#a gigantic coward

[josefavomjaaga]

Napoleon is a coward

At least as far as private matters are concerned. I always had suspected as much, considering how awkward he acted around Josephine until he finally told her he wanted to get rid of her. But the way he treated his brother is just shameful.

Napoleon to Berthier, Paris, 8 February 1810

My cousin, you will forward the enclosed decree through an officer to the King of Spain and to Marshal Soult, to whom he will deliver your letter. My intention is that all orders be given in accordance with this decree. I can no longer cope with the enormous expenses of my army in Spain. I want the administration of the conquered countries to be in the hands of the generals who command the provinces, so that all the resources are applied to the expenses of the army. [...]

The decree in question, imposed for financial reasons, basically stripped Joseph of his authority as king. As far as I get to understand from the letters DuCasse cites, at least some provinces were declared to be »under siege« as a whole, which basically put them under martial law and handed over all government functions to whatever marshal or general was in charge. However, it seems Napoleon did not even tell Joseph to what extent his authority had been annulled:

Berthier to Suchet, Rambouillet, 22 February 1810:

[...] The intention of the Emperor is that Aragon, which is put in a state of siege, should have the least possible communication with Madrid [i.e., with Joseph]. The fact that the province is under siege gives you full authority, and you must use all its resources to pay, clothe and feed your army. If, at last, the King were to give you orders, as General-in-Chief of the armies of Spain, with regard to the administrative part, only then must you make it clear that Aragon, being in a state of siege, forms a separate army receiving orders only from the Emperor. You sense well enough, Monsieur le Comte, that you should only make these dispositions known in the case of absolute necessity. His Majesty relies on you for the prudence which such a position requires, and he counts on your devotion to his person, and on your attachment to the French Empire. You feel that some parts of Aragon might be necessary for the new limits of France. This letter, Monsieur le Comte, is between you and me only.

[Emphasis by me]

Translation: Joseph no longer holds any authority in Spain – but try to not let him notice, so that he can have fun playing king some more. And be prepared that we at some point may just grab some territories away from under Joseph’s ass. Surely you fully understand how this is necessary, right? So – hush!

This is incredibly ugly, and it makes look Napoleon, and in extension Berthier (as he seems to have no problems with this duplicity), not look good. From now on Joseph would often be left completely in the dark, not even being told about the orders that Napoleon and Berthier gave directly to the marshals and generals governing the Spanish provinces. Which then resulted in a direct confrontation with those military gouvernors, in particular with the one who, technically, was Joseph’s chief-of-staff and thus was supposed to also be loyal to him:

Joseph to Berthier, Madrid, 25 August 1810

[...] The Marshal Duke of Dalmatia believes he can give orders below the Sierra-Morena which must be carried out exclusively to all others, these are his expressions. [...] If the orders from Sevilla can deprive me of the troops around Madrid, I am not sure that one of these mornings, when I wake up, I will not find myself a prisoner of the armed bands of Estramadura, Valencia or Siguenza.

And there again, like after the battle of Ocaña, we have the fear that Joseph’s own person might be in actual danger.

This cannot be the Emperor's intention: it is essential that his justice should express his will in a clear and strong manner.

It did, in a way, by moving the whole of the army administration to Sevilla and placing it under the command of Soult – who, independently from Joseph, also had complained to Berthier that the current situation, with everybody torn between the official authority of the king and the actual authority of the marshals, was unbearable. Joseph continues:

As for myself, I am ready for all the sacrifices compatible with my honour; but I cannot see myself treated in this way by Marshal Soult, who is no longer recognisable to me since the arrival in Seville of one of your officers who, according to what he told my royal commissioners, brings him the direct orders and instructions of the Emperor.

[Emphasis by me]

There we have it. Orders are given to the marshals and generals, Joseph is left in the dark about them, and then complains when these marshals and generals follow the orders they received. It’s as if Napoleon deliberately wanted to put Joseph in the most humiliating position, and as if he deliberately wanted to ruin any chance for Joseph’s kingdom of Spain to succeed by sowing as much tension and discontent as possible.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

Also, to mention the theme park post again, my friend made me ride a shit-ton of rides (all of them except the rollercoasters as we are rollercoaster-averse) and there was this one fucking ride. It was this swinging boat thing, and I'd never been on one before, but when I got on, I was shit-scared. Weirdly enjoyable as fuck? I don't think I've been that happy in a long time

[amateurasterism]

everyone knew he was attractive. he knew it too, because every year on february 14th he dreaded opening his locker. dreaded the absurd amount of chocolates and tacky gifts that he never understood why obsessive classmates would spend time to make for a blatant and dull person like him. he doesn’t even think any of him have seen him smile. but after meeting a certain someone, he added two very important steps to his valentines day routine. before giving the gigantic bag of gifts to his eager friends, he sorted through every single one in search of his favorite candy bar he only told you about, always wrapped in a slip of bright pink paper because you wanted to blend in with the other gifts. as if he couldn’t tell it was your handwriting in which the paper read “never forget how proud i am of you.” as if he didn’t know you were the only one out of a hundred chocolates who would write such a message that belonged on the pin board above his desk because it reminded him that you were the only person who loved him under his gorgeous looks, who saw him for the work he put into the things he loved. and thus, his last step on valentines day was to take a photo of the half-eaten candy bar and send it to you with a message that reads “should’ve given it to me face-to-face, coward.” to which you would respond with “i could say the same thing about the chocolate covered-strawberries you made for me. if you’re not confident in how they taste, should’ve just told me.”

ITOSHI SAE, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, fushiguro megumi, nanami kento,TSUKISHIMA KEI, kageyama tobio, suna rintaro, iwaizumi hajime, MIDORIMA SHINTARO, aomine daiki, akutagawa ryunoske, CHUUYA NAKAHARA, levi ackerman

[xthelastknownsurvivorx]

an incomplete list: things alex (and us readers) love about hrh prince henry of wales

something that I love dearly and find super cool about the list that alex makes for henry about what he loves about him is that we've actually experienced most of these things about henry with alex throughout the narrative of the book so it feels super organic and touching because yes we've come to love these things about henry too

so in honor of henry's birthday and because i was feeling sappy, here's all the moments throughout the book described in the list under the cut

1. The sound of your laugh when I piss you off.

Chapter 2, end of alex's london trip

“No booty calls,” Alex tells him, and Henry chokes on a laugh.

Chapter 4, great turkey calamity

“…you’re not a totally boring asshole.” “Wow,” Henry says with a laugh. “I’m honored.”

