#FiNALLY post some of the asks in my inbox (it has taken me so long to get around to posting again from surgery im so s sorry)

[zeloinator]

it was like 9pm... I rushed to go the gposesd for the wol x npc post and then I look at the time now... 12;47.... the curse (ADHD) is upon us (me)

[puckinghischier]

I Don’t Dance

nico hischier x fem!reader

summary - nico hates dancing

notes - i saw a post about an interview earlier about nico where he said one thing he would never do is dancing and thus, an idea was born. i combined it with a request i have sitting in my inbox but it’s really more of a request cameo than based on the request itself. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading !

request - “i heard that!” “you were supposed to” with nico

[2.4k]

“I really don’t think he’s going to, Jack. You know how he is, he hates stuff like this,” you put the flyer down, knowing it would be a wasted attempt.

“I think you’d be surprised with what he would agree to if you were the one asking,” Jack tells you, ripping off one of the small pieces of perforated paper at the bottom of the same flyer.

The two of you were at a bar with the rest of the team right now, Jack taking on the role of bathroom buddy while Nico went to stand in the unusually long line at the bar. It’s here, in line for the small, single use bathroom, that you saw the poster for the amateur dance competition.

You squealed when you saw it, telling Jack how much you’ve always wanted to do one of those, even though you’ve never danced a day in your life. One of your absolute favorite shows is Dancing with the Stars, always forcing Nico to watch it with you anytime the two of you have a night in.

He always balks at why people agree to do the show, not understanding the desire to torture yourself during the dance lesson and do un-repairable damage to your feet in ballroom shoes.

“Not this though, he’s told me plenty about his dislike for dancing,” you reply, shoving the slip of paper into your small purse.

“C’mon, all you gotta do is bat your eyelashes at him and he’ll cave like an avalanche,” he waves off your comment, knowing how whipped Nico is when it comes to you.

Your response was a roll of your eyes, not pushing the subject any further.

Finally reaching the in-demand bathroom, you slip in and out quickly, Jack stood in front of the door ready to lead you back to the small section the team has taken over.

As you approach the table you were previously sitting at, you see Nico sitting there with drinks waiting on Jack and yourself.

“So, Cap, you gonna take your girl dancing?” Jack calls out as you reach the tall stools, launching yourself up onto one.

Nico stops the conversation he was in the middle of after being alerted to your arrival, confused at Jack’s words.

“What are you on about now, J?” Nico asks, rolling his eyes at Jack while reaching over and placing a hand on your leg.

Jack takes a sip of his beer before looking at Nico with a smirk. “Your girl here saw a flyer while in line for the bathroom and couldn’t contain her excitement at the thought of entering with you. But she’s under the impression you won’t do it. That’s not true, is it, Cap?”

Nico looks over to you for confirmation, the sheepish smile on your face all the proof he needs.

“Listen, she knows how I feel about dancing. Not a chance in hell that I’m subjecting myself to that torture,” he tells Jack, bringing his own beer to his lips.

“He’s just worried he’ll be no good and get beat,” you lean towards Jack, the loud volume of the bar causing you to worry about your voice being drowned out.

“I heard that!” Nico whines from beside of you, a pout on his face.

“You were supposed to,” you lean over and give a light pat to his cheek, pinching it slightly before bringing your hand down to rest on top of his on your leg.

Nico narrows his eyes as he looks into your own smug ones. “I would not get beat,” he declares, looking between Jack and yourself. “I just don’t think it’s a productive use of my time when I should be training, considering the off-season is coming up.”

“Dude, have you not seen how absolutely jacked some of the guys on Dancing with the Stars are? They’re so in shape it makes some of us look like dweebs,” Jesper adds to the conversation, having been listening from his seat on the opposite side of Nico from where you’re sitting.

“Jesp, not helping, man,” Nico whips his head over to his teammate. “How do you even know about that god-awful show, anyways?”

“It’s one of Nicole’s favorite shows. We watch it together all the time. Sometimes it makes me question my own athleticism. Those lifts they do? They go hard,” Jesper responds, clearly having a different opinion on the show than Nico.

“Of course you’d enjoy all the theatrics of that insane show. Why don’t you enter the contest with her then?” Nico scoffs out.

“Nah, think I’ll tell Nicole about it, see if she wants to go,” Jesper winks at you.

“See! Jesper is willing to do it for Nicole! C’mon, Neeks. Let’s go show up and beat the crap out of them. Wouldn’t you like bragging rights to hold over his head?” you exclaim, bringing both of your hands up to hang off of his arm closest to you.

“My god, see what you’ve started?” Nico waves a hand towards Jesper.

“It’s not his fault he sacrifices his own pride to make his girl happy. You could take a few lessons, Cap,” Jack chimes in again.

“Oh don’t even give me any lip, Jack, I do stuff for Y/N all the time, you don’t know even the half of what I’ve done because I know it makes her happy,” Nico defends himself.

“Apparently one of those things isn’t entering a silly little dance competition because he’s too embarrassed and scared of being beat,” Jesper teams up with Jack, causing the amused smile on your face to grow.

“For the love of god if I agree to do this will you guys shut the fuck up and leave me alone?” Nico says in frustration, throwing both of his arms up into the air.

“Yes,” Jesper and Jack say in unison.

“Then fine, I’ll do it. Sign us up,” he looks over at you, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

You squeal in excitement, giving Nico a quick kiss on the cheek before running off to call the number on the flyer.

A week later, you and Nico are in a dance studio with a dozen other couples learning how to waltz.

“Nico, you’re supposed to be the one leading. You have to make me follow your movements, not follow mine,” you scold him, looking down at his feet chasing yours.

“But you know what you’re doing and I don’t. Can’t you just lead until I get the hang of it?” he argues, trying to remember the steps you were shown earlier in the night.

“If you get used to me leading now, during the contest you won’t lead and we’ll lose points,” you explain, trying to switch the lead over to him mid step.

The falter in movement causes Nico to lose count, his foot moving too far to the left and pressing down on your toes.

You yelp out in both surprise and pain, causing Nico to stop his movements immediately.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” he asks, dropping his hands from waltz position and crouching down to take a look at your already swelling toes.

“I’m fine. Think they’re just stubbed up. I’ll be fine. Let’s keep going, we have to practice,” you grit out, shaking your foot out and attempting to get back into position.

The second you put pressure on your squished foot, your leg gives out, your toes starting to throb.

“No, we’re done for the day. We need to get ice on those toes immediately. What if I broke one?” he rushes out, knowing his large, heavy feet could have done a number on your small, dainty ones.

“But, we have to practice,” you pout, trying to walk again, but getting the same result.

“We can practice later. Right now we need to get you off of that foot,” he says with a tone that oozes finality.

You give in, letting him lead you over to where you stored your stuff, leaning against the wall while Nico collects your belongings before following his lead out of the door.

Once the two of you get back to your apartment, he leads you over towards the couch, carefully taking off your dance shoes and propping your swollen foot on a pillow on the coffee table.

“I’m going to get some ice, stay put, okay?” is all he says before disappearing to your kitchen.

You grab your phone from your bag sitting next to you, snapping a picture of your foot and sending it to Nicole with the caption “Ballroom dancing? More like bum-foot dancing.”

When Nico comes back with the ice pack he uses for his back after particularly rough games, he wraps it around your foot, securing it in place with the velcro strap fastened around your ankle.

“Baby, I am so sorry. I was trying so hard to do the right steps so something like this wouldn’t happen, but I still managed to mess it up,” he apologizes, rubbing his hand up and down your leg while crouched in front of the couch. “Just another reason to add to the list of why I hate dancing.”

“It’s okay, I was distracting you. I’m sure after a day or two of rest I’ll be good as new and we can start practicing again. We only have a few more days until the competition,” you bring a hand over to run through his hair, scratching his scalp the way you know he likes.

“Are you serious? Your pinky toe is purple right now, and you’re worried about practicing again? Darling you need to go to the doctor tomorrow, not be thinking about how to master a right box turn,” he tells you, trying to talk some sense into you.

“But…the contest…” you speak softly, knowing he’s right, but not enjoying how you finally got him to agree to something like this and now being faced with the reality that it still won’t happen.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll enter another one with you once your foot is better, but there’s no way you can dance on these toes in a just few days,” he grabs your hands, heart breaking at your disappointment, knowing its his fault.

“I know…you’re right. Just sad about it. I’ll call the doctor tomorrow,” you give in. “But I’m holding you to that rain check. We’re showcasing our waltz eventually,” you wag your finger at him, giving him a small smile.

“Of course. Your wish is my command,” he tells you, moving to occupy the empty space next to you on the couch.

“So, movie night?” you suggest, reaching for the tv remote on the small table next to the arm of the couch you were leaning against.

“I’ll go make some popcorn,” Nico turns his head to face you, placing a small kiss on your nose before standing and making his way back to the kitchen.

Turning on the tv and browsing the movie selection, you find one that catches your eye and turn it on.

Your phone buzzes with a reply from Nicole. “Oh, I’m so sorry hunny!! Guess Nico really will do anything to get out of dancing! LOL!”

Sending her a quick picture of the movie you settled on, labeling it “revenge” with the devil emoji, you quickly put your phone away when you hear the sound of Nico’s socked feet walking towards you.

Nico enters the room with two bowls of popcorn, having added m&ms to yours, knowing you like the sweet and salty combination.

“Ready?” you ask him as he plops down beside you.

“Ready,” he confirms, handing you your bowl.

You press play on the movie, munching on your popcorn.

Nico settles in and focuses on the movie before you, slightly confused, because it seems like it’s started in the middle of the movie.

“Did you already start watching without me? I’m pretty sure this isn’t the beginning,” Nico starts to say, but is quickly cut off by the sound of music coming from the tv.

Realization dawns on his face, eyes snapping over to you. You refuse to look at Nico, head straight forward looking at the tv, but you can’t contain the laugh that starts to spill from your mouth.

“Are you serious? You really put this on?” Nico questions as the first few lyrics of “I Don’t Dance” from High School Musical 2 spills out of the tv speakers.

You start belly laughing, unable to keep a straight face as Chad and Ryan partake in a singing battle about sports and dancing.

“Yeah, ha-ha, very funny, Y/N. I’m just a dumb jock that refuses to dance, and you’re a theater geek that feels it’s her life mission to show me to the dark side,” he deadpans, enjoying the sound of your giggles.

“Oh, c’mon. Tell me this isn’t the perfect song to describe the past week. Me trying to make you into a dancer, you telling me you’re never going to enjoy it,” you say in-between laughs.

“Yeah, hilarious,” he fights his own grin, finding the comparison slightly more amusing as the scene plays out.

Nico’s phone dings at that moment, a text from Jesper coming through, a picture of Nico’s face photoshopped onto Chad Danforth’s body flashing on his phone screen.

Your laughter rings out again, this time louder than the first.

“What the-“ Nico looks over to you, confused.

“I may have shared what movie we were watching with Nicole. Guess Jesper saw the texts,” you wheeze out.

Nico rolls his eyes at you, knowing he won’t live this one down anytime soon.

“Just put Dancing with the Stars on and stop encouraging my teammates to harass me,” he types out a response to Jesper, handing you the remote as you wipe the laughter tears from your eyes.

The next day, when the doctor sends you home with a boot on for not one, but three broken toes, Nico makes it his mission to reverse the unintentional damage he did to you.

From carrying you around the apartment, to buying all of your favorite ice cream flavors and sweet snacks, to bringing every meal to you on the couch or in bed on a tray with a different apology note each time, to bringing you flowers every time he leaves to go get dinner, to now committing to sitting and watching every season of Dancing with the Stars with you starting from season one.

And when his teammates start calling him “Captain Chad” he just laughs and plays along, telling them all Jesper is the Ryan to his Chad when the Swedish forward sends the group chat a picture of the trophy him and Nicole won at the very competition that started all of this.

“Could’ve been us,” is all you say, looking over and seeing the picture of the large trophy.

“Better get to studying for next time, then, huh?” Nico responds, reaching over and pressing play on the tv remote, hearing the sound of Tom Bergeron’s voice for the millionth time this week.

[sugrhigh]

RUMORS - ( c.s )

REQUESTED**

summary: you and chris have known each other for a long time, and you’ve always had an inescapable crush on him. when you all go to tara’s party and fans see them together for the first time, speculation begins to circulate, and you begin to pull away in fear that he likes her as more than a friend

warnings: angsty in the beginning, fluffy in the end :) some swearing a kiss and that’s it really

bff!chris x fem!reader

a/n: i loved this concept and i hope i brought it to life well for the anon that requested <3 my inbox is always open for u guys #kisses

@fawnchives @l9vesick @mattinside @sturnioloco @sturniolossss @cupidsword @teapartyprincess4two @princessbetsy123-blog @cookiehaos @sturnlova @junnniiieee07 @vsangel-starbies @chrissystur

doom scrolling online is like a car crash that you can’t look away from; especially when it involves your friend and your long term crush. you’ve been laying in bed scouring the internet for the past hour, pouring over comments about and tara and chris.

ever since her last party, when fans actually saw them publicly interacting for the first time, the gossip has gotten out of control. people want them together, and you hate to admit that it makes you sick to your stomach.

hell, you’d been the one to introduce them, since tara had become your friend first. but you and chris go all the way back to childhood; you were best friends with him and his brothers in your early years of school, and then you moved to another town after your dad accepted a new position.

you kept in touch through social media and occasional texts after that, until you all found yourselves in LA fresh out of high school, alone in an unfamiliar city across the country.

their youtube channel had taken off, and you’d gained a large following after you’d finally been recognized for your photography due to some big-name collabs. you were all in the same vulnerable position, and because of this your friendship with the three of them started right back up where it left off.

the rest is history. it’s been two years now, and you’ve all grown exponentially, fully adjusted to LA and the recognition, comfortable with where you are in your lives professionally and personally.

you spend nearly every week with the triplets, doing anything and everything together. they’ve made the occasional homesickness bearable, been your rock through the hard times, and supported you like no one else.

but things are a little different with you and chris. he’s your best friend, the person you want to tell everything to first. it’s always been that way, really. you had feelings for him at 13, and now at 20 years old you love him even more.

but that doesn’t mean you have to love him being shipped with every female influencer on the planet.

it’s selfish, really, to want chris to yourself, considering his occupation and the fame that comes with it. tara is a good person and an even better friend, and you shouldn’t be angry over the idea of them dating.

still, it’s been consuming your mind ever since you saw the first post about the two of them a few days ago, and you’ve been checking social media every hour since.

you’re about to read through yet another comment section when your phone buzzes, a notification appearing at the top of the screen.

chris

can you pls answer me

i don’t like this silent treatment thing

your stomach flips. he’s been texting you things like this for the past few days, since you started distancing yourself after the party.

the whole night he had acted as if he was into tara; always making conversation, asking to dance, posting her on his story. even when you were right next to him, it still felt like he was miles away.

so of course it’s been upsetting you, and you figured rather than taking it out on either of them you would just remove yourself from the situation.

it seemed like the best option in the moment, but it still sucks. you hate not talking to him, not seeing his face or feeling his arms wrap around you in a familiar hug.

another text pings, snapping you out of your spiral once more.

chris

i don’t know what’s wrong but you’re scaring me

the message makes your eyes burn, and you blink away the tears. you don’t want him worrying about you, especially when it’s your own stupid feelings getting in the way of things being normal.

you sigh, tapping out a response and staring at it, debating back and forth whether you should actually press send. but he beats you to a response, and another string of texts come through.

chris

i can see you typing

i’m coming over

y/n

no don’t do that, everything is fine

chris

i don’t believe you

and i already left my house

it’s only a five minute walk to get from his place to yours, and you know he’s too stubborn to actually turn around, no matter how hard you plead. you’ve already broken out into a nervous sweat just thinking about the confrontation.

but at this point you owe it to him and yourself to be honest. you just hope you don’t get your heart broken in the process.

y/n

fine, doors unlocked

i’m in my room

a few minutes later you hear the front door slam open and closed, just to see chris peek his head around the corner of your room moments later. you’re still curled up in bed, too scared and tired to move, so he takes the liberty of coming to you.

“hey.” he says softly as he sits down.

“hi.” you mumble, wrapping your blanket against your chest tighter.

it’s not cold, but you’re so anxious that you’re shivering. chris notices and puts a hand on your covered knee, rubbing small circles against the joint. he looks so sweet, clad in his blue fresh love hoodie with his hair all curly from showering.

“what’s up? i haven’t heard from you all week, and nick was about ready to call the cops.” he tries to joke with a small grin.

you can’t bring yourself to match his energy, and your face remains grave as you attempt to swallow the lump in your throat.

“i’m alright, just tired.”

his face falls, and a slight frown replaces his smile. you know he’s not believing any of it for a second, and you’ve never been a very convincing liar.

“don’t do that, you’re obviously not alright. and i’m not trying to be pushy or anything, but i feel like you’re shutting me out.” chris replies quietly.

you shift a little bit so you can sit up properly, back resting against the headboard as you gaze at him. his hand remains on your thigh, a source of comfort while you try to pick your words wisely.

“i’m not trying to push you away, chris. i just…wanted to give you space.” you continue to dance around the truth.

he looks even more confused, eyebrows furrowed like you’re speaking another language. “that’s nice and all, but i don’t want it.”

“well maybe i do.” you shrug.

you’re lying through your teeth, but chris’s eyes go wide regardless. you’ve shocked him into silence, which rarely ever happens. he’s just staring at you, the gears in his mind turning as he tries to figure out what could possibly be wrong.

“are you serious? did i do something that i don’t know about?” chris asks, clearly exasperated.

he removes his hand from your leg, dropping it back in his lap. the small act alone makes your heart sink, and you feel the question crawling its way out of your mouth before you can help it.

“do you like tara?”

it hangs in the air, and you’ve stumped him once again. chris shakes his head, clearing his throat while his face reddens slightly.

“i can’t believe you’re even asking me that.” he sounds genuinely astonished.

“what? why?” it’s your turn to be baffled.

“because i feel like all i ever do is flirt with you. i mean seriously, it’s embarrassing for me at this point.” chris reaches to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly.

your jaw drops, which makes you feel silly. throughout this whole relationship you felt like you were the one putting the moves on him, doing too much. you’d never once stopped to think about all of the little comments he would make.

“i, uh, guess i didn’t pick up on that.” you manage to reply.

you immediately wish you hadn’t, that you just kept your mouth shut. but he smiles widely at you, chuckling lightly.

“no shit.”

this makes you laugh too, and it feels good to experience at least a brief moment of normality between the two of you. things have felt tense for so long that you’d almost forgotten why you love being around chris in the first place.

you wait to calm down a bit before you decide to finally lay it all on the table. “i like you a lot, chris. and i don’t want to mess up the dynamic we have, because you mean the world to me. but i’d be lying to myself if i said i didn’t want to be with you.”

he’s still grinning, though you can tell he’s gone a little shy now hearing you admit your feelings. this moment is all he dreamed about for so long, and now it’s finally happening in a realm outside of his own brain.

