#Ive been stewing on this for two days

[disasterinbound]

the scene where souji chooses to be trapped by izanami in persona 4 the animation: no one is alone kind of made me start thinking of a (yosuke centered but not really) au again hooray

souji has been repeating the same year over and over again, until he realises that something is very much wrong because why does everything seem so... familiar??? yet also so different?? and then comes to a realisation of "shit i'm in a time loop"

he tries to tell the others. he manages to get chie to remember the past years, of how weird it was that she could remember some details about july yet it was only march.

chie definitely doesnt tell yukiko. but yukiko finds out because souji and chie were trying to find ways to get out of the time loop and she overhears them by accident. its easier to manage if she doesn't think too hard about it. if they all don't really think too hard about it, tbh.

so the three of them try to come up with ways to figure out how this mess started. souji knows that he has to get his juniors to remember as well, though he doesn't know exactly why. maybe its just a gut feeling.

yukiko does know she's gonna get kidnapped and put into the tv, though she doesn't remember who did it, for some odd reason.

but this is yukiko, who in the previous loop had her social link completed by souji, so her dungeon and shadow confrontation is much more easier for her to deal with cuz she remembers her growth.

it probably goes the same for the juniors as well as teddie. after teddie gets a new body and clothes (sponsored by yukiko), they try to get him to remember, but he only has fragments, unlike the rest who can generally recall the loops.

skip to 20th of march. they havent figured out whats going on. its not the murders, they've already solved the case.

until the events of the true ending happen, and souji figures out the identity of the gas station attendant.

of course its izanami whos trapped them all inside a time loop, and maybe she reveals that souji has been looping for a long time but this is the first time he's actually remembered.

and then she gives them a hint to how to stop the time loops. remember the person who was at the beginning of it all. find her son.

then she laughs, and souji wakes up in his room on the twelfth of april, 2011.

this time though, he has a clue.

wanna just note that the original loop was a bad end route when souji failed to get adachi by the end of his dungeon date. izanami appeared to yosuke (susano-o) and accepted his plea to keep his friends safe, even in a timeloop. but yosuke has to stay with her.

so she basically made yosuke disappear from everyone's memories, until souji manages to remember the timeloops.

bonus souyo: once they get all their memories of yosuke back (before they only had this feeling of someone that was missing from their group and only some small parts coming back to them as the year passes) , souji feels really guilty about forgetting yosuke.

maybe because before december, he promised yosuke to never forget him, and yet here he was, having forgotten his own boyfriend. and maybe he doesn't quite cry about it, but it certainly feels like he's about to start blaming himself. no wonder souji never felt complete and whole every loop.

he'll apologise to his partner when he gets him back.

[grimalkinmessor]

Thinking about an AU where Ritsu is the one who ends up being Reigen's student instead. Say he's there when Mob sees the sign, dissuades him from going in because "it's probably a scam anyway!" But then of course, little envious Ritsu ends up coming back the next day, unable to help himself at the chance, the possibility that someone could help him develop psychic powers like his brother. He figures Reigen out almost immediately, of course, because he demands to be shown Reigen's power. But Ritsu is desperate, and Reigen has always had a kind way with words, and soon enough Ritsu and Reigen are going ghosts adventures! Leaving Mob behind :') Even more alone than before :'))

And as S&S fills up with things of ACTUAL spiritual significance, like artifacts and purified salt and herbs at Ritsu's obsessive insistence as he tries to find an in to psychic powers and Reigen tries to encourage him without encouraging him, Ritsu and Reigen get closer. Ritsu is more surly than Mob, less inherently trusting and more emotional, more easily annoyed—but he has no reason to hate Reigen in this verse. Reigen has never even met Mob, much less used his powers for his own gain. Reigen grows incredibly fond of this desperate boy, good at everything but the one thing he wants to be good at, and tries to lead him away from those feelings of jealousy and inadequacy. In turn, Ritsu himself is healthier. A little easier going, though still almost perpetually bristling with temper 😮‍💨

He and Mob are closer as a result! He becomes Mob's only friend, more open with his own thoughts and feelings and, thanks to Reigen, far less afraid of him. Mob is more emotionally stunted than ever, and though he has some tentative acquaintances in the Telepathy club, he's still mostly alone and isolated. All of Reigen's helpful advice on dealing with his autism (identified by how Ritsu speaks about his Shige-nii and the behaviors he says he exhibits) is relayed through Ritsu, who comes to understand Mob a little more because of it.

But—oh, didn't I mention? This is a soulmate AU :)

Ritsu has two marks; one for Mob, and one for Reigen. Mob never develops a mark for Ritsu, but he expects that, obviously. Reigen also doesn't develop a mark for Ritsu, but given their age difference, Ritsu also expects that. He's a smart boy, and he knows that not all soulmarks are reciprocated. It's fine. They don't need to be. Ritsu has mostly made peace with his lot in life.

That is, before Mob and Reigen finally meet in person. And instantly develop matching soulmarks.

...Ritsu's psychic awakening is only slightly better than his brother's.

[ketavinsky]

prayers, monologues

[draconic-desire]

A Dance With the Dragon IV — Escape

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

[Part I] [Part II] [Part III] Part IV — You are here]

After four hundred years, the chance for escape finally presents itself—what will you choose?

Warnings: Yandere behavior, brief mentions of NSFW thoughts and past events, feral dragon Neuvillette

Your opportunity for escape came on a gray and dismal day.

The past week had been particularly grueling for the Chief Justice—or so he had panted into your ear while he pinned you to the bed, skin slick with sweat and his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

You’d initially took it as a thinly veiled excuse for the dragon to lash out, for him to lay claim to you once again, but you soon noticed his focus actually wavering. Just enough for it to slip his mind to tell your Melusine guards (or guides, as Neuvillette would insist) not to bring you to his office for your regular afternoon tea with him. Furina had insisted on his last-minute presence at the meeting between her and certain Snezhnayan diplomats, and his unwavering sense of responsibility to Fontaine prevented him from rejecting the order.

That was how you found yourself sitting alone in his office.

You were quite confused. Neuvillette never skipped tea with you. In fact, as the busiest man in Fontaine, he insisted on it. It was a new development, one he thought might bring the two of you closer and outside of a purely domestic setting.

You’d be grateful for the change of scenery if you didn’t end up bent over his desk half the time.

In the beginning you had fought him on it, but as time in his captivity stretched on you soon realized this was one of the only chances allotted to you beyond your shared abode, especially now that the Opera was off limits. You even got to chat with the Melusines who acted as your sweet, naive guards. They reminded you of Carole and your previous life, a bittersweet memory that you held onto like a fleeting dream.

Now, you couldn’t help but start to fidget in your seat. When one minute became two, and two became five, and five became ten, you couldn’t help the anxious tapping of your nails against his desk. Where was he? Had something happened to him? You knew the Chief Justice would never commit a crime, but the notion of him imprisoned forever in the Fortress or Meropide was one that brought you comfort during your unrequited relationship.

Particularly on nights he would remind you of whose sentence you were under, whose wife and mate you were.

Pushing both hands against the desk, you rose to your feet and stormed towards the door. You wouldn’t sit idly to stew in your own thoughts. You raised a fist, preparing to knock harshly to alert any Melusine or the Iudex himself whose inhuman perspectives misinterpreted this as some sort of sick joke—

Except the slightest force sent the door ajar, presenting you with an empty hallway.

It was unlocked.

You couldn’t help the quickening of your heart rate. It invaded your senses, your hearing, your feeling, until it drowned out all of your thoughts but one.

You could leave.

The absence of any other individual was unheard of. Logically, it didn’t make sense; there should have been a guard if Neuvillette expected to be late, or others working in the main office if they hadn’t been dismissed for break as usual (though you knew it was only to spare them of any ungentlemanly sounds that might be coming from his office after you entered).

It was then you realized: Neuvillette had made a mistake.

You didn’t spare a single glance back as you strode out the doors of the Palais Mermonia and onto the streets of Fontaine.

Navigating your way out of the Court was easier than expected. Although there was no mistaking who you were when Neuvillette dragged you out in public—whom else’s waist would he retain an iron grip on throughout an entire opera if not his loving partner—without him by your side, you appeared like any other resident.

Obtaining Mora for the ferry ride to Sumeru was also a breeze. You had no moral objections to pocketing a few coins from unsuspecting citizens along the docks. Why would you, when you had been serving a lifetime sentence of imprisonment anyway?

The ship wasn’t anything fancy and was mostly filled with traveling salesmen and local fishermen, but after centuries of being doted on and monitored constantly, you savored the feeling of being normal, of feigning the role of a traveling merchant. You truly never thought that pretending to be an average worker would feel so freeing.

Suddenly, the skin of your arm began to crawl, feeling like a thousand pinpricks were digging their claws under your skin. You hissed at the sharp pain, gasping at the brief flash of your draconic tattoo, and then…nothing. You could almost always feel it, but it seems that upon crossing a certain distance the leviathan decided to lie dormant. You thanked Barbados for your luck; in your certainty of escaping, you hadn’t even thought of the physical tie between you and Neuvillette.

As the boat pulled out of the dock, relief washed over you like the serenity after a storm. After months of the Iudex, the supposed upholder of Justice, violating every rule against you, you were finally free.

As you watched Fontaine’s massive cliffs fade into the waves, you briefly mourned your choice to leave your Hydro Vision behind; however, you reasoned that the risk in going back for it and wasting precious time was too great. Not to mention the fact that you were sure you’d never get away with slipping it out of Neuvillette’s grasp, and you certainly didn’t want to squander this chance by running back into his arms. Although you knew the rumors of what happened to bearers who lost their Visions, you were willing to take your chances if it meant securing your freedom.

A sudden splash against your cheek jerked you from your thoughts. Upon looking up, you found the previously azure sky to have darkened. Rain began steadily falling, soon fully soaking your frilly dress (another insistence of Neuvillette’s, that you always wear dresses for teatime…never again!). Thunder rolled across the waters, bringing a taste of pain, anger, and betrayal with it.

Ah, so he’s realized your absence. Good—let him rage. Let him experience the heartbreak of losing what you hold most dear.

Maybe that will serve as his atonement for his sins against you.

You noticed then that, like your draconic captor, you too were crying. Though not of sadness—no, yours were tears of joy.

~*~

Although you had originally planned to journey back to your homeland in the City of Wind—not that you had anyone left there to return to, it was more for your own comfort—you found Sumeru to be to your liking. It was Fontaine’s foil—hot, dry, intellectually driven yet full of untamed wilderness. Full of real, thriving flora and fauna that cold, inorganic meka could never match.

The presence of the Akademiya and Port Ormos even offered you a line to continue your photography and research. Due to the dark room Neuvillette had installed in the library, your skills with a camera hadn’t grown too rusty over the centuries. Now, you finally were able to photograph your true passions again—nature, the water, the animals around you. Their harmony and beauty together, their freedom.

It may seem as if you hadn’t gotten far, but with how vast the Nation of Wisdom was, you felt safe to start anew. For the first time in four hundred years, you felt at home.

Three months had passed since your escape, with no indication that the Iudex was on your trail. After enrolling in the Akademiya (which had required you to change your name, since posing as a four hundred year old would probably not go over well), you even found a group of fellow students that you worked and resided with in the city. You were still careful, of course—you never traveled alone, avoided looking flashy in public, and even altered your look by cutting your hair to suit the arid climate.

That is, until you weren’t.

Your advisor appointed you to join an exclusive research project on the wildlife transition along the Sumeru/Fontaine border. Having experience with Fontaine’s biology, you were the clear candidate. Your initial trepidation almost won out, but you finally conceded at the encouragement of your peers. You’d even be traveling with your advisor and two of your roommates, so you chalked your nerves up to not having set foot in the direction of Fontaine in months. After all, you’d been meaning to explore the desert and its ecology—you just needed to take the plunge and face your fears.

Water was a rarity in the desert, after all.

Which is why, as your party was ascending the final dunes of the Desert of Hadramaveth, you believed the tall, blue-adorned figure approaching was a mirage. A result of dehydration after days of travel in these harsh conditions, a trick of the mind—

“Of all the places you could have escaped to, was it necessary to choose such a dry and barren place as this?” The last part was mumbled under his breath, his tone taking on a low growl, “I cannot help but feel that you bringing me here is some form of an assassination attempt…”

At the sound of his voice, just as deep and commanding as you remembered, your entire being came to a standstill. You despised how you had been conditioned for that tone to send a pangs of trepidation to your core.

Yet despite the Chief Justice’s presence right before you, a part of your brain refused to process it. He was the Hydro dragon, for Archon’s sake. What in all of Teyvat could drag him to the farthest place from the sea?

You, apparently.

At your silence, Neuvillette’s lips tightened. His expression was near unreadable, but you recognized the tumultuous mix of anger and longing storming under that stoic facade.

The other members of your group appeared confused and uneasy. Apparently Neuvillette’s reputation preceded him, even outside of Fontaine, for the common mumbling you picked up on was speculations of his role here.

“Is that the Chief Justice of Fontaine?” a professor whispered to your advisor nervously. “What is he doing here? Surely none of us have offended the court…” Her eyes flickered to you briefly. Due to the nature of the research, it was common knowledge among the group that you were the one with connections to Fontaine.

Said Justice took a step towards you, spurring you to take a larger step back. You knew running wasn’t an option, but you reasoned that he couldn’t just take you clawing and spitting for all your colleagues to witness. No, he would have to convince them of your guilt before he could act.

Well, two could play at that game; you lived with Neuvillette long enough to learn some of his ticks and tells, especially when it came to you. This would be a game of negotiation, a chess match of wits. Neuvillette’s intellect was near unmatched, but if you played your cards right, you could win.

The tide that is Fontaine’s Iudex may one day sweep you under his control, but it is not this day.

“Madame (L/n), by the authority of the Court of Fontaine and the Nation of Justice, I hereby place you under my custody for immediate detainment.”

Or not.

A few of the researchers around you gasped, tittering about your supposed false identity. The professor from earlier backed away from you with a sneer. Looking around, you noted that even your friends were eyeing you warily like some stranger.

All logic left you at the dragon’s announcement. The terror gripping your heart was replaced by blinding, bubbling rage. You would not concede to the man who took everything from you and would take it all again, washing away the life you had built again like a house of sand.

You practically hissed in response. Now this was familiar. “Under what charges?”

Lifting his cane, Neuvillette summoned a levitating tome from which he read, “Multiple accounts of theft, use of a fraudulent identity, desertion in court to be tried for said charges, and emotional damages to the residents of Fontaine affected by your careless and selfish actions.”

You scoffed, your lip curling in a snarl. “And I suppose that last ‘charge’ applies specifically to you?”

The draconic man merely narrowed his piercing purple eyes. Unlike your own, Neuvillette’s demeanor did not falter. He wanted you to lash out, to validate the accusations against you in front of the Sumerian researchers. His objective was solely to retrieve you—quelling your anger would come later.

The day you left Fontaine, Neuvillette had felt a piece of his soul shatter.

He could feel the very moment you crossed the border, when the draconic bond between mates and lovers was severed. It was a guillotine to his head, a rope around his neck, a bullet to his temple. Pain, raw and agonizing, enveloped his very being. The dragon beneath his skin raged, begging Neuvillette to fly to you and sink his claws so deep you could never leave again. The all-consuming panic over your loss, over your safety now that you were outside of his sight, had threatened to rise up and smother him, to drown him and sweep the fractured pieces away until he was nothing.

It had rained for weeks straight, so much so that the citizens of Fontaine brought back the old adage—Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry.

As much as he wanted, needed to find you, the Chief Justice could not simply abandon his post and his people. Going against his very nature, he quelled the dragon and settled on deploying Gardemeks to Sumeru and Liyue to search for you. It had been easy enough to program them with your photo and statement of your status as a fugitive. Surely you couldn’t have gotten any farther than the regions bordering Fontaine, and if so, the mekas would signal your location to him in no time.

So, after weeks on end of the Garde failing to locate you, Neuvillette’s anxiety swelled from a shower to a tempest, a storm of violent wind and flurrying emotion. He found himself in the library he had built you, clawed fingers clutching his face with labored breaths. Black danced across his vision.

Was he not enough for you? Had he not given you anything and everything you could desire? Had he not kept his mate safe?

Why did you abandon me, (Y/n)?

When he had come to, the room was in tatters, the carpet shredded with claw marks and the walls smoldering with blue energy.

Neuvillette decided then that he could not wait any longer.

Tracking you only fueled the dragon. It could sense you, the pull of your tattoo awakening with each step Neuvillette took to close the gap. It was one mate beckoning another, like the pull of the moon on the tide. Your light guided him straight into your path.

And when Neuvillette finally saw your figure, illuminated by the hottest desert sun, he had nearly fallen to his knees and wept in relief. You were so beautiful, yet the look of terror on your face ripped his soul apart all over again. Even now, even here, you wanted to reject him. Could you not see how far he would travel for you, how long his reach would extend just to keep you safe?

In that moment, the dragon roared, and Neuvillette listened.

After seemingly endless hours, days, and months to think about the reasons you left him, he realized that he must have been too lenient with you. He practically was the law in Fontaine, yet he had dismissed your transgressions time and time again, thinking your outbursts were simply a temporary response to your new life with him. Yes, the transition had been sudden and the charges against you quite ridiculous, but he truly believed you would fall for him as he did you.

He would tolerate your backlash no more. No longer would he spoil you with gifts, hoping, praying to every member of the Seven just for you to smile at him. Never again would he sigh in defeat when you spurned his touch, leaving him to fuck his hand to the mere idea of you initiating physical intimacy.