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“Hi,” Alex says carefully, squinting over his coffee. “You seem … less pissy.” Henry huffs a laugh. “You’re one to talk. …’”

2. The way you smell underneath your fancy cologne, like clean linens but somehow also fresh grass (what kind of magic is this?).

Chapter 7, post-karaoke

Henry smells like expensive cologne and champagne and a distinctly Henry smell that never goes away, clean and grassy…

Chapter 9, lake house

…then Alex has him, inhaling the clean smell of him, laughing into the crook of his neck.

Chapter 15, election night

The second he steps backstage, there’s a hand on his back, the achingly familiar gravity of someone else’s body reentering his space before it even touches his, a clean, familiar scent light in the air between.

3. That thing you do where you stick out your chin to try to look tough.

Chapter 6, post-red room

“Hang on,” Henry says, and Alex is already groaning in protest, but Henry pulls back and rests his fingertips on Alex’s lips to shush him. “I want—” His voice starts and stops, and he’s looking like he’s resolving not to cringe at himself again. He gathers himself, stroking a finger up to Alex’s cheek before jutting his chin out defiantly. “I want you on the bed.”

Chapter 7, phone conversation

“It’s fine,” Henry says, steadiness rising in his voice as if he’s stuck out his chin in that stubborn way he does sometimes. Alex wishes he could see it.

Chapter 13, confrontation with mary

And [Henry] does the thing Alex loves so much: He sticks his chin out, steeling himself up. “I’m not a coward,” he says. “And I don’t want to fix it.”

4. How your hands look when you play piano.

Chapter 6, post-red room

Alex tries not to be in awe of the simple agility of his hands, tries not to think about classical piano or how swift and smooth years of polo have trained Henry to be.

Chapter 8, in Henry's apartments following wimbledon

His hands are fast, almost effortless, even as he goes off into a tangent about the War of the Romantics and how Liszt’s daughter left her husband for Wagner, quel scandale.

5. All the things I understand about myself now because of you.

Chapter 6

He’s starting to understand what swelled in his chest the first time he read about Stonewall, why he ached over the SCOTUS decision in 2015. … It’s weird that the thing with Henry could make him understand this huge part of himself, but it does. When he sinks into thoughts of Henry’s hands, square knuckles and elegant fingers, he wonders how he never realized it before. When he sees Henry next at a gala in Berlin, and he feels that gravitational pull, chases it down in the back of a limo, and binds Henry’s wrists to a hotel bedpost with his own necktie, he knows himself better.

6. How you think Return of the Jedi is the best Star Wars (wrong) because deep down you’re a gigantic, sappy, embarrassing romantic who just wants the happily ever after.

Chapter 2, in the medical supply closet

Then, unprompted, Henry says into the stretching stillness, “Return of the Jedi.” A beat. “What?” “To answer your question,” Henry says. “Yes, I do like Star Wars, and my favorite is Return of the Jedi.” “Oh,” Alex says. “Wow, you’re wrong.” “…isn’t there something to be valued in a happy ending as well?” “Spoken like a true Prince Charming.” “I’m only saying, I like the resolution of Jedi. It ties everything up nicely. And the overall theme you’re intended to take away from the films is hope and love and … er, you know, all that. Which is what Jedi leaves you with a sense of most of all.”

Henry's passion and ability to recite things he's interested in 7. Your ability to recite Keats. 8. Your ability to recite Bernadette’s “Don’t let it drag you down” monologue from Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

Chapter 7

It’s another thing Henry does—whipping out these analyses of what he reads or watches or listens to…

Chapter 10, in the v&a

“James was completely besotted [with George Villiers]. Everyone knew. This French poet, de Viau, wrote a poem about it.” [Henry] clears his throat and starts to recite: “‘One man fucks Monsieur le Grand, another fucks the Comte de Tonnerre, and it is well known that the King of England, fucks the Duke of Buckingham.’”

Henry, who has tried, does try, and keeps trying 9. How hard you try. 10. How hard you’ve always tried. 11. How determined you are to keep trying.

Chapter 6, red room

Alex has been learning for a while Henry isn’t what he thought, but it’s something else to feel it this close up, the quiet burn in him, the pent-up person under the perfect veneer who tries and pushes and wants.

Chapter 7, conversation with June and the J-14 magazine

“It pisses me off sometimes, thinking about everything he’s been through. He’s a good person. He really cares, and he tries. He never deserved any of it.”

Chapter 10, when alex storms kensington

Alex swallows hard. “You’re not even gonna try to be happy?” “For Christ’s sake,” Henry says, “I’ve been trying to be happy my entire idiot life. My birthright is a country, not happiness.”

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“I’m saying,” Henry begins, and the knit of his brow is nervous but his mouth keeps speaking, “I’m terrified, and my whole life is completely mad, but trying to give you up this week nearly killed me. And when I woke up this morning and looked at you … there’s no trying to get by for me anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever be allowed to tell the world, but I … I want to. One day. If there’s any legacy for me on this bloody earth, I want it to be true. So I can offer you all of me, in whatever way you’ll have me, and I can offer you the chance of a life. If you can wait, I want you to help me try.”

Chapter 13, in london following the email leak

Henry who has been through the worst thing and now the next worst thing and is still alive. [Alex] reaches out a hand and touches the ridge of Henry’s shoulder blade, the skin where the sheet has slid off him, where his lungs stubbornly refuse to stop pulling air.

Honorable mention: When Alex used to think Henry didn't try Chapter 1, the lead up to cakegate

“I’m just saying,” Alex says, resting an overly friendly elbow on Henry’s shoulder… “You could try to act like you’re having fun. Occasionally.”

12. That when your shoulders cover mine, nothing else in the entire stupid world matters.

Chapter 5, in Alex's room after the state dinner

Henry’s hands are huge on his back, his jaw sharp and rough with a long day’s stubble, his shoulders broad enough to eclipse Alex when he rolls them over and pins Alex to the mattress. None of it feels anything like anything he’s felt before, but it’s just as good, maybe better.

Chapter 7, post-karaoke

Henry rolls Alex onto his side and burrows behind him until he’s covering him completely, his shoulders a brace for Alex’s shoulders, one of his thighs pressed on top of Alex’s thighs, his arms over Alex’s arms and his hands over Alex’s hands, nowhere left untouched. It’s the best Alex has slept in years.

13. The goddamn issue of Le Monde you brought back to London with you and kept and have on your nightstand (yes, I saw it).

Chapter 7, paris

In the morning, room service brings up crusty baguettes and sticky tarts filled with fat apricots and a copy of Le Monde that Alex makes Henry translate out loud.

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

And beside him, there’s a copy of Le Monde on the nightstand… He recognizes the date: Paris. The first time they woke up next to each other.