“i want that too, and i’m a dumbass for taking this long to say it. so no, i’m not interested in tara like that. it’s always been you.” chris confesses, reaching to interlock your fingers.

you’ve held hands before on many occasions, but it’s different now in the best way. butterflies erupt in your stomach as he leans in, and you can smell the fading hints of minty body wash on his skin.

you tilt your head so your mouths finally meet, soft and slow as you both finally enjoy the kiss you’ve been yearning for for so long. he tastes sugary, like the lollipops he’s always got between his teeth, and you’re already addicted.

chris pulls away a minute later, his lips reddened and glistening from the contact. you giggle slightly from the unfamiliarity of the situation, glancing down at your linked hands.

“your lips are so soft.” he praises, still awestruck that he finally got to kiss the girl he’s loved since he was a preteen.

“take a girl out to dinner first, jeez.” you joke playfully.

chris rolls his eyes, but he smiles nonetheless. “i think i will, actually. you got any plans tomorrow?”

you tap your chin with your free hand like you’re contemplating your schedule. “i can probably squeeze you in.”

“you better. everyone else can get in line.”

[mumms-the-word]

A Final Death

Pairing: Gale x gn!Tav Summary: Gale has ascended and has returned to his chronically ill lover in order to ascend them, only to realize that they have died while he was exploring godhood. He departs for the Fugue Plane to find their soul and offer them divinity once more. ao3 link A/N: This is inspired by an angst ask I got in my inbox (hi anon!!) but it got so long that I decided to make it its own post. CW: death

Wait for me. Give me time. Soon, I will return with the means to ascend you, and you will never have to fear dying again.

Those were the last words he had said to Tav before leaving them. The sight of them on the docks watching him bow and back away was burned into his mind, even long after ascension. They were stunning in the light of the rising sun. As beautiful as they had ever been, and more.

And oh so fragile. Brittle. Broken. The condition they had maintained so carefully before being taken by the nautiloid had proven taxing, dangerous, even deadly on the road to Baldur’s Gate. True resurrection should have cured it, but it never did, no matter how many times they sought Withers’ help, resurrecting their broken, dead body with true resurrection spells.

A curse, Tav later told him. The nasty result of a hag deal gone bad. Since then, every injury healed wrong. 

The evidence of the curse was staggering. Broken bones that never fused together just right. Bruises that never seemed to fade. Cuts that always seemed only half-healed. A persistent cough that would go away only to be replaced by other pains, other illnesses. A perpetual state of pain, never ending, ever changing, managed only by a careful schedule of potions and healing spells and rest. Some days were worse than others. Some days they felt only the dim pains of a single bruise. But never, not even once, had they admitted to a single pain-free day.

But there was no promise of rest and healing on the road and no end to the fighting. Yet still, they pressed on. Still they fought. Still they endured. Until finally the Netherbrain crashed, defeated, into the Chionthar, and Gale had the means to end their suffering at last within reach. For the first time in months, they could rest.

He hoped the last few months had done them good. That they had found ways to heal and secured the rare, nearly-pain-free day as they waited for him. He had dedicated all of his time in the pursuit of ascension, and then after that, in testing the limits of his godhood. He had to know what he could do, what he was capable of, before he returned. He only had one chance to ascend them. He wanted it to be perfect.

As he materialized outside the Elfsong Tavern room, the one they sometimes shared when he and they longed for a night with just the two of them away from the others, the one his beloved had promised to be in while they waited for him, he wondered what kind of god they would become. Perhaps a god of healing, focusing their efforts on healing spells and potion crafting. Or perhaps they would hate that idea and surprise him. The god of knitting, they might suggest, the most mundane thing possible, or the god of puns, making use of that humor they used nearly every day to cope with the pain. He smiled to himself, remembering their many jokes, as he waved a hand for the door to open on its own.

He stepped inside, dimming his celestial light, only to find the room was quite dark without it. His smile faded as he gazed about the room.

Empty.

No, not empty, he realized, as a figure unfolded themselves from a chair in the far corner. The figure approached, slow and silent, the whisper of their ragged robes the only sound in the room.

“Jergal,” Gale said.

“Well met, young god,” Jergal said. His expression was that same old blank expression, his mouth just shy of a faint smile, and his eyes glimmered in the dark just as they had months ago, back when Gale had been mortal. “Thou come seeking that which is no longer here.”

“I can see that.” He could sense it, too. Though other souls slept, ate, and drank in other rooms beyond this, the only two entities present in that room were himself and the Final Scribe. “Where are they?”

“Gone.”

Gale tried to ignore the flicker of irritation kindling within him. “Yes. I’ve noticed. Gone where?”

“They are where they must be…until they goest where they must go.”

The irritation only grew. Jergal had always been vague, but that was when Gale had been mortal. Now, they ought to speak as gods do, one deity to another. The Final Scribe need not hide divine secrets from the God of Ambition, now that they were equals.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me,” Gale said, “then I shall simply have to find them myself.”

“Thou wilt search these planes for some time, I fear. They are not here. They are…beyond.”

“What do you…”

All at once the meaning came to him. Gone. Beyond. 

Dead.

“That…cannot be,” Gale said, refusing to believe it. But Jergal merely stared, silent. Waiting. Waiting for him to accept it.

Again he refused. He cast his senses wide, stretching out his mental presence far beyond the reaches of the Elfsong Tavern, over the whole of the city, and even further beyond, briefly touching hundreds of souls at a time, seeking, searching, hoping to brush against the soul that had once called to his own. The soul that had been his match. He would know it as soon as he found it, so familiar was it to him, though this was the first time he sought it out as a god.

But there was nothing. Though he felt the first embers of pride, the fanned flames of hungry ambition among dozens of souls, he couldn’t feel the one singular soul that he desired.

They were gone. And he knew, even if he searched the entire surface of Toril, that he wouldn’t find them. Not on this plane.

Tav was dead.

He struggled to find his voice “When?”

Jergal’s gaze softened briefly. “Nigh on forty days past.”

“That long?” he asked. “It can’t be, I was only gone for…” But even as he said it, he knew his estimation would be wrong. Jergal looked sympathetic.

“Time runneth differently when one is immortal,” he said. “As thou well know.”

Again Gale struggled to comprehend the news. Not because he misunderstood—he could see the truth as clear as crystal. Tav was dead, their soul having departed from the mortal plane days ago, and he had missed it. 

That was the part he couldn’t fully grasp. How had he missed the day, the very moment his own beloved had faded out of this life? Their brilliant life, bright as a star in the sky, snuffed so quickly—again. 

He should have felt it. It should have been, to him, the same sort of feeling as losing the light of a single candle’s flame in a vast darkness. Or perhaps a feeling like a chill, a dread, a pit in his stomach. He was divine. He could sense souls in a way he never could as a mortal. He should have felt Tav’s passing.

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t even recall what had been the focus of his attention forty days ago. A single day was like a breath to him. There and gone in a flash. One didn’t count every breath they took in an hour, much less in a day or a week. Had so much—so little time passed without him noticing?

He set aside those concerns for now. “I see,” he said quietly. “That is unfortunate. But it is time to bring them back now, if you would. That is why you’re here, is it not? To resurrect them?”

“No.”

Gale frowned. “No? I don’t understand.”

Jergal was quiet a moment. By the time Gale was certain he would simply refuse to elaborate, he closed his eyes briefly and then reopened them.

“I came to them in their final hour,” he said. “To offer them my services. They greeted me as a friend.”

He paused. Then he lifted a hand to his head and touched his temple. As he drew his hand away, a small orb of light followed after his fingers. A memory, Gale realized, as Jergal sent it floating toward him. Gale cradled it in his hands, letting it sink into his silvered skin, and immediately his vision was flooded with the memory.

He saw Jergal approach the bed in the room, sitting down in a chair at the bedside. For a moment, Gale almost didn’t recognize the figure on the mattress, lying beneath the folded sheets, but as he drew closer there was no denying who it was.

Tav.

He had never seen them look so frail. The months since their victory had wasted them away until they were left looking more dead than alive. Their skin was as thin as paper, their usual tones now cast over with a gray pallor. Dozens of bruises bloomed on their skin, all in varying stages of healing or freshness, and their lips were colorless, their hair thin. He could see their bones sticking out, their skin stretched over them, as though half their muscle and fat had dissolved away. They had the look of a corpse about them, even as they opened their sunken eyes and turned their head toward Jergal. 

He wanted to think them beautiful—this was his beloved—but he could only stand, vaguely horrified at the sight of mortality at its worst. There was very little beauty here, only wretchedness. He hated the sight. Not Tav—never Tav—but all the evidence of what the illness had done, the pain, the injuries.

Why had Tav not sought healing?

The sight didn’t seem to alarm Jergal as he sat at their bedside. “I heard thy call,” he said quietly. “What dost thou require?”

Tav turned their eyes toward Jergal and reached one weakened hand toward them, a faint smile on their lips. “Maybe I just wanted to see an old friend one last time.”

“Thou art dying.” It wasn’t a question.

“I know.”

“Then dost thou require my resurrection services?”

“No.”

Gale jolted. No? No?

“He isn’t coming, is he?” Tav whispered, their hand still outstretched toward Jergal, lying inert on the sheets. 

“Thou speakest of thy wizard. Thy newborn god.”

Tav’s lips twisted. “He’s not my god.”

Gale stared, his fists clenched at his sides. Shock and pain and anger swirled within him, tangling together in a complicated knot that was all too familiar, all so dreadfully mortal, that he couldn’t help but hate it.

“He’s forgotten me, I think,” Tav whispered.

The knot in his chest stopped swirling all of a sudden, frozen and cold. Forgotten…forgotten? 

He wanted to rage. To tear this memory to shreds. To claw his way back in time and make Tav see the truth. Forgotten? Never.

But even he couldn’t alter the fabric of time.

You’re wrong, he wanted to scream. You’re wrong. I’m here. I’m here!

But it was just a memory.

Jergal said nothing at first to their remark, but at last he spoke. “Thou knowest I can give thee more time. Is that why thou hadst called?”

“No.” They breathed in shakily and Gale could hear the rattle of their breath as their lungs struggled to take in the air. “No. I just…didn’t want to be alone. When I died. For the last time.”

The last time.

The words echoed in his head, but he couldn’t stop the memory from playing out.

Jergal nodded slowly. “I see. And so thou didst call me.”

“Yeah. I decided…who better to watch me go than the Final Scribe?”

Jergal chuckled softly. “Ah. Thou hadst found it out.”

Tav’s smile was crooked, a ghost of their old humor. “I followed the clues. You made it kind of obvious.” They moved their hand closer again to Jergal’s. “Will you stay with me?”

“Is this truly what thou wishest? To die, and not return? If I recall, thy wizard hath promised thee eternity.”

Tav swallowed once, twice, silent. When they blinked, the glimmer of tears appeared in their eyes and then was blinked away. “I…don’t think I can wait for that chance, old friend. He’s been gone for months. Silent for months. What if he has forgotten me? And even if he hasn’t, this body…all the pain that just keeps building, I…” 

They swallowed again, and this time the tears leaked from their eyes, dripping down the sides of their face. They took another shaky breath, and then couldn’t speak the words. Another rattling breath, and then a faint whisper, choked with tears.

“I don’t think I could start over and endure all this again. I don’t think I’m strong enough to wait for him.”

The words nearly drove Gale to his knees. He had been so close. Only days, mere days separated this memory from his reality. Tav couldn’t endure for a few more days, after yet another resurrection brought them back to life? They couldn't have endured one more cycle of death and rebirth, for him?

Why couldn’t they have waited?

For the first time, he began to understand the pain they kept hidden from him. Even as he understood, at the time, comparing the pain of the orb to Tav’s experience, even as they had bonded over a mutual knowledge of what it meant to be in pain every single day…he’d never realized the depth of their pain.

That it would be so bad that they would wish for death, even when promised eternity.

I don’t think I’m strong enough…

“Oh, my love,” he whispered. “If only you could have endured it, I…”

But the memory didn’t wait.

“It’s stupid,” Tav said, swallowing and finding a bit of strength to speak above a whisper. “I’ve died so many times since the nautiloid. I used to hate it. But I realized a while ago that…waiting there in the Fugue Plane…it was the only place I was free of this pain.”

“Thou were free of thy physical body in death,” Jergal said. “And where the soul doth go, physical pain doth not follow.”

“Exactly. You understand.” Tav took a deep breath, this one less difficult. “I think that’s why I’ve decided…the next time I die…I want to stay there.”

Jergal offered no opinion, he merely tilted his head and watched Tav, his glimmering eyes unblinking.

“So?” they asked. Again they inched their hand closer to Jergal. “Will you stay with me until I go? I know my soul is in safe hands with you.”

“Yes,” Jergal said, and at last he reached out to take Tav’s hand, his withered fingers curling around theirs. “I shall guide thy passing, as in days of old.”

Tav smiled again, their relief relaxing their entire body. “Thank you,” they whispered.

The memory faded as they closed their eyes, the moment of Tav’s passing obscured from Gale’s vision. He tried to cling to the memory, to see the moment of their final breath, but it was gone. Jergal had kept it from him.

He felt…empty. Hollow. For one, terrifying moment he wondered what all this divinity was for. If not to share with his lover, then…what?

But a spark kindled within him again. Was he not the god of ambition? Was he not the god of taking risks for the highest rewards? What was death to a god like him?

“You know where they are,” he said, turning once more to Jergal. “Take me to them. To wherever their soul resides.”

“Thou knowest as well as I that it would be of no use,” Jergal said. “Thy beloved’s soul is beyond thy reach, now. They hath made their decision.”

Gale could feel his anger rising, as it always did these days when someone dared to suggest what he could or couldn’t do. Anything was possible, given enough time and enough power—that was his creed as the god of ambition. 

“Fine,” he said, keeping his voice carefully controlled. “Then I will seek them out myself.”

“Go, if thou pleaseth,” Jergal said, watching him turn away. “Perhaps it is best thou see them for thyself. But I will not aid thy search.”

“No matter. I will find them. Even if it takes me aeons.”

So saying, he left the material world, casting his essence through the planes, heading for that ever-shifting realm of the dead.

———

He materialized at last in the Fugue Plane, obscuring his presence and divinity in a fog that matched all the rest as he moved through the vastness of the gray plains, seeking, searching, looking for Tav. He scarcely knew what he would say to them, other than all the questions he wanted answers to. But he had to see them.

Why couldn’t you endure? Why did you think I had forgotten? Why did you stop believing in me? Why didn’t you wait?

Anger and despair fought for dominance in his mind, anger at Tav, anger at himself, despair at losing Tav, despair at his own follies. But something in his divinity kept him from ever really taking the blame. He was a god, after all. He knew better than mortals. It was Tav’s mortal reckoning that was the problem. Their mortal frailty. Their mortal inability to see the scope of eternity beyond their brief lifetime of pain. Perhaps if he had given them more glimpses of divinity, to show them what they had to look forward to…

His train of thought halted as he finally found them standing among the gray. Tav. His love.

They looked as they had in life, when they were at their very best. Healthy, standing straight, their hair full and thick, their skin clean and without blemish. They were stunning. Beautiful.

But gray. All over gray, in the same shades as every other wandering spirit here. Colorless and without vibrancy.

Yet...more solid than the wandering souls around them. Gale paused, remaining in the fog, watching. They stood on the plains, looking around, but not with the dull, aimless look of a soul shambling directionless in this plane. No, they appeared alert and confident, as if they knew themself, as if they had purpose.

After a moment, they seemed to find what they were looking for. They walked over to another soul that was sitting on the ground. The soul’s gaze was lifeless, dim, just the same as every other soul around them. This soul was a shade of their former self, their memories and life already slipping from their grasp. Tav softly called their name and held out their hand.

Kelemvor has sent me, they said, offering the soul a kind smile as the soul looked up slowly at them. I can take you to the City.

…Kelemvor?

Suddenly Gale understood.

Thy beloved’s soul is beyond thy reach.

So that’s what he meant. 

Gale had come with two, perhaps three ambitious plans in mind. If he couldn’t convince Tav to be resurrected and then ascended, he had planned to ask them to be resurrected and then become his Chosen. If Tav didn’t agree to either, then Gale was prepared to ask them to join his domain in death. One way or another, he thought, they would be together. As gods, as a god and a Chosen, or as a god and a faithful soul. Together forever.

His divine mind hadn’t conceived of a fourth option. He hadn’t anticipated what was now clearly Tav's new reality, irrevocable and unchangeable. Yet it stood before him, the evidence as obvious as day.

Kelemvor had claimed Tav’s soul before he could. Tav was beyond his control.

Though his anger flared up briefly in response—how dare Kelemvor claim his beloved before Gale had even had a chance to speak with them?—his anger soon cooled as he watched Tav take the hopeless soul by the hand and help them to stand.

Come with me, they said to the soul. I can guide you safely to the city.

Tav had been chosen as one of Kelemvor’s spirit guides, to help guide souls to the City of Judgment, or perhaps even to other gods’ domains, if Kelemvor’s judgment were so inclined to send them there. As Gale watched the two of them disappear into the fog, Tav leading the other soul gently by the hand, all his questions, all his anger, all his despair melted away,

He was left feeling hollow.

His ambitious plan had been thwarted, long before he’d even had a chance to enact it. The defeat should have stung, but instead he felt numb to it.

All that time spent exploring his godhood in order to ascend Tav, wasted. Yes, he had to admit, despite the humility churning his gut with discomfort, he had been too enamored with learning the limits of his power. But he hadn’t been gone long.

They chose this over him…?

He hovered in those gray, shifting plains, a cloud of fog amidst more fog, as he contemplated the matter to himself. Ran a thousand useless scenarios in his mind for how this could have gone differently. Tried to tease out new paths forward, only to be blocked at every turn by the rules of divinity and souls. He didn’t notice how much time had passed, until movement drew his gaze back to his surroundings.

Tav had returned. Only this time, it was clear they weren’t looking for a particular soul. They looked around them slowly before saying, out loud, “I know you’re there. You can come out now.”

They wouldn’t say such things to a soul they had been sent to guide. Which meant only one thing.

They were looking for him.

He hesitated at first but then decided that no more harm could be done. Not to them, anyway. And how much worse could his divine heart break, really?

He dropped his cloak of fog, settling down to stand just a few feet away from them. As soon as he materialized, their eyes were on him. Not shocked or surprised. As if they had been expecting him.

There was, however, a faint hint of nervousness in their face.

They locked eyes in that gray space, the fog swirling around them. A silver-toned deity, glowing with electric blue divinity, and a grayscale spirit guide, their eyes burning with silver light. They watched him silently for a moment, waiting.

Gale opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to beg, to argue, to weep, but not a sound issued forth. What was there to say? They were out of his reach now. Separated from him for an eternity.

In the end they spoke first.

“Kelemvor said you were looking for me,” they said, in his silence. “I suppose you have questions.”

He had so many questions. But has he watched them stand before him, looking more alert, more confident, more vibrant with energy and vitality than they had been in life, even on their best mortal days, his questions all died on his tongue. All save one.

“Are you…content?”

The question surprised them, he could see it in their face. They nodded. “I am. You’ve probably already guessed what I am, then?”

