sometimes six days a week. We only have class three days a week. Typically, I gotta work those days. Heinz sends me the powerpoints and the assignment notes so I never miss anything.”

“Oh yeah? Where do you even work then?” You asked.

He chuckled, fingers brushing yours that were wrapped around the bottle. “Now if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun,” he looked you up and down once more, licking his lips slightly. “Well, maybe I’ll see you and your bottle inside.” 

You waited til the doors closed behind him to roll your eyes, and huff outwardly. You took the bottle of Smirnoff, turned on your heels and walked towards your dorm hall. You hated Jake. You really hated Jake.

—

Your midterms came and went. The stress decreased slightly, but only to be raised again as the end of the semester loomed around. Assignments started piling up, various papers and presentations due all around the same week. Since the end of Spring Break, you had been holed up in your room, left to your mountains of homework.

Your Microbio class had a presentation due that coincided with the research project you had been working on all semester long. Human Anatomy and Physiology (or affectionately known as BIO 312) had a major cumulative exam on the entire semester, which stressed you out more than any other homework assignment or exam you had.

Thankfully, your school held an all day event that attempted to boost the morale of the students on campus. Filled with a bunch of free things, you took advantage of everything offered.

Lined up on tables were various student organizations set up, with their own little games and prizes. A few of them had speakers that played the music they wanted to listen to, all speakers attempting to outman the other. However, the one that ended up winning was a tie dye station located in the lawn, handing out free t-shirts to dye.

One of the guys at the tie dye station had a wide smile on his face while his hands were dripping with dye. Setting your prizes down at a table where Tamia and Mel had put their things, you walked over to him. He welcomed you over with a smile, “Hey! Lookin’ to tie dye?”

“Yeah, I’m a medium.” You smiled at him, blocking the sun with your hand. He called over to Benny, asking him to pull a medium out for you. Benny handed you the shirt with a smile. “I’ve never dyed anything before.”

“Never?! That’s a crime against mankind, darlin’, let’s get this shirt dyed.” He spoke, talking you over the colors in each of the buckets. He explained to you some basic color theory, although you had remembered that from your high school painting class, you didn’t stop him; he was pretty when he spoke.

The curls on his head stuck out from the shaved sides, the gold of his earrings stood out underneath the blistering April sun. He licked his lips often, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. He helped you pick out the style you wanted, making sure the rubber bands were placed exactly where you wanted them. “I’ll dip them in the bucket for you so you don’t get your hands dirty.”

“Thank you. I could’ve managed on my own, but I definitely appreciate it.”

“Of course. What’s your name?” You offer up to him, before he lets out a chuckle. You question him with a pull of your eyebrows. “Jake talks about you.”

“You know Jake?”

“Yeah, he’s my twin.” As soon as the word left his mouth, you could see the resemblance; you almost scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. They were similar, especially in their features and their eyes, although the two of them had very distinct color differences. Josh, as he told you after dropping the bomb on you, had warmer eyes, filled with caramel colored hues of brown in relation to Jake’s colder tones; his eyes were a darker shade of brown, with the occasional gleam of flirtation laced within the reflection.

He spoke quite differently from Jake, mostly just with the sound of his voice. It matched their eyes, their personalities. Josh’s bright, bubbly stature followed in his voice, almost theatrical as he spoke. “I guess that makes sense, you two do kind of look alike. Minus the hair, of course.”

“Well, of course. Mine’s better,” you liked that about him - how kind his tone was. You attempted to grill him about what Jake was saying about you, curiosity flowing violently through your bloodstream as if it lit your body on fire. “He just says that you’re second in the Bio class you have with him, and that it makes you mad.”

“It does, Jake’s never there. I’ve seen him three times, and two of those times were for exams.” Josh wrung out the part that had been soaking in the dye for a bit, watching the water fall back into the bucket.

“Yeah, it’s cause he’s working all the time, if I’m honest. Jake stays home during the week to work at the nursing home in our hometown. We don’t really have a large CNA population, most of the people who work there are highschool kids, so Jake’s really been their guy. Especially since high school, as soon as he graduated he moved to full time. All the old ladies love him.” He snorts, dipping your shirt into the blue dye.

“I didn’t know that.” You thought he was lying about where he was, which is why guilt started to eat away at you. You felt terrible for making assumptions, but you couldn’t take any of that back now.

“Jake doesn’t talk to a lot of people, but we love him anyway.” You chewed at your bottom lip, rethinking your opinion of Jake. “You goin’ to the concert later tonight?”

“Hadn’t decided. Mel and Tamia want to, so I’ll probably end up going. Are you?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll probably go.”

“Do you know who’s playing?”

“Some local band I think? I’ve heard a lot of the girls think the frontman’s pretty handsome.” He spoke with a smirk. You promised him you’d go, just to see if the girls had been right. He handed you your t-shirt to hold while he grabbed you a plastic bag. He also handed you a piece of paper with instructions on how to take care of your new tie dye.

“Make sure when you wash it, you wash it by itself. Otherwise, you’ll dye all of your other clothes and believe me, you don’t want that,” he chuckled, as if he was speaking from experience.

You thanked him with a warm smile, waving to him before returning to your room. As soon as you got back, you opened your window, allowing the air flow to travel inside. It kept you cool, allowing you to walk around comfortably with a t-shirt and shorts on. You put your plastic bag in the closet of your room, writing on your white board to remember to take it out and wash it tomorrow.

You texted Mel and Tamia, knowing that Mel would probably have some smart comeback about why you want to go to the concert. It wasn’t that you didn’t join them on nights out, you just had a lot riding on your academic success. Not only because you were the first one in your family to go to college, but also because of your mass of scholarships that only continued to flow if your GPA was at a suitable level. Anything below a 3.2, and you would lose almost all of them.

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Are we going to the concert tonight?

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Mel

Are you offering to come with us without us needing to beg and plead for you to join?