14. The way you look when you first wake up.

Surprisingly, no direct descriptions of this but we can extrapolate from Chapter 15, presidential election victory celebration

And for a fraction of a second, a whole crystallized life flashes into view, a next term and no elections left to win, a schedule packed with classes and Henry smiling from the pillow next to him in the gray light of a Brooklyn morning.

15. Your shoulder-to-waist ratio.

Chapter 5, alex sexuality crisis musings while on a run with june

He thinks about Henry’s voice low in his ear over the phone at three in the morning, and suddenly he has a name for what ignites in the pit of his stomach. Henry’s hands on him, …Henry’s mouth, … Henry’s broad shoulders and long legs and narrow waist…

16. Your huge, generous, ridiculous, indestructible heart.

Chapter 9, last night at the lake house

What if [Alex] got so wrapped up in everything Henry is—the words he writes, the earnest heartsickness of him—he forgot to take into account that it’s just how he is, all the time, with everyone?

Chapter 11, hometown stuff email

You love so much bigger than yourself, bigger than everything. I can’t believe how lucky I am to even witness it—to be the one who gets to have it, and so much of it, is beyond luck and feels like fate.

Chapter 12, bad metaphors about maps email

…the truth of you. the weird, perfect shape of your heart. the one on the outside of your chest. give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart. there’s so much of you.

Chapter 12, in london following the email leak

Six feet of boy curled around kicked-in ribs and a recalcitrant heart.

17. Your equally huge dick.

Chapter 10, in the V&A

“Oh, yeah,” Alex says. “The top list of reasons to love you goes brain, then dick, then imminent status as a revolutionary gay icon.”

18. The face you just made when you read that last one.

Chapter 4, new years eve party

[Alex] was having fun watching everything he did play out on Henry’s face.

19. The way you look when you first wake up (I know I already said this, but I really, really love it).

See #14

20. The fact that you loved me all along.

Chapter 10, morning after alex storms kensington

“What about you?” “What about me?” Henry says. “Christ, Alex. The whole bloody time.” “The whole time?” “Since the Olympics.” “The Olympics?” Alex yanks Henry’s pillow out from under him. “But that’s, that’s like—” “Yes, Alex, the day we met, nothing gets past you, does it?” Henry says, reaching to steal the pillow back. “‘What about you,' he says, as if he doesn’t know—”

Chapter 11, re hometown stuff email

But the first time I saw you. Rio. I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms. You were talking with Nora and June, happy and animated and fully alive, a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access, and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You weren’t even a president’s son yet, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire. And then I was a careless fool, and I fell in love with you anyway. When you rang me at truly shocking hours of the night, I loved you. When you kissed me in disgusting public toilets and pouted in hotel bars and made me happy in ways in which it had never even occurred to me that a mangled-up, locked-up person like me could be happy, I loved you.

[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Deep Scar

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: mention and description of the murder of multiple people, descriptions of wounds, virgnity loss, smut, angst, violence, suicide attempt, trauma, mourning ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his ‘ghosts’, a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 2 - The Man with the Empty Heart | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Mouth | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

For as long as he could remember, their father had taken no interest in them, preferring his first-born daughter to his second wife's children. He hated her with all his heart, jealous that although he read extensively and was so skilled in hand-to-hand combat, the King only focused his attention on her.

He lived in a constant conviction of defeat − his grandfather incited his mother against his father by saying that if it went on like this it would be Rheanyra who would be chosen by him as heir to the throne, not Aegon, her first-born son.

The tension inside the fortress and their internal strife meant that they failed to see the threat that lurked outside. Discontent among their people was growing due to poor crops and famine − although the King showed concern about the whole situation, his grandfather, Otto reassured him that he had everything under control.

He only recognised how serious the situation was when it became apparent that an army was gathering near the city walls − the lords on whom gigantic taxes had been imposed demanded that the King abdicate and a new ruler be chosen from among the nobles.

House Targaryen had ruled the kingdom for centuries and his father had no intention of giving up the crown to anyone just because they willed it; he called all the lords rising against him traitors, demanding their heads.

However, when it became apparent that the most powerful of the lords, his father's former ally and friend, Lord Walford had risen against them at the head of a rebellion, taking their stronghold by storm, all was lost.

Hearing the sounds of battle and screams he ran to his mother's chamber wanting to make sure she was safe − she was packing up in a hurry and when she saw him she grabbed him by his arms and shook him.

"There is a passage under my bed to an underground shelter. You must press with your little finger the mechanism which is hidden in a small hole under the wooden panels. You and Daeron are to hide there, go get him at once." She ordered in a trembling voice, sweat droplets on her face.

He wanted to defy her, horrified by her condition, feeling that even though he was only twelve years old he was already a man, that he would not hide like a coward but would fight to defend her.

However, he decided that it was indeed necessary to hide Daeron somewhere and was already about to leave her chamber when Lord Walfrod's soldiers suddenly rushed in, their armour and swords all filthy with blood.

He only had time to scream when the blade of one of them swung and drove into his face − he fell to the floor with a loud whine, catching himself on his cheek, completely losing sight of his left eye.

He began to waddle across the floor in front of him towards the bed − he heard his mother screaming but didn't turn to look at her, terrified, thinking only of the fact that he didn't want to die, that he was scared, that he wanted to hide, his heart pounding like mad.

He managed with a shaking hand to find the hole she was saying about − when he slipped his little finger into it something clicked and the flap lifted. He crawled quickly down and closed it behind him, breathing loudly, panting all over, the voices above him muffled and indistinct.

The corridor he was in was very cramped, consisting only of a steep staircase leading down and walls all around him − with one hand he clutched at the painfully burning wound, feeling the warm blood run down his fingers, and with his other hand he began to slide down into complete darkness. He finally reached a sort of enclosed, stone-cold room.

He fell to his knees and wept loudly, his nose all stuffed up from tears − he felt sticky from his own wetness and blood. He was terrified, but most of all he could not forgive himself for running away like a coward, for leaving his beloved mother to die, Daeron and everyone else, for hiding instead of dying with them with honour.

He lay down on the stone floor and stayed like that, listening to the sounds of battle and screams, until there was complete, empty silence. The pain he felt on his left cheek was unbearable and he thought that although he had avoided a quick death, he would die here slowly, forgotten and abandoned.

He decided that he would rather bleed out or die of thirst and hunger than go out and give himself up to these traitors.

Staying in that dark, cold pit, he lost track of time − he didn't know if days or hours had passed. All he could think about was that the ache in his skull was unbearable, his wound oozed and smelled bad, his stomach twisted with pain, his lips dried with thirst.