“One of Kelemvor’s spirit guides. To lead the lost souls wandering this plane to the City of Judgment to await Kelemvor’s judgment of them.”

“Yes.” They hesitated. He could sense the words on their tongue that they wanted to say but were uncertain about. He saw them swallow the words back.

“I have a purpose here,” they said, instead. “There are so many I can help. So many places to travel in this line of work. Sometimes, when Kelemvor decides someone fits a different god’s domain, I even get to visit it with them as I take them there. I’m still trying to figure my way about, but…”

They trailed off, again uncertain. Gale could only smile.

“It suits you,” he said softly.

And it did. In life, they had longed to travel, to see new sights and meet new people. And then when forced to travel, it had brought them nothing but pain. Yet even so they had pushed through, seeking to help everyone they could, even as they themself were hurting, broken by battle and their curse.

He still felt there were better alternatives—could he not have made them a god of new things, of rebirth, of travel, of care for the downtrodden, or more? But they had chosen this instead.

He should have expected nothing less and nothing more.

“Thank you,” they said. Again they hesitated, until finally, in a burst of words, “Gale, I’m sorry. I know you said—”

But Gale held up a hand, stopping them. “No. No need to apologize. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

They frowned. “And yet you must think me the ultimate fool for giving up your offer of godhood for an eternity of playing messenger and guide.”

“What I think doesn’t matter,” he said. “But…no. I could never think you a fool. You simply…chose the path you felt was best for you.”

And now there was no turning back. 

They both lapsed into thoughtful silence at that, each of them watching the other. He could feel them studying him, taking in the new glimpses of his divine presence, the silvered skin, the lightning crackling at his temples, the white-blue glowing eyes. Here in the Fugue Plane, the two of them didn’t look that dissimilar, with all the grays and silvers that coated Tav’s body now as well. 

He still loved them, he realized. And he would always, he felt, love them. But that love had shifted. He was the god of ambition now, and they were a spirit guide of Kelemvor. Separated in death, yet still part of the same godly realms.

“Gale,” Tav said uncertainly. “I know you’re a new god, and there’s no one, that I know of, who is worshipping you who has died just yet. But when they do…perhaps Kelemvor will be kind enough to let me guide those souls to your domain. Maybe then we could…see each other. Once in a while. From a distance.”

Gale smiled at that. He could just picture Tav arriving at the edge of his domain, leading an ambitious soul to him. “A visit every now and again? I’d like that.”

“It won’t be every time, mind you,” Tav said. “There are a lot of guides. And you’re responsible for picking up your own faithful.”

Gale chuckled. “I am aware.”

“But other souls…ambitious souls who didn’t know you but that might fit your domain…well.” They offered him a little smile. “I’m just saying maybe this isn’t goodbye. It’s just…until we see each other again.”

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Gale would never forget the chance he missed with them, to have them reign as a god at his side. But the hope shining in Tav’s silver-toned eyes was impossible to ignore or destroy. If they were content with this lot, perhaps, in time, he could be too.

“Very well,” he said. “I look forward to your first visit to my domain, then.” He gave them a little bow, a return to some of his mortal mannerisms.

Tav nodded, their smile faint, but as full of love as they had been in life. “Until we see each other again, Gale.”

He returned their smile and gentled his voice, bringing with it all the tenderness and love he still felt for them, and may yet feel for them for an eternity.

“Until then, my love. I will be waiting.”

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | April 1st-7th 2024

MERRY WEEWOO EPISODE DAY!!! I had a fucking terrible stream so I feel like I missed like 90% of buddie's scenes.

No thoughts, head empty, so happy to FINALLY be done with this long ass recap 😆 my ao3 history is very much still fucked. Oh well. Also gonna have to make a separate post for the podfics cause the rec was getting too long, tumblr couldn't handle it 😂

There's a couple of new people in here and maybe some people who have changed URLs, so if you know someone who's not tagged, please tag them in the comments!

Love your tags, comments, reblogs, everything! <3 My ao3 inbox is being SUBMERGED with fics, it's the best problem to have 😂

Complete

I can finally breathe by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (S7E4 Coda, BuckTommy | <1K | General); Buck's oh moment when Tommy kisses him.

and with each one, i'm a little more free series by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Post-S7E4, Coming Out):

oh, bi the way (<1K | General): Buck comes out to Maddie. whenever you're ready (<1K | General): Buck comes out to Bobby. welcome to the club (<1K | General): Buck comes out to Hen.

rebirth by renecdote/ @renecdote (S7E4 Coda | <1K | General): “Bisexual,” he says aloud, just to hear himself say it, to taste the way it feels on his tongue not just as a word but as an identity. It feels like an exhalation, trembling at the edges but not just with fear, or excitement, but with relief. Buck knows what it is like to be reborn, but he has never had a kiss make him feel like this before.

whenever you're ready by honestlydarkprincess (Post S7E4 Spec, Coming Out | <1K | General): Buck comes out to Bobby.

I won't tell no lie by lamardeuse/ @lamardeuse (Post S7E4 Spec, Tommy POV | 1K | Teen): Tommy can't exactly say he's surprised when he opens his door on a Sunday morning to see Hen Wilson standing there. He just wishes he'd thought to put on a cup first because he has a feeling he's about to get kicked in the nuts.

An End Has a Start by eirabach/ @eirabach (S7E4 Coda, Tommy POV, Tommy&Lucy | 1K | Teen): Tommy is one minute late. Hell of a minute, though.

tell me that i'm all you want (even when i break your heart) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (S7E4 Coda | 1K | General): “What’s going on?” “You tell me,” Eddie says, gently. “Buck mentioned you were being a little…odd.” To his surprise, Chris scowls. “I bet he did,” Chris mumbles, scoffing, half-under his breath. Eddie stares at him, taken aback. “Chris? What does that—” “I want you to tell him to leave.” or; buck, christopher and eddie in the aftermath of 7x04.

Sleepy Call by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Pre-Buddie, Fluff | 1K | General): OR: Eddie takes an early morning call.

to loosen his grip by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (S7E4 Spec | 1K | Teen): Eddie's not stupid, and Buck's about as subtle as a brick to the face on a good day. Speculation for 7x04: Buck, Bothered and Bewildered.

babbling brook to nowhere by fallingthorns/ @fallingthorns (S7E5 Spec | 1K | Teen): Eddie has not stopped talking since they left the restaurant. He thinks that he kind of blacked out during the actual dinner, because he’s not really sure what actually was discussed or how they even ended up sitting next to Buck and Tommy. But as soon as they got back into the truck, it was like the dam breaking loose. “I mean, it’s so great,” Eddie says once they’re back in his bedroom, as he takes his shirt off in the closet. He’s not even paying attention as Marisol perches on the edge of his bed. “They’re two of my friends, it’s awesome.” He’s happy for Buck, because Buck deserves to be with someone who gets him and will love him like he deserves. He just . . . “Is Tommy too tall for him?” Eddie asks. “Like, they’re the same height.”

my heart is working overtime by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (S7E4 Coda | 1K | Teen): He reaches for his phone again, then freezes halfway through his contacts when he realises he can’t call anyone to talk through this. Maddie would kill him for telling her something like this over the phone. For—coming out, he supposes, trying the words on for size. That’s something he does now. As— He hadn’t really stopped to consider it until now. Bisexual, he thinks, experimental, and it settles somewhere deep inside of him, like there’s been a space waiting for it all along.

“Pops, I’m bisexual.” “Hi bisexual, I’m Pops.” by Maximoff_Wanda (Post-S7E4, Coming Out | 1,4K | Not Rated): Or: Buck comes out to Bobby.

every little thing the sun shows, well it’s worth it by wafflesofdoom/ @capseycartwright (Post S7E4 | 1,6K | Not Rated): after his kiss with Tommy, Buck goes to Hen.

pythagoras made some points by crimsonclad (S7E4, BuckTommy | 1,6K | Not Rated): Look for the helpers! Sometimes they are all trying very hard to help each other be gay in the correct configurations and doing their best, mostly. Tommy takes Eddie to Urgent Care, takes him home, and carries a message elsewhere in the city of Los Angeles.

Buck's Boyfriends by Tizniz (Buck/Tommy/Eddie | 1,7K | Teen): He’s too drunk to figure out the logistics right now. “I think I’ve been dating both of you.” OR: The one where Buck realizes he's dating Tommy and Eddie.

smile at me like you smile at him by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (S7E4 Spec, Getting Together | 1,8K | Teen): Buck hadn’t planned on doing anything to show his displeasure at the sudden friendship between Eddie and Tommy, despite the fact that it sent hot, furious jealousy coursing through his veins. Really, he hadn’t. It’s just…well, he was just going for the ball during their basketball game…unfortunately Eddie happened to get pushed out of the way in order for Buck to get said ball.

only need the light when it's burning low by fallingthorns (Post-S7E4 | 2K | Teen): Buck blinks and realizes that he could love Tommy, if he didn't already love Eddie.

you've ruined my life (by not being mine) by ummrys (S7E4 Spec | 2K | Teen): Or, Buck gets a little (a lot) jealous of Eddie's blossoming friendship with Tommy Kinard, and makes some bad decisions about it.

detours by oklahoma/ @sunshinediaz (Post-S7E4, 2K | Teen): “Take a detour,” he says, instead. “There’s construction on Sunset.” “Maybe one of these days there won’t be,” Buck says, smiles, and takes his leave. - Eddie and Buck have a talk. They somehow say everything and nothing at all.

Every Night I Come to You by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (S5, Love Confessions | 2K | General): Eddie has another sleepless night, but Buck is there. He'll always be there.

Family Feud: First Responders by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Secret Relationship | 3K | General): The FireFam go on Family Feud.

Right In Front of Me by Princessfbi (S7E5 Spec, BuckTommy | 3K | General): Tommy’s brows knitted together as his mouth turned down with worry. “Evan,” he said and Buck wanted to hear him call his name so many more times. “What happened? Did someone choke you?” “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Buck said, clearing his throat again when his voice gave an embarrassing squeak.

inescapable (i’m not even gonna try) by buddiebuddie/ @buddie-buddie (BuckTommy, PWP, Post-S7E4 | 3K | Explicit): From that first press of Tommy’s lips against his— the moment when the pieces slid into place and something bloomed in Buck’s chest and hummed in his veins— he felt good, and grounded, and settled in a way he never had before. It’s been a few weeks, and the newness has worn off but the excitement hasn’t. The hunger hasn’t.

I would be lying if I said I'm not dying to worship you by Daughter_of_Scotland (Post-S7E4 | 3K | Explicit): Buck and Tommy have their first date. This is how it ends. (It ends really, REALLY well)

somethin' tells me you know why i lie by lecornergirl/ @clusterbuck (Madney Wedding Spec, BuckTommy | 3K | Teen): OR: buck brings tommy to the madney wedding. eddie is absolutely, definitively not jealous.

Never Saw It Coming...Or Did He? by Tizniz (PWP, Daddy/Mommy Kink | 3K | Explicit): Unable to deny his boyfriend anything, Eddie does. And his jaw promptly falls to the floor. Because Buck is standing there with that goddamn basketball under his shirt again. The clothing is stretched tightly over the round of what Eddie’s mind pretends is Buck’s belly. Pregnant belly. OR: The one where Eddie is 'Daddy' and Buck is 'Mommy'

sunbeam that hits at three to noon by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Madney Wedding, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): or, having multiple wedding reservations under the same name was an accident waiting to happen and buck’s just trying not to jumpscare his best friend with the rather intense bridal suite decor in their very platonically shared hotel room

as lucky as us by hammersmiths/ @bucktommys (S7E4, Ravi POV | 3K | General): One of the first things Ravi learned when joining the 118 was to, under no circumstances, think too hard about Buck and Eddie’s relationship. But brother, they could try make his job easier.

soothe the ache in me by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (S7E4 Spec | 3K | Teen): Or, the one where Buck gets a headache while trying to take care of Eddie and Chris after Eddie's injury.

i'm a fine baby mama (but you knew that though) by colonoscopys (S7E4 | 4K | Teen): Look—Buck’s not jealous, per say. He’s just a little confused as to how you can spend the past five years being best friends with someone, and then find someone new to replace him in the span of a couple of playdates.

You’re too Sweet For Me by Garden_Haunter (Buck Coming Out, Post S7E4 | 4K | Teen): Tommy kisses Buck, and it tastes like freedom. (Or: Buck comes out to different members of his family.)

Nightcap by Inell (S7E5 Spec, PWP | 4K | Explicit): After their first date goes a bit astray, Buck invites Tommy to his loft for a nightcap. 

some things fall when they're meant to fall by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (S7E5 Spec | 4K | Teen): or, Buck tells Eddie some news. Eddie has a realization and breaks up with his girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order.

before you painted all my nights by heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (Canon Divergent, Getting Together | 5K | Explicit): In hindsight, maybe jerking off to a LAFD Calendar when Eddie was well on his way to become a firefighter himself… might not have been the best idea. He never really thought about the possibility of actually crossing paths with the person that's been starring every wildest dream and filthy fantasy of his.

’til storm breaks loose by markofalover/ @markofalover (S7E4 Spec | 6K | Explicit): He squeezes Buck’s bare, sun warmed skin before he drops the contact, and strolls over to where Chim and Tommy are waiting. If he stands a little too close to his teammate, well. He’ll never admit it. Buck comes back into his line of vision, already back to looking like he’s a second away from stomping off the court. Eddie’s giddy with it. …or, how an elbow to the face changes everything.

the art of making love. by dylaesthetics (Rommates, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): OR Buck’s loft gets flooded, making him temporarily move in with Eddie, who’s out and about dating guys now, apparently, and Buck tries to figure out why the hell the thought makes him sick.

no more mistakes, no more empty starts. by dylaesthetics (S7E5 Spec, Feelings Realization | 7K | Teen): Throughout his life, Buck has felt that something’s been missing. Some integral part of who he is, outside firefighting, outside the family he has built for himself, outside the trauma that keeps on piling up and overburdening his shelves. He doesn’t expect to find it in the dimness of his loft’s kitchen one Tuesday evening, the taste of a man still on his lips and his cologne lingering in the air, sweet and honest and real.

ain't no lie (bi bi bi) by 42hrb/ @exhuastedpigeon (S7E4 Spec, Eddie/Tommy | 8K | Explicit): Eddie fools around with Tommy, Buck is jealous, Tommy's just trying to have a good time

skin/heat/hair in your mouth by fleetinghearts (Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): or, eddie’s bad at camping, buck’s trying to make sure he doesn’t get hypothermia, and naked huddling for warmth is only like the third gayest thing happening in the great outdoors

now our love lives in the radio by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz (University AU | 9K | Explicit): buck is the host of a college radio show and eddie has a big fat crush on him, what else can i say? featuring cinderella references and a bunch of himbos from buck's football team. 

teach me how to dance with you by goodboybuck (prettyboybuckley)/ @prettyboybuckley (BuckTommy, PWP | 9K | Explicit): OR: Buck explores the wonders of gay sex (slowly, with a really patient, sweet Tommy guiding the way and while having a lot of fun)

the mouth is the thing that craves by Underhung_Aura (Established Buddie, PWP | 11K | Explicit): eddie loves buck and he really love buck's cock

when i think about you (i touch myself) by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (PWP, Getting Together | 12K | Explicit): Or: the one where Eddie stumbles across Buck's old amateur porn, prompting a series of belated realizations on both their parts.

honey, when you call my name by HungryHungryHippo/ @hippolotamus (Post S5E11 | 12K |Explicit): Eddie witnesses the Buck/Lucy kiss, has himself a little panic, and decides to do something about it when Buck does his Buck thing and won't stop pushing Eddie's buttons 

🔥 of men and of angels by extasiswings/ @extasiswings (Eddie Sexuality Crisis, Getting Together | 13K | Teen): Eddie Diaz learns a lot as a kid. Boys aren’t soft. Boys don’t cry. Boys don’t kiss boys. As he gets older, he realizes that everything has exceptions. Boys can be soft sometimes. Boys can cry sometimes. And some boys kiss other boys. But Eddie likes kissing girls. And since he likes kissing girls, that’s the end of the story. Isn’t it?

🔥 what humans do by brewrosemilk/ @gayhoediaz (Getting Together, PWP | 18K | Explicit): "…and the thought that she had just escaped death by such a narrow margin made me realize the intensity of my feelings toward her.” Eddie swallows. “‘What’s the matter?’ I couldn’t tell her, so I kissed her instead,” Buck goes on, and since Eddie’s eyes are focused on the page, they drift ahead a little bit, and the next few lines have him swallowing once again, taking his hand back to brace himself against the mattress as he slowly starts to push himself up to sit. “Kissing is what humans do when words have reached a place they can’t escape from. It is a switch to another language. The kiss was an act of defiance, maybe of war. You can’t touch us, is what the kiss said. ‘I love you,’ I told her, and as I smelled her skin, I knew I had never wanted anyone or anything more than I wanted her…” Buck trails off when Eddie reaches for the book, gently luring it out of his grasp. 

WIP

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 6/18 | 37K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

Both Bermuda and Golden (Lost but Doing Just Fine) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (PWP, Threesome, BuckTommyEddie | 4/6 | 20K | Explicit): In which everyone has two hands and two holes and is keeping their options fluid. (Or: a collection of threesome fics.)

Fifteen First Kisses by tinygiantsam/ @watchyourbuck (Getting Together | 2/15 | 3K | Mature): Why would you have only one first kiss when you could have fifteen This is a collection of 15 different first kisses between Buck and Eddie.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Claire!! I ran to your inbox the second I saw your post about drabbles being open!! :D

Would be willing to write something for Tommy Shelby using this prompt: “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t like it when I play them back.” ?? Take the story in whatever direction you desire….I just know it’ll be amazing!

Thanks so much if you choose to! A

A little short for my darling K? Of course <3 I hope you like the direction I went in with this!

Words - 1,139

Warnings - None

“You don’t need to lie to me. You hate him, don’t you? I see it, kitty cat. That face of yours when you’re on his arm? It ain’t the face of a broad who's happy to be there.”  

He was right, too. Although you had to wonder how many times others had witnessed your carefully placed facade slip. Then again, you hadn’t been stepping out all too long with Tommy Shelby. You didn’t intend on doing so either. 

Tommy didn’t remember you from school. He had no recollection over how he’d made you feel about yourself as a little girl, the name calling, the teasing, the shoving you around. “Boys will be boys, my sweet”, your father had always said. Your mother had taken a much less blasé approach.  

“Darling girl of mine, boys will not be boys. Boys will be however we let them behave. If that little shit continues to act like this, wallop him one.” 

While you appreciated her stance, you never did give him the aforementioned walloping. Until now, in your decision to make him pay for being your playground tormentor, your bully. Some might call it immature of you not to be able to move on from it, but truly, Tommy Shelby has done more to hurt you than any other. 

It didn’t stop in the playground. 