No, just like any other criminal in Fontaine, you would have to be imprisoned until you learned your place—in your case, by his side. And he would be lying if he said the idea of punishing you for your offenses, for leaving him, didn’t cause his cock to twitch in anticipation.

The dragon demanded to be satisfied, and it would have its fill.

“We have numerous reports of you stealing Mora from unsuspecting individuals, as well as the testimony from the ship’s captain that you claimed to be a merchant immigrating to Sumeru. Then, of course, comes the addition consequences for violating the authority of the court by leaving Fontaine. The latter makes you a fugitive.”

“That’s insane! I only had to commit those so-called ‘crimes’ because you—”

“Ah, so you plead guilty.”

You blanched. No, not this again. He was riling you up, making you fumble with your argument like a child, just like your initial confrontation with him in the Opera Epiclese. But that was how he viewed you, wasn’t it? His centuries of experience would always trump your own.

“You know that’s not what I meant—

The sound of your advisor clearing his throat momentarily saved you. “Sir, with all due respect, we do not know whomever this Miss (L/n) you are referring to. This young lady here is Miss (Fake name), and she is one of my finest students. I highly doubt she is the one to have committed these acts.”

Neuvillete’s eyes flashed dangerously towards the researcher. He loomed over your advisor, casting them in shadow. “Shall I arrest you as well for conspiring with a criminal?”

You never thought silence could be so deafening.

The Iudex released a huff. “I didn’t think so.” With a flick of his hand, your wrists became bound together with bands of pure hydro. Your protestations did nothing to deter him as he motioned forward, causing you to be forcibly dragged forwards by an invisible force. You were no stranger to this procedure; Neuvillette had used his powers on you more than once in bed. Now that he had his hydro around you, he held all the authority.

Without the ability to control your movements, you tumbled into Neuvillette’s broad chest. To the others it appeared as if he were securing your bindings, but you shivered as he buried his nose in your hair. Softly, in a voice only meant for you, he sighed, “Oh, how I dreamed of this moment, my darling (Y/n). A valiant effort, to be sure, though your pursuit was always in vain. There is nowhere in all of Teyvat I won’t find you.” His hand ran down the length of your arm, where you knew your draconic tattoo was once more glowing under your tunic. “You are marked as mine, my wife. My mate.”

You jerked your head away despite his scent invading your being. “I will never stop running from you, husband,” you growled, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Dissolving into the Primordial Sea is preferable to lifetime with you.”

To your surprise, a low chuckle escaped the Chief Justice’s lips. “I think you’ll soon find that I can be quite persuasive.” He stood to his full height, face reverting to his usually stoicism. “I shall be taking my leave with the prisoner, then. If any of you wish to object to this ruling, you may submit a false claim report to the Court, and I will attend to it personally.”

Glancing around at your peers, those you believed to be your friends and colleagues, you knew that none of them would fight for you. News of your detainment would be spread through the Akademiya, forever tarnishing your reputation. It was over, and Neuvillette had emerged victorious once again.

The Iudex motioned you forward with a tip of his cane and an ominous spark in his eyes. “Come, my beloved. Let us return home.”

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 23

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; a tad bit of angst; smidge of illness; all the pregnancy woes in the world; some suggestive dialogue A/N: There's some serious fluff in this. I tried so hard to keep Daryl in character while having him offer all he could to a person doing something precious for him. I hope I succeeded. The explanation of midnight blue is a little bit of self indulgence. It's my own favorite color and the reason why. I know I skipped the nursing home scene but I took the liberty of adding into the timeline somewhere as a mention.

The events of the day before had ended in the most amusing way, with you nearly inviting Carol in before getting dressed.

“She knows what tits and a vagina look like, Daryl.”

“She don’t know what my dick looks like, Y/N!”

“Touche, sir.”

All ended well and Carol saw no genitalia that fine day.

You had officially worn one another out. After the Tylenol and Carol’s snickers and knowing smiles, you and Daryl fell onto the pillows and slept until the next morning. The fever remained, albeit burning less and less hot each time the old man would look him over. His lungs were sounding better. Hershel removed the IV when the archer proved he could keep up with hydrating and promised to take it easy. Of course, he would. He had you as his warden. 

The next evening, after a bowl of hearty stew with the venison you had brought back,—two bowls for Daryl—you laid in bed. He wasn’t complaining, for once, and actually seemed to be close to falling asleep. It had been a relief to watch him eat well, even if he did try to share the second bowl. You were feeling a little nauseated, sharing that knowledge honestly when you turned down his offering. Your condition had definitely improved, the severity of the occurrences much less concerning. Things were actually okay. 

“Daryl?” You licked your suddenly dry lips but continued drawing patterns on his bare chest from your spot against his side with his arm wrapped around you. He hummed, his usual reply, eyes remaining closed while his thumb swept back and forth over your ribs. When you didn’t answer right away, he pulled you a little closer. It was unclear if it was intentional or not.

“What?” He cleared his throat, his voice still gravelly. 

“Can we—I’d like to know more about you.” Your timid request must have snagged his attention because he was shifting your bodies to lie face to face, one hand below his cheek and the other rubbing small circles just over where the baby had finally stopped tap dancing. He was giving you that look, the squinted eyes that scrutinized someone for any indication of dishonesty or hidden agenda. He should know you better than that by now, but you remained quiet.

“Whaddaya wanna know?” He finally queried, his hand going still but remaining where it was.

“Anything. Everything.” You shrugged your available shoulder. “If we’re gonna do this—be an us—then we need to know one another, don’t you think?” He started tapping a finger against your abdomen.

“S’your favorite color?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, scrunching it with a smile. “Midnight blue. What’s yours?” He pulled a face, curiosity shining through.

“Why midnight?” He asked with a sniff, shuffling around a bit on the pillow.

“Because even though I know it isn’t, I like to think that’s the color of the night sky. Not black, but dark blue and full stars. Black is nothing, it’s lonely, but to think of it as blue. It’s a little more comforting.” The archer gave you a thoughtful look, the corner of his mouth ticking upward so minutely that anyone else would have missed it. Not you. “Now, what’s yours?”

He mimicked your earlier shrug. “Dunno. Don’t really got one, I guess.” Your silence beckoned him to explain. After moving his hand from below his cheek to chew on the side of his thumb, he eventually elaborated. “Grew up learnin’ to ‘preciate all’a ‘em. House was—it was always dark, ‘specially after mama died. When my old man—I spent a lot’a time outside. Noticed things. Blue sky’d turn a bit purple before it’d snow, even if it was just a lil’. Grass—it’d be green but have those brown pieces where I’d walk all’a the time. Creek looked muddy unless ya stood in it. Then ya’d see the bottom an’ how the water’d catch the light. Sometimes it’d be blue, sometimes kinda green. Just depended on the day.” His gaze had dropped away from you at some point, focused on the miniscule area of bed sheets between your bodies.

You were glad for it because your eyes had started to fill and shine. You were granted the opportunity to blink back the tears before he looked up. Daryl was so much more than anyone had given him credit for, than anyone had been willing to learn. Carol had told you a story about an exchange with Andrea, when she had taken a jab at what she thought was his limited vocabulary.

“Get a dictionary. Look it up. Observant.”

“D’ya like dogs or cats?” He asked so suddenly that you nearly flinched, realizing that you had just been staring at some point past his head for an undetermined amount of time. There was no way he hadn’t noticed.

“I like both, but I’m a dog person.” You frowned. Having a dog would probably be something your child would never get to experience. “You?”

“Dogs. Cats ain’t trustworthy.” It was such an amusing thing to say with such a straight face. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, I need to hear this.” You caught him staring at your lips, maybe watching you laugh or maybe he wanted to kiss you. Both? You pretended not to notice. 

“Dogs’re smart but cats’re calculated. Make ya think they’re all innocent when they ain’t. Always up to somethin’.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re afraid of cats.” You smirked, absently reaching to run your fingers through his hair. Daryl made a disgruntled sound and shook his head to stave off your attempts.

“Ain’t afraid’a ‘em. Just don’t trust ‘em.”

“Right.” You nodded, face falling into feigned seriousness before it became real, your next question burning inside your chest, just below the fear you’d need to surpass to ask. He was likely to shut down the session, maybe even close off completely. You could always hope he’d begun to trust you enough to open up, even if only a little, but the prospect suddenly seemed so far away. “Daryl.”

“Ask.” He was looking right into your eyes with a hint of determination you’d seen before when the circumstances were different, dire even. Was that how he saw this? A dire situation that could result in you being gone in some way?

“Who—what happened?” You let a single fingertip press gently against the deepest scar on his chest, your eyes lingering on it for but a moment before you contradicted his intensity with tenderness. Not pity, but a gentle curiosity. A request to allow you to understand.

“My dad—he was never a good man.” He swallowed hard. “Got worse after mama died. She drank. Fell asleep with a smoke, burned up in our house.” His fingers were plucking at the small space between you, a fine tremor in his hand. He pulled it out of your reach when you reached for it. “Didn’t know what to do with us, I guess. Me an’ Merle—my brother.” The brother that Rick had left behind in Atlanta, the brother who was likely dead. Yet another relative your baby would never know. “Merle tried to—he’d take the beatin’ when he could, did his best. Booked it outta there when he couldn't take it no more. Joined the army.” His eyes were wet, but he sniffed and cleared his throat. “Wasn't nothin’ standin’ between me an’ the old man then—between me an’ the belt. The cigarettes.” He fell silent, clearly finished with talking about his parents.

“Tell me about Merle?” You ventured, shot down with a shake of his head against the pillow.

“Ain’t your turn.” He sniffed again. “Your mama—tell me ‘bout your mama.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of a soft demand; an it’s only fair. You didn’t mind. You’d accepted her abandonment long ago. You had been content with the amazing father with whom you were gifted.

“She booked it. We didn’t have a lot of money, and she never really wanted me in the first place. Tucked tail and ran the first chance she got.” You shrugged, unbothered beyond the twinge of guilt you felt for being so okay with the hand you had been dealt while Daryl struggled to even think about his past. “I didn’t even miss her. I mean, it sucked at first. I always felt bad, watching daddy struggle. So, I learned to help and that was that.”

He was so obviously jealous, yet another emotion that he didn't know how to process. You saw the anger flare before he doused it, returning to a solemn state of silence. He was awaiting your question, wherein you found a dilemma. Did you push through the conversation about his family? Or did you switch to something else, give him a break? 

“Thank you for trusting me.” When you reached for him then, he didn’t pull away. His mask cracked and a few pieces fell away, but he held the rest steady. “That’s enough for now, okay? If you have more questions, I’ll answer them. Gladly. But you’ve shared enough, okay?” When he studied you, you didn’t let him proceed with his usual scrutiny. “It’s fine, Daryl. We can talk more when—if—you ever want to again. You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

He accepted the out with a long exhale and a nod, his gaze falling away. You embraced the silence and its discomfort, just touching him while he was in a place to allow it. You stroked his cheek, the stubble thicker than usual with his confinement to the bed. You smoothed his hair, scratched gently over his scalp. Finally, you scooted closer and pulled him toward you to meet in the middle. Tangling your legs around his, you guided his head to rest under your chin. He let you without complaint or denial, a testament to how he had silently endured when he needed comforting.

The two of you laid there, his breaths evening out to the point where you thought he had fallen asleep. Then, breaking the silence, he cleared his throat. “Why me?” You pulled back just enough to angle your head and look at him.

“Why you what?”

“Why ya settlin’ with me? We can raise a kid together without you givin’ up a chance with someone better.” He took a deep breath, keeping his head down. “I won’t hold ya to it if ya change your mind later—if someone shows—”

“There’s no one better.” You nearly snapped at him, your tone harsher than you’d ever meant for it to be. He flinched and you instantly hated yourself for it. You’d seen someone’s quick movements earn that reaction before, but words hardly affected Daryl physically, not like that. “Daryl.” You silently pleaded with him to look at you, but were left disappointed. “There’s no one better.” You repeated, so softly that it was almost a whisper, your breath disturbing his hair. “I want to raise this baby with you. I want to be with you. I love you. That’s not gonna change.”

He simply hummed, the sound reverberating against your throat. You wanted to throttle him, but none of his self-deprecation was his fault. You hated people you didn’t even know for it. “Don’t deserve all this.” Your brow furrowed deeply at his words. “Feel like m’gettin’ somethin’ meant for someone else. Like m’takin’—” The words died on the tip of his tongue. What could you even say to that? You could tell him he deserved the world—the fucking universe—but he’d never believe it. You’d just have to show him. It would take time and patience that would likely be tested over and over, but he was worth it.

“You’ll see.” You settled back against him, let silence fall between you again. After a while, he actually did fall asleep, the tension you had noticed in him finally melting away into a restful state he so desperately needed in order to continue getting well. A kiss was pressed into his hair. You never fell asleep yourself, simply lying there with him. Your heart ached yet it was full. With your fingers traveling up and down his back in gentle motions you hoped were comforting even within his dreams, you told him again. “You’ll see.”

Daryl was coughing strenuously by the time you reached the truck, his hand pressed hard against his chest. The cold air, the rush of grabbing up all the bags, the running from the herd—it was taking its toll on his still healing body.

“Keys.” You demanded. “I’m driving.”  You could see it on his face that he was going to argue, but he doubled over in another fit of coughs and deep, wheezing gasps. Digging in his pocket through the ordeal, he tossed you the keyring. The bags you two were responsible for were tossed into the back next to the bike. It took the archer two attempts to pull himself onto the bench seat, which required the effort of both your bodies to move back in order to accommodate your 30 week bump. Just as your door closed, a discolored hand slapped against the window, startling you into a shout.

The van was already moving when you pressed the gas to peel out behind it, mowing down at least three walkers. Dark blood splattered onto the windshield, smearing but mostly washing away when you used the partially frozen fluid and wipers. Daryl’s forehead was against the dashboard as he fought to catch his breath in the chilled air. You were fumbling for the temperature controls when he smacked your hand away.

“Just—just drive. I got it.” He rasped, the warming air filling the cab a moment later. His back thudded against the seat, shaking it slightly, his head falling back against the headrest with his eyes closed. He was finally sucking in gulps of air into irritated, partially healed lungs. When you reached a point that was safe enough to pull off, you would make sure the group remembered his state of health and didn’t travel for too long before finding anything suitable and safe enough for a stay of at least a few days. “Quit your worryin’, woman. M’good.”

“Just don’t, Daryl.” You argued quietly, desperate to keep the peace between the pair of you that you’d managed to create. “Let me worry. If you don’t fight me on it, I’ll be less likely to do something stupid.” You glanced over, finding his head rolled toward you, his jaw set but he relented with a jerk of his head.

“Fine. Just have ‘em find whatever. S’long as it keeps your ass right here beside me.” 

You smiled and silently celebrated your victory, even as he noticed and grumbled beside you. When you placed your hand, palm up, on the seat between you, only a heartbeat passed before you felt him squeezing your fingers.

Roughly eight weeks left, though Hershel said you could safely deliver if you made it at least four more weeks. You were actually becoming slightly miserable. The nausea would come and go, though you actually vomited less and less. Your ankles were missing completely under the puffy skin. Your belly felt so heavy that even just standing was becoming a chore. Lori was sympathetic, constantly giving you advice. Not only you but Daryl as well. You had seen her whispering to him, watched the way he would go completely still, not looking at her but listening intently. Rick could give him all the advice in the world but Lori’s input was crucial. She knew exactly what you needed.

The archer argued with you less and less, though you could see the restraint it took for him to bite his tongue, sometimes literally. He let you hunt with him because you were restless. Lori had said it was because of the urge to start nesting, which you had found amusing, but Daryl already knew about it because of the damn books he continued to snatch up on runs. Why it frustrated you that he was willing to go that extra mile was beyond your comprehension. Maybe because he knew more about what was going on with your body than you did? You should have been grateful, but all you wanted to do was kick him in the shins.

“Can ya just—nevermind.” He grunted from behind you while the two of you tracked some turkeys. You knew they’d be in the trees for the cold weather so you kept your eyes upward, irritating the hunter when you would nearly trip or run into something. Still, he kept his cool, which was admirable for your hot-headed partner. Daryl didn’t like the term boyfriend, you’d discovered during a brief conversation where you’d found your tongue looser than normal and spilling out questions you’d otherwise never ask. The two of you had settled on being partners, though you didn’t feel it was enough to describe your relationship. He had simply shrugged.

You couldn’t hunt with a gun. He’d all but forbade it. Too loud, would draw walkers. So he found you a bow. Not a crossbow but a traditional one. It didn’t take much practice. You only needed to become familiar with the tension of the string, how far to pull for the trajectory and speed needed. Aiming came naturally.

“Shut up, Daryl. I’m fine.” You snapped, instantly muttering an apology. It was but wasn’t his fault you felt so crappy. It took two to make the baby whose little foot or hand or whatever was always pressing into your ribs. You were just as responsible and tried to remember that even when it was you and not him that felt like absolute shit most of the time. As if the world was hellbent on fucking with you, the toe of your boot found its way beneath an exposed root and you nearly faceplanted. If not for Daryl’s constant observance, you surely would have.

He snagged your bicep, dropping his crossbow to reach across your chest and grip your other shoulder. All you needed was a dislocated shoulder when you were already so beyond miserable. He made sure you stayed on your feet, nearly stumbling himself, but saying nothing when you found his irritated but concerned gaze. The weight of it instantly brought on the sniffling you knew was about to lead to a breakdown.

Over the course of only three weeks, the archer had memorized the signs and adapted, learning how to soothe you even at the expense of his own comfort. He immediately pulled you into his arms as close as he could with your ever-growing belly between you, shushing you and rubbing your back. 