He felt that he had fallen asleep only to wake up and cry loudly, wishing for nothing more than to find that his mother had survived, to return with his father and brother at the head of a great army and come to his aid.

He imagined that the wooden flap opened and his queen-mother appeared in it like an angel in a pillar of blinding light, that he threw himself into her arms with relief, hearing her tender reassurances that all was well now.

He shuddered when he heard the screech of wood and the sound of a trapdoor opening, the pillar of light coming from the side of the room almost blinding him and he had to take a few steps backwards, pushing against the wall, his heart pounding like mad.

"Is someone there? I can hear you crying. Let me help you, please, speak up." He heard a soft, feminine whisper echoing through the room − he felt a tightness in his throat recognising instantly that it wasn't his mother's voice.

What if it was a trick?

If there were guards with her, if they were about to come down and kill him?

"I will spend tonight with the King in his chamber. I will order my guards to rest and not watch over my rooms. I will leave the flap open for you to leave, on my bed you will find a hooded cloak, a sack of food and coins. Leave the keep through the kitchen rooms in the cellars. My servant will be waiting for you and lead you out. She will hand you over to your mother's friend, Ser Criston."

She said quickly and closed the trapdoor with a quiet creak of wood, the room again surrounded by complete darkness. He breathed loudly, hearing only the rapid beating of his own heart.

Should he believe her or not?

What if she was lying?

What if they were going to torture him?

He clamped his eyelids shut, feeling a terrible pain in his skull and decided that he couldn't take it any longer, that he wanted it all to be over.

He walked back and forth across the dark room, feeling a sudden rush of energy and adrenaline, the blood bubbling strongly in his veins. He jumped back when he heard the creak of wood, followed by someone's footsteps and the sound of a door closing.

There was complete silence.

He swallowed loudly; over these few days his eyesight had completely adapted to the darkness, so he confidently found the steps of the stairs with his hands and slowly began to climb up. He slid out from under the bed and listened for any sounds, however, there seemed to be no one in the room.

He crawled out from under the bed and stood up on trembling legs, looking around quickly but saw no one − on the bedding in fact lay a small cloak, a pouch of coins and a little bag of apples and bread. He took it all, quickly putting the cloak on, pulling the hood over his head and left the chamber, looking around in a panic, his wound hurt more than usual, all swollen and throbbing.

He knew the map of the fortress by heart and indeed had not encountered any guards on his way, so he ran towards the kitchen rooms and stopped, frightened, when he came across a woman. She looked at him horrified and almost screamed seeing his face, turning her head quickly, disgust and disbelief in her gaze − he stood in front of her wondering if she was going to start shouting.

"− gods, so it's true − poor child − come, we don't have much time −" She whispered looking around and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the servants' passage − they walked through the cramped, dark corridors, he could hear rats running past them, his heart pounding like mad.

After a while they reached a small wooden door, apparently intended for deliveries from merchants − the woman opened it and waved to a man dressed in a cloak, a hood over his head, he was standing next to a large cart harnessed to two horses, covered with a large sheet.

"− I got him − quickly −" She whispered to him, the man stepped forward to meet her, a sigh of disbelief escaping his lips when he recognised in him Ser Criston Cole, her mother's sworn protector.

"− thanks be to the gods − your merits will not be forgotten, woman − come, my Prince, we have no time −" He said impatiently, and he moved swiftly after him, jumping on the cart. Criston covered him with a sheet and after a moment he felt a tug − they moved off and he drew a loud breath, laying down on the wood beneath his feet.

He had escaped.

This woman had really helped him.

When his emotions wore off he immediately devoured the piece of bread and apple that the woman had bagged for him, feeling immensely relieved, no longer even thinking about the pain, just that he had survived.

He hoped Criston would take him back to his family, to those who had survived the massacre, that he would see his mother again soon.

As they stopped he heard Criston's voice speaking to someone, and then the sheet lifted, Cole and a man who looked like a monk stared at him in disbelief.

"− good gods −" Muttered a plump priest in a grey habit girded with a simple rope. "− what have they done to him? −"

First they bathed him and changed him into new robes, and then they took him to the medic despite his pleas that he wanted to see his mother and siblings first. Cole stood over him as they waited for the monk to attend to his wound, his face pale.

"− I'm so sorry, my Prince −" He said low, his voice trembling slightly, but he didn't need to say anything more. He felt a squeeze in his stomach, a burning wetness gathered under the eyelid of his healthy eye. He wept like a child even though he wanted to act like a man.

He thought that he had only survived because he was a coward.

When the medic arrived and saw the state he was in, he prayed first and said that it was a miracle that the infection had not killed him, that the wound needed to be decontaminated immediately and the eye had to be taken out.

A stick was placed in his mouth on which he was told to bite his teeth, having previously been given a huge amount of poppy milk and spirit to ease the pain, however, what he felt when his blade penetrated his skin and began to burn and cut away the dead, rotting tissue seemed like pure hell to him.

He fainted after a few minutes of writhing like an animal and muffled screaming, Criston was unable to look at it and walked out. He was left alone and thought that this was his punishment that was waiting for him from now on, punishment for his cowardice, punishment for not being able to behave like a man.

Darkness and loneliness.

He would not allow anyone to light the candles in his cell, which had previously belonged to some other monk, feeling wonderfully invisible there.

When he covered the small window at night with a thick black cloth he was once again in complete darkness, just as he had been when he had spent those few days that seemed to last indefinitely under his mother's chamber.

Criston had told him that his mother had died after several swords had repeatedly pierced her body, his father old and infirm to the point that he, like Aegon, Helaena and Daeron, had had their throats cut in their beds.

The whole attack had been premeditated − Lord Walford had pretended to be a friend of his father-king to the end, and now, from what he understood, he had been chosen from among these fucking traitors to be King and take his place on the throne.

Cole assured him that there were still individuals in the realm and lords who remained loyal to him, who wanted justice and the return of House Targaryen to the throne, who would support him if he wished to regain the crown.

He practised hand-to-hand combat with him every day in the great vaults of the men's monastery. Even though the new king's soldiers repeatedly searched the entire building, thinking rightly that they might have been hiding the prince out of sheer compassion, each time the monks warned them off and gave them time to find another refuge quickly.

He lived only for the thought of doing to the family of the new king what he had done to him.

He knew that he had time, that he could not rush, that this matter had to be carefully considered.

They met in secret in one of the strongholds of his father's former vassal, Lord Malet, who received him with great honours, gathering all his supporters there.

They discussed what to do, having an army smaller and less well supplied than the royal one, unable to act openly, treating the news that the prince was alive as something that could not come to light.