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Don’t make me take it back, Mel

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Tamia

We’re absolutely going. Come to mine whenever you want to get ready :)

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

The doors open at 8 right? I’ll be over about 5:30-6ish. Gotta finish up this paper for Heinz real quick

You locked your phone before they could scold you for doing homework on a day that was designated for relaxation and recuperation. You pulled out your Anat and Physio binder, pulling out the sources you printed off in the library. You ran through the last one with a blue highlighter between your teeth. 

You set an alarm on your phone for five o’clock, saving enough time for you to shower.  You were about halfway through the last page when your timer went off. You silenced it, attempting to hurriedly finish highlighting the page. The article was placed onto your desk, highlighter returned to the cup on your desk filled with various writing utensils.

You pulled out your shower caddy, putting it on top of your dresser before pulling out your robe. You laid it over the edge of your bed, removing all of your clothes. You threw them into your hamper and put on your robe. You slipped on your slides, grabbed your caddy and traveled to the bathroom.

Underneath the uneven streams from the showerhead, you thought about Jake.

Maybe your first impressions of him were wrong. When Josh told you about the nursing home back in their hometown, you felt instantaneously bad for assuming that he just never showed up. You knew from what Jake had told you, that he had work, but you figured that was just an excuse.

You bit at the skin of your lips, hands on your shoulders as you soaked the warmth of the water in. You were pulled out of your thoughts very quickly as someone flushed the toilet, making the water fade in from super hot to super fucking cold. You hated the school’s water system.

You finished your shower quickly, drying off with the towel slightly before putting your robe on and throwing your hair up into your towel. You walked back into your room, locking it behind you. You set your caddy back where it originally was.

You threw on a pair of jean shorts that hadn’t seen the light of day since early October, pairing it with a long sleeve shirt that you had gotten back in high school for Christmas. It was plain, brown, but hugged your body well. The sweatshirt debate lasted a few seconds before you remembered how hot it was going to be outside. A record temperature for mid-April, almost 80 degrees outside.

When you checked your phone getting back from the shower, it was just barely five thirty. You texted the groupchat again, asking if it would be cool to come over a half an hour earlier than you had originally said. You knew it was a dumb question, you would always be welcome in their room. You chuckled at Mel’s response of, “Are you fucking dumb? Of course you can come over. Bring wine if you have any left! No carry-in’s allowed at the concert.”

You put your phone down for a second and slipped on a pair of shoes that were comfortable enough for you to stand in for a long time. They used to be white, but had gotten progressively dirty from the years of use. You shoved your phone in your back pocket and slid a few different bottles of wine into your backpack, separated by extra clothing so the bottles didn’t clink together.

You walked down the stairs, out the door and over to the other dorm building across the walkway. You scanned your keycard to get into the building, walking through the hallways waving to the RA on duty, McKenna. She had been in a few of your classes and was always incredibly nice.

Her room this year was actually a few down from where you were living. McKenna was a great RA, knowing exactly how to handle the rowdiness of the floor while still keeping the resident’s respect. She didn’t bother them unless she needed to, and they didn’t bother her unless needed. She kept it underwraps about the underage drinking that would inevitably happen, mostly by telling the floor they could do what they want, as long as they were quiet by quiet hours (which was around ten thirty on the weekdays, and one in the morning on the weekends).

You took the elevator to the second floor of East Sunderland, getting off as soon as the doors opened. The booths that had previously been up had begun to dissipate, bringing the plastic tables back into the buildings they belonged in. You took a last glance at the people cleaning before heading into Mel and Tamia’s dorm building.

You knocked on the door, coming as soon as you announced yourself to Mel and Tamia. The girls laughed as you walked in, looking at a picture of Mel from when they were a kid. The two of them showed it to you as you settled your bag onto Mel’s chair in the corner of their room. “Your buck teeth! Oh my God, you were adorable, Mel.”

“Oh shut up, I bet you didn’t look any better.” Mel spoke to Tamia, making the three of you laugh. “Anyways, what wine did you bring?”

“The Barefoot we didn’t finish the other weekend, and then I still had some Rose, so I brought those over too. I wasn’t sure what we were feeling.” Tamia pulled some glasses from her shelves, passing them out to the two of you. You filled their glasses with the Rose you brought.

The three of you talked specifics on the plans for tonight, hitting up another fraternity party as soon as the concert ended. There were two separate ones going on at the same time, so the two of you weighed your options over which one to go to. “The Sigs are throwing one, but I’d rather die. Delta’s throwing one, too, we’ll go to theirs instead. And maybe see if anyone’s at the Sig party that we like and stop there before heading back to the dorms.”

You walked down with them to the Athletic Department, hoping to have gotten there early enough to get a good spot. As soon as the doors opened, you were filtered through the doors, making sure that you were students with the college. The three of you half ran to the barricade, settling yourselves against it on the right side, although still somewhat in the middle.

The show wouldn’t start for quite some time yet, the three of you talked amongst yourselves about upcoming finals, what you had to do for various classes. You also found a few people around you to chat to while you waited, hearing laughter roaring through various parts of the crowd.

A few students from the Admissions Office had taken the stage, playing a random playlist of music that matched what the band was going to be playing. Rock thundered through the speakers, filling audience members with anticipation. Rochel addressed the student body, “Hello everyone!” welcomed by the sounds of cheers and screaming.

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the band comes on stage, so help us warm them up to the stage!” Everyone clapped, although some of the girls around you looked unenthused as they stared down at their phones. You checked yours for any text messages from any family members. You had nothing, so you put it back in your pocket.

Around four songs played before Rochel turned the microphone on again. Everyone shouted before she talked. “Well, it’s that time! Please, give a warm welcome to Greta Van Fleet!”

Rochel and the two other students walked off the stage, passing by what you had assumed to be one of the band members. He sat behind the drums, smiling and waving off into the crowd. You cheered for him along with Tamia and Mel, cheering just as loud when their bassist walked onto the stage. Both of their hair was longer, goofy smiles on their faces as they got situated with their instruments.

Your mouth hung open as you watched the last two boys walk on stage, seeing the twins. Jake’s eyes scanned the crowd as he slung his guitar over his shoulder. He found you after a moment, sending a smirk your way. You closed your mouth, glaring at him. Mel laughed at you, noticing your demeanor shift. “How we doin’ tonight everyone?”