The growth of The Shelby Company Ltd, with its wings spreading like an albatross across the coal-black suburbs of Birmingham led to your father being put out of work, your brother being recruited and then executed as a Peaky Blinder and your family losing everything. Tommy was so lost within the vast vortex of his own ego that he didn’t even recognise you, by neither sight nor name when you approached him one evening in The Garrison, your charm amped up, your plan set into action. 

You would make him fall in love with you, you would toy with his heartstrings and then, finally, you would rip them to pieces. Just like he did to your life. Just like he always had.  

Your plan? It worked. Effortlessly.  

Every time he called to court you, you would exit the door of your lodgings looking pristine, ready to be wined and dined, your place upon the arm of the city’s most prolific gangster a spot coveted by many. It never did fail to make bitter fire lick your insides, though, while other women burned with envious ire. Your revulsion ran deep, but you had to confess; at least he was pretty to look at. At least he was a talented and sensual lover.  

You never allowed him in too much, though, and it was the cleverness, the assertive aloofness of your nature that had the poor fool coming back for more every time.  

“Why don’t you ever stay with me, sweetheart?” he asks you on one such night, as you pull yourself back into your clothes. 

Looking away from the garter clasp you’re about to affix to your stocking, you see it there in his eyes. Pleading. Longing. The desire to spend the entire night curled around you in a warm, loving embrace.

“I like my own bed.” 

He tuts, reaching for his cigarette. “You always say that. Don't even let me stop over there with you either.” 

“I like my own bed alone.” 

“And what when we’re married, eh?” he questions, exhaling a thick plume of smoke into the dark of the room. “Will you let me share a bed with you then, or are we to be like an old-fashioned Victorian couple, same bedroom, single beds?” His eyes glint at you, shifting to sit up a little. “That’s a bit puritan for a girl who likes being fucked as dirty as you, love.” 

The urge to punch that smug, pretty face of his. Buttoning your blouse, you reach for your coat and pull it on, picking up your bag and then leaning to press a kiss upon his lips. “I’ll say goodnight now, Tommy. Let you go to sleep and dream of me.”  

He isn’t used to not getting his own way, and lord, how it shows. He reaches for your wrist, grasping you in a hard clutch, your mind flashing back to the playground. He’d do this while kicking your shins and mocking you. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t like it when I play them back.” 

You smirk, and the devil’s fire flashes through his eyes. “Is that a threat, darling?” 

“It’s a bloody promise, love, and you know it is. Might have to tie you to this bed next time, stop you from escaping on me.” He smiles then, something boyish in him as he tilts his head, pulling you down into a soft kiss. “I love you, even if you are a bloody temptress.” 

“Love you, too. Goodnight.” 

Leaving the bedroom, you saunter down the stairs and into the lounge, going into his jacket pocket and removing the keys to the building he runs his legitimate business from, Out of your purse, you remove the soft ball of clay you’ve stashed away wrapped in paper, flattening it with your palm before pressing each key into it.

With those imprints taken, you visit the local foundry the following day, asking for a set of keys to be made to those exact impressions. 

“Ahh, nice, easy little job this, bab,” the foreman informs you, removing his cap to scratch his balding head as he takes the lump of now dried clay. “Have ‘em ready for ya by close.”  

After returning later that evening, you have within your grasp the tools you require to facilitate the final piece of your plan, the last little detail being delivered to you by a third party, one who after arriving from New York saw quite clearly how much use you could be to him, getting close enough to ruin Tommy Shelby and all he held dear.  

Walking through the bar of The Grand Hotel, you slide into a seat beside the handsome Italian waiting for you, placing the keys into his hand. 

“You did good, doll,” he drawls, eyeing you appreciatively. “Here.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a roll of bills, handing them to you with a wink before taking your hand and kissing it. “If you’re ever in New York in the future, please, don’t think twice about looking me up.” 

Of course, Luca Changretta could have simply broken into the building he required access to, but Tommy is a shrewd operator. He would notice even the most carefully picked lock, and the plan was always for him not to see it coming. When The Shelby Company Ltd explodes into a ball of fire, both Tommy and Arthur within it, you know he never saw it coming.  

After all, he never truly saw you.  

[public-trans-it-deactivated20240]

i was a trans man until after a lot of build up of doubting myself, i finally realized that we are putting ourselves further into boxes by not accepting that we are the biological sex that we are and we can do WHATEVER we want at the same time.

clothes and makeup and certain interests do not equal gender.

and not liking being a woman is an unfortunately natural symptom of puberty and/or experiencing society’s deeply ingrained misogyny. and everyone deserves support for those problems.

but we can all fight together against gender social constructs in a healthy way without prescribing people hormones and invasive cosmetic surgery to make them more like the sex they “should” be according to… social constructs…. and help them be comfortable in who they are

Alright. Its been like 9 fucking months that I have been staring down this ask. What better time than to give TERFs some nuance than right in the middle of a fucking hate campaign going on where people (well... singular person probably) are calling me a TERF. This wont backfire.

This post arrived in my inbox shortly after I made another post about gender, and just how fucking weird it can be, and how I genuinely believed every single person on this planet has a fascinating relationship with gender, and so much nuance and personal identity in theirs. Even cis people. Even TERFs. In the tags, I even begrudgingly encouraged TERFs to talk about their gender on that post if they wanted. I genuinely think that TERFs do have really cool relationships with gender. As I mentioned in those tags, the quickest way to explode a group of TERFs is to get them to start talking about their own relationships with gender, and see how vastly different it is, and watching them stab each other in the back over it. So I told them to ramble away about how they view gender, as long as they stayed the fuck away from the rest of the blog WHICH THIS ANON CLEARLY FUCKING IGNORED.

But... this anon does bring up another topic I want to talk about.

Detransition.

Read More

I am a huge supporter of detransitioning. This is... surprisingly... not a very common stance in the trans community, and it breaks my fucking heart. Like, I get it. I understand why. A LOT of detransitioners, like the person in this ask, end up weaponizing their feelings of gender against other trans people.

My support of transition comes from the intersection of two very central beliefs of mine:

Everyone should explore their gender without feeling a need to commit! This is a pretty common belief in the trans community! Damn near universal in fact! We even have a fun little term we use for people who decide to play around with gender, only to end up a bit closer to where they started and being perfectly happy with that: Cis+. Someone who is cis, but at least put in the work to understand the trans experience, and actually CHOOSE to remain Cis instead of just defaulting to it with societal pressure. Many trans people are much more comfortable around 'Cis+' people, because they know these are people who have taken the time and put in the work of being an ally. Self examination isn't easy, especially not publicly, and doing so is genuinely one of the strongest ways a Cis person could ever show their support.

It is never too late to transition. This is also a pretty common belief in the trans community! It is... sadly not quite as universal though. But it is something very important that needs to be said. You could be 80 years old, sitting in a retirement home, and go "You know what? I think I'd rather wear a dress and be treated like a lady. I don't want to be buried as a man." And I think every single trans person should have that freedom!

I was discussing this with @thydungeongal the other day, far more paraphrased than this post, and she said something incredible that has been knocking around in my head ever since.

"Gender is an ongoing process"

Those five words they said to me sum up my feelings far more than this entire post could. Gender IS an ongoing process. My gender has changed SO MUCH over the past three decades. From the straightjacket of assigned gender that I was once forced into; to the very stylish and still lovable finely tailored suit of femininity that grew a little too stuffy to wear constantly, even though I do still enjoy it and try it on from time to time; to the wonderful and freeing losely fitting clothing of being aegogender, finally feeling free to be myself and just act naturally and feel natural without having to keep up an appearance!

And I think, there is no length of time you can try out being trans, and trying out new genders, before eventually coming to the realization you were cis all along. Even if you started HRT. Even if you got SRS. Heck, I don't even think you should have to call yourself trans to do either of those things in the first place, why would I be upset that someone did them and then realized they weren't trans? No single moment in your life should EVER lock your gender in place into some unchanging, set in stone thing.

So I support detransitioners completely, with my entire heart. They deserve just as much support as every other 'Cis+' person out there.

So anon, while many people may hate you and lash out at you for detransitioning, I want you to know, that I am not one of them. It sounds like your detransition might have been forced by peer pressure, which is heart breaking to hear. No one should ever force their own gender expectations on another. I hope that wasn't the case. I hope you came to the decision yourself, after realizing whats right for you. I will never give you hate for your detransition.

I WILL ABSOLUTELY GIVE YOU HATE FOR BEING A FUCKING TERF THOUGH. YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE WITH GENDER DOES NOT GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO POLICE THE GENDER OF OTHERS, FUCK OFF. GET THE FUCK OFF MY BLOG, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (part 10)

Summary: As tensions arise in King’s Landing, you make moves to assure the safety of your children. Final breaths are taken, pacts are made and broken, steel is drawn and the dragons dance.

Warning: mentions of stillbirths/pregnancy issues, allusions to self harm, some unreliable narrator if you squint. In our f&b bag fr!

A/N: you guys 🥺 we are finally on the last part. First, I want to say I am sooooo sorry about how long it took to get this one out. By the time I’m posting this I’m sort of like, do people even still care lmao 💀. Life has been hectic and tbh I’ve been putting some focus onto other things. Shameless plug to my other, more happy Aemond x oc series, on ao3. As well as I’ve gotten so much amazing feedback and interactions about this fic that I was slightly worried about how people would take the end. Speaking of feedback, and moving on to the more sappy stuff. My writing side blog has grown exuberantly since posting part 1 of fmo last year. It genuinely makes me emotional thinking about the little community that’s come from it. I hope to continue to make more stuff that I’m not only happy with, but further pushes said community ❤️❤️ if y’all have any hotd request let me know. Please reblog, like, and comment. As well as come chat in my inbox if you see something you like.

Slight housekeeping, though if you made it this far you probably already know. This fic does change the dance for self indulgent reasons (lol) and for the narrative of it all. This started as a cheating story and has sort of spun into something entirely else.

Fmo masterlist

Blog masterlist

Ninth moon of 129 AC

Rhaenyra’s voice could be heard from down the hall.

You wanted to reassure yourself that you had heard those screams before from Helaena, or even from yourself giving birth. But there was something so terribly guttural about the ones Rhaenyra was making.

As if outcome of the birth hung in the air. Lingering with the ghost of the past death that happened in the Red Keep. You try not to focus on the sheer look of panic on Jace’s face once you leave him at the door.

By the time you got to her chambers, Rhaenyra is already surrounded by midwives as she is hunched over, palms spread out against the wall. Midwives, and Alicent, whose face was terribly pale. Almost as drained of color as Rhaenyra. Her normally straight blonde hair wavy and stuck to her forehead with the sheen of her own sweat.

Alicent spots you, and gets away from her position from around her. She pulls you over to the side, but before she can even speak you interrupt her. The midwives begin to move Rhaenyra from her standing position to on the bed.

“Has this happened before,” you watch as Rhaenyra pleas lessen and lessen, her state becoming more sedated than what is probably normal.

Alicent shakes her head. Her auburn curls had been released for the night from the tight updo they were in earlier.

“No, at least not the first three,” she swallows hard before coming closer to you. “I fear - I fear this labor may go awry. I think we need to make preparations for if…”

The words catch in the back of Alicent’s throat. She is here with Rhaenyra; she has always been with Rhaenyra. Even when they were at odds; two ghosts haunting each other’s memories. Two sides of the same coin, causalities of the cruel fate. You want to feel sorry her; knowing that she is watching a close… companion go through this, but your mind has been elsewhere since earlier that day.

“Your son has made preparations,” you cross your arms. “All of them actually.”

Alicent brows furrow in confusion, and it dawns on you that Aemond and Aegon never clued their mother in on their little plan.

“You do not know, do you?”

“No, I do not know what your husband has been getting into. I rarely do these days.”

You and her both.

Rhaenyra lets out another groan.

“Where is Daemon,” you ask as Rhaenyra begins to mumble things incoherently to the midwives.

“He took one look at her, and left the room,” Alicent frowns. “She called for him but he went to get Jacaerys instead.”

And Jace came for you on the behest of Alicent. Tis the way of men you suppose. Often, they are absolute nuisance in situations like this, but you could not help but think that mayhaps if Daemon had stayed to seen her in this state, he would not put her through such things again. But that is giving him far more credit than you know he deserves.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra manages to mumble out the name louder. Her eyes fluttering open and shut.

Alicent instantly rushes over, dropping the conservation she has started with you.

As you watch Alicent coax Rhaenyra through this, her words ring out. Though she did not elaborate on what those plans should be, she was right. Aemond had taken the reigns from your hands plenty times before. Safety will not be completely ensured until any threat is taken out. You have never been to battle nor war, and even you know that. A slightly morbid thought creeps into your head.

If Rhaenyra dies, Aegon could descend the throne.

It was laughable for Rhaenyra, or anyone who supports her claim, to believe known bastards would follow her in the line of succession. Or that Daemon would not bypass Rhaenyra’s first three boy in order to ensure power for her last two. It would mean an all-out war between Aegon and Daemon… but maybe it did not have to go that far. Not if plans were made to undercut whatever moves you know Daemon could put into place.

They are all back in King’s Landing, no longer under the false tranquility they tried to spin at Dragonstone. Amongst their patrons who already have much to say about Rhaenyra’s still short reign.

Aegon on the throne would ensure the safety of all of the kids. And not only the kids, but the kingdom as a whole. A war of succession, especially including dragons, would only bring destruction. Rhaenyra’s boys would have a chance to swear obeisance after Daemon is out of the way, and if not, their presence will not be needed. Bastard blood being spilt is nothing compared to the life your children.

They could go back to Dragonstone and live their lives out there with young Egg and Viserys. With the possibility of Daemon for a father, they would be better off for it.

Your thoughts are broken by the midwives telling Rhaenyra to try and push.

There was already a significant amounts of blood trailing where Rhaenyra had been. Her pushes do little to soothe the position she is in. In frustration and pain, eventually Rhaenyra, much to the chagrin of the midwives and Alicent, shoos them all away. Reaching down to pull the babe out herself.

Letting out an already grief-stricken scream as she does it.

The air is sucked from the room as a gush of blood rushes out of Rhaenyra, followed by a tiny body.

A tiny… silent body. Wrapped in scales and slightly deformed.

No one speaks as they watch Rhaenyra pick up the baby from between her legs and rocks it as if trying to lure it into crying, into breathing. But nothing comes. Just silence, and the aches of a daughter stuck in the self-fulfilling prophecy of a mother that is no longer around.

It is not proper nor lady-like, and you can hear your own mother’s voice in the back of your telling you how rude it is in a time like this, but you just turn and leave. Without a word or peep. Suddenly feeling sick you go back down the hall, back to your chambers. Ignoring Jace who calls your name out in confusion by the sudden silence coming from his mother’s room.

By the time you make it back to the room, Aemond had gotten himself ready for bed. Completely casual as if the events earlier meant nothing to him.

“What’s happened,” he notices your ashen face.

You take one look at your husband, you think of your children away in a place foreign to them, and the stillborn baby Rhaenyra clutched in her arms.

The bile comes up quick. So quick you barely make I to the basin on the other side of the room. The dry heaving reminds you that you barely ate anything today, too worried about the task at hand.

You flinch when you feel a cold hand on your back. Shrugging Aemond’s hand off, you turn head with a glare.

“You made your move,” you mutter. “I’ll give you that. But now we are going to this my way. And Aemond, so help me, a single hair on those kid’s heads is harmed and I am not with them, I burn it all to the ground, you with it.”

You don’t know how and when, but you would do it for them if it came to that. You’d do anything for their safety. It may be time for others to realize that.

— — —

Princess Visenya Targaryen is set on the pyre a day and a half later. A small swaddled body lit on fire once Rhaenyra croaked out the words. Syrax blowing a mighty flame to burn Rhaenyra’s only little girl.

She was advised to stay in bed. Though her outward physical ailments had started to heal, it was clear Queen Rhaenyra was sick. Pale skin still prickling with sweat despite the cool air outside, dark bags starting to form under her eyes as she leans gently against the cane she was given.

You stand next to Aemond, Helaena, and Aegon. The only warm you feel from the fire in front on you.

It was slightly shocking when Helaena came up to you before the funeral with guilt written over her soft features.

“I just had… a funny feeling about the kids being here. I’m sorry.”

She knew.

You were not happy about once again feeling like you’re on the outside looking in with people you are supposed to call family. At least Helaena had the decency to feel ashamed by the omission. The decency to apologize. Guilt and Aemond is laughable being in the same sentence, and Aegon had been avoiding you. A thing that has not happened in months. Helaena was always right about these things; the scary part is that you all never really knew till the outcome already happened.

You run your hand over your black mourning dress. Peering out from under your veil, you make eye contact with Daemon across the fire.

Normally mirth filled eyes, and folly written all over his face had been replaced by an emptiness that scared you. Often, you had felt the unearned confidence and ambition around you was just noblemen living up to an expectation put on by others around them. But a Daemon, already known for his rogue behavior, feeling emboldened by the death of his brother, daughter, and the newly weakened state of his wife, made you nervous.

Only compounded when you think about the conversation shared at Dragonstone. Your loyalty was not expected, but even demanded. You can’t help but wonder if the kids not being around has only put a fiercer target on your back, or even on theirs.

You look over at Aegon - messy hair, bored expression, purple circles under his eyes. But he is no worse for wear compared to Rhaenyra.

If it one thing you have learned since being around this family, it is appearances often make up for everything. Slap a smile and nice outfit on, and people tend to believe what they see versus what is underneath the surface.

The funeral ends, and you make a sharp beeline towards Otto.

“I need to run something past you.”

You rake your knuckles against Aegon’s door, and get reply in return. You do it again, this time with more vigor, slightly embarrassed at Ser Arryk just watching you pound away.

“He is in there,” you question, turning to him.

“The last time I checked, he was my lady.”

The last time he checked?

You supposed not ever sworn protector can be as diligent as Quinton, and not every subject can be well behaved.

“Aegon,” you knock once more.

Blowing out frustrated air through your mouth, you turn to go but the door eventually swings open.

His hair is crumpled on one side, shirt unbuttoned, and reeking of wine. It had not hit you that he may be with someone.

“If you are… predisposed, I apologize. I can come back”

A dopey grin breaks out of face, before he hitched the door open wider. “No one is with me. Oh, dovelet were you worried about that?”

You look over to see Arryk raise a brow at you. You push at Aegon, further annoyed. “Go.” Forcing him back into his chambers.

“Everyone is so touchy today.”

You were there, before the funeral, when Alicent fussed at him about going to it. About trying to look engaged, which he clearly did not. You think about the conversation you had with Otto in his office.

“He is not going to like it. He has long come to terms with not wanting to be king.”

“But his wants are of no concern to you now, are they?”

When put that way, you can’t help but feel a bit bad. But it is true. What Aegon wants right now means little to you. He will eventually learn to like it, and if not like it, he will learn to tolerate it. The way others have to tolerate their fate in life. We are all stuck in the same miserable cycle; the only difference is some of us will not be able to call ourselves King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“We need to talk about some things.”

“Black is one your colors,” he changes the subject. “You should wear it more often.”

“Aegon, I’m serious,” you pinch your nose.

“Is this about the kids? I thought you would be happy they are out of harm’s way.”