“S’alright. I won’t letcha fall.”

Noble as his intentions were, that only seemed to stir up even more guilt. “I don’t know why I can’t just listen when you tell me I should stay behind! Why do you let me just do whatever I want even when you know it’s the wrong choice?!” You rubbed your wet face against his button up, leaving a dark spot and not for the first time.

“Cause you’re hard-headed an’ feelin’ like crap. Only make ya feel worse for me to argue with ya.”

And just like that, the switch flipped. “I’m not hard-headed, Daryl! I’m fucking capable and everyone wants to treat me like I’m gonna break!” You pushed him away roughly and stomped forward, sniffling harder than necessary. You heard a sigh from behind you, the sound of him picking up his crossbow and before following at a distance.

When you shot down the turkey, even beyond the pride you felt carrying it back, something told you that he saw it first but didn’t even raise his weapon.

Carol had heated some water for you so you could wipe down, feeling like your skin was crawling after being in the woods all day. It was a foreign feeling for the leaves and cool, fresh air to feel like it stuck to your flesh and needed to be scrubbed away. You were a mess. Your body hurt and you constantly needed to pee. You were irritable. You’d want Daryl to fuck you one minute and then shove him away the moment he touched the slick apex of your thighs. You were torturing the poor man who didn’t have a clue how to provide the type of comfort you needed when he couldn’t even process how to overcome his own lack of it growing up.

You didn’t hear him enter the room as you bowed over the small sink in the dusty bathroom, your skin still damp beneath your long sleeved shirt and flannel sleep pants. You had washed your hair to the best of your ability, the wet strands forming a curtain around your face that blocked your view of the door. You didn’t startle when you felt the heat of his body behind you. It was familiar at that point in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl.” You whispered, the syllables of his name coming out as a soft whimper. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing nervously.

“S’okay.” He stepped closer and you fully expected to feel his erection press against your ass, but that wasn’t the case. There was only the firm safety of his body, your human security blanket. “Wanna—can I try somethin’?” His voice shook beside your ear but his hands remained steady, digits still squeezing and releasing. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, his exhale warm against your neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t his warm palms sliding beneath your belly and lifting with more gentleness than you were aware a human being could possess. The absence of the weight pulling down was an instant relief, your muscles turning to jello. You leaned back against him and he kept you upright, silently offering you comfort and succor that your body didn’t even know it needed.

“Fuck.” You breathed, eyes fluttering closed and head laying back against his shoulder. The tears came when his lips pressed against your temple, wordlessly expressing his gratitude for what you were enduring. “Thank you.” Your own appreciation trembled over your lips, whether toward the man at your back or a god you weren’t sure you believed in for putting him there.

[wing-ed-thing]

Marriage Pact (Erwin x Reader) Part II

Synopsis: To the surprise of the cadets, Commander Erwin is married to more than just his work. Their curiosity brings up fond memories of your and Erwin’s early days in the scouts.

Word Count: 6.2k

Tags/Warnings: Language, No Reader Pronouns, Fluff, Marriage Pacts, 104th Cadet Corps Shenanigans

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Notes: It's heeeeeeeeeereeeeeeee

He woke you up the morning of your expedition before the sun rose, gently shaking you awake where you had slouched over. It took a few blinks to remember where you were and the night of drinking, games, and stories you orchestrated the night prior. You sat up with a yawn, back cracking in the multiple places where your makeshift mat of seat cushions hadn’t been kind to you. Erwin knelt on one knee in front of you, his frame outlined in the dark blue hue of the early sky that trickled in through the tall windows. He spoke softly about getting everyone up to prepare to head out.

Hange remained curled up in your lap with their arms wrapped around your leg. 

Erwin’s cloak draped over your shoulders and enveloped your form. You wouldn’t even remember you were wearing it until you stopped by your quarters to change into your full uniform. Unable to catch him in the chaos of the expedition prep, you left it hanging up near his horse. 

He hadn’t even asked for it back, nor did he bring up your agreement from the night before.

***

“Like… the captain in the Garrison?” Eren chewed his bread thoughtfully, betraying an otherwise bored expression. Jean leaned forward to gauge everyone's expressions around the table. His face fell as everyone seemed to busy themselves with their mundane meals. Jean’s brows knitted together as a severe pout tugged at his lips.

“Yeah…?” He glanced at Eren, who didn’t meet his eye, before surveying the table again. He repeated your rank and name, stressing each syllable. Jean waved a palm in the air. “Hello? I thought you guys would be more invested in this.” A wave of silent hums and acute cringes spread throughout the gathered cadets. Jean sputtered, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “What?”

“I mean…” Armin started, staring off into the grains of the wooden table. “It makes some professional sense.”

“Armin—”

“Really, Armin?”

“Stop.”

The few low hisses circling around the table made Armin bow back toward his meal. Jean blinked, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t dreaming. 

“What is with you guys?” Jean exclaimed, slapping away Sasha’s hand, which was slowly creeping onto his plate. His mouth opened and closed as a croaking sound stalled in his throat. While everyone ate as usual, Bertholdt was unfortunate enough to meet Jean’s crazed expression. He gulped, quickly shoving a spoonful of stew in his mouth. “Really, Bertholdt?”

“Jean,” Reiner swiveled in his seat with a roll of his eyes and a heave of his shoulders. He breathed out a sigh, letting his spoon hit his plate. Reiner hand waved once assertively in the air in front of Jean’s face. “It’s just not believable.”

“The commander’s initials were literally on the bouquet.”

“No way is Erwin sending roses to a government office,” Eren interjected as if stating the obvious. He blew a few strands of his bangs away from his face, hardly looking at the rest of the group as he tried to play off his clearly piqued interest. “No way Erwin’s sending flowers at all.” 

“Damn, Jean, get a grip,” Connie muttered, elbowing Jean in the side. 

“Did I mention that his initials were on the card?” Jean swatted at Connie’s arm, the two briefly engaging in a battle of swats and slaps before Jean turned to the table with a determined fervor. He held one hand planted on Connie’s cheek, keeping himself out of range of Connie’s attempted slaps. “And they used to be section commanders together. There is quite literally a picture of them framed in the captain’s office.” He pointed confidently off in the vague direction of Garrison headquarters.

“There is?” Mikasa muttered, her forehead knitting together slightly as she cocked her head to the side. She pinched her chin between her fingers in thought. “Huh, I always just focused on the tea cart.”

“We all focus on the tea cart! And the snacks that are sometimes also there!” Reiner asserted, slapping the table, causing the dishes to clatter. He crossed his arms with a disappointed shake of his head. “Psh, everyone knows that. That’s why running paperwork to the Garrison is the best job you could get assigned. I’d fight a man to be able to sit in a cushy room drinking tea for an hour. It’s like getting a paid break to sit with a— a, uh—” He held his clenched fingers up to his lips as he searched for the word, nose scrunching. —“A wise tree.” Reiner’s hand opened emphatically to accent the phrase.

“I have fought a man for gopher duty!” Sasha barked, food still in her mouth. “And when I got there, I got extra sugar and that really expensive bruise ointment—”

— “Oh shit, really? That’s where you got that from?” Ymir blinked from the other end of the table. “That stuff is really nice.”

“And I got to keep it!”

Jean huffed, sitting straight to cross his arms with a stuck-up nose. 

“Look at the shelf on the opposite side of the desk the next time you’re there because I guarantee you that ointment was paid for by a commander’s salary.” He struck a fist into his opposite hand. His determination to be right had hardly been extinguished. 

“Let’s go now.”

Jean’s eyes snapped wide open. 

“What?” The others were already beginning to stand. Jean’s gaze darted to each of them as everyone began to gather their jackets and pick up their plates. A decision had apparently been made silently and without him. “You want to break into Garrison headquarters?”

Eren paused, his uniform jacket slung over his shoulder. He offered Jean an absentminded shrug.

“It’s not breaking in. We’re scouting. Surveying, if you will.” He left Jean alone at the cafeteria table to turn in his dishes. Jean noticed after a beat, immediately scooping up his dishware to follow the group.

“You’re kidding! I thought everyone wasn’t interested!”

***

A priest came to the Survey Corps hospital the morning after the expedition. You gathered a bouquet of flowers from a shrub in the courtyard for Murray and sat in attendance as she and Owens were married right there in the hospital. Wrapped up in bandages with missing limbs and bleeding wounds, they tearfully exchanged vows before succumbing to their injuries. You sat with them as a witness to their union until they were pronounced dead. 

Both of them served under your command, after all. You thought you owed it to them.

You would be given their death notices to sign off on a day later. 

You updated Murray’s certificate to “Owens” and sat at your desk, staring at the twin pages before you. Murray’s last name had been carefully blotted out in your correction, leaving her new name slightly bumpy. There were three spaces at the bottom labeled in smaller writing: one for the medical examiner’s signature (if applicable), one for the section commander, and one for the commander. The notice was written on quality paper, and from a quick glance, you would have guessed that the page was for an award rather than a certificate of death.

A light tapping broke you from your thoughts. Erwin stood in your doorframe. 

“Am I interrupting?” 

You almost jumped, face rising from where it had rested against your palm. A single, intense palpitation shot through your chest at the sight of him. He was as neat and put-together as always, from his combed bangs to his crisp uniform. You shook your head, beckoning him into your office. 

“Not at all.” 

He walked across the room, a small stack of papers in his hand wrapped in a neat string. 

“These are yours. They must’ve gotten mixed up.” You stood, staring at them with a quirk of your lip as you tried to hide your nervousness. You stared at the bundle of pages, doing nothing at all, before you decided to take them from his hand. 

“Oh, I haven’t even looked at these yet. Here, I probably have yours.” You set the compilation down to immediately sift through a larger stack of paperwork in the shallow wooden bin to the side of your desk. You felt like your hands were shaking, but Erwin didn’t seem to hold the same anxiety as you. Lingering patiently, Erwin glanced around your office as you consulted your collection of work to do.

You wondered if he remembered your conversation from the night before the last expedition. Hell, if it weren’t for Erwin’s cloak, you wouldn’t have been able to decipher whether your agreement was a dream. A part of you prayed that he hadn’t remembered— A marriage pact. What were you thinking?— but your instincts reluctantly told you that he not only remembered but could probably recall every word. 

You spared a single glance toward him as you rifled through your pages. Erwin caught your eye, offering you a slight, closed-lipped smile and a pleased raise of his thick eyebrows. You averted your attention with a newfound nervousness. 

You had no issue interacting with Erwin before. You were as close with him as you were with any other section commander and would have dared to consider him a friend. A good friend you’ve known for many years, he had your back on the battlefield and saved your life more times than you could count. He broke into that storage closet for your daft idea. That had to have meant something.

But he couldn’t have possibly been serious about your agreement. Of everyone you knew, Erwin sat near the bottom of the list of people you’d consider interested in marriage. Looking like he did, he had good chances of courting anyone he wanted. And yet, he agreed to marry you.

“They made it.”

“Hm?” You glanced up from your shuffling to follow Erwin’s gaze. He brushed the corner of one of the certificates, pulling it on the desk by the corner so that it sat at an angle. He cocked his head to read it better, then glanced back at you. “Oh.” You turned away as you continued your sifting. “Their injuries were terrible. They passed in the hospital yesterday—”

“But they made it.” Erwin never took his attention off you as he tapped Owens’ corrected name. Your heart twinged with guilt as you heaved a light sigh.

“I suppose they did,” you resigned, displacing a chunk of the pile on your desk chair. You blew at a strand of hair in your face before a realization hit you. Your lips formed a thin smile, and your forehead made the slightest wrinkle as you quirked your head to yourself, finally finding the files you were looking for. “I forgot I told you about that.”

“Forgot?”

You offered the bound pages across the width of your desk. The same colored string hung off them, the ends in a neat bow. Erwin’s bright blue irises held a certain seriousness in them. 

“Things have just been… busy.” You didn’t know what else to say. Erwin glanced off to the side momentarily, tucking the stack of pages under his arm.

“I see,” he said with a nod. You stood awkwardly, the files you had displaced on your seat. “Thank you for looking for these. I’m glad we could get it sorted.” Erwin turned to walk casually back out to the hall, only stopping when you called out his name.

“Erwin?” He turned, thick brows raised in attention. He pivoted on your area rug, and once you had his attention, you didn’t quite know what to do with it. You leaned forward with a hand on your desk, letting the moment pass as you searched for words. “Um— did you want some tea?” 

Erwin offered you a small, dimpled smile. 

“I’ll have to pass. I need to get these done.” He held up his handful of papers. It was an answer that made sense for two section commanders such as yourselves. You were coworkers. Perhaps you were even coworkers before you were friends. 

“Oh… yeah, of course,” you laughed nervously, watching the back of his head retreat into the hallway and down toward his office at the other end of the hall. You sank down to the floor in mortification. 

Great, now you’ve made it awkward.

***

It was a week full of paperwork, and you were officially one expedition down out of three. Three. What an oddly specific number. Between expeditions one and two sat the Military Ball, which was less about celebrating service members as advertised and more about political schmoozing and securing funds for the three military branches.

The entire headquarters was in a scurry to prepare, the rush to get the paperwork done and aesthetics in order starkly contrasted to the usual bustle and priorities of the Scout Regiment. It was an odd time to attend. While the Garrison and Military Police continued their business inside the walls, the Survey Corps reeled from your most recent expedition just a week prior. But in typical fashion for the Scouts, the world moved on. Having signed off on the death certificates for your fallen squad members days ago, it was in your best interest to rest your sights on the future, even if that meant attending a celebration in the wake of tragedy.

You scurried up the steps, making last-minute tucks and adjustments to your dress uniform. Always the one left to tie up loose ends, you insisted that everyone else go on without you. Being called back to the office to finish tasks wasn’t out of the question. Erwin once told you that the last full batch of section commanders had been called out of the Military Ball in the first hour for missing reports. 

You offered the greeting committee at the front a heartfelt salute, gesturing toward your credentials before they finally let you in. The ballroom was illuminated in a golden glow, highlighting the shiny, rich decor fitting for a grand venue in the Capital Mitras. You tried to hide your rushing, slowing your pace to offer polite smiles to the military personnel and politicians who lingered about enjoying their appetizers and complimentary aperitifs.

Hange had made their way deep into the room, their voice ringing out over the sea of chatter. From what you could tell, they had gathered quite a crowd of wealthy nobles excited to hear harrowing tales about the titans. They certainly chose the wrong soldier to prod about titan information. Not only would they be engaged in conversation for the entire night, but you wouldn’t be surprised if someone grew physically ill based on the level of detail Hange decided to spout. You pushed on, swiping a bubbling drink off a service tray and a small hors d'oeuvre off another as you scanned the bustling ballroom. 

It wasn’t hard to find Erwin. He stood tall next to a cocktail table outlined in a thick, white cloth. With a cocktail flute in one hand, he struggled at the knot in his bolo tie. 

“I see they're letting just anybody in here.” Erwin’s pretty blue irises flickered up as you approached, your snack quickly disappearing past your lips. 

“Same could go for you. Is that a non-standard issue No. 20 brown belt I see?” 

“Oh, shut up!” You hurried over, giddy like a schoolchild afraid of getting scolded by the headmaster. “Mine broke on expedition. I was hoping no one would notice.” You shook your head before placing your drink down on the table and wiping your fingers with your cocktail napkin. 

“You wore your dress uniform belt on expedition?” Erwin’s hands immediately fell away as you stepped forward to work at the tight knot the leather strings had been contorted into. You bobbed your head from side to side.

“My straps have gone to shit. I really need to order new ones, I just haven’t gotten around to it.” You dug your nail at the tough bundle of leather before withdrawing for a moment in disdain. You cocked your head to the side, holding the bunch in your fingers. “What the hell did you do to this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” The tightest portion of the knot loosened. Your shoulders drooped as you let out a short breath of relief before continuing to unravel the knot.

 “I’m surprised they didn’t give you a hard time about credentials. I swear that one guy looked at me funny because my lapel wasn’t properly ironed.” The loop you were making steadily grew larger. With a few more strategic pulls, the center would open. 

“I was holding it in my hand when we came in, if you’d believe it.” You could feel his chuckle reverberate through his chest.

“I’m sure Shadis was thrilled by that.” The knot came undone, and you tugged at it until the leather strings sat kinky but otherwise untangled across his collarbone. You took to adjusting the entire tie so that the ends sat orderly and symmetrically with the clasp neatly in the middle. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Erwin looped a finger through your thin belt, giving it a playful tug. You didn’t look away from your work for a second, all too aware of your close proximity. You avoided looking at his face as you stepped back, his bolo tie finally arranged at the center of his collar. 

“You’re sure in high spirits tonight,” you mused with a roll of your eyes. “Looking for the bottom of that bottomless champagne?”

“I can’t say I’ve started such a challenge,” Erwin said with a bounce of his brows, a smile creeping onto his lips. He clasped his hands behind his back as he surveyed the room. You picked your drink back up, swirling it in the glass with a shrug of your shoulders and a dip of your lip. You stared out into the crowd along with him.

You were content to stand with him, watching as people mingled around the room in a sea of uniforms, gowns, and suits. The members of the Survey Corps were the easiest to spot. Members of your squads grouped together, claiming their own territories amongst the circular dining tables. The prideful sported their dress uniforms, but it appeared that most were content to shed the Wings of Freedom for a night in exchange for their best formal attire. 

A part of you was relieved that the dress uniform was mandatory for all four section commanders. You hadn’t had anything too special in your closet anyway.