Everyone cheered. “A lot of you might know me and Jake, seen us on campus and stuff. It’s wonderful to see all of you here, coming to support us as we celebrate the onslaught of spring! It’s been a particularly warm one today, so make sure to drink water! There’s plenty to go around.”

Jake started them off, pick between his fingers as he strummed the beginning chords to one of their songs. Some of the girls had begun to scream, shouting at Jake’s response to Josh’s little speech before he began playing. His signature smirk formed, watching the girls go crazy, eyes scanning the crowd before he found you again.

As Jake continued to play, he looked over to you any time he could. It was hard to tear your eyes away from him, enthralled by the way he looked on stage. You tried your hardest, truly, to look at any of the other boys on the stage aside from Jake but you just couldn’t. He fit the stage just right, bringing the attention away from Josh and demanding to be seen by the entirety of the crowd. He belonged up there.

Jake went to the center of the stage during his solo. Josh lingered around the drummer, keeping to himself, drinking whatever was in his cup. They kept on playing as Jake took the spotlight, everyone cheering and screaming for him. You kept silent, wanting to hear him play. His fingers worked against the frets of the guitar, not before sliding down and up it quickly. 

You tried to hide the awe you were in, but your friends knew. They saw it written all over your face. The frustration and annoyance you felt when you first spotted Jake on stage dissipated the second his guitar solo began. You swallowed thickly, watching as his attention turned from his guitar to you, pointing it in your direction. Your cheeks flushed, and your thighs pressed together.

This was going to be a long night.

The second the concert was over, Josh thanked everyone for coming. His smile was wide as he waved goodbye to everyone, walking off next to Jake who had his guitar by the neck before he passed it off to one of the stage hands. Josh put his hands on his shoulders as they walked off stage.

You stuck around mostly waiting for the crowd to die down before trying to leave the building. Mel and Tamia talked about the show, saying that it was fucking dope, commenting on how excellent Jake’s playing was. You didn’t speak about Jake’s playing, mostly praising Josh for his spectacular performance. “I never expected that voice to come out of him, how heavenly.”

“Talking about me?” Jake cuts through your conversation, walking over to you with Josh not far behind. You roll your eyes. Tamia and Mel congratulate him on such an amazing performance, gushing about how sweet his guitar looks. “Why thank you, ladies.”

“Mel! I didn’t think you were going to be able to come.” He gushed, wiping his hands on the sides of his khaki shorts he had changed into.

“Yeah, well, Miss Quiet over here wanted to see her archnemesis, didn’t you?”

“I-I–” You turned your head slightly towards Jake, who had an amused smirk written all over his face. “I did not, Mellie, stop lying.”

“By the redness of your cheeks, sweetheart, I’d say she was telling the truth.” You had barely noticed that Mel, Tamia and Josh had slipped away from the two of you, leaving you alone.

“I didn’t even know you were playing.” You admitted shyly, hiding underneath a guise of innocence.

“Even if you did, you looked pretty hot and bothered by my playing.” You held the back of your arms, trying hard to maintain eye contact with him. You looked into his eyes, they were staring straight at you.

“Yeah, sure. I actually came because Josh said he was going. He neglected to mention that he was going to be singing,” you looked at Josh who wore a smile that read ‘guilty as charged’ before patting you on the shoulder.

“Hey, you didn’t ask. You just asked if I was going.” You rolled your eyes and chuckled slightly. “Anyways, Sam and Danny are gonna spend the night in my room, so I’ll have to find somewhere else to be tonight. Are you guys going to either of the frat parties tonight?”

“We’re going to the Delta party. The Sigs’ reputation is not the best, and I don’t feel like seeing whether or not it’s right.”

“That is completely understandable. I shall see you ladies there then. You coming, Jake? We still have a lot to put away.”

“Yeah, in a second,” he turned towards Josh who had begun to walk away, waving him off before turning back to the three of you. “I hope you guys enjoyed the show, maybe I’ll catch up with you at the party.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, actually, I would.” He smiled at you before joining the other boys cleaning up their amps and cords.

“Jesus Christ, the two of you just need to fuck or something. I don’t think I can handle another interaction like that,” Mel joked, making a gagging face when she finishes her sentence. You pushed at her arm, turning around and walking out of the gym.

Tamia and Mel giggled profusely about your and Jake’s rivalry. The two even started making bets on when the two of you would finally ‘get it on’, as Tamia put it. You just rolled your eyes at the conversation, changing the subject to something different.

—

The party, though filled with lots of fun and drinking, was a bust. While Josh had shown up with his younger brother and his brother’s friend, as you learned, in tow, Jake was nowhere to be found. You thought to ask Josh why he wasn’t there, but he was too busy dancing with Micah. Through the grapevine, you learned that Micah and Josh had been together since high school.

You stayed around the party for almost two hours before you wanted to go back. A small part of you had wished Jake had actually come. You wondered if maybe the two of you would get along if you put your competitive nature aside. You tried not to dwell on thoughts of Jake’s absence for too long, wanting to enjoy the rest of the night with your girls. But when you had enough of the party, you shouted in Mel’s ear to let her know you wanted to leave.

Mel and Tamia had made sure you got back alright about two hours into the party. Your legs were tired and your feet had begun to hurt. The two of them stumbled with you back to the door of your building, making sure you were inside before leaving to go back. They almost came in with you, until you insisted otherwise.

Laying on your bed with your head pointed towards the ceiling you started thinking about Jake again. What was his reason for not being at the party? Did he just make those comments beforehand just to rile you up? It seemed like the only valid reason your impaired mind could come up with.

You grabbed your phone, almost dropping it on the floor. You sluggishly opened Instagram, and searched for Jake’s profile. You scrolled through, looking at the few photos he did have on his page. Most of the pictures he had were of his guitar, or places he’s traveled. You were sent into a panic when you realized you had accidentally liked an older picture of Jake’s, one from freshman year of college. Hurriedly, you unliked it and immediately locked your phone.

That had been a few days ago.