“They are not out of harm’s way,” your voice raises, and this is not going the way it was supposed to.

You must push him with a gently hand. A woman’s touch.

There was a something slimy about how Otto ended the conversation. Sending you to Aegon to enact a woman’s touch… whatever that meant.

“But they could be,” you lower your voice. “If - If there was someone else at the helm. None of us would have to worry about their safety. About our safety.”

Aegon give you a funny look before flopping down on his bed.

He is drunk so he may not remember any of this by next morning. You sit next to him on the bed.

“There is no running from this. Despite what you may say, you know you would not be able to live with yourself if you left your family, your kids. Aegon, you are too smart not to know what this is all coming to.”

Though not something you voiced yourself, running was an option that crossed your mind. Finding a way out to Oldtown, grabbing your kids, and running. The logistics seemed all to wash away when the word dragon comes along. Traveling with two young kids would be difficult enough, managing to travel discretely with a giant dragon would not work. You don’t know how you would tell Daella to leave Vermithor.

And then a chill would run up your spine. Where could you go where he would not find you on dragon back?

The two of you sit in silence before Aegon sighs softly.

“Share a drink with me,” Aegon whispers. “Before we all die.”

It makes you laugh. Because that is all you can do at the folly that is your life. You nod softly.

The wine is a Dornish Red. Sweet, warm, and sultry tasting drink. It reminds you of the look Aegon is giving you.

Alicent peaks her head into the door.

“Rhaenyra,” she sees baby Aegon and Viserys sitting on their mother’s bed. Both babbling away over each other. Rhaenyra weakly waves her in. Both Egg and Viserys give Alicent tiny little bows. They do it to everyone, even those who technically do not have the same amount of power toddlers do. Bowing at guards, nursemaids, and court members alike.

The boys are eventually escorted out by one of the maids, but not until they both tell Alicent about the flock of lizards they found in the garden. It’s sweet, Alicent thinks. Reminds her of when her kids were that age. Not yet tainted or disrupted by the life around them. Alicent supposes she also has herself to blame for that when it comes to own children.

Both boys not understanding the position their mother is in. She knows that Rhaenyra is grateful at least two of her kids are not aware of her vulnerable state.

“How are you feeling,” Alicent sits at the edge of the bed next to her, taking in scattering of notes around Rhaenyra. Members of Rhaenyra’s small council have written notes for Rhaenyra to read while she is abed. From things as simple as the mouse problem in the Red Keep to things more serious. Like the Shepherd’s continued teachings; this week sermon’s going as far to say the death of the Visenya was an act of the Gods. That this is Rhaenyra’s punishment. Punishment for the dragon, the incest, the Targaryen of it all.

Alicent makes sure to only visit Rhaenyra when she knows she will not run into Daemon. He flaunted around the castle as if he has never left. Still the same air of arrogance and fire, only now swathed under a layer of coolness. The passing of Viserys, clearly leading him in a quieter path.

So many awful things lead back to that man. Alicent is sure of it.

All Rhaenyra can do is give a small smile and the shake of the head.

“A bit better now that you’re here.”

Alicent just ducks her head shyly.

Rhaenyra was always good at that, making Alicent feel like she was a girl again. Ten and four and completely out of her depth when it came to her feelings. An issue she worries she still has not gained control over.

“I am thinking of naming Daemon protector of the realm,” she then croaks out. “I do not know how much I can get done while in this bed. Watching it all crumble beneath me.”

Naivety. It is the only word that comes Alicent’s mind when it comes to how Rhaenyra handles Daemon. Ironically, it is the same way Otto describes her relationship with Rhaenyra. Her father never forgets a chance the remind her the nostalgia of girlhood, and security she wraps in Rhaenyra. The same way Alicent does not know if Rhaenyra has convinced herself that Daemon’s will head her council above anyone’s else is her true feelings, is the same way Alicent does not know if she holds onto the good parts of Rhaenyra because they still exist. Or because without holding onto them, she would be again flailing and alone. Once again left with the cold, empty feelings that comes with duty above else.

The only person Alicent saw ever cut Daemon down to size is now dead, rotting and finally silent. If Rhaenyra thinks the bond, she had with Daemon is anything more than him trying to hold onto the last semblances of Viserys he could find, she has been sorely mistaken.

“Mayhaps, you should speak that over with the rest of your council,” she pushes the duvet further over Rhaenyra. It is not her job to advise. She doesn’t know if she has it in her advising another clueless monarch. Another seemingly well meaning, but headstrongly clueless monarch. Rhaenyra gets her same propriety from her father.

Rhaenyra is not a bad person. The same way many people would say Viserys was not a bad person. But when all things are said and done, Viserys will be remembered as peaceful. Alicent worries history will not give the same charitable read to Rhaenyra. Who fumbles and doubles down on her bad actions in the way she learned from her father. Terribly misguided in each path they take, paying no mind to the carnage left behind.

Too much trust in Daemon. A fault both will have to live with or die by.

“Everything will be fine, once I recover,” she takes note of Alicent’s distant eyes. “It will be alright.”

You look so much like your father when you lie to me. So much like him with false hope and no tact. They riot in the streets over your reign already, and you are sure it will be alright.

Alicent just squeezes Rhaenyra’s hand. The way she used to when she used to get the urge to pick at her hands. She looks around the room. Rhaenyra, now laying in the same bed her father did before her. Alicent just hopes the morbid memories of Viserys do not haunt her in the way Aemma’s ghost still haunts Alicent to this day.

Aemma was right, and they did not even know it at the time. The birthing bed was their battlefield. And it feels like it is all catching up to them.

It has been a few minutes since your parents welcomed you into their parents, and in those few minutes your mother has done nothing but pick at your hair and fret over your outfit.

The sun was at its height in the sky, brightness peaking through their windows. This morning you woke up, and did what have for the past couple of days. Remember your children are not there for you to kiss and hug, and look over at your sleeping husband. Multiple ways of smothering him popping into your head.

“Wearing your hair back makes you look so severe, my darling,” she fiddles with bun. Your hand goes up the move it way. “And grey is not slimming on everyone.”

“Yes mother,” you try to grin and bear like you have always done. Your resolve faltered when she gushed about how lovely of a father Aemond was for wanting the kids to spend more time with their uncle, the excuse the both of you had parroted whenever someone asked here Daella and Alaric were.

“I think it may be best, if both of you go back home,” you sit both of them down. “I just worry that things may get a bit hectic, and I would feel better if you both were far from it.”

They both give you a curious look. There is only so much you can say without giving all away. Your father gets up and pulls you to the side.

“There has been… rumblings,” he mutters. “About the Queen and her state.”

He chooses his words wisely. As if he was worried others are listening.

“I want you to know that whatever path may arrive. The full backing of the house is behind it. Your uncle and I will make sure of that. If there was a change in power.”

Tears pinch and sting your eyes. It should be reassuring but it only makes you realizing that backing comes at the whim of others. This will always come back to who is ruling, and who people think should rule.

That is why you married Aemond right? To be put in the best position for your house.

“Thank you, father.”

He kisses you on the cheek, before leaving. You turn towards your mother who sits on the bench in front of the bed.

“I do hope your little excursion has renewed your spirit,” she gets up. “Your husband seemed just beside himself after you left. No wife, no children around. I can only imagine how hard that was for him.” You just stand there as she comes towards you. She stares at you for a moment, taking in your new dark dress, and hair. You cannot tell if the look is unimpressed, or filled with sadness. Your mother’s faces tend to blur together into nothingness.

“Of course, that is what you took from it,” you mutter.

“What was that, lamb?” Another hand runs over your hair.

“Nothing, mother.”

Your mother laughs a bit, in that cold, jilted way she does. The joy never reaching her eyes.

“It’s always been that way. Sweet with him, distant with me.”

You stare at her in slight shock, slight mortification when she leans back. Is that how she’s read the situation? You choosing your father over her. Not the paralyzing fear that came with having to please her. The heart arching want to make her proud of you, even at the expense of your own wants.

“You made it that way. I - you sent me away to - to this place and -“

“Oh, here we go. You got married to a Prince, you had your babies, and I am still the evil mother.”

She bows her head as is she about to cry. Initiatively, you put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not evil,” you don’t understand how the conversation how switcher so fast. How now you have to the one to comfort her. “We just don’t see certain things the same way.”

An understatement.

“Mayhaps, I was never meant to be a mother,” she looks up, eyes dry. She says it so casually.

“What?”

“I should have taken the hint after the first miscarriage. But your father just begged and begged about wanting a child.”

You just watch in horror.

She runs another hand over your hair, nagging on the bun and frowns.

“Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers. Too headstrong for it, too weak for it,” there is an air of pity when she says it.

She leans in, and her breath hits your ears. “Be careful, my lamb. The softer the heart, the harder the fall.”

You swallow hard. She’s fed a poison that is hard to be weaned off.

— — —

Leaving the room, in a slight daze. Softly shuffling the opposite way of your chambers, and up the large stairs. You had promised Rhaenyra you would come see her soon.

The only thing that breaks you out the trance is the heavy footsteps of Daemon. You stop and lower your head in acknowledgment.

“My prince, I have not been able to catch you to give my condolence.”

Daemon hums. You’ve noticed how he walks around with Dark Sister attached firmly on his hip. Sometimes sheathed, other times unsheathed as he leans against as some sort of crutch.

“I suppose I should be sending you sorrows too,” a small smile on his face. You tilt your head in confusion.

“Your children.”

Your blood runs a bit cold.

“They are just with their uncle. Taking it the beauty of Oldtown. We want them to see many parts of the realm.”

“With Vermithor?”

You just nod. “You must know how important the bond is between dragon and dragon rider. More importantly during these early stages.”

Daemon’s mirth grows as he comes closer. “I do remember our conversation. About how your loyalty would be not only expected but rewarded. I would absolutely hate to see anyone get hurt, especially as our queen is recovering.”

You smile, brightly and sound.

“Of course, it would be quite a shame if anyone was putting their own needs ahead of Queen Rhaenyra’s. Those close to her must be diligent, and kind.”

The two of you exchange more fake smiles before he steps around you, sword glistening under the flicker of flames in the hallway.

Trying to compose yourself as you make your way to the master chambers. You are slightly relieved by the changes that were made by the time Rhaenyra arrived and settled in. The model Viserys spent even his last days speaking about that collected dust had been removed. Different drapes that let the sun in, the furniture moved around a bit, and the smell. Thank Gods, the smell was different.

The smell of rotting, and noxious air replaced by something a little sweeter. You know that Alicent would come in daily and light different incense for Rhaenyra.

The guards let you in, and she is still in the same place she, day after day, the large canopy bed. The bed you see Viserys lay in as you visit him with Daella and or Alaric.

“Rhaenyra,” you pull back the certain a bit, to let light in. “Have you eaten today?”

You walk over and lay a hand on her forehead. She is burning up. Her fever spiking again. All you get is a groan and the shake of the head.

“Rhaenyra, you need to eat something.”

She just gestures toward the table. Different tonics, drinks, and glasses on top of it. You walk over to see tea as well as a familiar milky substance on it.

You remembered seeing how Viserys was when he was on milk of the poppy. Hells, you understood the strength of it, and you only took it while having Daella and Alaric.

It was the beauty and ugliness of the drug once it was taken too much. The pain was gone, but then came a new problem - the grogginess of the mind and withdrawals.

“The Queen only needs five dops of it,” said the maester, a sour look on his face once asked to leave when you visited her a few days ago.

In all her paranoia, Rhaenyra had asked only those closest to her to help administer it. Not trusting the maesters the very same way she did when it came to Viserys. Out of part guilt of what she just went through, and frankly fear, you agreed when she asked you. But now, as you feel the tides changing once again for the battle for power, your hands shake a bit applying the remedy to her tea.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five….. Six. Seven. Eight.

Before you can change your mind, you a twist cap back on the milk of the poppy.

You walk back to the bed, giving a pale Rhaenyra a strained smile. “Let’s sit you up.”

Rhaenyra winces, eyes in a faraway stare as you help her lean up in the bed. The same bed she had been beholden to for the past week. You bring goblet to her lips and watch her all but chug most of it.

A part of you wants to say a prayer to the Father. Perhaps he will forgive you for all that will happen beyond this point. Understanding how stray animals often act when they are backed into a corner. Teeth bared and fighting for their lives.

She will name him Protector of the Realm if she stays abed any longer. Despite the mistreatment, Daemon has always had a way about him when it came to Rhaenyra. I have no way to stop it. Did not back then, and do not now.

Guilt only mounts when you think about the sadness in Alicent’s eyes when she said that. But then you think about your daughter’s laugh or the wide-eyed innocence of your son, and the guilt fades. All that is left is resentment. A deep hole where you think your heart used to be.

You have to shudder thinking about anyone from this family sitting the throne but at least you know some options are more… malleable than others.

“I can come back to give you more when you need it,” you brush a stray hair behind Rhaenyra’s ear. “Maybe I can read to you too.”

She gives you a tired smile, and nod before her eyes begin to flutter. You watch as her breathing labors as she drifts into a hazy state. In and out of sleep. Here she lays, a victim of the birthing bed like her mother. Ill equipped, and far too foolish to see the damage she will leave behind like her father.

“What is all of this?”

You walk into your chambers to find a table of food in the room. Aemond hops up from the bed. You take a look at the array of breads, and sweets on the table.

“All this for me,” you question, popping one of the lemon candies on a lemon cake in your mouth. “How romantic. The last time I had the pleasure of such a spread, you were telling me you got your mistress pregnant and it sent me into excruciating labor.”

Aemond face falls, and for a moment you understand what it has been like for him the past few years of marriage. To hold power over him, even if it is small and fleeting in the moment. Dangling kindness in front of his face to rip it away for no reason other than you can.

You continue to pick at the food, as Aemond just stares.

“Are you gonna say what this all about or just stare with that silly look on your face?”

His face flashes from sad stoicism something a bit angrier. Ah, that’s your husband.

“I am trying to mend things with you, and all I ge-“

“Oh, that is your first mistake,” you hold up a finger. “Well, not the first. You know your first. But trying to mend something that was never there to begin with? And with food that I could get myself. You’re smarter than that Aemond,” you tut at him.

“So, what now? We spend the rest of our days hating each other?”

If we even get that far.

“It has worked for others,” you shrug.

“It won’t for you,” he rebuts. “The hate will eat you alive. You’ll be miserable.”

Promise?

He speaks as if he is so sure of it. As like Helaena does at times, he has seen into a murky future, and pulled this out. You utterly miserable as you let that dark voice in your head play out all your morbid desires.

“But you would like that, wouldn’t you,” you think about the look he gave you when you wanted to reach for his knife. “Why else would you put through all of this but to make me as miserable as you are?”

It hang on the tip of your tongue. You could push you luck again, and tell him that she is gone, and never to be seen again. Twist the knife that you already have point at his back. But then you would have to be sure of things yourself. Dreams have dissolved into nightmares. Blood mixing the salty water of Dragonstone.

Then you wake and Otto’s words ring in your head. He took care of it. Now you are left trying to sort out the mess of memories that makes up your head. Guilt, anger, and sadness all managing fuck with your head in ways you could not imagine.

You eye the wine on the table. As much you admonish Aegon for it, you do get why he turned to it from such a young age.

The few hours of solace it gives is wonderful. Fleeting but necessary when everything else becomes too loud. Too much.

“It was not an absence in you. It was one in us… in me,” he looks so young when he says it. It almost reminds you of him when he ten and five. Fresh off a growth spurt. Terribly shy, terribly distant. But that was before. Before the expectation of marriage, of children and semblances of loyalty and care.

That boy is gone, and you are surely not the girl you were once you came to King’s Landing. You mourn that girl, the way you mourn the boy Aemond was before he lost his eye. You did not know him then but you always wonder what strings in him broke when that happened. An unjust act with no reconciliation to follow. If any of that led up to the man standing before you today.

“Well, at least that is something we can agree on,” you look down, trying to get rid of the hot tears in your eyes.

You have spent time trying to build up an armor in front of him. You’d hate to have it crack now.

“My grandsire told me about your little plan.”

It makes you look up. Aemond’s arms are crossed in skepticism.

“Your sister’s health is declining rapidly. Aegon needs to ready himself for this.”

“And he has agreed?”

“Your brother will fall in line as he realizes this is the only way to keep those dear to him safe,” you fiddle with the chocolate tart. “He already has actually.”

Helaena and him took a trip to one of the orphanages down in the Red Keep. It is about time people outside of this castle get a look at those in power. Aemond still does not look convinced.

“Does that upset you? The thought of him being king?”

“No more than it does having my useless sister or foolish nuncle on the throne.”

“What, no mention of the bastards technically in front you for the throne right now,” you think the joke falls flat till Aemond narrows his eye, and tilts his head to side in merriment. You have to do a bit of double take at the slight smirk on his face.

“You danced with one of those bastards.”

So, he remembers that.

“A tactical move,” you roll your eyes. “And when I advise Rhaenyra and Jacaerys that he should go back to Dragonstone as the new heir to the Irone Throne and Prince of Dragonstone, it would have payed off.”

“Leaving Rhaenyra as she’s abed, and stuck with Daemon? How would you manage that?”

“I can be quite convincing,” you shrug. “Not that you would understand.”

He takes another dig on chin, uncharacteristically good natured this day, but he gives you that look. The look where you don’t know whether he wants to skin you or kiss you. No one really has ever looked in the way Aemond has. As if he sees nothing of what you’re really made of while managing to look right through you at the same time.

“Better yet, I may even tell Baela and Rhaena that they should take this time to be with grandmother and grandfather, especially as Corlys may stand a similar fate as Rhaenyra.”

“What about the other one,” Aemond frowns.

Your brows furrow in confusion before it dawns on you. Both him and Lucerys had done a good job of avoiding each other since you all came back from Dragonstone. But you can tell the tiptoeing has created strain and awkwardness for everyone.

“If Baela and Jace are gone with Moondancer and Vermax in toe, that just leaves a clearly petrified Luke and Arrax. I think Vhagar, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre can handle that, no?”

Aemond raises a brow. “You want them to die?”

“I don’t want anyone to die,” well that’s not entirely true, and the look Aemond gives you lets you in that he does not believe that as well. “As few casualties as possible is the goal. They can swear to Aegon when the time comes or be put the King’s Justice. As of now, we should take advantage of the uncertainty that rest amongst everyone.”

Aemond laughs, like really laughs. It takes you for surprise, and only upsets you. He laughs as if he finds your thoughts funny in the way seeing a squirrel run up a tree is funny. “What?”

“Nothing…. Lady Hightower.”

You scoff and throw the pieces of the fruit on the table at him. “Fuck off.”

“You make those faces and turn up your nose at Aegon being king, but you and I both know you will be the first to defend his throne,” you throw a strawberry at him but this time he catches it and eats it. “This is all for the kids, right? It is why they are not here, away from their mother?”

“They are away from their father as well. For their safety.”

You just hum.

“I want to write to them. They did not even get to say goodbye.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“I do not care, Aemond,” you raise your voice.