“Probably for the best. When things settle, I’m going to take a crack at Senator Montgomery.” 

“Are you now?” Erwin quirked a brow as he continued to look out into the distance. A serving tray traveled by with champagne, and Erwin took one. “Eager for a few more expeditions?” 

“He’s pretty agreeable after dinner,” you continued. You didn’t even hear him. “Not to mention that his children are fascinated with horses. I’ve been giving them lessons, and I take the youngest riding on the trail near the outskirts of Rose about once a month.” You took a sip of your bubbly, savoring the taste. Another group entered through the rich double doors. “It’s been our little arrangement for quite some time. I’m sure he won’t take much more convincing. Besides, I know you’re going for Edmonds.”

“You’re quite the detective.” Erwin offered a polite smile to a pair of politicians passing by before glancing back at you. “I expect no less from you. You’ve always been quite sharp when it comes to these things.”

“Please—” You shook your head, toying with the stem of your glass. —“Everyone knows Shadis wants you to bag the big one. Edmonds is tough, but you’re good with your words. I think you’ll have an in by the end of the night.”

“You give me too much credit.”

“You can play modest with Edmonds, but I know you better than to believe that.” You weren’t really thinking when you snorted, eyes trained on the familiar faces traveling across the ballroom. A small, sentimental smile played on your lips. You didn’t notice that either.

“Do you now?” You incidentally met his eye, and the simple act of doing so made your heart skip a beat. A light, curious glimmer glinted in his expression. You quickly glanced away, fiddling with your glass before bringing it to your lips. Erwin’s attention was still trained on you in your peripheral. 

“We’ve served for a long time,” you resigned with a sigh. The nervousness you had never felt with Erwin before continued to constrict your chest. You tried not to let it show. Erwin seemed to let the matter go, turning his attention forward again to your relief. 

“That we have…”

“Erwin? Erwin! AHH!” A woman’s voice carried over the crowd. A puff of strawberry blonde hair peaked out over the top of the bustling throng along with a single, dainty pale hand. You could see glimpses of her periodically jumped on her low flats to catch a glimpse of Erwin as she gradually made her way through the horde of people. “Excuse us. Sorry. Excuse us!” 

It didn’t take long for her to break through, and to your surprise, she tugged Nile Dok in tow. She was a beautiful woman with long, curly hair, the color of which complimented her deep mustard-colored gown. The fabric draped elegantly over her rounded stomach and her shoulders were decorated in light tulle. She dropped Nile’s sleeve as she stood in front of you and Erwin, stretching her arms out with a gleeful smile. Erwin graciously greeted her, letting her wrap her arms around his neck in a deep hug. She just about squeezed the air out of him.

“Erwin! Look at you! It’s been too long!” 

“Careful,” Nile warned apprehensively but did little to get involved.

At a loss for what to do, you made eye contact with the ever-serious Nile Dok, offering him a salute and a polite greeting.

“It’s good to see you, Captain Dok. You’re looking well.”

“The same could be said for you, Section Commander.” He nodded cordially. Your attention snapped back to Erwin at the sound of your name.

“I’d like to introduce you to my good friend, Marie Dok. You’re acquainted with her husband, Nile Dok.” He gestured toward the woman before you. “Marie, this is my colleague—” The way he spoke your name sounded like an afterthought, but Marie paid no mind. She smiled at you, holding open her arms again to pull you into a warm hug. 

“Oh—” You reciprocated her gesture when the momentary shock wore off. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Section Commander,” she oozed before pulling away. She smelled subtly of fresh flowers. 

“Please, no need to be so formal,” you insisted with a light laugh.

“The two of you are going to eat with us, aren’t you? We have more than enough room at our table,” Marie pressed on. She turned in search of Nile’s approval while you glanced toward Erwin. Nile spared a knowing look toward Marie and a sigh before joining yours and Erwin’s silent conversation. Not being a fan of the mental exchanges being had without her, Marie couldn’t help the pout that found her lips. “I know the three of you have to make the rounds, but at least come to our table for dinner. Just the dinner part.” She playfully nudged Nile’s arm before taking it in her own. “If the senators and commanders get to talk shop with you all night, I think I deserve at least some of your time.”

“I couldn’t intrude,” you attempted to politely decline. Marie continued to pout.

“Please—” She huffed with a certain informality refreshing in comparison to the setting. It almost made you laugh. “Military folk are so hard to pin down these days. Besides, any friend of Erwin’s is a friend of mine!” 

You finally relented, head stuck on that word “friend.”

***

Dinner that night was by no means cheap. Not only were the attendees given a choice of several dietary selections for the main course, but among the spread were prime cuts of beef, whole fowl, sides of decadent potatoes with gravy, and a mix of fresh greens unlike anything most Scout Regiment soldiers had ever seen. 

You tried to savor your meal, but more than half your plate was gone before you could blink. Glancing around, you were willing to bet that most Scouts had just about scarfed their portions down with gusto. The fresh, high-quality food was in stark contrast to your usual rations of bread and meat scraps, after all. Marie ate just as much as any soldier, using her clearly pregnant appearance to persuade the waitstaff to bring more food to the table. 

Two other military police officers joined you with their spouses, who wore high-quality formal attire. You had seen the officer’s faces around at some time or another— most certainly at last year’s Military Ball— but didn’t know them closely. Despite your unfamiliarity with most people at your table, everyone seemed well acquainted with Marie.

“Marie owns Mulligan’s. We met her as cadets way back when she was a server,” Erwin noted to you with a nostalgic nod. Even Nile’s serious demeanor melted some at the memory. 

“Really?” Your face lit up in recognition. A hotspot for military personel, the pub had been taken over by Military Police types in recent years. But even so, you held some fond memories of the place. Marie offered a humble nod. “You have a killer ale. What a small world.” “Feels smaller every day,” Marie sighed with a smile.

With dinner over, the chatter and mingling started up again. And just like in years past, officers and public figures alike began to drift from their tables in favor of chatting up the people they had intended to persuade since the beginning of the night. 

Erwin drifted, eager to bag a promising opportunity for the Scouts as Shadis’s most charming section commander. Someone came to talk shop with Nile the next instant, and soon, you were left at the table alone with Marie. 

“It’s that time, isn’t it?” she mused knowingly. You offered her a sheepish and reluctant quirk of your lip as you stood from your chair. 

“Unfortunately,” you said, straightening out your uniform. You glanced at Senator Montgomery out of your peripheral before returning to Marie. “Thank you for inviting me to your table. It was nice meeting you.” You offered her your hand, but she didn’t take it. 

Instead, Marie propped her elbow on the table, resting her cheek against her palm as she looked you over. The action lacked malice or severe judgment as she collected information to fuel her following words. Her lips parted with purpose.

“The two of you make quite the couple,” was all she said. 

You were taken aback as you thought about what she was saying. Your brow furrowed, along with a slight curl to your bottom lip. Marie tilted her chin downward with a slight arch to her light eyebrows as if to say what she implied was obvious. 

“I— um— we’re, uh…” The more you grasped for words, the harder it was to find them. You sighed, letting your chest deflate as you collected yourself. “We’re colleagues. The time we’ve served allows us to work well in a professional setting, as is the usual relationship between section commanders.”

Colleagues. That’s what Erwin had introduced you as.

“I see,” she hummed, staring off in another direction. You stood in front of your pushed-in chair, silently following her line of sight into the bustling ballroom. It was too crowded to make out what she was so fixated on. “You know, I’ve always subscribed to the phrase, ‘you can’t be a little bit pregnant!’” 

Marie let out a boisterous laugh as she stood out of her chair. You swiftly stepped over to help her as she cradled her rounded stomach with her left arm. She accepted your help but ultimately didn’t require much support. 

“Whoo!” Marie stretched a bit as she found her bearings. Her hands quickly found yours, giving you two firm taps to the back of your wrist. “I won’t keep you any longer. But if you see Nile milling around, would you do me a favor and send him back to me?”

You agreed, trying to center your thoughts on Senator Montgomery.

***

The deal was wrapped up in a snap. If anything, you considered that you included too much preamble before getting to the meat of your proposal. Senator Montgomery snapped it up without much further negotiation. He had always been very fond of you, so much so that you likely could have brought the issue up at the start of your lengthy conversation.

Senator Montgomery was a talker, and after he expressed his dedication to your proposal, you were swiftly whisked into a detailed conversation about his children. You were acquainted with all three of them, and the question took a sharp turn from politics to which one of his children was making the swiftest progress in their riding lessons? 

Having his children be trained by such a high-ranking officer in the Scouts was apparently quite the point of pride for the senator. For the rest of the night, he referred to you as a close family friend to other elite residents of Wall Sina. The senator made sure to gesture to your credentials as he did so. 

If that meant his continued support of the Scouts, the senator could call you anything he pleased. 

By the time you could excuse yourself, the festivities were already winding down. Dessert was already half-gone. You took another champagne flute to disappear onto the balcony with. 

You leaned against the white stone railing, breathing deeply before exhaling a steady stream of hot air. You took a sip of your drink, staring off at the lights of the city. Even at night, Sina was littered with warm streetlamps that grew less in number as the distance ran on. A dark sheet of night existed past the sloping city. The stars that littered the horizon marked where the wall stopped in its reach toward the sky. 

“Need a breather? How was Montgomery?” 

Erwin took his place next to you, leaning on his elbows to mirror your posture. You hadn’t even heard him approach. He scooted a little plate across the stone surface. The two dessert pastries wobbled, knocking against each other. He offered you a dessert fork, and you weren’t about to deny him.

You met his gaze, letting the exhaustion on your face show for the first time that night. Another labored breath vibrated the skin of your lips and you rolled your eyes with a shake of your head. The tips of your four fingers met your thumb, snapping your hand open and closed to mimic the loudmouthed chatter you endured. Erwin’s shoulders jumped— his version of a snort.

“That good, huh?”

“I mean, we have a deal, but damn—” You glanced behind you to ensure that you were truly alone. Erwin instinctually swiveled his head with you. —“I hope the Montgomerys aren’t planning to have more children.” Erwin hummed a chuckle, digging his fork into the dessert. A sheepish smile found your lips as you couldn’t help but chuckle along with him. “What about you? How was Edmonds?” 

Erwin’s fork action halted, and you laughed as he rubbed at his temples. 

“We have a meeting first thing Monday morning,” he breathed after a few moments of carefully choosing his words. You continued chipping away at your dessert. “Edmonds is a very thorough man.” Erwin shook his head, dismissing the rest of his words. 

“It was a full interrogation, huh?” you mused before taking another bite. 

“Mh-mhm.” Erwin placed his fork on the little plate, savoring the last of his pastry. He turned to lean his back against the railing you continued to rest on. His arms coiled over his chest. He continued to chew; he had wide chews. “By the way—” You didn’t know someone’s jaw could move like that with their mouth still closed, but that was none of your business. —“Sorry about Marie. She can get a bit excitable sometimes.” 

“Not at all. Dinner was nice. And Marie seems nice…” You set your fork down as you continued to stare out at Sina. You paused, hesitating for a moment. “She seems a bit—”

“Different compared to Nile?”

“Yeah.” 

The two of you let the moment pass. You traced the wall's outline in the distance, trying to keep track of how many stars hovered above the black mass. Erwin kept his sights on the ballroom, which cast a golden glow onto the balcony, stopping just short of the two of you. People were starting to trickle out, having had their fill. A decent portion of the attendees continued to chatter. The waitstaff were beginning to take away the dessert table. 

“We used to spend a lot of time together years ago,” Erwin continued out of the silence. You didn’t know how to respond. He continued again. “I think she just wants to remember how things were when we’re together like this. We don’t keep in touch, so she gets a bit overinvolved to make up for lost time.”

“That makes sense.”

You wanted to ask him. You wanted him to connect the dots for you so you could have another clue in deciphering what exactly the two of you were. But you held your tongue, and the night continued like all the previous Military Balls. You decided you didn’t need to ask him if Marie Dok was the woman he wanted to marry all those years ago. You already knew.

***

“Is this, like, illegal?”

“Shut up.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Hurry, please.” 

“You try picking a lock in the dark.” 

“Move aside and let me try.” 

“I got it,” Ymir gritted in the darkness. “Go fuck off over there and keep watch.” She pressed her ear to the door, feeling around the lock with her picks before finally hearing a satisfying click from the latch. With a single tug of the handle, the door quietly swung open. The former members of the 104th Cadet Corps filed into your office, quietly taking in the sights in the moonlight trickling through the window. 

“There it is,” Sasha whispered, practically foaming at the mouth as she immediately ran up to your tea cart. Connie, Christa, and Reiner followed on her heels, instantly picking up the teacups and other accoutrement on the top tray as the others scattered around the room. Mikasa closed the door behind her. 

“The picture’s right here.” Jean gingerly opened the cabinet of memorabilia. The cabinet gave the same resistance as the day before, giving way to reveal the items inside. Sure enough, the framed drawing sat in the same place next to your old Scout cloak. Those less interested in the tea cart gathered around as Jean took it in his hands. 

“I have never heard of a branch transfer,” Mikasa remarked, taking the ends of the cloak in her hands. The fabric felt stiff between her fingertips. 

“Maybe you have to transfer if your husband gets promoted to commander of your branch.” Jean rubbed his thumb over the glass where you and Erwin were depicted. The scene was a large outdoor fire where you and your old squadmates were illustrated in an artistic and detailed outline. You and Erwin sat to the right of the frame, smiling and talking. Yes, the figures were undoubtably the two of you. Jean passed the picture on in favor of looking for more evidence. 

“Why would someone give up the title of section commander to work for the Garrison?” Eren muttered a bit too seriously. Jean had to stop to blink a few times. He was kidding, right?

Jean continued his search, but you didn’t have much memorabilia from the early days. Besides the picture and your cloak, all that remained was your patch with your last expedition number and a few fancy documents littered with formal signatures. 

Something bounced to the floor in Jean’s peripheral. He bent down to retrieve it, leaving the doors of the cabinet ajar. Eren turned the frame over in his hand, inspecting the back of it before also leaning down. Jean clutched the squishy little knot in his hand just moments before his head collided with Eren’s. They both recoiled, only for Eren to knock his head again against the bottom of the cabinet, which had swung open. Slamming his head in the same spot, the picture frame went crashing to the ground. 

“Fuck! Dammit, Yeager!” 

Glass scattered across the floor, and everyone’s attention simultaneously shot toward the sound. The room froze. Jean gaped at the mess on the wood floor, slowly moving to make eye contact with Eren. But before either of them could say a word, the door to your office creaked open, and the light flickered on, illuminating the dark room.

You stood in the doorway, out of uniform and with a stack of files under your arm. You glanced across your office, forehead knitted as you processed the collective presence of the ten wide-eyed Survey Corps members. 

“What are you all doing here?”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: I love writing baby Reiner, I always give him the most banger lines. There will be a part III, which will hopefully be the final part. I just had a lot to set up and write and it wasn't logistically possible to fit it all in this part. If it doesn't fit in part III, I plan on dutifully writing a part IV.

For those who don't know, the phrase "you can't be a little bit pregnant" refers to dedicating all or nothing to a situation since the status of being pregnant is either that you are or that you aren't.

Notes: I’m happy to add people to the tag list, but requesting to be added without interacting with any part of this series outside of your tag request will result in a swift block

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

@goddessinsweats

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Author's note • Not proofread, may be typos.

Word Count ~ 2.9k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv● v ● vi● vii ● viii ● ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

iv ~ 'Driftmark'

124 AC

After the birth of Prince Joffrey Velaryon, Princess Rhaenyra had swiftly decided to take herself, her husband and their children to live upon Dragonstone amidst the dark rumours which followed the parentage of her son’s. Similar rumours followed her daughter, the Princess Visenya; however, it was claims of her father being not that or Ser Harwin Strong, but of Daemon Targaryen. Much like her brothers, Visenya bared little resemblance to her proclaimed father Laenor Velaryon and upon the birth of Prince Joffrey, another son born to Rhaneyra, of pale skin and dark hair; the difference in appearance grew beyond stark.

Despite this, Visenya had adored her new life on Dragonstone, she felt it suited her much greater than the piss smelling streets of King’s Landing. Whether it be from the raging storms or thick smell of volcanic ash wish drifted upon the wind; the shores of Dragonstone were utterly ideal for Visenya. She had seldom thought of her Uncle Aemond, since last seeing him all those moons ago – however, she found herself reluctant still to be rid of his copy of ‘Age’s of Heros’ that she had stolen from him.

Much like everything else in the Princesses quarters, she kept the copy stacked carelessly upon her unkept bookshelf. She felt dissatisfied with the current furnishings of her quarters, currently they seemed quite plain, besides the detailed patterned carvings in the stone arches over her bed, of course. Today, was like many other days upon Dragonstone, drizzling with rain with the low rumbles of thunder over the horizon, yet Visenya had spent most of her day brooding. No, even the electrifying atmosphere could lift Visenya’s spirits – as her name day had finally arrived she was of ten and three now. Soon to be a woman as her mother had greeted her that morning, presenting her with an array of gorgeous silken, jewelled toned gowns and shoes. Her father, Ser Leanor had gifted her two sapphire and jade coloured gowns as he wished to see her adorn the House Velaryon shades more often. Blue was a colour she seldom wore, though Ser Leanor had insisted she wear one of his gifted gowns today. Among the sea of treasures Lord’s from across the realm had sent, along with propositions for betrothals to their young and sometimes old sons. Indeed, Visenya had been spoiled with many arriving Ravens, however there was only one she truly longed to receive.