Now it was Wednesday and your first final exam was here. It was for the class you shared with Jake, BIO 312.  It wasn’t exactly final exam time, but Professor Heinz was going to be away at a conference for a week starting Friday. You didn’t mind, though, since it spaced out your other finals enough to have a decent amount of time to study for them.

You sat at your desk, looking over your notecards one last time before the exam began. A frequent look around the room and you noticed Jake walking in, going to a random seat a couple rows in front of you. He set his bag down next to him, before bending down to grab his laptop. He noticed you watching him and sent a wink your way.

You looked away as you tried to hide the rush of rosy skin that fanned over your cheeks and heated up your ears. You tried to ignore him again until at least when the test started, embarrassed that you got caught looking at him. Your phone pinged and you pulled it out of your bag to look at it, as well as turn it on silent.

jacobtkiszka wants to send you a message.

You swallowed and hit the notification taking you straight to the message.

“Person who turns their test in last pays for coffee?”

Your lips curved into a small smile, feeling your fingers type the first thing that comes to your head.

“Hope you brought your wallet with you, Kiszka.”

You put your phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it back into your bag. The professor walked through the door, setting her things down on the desk in the front of the room. Her coffee mug still had steam coming from it, freshly poured. A quick look of her watch after getting settled and it was time to start the exam. “Okay, everyone. It’s time for class. Take out your laptops and begin your exam. You may leave when you have finished. Thank you for a great semester, and good luck.”

The questions on the exam were all ones that you knew and had studied for for weeks. It was strenuous, trying to remember everything on the cumulative exam. You had hoped it would go quickly and you would answer them faster than Jake could. Occasionally, you turned to look at Jake, seeing if maybe he was trying to look at you too.

With one question left of your exam, you click the answer and press submit after a minute of debate. You had a bad habit of second guessing yourself occasionally; it was actually the bane of your testing experiences. You hated when you felt confident about an answer, until you really sat with the other possible answers it could be.

You put your laptop back into your bag, zipped it up and noticed that Jake had already left. You cursed to yourself, knowing that now you had to buy Jake a coffee. You waved goodbye to your professor with a smile and walked out the doors. Jake sat outside of the classroom at one of the tables they had throughout the building. “Whatcha reading?”

“Josh recommended it to me, but I’m going to be honest, I fucking hate this book.” He laughed, shoving it into his bag. “You know any good coffee shops around here? I’m kind of tired of Starbucks.”

“I just so happen to know the best coffee shop in town, but it is a bit of a walk, if you don’t mind that?” You asked, walking through the door that Jake was holding before muttering a thank you to him. 

“I could also drive, if you’re okay with that.”

“I’m more than okay with that,” you chuckle, letting him know that your dorm building had enough stairs; any chance you could get to use an elevator, or get driven somewhere, you would take that opportunity in a heartbeat.

The drive was short in comparison to the twenty minute walk it would have taken to get to the shop. Jake tried to offer the radio to you, but you let him play what he wanted to listen to. You didn’t know exactly who was playing, but the blues music that played through the speakers was a breath of fresh air.

Your typical shuffle had a plethora of music from differing genres, whether that be rap or old country. You hadn’t known much when it came to blues music, especially the difference between good blues music and bad. Eventually, you got the courage to ask who was playing and Jake answered, letting you know that the song was by Buddy Guy. “It’s called She Suits Me To A T. I tried for weeks to learn this song when I first started playing music more seriously.”

“This is the coffee shop, at the next corner.” You watched his hand as he made a right turn, noticing him steering with just the palm of his hand. Letting the leather steering wheel glide back to its original position in his hand, elbow propped on the door with the window rolled down.

It’s all you thought about on your way into the coffee shop, completely relying on autopilot. Your responses to Jake were almost textbook, one word sentences that could continue the conversation without much effort. “What’re you thinking of getting?”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure. I usually have them surprise me,” you admit, shoving your hands into your jacket. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not. That’s the gamble you take.”

“I like that a lot, actually. I think I’ll have them surprise me too, if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” You smiled at Jake before he went to order for the two of you. You found a place to sit in the meantime, offering a spot towards the windows so you could watch people come and go, each on their own paths of life.

By the time Jake sat down, both of the coffees were in his hand. After a few questions, Jake set the iced drink down in front of you, and the hot drink in front of himself. “Yours is an iced chai, with brown sugar syrup and vanilla. Mine is some sort of tea, I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying. I just wanted to remember what she put in yours in case you liked it.”

“Oh,” you spoke, bringing the cup towards you. “Thank you, that’s really sweet. Do you like your drink?”

“You know, it’s really not bad. I wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise, but it’s really not bad.”

“You hate it.”

“I hate it. It’s not good.” The two of you chuckled before you offered him a sip of your drink. “Mhmm,” he moaned. “That’s good, oh my God.”

The two of you continued small talk, whether it was over the classes you had previously taken, memories of parties from past years – anything. You shared previous high school experiences, mostly about the ridiculous things that were considered parties in your teenage years.

Conversation with Jake was surprisingly a lot easier than you thought it would be. Especially since you’ve hated him pretty much your entire college career. You figured he’d be stuck up, aware of his academic achievements and ready to flaunt them in front of anyone who’d listen.

He was the opposite. His sentences were wrapped with kindness, and the reflection in his voice seemed nothing but positive. His voice was like silk, he could’ve talked you into damn near anything as long as his voice sounded like that. It hurt when the conversation slowed, spending a few moments to take in the scene around you two, as well as finally being able to drink more of your drink (which was very delicious, it was almost like crack).

“How long have you been playing guitar?” You asked after the silence became almost uncomfortable to sit with.

“Oh jeez. I’ve been playing since I was… like three? Yeah, three.” You stared at him with eyes slightly wide, mouth agape. “What?”

“N-Nothing, that’s just a really long time. You’re what, 21 now?” He clarified that he was only twenty, his birthday roughly a week away. You poked fun at him, mentioning how you were older, even if it was by less than a year.