There is a knock at the door and Quinton comes in with a note in his hand. He eyes the food on the table as you read the note. It is from your father, assuring you about your parents soon departure back to the Riverlands.

“Are you alright,” he whispers. You nod softly. Quinton had been hovering somewhere in the background whenever Aemond was around, especially with the children gone. Clearly not trusting him around you.

Quinton should probably be more worried you around him. His cape swishes behind him when he goes to leave the room.

“You can write to them when the timing is better,” Aemond continues once you two are alone again.

The timing is never right. Not with him, not the with situation you are in.

The end of ninth moon of 129 AC

As you walk down the hall, a soft hand brushes against your arm.

“Are sure you are alright,” Quinton’s voice rings in your head, and tickles your ears softly.

“Of course,” you give fake smile, tilt of the head. He stops in the middle of the empty hall. Though he is your sworn protestor, you feel it is best to keep Quinton on the fringes unless needed otherwise. The less he knows, the safer he is you assume.

“I know you are not well without your children around,” he sighs. “But I would not want you to… sully yourself with things before you can get back to them.”

Sully. You take a long look at Quinton. There is something sweet about the way he views you. Entirely too earnest at time but sweet. You wish you could tell him he had nothing to worry about, and meant it. The pedastal he puts you on, my would it be a hard and long fall.

“I appreciate the concern, but I am ok,”’you reach up to touch his cheek. “You will be the first to know.”

He gives a half-hearted nod before then both of you continue your way to Rhaenyra’s chambers. When you get there the maidservants are beginning to place lights out in the hall for the night.

When you walk in, Rhaenyra is perched where she has been for some time now. Fiddling with the books on the shelf in the corner of the room.

“Maybe something a bit more upbeat. A love story,” you whisper. You go sit next to her on bed, flipping through the large brown book in your hand.

Rhaenyra begins to mumble as you shush her softly.

“It’s ok,” you reach over for the cup next to her bed. Sniffing the cup, you take note of how differently it smells compared to the tea and milk of the poppy mixture you used to.

The tonic seems different, stronger than usual. You put it to her lips and watch Rhaenyra drink it. You wipe her mouth. Even if this weakened state, you find her tragically beautiful. Like a fallen Angel. She resembles her siblings in that regard.

“I need - I need,” her eyes flutter open and shut. “The Prince that was Promised.”

You frown.

“Aeg- Aegon…”

“Your brother?”

“Tell Jacaerys.”

She trails off. Your back straightens as you watch as Rhaenyra’s eyes close, and her breathing slow.

The Prince that was Promised… Aegon.

You lean down and kiss her forehead. Mayhaps, in another life things could’ve been different for her. For her siblings, for her children, for you… for your kids. Climbing off the side of the bed, you gently tuck Rhaenyra in.

When you walk out, you see Quinton standing at attention. You motion for him to come with.

“I need you to do go get Otto,” you mummer. “We have business to get to.”

You cannot see the look Quinton gives you as move to walk ahead of him, and to that you are grateful.

Sullying is your only other option.

In the tenth moon 129 AC, the bell connected to the Royal Sept tolled for thee.

The death of Queen Rhaenyra, First of her Name, sent ripples through the Realm. But that was just beginning of the great strife that would follow her passing. A years peaceful period of reign for the Targaryen family ended by infighting.

Histories will say the first problem came the moment the then Princess and heir decided to sire bastard heirs. Others would say it began the moment, Rhaenyra left her succession vulnerable to her young brother. Not ending his line the moment she had the chance to.

Throughout her short reign as queen, there were festering rumors of usurping. That Lord Otto Hightower would hold secret meetings planning for the best moment to strike to get his grandson son on the throne. Others dispirited this claim, saying that the Dowager Queen Alicent’s afflictions for Queen Rhaenyra would never let that happen.

Ironically, it was not the death of the Rhaenyra is not the official start of what would later be called the Dance of Dragons. Instead the death of Prince’s Aemond One-Eye Targaryen’s lady wife’s parents triggered the domino affect. An escalation of plans.

Most would say the overflipped carriage was a tragic accident, but others whispered about something more serious. An inside attack from a member of the Targaryen family themselves. It was this tragedy that led to a public outcry from the members of the house in the Riverlands, coupling with the public crowning of a new king.

It was Ser Criston Cole, member of the Kingsguard, who crowed King Aegon, Second of his Name, in a private ceremony. Only flanked by his new crowned Queen Helaena, Prince Aemond and his wife, and Lord Hightower. King Aegon was crowned in front of the septon of faith, dawning his namesakes crown.

Back on Dragonstone, Jacaerys Velaryon recieved the news of not only his mother’s death, but also the usurping. Except it was not allies with the news, but foes. Jacaerys was slain at the footsteps of the castle.

It is still debated which side has more to gain to having Jace out of the way. King Aegon or Prince Daemon. But in the end, it was the later who eventually set up him home base at Dragonstone. Fleeing under the watchful eye of his spies in the Red Keep. With only two of his sons with him.

Both sides strategizing their moves. Daemon labeling Aegon and his supporters traitors to the realm, while Aegon set out to kill his uncle himself in given the chance. Under the insistence that it was him who accerlated Rhaenyra’s already bad condition.

Support the amongst the realm split as some supporter the efforts of the new king, far more open to his tactics than one of the Rogue Prince or Rhaenyra’s Bastards. While others scoffed at the boldness of Aegon the Usurper.

Those called on the opinions of the sons that remained at King’s Landing. Rumors of the Lucerys and Joffrey Velaryon being chained arriving. But it was not Daemon who negotiated the release of the boys. It was members of House Velaryon.

But there was one condition. It would be Baela and Rhaena, of both House Targaryen and Velaryon, that recieved equal titles after the passing of Corlys. Lucerys would be stripped of title of heir to the Driftmark Throne. It was rumored that this was not a cruel twist of fate from team green, but instead a plea from Lucerys himself.

It was Rhaena Targaryen, in all her wisdom, that worked through the terms. With a heavy heart, and no more bloodshed in her pleas. The more bold sister of the twins, Baela, had other plans. Sensing the release of Lucerys and Joffrey was a trap. She climbed on top of Moondancer, despite the calls not, and made her way closer to King’s Landing herself. But she was not alone. Her grandmother was with her.

Never one to sit from a battle himself, it was King Aegon who climbed his dragon to take them both on. All three dragon and riders fought diligently. Moondancer sustaining life ending injuries, while both Sunfyre and Aegon were injured at battle. But the most costly lost came at the hand of the One-Eyed Prince himself. Taking out Rhaenys and Meleys before further injury could come to his brother.

Enraged at the news of the death of Moondancer, and the almost costly lost of Baela, Daemon began his March. But he also had other plans at play. In efforts to lure the new Prince Regent out of the castle, he sent spies to Oldtown. Where not only Prince Daeron worked with all of Reach to support King Aegon. But also where the young Prince watched over his younger nieces and nephews.

There was an attempt to take the Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Aegon and Alaric Targaryen, son of Aemond. But the plan was thwarted by a terrible beast. Vermithor lurched and lured over Oldtown like a tower himself. His flames as green as the Hightower Beacon. Highly protective over his new rider and those close to her. At just six and seventh month, Daella Targaryen was feared as her father.

Still not wanting to be outdone, Daemon sets his sights towards not only Harrenhal, but another certain house in the Riverlands. His march pillaging those close to Aemond’s wife. Still grieving the lost of parents and seperated from her children, it was rumored the lady became more quiet, drowning herself in her cups.

It was she, with Queen Mother Alicent and Queen Helaena, who pleaded for Aemond to not take the bait. But it was too no vail. After he heard of the attempted kidnapping, he set out with men of his own.

His march mirroring his uncle’s not only through the Stormlands but as well as the Riverlands. There were whispers of inhabitants at Harrenhal. It is still speculated by both Daemon and Aemond did not burn the structure to the ground, when they had to chance. Tales would be written of a certain magic soiling the ground. Keeping safe from harm.

Though those tales are all rumors, what was undeniably true, is that two Targaryen princes breathed their last breaths over God’s Eye on the sixth moon of 130 AC. No one saw the battle, but the sound of snapping dragons and the sight of green and red flames that called attention.

Vhagar and Aemond both fought a valiant effort but it the wounds to both proved to be to substantial. Aemond Targaryen died on top of his crowned dragon. The burns from Vhagar burning Daemon beyond repair.

When their deaths made it back to the Red Keep, the halls recount the Queen Mother tearing her hair in anguish, calling for the deaths of not only everyone who supported Daemon, but Aegon the younger and Viserys alike.

A story of crowns and iron thrones whittled down to death and fire. The grief felt by team green only compounded by the body of Aemond’s lady wife found charred in their chambers. It was Ser Quinton, her sworn protector, who lived to tell the story of having to fight off several guards before it was too late. In a matter of days, Daella and Alaric Targaryen missing from their places in Oldtown.

Both jobs speculated to be last minute plans carried about for Daemon Targaryen, done by his loyal Gold Cloaks. It is said that King Aegon never fully recovers from the death of not only his brother, but his good sister. Punishing those he deems responsible once he comes to.

But there are merchants in Essos that believe they have spotted a beautiful lady hand in hand with her children. One with sparkling white hair, the other with blonde streaks through her dark curls.

taglist:  @florent1s @floraroselaughter @afro-hispwriter @snh96@holy-minseok @voniikg @evienorville @tremendouswolfsaladranch @crispmarshmallow @strawbrryquinn @widemiffyhappy @msmarvel-19 @dc-marvel-girl96 @xkennobi @fanfics4ever@hydrationqueensworld @lyra689 @blazzlynch @httyd-marauders@bregarc @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @mercedesdecorazon@flowerpotmage @bstorn @poisonedsultana @papery-maniac @its-sam-allgood @yu3kkii @hvx @leoramage @neenieweenie@stargaryenx @rey26 @lazypinkpig @blackravena @s0urmarvel@elleclairez @rebelfleur22 @inpraizeof @luvremlu @clora95@blacpiink @let-love-bleeds-red @iwanttohitmyself @alastorhazbin@kitkat-writes-stuff @carrielle @aloneatpeace @ensolleildelune@landlockedmermaid77 @deadunicorn59

[fyreflys]

What's your headcanon for Katniss and Peeta's children?

How old was Katniss when give birth to their daughter?

How many years apart between them in age?

Your headcanon for their name?

Who gets the singing and art skill from their parent?

Bonus question : please give recs of your fav everlark post-Mockingjay fanfic.

Thank you :)

@curiousthg

OH BOI BABAY. This has been sitting in my inbox for a while & I’m finally getting to it.

I have a LOT to say about the toast babies. Katniss and Peeta have them when they are 24 or 26 (not 25- don’t ask me why, I don’t know). Their names are Willow and Rowan (or Rye, which I Think Suzanne said somewhere that was the official name for their son. I like both).

Willow is born first. Willow as in a willow tree, (Also from the story of the Willow that Katniss’s dad tells her-unless I’m totally just making that up) which often are seen as a symbol of new life, regrowth, overcoming hardships, and sometimes for peace. I think all of these qualities exhibit important aspects of Katniss and Peeta’s story.

She has long blond curls, her father’s freckles, her mother’s eyes and smile, and she constantly reminds Katniss of Prim. She’ll make facial expressions, or say or do things that remind Katniss so much of Prim, and it will make her miss her sister, but also make her happy that her sister is clearly living on through her daughter. She inherits Peeta’s drawing/artistic abilities, but she’s also really good at gardening and knowing plants/herbs and stuff (she’s definitely a future doctor). She’s just as stubborn and hard headed as her parents, and when she puts her mind to something she GETS THAT SHIT DONE! She’s also a massive sweetheart and VERY charming, just like her daddy. She’s also a decent singer, but she doesn’t like to do it often.

Rowan is born 1.5-2.5 years after Willow. I like this name for a LOT of reasons, and that’s why I chose it as their first son’s name in my Everlark fic. Rowan trees are in the Rosaceae family (aka, the ROSE family- kind of a tribute to Prim), and are in a lot of Celtic/norse/British isles religions. It often stands for protection (usually against supernatural forces in many religions), and were often planted around burial sites to protect the dead. They are also very hardy trees that can grow just about anywhere. Also, Rowan trees have berries…(thinking of their first games, & the berries…) listen I could go ON and ON and ON about the many mythological stories connected to Rowan trees but I will leave it at that. (There’s even some thoughts about them predicting the amount of snow there will be in the winter, or how bountiful the rye harvests will be)

Rowan has dark hair and olive skin like his mother, and his father’s blue eyes and smile and freckles. He loves to bake with his father, but he also has his mother’s ability with the bow and he’s good at hunting. He has a very witty/sarcastic sense of humor (he spends a lot of time with Haymitch), but a very kind heart. He can sing just as good as his mother, and he reminds Katniss a lot of her father. He also reminds Peeta of his brothers, in the way he smiles and his competitive nature.

POST MOCKINGJAY FIC RECS:

Swan Upon Leda [my fic on AO3, 74k words & ongoing, explicit] — the fic where Everlark aren’t together yet, Katniss is pregnant during the Quarter Quell, Peeta isn’t supposed to know but then figures it out, Peeta never gets taken by the Capital and hijacked, and they try to live their “happily ever after”

The Unrecorded Hours [by hollycomb on fanfic.net, 24k words, explicit] — Peeta is certain Katniss doesn't actually want him. And she’s enraged by the fact that she does. They’re both horny as hell but too stubborn and dealing with too much trauma to figure it out properly. Until they finally do. (Seriously such a good fic I literally almost cried at the ending it’s fucking perfect & so well done)

Sun is Gonna Shine [by monroeslittle on fanfic.net, 12k words, explicit] — Despite Katniss’s reluctance, they have a baby. (And it’s gorgeous & Haymitch made me sob)

[papabigtoes]

PAPABIGTOES!!!! DROP ANOTHER PLANET PISSED CHAPTER AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!

TWILL BE READY SOONER THAN LATER M’LORDS

I usually post updates 2 chapters at a time (I feel like the first part is like the appetizer before the entree), but due to the fact this last update has taken so dang long, I’m going to be posting the first chapter of the two once it’s finished ahead of the other (although scenes for the second half have been rendered through) The good news is that the chapter posted after this one wont be as long of a wait, and is already completely written with some visuals done as is!

The bad news is, the wait isn’t due to some massive reveal, I’m afraid! I’m in the process of some intensive therapy to finally get childhood memories to stop haunting me. So half of my free time now is occupied on just *bein’*

This next chapter coming up is cookin and both chapters should be out this summer (i count end of august- early sept as still summer for the later half). The one coming up is very mature and crass, so the notes and warnings for discretion will be as always *heavily advised*. It’ll be Salacia trying his best to be the New Will Murder, to find out Dethklok hasn’t heard anything about his press tour due to being at Deus Keep (a hint for the second half, containin Nathan and the gang)

In the meantime, here’s a little sneak peak of the next chapter;

I’ll be posting more wips in time, if anyone who is waiting wants me to clarify anything in the plot, or has questions, don’t hesitate to ask, this yeti’s inbox is always open!

[writingforfishes]

Otto and Atticus Lore 1: Mark's Hangover

The inspiration for this story came at the most inconvenient time. I was at work and as the images and sounds came to me, I had to fight hard to make it appear like I was actually present. The drive home was only successful because I had taken the way home so many times before as I was still stuck in the headspace. I mad-dashed this story when I got to my computer and ended up staying awake way too long to complete it. I edited it and changed it this morning.

This was NOT the story I was intending to create next! I hope it holds up tomorrow when I read over it after I've posted it!

I was also not intending on making a separate series on the lore of these two characters, but the asks in my inbox made me think about their pasts and inspired some deeper consideration on the plots and thoughts I already had in mind.

Disclaimers: This is a work of FANTASY. Otto and Atticus are such a good couple because I need them to be a good couple. This is not, for the most part, realistic. (Also, I don't even have a tambour style mantel clock, nor did anyone in my family.)

I don't know anyone who has a kink specifically for watching someone get aroused. If that kink does exist (or is just a normal way of people reacting), I'm completely unfamiliar with it and have created a possible fictional representation of a kink. Thus, any of Otto's thoughts are extrapolated from ideas I thought would be plausible. (I am very asexual.)

If anyone is familiar with the series Otto's character was based on, this is basically a rewrite of similar character dynamics. I give real-world reasons for the fantasy content in the series to have happened. I know nothing of police procedure or detective procedure.

I do not have alcoholism. I know a few people who are alcoholics, but I don't have personal experience with the feeling of being an alcoholic and the emotions that surround the disease. If I'm misrepresenting something here, I apologize.

CW (there will probably be quite a few in this one):

Representation of a hangover from an emotional drinking binge.

Allusion to Otto's past as an alcoholic and reflection as a recovering alcoholic.

Allusion to Otto's falling off the wagon at one point. (very brief)

Mention of Jana's addiction to prescription drugs and alcohol.

Mention of Jana and Mark's break up.

Uncomfortable hiccups that concern Otto.

Mention of throwing up and retching.

Hiccups that Otto thinks are suggestive of needing to throw up.

No depiction of emeto. Discussion of previous purge (very brief).

Verbal description of the sound of Mark's hiccups by Otto to Atticus.

Verbal description of Otto's hiccups from Atticus to Otto.

Arousal mention.

Arousal and follow through implication.

A small hiccup battle.

Otto being extremely patient and understanding.

Otto also being the Felix to Mark's Oscar.

I STG, children, just look up The Odd Couple.

Atticus being embarrassed.

Mark being embarrassed.

Otto being a well-adjusted bi.

Mark being a disaster straight.

Jana is not a bad person. I intend to prove this in future stories.

Alice is also not a bad person. Etc. Etc.

Realizing how much I do lean heavily in a masc cast. I don't know why that is. Ah well, it's my fantasy anyway.

Mention of Atticus' parents both no longer existing.

Long moments in the story where no hiccups occur.

Lots of exposition surrounding past events. (I know, I know. Show, don't tell. But I had a need to write it out.

Um, if there's other stuff please tell me?

Finally! The story!

It was 6:30am and Otto was just about to have his first cup of coffee for the day when he heard the stairs from the loft bed creaking with heavy, ambling footsteps. Otto watched with attentive curiosity as Mark lumbered into the kitchen in boxers and a white shirt.

“Hey HNGK’UH!…” the younger man muttered as he sat down heavily across from Otto and shielded his eyes from the lights.

Otto wordlessly got up, sitting his unsipped coffee on the table, and turned off the overhead light while drawing the shades of the small window over the sink to let in a softer natural light into the kitchen.

“HUNGK!”

Poor guy had a wicked case of hiccups, it sounded like, and Otto knew a bad case of hiccups. A few weeks ago, Mark had been on the witnessing side of a 5-hour case of hiccups to which Otto had been victim.

But Otto knew good and well this wasn’t just about a case of the hiccups. The hiccups were a consequence of Mark’s actions. Mark’s actions were a consequence of an exorbitant amount of alcohol had the night before at a bar after work. The alcohol binge was a consequence of the fact that the future life he’d been planning with Jana had been crumbling slowly around him after a whole bunch of unpleasantness and drama that proceeded the breakup.