The Princess sat, gloomily looking out upon the swirling tides of The Narrow Sea. Her deep blue gown gleaming as the last light of the day passed beyond the horizon. Despite the planned festivities and newly given treasures she had been on the verge of tears since the afternoon – since no mention of a raven from her true father Daemon had been accounted for. He always sent a raven on her name day, always.

 She had supposed he must truly be happily busy in Pentos, so happy with his tempered lifestyle that he had all but forgotten of her. I mean, he did have her half-sisters to indulge wit his affections, surely watching them grow every day with such pride that poor Visenya was simply out of sight, out of mind. Her mind stewed with all the possibilities regarding his silence, jealously and sorrow filled her as every passing hour came with it a new level of disappointment.

Yet still, she waited, hoping to see another raven glide through the sky; hoping to see the likes of something that would never come.

●

The servants tended to Visenya, braiding her hair lavishly for her name day supper. Her low mood did not escape the notice of her handmaid Olenna, who gently squeezed her hand; somehow Visenya could sense the woman knew of her troubles.

The hour passed swiftly, and the Princess had waited impatiently to be sent for supper. Olenna had readied her chambers, so many times in fact did she adjust any crease or crinkle upon the Princesses bed that Visenya had to all but command Olenna to sit and entertain herself with a book.

Echoing footsteps dawned upon the opening of her chambers, Visenya stood apprehensively her brow raised at the frantic whispering she heard. She looked to Olenna, who suddenly readjusted herself and stood quickly, a familiar soft voice beckoned her head to turn.

“My girl…come.” Princess Rhaenyra stood, extending her hand as she awaited her daughter to follow. Visenya moved apprehensively, once her hand met the warmth of her mother’s Visenya furrowed her brows in concern as Rhaenyra led her quietly out into the halls of Dragonstone.

The two had not uttered a word, Visenya knew something was amiss, something was terribly wrong. What if it is her father? What if Daemon has been struck down in Pentos or found dead in a ditch? What if that is why he never sent for a letter. Oh Gods, she was going to be sick, no she was to faint. The feeling built and built within her, brewing within her as she found herself riddled with tormenting thoughts of all the possibilities. The Princess stopped her face white with dread as tears filled her eyes.

“Is it my father?” The words escaped her mouth before she could stop herself, but she had to know. She needed to know.

Rhaenyra turned and stepped forward to reach her daughters hands, she shook her head, “Gods no… no father is with your brothers. Come, we must speak to you.”

Visenya trembled, her voice like gossamer, she hesitated for a moment, hesitated in revealing the truth, that she knew of her mother’s lies, knew she was indeed of Daemon’s blood. “No! No, not Ser Leanor.” Her voice meek.

Rhaneyra’s eyes widened, her face dropping further as the silence filled the space between them. Her mind raced, her emotions swelling with anger and fear, yet also with acquiescence – she sighed and shook her head. After all, it was not the fault of her daughter’s that she had been sold a falsehood, Rhan    eyra had supposed had she never wished for Visenya to discover the truth she would have put a stop to Daemon contacting the young Princess. Yet, she didn’t.

Rhaenyra gripped her daughter’s wrist, pulling her softly towards her, she looked around making sure they were indeed without any other company who might hear such an admittance. “As I said, your father is fine.” Princess Rhaenyra gave her daughter a sympathetic look, allowing the two to come to an understanding as she stroked her daughter’s cheek. “Come.”

With that, Visenya was soon taken to the hearth of the throne room, she looked with wide unsure eyes, still dressed in her fine sapphire blue gown. Ser Leanor sitting upon a grand, leather arm chair as he clutched the hand of Lucerys trembled, shaking his head as his eyes met Visenya’s, she saw the gleam of tears down his face.

As she came to his side, his hands shifted to take her into his arms – both Rhaenyra and Ser Leanor exchanged solemn looks before they gazed at the three children before them.

Ser Leanor spoke lowly, standing as he joined Rhaenyra’s side. “Earlier this afternoon, we had received a letter from Pent- “

Visenya stepped forward, her eyes beaming, “Pentos? Daemon?”

Suddenly a soft sob came from Ser Leanor, Jace and Luke gazing worryingly as they watched their ‘father’ turn, his hand upon his forehead as he attempted to compose himself. Rhaenyra sighed, gently placing her hand on his forearm as she spoke.  

“Yes, Visenya, it was from Daemon… he has informed us of recent events which, we thought it best to let you know of. Of course, Visenya, I know this is not the most opportune moment and I do promise once we return we shall find the time to properly celebrate your name day.” Rhaneyra spoke softly, she furrowed her brow in sympathy as she gazed at her daughter.

Jace shook his head, stepping forward in curiosity, “Return? From where?”

“Driftmark… your, Aunt Lady Laena she…” The shaking voice of Ser Leanor once again found little ability to continue speaking before his tears overcame him.

Princess Rhaneyra gave Ser Leanor a grimace gesturing for him to sit down once more, after he did so, she turned to Visenya and her brother’s, her voice that same delicate tone. “She unexpectedly went into labour with her child, to which she… she did not survive. We must travel to Driftmark on the morrow for her funeral is to be within the next few days, I believe.”

The young Princess stepped back, the words of her mother almost echoing in the stoney halls of Dragonstone. Is that why Daemon never sent a raven? What of her half-sisters… shall they come to live upon Dragonstone now? Her thoughts raced right as she looked to her brother’s both whose eyes weakened in sorrow. Visenya clasped the hand of her younger brother Lucerys, and the distress of Ser Leanor almost didn’t register in Visenya’s mind as his shattering sobs filled the space around them.

●

Lady Laena’s funeral was met with the news of the suspicious death of Ser Harwin Strong a few hours prior, it took everything in her to not take Jace in her arms, to follow up upon the grief in his eyes as he tried to stifle it down.

Visenya sat upon her assigned chamber in Castle Driftmark, wiping the rogue tears that rolled down her cheek. It was a solemn day, everything seemed glazed in a strange gloom that seemed particularly hard to shake, for it was the suspicious death of Ser Strong which marked the day even more grim. Some had said mayhap it was the curse of Harrenhal, even the sound of that name sent fine chills down Visenya’s spine, she had heard of horrid stories of its curse, the gruesome deaths, wailing wind and twisted visions that send men to madness.

As the Princess looked up, her eyes caught the wide window that overlooked Blackwater Bay, the way the dark water curled and wiped against the rocks seemed to echo the coiling of the grey clouds that wept above. The inner walls of castle Driftmark were a particularly dreary place on days such as this, the dark salt stained walls seemed to weep as the air filled with a particular damp smell which was impossible to shake. It was completely unlike the warmth of Dragonstone, and Visenya longed for the warm air of home that left her skin smelling of dragonfire. Instead, she felt… itchy and cold.

She looked to the skies, noticing the rumbling behind the clouds – one which seemed like that of a Dragon’s and a mournful roar sent a deep vibration through her chest as the dark, looming mass of what could only be Laena’s dragon, Vhagar soared the sky. Visenya’s eyes watered once more at Vhagar’s lament, her heart aching at the thought of how the dragon must ache for her rider. The Princess had always had a soft spot for the large beast, she was terribly old; and Visenya couldn’t help but to think just how strange it must be to live to see eras come and go. How awful it must feel to see the deaths of her many riders over the centuries and feel the loss of a time which shall never return. She had known of the bond between her great ancestor, to whom she was named after; Queen Visenya Targaryen and Vhagar – marvelling at the thought it was indeed Queen Visenya herself, who was the very first to ride upon the back of mighty beast.

It was not just Vhagar’s sorrow which made the Princess weep softly, but also the thought of Lady Laena – her once beautiful face now nothing more than a charred corpse, alongside the babe that she carried within. Visenya looked up to the curdling grey clouds, noticing how they reminded her of Laena’s coiled silvery locks – how, whether it be a brother or sister, Visenya thought of the silvery curls which would amass upon the babe’s head if it had been born. The sentiment rattled the young Princess, to die such a death, screaming and grieving all at once. To know feel the crossover, the toll of death birthing new life oft takes upon a woman. It made her heart thump, the very thought of Laena’s cries and screams, how surreal it would have been… how scared she likely was.

The gentle waft of dark mead and ash filled Visenya’s senses as a warm hand gripped her shoulder, “Tala…” Daughter

The Princess eyes widened, she wiped around and the sight before her did little to prevent more tears from falling, the grim face of her father, Prince Daemon looked down upon her and before Visenya said another word she threw her arms around him, letting the warmth of his embrace engulf her as she wept softly, “Kepa..” Father

He cupped her face, bringing her eyes to meet his as the Princess babbled, “I was so worried, you never sent a Raven…I…” Visenya shook her head, wiping her tears.

A noticeable silence filled the space, Daemon’s eyes narrowed down before he pulled away, his hand on his head before he paused to speak again.  “You know why I couldn’t.”

The princess’s eyes pleaded; she stepped forward wishing he would take her in her arms once more, “I know… but I… I just wished you’d have sent one?”

The Rogue Prince scoffed, shaking his head incredulously as his daughter’s words only managed to strike him in a selfish manner, “You are not a little girl, Visenya! The time has long since passed for such childish needs of a fucking gift for your name day.”

“You think I am upset because you bare no gift? No- “Visenya protested.

Daemon found himself beyond angry, though he was not sure if it was truly his daughter whom he felt it towards – mayhap it was everything. Everything he desired taken so brutally from him or destroyed. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of blame for Laena, how he had refused her wished to return to Driftmark before the birth, how he had hardly even been a husband to her at all. What right did he have to grief when he had all but been the man to occasionally warm her bed, rather than the father to her children. The guilt crushed him, he had spent his many years longing for Rhaenyra, longing to see Visenya – when his true wife, his legitimate daughters stood before him, awaiting for the day when he could finally show affection.

Daemons voice was hoarse, tormented as he snapped, “The matter of what happened to your sister’s mother, had to take priority. I had little mind of celebration and apologise if such a thing discomforted you, but it is well time you learn that there shall be times when I cannot send for you, times when I must attend to greater fucking matters!”

Her heart all but dropped upon hearing her father’s words, was that all she was? A mere afterthought to more important matters? The daughter he made and then abandoned, while he lived lavishly in Pentos. While he spoiled Baela and Rhaena with attention for all these years and Visenya wait with bated breath for a fucking raven only on her name day? Visenya stepped forward, furious now as she hollered, “Greater matters than your own daug-“

The Princess was once again cut off by his warm hand over her mouth, he gripped her harshly, lowering his head to whisper. “Walls have ears.” Daemon paused, his tone softening as he released her from his grasp, “Baela and Rhaena are also my daughters.” His eyes softened as he looked upon Visenya, how she had grown so much, how every time his eyes caught a glimpse of her, it was like meeting a new person.

Prince Daemon looked down, unwilling to shed any tears despite them nagging at his eyes. The pain of seeing his daughter grow, the years of her childhood spent without him – without her own father guiding her, basking in her first moments. He hadn’t been there when she first claimed Silverwing, he had hardly been there for any of her life at all.

A solemn silence filled the space, Visenya stood with her hands clutching each other, more tears falling as she looked up at him, her eyes still pleading for him to look up at her, to hold her as he did once or twice in the Dragonpits, all those years ago. She hated seeing how he truly had started to look older, his face slightly more wrinkled with age now. Visenya couldn’t help but to fear, one day she’d look at her father and see an old man – and then, that would be it.

The princess stepped forward once more, her voice desperately gentle, weak almost as she spoke, “You’ve not sent word in so long… and I… Nyke ēdan missed ao, kepa.” I had missed you, father. The final words sounding as though they came from the small girl she once was, rather than the bourgeoning young woman her mother said she would soon become.

Daemon let her words hang for a moment before he looked up, his own eyes pleading with her now as he gazed upon his daughter with a guilty affection that even as the Rogue Prince, he still felt frightened by. Her words made his belly coil in sorrow, coil with a love that warmed every bone in his body, his hand extended out, reaching to capture her small one in his as he spoke, his voice nothing more than a whisper, “I know, zaldrītsos.” little dragon.

○ v ○

[doumadono]

Emergency request!

I was wondering if you could write a qpr fic with Bakugou. It's rare for me to see any qpr related fics so Ive been going around asking for them. I find huge comfort in unlabled love.

A/N: I appreciate your request, and I understand the importance of portraying a QPR accurately. However, I must admit that I'm not entirely familiar with QPRs, and this is my first attempt at writing about it. I'm willing to give it a try, but I can't guarantee that it will meet your expectations

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

One cool evening, as the sun dipped below the city skyline, you and Bakugou decided to escape from the chaos of the city for a quiet night in the outskirts, at a cozy cabin nestled in a dense forest. This retreat was your secret sanctuary, away from the prying eyes and the constant struggles of the hero world.

The two of you had been friends for years, and your connection had grown stronger and deeper with each passing day. You'd both learned to rely on each other in ways that words couldn't define.

The cabin was warm and inviting, the fire crackling in the fireplace casting dancing shadows on the walls. You sat on a plush couch, wrapped in a soft, knitted blanket. Bakugo was in the kitchen, preparing a homemade meal for both of you.

He emerged from the kitchen with two steaming bowls of hearty stew, a crooked grin on his face. "Eat up, doll," he said, setting the bowls on the coffee table. "It's supposed to be comforting."

You thanked him, and as you savored the delicious, soul-warming meal, you couldn't help but feel the warmth of your relationship with Bakugo enveloping you. He sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. "Ya know," he began, his voice softer than usual, "I've always felt something different with you. It's not the usual fucking crap, that's for sure. But whatever it is, it's just important. It's us."

You smiled at his words. "I feel the same way, Katsuki. We don't need labels to define what we have. It's genuine and deep, and that's all that matters."

Bakugo nodded, his crimson eyes meeting yours, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "Exactly," he stated, his voice filled with genuine love. "We've got something special, and I'm not letting any-fucking-one mess with it."

The evening continued with the two of you talking, and simply enjoying each other's company. It wasn't just about the words you exchanged - it was the depth of those conversations. The two of you shared stories, dreams, and fears in a way that went beyond the ordinary. You were each other's confidants, and you felt safe sharing your innermost thoughts, knowing they would be met with understanding and empathy.

"You know, I never thought I'd find someone who understands me like you do. It's like we're two sides of the same coin." He reached over to take your hand, his grip reassuring as he brought your palm to his lips, placing a tiny kiss to its top.

"What we share is so magical. Special and one-of-a-kind," you gently touched his cheek, caressing it with your thumb.

"I've got your back, always."

"And I've got yours, Katsuki."

Bakugo was always fiercely protective of you, but in this moment, he was also incredibly gentle. He held you close, his arms wrapped securely around you, offering you the comfort and warmth you had longed for. From time to time he was planting a soft kiss to your cheek or temple, sometimes he rubbed his nose against yours.

Some time later, Bakugo leaned in, his lips barely brushing yours. "You mean so much to me," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. With those words, he closed the gap, and your lips met in a gentle, slow kiss. It was a kiss filled with affection, a silent declaration of the love that flowed between you. Bakugo's lips were rough against yours, yet his touch was tender.

The kiss deepened, but not in a passionate or hurried way. It was a slow exploration of each other's emotions, a gentle dance of affection that conveyed the depth of your unique connection. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb caressing it softly while his tongue danced in the unison with yours.

Pulling away slightly, Bakugo rested his forehead against yours. "I'm glad we found each other," he murmured, his eyes filled with warmth.

As the evening turned into night, and the cabin grew quiet, you both settled into a comfortable silence, content in the presence of each other. The fire in the fireplace had dwindled to embers, casting a soft glow on your faces.

With a heartfelt sigh, Bakugo whispered, "This, right here, is all I need. You."

You turned to him, your eyes meeting his. "You're all I need too, Katsuki."

In that moment, you both knew that words couldn't fully capture the depth of your unlabelled love. Labels didn't matter when you had each other, a connection that was unique and boundless. It was a love filled with comfort, understanding, friendship, and an unspoken promise to always be there for each other, no matter what challenges the hero world or life itself threw your way.

As you closed your eyes, wrapped in Bakugo's embrace, you knew that this relationship was a rare and beautiful treasure that you wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

[atopvisenyashill]

“i’m not a traitor like that bitch rhaenyra” - stannis baratheon, davos iv, a storm of swords

wrong as usual stannis. let’s dig in!!

the technical, legal heir

"the throne by rights passes to lord stannis, the elder of robert's two brothers." - ned, xiii "The Princess of Dragonstone remained his heir, with half the lords of Westeros sworn to defend her rights...The matter had been decided, so far as King Viserys was concerned; it was not an issue His Grace cared to revisit." - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

argue with the wall over how “really legal” it is, that’s not the point of this meta, the point is that Rhaenyra and Stannis not only see themselves as the righteous legal heir to the throne and all others as traitors to the realm, they both talk about this constantly. It is integral to how they see the world.

dragonstone as a base of operations

"And while Robert had been riding north to Winterfell, Stannis had removed himself to Dragonstone, the Targaryen island fast he had conquered in his brother's name. He had given no word as to when he might return. " - ned, vi "Thereafter Queen Alicent kept to the Red Keep, whilst the princess spent her days on Dragonstone..." - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

we see this retreat happen several times with lords paramount like edmure, robb, and tywin and with other targaryens like visenya & maegor, rhaena and baela, and daeron ii. it makes sense that, when faced with a political faction they can’t quite get ahead of, they choose to run home to recoup.

HOWEVER.