“Josh is throwing us a birthday party, if you want to come. Since it’ll be our 21st, we’re having it at our parents cabin on Lake Michigan. You’re welcome to bring Mel and Tamia if you’d like. Sam and Danny are going to be there, even though they’re underage, but we’re gonna pretend like they’re older.” Jake spoke with one last sip of his drink, letting the empty cup echo on the table as he set it down.

“I will let Mel and Mia know. I can’t make any sure decisions without talking to them first, but I’m pretty damn sure that they’ll say they would love to go.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ll say no either. They seem pretty adamant that you have a little crush on me or something,” he said, putting your cups inside of a bus tub to be picked up and washed.

“I don’t have a crush on you,” you laughed, walking out of the coffee shop with Jake. “I actually hate you, remember?”

“You may say that you hate me, but you’re not really good at showing it.”

[ladylyra]

Long post about future art plans under the cut!!

so, as you all know, my current project that I post the most about is my platinum nuzlocke. well, I actually beat the game like two years ago and it's been a slow process of drawing the comic to completion. however, as a serial novelty seeker off the high of one nuzlocke, I immediately moved to playing the next. given the positive reception to platinum, I thought I'd do another full comic; the tentative "two year" mark I set on my  grimoire drawing was because I thought platinum would be done by then, but breaks (had some busy semesters at uni) have made that ummmm clearly not happen

thinking I'd learn from what I thought were "mistakes", I wanted to enter alpha sapphire more prepared from the outset (have a complete story before even drawing the first comic pages, etc.) than I was previous projects; platinum expanded beyond my original intention but upon reflection, I actually loved this process. it was sometimes messy, but the project felt active and alive. it shifted as I wrote, drew, and shared it with everyone. I found the more "proactive" approach I was taking with alpha sapphire to be killing my motivation for it entirely; nuzlockes at their core are pretty dynamic, and I was planning for my interest at the outset to be maintained until the point I was finally able to start it, which hasn't been the case. starting it while still focused on platinum was a mistake on my part and I got ahead of myself. then I began to wonder, given the span of platinum, if I even actually wanted to commit to another full nuzlocke comic (which would take years, just as platinum has) given nuzlockes are not the only thing I draw. 

we arrive to the main dilemma. I have lots of ocs outside of gijinkas. if I'm going to be proactive, it'd probably be with them. I have stories and concepts that I keep the extensive details of, more or less, between myself and friends. I only have so much time to draw, and I have to seriously ask myself if another nuzlocke comic is something I want to put my energy into because, thus far, doing my nuzlocke has taken time from me working on other oc stuff. do I want to keep focusing on new nuzlockes right now, as that is the niche I've built, or do I want to shift attention to the other projects I occasionally post about on here? even within my existing gijinkas, I have a lot I can expand upon, rather than start something completely new. 

I'm not completely motivated by attention (if I was id probably draw more fan art) but I still love feedback and interaction, and really want to make stuff people can enjoy; I've wondered about if anyone would be interested in my other projects if I were to work on them more publicly. they clearly get less engagement (and to be fair, so do my gijinkas compared to fan art), but I also know I don't make an effort to promote myself & should definitely make a new habit of reblogging my own work. I'd appreciate feedback on this message if you're interested in seeing what I do moving forward!!

so...will alpha sapphire happen? simple answer is: I don't know, as of now. I might shrink its scope and do something with it, or maybe my desire for something full will return. I paused my actual playthrough of it until I figured it out because if I do decide to do something, I wanna go back to the more spontaneous process that worked for me with platinum. we'll see what happens.

tl;dr grimoire is a character from my currently in limbo alpha sapphire nuzlocke--he is a former miner that got mutated into a shadow cave "monster" after consuming a bunch of mega stones. he feasts on a diet of precious gems and can hop into the shadows of things. his main hobby is being a nuisance. follow me on bluesky at theladylyra.bsky.social

[hlficlibrary]

hi! i don't know if you guys already made this rec but im new in the blog and if i did search well there isn't one this specific (?

do you know fics in georgian/regency era historically accurate? I've seen historical recs but i don't know which ones are more accurate (if there are), like, with politics or historical events? or at least with more plot than average? the majority of historical fics ive read recently are just fictional and not accurate at all and i was feeling like reading something really good w history/characters/norms about past times 😅

Hi, anon! Welcome! Okay, so I do have this rec...

✤ Regency Era Fics

I do know what you're looking for, but for the most part these are Regency romances where the plot is focused on the romance. The only other long historical rec I've got is this one:

✤ 1980’s Fics

I haven't made any other historical fic recs because it hasn't been requested. You can request a long rec like the one above by going to the Suggestion Box on my pinned post though and asking there! I do also make short recs for people who send asks to the blog (like yours!) So I have also made this shorter rec previously:

✤ Historical

I do have a couple of other historical recs for you though that I think fit what you're looking for although they aren't the exact era you're looking for...

And down the long and silent street by whimsicule

The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy.

Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

Paint The Sky With Stars by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.

Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.

By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.

Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow

Dear Niall,

I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.

Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.

Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.

Are you up for a trip to France?

Sincerely, Liam Payne

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

[edd-13]

INFO DUMP TIME!!

-about my rdr2 oc/sona

CW/TW FOR: prostitution, suicide/self harm, mention of racism, homophobia

the backstory in the drawing above is a tad inaccurate 😭 he joined the gang in 1889, when he was 15-16!!

Eddie was born in Ireland-but his parents quickly immigrated to America (Saint Denis, specifically) when he was just a baby. Eddie grew up wealthy, but not rich in life. his parents were extremely abusive, mostly verbally but physically as well sometimes. When he’d misbehave as a child, they would take the measure to send him to a friend’s house so they wouldn’t have to deal with him-but as he got older, they just started to kick him out.

More specifically, they would take him to the swamps-leaving him to fend for himself. When he was there, he’d learn how to hunt, fish, and defend himself-either self taught or by the locals.

At the age of 15, he began sneaking out at night-mostly to experience the town of Saint Denis for himself, and not in the pompous way his parents insisted he did. In the slums, he unfortunately became a prostitute-mostly for money, planning to take it with him if he ever ran away (which he was actively planning). During this time, he met Samuel-and fell in love with him.