"I have my man in the King's closest guard; he is one of his ghosts. I pay him fairly for any information, he could bring someone else in there. Some spy. We would set up an ambush on one of the already existing ones, similar in size and weight − they wear the same clothes, if his behaviour did not arouse anyone's suspicion, no one would know." He said with conviction, and he licked his lower lip at the thought that popped into his head.

"I'll take his place." He said coolly, looking at the map of the fortress spread out before him on the large table, the lords looked at each other in surprise.

"What do you mean, my Prince? It's dangerous, it puts our whole plan in danger!" Exclaimed one of them, clearly horrified by his proposal − he chuckled under his breath, several of the men swallowing loudly, apparently wondering if he was still remaining in his senses.

"I am very familiar with this fortress and its customs, I will be able to keep up with what is going on there. When what we're speaking about becomes a reality, I need to be on the ground, taking charge and the throne right away." Said matter-of-factly, Criston grunted, looking at him uncertainly.

"This plan has some chance of success, but it would be best if you were not in front of the King himself, as he might order you to remove your mask in his presence. We cannot allow that to happen. It would be best if you served his son or daughter." He said looking around at the assembled crowd, the men looked at each other.

"We can arrange to ambush her at the fair. My ghost told me that she often sneaks past her guards without their knowledge. If someone attacks her, the King will reinforce her guard, perhaps appointing one of his ghosts to the task. When we find out whom, my man will kill him, and you, my Prince, will take his place."

He recognised that, although it was madness, it had a chance of success, and nothing pleased his heart more than the thought that he would be able to take the life of the man who had destroyed his family with his own hands when the time was right.

To his delight, it turned out that the lord's plan had worked and he had indeed appointed one of his closest guards as her protector. The man was killed later that evening, and he and Criston, under cover of darkness, made their way to the fortress from the side of a forgotten passageway that led out into the woods which had once been used to return from hunting.

One of the ghosts, with the help of a servant who was also involved in their conspiracy, dragged the murdered man out of the castle, and he immediately changed into his clothes.

Although they were a tad too tight, when he put on his mask he felt wonderfully peaceful − the darkness and silence that enveloped him made him feel again as he did when only blackness surrounded him.

Solitude.

The ghost explained the exact rules to him again and informed him where there was a place where he could sleep and rest, although, he said, he didn't think he would ever have the opportunity to use it − they only ate at night and usually slept standing or sitting up.

They parted in one of the passageways, and he moved with a confident stride down the corridor he knew well towards the chamber that had once belonged to his sister, and in which now slept this little whore. He saw the disturbed looks of the guards from afar and smiled at the thought that he would soon kill them all.

They needed to smuggle as many of their men and as many weapons into the fortress as possible.

"You may leave. From now on, the Princess is under my protection." He said coldly, one of the men snorted loudly, angry, he could smell the strong odour of alcohol from him.

"You are not a King, by what right do you command us?" He asked resentfully and he chuckled with amusement − he saw that the man looked at him uncertainly, with fear from which he felt pleasure and heat in his chest.

"Shall I inform the King that not only are you incapable of guarding his daughter, but you refuse to obey his orders?"

The man growled something under his breath, speaking of his insolence, walking away with his companion with a loud clang of their armour.

He hummed under his breath as he stepped against the wall facing her door, the door to his sister's chamber, and thought of Helaena, of how gentle and sensitive a person she was, of how she despaired even when one of them accidentally trampled a spider or a slug.

He thought of how she lay alone, terrified, dying slowly, coughing up her own blood, and felt a pain in his heart, swallowing loudly, his heart pounding hard.

He was comforted when the torches around him burned out and he was left at last in complete darkness − he closed his eyes and decided to rest, work out his plan in his head and wait patiently.

He shuddered and opened his eyelids, startled when he heard the loud creak of a door − a figure appeared in it illuminated only by the soft light of a candle, her large eyes looking at him with uncertainty and terror.

His jaw clenched in rage when he involuntarily thought she was beautiful, though he wished she would turn out to be a disgusting, ugly girl that no one would ever want.

However, he could not say anything about her appearance other than that her face was pleasantly fair, smooth and slender, her nose shapely and slightly rounded, her eyes sparkling, surrounded by a veil of long lashes, her long, slightly wavy hair and eyebrows seemed to him as dark as the night itself.

They stared at each other for a long moment without speaking.

"What's your name?" She asked suddenly, uncertainly, softly, with a kind of innocent curiosity from which he felt like laughing.

He didn't answer.

You are a mere whore, he thought with amusement, who wallows in riches filthy from my sister's blood.

"How am I supposed to address you if I don't know what your name is?" She asked, surprised by his lack of answer, but he just looked at her, wondering how she was going to force him to speak to her at all.

Ghosts could only speak with the King.

"Should I complain to the King about you not answering my questions?" She asked with a note of threat in her voice from which he clenched his teeth, letting the air out loudly through his nose, trying to calm himself, thinking only of the fact that meeting the King was the last thing he wanted.

He couldn't allow himself to order him to take off his mask.

"Call me any name you see fit." He answered her coolly, tired of her refusing to leave him alone. She shook her head as if she didn't understand the meaning of the words he spoke to her.

"Shall I name you?" She muttered in disbelief and he turned his head to the side, rolling his eyes, feeling that he was losing patience.

"Yes. My Princess." He said roughly and coolly, adding the last two words quickly, reminding himself that he had to title her in that disgusting way.

For now.

She stared at him for a long moment with those big eyes of hers and swallowed loudly, something on her face that looked like she had made her decision.

"Vhagar."

He felt a shudder when she said this − he remembered a book he had read when he was a small child about a great, terrible dragon that devoured people and burned entire cities.

Could it be that she had read it too?

"I will always treat you with respect and I will never make you do anything to humiliate you or offend your good name." She said with some kind of pain and regret, as if she sympathised with him − he felt his jaw clench tightly, felt for some reason a tightness in his throat at her words.

After a moment, the door closed behind her and he let out a loud breath, swallowing hard, wondering how he was going to stand it all.

However, it turned out that his suffering was rewarded, because already at supper the next day he heard some interesting information about where they were looking for his body, that the case had still not been abandoned.

He wrote a letter to Criston later that night informing him to leave some false trail in the city's vaults, his old child's robes or anything that would help them think they were on the right trail, which he passed on to a trusted servant aware of everything.

Everything was going according to plan until that little whore took him to see her mother.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of her chamber and heard her voice he recognised her and felt a squeeze in his throat, standing at the door, not knowing where to look, his heart pounding like mad.

The new King had locked his wife in the tower like some kind of animal.

He shuddered when he felt her gaze on him, her lips slightly parted, as if she really had seen a ghost.