Mark had been staying with Otto for a few months as Jana and his relationship started to disintegrate. Yesterday Mark had told Otto that Jana had come by the police station, where he worked, to retrieve the spare key to their previously shared house from him and give him some stuff that he’d found of his that she thought he might want back.

Otto figured the finality of it all probably hit Mark pretty hard when he got a call at around 1am. Mark was slurring into his phone so much Otto could barely understand him. He had Mark hand the phone to the bartender, and he was able to get the address and head over to retrieve the wayward detective. The bartender, consequentially, was Margie.

Margie did a very good job of taking care of Mark before Otto arrived. Otto was very appreciative of the gesture. She kept his friend safe. The next week he’d visit the bar again during the daytime and would be lucky enough for her to be working so he could give her more thanks. They would start to talk, and a friendship would form quickly, thereafter.

Like clockwork, a customary pun for a clock maker, Otto awoke at 6am despite the late night. He didn’t expect Mark to be awake until much later that day.

“Didn’t think you’d be up this early,” Otto said. He kept his voice soft and tried to minimize the sounds of his shuffling through cabinets. “How’re you holding up?”

“HNGK! I’m okay. Hiccups woke me. Could-HINGK!-couldn’t get back to sleep,” Mark replied in a hoarse voice just above a whisper.

Mark lifted his hand away from his face a little when he realized the lights weren’t as bright as they had seemed before. He squinted his dark blue eyes in Otto’s direction as he watched the taller man walk back and forth. He had to look away when he found himself getting dizzy while trying to follow Otto’s path. The dull ache of pain behind his eyes and sinuses made him squeeze his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Mark wondered if Ralph would’ve been as respectful of his current condition as Otto seemed. Ralph would have, no doubt, treated his hangover with some humor. Maybe he would’ve spoken a little loud or turned on all the lights. Ralph might’ve been sensitive later to Mark’s plight, but his friend and work partner seemed the type to shock someone in his sad, hungover state with tough love.

Mark wondered if Otto might have had a little more experience with being in the detective’s similar situation than Ralph. Mark was not wrong in his thought process, impressive as it for his brain to have formed the thought in such a dehydrated and painful state.

Otto had taken the time, when he’d settled his friend down enough that he knew he wouldn’t wake and was safe from further purging, to silence all of the chimes and striking clocks he owned. Otto had, indeed, been in Mark’s shoes and physical state more times and to a greater degree than it was likely Mark had. One thing Otto remembered viscerally about those times is that he could’ve done with a little understanding and kindness despite the bad decisions that lead him to the consequences of his self-destructive behavior.

“Here,” Otto said as he sat a glass of orange-hued liquid beside Mark’s elbow. “It’s Emergen-C. Electrolytes and vitamins. You’re really dehydrated, man, and this is a quicker way to replenish that. Tastes like orange. This,” Otto held up a small pocket of wax paper folded over a small amount of powder, “is BC powder. Powdered Aspirin and caffeine. Quickest way to get some pain relief from that headache. You gonna puke? Those hiccups sound suspicious…”

Mark took a while to respond, his brain working on reserves with all of the pressure and pounding in his head. Right. The hiccups.

“Naw. Did all of that HNK!-that last night. HMGK! I always get these after a nigh-HNGK’M!-night like...like last night. Usually takes a HNK-UH! a while to stop. Nothing helps. Kinda like you-HNGK!-yours. Thanks,” Mark said as he took a swig of the glass. The Emergen-C’s light fizz felt refreshing even though the artificialness of the orange flavor was a little offensive.

Mark felt Otto’s warm hand on his shoulder before the older man crossed back to where he was sitting before.

Otto sat down and observed his friend’s pallor and slow movements. He had memories of his own struggles with hangovers. He also had memories of squelching those hangovers with more drinking. It was less ‘hair of the dog’ and more the whole damn canine. To be fair, it was an effective method for a while. Not really something that, Otto discovered, was sustainable.

“Yeah, just pour that powder in your mouth and wash it down really quick with the water. Trust me, you don’t want that taste to linger any longer than it has to,” Otto said as he watched Mark’s cautious handling of the wax paper.

Otto watched him make a face from the bitterness of the powder before the detective quickly gulped the Emergen-C flavored water as a chaser. Otto couldn’t help but give a little chuckle.

“You good?” the clock maker asked.

“Y-HUNGK!-Yeah. Ugh!” Mark exclaimed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’ll help, I promise. I know you feel like crap right now. No real shortcut to a hangover, man, but you can treat the symptoms. If you’re feeling like it, I can fix us both some breakfast after I finish my coffee,” Otto said.

“Thanks. That might b-HINGK!-might be good,” Mark said sheepishly. He jerked with another hiccup and tossed his head to clear his dark hair from in front of his eyes. He regretted the motion almost immediately as he winced.

Just as Otto was finally starting to take a sip of his still steaming coffee, Mark spoke up again and Otto met his tired eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Otto lowered the mug again, shaking his head.

“Dude, you don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he said with a sad smile. “Listen, man, you are going through some tough shit right now. I mean, I’m really glad Jana’s finally getting the treatment she needs. And you were a big part of that. And, well, you know, the whole malpractice lawsuit with that bitch blonde lawyer, Alice...whatshername moved that recovery along legally, but you were a part of it, too!”

Mark snorted at the cavalier summation Otto gave of his ex’s journey from addiction to almost losing her veterinarian license, to starting in a recovery program, to Jana realizing that she couldn’t hold up a relationship with Mark and recover at the same time. While he knew it wasn’t a personal attack, Mark couldn’t help but feel supreme grief in knowing that the person he fell in love with was going through something that, not only could he not help with, but that he was a hindrance in overcoming.

Not to mention he had purchased an engagement ring he had planned on unveiling at the right moment, which seemed perpetually postponed by upticks in crime and cases he couldn’t ignore. So, did he really blame her for not feeling safe in the relationship?

Otto was speaking again, and Mark looked up from his thoughts to listen. His body jolted again, and he was reminded that his hangover was still actively punishing him for his choices. The hiccups didn’t hurt, per se, but they were definitely hard, loud, and sounded pretty terrible.

“I mean, you know I’ve been in your place before. I mean, not exactly, but similar. No one would blame you for having a little self-destructive pity party. Just...not too many of them. Cause then you end up in the hospital 15-some-odd years later being told that your pancreas is on its last legs and one more drink could send you into a fatal situation. That’s...obviously specific to my experience, but you get it. Anyway, you got wasted cause you were grieving, and you asked your amazing friend who came to pick you up if he thought you were good-looking because for some reason none of the girls at the bar wanted to go home with the shit-faced drunk guy.

“And I meant what I said. You’re extremely hot and it’s so depressing that you’re completely so heterosexual. Like...painfully straight. Ugh!” Otto said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Mark’s eyes had gotten so comically wide that Otto could see the bloodshot veins in the whites of them and the pink inflammation lining his eyelids.

“I HNGK-KUH!-I didn’t say all that, did I? HU’NGK!” Mark asked aghast as he rubbed his chest.

“You really did. Then you suggested we try being in a relationship because, and I quote, ‘you do guys sometimes, right?’ As if I haven’t explicitly told you my preferences. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. But I just don’t think we’d make a good match.

“We have a dishwasher, Mark. We have a machine that does the dishes for us. In the kitchen. Next to the sink that has a garbage disposal. Why do we have piles of dirty dishes? Not to mention if I find your boxers in a load of my clothes one more time I...sneaky bastard. Like a thief except instead of stealing things you invade my loads of laundry, so you don’t have to do your own. Like that bird. What’s that bird? That bird who lays its eggs in the other bird’s nest and has them raise their babies, so they don’t have to? Fuck! Cuckoo bird! How the hell does a clock maker forget that?!” Otto exclaimed. “You’re like a damn laundry cuckoo bird forcing me to wash your underwear!”

Mark was having a struggle trying to coordinate his silent laughter with his forceful hiccups. His body jolted against the back of the chair again as Otto seemed to wind down.

“I swear, man H’UNGK!, I don’t remember any HNGK!-any of that. Seriously, I’m NGK!-I’m really sorry you had to deal with—ugh!” the silent hiccup thumped hard in his chest as it choked his words, “deal with me. Damn, these things are an-HNGK!-annoying!” Mark said, rubbing his chest again.

The detective did notice, though, that his headache had already started to fade. He still felt a little foggy and unsettled in his stomach, but he was already feeling better. He wasn’t sure it was Otto’s humorous distraction or the Emergen-C and BC powder. Perhaps it was a combination.

“You sure you’re good with the stomach stuff? Cause those things sound like little retches…” Otto said, still suspicious.

“Well, if you keep t-ANGK!-talking about the stomach stuff I might HNGK!-might start feeling sick, so…” Mark said, crossing his arms as he winced at another silent bodily jerk.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop,” Otto said, holding up his hands.

“You’re not one t-HINGK!-to hiccup-shame. Mr. Five H-HUMPK!-Hours of Scary Ass Hiccups!” Mark exclaimed.

“Touché!” Otto said at the reference to the time the clock maker developed a case of hiccups that persisted for most of the day. When Mark suggested holding his breath, Otto’s body rejected the cure and gave him the fastest hiccups he’d ever had. Otto was sore for days after that night.

Otto finally touched his lips to his mug of coffee that was still quite warm. Mark chuckled before another hiccup hit him. As Otto swallowed, he gave his friend a questioning look.

“Ass hiccups,” Mark explained with a smirk. Otto would wonder later if Mark still wasn’t a little drunk.

Otto inhaled the coffee with a surprised laugh and started coughing violently. His coughing was interspersed with...well...hiccups.

“Shit! HUCK!” Otto exclaimed between coughing.

He looked up to find Mark covering his mouth, but mirth in his eyes, as he watched Otto’s struggles.

“No HNGK!-no way. Dude, do we seriously HNGKL!-have the hiccups at the same UNGK!-same time?” Mark guffawed.

“This is HULP!HMK!-this is all y-HMK!-your fault, man. HLMK! Dammit!” Otto said.

Mark just laughed again, another hard hiccup smacking into his chest and throat.

After a while, they both calmed down. For the next few minutes, it was quiet save for the call and response their hiccups played with each other. Otto continued to sip his coffee, stubborn to drink the warm beverage he was so looking forward to. Mark nursed the rest of the Emergen-C, energy that he had regained from before having dissipated as he stared into the residue on the inside of his glass.

Though Otto’s hiccups were still rapid they had decreased in strength while Mark’s stayed forceful and deep.

“HNGK!” Mark’s hiccups said.

“Hlp!Hip!” said Otto’s.

“HUNGK!…HMP’K!”

“Huck!-himp!mp!”

“HU’NGK!...UCK!...HMMNGK!”

“Huck!Huck’l!Hmpk!Mp!” Otto sighed at the fast cluster and patted his chest, muffling another hiccup behind his hand.

“Stop that!” Mark suddenly exclaimed.

Otto looked up from a paper he had begun to do the crossword on with confusion.

“You can’t t-HNGK!-tell me you’re not d-UMPK!-doing that on purpose,” Mark said.

Otto frowned, head jerking in more hiccups.

“You’re out hi-HILMK!-out hiccuping me. You’re doing one-HNGK!-one more hiccup each time,” Mark complained, grumpily sipping the last of his enhanced water. Most of it was, of course, put on. But he had genuinely wondered if somehow Otto was doing it on purpose, too.

Otto, for his part, had been oblivious to the hiccup war that Mark had been forging. But he smiled now, taking a haughty tone.

“Well…I am the hmpk!hip!-the sup—superior hic-hu’up!-hiccuper,” he said, battling through another cluster and putting a fist over his mouth as three more hit him in a row.

A beat past before they both erupted into giggling laughter at the ridiculousness. The laughter ended in both of them letting out a hiccup simultaneously, Mark’s “HINGK!” to Otto’s “Hi’ilp!” which sent them into another roll of laughter that perpetuated itself for a while before they both got tired and winded.

Otto’s hiccups ended before Mark’s and the detective ended up hiccuping for about an hour in total which left him feeling sore and tired. But Otto’s breakfast and subsequent lunch and pressuring his friend to drink more water helped Mark feel much better by the end of the day.

***

To be honest, Otto had been terrified that night when he got the call from Mark. Mark was a rational person who didn’t often let vices lead his actions. He had a very clear and logical leaning and seeing the man so out of character and destroyed shook Otto’s core. In addition, having to enter a bar again and seeing representations of himself in his worst times all around him being unnerving and unsettling in and of itself.

The main reason Mark and him had become the unlikely friends they were was due to a case of mistaken identity where Otto lived one street away from a man guilty of kidnapping and murder. Otto also fit the physical description of the man in question, which wasn’t much: a tall man with a beard and wild curly hair.

After Otto’s innocence was proven, he was still getting harassed by his neighbors who hadn’t gotten the news that the actual murderer had been caught and was being prosecuted. Otto had stormed into the police station with the dark-haired, blue-eyed detective in his sights. Before the police there could usher him out (forcefully) Mark stopped them and let Otto have his say.

Otto demanded that some representative of the police go around his neighborhood and clarify that Otto was, in fact, innocent. Additionally, someone had thrown a brick through his window, and he held Mark personally responsible for paying for said window’s replacement. Also, he hadn’t spent this many years getting his life back together as a recovering alcoholic to now be chased out of his home because of a crime he actually didn’t commit!

To Otto’s surprise, it was the lead detectives, Mark and his partner Ralph themselves who went around to every one of his neighbors and explained Otto’s innocence. They ended at Otto’s door with sincere apologies, especially Mark. He was, after all, the one who had tackled Otto to the front steps of his own house in the first place.

He was further surprised to see Mark at his door again a few days later. He gave him a check to reimburse the window and had another request for Otto. His girlfriend, he suspected, was abusing her prescription drugs and alcohol and did Otto know of any programs that could be of use. And could Otto, perhaps, be willing to help Mark understand some of what she was going through from a place of having gone through something similar? Mark didn’t understand addiction from a personal standpoint, and it was causing a rift between he and Jana that he feared was irreparable.

The request was incredibly personal and bordered on inappropriate and offensive, but something about Mark’s countenance endeared him to Otto. Otto could tell Mark was coming from a place of wanting to learn and though it was a heavy burden to share his vulnerability with a man who accused him from murder, he felt compelled to try and help.

So, Otto, who had been living a pretty secluded life up until that point, reticently decided to be of service to Mark’s questions. The friendship ended up being mutually beneficial. Otto hadn’t realized how his reclusive life had been gnawing at his mental health. It had gotten to the point where he was scared to do anything social for fear of losing control of his desires. Mark ended up being the soft introduction to an unexpectedly functional, safe friendship. It was something he’d never experienced before.

It took a while for Otto not to see Mark as some twenty-something cop made detective before they were mature enough to handle it when he couldn’t even handle his private life. And the clock maker was more than full of opinions about those facts that he didn’t at all hide from the detective during their friendship. But Otto’s gruffness was chipped away by Mark’s eagerness to learn and try to help his girlfriend, Jana. And perhaps if Mark had been more forward with Jana about that learning process and his intentions things might’ve ended differently. Finding out your boyfriend was talking about your most intimate personal struggles with a stranger was distressing and Jana was quickly losing trust in Mark and their relationship.

All said, Jana still remained part of their social circle throughout her recovery. And, of course, the story of the lawyer who led Jana’s prosecution which almost led to her losing her license and livelihood was a whole other story. Alice and Mark together. No one saw that coming.

***

Atticus continued to stroke and massage Otto’s scalp as he finished the recollection. Somehow, the clock maker’s head had ended up on Atticus’ lap while they both reclined in bed as he spoke. The writer often wondered if Otto was part dog with the way he’d flop on them at times and how much he appreciated his head massaged.

The story had started only because Atticus mentioned how they had a fantasy of Otto and another one of their friends having hiccups simultaneously. But, they were quick to caveat, if that actually happened, they wouldn’t know how they’d contain themselves. The fantasy was still a thought that gave them some arousal, though.

The fantasy reminded Otto of the one time both he and Mark had them simultaneously and his mouth ran away with the story.

“Wow. That definitely helps fill some gaps,” Atticus said. Learning more about the history of Otto’s friendships was enlightening.

Jana had moved a few hours away by the time Atticus had met Otto. She stopped by every now and then to reconnect, but Atty hadn’t been available for those sessions. After all this time, they still hadn’t met the person who’d, in many ways, triggered the events that led Otto to meeting them.

If Otto hadn’t been such good friends with Mark, and if Atticus hadn’t been a victim of a serial robbery in their old apartment complex, then Mark wouldn’t have known to suggest Otto to them after the thief had knocked an old clock Atticus had inherited from its shelf. That clock still existed and ran perfectly after Otto had repaired it. It was in the loft bedroom where Atty found themselves often to write or decompress. It was a tambour style mantel clock. Atty had it in their house growing up. Atticus didn’t even know which side of the family it was from. With both of their parents gone, they probably never would.

Clocks aside, Mark needing Otto’s guidance on Jana, in some twisted way, made it possible for Atticus and Otto to find each other. So, Atticus might owe Jana as much gratitude for them being together as Mark.

“Yeah, I forget you don’t know all of this stuff,” Otto admitted. Atticus seemed so integrated into his life that it didn’t occur to him to tell them how everyone connected.

All of Atticus’ friends were in their home state (or were relationships they’d made online). Once they’d moved, they had to make new connections. It just so happened, timewise, that Otto was one of those first connections.

“Mark was lucky to have you,” Atty said.

“Yeah, well, he saw me a lot worse than that later that year when I fell off the whole sobriety wagon. So…” Otto trailed off and seemed to snuggle his head further into the softness of Atticus’ thighs.

Atticus sighed. That story they’d heard. It wasn’t a pleasant one.

“You don’t have to do that,” they said. “Qualify your good deeds with having been more of a challenge to deal with at some other point in time. You’re a good person and you’re good at taking care of people. It’s okay to admit that.” Atticus scratched their short nails along the back of Otto’s head when they felt his neck tense.

“I know,” he finally said, breathing warmth onto Atticus’ legs in a huff. “I just wasn’t for so long...but...yeah, I know.”

“All I know is who I see, and who I see is amazing,” Atty said. They smiled as Otto turned on his back to look at them.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty amazing, too,” Otto said, lips pulling back in a smile showing just a little bit of teeth, but it was a smile that met his eyes. “And that thing you said about not qualifying your positive traits? You’re gonna, like, do that too, right? Maybe give that one a place in the old self-talk dialogue?”

Otto’s finger reached up to tap Atticus’ temple as the writer glared at him.

“See? This is why I don’t give you compliments. Always got to turn them back on me. Like weaponized kindness. Smug bastard,” Atticus muttered.

Otto laughed.

“So what did they sound like?” Atty asked sheepishly.

“What?” Otto asked with a frown as he led one of Atticus’ hands to the middle of his chest and rubbed his hand over theirs. Atty had yet to figure out why Otto preferred their hand in that spot, but they felt honored, for some reason, to be led there.

“Mark’s…” they stuttered and stopped, then they tried again, “Mark’s hiccups.”