Samuel was his first love-his first experience with a man, and he most likely set his standards forever. But, of course, Eddie’s parents found out-through the Saint Denis police, who they had connections with. Not wanting Eddie to know that they knew, they attempted to marry a girl, Priscilla, off to Eddie-but to no avail.

With this not working, Eddie’s parents took a more drastic way of stopping this. They framed Samuel of attempting to kill and kidnap Eddie-and, of course, Samuel being black in 1888, this works. The police hang him. (I know this isn’t realistic, but whatever)

Eddie falls into a depression after this. How could he not? His first and maybe only love has just been hung by his own parents.

Eddie attempts to drown himself. After his failed attempt, his parents get mad at him and kick him out. This is basically his last straw-leading him to gather up all his money and prepare to run away.

At a New Year’s party in 1889, Eddie meets Arthur Morgan-and upon learning Arthur is there to rob his parents, Eddie offers to help. Arthur, with the help of Eddie, successfully robs his parents and helps Eddie leave.

Eddie joins the van der linde gang at 16, and enjoys his life much more there than he did when he was filthy rich.

that’s just his origin story ^^!! yall lmk if I should post the rest of his lore, or if you’re interested in it :3!!

also please please please ask questions about him he’s my favorite oc ever pls ask abt him ok bye

[mikerickson]

Lifting my self-imposed embargo because I'm weird and don't like posting on social media when I'm on vacation.

I'm at a point in my life where I can financially justify at least one international vacation a year and figured I'd finally cross off the Great White North from the bucket list. I'd never been and Andrew hadn't been back in a very long time despite having dual citizenship. Anyways, just got back, and a bullet-point breakdown of the highlights is after the cut:

I wish every international flight was under two hours; EWR to YQB was almost comically fast.

Had my first French conversation with the very nice lady at the car rental counter for about ten minutes. She complemented my pronunciation and grammar, and wished me luck on the trip. Every French interaction after this point was a linguistic battle for my life that I lost (Toutes les Québecois parlent trop vite pour moi).

We had some time to kill before the hotel check-in so we went to a mall in the suburbs just so we'd have a food court with some options. Turns out shopping malls are not only alive and well but fucking thriving in Canada. I haven't seen a mall that packed with people outside of December since the nineties.

Quebec City was very dense with old architecture which made it feel very European. It was also apparently built on a fucking cliff with streets at 60 degree inclines, which also felt very European.

Took a tour of the Quebec Parliament building (beautiful structure), and apparently they used to be bicameral, but voted to abolish their Senate in the 60's and they were the last Canadian province to do so. What a concept.

It's one thing to know on paper that Canada has about 1/8th of the population of the US, but I was not prepared for just how empty the countryside felt. For someone like me, living in the northeast my whole life, the idea that cities in close proximity to each other not having continuous stretches of suburbs and other smaller cities connecting them was completely foreign.

On the highways I kept thinking I was speeding because I'd look down at the dashboard and see the number "100", but 100 km/h is only like 62 mph, which is nothing.

Similarly, I kept getting sticker shock every time I spent money, and kept having to remind myself that $1 CAD was like $0.73 USD while we were there.

It was really cool to see that the complex for the 1976 Montreal Olympics is still maintained and actively used (we stumbled upon a skateboarding competition and I did not feel cool enough to be in that crowd). Sometimes you hear horror stories about Olympic villages bankrupting cities and falling into disuse afterwards, but that's definitely not the case here.

Montreal is apparently known for their local bagel culture, but their bagels have enormous holes in the middle of them, so you have less cross-sectional area for spreads and they don't really work for sandwiches. My faith in NJ/NY bagel superiority remains intact.

Every city we went to had dedicated bike lane infrastructure and young families with kids, but Montreal definitely had the most of both. Tons of parks, too. Simultaneously felt like a larger and smaller city than I was expecting.

Poutine is okay, but I wasn't prepared for the cheese to squeak when you bite into it. Very odd sensation.

The main Parliament building for the federal government in Ottawa (Centre Block) is stunning, but closed; apparently it's been under renovation since 2019 and isn't expected to be reopened until 2032! In the meantime, we took a tour of where the lower House of Commons is currently meeting. We learned that their electoral districts are routinely re-drafted by a non-partisan committee and that they occasionally add new seats to the legislature to account for changes in population. I had to seethe jealously in silence for the rest of the tour.

Also toured their Supreme Court building (way more Art Deco than I was expecting). We learned that there's currently a vacancy because a Justice recently retired because they're required to step down when they turn 75. I had to seethe jealously in silence for the rest of the tour.

Every single city had automatic/self-serve parking garages where you didn't have to interact with a human (which I was very thankful for), but in Ottawa they have this little jingle that the machine sings at you when you take your ticket, which I found very amusing.

On the drive to Toronto we took a quick detour into the Thousand Islands (yes, like the salad dressing) and visited Boldt Castle, which is technically in New York state. After seeing it in practice, the idea of living on your own private island is more appealing than ever.

Toronto feels like an exercise in what happens when a nation's largest city is allowed to grow without being hemmed in by ridiculous geography. As someone who grew up in NYC, this is another concept foreign to me. The GPS did get very tripped up navigating a particularly gnarly interchange however.

Toured the Ontario Legislative Assembly (yet another beautiful building). At this point we were really good at asking tour guides stuff like, "so if happens, do you guys have a plan?" To which they would reply, "well, no, but let's just hope that never happens!"

I now understand why the Great Lakes are effectively freshwater inland seas; you really cannot see the other shore, and Lake Ontario isn't even the biggest one!

YYC to EWR was under an hour. That's definitely going to spoil me for future trips going forward.