"The gods are gracious." She whispered in a trembling voice − he felt a sting in his heart at the thought that he was only alive because of her.

"What?" Her daughter asked quietly, as if she didn't understand what her mother had just said, but she wasn't listening, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and relief.

"You came for me like a death? Have you come to relieve my suffering at last?" She asked in a trembling voice shivering all over, pale and thin − he felt his lips involuntarily clench, his eyebrows twisted in pain, his heart pounding like mad.

"Mother, he is a guardian, he will not hurt you. He will protect us."

"Don't take her away. Have mercy on her and my son, they didn't know." She whispered pleadingly and he clenched his eyelids, thinking with rage and despair that Daeron and Helaena were innocent too.

"Stop, please. Please. You need to rest, mother. You need to eat and rest. I'll bring you some new books next time, all right?"

As they walked back downstairs he was completely immersed in his thoughts and wondered how it was possible that she recognised him. He shuddered, coming back down to earth when he heard her daughter's voice − she was leaning against a pillar with no strength, as if she was about to collapse to the ground.

"Kill me."

His healthy eye looked at her open wide in complete shock, he couldn't believe she had said that out loud.

Did she really mean it?

Involuntarily, his hand slid down to the dagger he had hidden under his cloak, he tightened his fingers on its hilt.

"Please, kill me." She whispered − he could feel his hand clamped on the weapon trembling all over, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his bones would break, his heart pounding like mad.

Don't take her away.

Have mercy on her and my son.

He swallowed loudly, thinking with pain that he would be just.

One mercy for one mercy.

His hand let go of the hilt, and she moved abruptly ahead, as if awakened from sleep, and spoke no more to him.

As soon as the door to his sister's chamber closed behind her, one of the ghosts came up to him and told him that he would replace him because the King wanted to speak to him. He nodded his head, tense, praying to the gods not to make him take off his mask.

He would have to kill him then, and he wanted to wait a little while, until they were better prepared.

He repeated to himself that he had to be patient.

That since he had endured so many years, he would endure a few more weeks as well.

He entered the chamber that had belonged to his father, originally in Targaryen red, now all in shades of blue − Lord Walford looked up at him from the book he had just read.

"Come closer." He said coldly, and he wordlessly obeyed his order, looking ahead indifferently with his hands clasped behind him.

"Did my daughter visit her mother today?" He asked, flipping the page with an aggressive, quick gesture that he noticed out of the corner of his eye.

"Yes."

The king hummed under his breath, stretching out comfortably in his richly decorated wooden chair.

"What did they discuss?" She asked lowly, and he licked his lips, wondering what he should say.

There were guards all around them, they could overhear their conversation, he couldn't come off as a liar in front of him.

He had to stick to his role.

"The Queen expressed disappointment that the young Prince was not visiting her. She also raised concerns that I was the personification of death, had come to bring her relief and take her life. She told me to spare her daughter and son because they did not know anything." He recited in a cold, dispassionate tone − the King sighed heavily, running his hand over his face.

"She has completely lost her mind. She keeps poisoning my poor daughter's head." He muttered, looking ahead with indifferent, enraged gaze.

"Take care of her."

He looked at him in disbelief, unsure if he had understood correctly what he expected of him.

"What do you mean, my King?" He asked lowly, uttering the last words with great difficulty. The man looked at him and licked his lower lip with impatience.

"It should look like she took her own life. Preferably a hanging. That will look the most natural. As long as she lives, our family will never move on."

Walking down the corridor towards the staircase to the chamber in which the Queen was being held, he took two vessels from his pocket, which he had kept for himself in case of need.

He walked all the way up, noticing that there were no guards or servants around, the door to her chamber open − she was sitting on her bed with her hands in her lap and looking towards him smiling, as if waiting for him.

"At last." She said softly, her skinny face as if it had taken on a flush. "I was hoping to see you one day. Believe me, there has not been a day in which I have not prayed for you."

He looked at her impassively feeling a tightness in his gut, playing between his fingers with the glass little bottle he held in his hand.

"You know what I came for." He said matter-of-factly, and she nodded and laughed lightly.

"I've waited a long time for this. For freedom." She replied − suddenly it seemed to him that she was completely sober and awake, that she had known perfectly well all this time what was happening to her.

She was waiting for him to come back and kill her.

He thought with surprise that something moved him at that thought.

"I have a proposition for you, my Lady." He said finally − she looked at him sleepily, wrinkling her brows.

"I will spare your daughter and your son if I gain your family's support in taking the throne." He said lowly, raising a hand with a small vial in front of him, waving it in front of her.

"Black Tears. That is the name of what I now hold in my hands. A few drops are enough to fall into a deep sleep − a person's heart beats slower, their pulse cannot be felt. However, if one drinks too much, one may not wake up again. Do you understand?" He asked coldly − she looked at the liquid and then at him, disbelief in her gaze.

"I'll help you escape."

When it was all over he informed the King that according to his will his spouse was dead. He came to her in his own person and sat down beside her on the bed, touching her cheek.

"Did she suffer?" He asked as if in pain, thought for a moment that he regretted his decision.

"No. She just fell asleep."

The King ordered that her body be prepared respectfully for burial and that he contact the prior of the monastery on his behalf to conduct the ceremony.

This is what he had been waiting for.

"She is alive. Move her to the monastery and inform her family what her king-husband wanted to do. Criston will give her an infusion that will wake her up. It is best if she vomits a few times, she may also have a fever and be weakened." He said to the man who had been like a second father to him during his years of solitude.

The monk looked at him in horror, both of them standing over her body in the small castle chapel that had once belonged to his mother.

"− you risk a lot −" He said, afraid to use his title aloud − he hummed under his breath, looking at her indifferently.

"− I am paying my debt − you always told me that a just King must be merciful − did you not? −" He asked coldly, the man swallowed loudly and looked again at the body of the sleeping Queen.

"We must change the body and put it in the coffin at once. Tell the King that there are nasty marks on the Queen's body, probably indicative of the injection of poison. He will then not allow the lid to be opened and will order a burial as soon as possible." He said indifferently and walked away, leaving the monk with his words.

When he returned he headed for the King's chamber and announced to him that everything was ready for a quick, trouble-free burial. The King showed satisfaction at the speed of his work and praised his organisational skills, glad that his face was obscured by a mask so that he could not see how wide his smile was.

Your end is coming, he thought with amusement.

"Summon my daughter." He said, putting a bite of roast into his mouth.

He wasn't surprised by the Princess's reaction to what her father had said, he wasn't surprised that she didn't believe it, that she ran towards the chamber where she had spoken to her mother only hours before.