They both really fumble the recouping!! Stannis knows no one likes him and he’s fighting an uphill battle wrt getting anyone outside of Dragonestone’s vassals on his side, yet he doesn't reach out to anyone at court nor does he do much to endear anyone else to his side. Rhaenyra meanwhile, fucks up in the exact same way - she doesn't ask an ally to spy for her at court, doesn't attempt to endear herself with anyone in the realm except the Velaryons (and then, only specifically Corlys) until the war has already started.

resentful of younger brother because of strained relationship with older male relative

"I never asked for Dragonstone. I never wanted it. I took it because Robert’s enemies were here and he commanded me to root them out. I built his fleet and did his work, dutiful as a younger brother should be to an elder, as Renly should be to me. And what was Robert’s thanks? He names me Lord of Dragonstone, and gives Storm’s End and its incomes to Renly. Storm’s End belonged to House Baratheon for three hundred years; by rights it should have passed to me when Robert took the Iron Throne." - prologue, acok "What a king had done, a king could undo, Viserys pointed out. She would wed as he commanded, or he would make her half-brother Aegon his heir in place of her. At this the princess’s will gave way." - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

both of them are deeply resentful of their younger brothers for stealing what they feel is their right; for stannis, it’s storm’s end and for rhaenyra it’s the iron throne. it doesn’t help that both renly and aegon are a) known for being party dudes, something stannis resents bc he’s a stick in the mud and rhaenyra resents because aegon can be a partier and a mess but she tries to fuck criston one (1) time and she’s forever a whore and b) this resentment is fueled by an older male relative.

while robert likely meant Dragonstone to be a gift of affection for stannis - even though robert does away with the prince of dragonstone title, he still gives dragonstone to stannis, who robert likely saw as his legal heir until joffrey was born, it wasn’t meant to be a demotion but a promotion! stannis, however, takes this as a huge sleight and stews over it for years and years. similarly, though viserys makes it very clear who his heir is (its rhaenyra), he makes things more difficult for rhaenyra and fans the flames of distrust between her and aegon by threatening to disown her when she chafes at being married to laenor.

relationships with illegitimate children descended from the first men

The Strongs are "...an ancient line of noble warriors boasting descent from the First Men..." that live somewhere in the Riverlands before taking over Harrenhal (and then dying out completely). Obviously there is some controversy in universe over whether Harwin is the father of the Velaryon boys or not (but. Come On Lmao), but ultimately the main reasoning for why Rhaenyra should be disinherited is that her heir, Jacaerys, is illegitimate. Jacaerys was also rumored to have married another bastard with the blood of the First Men, Sara Snow.

Stannis, meanwhile is heavily associated with two bastards as well - Edric Storm and Jon Snow. Both Cortnay Penrose and Davos Seaworth get incredibly protective over Edric when the boy is faced with death, albeit for different reasons than Rhaenyra gets protective of Luke but there is still the very real fear that someone may kill the boys for who their parents are. Later, Stannis allies with the Night’s Watch and Jon Snow specifically, unsuccessfully needling him into being lord of winterfell, relying on his advice re: the northern lords, and leaving his wife, heir, AND closest ally (melisandre) under Jon’s protection. What i think is a fun parallel here is that there’s a lot of controversy over Jon’s parentage just like the Velaryon boys and what’s more, he’s actually the son of a WOMAN who had a bastard, not a man, just like the Velaryon boys.

fire obsessed lover with a penchant for murder

do i need to explain this. obviously there’s massive differences in their characters but they both serve as the sort of devil on the shoulder types, they’re both associated with the color red, they both use fire to kill, and they both fucking love a murder.

low born advisor who others at court don’t like

again, massively different characters, but what’s important is that what we know about mysaria is how she is perceived & little else, and she is perceived as being a bad influence on rhaenyra. davos is also considered a bad influence on stannis due to his lowborn status.

it’s also fun that you have davos/melisandre & daemon/mysaria.

female heirs

Obviously. Rhaenyra is a woman and her claim is challenged because of that. As a matter of fact, the quote that sparked me thinking about how many similarities they have is Stannis’ own low opinion on Rhaenyra, which i jokingly alluded to above:

"Traitors have always paid with their lives... even Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was daughter to one king and mother to two more, yet she died a traitor's death for trying to usurp her brother's crown." - davos iv, asos

Stannis is calling Rhaenyra a traitor. Stannis is also about to explicitly name Shireen as his heir:

The knight hesitated. "Your Grace, if you are dead — " " — you will avenge my death, and seat my daughter on the Iron Throne. Or die in the attempt." - theon i, twow

The dissonance in this man’s mind makes me weep.

tense and sexless marriage

Stannis had always been uncomfortable around women, even his own wife. When he had gone to King's Landing to sit on Robert's council, he had left Selyse on Dragonstone with their daughter. His letters had been few, his visits fewer; he did his duty in the marriage bed once or twice a year, but took no joy in it, and the sons he had once hoped for had never come. - prologue, a clash of kings

Thereafter, though he joined his wife for important court events where his presence was expected, Ser Laenor spent most of his days apart from the princess. Septon Eustace says they shared a bed no more than a dozen times. - heirs of the dragon: a question of succession, f&b

For both couples, it really goes beyond "we don't like each other that much" like lysa/jon, for example, who do still have sex regularly and have several children (they just all died). instead, it's more in the visenya/aegon category - these couples are actively avoiding each other's beds and company.

homoeroticism

PLUS - it is funny how both marriages have some weird gay subtext going on. laenor is actually, canonically gay and rhaenyra is “more than fond” of laena velaryon. read: they’re fucking. i don’t care if you don’t believe laenyra is real in the books, because do you know when else the term “more than fond” is used in this series? to describe sam’s feelings for gilly, lothor brune’s feeling for mya stone, and arianne’s lack of feelings for arys. it’s romantically used THREE times, and then once for laena and rhaenyra. even if they never actually had sex, there was a romantic friendship there, and not just a Girls Supporting Girls thing.

And I will make the exact same argument for davos and stannis!! although that one is less controversial because Davos is walking around saying that his tongue belongs to Stannis and Stannis calls Davos “MY onion knight”. everyone in the book remarks on how Stannis doesn’t like women, and part of that is just his weird personality but there’s a weird, repressed sexuality thing happening with him here, in an odd sort of parallel to Rhaenyra's very damaged view of sex and sexuality as well (what with all the incest and grooming).

Both Stannis AND Rhaenyra find themselves craving intimacy but whereas Stannis never acts on it and now everyone thinks he’s a prude, Rhaenyra does act on some of her desires and gains the reputation of being a whore. So much gender dynamic shit going on, so much that’s interesting in the way gay men are desexualized and bisexual women are hypersexualized. But moving on to my very last point of comparison!

some opinion on the alicent and cersei of it all

i think a lot of people balk at Alicent/Cersei comparisons because they feel it’s an insult against one or the other. The thing is, I think it’s very on purpose that Alicent and Cersei serve very similar functions in their respective stories - queen mother who uses her son to help advance her own station from a politically active, incredibly rich family with one sweet daughter and multiple sons of wildly differing temperaments - but for literally the EXACT OPPOSITE REASONS.

Similarly, I think Rhaenyra and Stannis are also meant to be a bit of parallel in their stories - a Dragonstone dwelling, fire and murder loving, aesthetic heavy sect of the royal family who somehow managed to produce the only vaguely well adjusted members of the family that are utterly doomed by the narrative (rip shireen and the strong-velaryon boys). But again for the EXACT OPPOSITE REASONS - Stannis is protesting the legitimacy of Cersei’s children while it’s Rhaenyra’s children whose legitimacy is being questioned. It’s a really fun connection between the Dance and the Wo5K to me.

SHOW ONLY BONUS: PROPHECIES ABOUT THE LONG NIGHT

a prophetic dream by aegon the conqueror about a threat from the north has supposedly been passed down from king to heir, and is passed from viserys to rhaenyra in house of the dragon. it plays a significant role in the story; viserys, alicent, rhaenyra, AND daemon all interact with it in some way or another, and the fact that viserys told rhaenyra and not daemon is just, A Huge thing for Rhaenyra. Just look at that face, I’m sorry, the acting delights me:

emma d'arcy the actor that you are!!!!!

Meanwhile, in the books, Stannis not only believes he is Azor Ahai (who it is theorized is the same thing as the prince that was promised), but Stannis going North is a huge turning point in Team Dragonstone, and Jon’s, stories. Just as Rhaenyra takes strength in the idea that SHE is the true heir, a Targaryen capable of uniting the realm to fight the Long Night, Stannis is convinced that he is a fabled hero who will save Westeros from an evil threat.

It seems unlikely it’ll ever be relevant to Rhaenyra in the books but we do know some sort of prince that was promised prophecy does exist and was found by at least a few targaryens because maester aemon mentions it and dany has a vision of rhaegar telling elia. regardless of its relevance to book!Rhaenyra, I find it fascinating that Stannis has this in common with the show version of her.

Anyways, to sum up:

[lemmetreatya]

Husband!Reiner x Black!fem Reader

this isnt as hunky dory as i initially thought this to be but i think its still a valid insight into life with rei. surprisingly ive been having a lot of news, convos and experiences with various people in my own life about marriage and children so i guess this post was a subconscious embodiment of that. either way, enjoy 🫶🏾

Husband!Reiner knows he lucked out in bagging you and he absolutely adores people coveting him. everytime he tells someone hes cuffed, he literally cannot wait to show them a picture of you

Husband!Reiner always spoils you when it comes to bringing home gifts. Its rare that he ever comes home empty handed. more times than less he’s entering in with your favourite snacks or maybe a bracelet he thought suited you whilst he was on break earlier in the day

Husband!Reiner isnt picky when it comes to food. that man would eat just about ANYTHING you feed him and say how its the best thing hes ever tasted. not that youre a bad cook, but he’d find a way to praise even the simplest of meals.

“god, baby, this so good!” reiner’s cheeks were bulging full of food whilst he gave his compliment.

with a sweet laugh, you shook your head whilst opening a beer for him by cocking the tin lid with an opener.

“its literally just rice and stew. you eat it all the time by now.” placing the bottle next to his plate, you bent down to kiss his forehead.

he made a grunt of disagreement.

“dont change the fact that it’s always so good!”

Husband!Reiner is quite reserved when it comes to intimacy and sex. the furthest he’d go in terms of public displays of attraction is hold your hand or a quick peck on the cheek. he’d occasionally lean his chin on your shoulder when in the presence of other company.

however, in the private presence of each other, his attitude towards public reservations has never stopped him from pulling you to the side for a quick fuck before you go out with the girls or letting you go down on him once parked outside his family home for a visit.

Husband!Reiner isnt the best with chores. He tried to help in the past, and has the utmost purest intentions when offering his help, but his standard of clean isn’t the same as yours and so you believe you’re better off just doing everything yourself.

Husband!Reiner is really handy with manual labour tho!! if anythings broken around the apartment hes more than happy to get on it right away. if hes unsure how, he’ll find a tutorial on youtube and work it out from there

Husband!Reiner helps with all the tricky stuff with your hair. whether it be helping you to twist it before bed, wash day or being a live wighead for you to style your pieces — he’s available.

he learnt especially for you but always says if he’s possibly going to have a black daughter one day then hes gonna have to learn.

Husband!Reiner wants kids. its one of the few things the two of you disagree on and several arguments have lead out from that. he loves kids in general but he gets particularly broody whenever he babysits or goes to visit his baby cousin gabi.

it also doesnt help that Husband!Reiner has a particular breeding kink. hes okay with you going on BC because that’s your business and it means he can bottom out anytime! but it does sadden him that in result it means he cant give smol gabi a playmate

“i just think it’d be nice for her to have someone to play with!” he said as he tooths another parting in your hair with the metal rod of the comb. he gingerly took a scoop of hair grease from the tub before layering it down onto your exposed scalp.

“but rei, thats not your— our —responsibility to deal with. its her parents job to give her a sibling if need be so you gotta stop stressing about it like it’s your problem to solve.”

the man was quiet for awhile as he continued to grease your head. when he sighed, he looked over at the two of you within the mirror.

“i know.” he said after awhile. “i just…i never had any siblings or cousins growing up, you know? i don’t know if id want her to go through the same thing i did.”

Husband!Reiner is very family oriented. even though its just the two of you, he still tries his best to make the most of holidays and time off. he always insists you have at least two ‘holidays’ to yourselves a year — sometimes abroad, sometimes on an excursion or even just a spa weekend away. that way when it comes to festive holidays, there isn’t a feeling of fatigue from NOT spending time with each other, meaning you can spend it with extended family and not feel drained from lack of timeout

Husband!Reiner smokes as a habit rather than a coping mechanism. his favourite brands are malboros but you absolutely hate the fresh smell of the smoke once hes come to you after one. he doesnt smoke as much as he did when you first met him.

(back then, he promised to ween off of them if you were to give him a chance! — he did for awhile but after he got closer to the Jaeger’s around a year ago, he picked up the habit again. that’s another thing you two argue about)

“reiner, that fucking stinks. get the fuck outside with that shit, i’ve told you about smoking that nastiness inside here.” you say, flailing your arms by your side as you walk into the living room.

turning around with a face of confusion, reiner spoke slowly in a low tone.

“but i literally am outside, im on the balcony.”

“then close the door! all that smoke is coming inside and it’s stinking up the place.” you exclaimed.

“but i wanna watch the match at the same time.” reiner pointed towards the tv but you could only shrug.

“watch it through the window then.”

“but then i wouldn’t be able to hear the tv!”

“reiner james braun, i swear—”

reiner didn’t want, nor wait, to hear what else you had to say to him. with a grumble beneath his breath, reiner complied and leaned backwards to slide the balcony door shut, the action slightly shaking the walls.

Husband!Reiner is hospitable but mostly for people he’s used to. he loves setting up gatherings for your friends to come round and enjoy each other’s company. since uni, a lot of you haven’t been able to see each other a lot but reiners a bit like the glue that keeps everyone in touch

however, since all of you know each other from around the same time (and because they paired the two of you up!) your friends sometimes felt responsible for your relationship and were weary of any ‘threat’ made towards it

“you two thinking of extending the family anytime soon?” mikasa said, her voice hushed as you, her and annie sat on the balcony and away from the bustle of everyone else inside

you made a noise of surprise at her inquiry.

“actually, we have been! i was thinking of getting either a cat or a puppy. im not too keen on dogs but they say if you nurse them from young, you can get them to behave really well.” you deflected as your mug of hot beverage made its way to your lips.

with an amused hum, annie side eyed you.

“you know thats not what she meant.” she said as she took an inhale of her cigarette. “she’s talking about kids and you know it.”

as soon as annie spoke, your mood suddenly soured. with a huff you looked up towards the night sky.

“why does everyone keep asking me this question? im sure no ones asking pieck and porco this shit and they’ve been together longer than us. or you and bertholdt! so why is it me thats always being asked this stuff?”

mikasa shuffled awkwardly in her seat. hugging the blanket she had over her higher towards her chin, she made a dejected sound before speaking. from that alone, you knew she was reluctant to say her next words.

“yeah but…you dont see either of them loudly proclaiming their contrasting ideas. all of them have decided between each other what they want and seem at peace with that. but reiner’s like…the broodiest man ever and never fails to remind us. the fact that you two dont have kids yet means there’s obviously a hold up on your behalf.”

at mikasas bold words, a dry laugh left your mouth. was this seriously the conversation you were having right now?

shrugging your shoulders, you gave her a wild look

“so?! is it such a bad thing for me to not want them? why’s everyone coddling around reiner and his needs of wanting kids? whys no one thinking of me — the person whos gonna have to carry said child and be their primary care giver — who says im ready to give this life up for that?! why’s no one taking my choices into consideration?”

softly hopping in her seat, mikasa briefly hid her face behind the blanket before pouting over at you.

“i am taking you into consideration! and i know! and im sorry for bringing it up again. eren put me up for asking because he says hes sick of reiner’s whining in the guy’s groupchat. you know im on your side regardless.”

mikasa laid her hand over on your exposed arm, her face laced with remorse but you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discontent at the knowledge that reiner was vocal to your friends about you not wanting children.

blinking forwards, you could only weakly shrug. even though mikasa had given her reasoning for asking, you still couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed

“i know, man but just… miss me with that bullshit. i know what im saying when i say i don’t want em right now.” you mumbled, now feeling more conflicted than before.

that night, you and Husband!Reiner have a bit of a honest conversation about how reiner talks about the whole kid thing with his friends. hes very quick to assure you that he doesn’t talk bad about you behind your back but tells them that he cant have them right now when you have a contrasting opinion to him

you personally dont have a problem with that because these were your friends too — theyed be quick to g-check reiner if he ever said something less than positive about you and then report it directly to you

but for the sake of the situation and with how sensitive it was, you asked reiner if he could refrain from sharing that personal aspect of your life with them

“i know i’ve said it way too many times now but im truly sorry for all this. mika was wrong for asking you that.” reiner says as you lay under his arm. you found solace by burying your face into his side.

“well i dont blame her. if you’re constantly telling people in the groupchat that kinda stuff then yeah, of course they’re gonna feel like they have to intervene. they’re our friends and they only want the best for us.”

you could really tell reiner was thinking this all over in his head by the way he made subconscious groans.

when he had finally made up his mind, he slightly bent down to kiss your forehead.

“yeah i guess so. i wont bring that stuff up again, im sorry for putting you in that position, baby.”

the two of you laid up next to each other, and went on to talk about other miscellaneous things. however, just when you were about to fall asleep, you tiredly mumbled into reiner’s skin.

“its not that i don’t ever want kids. i just…not now, rei. im still very much enjoying life with just the two of us. kids are hard work and a lifelong commitment. everything i know and do will have to change from here on out and i just dont think im ready for that kinda burden yet.”

with a lethargic hum, reiner nods his head.