[nosoapradiozine]

cambridge blessed with the presence of the legendary matt farley

today is a sort of half "new music" post, as i would like to regale you all with a post about the legend that is matt farley and the banger of a show he and his band of friends performed at the world-famous cantab lounge in cambridge, massachusetts on march 21st, 2025.

but will, you ask, who in the world is matt farley? you have heard of him whether you know it or not. he is the man who has written over 25,000 songs, mostly about poop, cities and towns, household items, names, and celebrities. he has also written many "no jokes" songs under band names such as moe's haven, caniko tucci, the big heist, and more. he has also written and directed incredible films such as don't let the riverbeast get you!, local legends, heard she got married, heard she got murdered, slingshot cops, and my personal favorite, monsters, marriage, and murder in manchvegas. he has also written a creativity guide called the motern method which has helped this stalwart writer immensely in recent times.

and so you would think, gee why haven't i heard of matt farley if he's done so much? well, because the world simply doesn't appreciate good art.

in any case, i had the great fortune to farley's show at the cantab. farley spent the pre-show talking with every patron at the bar as he is a man of the people. his band - made up of bassist chris "pete" peterson, guitarist tom scalzo, and drummer doug "froggy" brennan - got to work preparing diligently for the show while farley worked the crowd. (i got the chance to chat with farley a bit, and he informed me that i was in a few shots of his film local legends: bloodbath, which is of course the long-awaited sequel to 2013's local legends.)

anyway, the show began with a bang, as farley and band led the crowd in classics such as "poop into a wormhole", "my goldfish dead", and the moes haven hit "dig in!", as well as a rousing tribute to cambridge which quoted good will hunting, much to the delight of the fans including myself. many of farley's songs have been released under various names on spotify and other streaming services, but this has never deterred his allegiant followers (who, as farley insisted later on in the show, are NOT in a cult.)

perhaps you have seen videos of other very famous bands performing in major stadiums. u2 at the la coliseum on the joshua tree tour when they were dubbed the biggest band in the world. the rolling stones' voodoo lounge. queen at wembley. few four-piece bands these days hold a candle to those titans of yore. and yet farley in his gold jacket had all the star power of bono, mick jagger, and freddie mercury combined, dazzling the crowd with his antics and stories and getting them involved in the show, while the band behind him performed effortlessly with all the expert musicianship of artists who have worked the stage for years.

other songs farley and the band performed touched on the fallibility of the human mind ("i forgot what i was gonna say"), the power of blotting away mistakes and forgiveness ("the bleach song (i use bleach!)"), the constant and merciless passage of time ("used to be a pizza hut"), the forces acting upon this world without our knowledge ("the mothman song (believe in the power of the mothman!)"), and of course, a song about a pickle sandwich (appropriately titled "pickle sandwich".)

the crowd which packed the basement of the cantab remained high energy throughout the two-hour extravaganza of music. but the excitement for this show has been high since farley announced it months before. it was part of a three-night tour across new england (dubbed as farley and band's longest tour ever) with shows in portsmouth new hampshire, cambridge, and the mass college of art in boston. and those showing up to these performances are bringing their a-game, as they love farley's work and are not afraid to show it. i certainly was rocking out to "plow guy hit my garage" (the song that introduced me to farley's work.)

the show ended with rousing renditions of "it's ok to break the law if you have good intentions" and the regular live favorite "i'm in no kind of rush to go home." and after the final song the audience certainly was not rushing out the door; they stuck around to take pictures with farley and the band, peruse the stacked merch table filled with farley's albums, books, and films, and also chat with each other and make new friends. it truly was a night full of fun and friendship, beautiful art, and a celebration of creativity and life itself.

and selfishly, for this writer, it was a fantastic way to kick off a birthday weekend.

anyway, as always, matt farley is releasing new music as we speak. throughout the entirety of 2025, he is putting out a new "no jokes" release each month. so far each release has been under one of farley's different artist names. january's was matt motern manly man's what we wanna remember. february's was brennan mcfarley's february files, a collaboration with doug "froggy" brennan. and march's was caniko tucci's a genre of different wonders. it behooves you to go peruse each release and then the rest of matt farley's works immediately.

so that's all for this post, as i'm still recovering from rocking out so hard, frankly. sometimes i wonder how rockstars such as farley do it. the endurance and creative spirit of the true entertainers of this world know no bounds. goodbye for now

[misspepeshi]

2, 5, 13, 15, 18 from here: https://www.tumblr.com/pepeshiagent/769184372674985984/literalite-just-some-asks-for-storytelling?source=share

Thank you, dear @itawdoris! This means a lot to me! 🧸🍯💛 It’s quite lengthy, but I hope it can provide a little extra information on my story. ✨

#2 - Describe your story in three words or less.

If I have to describe my story in three word or less, it would be: Finding you(me) again.

In Rekindle, we can see that from one POV, our main couple is finding each other again, which is what the story is about. After more than 300 years, it is expected that they have hardened or numbed their human side, from their emotions to their feelings, so it will be nice to see those type of things soften a little bit with time.

Rekindle is also about finding yourself again, from Vaelren’s POV. Where you are given the opportunity to be free and explore all the parts of yourself that you haven’t before, and live your life with people who will care, cherish, love, and support you. As we know, Vaelren came from a tough background, so we will see, with time, him grow as a High Fae and all it encompasses.

#5 - How do you choose your character’s name?

Before choosing my character’s name, I like to write down a brief description of them.

For Theron’s: I went to Google, and looked for first names that went well with his self. For his last name, I looked for last names used during the 1600’s.

For Lucian’s: His first and last names were chosen by using a name generator. For him, I had narrowed it down to 3 names and had other’s provide their input after seeing his pictures. Lucian Soulstalker was the winner.

It all comes down to what, from your character, moves you the most. And, what first and last names call to you.

#13 - From basic planning to a finished post, how long does that take you?

Placing aside my daily life duties, I’d say about a week. Half week to take and prepare the pictures, and half week to write a new act.

With my daily duties, well, I am sure you can tell by now. 🥲 It is not easy juggling everything at the same time. So, I am very grateful for you support. 💛🌤️

#15 - What have been the highlights of creating your story?

Your support. To me, this has been my main highlight. There have been moments where I have cried out of happiness, because I never thought people would enjoy my story. When I upload a new chapter, I am always moved, especially with the tags! These have been my fuel and have kept me going. 🥰❤️

#18 - Choose a song that reminds you of your story.