He moved quickly after her, seeing that she was in complete hysterics, and thought that she looked just like he had when her father's soldiers had entered his mother's chamber.

"You fucking bastard!" She shouted wrestling with him desperately, trying to hit him with a candlestick, but he caught her easily, her wrists slender and petite − he thought if he put any more strength into his grip he would break her bones.

"− tell me where she is − please −" She mumbled looking at him pleadingly, the candlestick fell out of her hand with a loud clink of steel against the stone floor.

She was despairing, her face all red from tears, her lips puffed up and glistening − he thought there was something beautiful, noble in her suffering.

"− please − please, Vhagar, I don't want her to be alone −" She whined, and he swallowed loudly at the thought that her father hadn't told her everything, that she thought her mother was still alive.

"It's too late. She didn’t suffer."

She spilled into his hands, what he had told her was too much for her mind and heart − she fainted from grief and pain and he caught her in his arms at the last moment.

He picked her up and started down the stairs with her, her head resting against his chest − he thought she was incredibly light and soft, her pleasant scent filling his entire lungs.

He carried her to her chamber and laid her limp body on her bed. He sat down in the chair beside her, spreading himself out comfortably, taking satisfaction for some reason that he could shamelessly look at her from so close.

Her shoulders were bare − the sleeve of her gown slipped off one of them, exposing her naked skin in a way that was inappropriate to say the least.

He had spent eight years of his life within the walls of a men's monastery, devoting himself to training, reading and prayer − the last thing he thought about when dreaming of reclaiming his rightful throne were women and the frailties of the human body.

He shuddered when her body moved − her eyelids parted suddenly, her vision hazy and dreamy, the darkness clearly startling her and it took her a moment to realise where she was and what had happened.

Her face finally turned towards him and she froze, her eyes opened wide in horror, her lips began to tremble − he felt like he saw a flash of a tear run down her cheeks.

"You were supposed to protect her." She uttered in pain. He looked at her with an indifferent expression on his face wondering if she would have thrown herself at his neck if she had found out he had helped her mother escape.

"I did." He saw that she furrowed her brow, furious, so he continued, wanting her to understand exactly what order her father had given him.

"I showed her mercy. Your father the king wanted me to make it look like she took her own life. I gave her poison, after which she just fell asleep, although he suggested hanging. He thought it would look more...natural."

He saw that her eyebrows arched in pain and regret − she pressed her lips together and closed her eyelids, turning on her side, curling up like a small child and huddling in her furs, seeking refuge in the warm fabric.

"When will it be made official?" She asked trying to feign calm, her voice trembling however, betraying her pain and suffering.

"Tomorrow morning the kKng will convene a gathering and announce the sorrowful news."

She raised her gaze to him, he felt something change in the expression on her face − she was thinking hard about something.

"Do you still have that poison?" She whispered and he felt his heart begin to pump the blood faster through his veins − he pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, wondering if she was really planning to do what he suspected her of doing.

"…yes."

He looked at her in disbelief as she held out her slim, smooth hand to him, trembling slightly, hanging in the air.

"Have mercy on me too." She said softly, pleadingly, warmly − he hesitated, unsure of what he should do.

He had promised her mother he wouldn't kill her with his own hands, but he hadn't said he would stop her from committing suicide.

He got up slowly from his seat with a loud creak of the old wood and pulled out a small vial of leftover poison, enough to kill her. He walked over to her and handed it to her, looking at her with some kind of wide-eyed excitement, wondering what she would do.

He thought she was only pretending, that she wanted to arouse his pity, that she hoped he would stop her at the last moment.

"Is it going to be painful?" She asked in a trembling voice, looking at him helplessly, his heart pounding like mad − he could feel the cold sweat running down the back of his neck.

"No. You'll just fall asleep." He replied softly, and she sighed quietly, as if relieved, startling him when she opened the vial in a perfectly confident motion and immediately tilted its entire contents down her throat.

She swallowed loudly and looked at him with big eyes, horrified as he was by what she had done, by the knowledge that she was going to die, and lay back, tears of sadness, grief and fear running down the sides of her face.

She looked like a small child.

"Will you stay with me?" She asked in a trembling voice filled with despair and sorrow − he felt his heart sting, only realising a moment later that he was breathing heavily through his mouth.

"Yes." He whispered, noticed how involuntarily her head slowly slid to the side, her eyelids closed, her lips slightly parted.

She did it.

She couldn't take it and took her own life.

He went to her, pulling the black leather glove from his hand and touched her neck. He pressed his lips together, still sensing her pulse, wondering strenuously whether to let her die.

If it turned out that the King's daughter on his watch had died, he would have to kill him outright.

They weren't ready yet, they needed the support of her mother's family.

He clamped his eyelids shut and sighed heavily, taking her hair from her face with his fingers and swallowed loudly at the thought that her skin was incredibly warm and soft − he ran his fingertips over it for a moment as if it were a sheet of water before he reached into his coat pocket and took out a second vial.

He took the cork out of it, caught her cheeks in his hand and poured its contents down her throat, lifting her so that she didn't suffocate, her body began to shake.

She snorted loudly and squeezed him tightly − he reached quickly for the bowl of fruit standing next to her bed and dumped it on the stone floor, placing it under her mouth before her body shook with convulsions.

"Come on, you have to get it out of your body. Yes, there we go." He whispered as she began to vomit − he looked at her and thought with surprise that for some reason he felt relieved.

She was merely a tool in her father's hands, just like him, surrounded only by a terrifying, cruel, cold darkness.

He thought with some kind of pain, watching her as she fell asleep, shivering with fever and fatigue, that she was as alone as he was. He covered her with thick furs and lasted by her side all night without a wink, wanting to be sure she was still alive.

He was shocked to see that the next day, despite her fever, she got up as if nothing had happened, ordered her servants to help her dress in a black gown even though her father had not yet declared mourning.

Her expression of defiance, her expression of strength.

She was so pale that when he saw her walking in a small procession behind the coffin, he thought she really did look like a ghost − he had the feeling she was about to collapse, yet she walked ahead, her gaze distant, cool and empty.

He watched as she smiled at her father, as she pretended in front of him only to see complete emptiness appear on her face when he disappeared from her sight, a coldness in her gaze from which for some reason he felt a pleasant tickle in his fingertips.

"It's time to go back." He said finally snapping her out of her lethargy. She walked over to the grave where she believed her mother rested and placed her hand on it, tired and filled with pain.

"No. I won't leave her alone this time."

He looked at her impassively, for some reason feeling that he understood her, that like him she blamed herself for not protecting her mother.

They had both lost them at the hands of the same man.

"She's free now." He said calmly.

It wasn't a lie.

He had never lied to her.