“Oh!” Otto said in understanding. Then he scrunched his brows again while thinking. Mark’s hiccups were so distinctive, and he was trying to figure out how to word the description accurately.

“They were kind of, um, gulpy? They seemed really powerful. Like each hiccup really rocked his body back. Um. Kind of wet, too? Not sure if that’s the right way to describe it, but it was like there was wetness in the back of his throat whenever he hiccuped that sort of...sounded...I dunno…” he struggled to find the word before he gave up and shrugged “...wet!”

“You said you kind of thought he was going to throw up at first?” Atticus asked.

“Well, I mean, yeah. But he didn’t. They were just really powerful and sort of...liquidy,” Otto said, still shaking his head with the inaccurate description.

“So, wet,” Atticus confirmed lamely.

“Yeah. Like the sound of someone who just drank something when they swallow. That sticky sound in the back of their throat, you know?”

“Oh yeah! Yeah, I know what you’re talking about! Okay...wow...actually that sounds kind of hot,” Atty said.

“Yeah?” Otto asked, grinning.

“Shaddup,” they responded grumpily.

“No, I think it’s cute. What do you like about mine?” Otto fished.

“You know, I like that yours are fast. As long as they don’t bother you too much.”

“Do I have any...hot sounding hiccups?” he asked. He was rubbing Atticus’ hand again.

“It’s just the variety,” Atticus said after a while. “Each hiccup is different. Each one is a surprise. I like when you muffle them and they get louder, and harder, and longer, one after the other, until you sound hoarse and have to open your mouth to let sharper ones out. I-I like what they do to your body. Gawd, Otto, your body moves with every hiccup. Your cute, soft belly jumps and jiggles so much and you do that thing where when your head is jerked back you blink like you’re surprised. And, just, the way you react, man. How you’re so casual with them but also trying to be considerate about them with other people or when you get a little annoyed that they’re interrupting you when you’re trying to say something it’s all just so...hot. Guh…”

Atticus could feel heat crawling up their neck in both arousal and embarrassment.

“Well damn,” Otto whispered.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I mean, when you say it like that, it does sound kind of hot,” Otto admitted. He put his fingers up to his mouth and started subconsciously nibbling at his cuticles in thought. “So, it’s not just hiccups but all the stuff around hiccups. I mean obviously it’s the body movements and the sound, but it’s more. It’s how I interact with my hiccups that’s some of what turns you on. The unexpectedness of them. Is it, maybe...Is it because I’m flustered by them?”

“Sometimes,” Atty admitted.

Otto nodded, squinting in more thought.

“I think...that’s sort of why I get turned on by seeing people aroused. They aren’t completely in control, so they just react without...being able to help it. And if they’re trying to hide it and I know it? That’s so hot. Seeing them interact with people and me knowing how hard they’re trying to keep control. Not exactly something we can ever roleplay, but it doesn’t take much when I notice that anyway. My favorite part is...well...watching them relieve the feeling. The myriad of emotion. Jeez. I dunno. My body just—and nothing else really triggers that arousal for me. Doesn’t matter how attractive someone is. It’s that. And I’m there in an instant,” Otto said.

“I can definitely understand that. Damn. It’s bedtime and I am so charged right now,” Atticus admitted.

“Me, too. You...you wanna watch one of those files I made for you? While-while I watch you?” Otto asked in a small voice.

Atticus gasped.

“Oh, gawd, can we? I didn’t even...I’ll get my ear buds. You probably don’t wanna hear yourself. Gawd, I want this so much!” Atty said.

That night as Atty watched the first video where Otto made his hiccups faster by holding his breath (recommended by Otto, himself) and Otto watched Atticus, the writer couldn’t be more grateful to Jana and Mark for their involvement in getting the two of them together. Never would Atticus had ever thought that a relationship could be this symbiotic and honest, that kindness battles were the worst of their spats, and that their most serious moments came from wanting to take care of each other and expressing their gratitude for each other.

[susiecarter]

hi!! hope you're doing well!! just wanted to check in as you haven't updated your projects page in a while (not that you have to! but you're one of my fav writers of all time so just got worried) also, if you're seeing this, how goes the arranged marriage au? (and if u can sprinkle in some writing advice, that'd be great, tho srsly i feel like i'm asking a little too many things lmao so feel free to ignore)

/o\ :D Hi, anon, and thank you so much for checking in! No need to worry—I'm absolutely fine, I've just been ludicrously busy (my job changed somewhat at the end of last year and I acquired New Responsibilities; figuring out how to handle those and still have as much time as I need to write and to reply to comments has taken me six months :'D but I think I've mostly gotten the hang of it, hence me finally starting to catch up on my inboxes both here and on the AO3).

AND, ngl, I am absolutely delighted to hear that you were looking at the Projects page! :D That was honestly three-quarters me experimenting with the new theme I set up, haha (and the reason I threw a "last updated" date on there was 100% because if I got busy, I knew I was definitely going to start forgetting to update that sucker). I've updated it today, and the good news/bad news breakdown on the arranged marriage AU is: good news, I am still working on it; bad news, it is super not done. :'D I've got some other shorter stuff that should be done sooner than that (including some Bruce/Clark!), but I'm hoping to make that this year's Big Long Bruce/Clark Fic. Obviously I also have not made a whole lot of progress on some other things on that list :D but here's hoping I can fix that this summer!

As for writing advice, I've written a few posts in the past about my process, how I approach managing character identity, and my tl;dr thoughts on characterization, pacing, dialogue, and prose rhythm, if you haven't seen one or another of those! Honestly, working on my writing has been a real process of self-discovery for me :'D so I'd say my bottom-line "if you do nothing else, do this" of writing advice is: try things! Try different techniques, try outlining and not outlining, try doing writing exercises and not doing writing exercises, try sitting down to write a few hundred words each day and try only writing when you feel inspired to do it ... Everybody is different, everybody's brains and subconscious creative sources are different, and stuff that works for other people might work for you or it might not, but you won't know if you don't try it all multiple ways and see which approach feels the best to you.

Personally, I used to not outline at all, and I wrote the scenes that came to me in my head first and then went back to fill in the gaps—and that worked okay, it was fine, but as it turns out I'm MUCH better off when I outline every! single! time! and also my odds of completing a story I'm working on increase about 5,000% if I write it straight through from start to finish. I thought I knew what worked the best for me! I was wrong! :'D But I wouldn't have found out I was wrong if I hadn't decided to try outlining, and then decided to ditch how other people outline and outline in the way that worked for me, and then tried writing straight through, tried writing every single day and sucked at it BUT trying to write every day is actually good for me, it's just I have to let myself not do it if it's not working, &c &c. So, yeah, try stuff, don't get too stuck on doing anything one specific way, and sooner or later you'll figure out how you work, what gets your brain doing its best writing, and you'll be able to get it to do its best writing more and more often. :D

[brb-on-a-quest]

Day Fourteen Day Fifteen Day Sixteen

im SOOOOO SORRY that I left you guys hanging those two days! *cries* the first one I genuinely forget, and the second I was too busy to do it- and I think that this is not the first time this might happen, since the farm (oh yeah, if you're not one of my regular followers, you should know I'm a farmhand lol) is picking up steam, during my down time Im trying to do more physical rest for my body to recover. which means unfortuantely, Ive been spending less time on here in general, and that my longer posts that take more time to write have had to pause for a while.

so, I'm sorry to say but this is the last day i'll be able to do this for a while, but maybe forever. I've had so much fun with it and loved to see everybody's different answers, and how we've all connected!! but for at least a few days/weeks, I need a bit of a break lol. if anyone wants to pick up this game again, with the same list of people I've given already or different ones, you are more than welcome to! and I'm not leaving Tumblr, I'm just not going to do this particular ask game anymore.

our final question: what is something that you you want in your life, and what can you do to achieve it? what steps do you need to take to earn the life you see yourself living?

thank all of you so much! I hope to return again maybe sometime! I wish you all the best :)

Awww no worries gracie! take care of yourself first. Def appreciate all the work it must've taken to come up with good questions. I'll be sure to haunt your inbox soon with hopefully some equally thought-provoking (or not) questions.

ok, actual question: our final question: what is something that you you want in your life, and what can you do to achieve it? what steps do you need to take to earn the life you see yourself living?

To be honest, this question has haunted me for the past...well since before high school. (has it really been almost 10 years since I was a baby highschool freshman?). To be also perfectly honest, my depression and anxiety were so bad I was never convinced I would make it as far as I did... which allowed me to put off answering the question for a long while until the Hour of College Applications approached.

Well, against all previous conceptions of my future, I am still alive and about to graduate in December (literally how) and set to walk across the beautiful stage in May to get my undergrad diploma with some kind of academic honors (I forget the Latin for it). Definitely not the highest GPA, but I am relatively proud of myself considering the effort and, for lack of a better phrase, blood, sweat, and tears that have gone into this. So, steps that need to happen in order to graduate

Pass classes (Preferably with A's but I'm also in a position where hopefully my self-esteem won't die with a B or 2).

Write and Finish my thesis (shaking crying throwing up I don't have enough capacity for this even if it's only 15 pages in Spanish)

Study and hopefully pass a GRE (graduate school readiness exam I think? 'cuz I'm told it's a good idea for master's school applications I can not stress enough how much I hate standardized tests and am so anxious about this that I haven't even opened my books yet, I've just been throwing myself into thesis research instead; I 'know not all schools require this but I'm going into something that's not my major, so I feel some kind of need to prove myself).

Apply to graduate schools for counseling!

Only four things... it shouldn't be so bad.... one would think... (can I please just skip to the part where this is over why do people call college the best years of my life).

The other thing I want to work on is just being a better person and in particular a better friend. My goal is therapy, particularly pediatric therapy because it's such a neglected area where I'm from and also in general I think because there tends to be stereotypes of "oh children can't have mental health problems." but doing that means I want to develop more compassion, friendliness, and patience and gentleness and actual listening skills while being assertive...yk an environment that nurtures personal and other's growth. Which is really hard. Progress has been made but still more to go.

[drdtfuitgumies]

answering asks #1

i (finally get around to) answer(ing) some actual questions directed towards me. these are mainly asks sent in the inbox, but i might answer reblogs and replies in other posts as well, since this acc can't reply for some reason.

reminder that if you want to ask me actual questions, i still recommend sending them to the inbox! if the inbox is closed, however, then you can reply to my pinned post

not a question, but i wanted to properly acknowledge this. i've seen this ask when it was just sent, and have been keeping an eye on the tags since. thank you kindly for the warning, anon! :>

this question was how i realized i never acknowledged crossovers and references to other series in the pinned post. i'll write my answer down there as well, but i've decided that;

1) crossovers/referring to other series can be requested, but are very unlikely to be actually drawn. for me to finish them, i'd need to know the other series (and possibly well enough if there's a punchline included)... personally i think it's best to save yourselves the hassle. However, if your request happens to be something along the lines of "[insert fuit gumy here] with [pokemon / digimon of choice]", I will absolutely not complain. I would be honored!!

...so i guess this note could be taken as "crossover requests including pokemon and/or digimon are allowed." i like drawing creachers.

2) i will not be accepting requests that involve canon danganronpas AND fanganronpas. this blog has always meant to be focused on drdt first and foremost, and i'm content to let it stay that way (for now). also, if i let people outright request characters from the canon games/fangans, even if i put in restrictions like "must include at least one drdt character as well", i feel like some people would find a way to work around these restrictions. i always assume the worst in any situation whatsoever, so i feel this'd be better for my long-term sanity. i'm sorry, and hope anyone reading this understands where i'm coming from! orz

however! while i've decided that canon danganronpa characters will not be appearing whatsoever (except MAYBE references to monokuma/junko/The Tragedy as a whole, though i'm not sure what Situation would need those...), characters from other fanganronpas may Very Rarely appear in Original Situations! this will only ever happen if i need some special guests for certain punchlines, probably once every three months or so.

something like this! (original post here)

i hurriedly made this for my commissions post back in main, so they'd definitely look better with a bit more time and care.

psst. my comms are open indefinitely, and there's still three* slots left. a quick look and a reblog would be appreciated!

i prefer j & nico platonically (i saw a post calling them Nonbinary Emo Siblings and i integrated that to my belief system), but otherwise none that really come to mind...? i've never really paid attention to romantic shipping in my [REDACTED] years of being sentient

this is definitely referring to romantic rarepairs; if referring to that, not really. see above question. if referring to platonic rarepairs, however, i can and will find common ground for any pair of drdt characters. before they murder each other they should be civil. they should partake in parallel play. they should be friends!!

...which brings me to my sidequest of drawing every possible pair of drdt characters at least once in this blog. i won't count posts with 3+ characters; i'll only be counting posts with 2 characters. when do you guys think i'll fill the entire thing out?

once again; reminder that if you want to ask me actual questions, i still recommend sending them to the inbox! if the inbox is closed, however, then you can reply to my pinned post

[usmsgutterson]

Hi!! Wylan x reader who’s an inventor of sorts & just made a camera for the sole purpose of taking a picture of him <3 👾

Wylan x male! inventor! reader headcanons

hi!! Thank you for sending in the requests that you have and I'm sorry that they've taken so long to come out! I will say that tumblr has been very glitchy on my end lately and I've been losing requests and not seeing them for a bit--or ever again, some of them have been missing from my inbox for a couple weeks now--so if there's anything of yours I've missed that you can recall that you really wanted me to write please don't hesitate to just plop the idea into my inbox! If I end up deciding to write it I'll put it into my drafts to ensure I don't lose it but if I decide not to, I'll let you know!

I went ahead and did this as headcanons, which I hope is all right!

Fic type- this is just fluff straight out the gate

Warnings- this was written and then posted almost immediately after it was done, so there's not much to speak of as far as editing is concerned

Okay, so!

Photos as a concept were something that was being discussed just generally around Ketterdam a lot

Mainly in circles of the stadwatch because if they could get photos they could have evidence through more than some very shoddy paintings, sketches, or word of mouth

and with a lot of effort, a level of planning by which even Kaz would be impressed, and a bit of practice in being startlingly quiet footed, you wormed your way into the rooms where those discussions were taking place because you had an idea of your own.

You took the words spoken by government officials and inventors under the Kerch Merchant Councils employ and went home. You drew up a plan that was completely different to the sketches you'd seen while you observed from a point high in the ceiling, the back of your head pressed against a wall as you willed yourself not to breathe too loud and to avoid being noticed

You developed the first camera that Ketterdam had ever seen across the weeks to follow, something different to the sketches you'd seen from afar while you listened to the government drone on about how much of a benefit to society cameras would be while they were in the hands of the stadwatch

The ideas that the government were circulating all involved relatively clunky cameras, ones with tripods that came out the bottom and were exceptional only in stationary situations.

You developed a camera that you could take anywhere. It was lightweight, could fit between ones hands, and had the option of attaching a strap so that it could be carried while slung over ones neck.

The entire motivation behind the project made you feel a bit silly, but Inej found it to be rather romantic and Jesper thought you cheesy, as they were the only two you had told until the first prototype of the camera was complete.

They were your best friends, and they'd both happened to walk in on you planning out the invention at different points, ask what it was out of curiosity and receive your honest answer.

The entire reason you'd liked the idea of cameras was not for the gang related purposes most would've assumed had they known of it. You were not developing a portable camera to help Kaz and Inej gather intel for their schemes and their battles that would eventually have lead to a gang war.

You liked the idea of cameras because it meant you could take photos of Wylan, your boyfriend.

You could capture the moments where he looked so at peace while the two of you watched the sunset in the garden, the look of focus as he worked on an explosive, the sight of his head tilted back as he laughed.

You could capture all of the unforgettable moments that you were scared of forgetting anyway, seconds in time wherein you felt infinitely happy and needed something to remember that.

So, it was the first night you'd let yourself exist with the final product that Wylan finally discovered it.

He discovered it while he and Inej were laughing, glasses of wine in their hands when suddenly--

click!

Wylan glanced in your direction, where the sound had come from, found you yielding the camera with a grin on your face.

He would ask you how you got it and nod when Kaz observed that the government had unveiled prototypes that looked completely different at a discussion only open to those living in the merchants district.

You would shrug and tell him you invented things, and that you needed an excuse to get five steps ahead of government inventions anyway.

You were smarter than the lot of the government idiots combined and they wouldn't start shrinking camera sizes for a bit by your predictions, so you had time before a government official got wind of it all and approached you, offering to give you money in exchange for the patent and you said no.

You told Wylan the opposite of the truth in that moment, not wanting to get called a hopeless romantic or face any of Ninas teasing for the romantics right then and there.

You told him and the rest of them it was for intel gathering purposes and that it was the first prototype--Kaz would get the second, maybe the third, and he would get it for a price because you weren't going to sell one of them off for cheap.

Wylan knew you were lying but didn't push it.

Later that night, you told him the real reason you'd bothered to invent a camera that was so far ahead of the one that the Merchant Council was unveiling in fits and starts.

You'd done it because you didn't want to forget even the most unforgettable moments, and upon learning that, Wylan nearly melted.

He kissed you, and he told you he loved you, and he called you an absolute sap before he grabbed the camera and looked at the photo you'd taken.

He loved it. He'd never quite anticipated loving anything of that sort, but he looked genuinely happy in that split second, and knowing that you were the person behind the camera made him love the photo that much more.

In short, he loved you and he loved that you created a camera just to take photos of him and to not worry about forgetting the unforgettable moments you both lived through.

[kaiwuzherenz]

Alright....I have too many people spamming me across my DM's Some in discord.....55+ on Tumblr... And then my inbox for Tumblr....don't get me started... I think I need to explain..

So lets get started! Since losing the run (and the reasons are far too many and very annoying) to another farmer now, I don't have an official job anymore... Now you might ask, Neo....your 14, you don't need to worry about smth like that yet.... Yeah I know, but as a official workaholic, I need to have something to do! I'm stuck at home 24/7...and roleplay did help, but I have been losing the interest in that and trying to find the reason...

So when the message was sent around, I legit panicked due to...fuck I don't have any degree in anything and shearing was the thing I turned too because my father did it, losing that means I need my education and fast!

I needed to study, I even put it on my pinned post, guess that didn't work.... And another thing. We had 2 sheds sorted, one just crutching and the other shearing....so we needed to finish them, we just did 6 days for the shearing and next week we are doing crutching....that wont take AS long. And the good points! Ever since comments of my gender has been made through out school, also about my height and weight, as 13 I was 4'7 and have grown a foot since, but I'm still 40kgs in weight, underweright for my age... but going out, working were females are accepted as also equals to males and srubcutting with my dad on the farm we live on, it made me think over my life alor,....and I finally feel like I do belong in my skin! its a great feeling tbh :D So when I say I'm fine, I AM! Becuase! I'm eating normally, drinking semi normally and sleeping every other day, than 3 days a week!! so I'm doing better! and I've taken no more driving for the time being, as I'm still scared to drive from what happened...

So by the time anyone reads this, I will be eating due to its almost 12pm and we are going to town soon!! because my parents finally found out after a year that "shit, if we keep her in the house for any longer she will dive deeper into her cabin fever" SO THATS FUN :D