“yeah, i get you.” he mumbles.

although Husband!Reiner still wants kids, he agrees to getting a puppy in the mean time. he says he might as well get the practice while he waits.

surprisingly Husband!Reiner is in absolute adoration of the new bundled edition. the pup is boisterous and hyper but listens to commands well and learns quickly

the puppy is even more enamoured by smol gabi who always seems to have either its tail or ear within her chubby small hands. still, the puppy only sees it as a bunch of fun

Husband!Reiner isnt perfect, and definitely has so many flaws where he needs to fix up on but he’s trying and he really does love you so you’re okay with working him through all of that.

[threadsun]

Sweets🍭 Asks: "Heeeey! It's me! I've just been struggling with ideas because....ive been thinking about things unrelated to sunny day Jack

BUT HEAR ME OUT

Remember that one fic you wrote with Jean and Joseph with teacher MC

Yeah that but...mc is the director\creator of the sunny time crew and here's the kicker

They are extremely miserable

They hate their job

They hate their life

They hate children

They probably hate Jean and Joseph too

Will that stop them from flirting with this tired annoyed grumpy director?

Nope! I mean Jack and Rory were made to make people happy!

It's gonna be a piece of cake

...right?"

Oh Sweets hellooooooo!!! I love you!!! You always bring me the absolute most banger ideas!!!

I love the idea of them both falling for this person who looks like they haven't slept in weeks and visibly loathes every moment they're on set lmao

Content: hatred of children, general depression, ngl reader just sort of sucks, smoking, absolutely shamelessly dirty flirting, suicidal ideation/joking about suicide, reader is not okay

Coffee isn't enough anymore. You need an IV drip of caffeine straight into your blood stream. Or some heavy drugs. Or a real hard blow to the head with a baseball bat. At this point, you're not picky. Whatever gets you off this stupid set.

The SunnyTime Crew Show. Your crowning achievement. The idea that made your career. Shown across millions of tv sets all over the country every single day. Shown to all those little ankle biters you can't stand the sight of, too young and useless to so much as wipe their own asses.

It's all bright colours and simple words and stupid, terrible songs that get stuck in your head on loop until you want to bash your brains in against a wall. Not that it takes much for you to feel that way these days. Especially given the people you're working with.

Joseph Haberdae and Jean Laurent. Rising star and bossy diva. The constant bickering. The even more constant flirting. The adlibbed lines. The relentless cheer while the cameras roll. And the insufferable questions when they don't. They take the whole thing so fucking seriously. Like this is anything more than some drivel for parents to shove their kids in front of when they can't be bothered to parent anymore.

Maybe you don't hate the kids, maybe it's the parents you resent. Always shoving crying babies into your arms during live recordings so their "precious child" can get a better look at the set. Demanding the show teach this or that lesson. Begging for the Crew to come work birthday parties.

But no, you can't stand wiping little noses and listening to the shrieks. Kids have always given you the creeps, but now they piss you off. Always saying weird things and rubbing their sticky fingers all over set. You're just lucky the stars are better with the kids than you are.

"Should we cut?" Your brought out of your stewing annoyance by the sound of your PA whispering in your ear.

You down the last of your coffee and shove the cup into his hands, a silent demand for more. "Cut!"

You hadn't noticed the scene end. But it didn't matter, Joseph and Jean had started improvising lines anyway, as they so often did. Your eye twitches in annoyance. You don't spend your time yelling at the writers to get every line perfect just for these idiots in costumes to make shit up.

"Haberdae, Laurent." You snap your fingers and point to the spot in front of you. "Everyone else, take five. Then we reshoot. We get it right this time or every single one of you is out of a goddamn job."

As the rest of the cast and crew file out for their break, the two men stand at attention before you. They know where this conversation is going. It's the same one you have every time they so much as change a single word from the script.

"So, which school was it?" You cross you arms and scowl at them both.

They exchange a look of confusion before Joseph ventures a reply. "What?"

"Which school? SoCal? Columbia? You do RTF at Austin?" They can tell your tone is derisive, but they're still not sure what you're getting at. You roll your eyes. "Where you studied screenwriting. I assume you've got some writing background, since you're always changing my fucking script."

Oh. Ohhhhh. Okay, they're on the same page as you now. Joseph has the good grace to look chastised, staring at his feet like a kicked puppy. Jean isn't one to be so easily intimidated. He raises an eyebrow and shrugs.

"What was it today, your assistant got you the wrong coffee? Or did some kid get ketchup all over your copy of the script?" He's used to your bad moods. They both are, but he's not swayed by them. "If you'd actually watched the take rather than staring off into space, you'd realise it was better than the shit your writers came up with."

You purse your lips. He's... probably not wrong. It's hard to find good writers who are willing to throw their talents away on a show like this. And they do both have an admirable understanding of their characters. Much as you hate them, they're true to your original vision. The vision you wished you'd never had.

With a reluctant sigh, you move to rewatch the take. Your PA hands you your coffee and a lit cigarette before hastily retreating, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of whatever's going on. It's a relief, the burn of the smoke in your throat followed by the burn of the scalding coffee.

"Watch."

Joseph's behind you, hands hovering just over your waist as his breath brushes against your ear. Damn this infuriatingly handsome man and his lack of personal space. You grit your teeth and focus on the screen, ignoring the huge man all but pressed against your back. He and Jean crowd you, trying to get a good look at the viewer as you play back the scene.

It's... good. Better than the script. You don't want to admit it out loud, but their additions make more sense with the episode's story, and sound more like Jack and Rory. Damn them.

"See?" Joseph's lips brush against your ear, one hand making contact with your waist for just a moment to give it a soothing rub. "Not bad, right?"

You shove him aside, taking a long drag of your cigarette and pretending to mull it over. As if there's any question. He watches you closely, with all the eagerness of youth and all the ego of an actor who knows he's good at his job.

"Fine." You breathe the word out in a plume of smoke. "It's good enough, I guess. We don't have time for another take anyway."

Joseph grins, leaning an arm on your shoulder like you're an old friend rather than his director. "Come on, you can admit it. We're good."

You sneer at him, trying to nudge his massive forearm off you. But he doesn't budge. Instead, Jean takes up an identical position leaning on your other shoulder.

"So tense," he tuts and shakes his head. "Come on, you can praise us sometimes, you know."

With a roll of your eyes, you resign yourself to once again being crowded by the two men. You can't honestly say you mind it. "Why, so you can get off to it later? I've got about as much interest in stroking your goddamn egos as I do in stroking your pathetic cocks."

"Watch out," Jean's voice is a familiar, teasing lilt. Though it feels directed as much at Joseph as it is at you. "Talk like that might just get Joseph all riled up."

"Eugh." You mime throwing up, ducking from under their arms to grab your coffee and down some more. "Don't need to know about your humiliation kink, thanks."

Joseph's redder than he'd care to admit, but he tries to brush it off. "You know, I didn't realise you thought about stroking our cocks that often. Or our egos."

"Maybe a quick romp would help loosen you up a bit?" Jean suggests, raising an eyebrow with a quirk of his lips. "Keep you focused on your job. Is that why you've got that thousand yard stare every time we shoot? Too busy thinking about fucking us in our dressing rooms?"

From an outside perspective it might seem like sexual harassment in the workplace, but... you encourage it in your own way. You could easily set boundaries if you wanted to, but their flirting—however much they annoy you—is the only interesting part of your life right now. The only part that doesn't make you consider jumping off the roof of the studio.

"Too busy thinking about the easiest way to off myself, more like. Still trying to decide between throwing myself in the reservoir and just jumping in front of the next car I see."

"Well, wouldn't that be a waste of a pretty face?"

Jean's not worried by your theatrics. It's not the first time you've loudly proclaimed your intentions to off yourself, nor will it be the last. It never stops you coming in the next day, looking as dead behind the eyes as ever, and yelling at everyone you see.

"Pretty face." You snort, trying not to choke on your coffee. "What, is it the eyebags or the fact that I haven't had time for a decent meal in months?"

"I think it's your smile." Joseph's always so... genuine. He flirts like Jean, of course, but sometimes he'll throw something so earnest at you that it winds you. "We don't get to see it often, but... you've got a really nice smile."

It feels like he's punched you in the chest, not given you a sweet compliment. It's time to put a stop to this for now. The flirting's gone past entertaining and straight into that dangerous territory that leaves you worried you might do something stupid. Like fall for one or both of them. Not to mention, you've still got half a day of filming this bullshit left.

"Fuck off to makeup, be back on set in two. We'll pick up with Rory's baking lesson."

With a stern nod to the stage door, the two hurry off. You feel like you can breathe again. When they're around, you start to get claustrophobic. Or maybe coulrophobic. Or maybe just... you feel vaguely nauseous at even the shadow of a thought about having romantic feelings for either of the frustrating, handsome actors.

Nope.

No way.

Definitely not.

Not while you have the world's worst tv show to direct.

.

.

.

God you hate your life.

[via-val]

back on my timber/berkon agenda and lately ive been picturing this scenario where tim wants to introduce bernard to his friends but isn't that ready to come out to bart, cassie and kon yet so he's like "hey everyone this is my close friend bernard he's tagging along today hope nobody minds" and yeah nobody does!!

bart finds bernard's conspiracy theories incredibly amusing and eggs him on, cassie is highkey surprised at how much info bernard has gathered and lowkey wary because bernard's like... Really Good at gathering clues and shit from blurry footage and drawing conclusions, too bad his mind always wanders off in the wrong direction bcs like he's This Close to figuring out a lot of shit. and kon!! kon!! he just genuinely has a crush at first sight. bernard's smart and easygoing and has good banter and honestly pretty attractive so kon's like... trialing after bernard like a lost puppy. they stop to grab a bite and kon (not so) subtly asks if bernard's involved with anyone and bernard is like "uhhh well there's this guy i like!!" because he's not gonna out tim like wtf but also... he's in a relationship and it's hard to toe the line between being like "yes i love my bf sosososomuch" and not giving too much away. anyway kon kinda bites the inside of his cheek and goes "well how serious is this guy, do you know? because if he's not gonna ask u out then he's holding the line" and tim (who has spent the whole day following after his best friend and his boyfriend stewing in jealousy but unable to say shit about it) is like "OKAY BERNARD'S MY BOYFRIEND HE'S TAKEN BACK OFF CONNER" and he drags bernard out of the restaurant

anyways superboy challenges red robin to a duel for bernard's hand in marriage like a day after and bernard spends the next two weeks holed up in his room trying to figure out why the fuck two vigilantes that up until this point appeared to be best friends are now in an open feud with one another.

[minhavn]

hiiii i hope you’ve been well 🥺❤️❤️ i just had a thought… what about perv taehyun who gets caught in his perv moment?? whether the reader reacts well to what she sees or not is up to you 🤭

— 🌟

warning : (noncon) cum eating, panties stealing

a/n : hi, darling 🤍 ive been sick for few days lately so yeah <//3 hope you've been taking care of yourself well, tho !!

Taehyun had been your friend for years. The trust and bond the two of you created were invincible; giving him a slight crack to creep in and use it for his advantages.

When you paid him a visit during silver week, he was so happy that he came to pick you up at the station twenty minutes earlier; taking your luggage and putting them inside his car before opening the passenger door for you.

"How's live?" You asked, buckling the seatbelt while taking off your coat; not noticing the way his eyes were travelling down to your chest and exposed collarbone. "Good. How about you? Anything special?" You shook your head, telling him about your life in general and also some events that happened a week before you came here.

Shifting slightly on the seat before he pulled over his car, signing you that both of you had arrived. Apparently, he lived in a pretty nice neighborhood because there was a market that sold fishes and vegetables for a low price nearby; giving him a chance to try on making various dishes. "I made grilled eel and sour fish stew in case you're hungry," he said, carrying your bag into the guest room while you were taking a bath; staring at your set of lacy panties before taking them from your bag and hiding them inside his room.

Stepping out from the bathroom, you had found that Taehyun was gone and placed your bag on top of the bed. "Huh? I swear that I put it inside here already," you muttered under your breath, trying to find your favourite underwear before wearing whatever you could find; feeling confused with their sudden disappearance.

"Tyunnie," you called, munching on the salty sweet meal as he raised his head from the table, "did you see, um," you hesitated; not feeling sure that it was appropriate to ask him about your missing underwear before shrugging it off, saying it wasn't important. "Alright then," he placed his hand over your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before bringing the dirty dishes into the sink and emptying it up.

Showing up from behind the kitchen, Taehyun handed out a plate of mango sticky rice; a dessert he recently found out days ago. "I'm going to be inside my room, okay? Call me if you need anything," he ruffled your head before closing his door once he was inside.

"I think he mistook sugar for salt," you grimaced at the salty taste from the sauce before finishing it down—not knowing what he put inside the sauce beforehand.

It's been days and somehow three of your bras went missing already. "Is that so? I'll check the laundry room, then," Taehyun said when he listened to your complain about it, offering to buy you new pairs of them before going to the basement to check it out.

"Alas," he shook his head, saying that none of your underwear was found there. With a worried expression, Taehyun told you that he will try to find them again tomorrow morning; so, there'd be nothing for you to worry about. Trusting his words, you gave him a nod and went to your room, saying you were too tired to think about it.

Waking up from a dull thud from the wall, you rubbed your eyes and squinted at the faint, familiar voice from the room beside yours. Getting up from the bed, you opened your door quietly and approached it with hesitation; placing your hand over the doorknob while thinking about changing your mind.

"Ahh, fuck!"

A harsh sound of breath took you back into the reality as the door was opened, showing you a shirtless Taehyun with your missing favourite underwear, covered in his thick cum as some of them dripped down to the waxed wood floor.

"Wanna join me?" He offered, a smirk decorated his beautiful face when he got caught by you—or maybe, it was the other way?

[adrift-in-thyme]

Heartbeat

Ao3 link

- T-rated

- Summary: With his brother restored and Amestris saved, Edward has a moment to reflect on the events of the day.

(Or a missing scene of the night of the Promised Day)

————————

Ed can’t sleep.

By all intents and purposes he should be able to. After the day he’s had he should be absolutely exhausted. And he is. Bone deep, crippling, and mind numbing — tiredness tugs at him, begging him to collapse into its waiting arms.

But something holds him back. Something keeps him staring up at the ceiling instead.

(Maybe, it’s all the stuff he needs to process. You know, like being used to kill everyone in Amestris and losing Al and getting his arm back and then getting him back and giving up his alchemy and beating a guy who looks a hell of a lot like Hohenheim within an inch of his life.)

(Ha. Yeah. He’ll deal with all that later.)

There’s really nothing to do in hospitals besides sleep, though. So, now he’s bored out of his mind.

Ed shifts slightly, sighing through his nose. A stray strand of hair drifts upward with the exhale and he watches as it flutters back down toward his face. Another, harder breath sends it skittering up again, then back down to smack him in the nose. That…gets annoying quickly. He tucks it behind his ear and reverts to gazing at the ceiling.

An activity that is more than a little boring.

He’s more than used to hospitals by now. But that doesn’t mean he likes them.

The darkness of the room lessens the pristine, glaring, and, honestly, hideous white of the walls and floor. It cannot, however, rid it of the strong smell of antiseptic. Better than blood, he guesses, which is what he’s been smelling all day — well, that and the stench of his sweat, pungent from nerves and emotion.

At least, now he’s had a chance to shower, stinging though the water may have been on his many wounds. At least, now the meds the doctors gave him have finally kicked in, numbing the incessant ache of everything.

(It’s decidedly different having two flesh arms packed with nerves rather than one and a stump with a hell of a lot of phantom and nerve pain. He’s gotta admit that it’ll take some getting used to.)

…so will the sight of Al.

Ed turns his head, a smile lifting his lips as his gaze comes to rest on his brother a short ways away. He lies in his own hospital bed, covered by the thin blankets (plus the more plush one Mei had draped over him before she had left so the two of them could rest). His eyes are closed, his face drawn with exhaustion.

Various wires snake up from where his arms rest beneath the covers — IVs and monitors and Truth only knows what else. He breathes out, mouth opening slightly, cheek pressed into the pillow. He’s so thin and small, so frail. Something within Ed clenches painfully.

He was always so intent on getting their bodies back that he never truly thought about what Al would look like once he was no longer bound to the suit of armor. The image of Al that had stuck in his head was a ten year old boy — grinning as he cheered for Granny’s stew, smiling as he listened to Ed’s endless chatter, blushing as he asked Winry if she would marry him.

(Screaming and sobbing as he reached out, Ed’s name on his lips, black hands on his skin, tearing him apart.)

But really, he had known. Somewhere deep within he had expected it. A healthy body couldn’t possibly await them in that endless white. It has been five years since they attempted to bring back Mom. Five long years. They’re lucky that Al isn’t worse off.

They’ll deal with this though, he assures himself as he finally tears his gaze from his brother’s peacefully slumbering form. Together. Just like they’ve dealt with everything so far.

Ed grins, pointedly ignoring the rare, traitorous, burn behind his eyes.

Yeah. Together.

He sighs and closes his eyes.

Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow after he gets some freaking sleep.

He drifts far closer this time, exhaustion almost winning out over everything swirling in his mind. But before he manages to fully lose himself there is a clatter nearby. Instantly, he’s up again, shoving himself up on his forearms and scanning the room for the disturbance.

…which turns out to be his brother who is awake and trying to cross the room to him.

“Al!” Ed squawks, leaping up so fast his head swims. “You idiot! You’re gonna fall over! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Al gives him an unaffected grin as Ed wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“It’s cold. I wanted to be next to you, brother.”