[nomouthedscream]

PREFACE: I AM A JAIDEN ANIMATIONS FAN, THIS IS NOT MEANT TO BE A HATE POST OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, ITS JUST MY SUBJECTIVE FEELINGS AND SORT OF MUSINGS

Watched jaidenanimation's new video earlier today, and Im torn. Cause on one hand I feel really happy for her for having made it to 10 years, and I understand the desire to do something else after having done a job for a while, to just relax and be yourself and possibly even rediscover yourself. But also the life she described after youtube is just not a realistic one, even for normal people. Part of the reason the job market is so utterly dogshit is because they work really hard to try and pidgeonhole you into certain positions and actively punish you for going against it. An increasing number of companies are requiring 2-3 years work experience for entry level positions (I wish I was kidding). They don't like it when your most recent job was in a different industry, even if it was for college. And any sort of gap in employment is blamed upon your laziness and lack of work ethic.

And colleges get increasingly pickier about your qualifications and if you should get money the older you are because they want that space youre taking up for some 18 year olds who don't know how to bargain or finacially plan well. My college has a secondary college specifically for "adults" (people over 22). Ive only met about 10 people over 22 in classes, and all of them were seeking masters, doctorates, or work certifications. I have only ever met 2 people over 30 who I took classes with, one seeking a masters while the other was working towards getting a work certification. There are people out there who get bachelors late or second ones after their first set, but they are a rare breed, and often times they either have to have a lot of money on hand or have to be willing to go into debt.

And if you go the self owned buisness route, you have the exact same problem that jaiden complained about with youtube, which is that it never actually leaves your mind, it is always there, a shadow at the edge of your vision.

I just, I dunno, I love Jaiden's content and I'm really happy for her, and I think its kinda sweet she idolizes the simple life. But I also think this video sort of epitomizes the fact that the people who got to make youtube a full time job sort of believe they live in a different world totally separate from ours, and they don't really know what normal is, at least not at the point jaiden's at. It felt like when cottagecore was really popular and people talked about the ideal of "the simple life" or when people were obsessed with van life and a bunch of people then had to come out and say "NO, ITS NOT ALL SUNSHINE AND ROSES". Youtube is a job that changes your lifestyle, but so is... any job. My friend whos gonna start student teaching next semester feels like they can't swear anymore or else theyre gonna slip up. My friend who works as an auctioneer basically has no time for his social life anymore. I constantly have work and college looming in my mind, and I've been repeatedly told to be prepared to dedicate all my time to my work since Im going into a stem field. Its all just sort of a part of growing up and taking on adult life. It's just all work in one form or another. It's incredibly difficult to genuinely retire at a young age now adays so if you want to no longer do a job you're going to have to switch instead. And there is no shame in wanting a job change, but it is always important to recognize what such a change will entail and if you're willing to undergo the hardship you will have to endure to get any sort of reward from it. So... yeah.

Tldr: Jaiden's new 10 year anniversary video reminded me that people really do think the grass is greener on the other side.

[hardynging]

( CALLUM KERR, BROMOSEXUAL, CISMALE HE/HIM ) — by the grace of the gods, old and new, i present to you LORD ELYJAH HARDYNG of MARZOLL within the lands of BERGIA. the gods have blessed us with their presence for 34 years. many know them to be  DARING, AGREEABLE, OPTIMISTIC, and while it is not always shown, it is said they can also be AIR-HEADED, BRUTAL, & EASY. what will their tale in the story of metia be? only they can write it, so let’s see how their legend unfolds.

once merely a knighted house, the HARDYING line has been reliable fodder for years, throughout the war. never as commanders, only as storied soldiers of grand gestures of heroism, sacrifice, and love. it could almost be believed that was a hardying curse that, upon fathering one's first son, a hardying would immediately die in the next battle. as was the tale with elyjah's father's father's father, and elyjah's father's father, and elyjah's father. one of the first hardyings to hold the name in a time of peace for decades if not centuries, and the house finally being recognized for their heroism (potentially by one too many stories being ended with 'and what house was this solider from?' 'none of note, sir, just a hardying') that they were granted leave and funds to construct a castle along the valtolian border, joining along with other keeps and houses in maintaining the line of defense between the two kingdoms. holding the ridge near the strip of land connected to the uncharted lands, the newly constructed MARZOLL BURG utilized newer technologies and architectural techniques than a lot of long-standing ancient bergian strongholds. built with local stone, marzoll burg appears as much a part of the mountain as it jutted off from it, with steep walls and supports plunging into the valley below, and numerous balconies from which to enjoy the crips bergian air, and countless views over valtolia -- and into those uncharted lands, peeked over the wall. with a castle built as much for guardianship as well as observation, marzoll serves as a break point for messenger birds and messengers themselves, a freshly established market hub enabling new routes, and an observation point for those more aligned with surveillance.

- - - - - - -

as his father before him, elyjah was made fatherless by the time the next battle occurred after his birth. likely inspired by having continued his line, the late bryden hardying threw himself into an outnumbered bout, holding the line for an incredible amount of time before being left pinned to the ground by far too many swords for one to count. as a young lord of the house, under the stewardship of his mother, elyjah trained and fought -- but never married. he assumed, and believed, that, if he didn't settle down and put a kid in someone, then the curse would never take hold -- and thus, he'd be immortal in battle. having lasted longer than his father and his father's father before him, the theory almost seemed to carry weight. but then, the peace was signed. houses were uplifted for their service, and seeds needed to be planted for roots to take hold. only now, with no war to enforce it, was the hardyng curse still in effect? were elyjah to wed, and father a child of his own, would he then be doomed to die immediately after? having nothing but hope, duty, and a full pair to prove himself with, lord elyjah harding was prepared to find out.

yes:

topping, oral (both), roughhousing, public/semi-public, somnophilia (pre-agreed), rimming (both), breeding, marathon, post-combat/battle high, outdoors

maybe:

bottoming (for the Right One), exhibition

no:

any degree of feminization (either side), femme pronouns (either side), infantilization (either side), humiliation (either side), feet, scat

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co