Ed helps him onto the bed, heart stuttering slightly at the feeling of Al’s very human warmth beneath his hands. A reminder that they have succeeded. Finally, they have succeeded.

“You coulda just asked for another blanket.”

He tucks the blankets that were his two seconds ago over Al (the little bandit). Then, he climbs in himself, careful not to jostle his brother.

“Those monitors and stuff were hooked up to you for a reason, you know. You’re gonna have the doctors racing in here thinking I murdered you in your sleep or something.”

Al chuckles. With a sigh, he tugs the blankets higher, until they’re nestled beneath his chin.

“It’ll be fine, brother. They know us well enough by now to know you wouldn’t murder me in my sleep. And you’ve taken those monitors off many times.”

Ed lifts an eyebrow. “So, I can’t judge you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Al merely smiles. Ed lies down with a huffed chuckle.

“Fine. But” — He surveys his space on the bed with a frown — “scoot over will you? How do you manage to take up this much room? You’re tiny!”

“I learned from the best.”

Ed chokes on a slightly enraged laugh. “Even you, my dear brother? Have you noticed that I’m taller than you now?”

“Mm-hmm.” Al closes his eyes, a serene smile on his face. “By a whole inch.”

“Hey! It’s more than-than an inch!! Way more!”

His brother doesn’t reply, but mischief practically emanates off of him.

The little bastard.

Truth, Ed loves him.

After a moment more, Al shifts, maneuvering himself a little farther from Ed, giving him room to shimmy beneath the sheets his brother hasn’t snatched. But he’s still close, close enough that his body is up against Ed’s, that heart-wrenching warmth able to be felt through his thin tank.

“How…how does it feel?” He asks, quietly, tone somber and slightly hesitant.

For a short while Al doesn’t answer. The silence is peaceful though, and Ed is willing to wait. They have all the time in the world now.

And how about that? For the first time in five years they aren’t racing against a ticking time bomb.

For the first time in five years they can just…live.

“It feels…” Al begins and Ed glances over at him. His brother’s eyes are open again and he has a slight frown on his face as he grasps for the words. “It feels wonderful.”

He holds a hand up, fingers spread as he inspects it.

“I have a cut on my finger. Or I did earlier. It’s so small it’s practically gone now. And I’m not even sure where I got it from. But I felt it. Brother, I felt pain. And it was wonderful.”

He drops his hand and looks at Ed, eyes wide and a grin on his lips. “I guess it’s a bit strange to say I enjoyed such a sensation. But…it’s been so long.”

Ed swallows. “Yeah.”

“I feel so many things now,” Al continues, face practically shining like the sun. “This blanket, the warmth of the sun…and you.”

Al’s hand finds his, grasping it firmly. Ed’s breath stutters, now.

Damn it, he’s gonna cry isn’t he. He almost never cries and yet…

“You have a heartbeat now, too.” It comes out in a hushed, almost-whisper. “Can you…can you feel that?”

Al doesn’t answer. Instead, he brings Ed’s hand up to rest on his chest. He spreads his fingers so that his palm lies flat right above here his heart should be. Sure enough, there is a steady thump, pulsing onward like a marching soldier.

Ed’s breath hitches, audibly this time, and he curses himself for it.

“Can you feel it, brother?” Al asks, and Ed nods, jerkily. “Here, you can hear it too.”

With gentle hands, Al guides Ed’s head to replace his hand on his chest. Ed tenses as his face touches the soft cotton of Al’s shirt. In his current state, even this much weight may hurt him. But Al just chuckles.

“Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me. You're small, remember?”

“Enough with the height comments already!”

Ed’s face dips into a scowl. But he allows himself to relax slightly.

…and then even more as the thud of blood pumping in and out of arteries reaches his ear.

He chokes out something like a sob, hand fisting in the blanket.

“Do you hear it?” It’s only a whisper, as though Al is afraid of shattering this moment too.

“Mm-hmm.”

His brother’s heart continues to beat, almost in time with his breaths. A tear slides down his face, hot and fast. Seconds later, another follows it. He slams his eyes shut, hoping it will stem the flood. It doesn’t.

Damn it.

He hadn’t meant to break down. But if it was gonna happen, he guesses today would be the day. He’s already done it, after all. Sobbing your eyes out on the freaking battlefield doesn’t bode well for maintaining emotional stability the rest of the day.

“Oh, brother.” There is a smile in Al’s voice. He cards his fingers through Ed’s hair. “Why are you crying?”

Ed breathes out shakily. He’s almost certain snot is running down his face now, joining with the salty water. But he finds he doesn’t really care. Because these…these tears are tears of joy. And when was the last time he cried those?

It’s been way too freaking long, that’s for sure.

“I’m glad you're back, Al,” he murmurs, thickly.

Al sighs and Ed feels that too — the lifting and filling of his lungs, the gentle collapse as they release.

“We did it, brother.”

The tears keep coming, trickling down in warm rivulets that gather in his hair and slide down his neck. But Ed smiles.

“Yeah, we did it.”

[turnippencil]

Hello hello? Do you remember me? I hope your month has been kind to you. How's the writing going? Don't burn yourself out. I'd like to know what personal headcanons do you have for the Lamb and Bishops and Narinder you're planning for in the Veil AU, Weaved Lies? Do you have a favorite weapon and curse and fleece? Which follower do you have is your favourite? What do you think the COTL official comics would show for its contents?

Have a good week, eat your meals regularly!

Of course I do! Welcome back, friend <3

Honestly, it has come to a halt, mostly due to college kicking my ass. Dont worry, I dont think ive brunt out too bad, mostly just academically and not artistically

As for headcanons I have for The Past We Shared (Decided to stick with this, although your suggestion is indeed scrumptious):

- I'd say the bishops were never truly 'loving' with one another. When you are near-immortal you have a near-infinite time to fix mistakes. Yet, it means a longggg time for resentment to stew

- Shamura is love bombing Narinder, even as a kid, as a sort of self-redemtion of how they raised Heket and Kallamar

- I have a headcanon that the big skull we see in Sozo's realm is a previous god, in TPWS I linked it to being a previous deity of death

- All the decorations we make in the game have backstory, as it is probably what Narinder had in his realm during his reign. I just need to do some metal gymnastics (specifically the weeping fountain in my story 🤫)

Favourite weapon? AXE AXE AXE 🪓 it goes boomerang, much fun. Though for my lamb, I feel they are a claws kind of menace.

Favourite fleece? During the early game, it was the Golden fleece. Now it is Fleece of Fevour' Favour. Hands down. One, it's aesthetic. Two, it's so good paired with a demon that collects fevour for you during crusades 🩷

Curse? Divine guardian, especially for no hit runs paired with golden fleece, but any is fine 👌

Favourite follower in my save file? Their name is Chicken Popcorn and Deer Man, my two earliest. Chicken is a pink deer, while Deer Man is a brown Stag.

I love antlers.... horns....

As for the content in the official comic? I hope it goes far to give the Lamb a more defined personality (more than the animated ads have shown) and more lore drops for theorists to speculate on! These two are kinda lacking in the base game 🫠. Yet, methinks this helped contribute to the rise of its fandom content! It is very malleable and open to creativity!

Thank you for your ask, as I sit here typing, taking a break from school work. It's really brightened my day. Drink water and stay refreshed angst&happiness! Hope to hear your thoughts on the comic soon!

[atotc-weekly]

Book the Second—The Golden Thread

[X] Chapter IV. Congratulatory

From the dimly-lighted passages of the court, the last sediment of the human stew that had been boiling there all day, was straining off, when Doctor Manette, Lucie Manette, his daughter, Mr. Lorry, the solicitor for the defence, and its counsel, Mr. Stryver, stood gathered round Mr. Charles Darnay—just released—congratulating him on his escape from death.

It would have been difficult by a far brighter light, to recognise in Doctor Manette, intellectual of face and upright of bearing, the shoemaker of the garret in Paris. Yet, no one could have looked at him twice, without looking again: even though the opportunity of observation had not extended to the mournful cadence of his low grave voice, and to the abstraction that overclouded him fitfully, without any apparent reason. While one external cause, and that a reference to his long lingering agony, would always—as on the trial—evoke this condition from the depths of his soul, it was also in its nature to arise of itself, and to draw a gloom over him, as incomprehensible to those unacquainted with his story as if they had seen the shadow of the actual Bastille thrown upon him by a summer sun, when the substance was three hundred miles away.

Only his daughter had the power of charming this black brooding from his mind. She was the golden thread that united him to a Past beyond his misery, and to a Present beyond his misery: and the sound of her voice, the light of her face, the touch of her hand, had a strong beneficial influence with him almost always. Not absolutely always, for she could recall some occasions on which her power had failed; but they were few and slight, and she believed them over.

Mr. Darnay had kissed her hand fervently and gratefully, and had turned to Mr. Stryver, whom he warmly thanked. Mr. Stryver, a man of little more than thirty, but looking twenty years older than he was, stout, loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of delicacy, had a pushing way of shouldering himself (morally and physically) into companies and conversations, that argued well for his shouldering his way up in life.

He still had his wig and gown on, and he said, squaring himself at his late client to that degree that he squeezed the innocent Mr. Lorry clean out of the group: “I am glad to have brought you off with honour, Mr. Darnay. It was an infamous prosecution, grossly infamous; but not the less likely to succeed on that account.”

“You have laid me under an obligation to you for life—in two senses,” said his late client, taking his hand.

“I have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay; and my best is as good as another man’s, I believe.”

It clearly being incumbent on some one to say, “Much better,” Mr. Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but with the interested object of squeezing himself back again.

“You think so?” said Mr. Stryver. “Well! you have been present all day, and you ought to know. You are a man of business, too.”

“And as such,” quoth Mr. Lorry, whom the counsel learned in the law had now shouldered back into the group, just as he had previously shouldered him out of it—“as such I will appeal to Doctor Manette, to break up this conference and order us all to our homes. Miss Lucie looks ill, Mr. Darnay has had a terrible day, we are worn out.”

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Lorry,” said Stryver; “I have a night’s work to do yet. Speak for yourself.”

“I speak for myself,” answered Mr. Lorry, “and for Mr. Darnay, and for Miss Lucie, and—Miss Lucie, do you not think I may speak for us all?” He asked her the question pointedly, and with a glance at her father.

His face had become frozen, as it were, in a very curious look at Darnay: an intent look, deepening into a frown of dislike and distrust, not even unmixed with fear. With this strange expression on him his thoughts had wandered away.

“My father,” said Lucie, softly laying her hand on his.

He slowly shook the shadow off, and turned to her.

“Shall we go home, my father?”

With a long breath, he answered “Yes.”

The friends of the acquitted prisoner had dispersed, under the impression—which he himself had originated—that he would not be released that night. The lights were nearly all extinguished in the passages, the iron gates were being closed with a jar and a rattle, and the dismal place was deserted until to-morrow morning’s interest of gallows, pillory, whipping-post, and branding-iron, should repeople it. Walking between her father and Mr. Darnay, Lucie Manette passed into the open air. A hackney-coach was called, and the father and daughter departed in it.

Mr. Stryver had left them in the passages, to shoulder his way back to the robing-room. Another person, who had not joined the group, or interchanged a word with any one of them, but who had been leaning against the wall where its shadow was darkest, had silently strolled out after the rest, and had looked on until the coach drove away. He now stepped up to where Mr. Lorry and Mr. Darnay stood upon the pavement.

“So, Mr. Lorry! Men of business may speak to Mr. Darnay now?”

Nobody had made any acknowledgment of Mr. Carton’s part in the day’s proceedings; nobody had known of it. He was unrobed, and was none the better for it in appearance.

“If you knew what a conflict goes on in the business mind, when the business mind is divided between good-natured impulse and business appearances, you would be amused, Mr. Darnay.”

Mr. Lorry reddened, and said, warmly, “You have mentioned that before, sir. We men of business, who serve a House, are not our own masters. We have to think of the House more than ourselves.”

“I know, I know,” rejoined Mr. Carton, carelessly. “Don’t be nettled, Mr. Lorry. You are as good as another, I have no doubt: better, I dare say.”

“And indeed, sir,” pursued Mr. Lorry, not minding him, “I really don’t know what you have to do with the matter. If you’ll excuse me, as very much your elder, for saying so, I really don’t know that it is your business.”

“Business! Bless you, I have no business,” said Mr. Carton.

“It is a pity you have not, sir.”

“I think so, too.”

“If you had,” pursued Mr. Lorry, “perhaps you would attend to it.”

“Lord love you, no!—I shouldn’t,” said Mr. Carton.

“Well, sir!” cried Mr. Lorry, thoroughly heated by his indifference, “business is a very good thing, and a very respectable thing. And, sir, if business imposes its restraints and its silences and impediments, Mr. Darnay as a young gentleman of generosity knows how to make allowance for that circumstance. Mr. Darnay, good night, God bless you, sir! I hope you have been this day preserved for a prosperous and happy life.—Chair there!”

Perhaps a little angry with himself, as well as with the barrister, Mr. Lorry bustled into the chair, and was carried off to Tellson’s. Carton, who smelt of port wine, and did not appear to be quite sober, laughed then, and turned to Darnay:

“This is a strange chance that throws you and me together. This must be a strange night to you, standing alone here with your counterpart on these street stones?”

“I hardly seem yet,” returned Charles Darnay, “to belong to this world again.”

“I don’t wonder at it; it’s not so long since you were pretty far advanced on your way to another. You speak faintly.”

“I begin to think I am faint.”

“Then why the devil don’t you dine? I dined, myself, while those numskulls were deliberating which world you should belong to—this, or some other. Let me show you the nearest tavern to dine well at.”

Drawing his arm through his own, he took him down Ludgate-hill to Fleet-street, and so, up a covered way, into a tavern. Here, they were shown into a little room, where Charles Darnay was soon recruiting his strength with a good plain dinner and good wine: while Carton sat opposite to him at the same table, with his separate bottle of port before him, and his fully half-insolent manner upon him.

“Do you feel, yet, that you belong to this terrestrial scheme again, Mr. Darnay?”

“I am frightfully confused regarding time and place; but I am so far mended as to feel that.”

“It must be an immense satisfaction!”

He said it bitterly, and filled up his glass again: which was a large one.

“As to me, the greatest desire I have, is to forget that I belong to it. It has no good in it for me—except wine like this—nor I for it. So we are not much alike in that particular. Indeed, I begin to think we are not much alike in any particular, you and I.”

Confused by the emotion of the day, and feeling his being there with this Double of coarse deportment, to be like a dream, Charles Darnay was at a loss how to answer; finally, answered not at all.

“Now your dinner is done,” Carton presently said, “why don’t you call a health, Mr. Darnay; why don’t you give your toast?”

“What health? What toast?”

“Why, it’s on the tip of your tongue. It ought to be, it must be, I’ll swear it’s there.”

“Miss Manette, then!”

“Miss Manette, then!”

Looking his companion full in the face while he drank the toast, Carton flung his glass over his shoulder against the wall, where it shivered to pieces; then, rang the bell, and ordered in another.

“That’s a fair young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, Mr. Darnay!” he said, filling his new goblet.

A slight frown and a laconic “Yes,” were the answer.

“That’s a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for by! How does it feel? Is it worth being tried for one’s life, to be the object of such sympathy and compassion, Mr. Darnay?”

Again Darnay answered not a word.

“She was mightily pleased to have your message, when I gave it her. Not that she showed she was pleased, but I suppose she was.”

The allusion served as a timely reminder to Darnay that this disagreeable companion had, of his own free will, assisted him in the strait of the day. He turned the dialogue to that point, and thanked him for it.

“I neither want any thanks, nor merit any,” was the careless rejoinder. “It was nothing to do, in the first place; and I don’t know why I did it, in the second. Mr. Darnay, let me ask you a question.”

“Willingly, and a small return for your good offices.”

“Do you think I particularly like you?”

“Really, Mr. Carton,” returned the other, oddly disconcerted, “I have not asked myself the question.”

“But ask yourself the question now.”

“You have acted as if you do; but I don’t think you do.”

“I don’t think I do,” said Carton. “I begin to have a very good opinion of your understanding.”

“Nevertheless,” pursued Darnay, rising to ring the bell, “there is nothing in that, I hope, to prevent my calling the reckoning, and our parting without ill-blood on either side.”

Carton rejoining, “Nothing in life!” Darnay rang. “Do you call the whole reckoning?” said Carton. On his answering in the affirmative, “Then bring me another pint of this same wine, drawer, and come and wake me at ten.”

The bill being paid, Charles Darnay rose and wished him good night. Without returning the wish, Carton rose too, with something of a threat of defiance in his manner, and said, “A last word, Mr. Darnay: you think I am drunk?”

“I think you have been drinking, Mr. Carton.”

“Think? You know I have been drinking.”

“Since I must say so, I know it.”

“Then you shall likewise know why. I am a disappointed drudge, sir. I care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me.”

“Much to be regretted. You might have used your talents better.”

“May be so, Mr. Darnay; may be not. Don’t let your sober face elate you, however; you don’t know what it may come to. Good night!”

When he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it.

“Do you particularly like the man?” he muttered, at his own image; “why should you particularly like a man who resembles you? There is nothing in you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you! What a change you have made in yourself! A good reason for taking to a man, that he shows you what you have fallen away from, and what you might have been! Change places with him, and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was, and commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come on, and have it out in plain words! You hate the fellow.”

He resorted to his pint of wine for consolation, drank it all in a few minutes, and fell asleep on his arms, with his hair straggling over the table, and a long winding-sheet in the candle dripping down upon him.