She looked at him in a way that made him lift his chin higher, challenging her. She approached him slowly, her face enveloped in a black veil seemed even more mysterious and disturbingly beautiful to him, as if she were not human, her shape seemed slightly blurred to him, as if she did not really exist.

He drew in a loud breath when he felt her hand on his chest, her lips placing a kiss on the cold mask that covered his face in the place below where his cheek had been. He looked at her in disbelief as her hand stroked his mask, smelling the pleasant scent of her skin, a mixture of lavender and chamomile.

"This is my expression of gratitude for your dedication to the affairs of our family." She said with feigned tenderness, her puffy lips slightly parted, her gaze indifferent, sharp, dark. He felt a throbbing inside his breeches and swallowed loudly, embarrassed and horrified by his body's reaction.

He thought, following her back towards the keep, that they were the same.

That as King he would need a Queen, a woman who would give him offspring and extend his line.

What would unite the realm more than the marriage of two conflicted sides, bringing peace and order at last?

He thought about it watching her while she was bathing, when she let him stay, saying he could watch − he was completely hard at the thought that when it was all over he would take her for himself, that this warm, soft body with pleasant, girlish shapes that peered through from under her wet chemise would be his alone.

He thought of this only to clench his hands around her neck a moment later, watching her terrified face trying helplessly to catch its breath after thinking horrified that she had ruined everything.

She had found the passage.

Why, why couldn't she just leave it all?

Why was she forcing him to do this when only he could give her freedom of life or death?

He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against hers − he let out a growl of rage and let her go, heard her draw in the air loudly as she looked at him with a gaze full of terror and disbelief, her lips swollen and red from the blood that, through the adrenaline, flowed quickly through her veins.

She was beautiful.

He sighed heavily, involuntarily clinging to her − she trembled all over trying to push him away, but he was stronger than her. He began to rub against her body with his swollen cock and parted his lips, feeling his manhood respond with a strong pulsing, wave after wave of hot, tickling pleasure flowed through his lower abdomen.

"You are my curse. My ruin." He exhaled, looking closely at her face, her dark, wonderfully long eyelashes surrounded her eyes, staring at him with disbelief, fear and something that made him hot, her eyebrows arched in indecision, her full, moist lips parted slightly − he thought he would have killed for the chance to taste them. "My doom."

He shuddered and lost his breath for a moment when he felt her hands let go of his chest and slide down to his hips, her thighs spread out in front of him, her fingers tightening on his flesh, pressing him tighter against her − she sighed quietly beneath him, breathing louder and louder.

"− destroy me − leave me with nothing −" She whispered; he felt a powerful shudder run through him and he thought it was over, that he had to do it, that he had to feel her.

He didn't believe it when he felt her own hands help him untie and slide down his breeches, he didn't care if she changed her mind − he wanted her and took her. He forced his way inside her with difficulty, her fleshy walls clenching against him, resisting him, a whimper of discomfort escaping her lips.

He was panting and moaning along with her, sliding into her with effort all the way in, with a natural, subconscious movement beginning to root into her, delighted at how tight and warm she was, how with each thrust of his hips he slid into her with increasing ease, his movements accompanied by the loud click of her moisture.

She was wet.

"− good gods, you are fucking enjoying this −" He muttered with a sneer and groaned low, feeling her clench tightly around his manhood − he began to slam into her harder and faster, feeling that something was happening to him, some kind of tension was rising and rising, he felt like his cock was about to explode.

And then it happened.

He came inside her, for the first time in his life he experienced fulfilment and it was so stupefying and pleasurable that for a moment he was just panting with his eyes closed, rooting into her again and again, trying to prolong it, listening to her mewling of pleasure, her cheeks wonderfully pink, her gaze misty, her lips parted sweetly.

He stared at her thinking about the fact that he had filled her to the brim with his seed, that he felt fulfilled as a man, as a lover, as a husband, as a King, as anyone he wanted to be.

He had taken for himself the woman he desired and filled her with himself.

Was there anything more natural?

However, he quickly regained his sobriety of mind as did she − they pulled away from each other, terrified. He slid out of her and she moved away quickly, covering her thighs, panting loudly, looking at him in horror, clearly thinking he was still going to try to kill her.

He reached up quickly and tied his breeches, looking at her in disbelief, his manhood still all wet from her juices, from what had flowed out of her after she had reached her peak with him deep inside her.

He looked at her and thought only of the fact that he had never experienced something so pleasurable before in his life.

That through his seed she could soon carry his child in her womb.

That she would become his Queen.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

[sillylotrpolls]

Tolkien's drawing of the crown (from Tolkien Gateway):

The description in Return of the King:

Then the guards stepped forward, and Faramir opened the casket, and he held up an ancient crown. It was shaped like the helms of the Guards of the Citadel, save that it was loftier, and it was all white, and the wings at either side were wrought of pearl and silver in the likeness of the wings of a sea-bird, for it was the emblem of kings who came over the Sea; and seven gems of adamant were set in the circlet, and upon its summit was set a single jewel the light of which went up like a flame.

Excerpt from a letter from Rhona Beare:

Question 4: What clothes did the peoples of Middle-earth wear? Was the winged crown of Gondor like that of a Valkyrie, or as depicted on a Gauloise cigarette packet?

Tolkien's response in Letter 211:

The Númenóreans of Gondor were proud, peculiar, and archaic, and I think are best pictured in (say) Egyptian terms. In many ways they resembled 'Egyptians' – the love of, and power to construct, the gigantic and massive. And in their great interest in ancestry and in tombs. (But not of course in 'theology' : in which respect they were Hebraic and even more puritan – but this would take long to set out: to explain indeed why there is practically no oven 'religion',* or rather religious acts or places or ceremonies among the 'good' or anti-Sauron peoples in The Lord of the Rings.) I think the crown of Gondor (the S. Kingdom) was very tall, like that of Egypt, but with wings attached, not set straight back but at an angle. The N. Kingdom had only a diadem (III 323). Cf. the difference between the N. and S. kingdoms of Egypt.

What Peter Jackson chose instead:

[elitadream]

Mario had been contemplating solutions in vain, sitting by himself forlornly after yet another grim and discouraging day of continuous failure when he registered the faint shuffling of timid steps nearby.

It was quite late and the man didn't exactly have the energy to feel surprised, but he curiously lifted his head nonetheless.

"Junior?" He wondered aloud, gazing worriedly at his provisory ally. "What's wrong?"

The young prince was rubbing his eyes, swaying idly on his feet and stubbornly staring at the ground. He didn't respond, but he didn't need to. His distress and need for company was plain to see.

Knowingly, Mario unfolded his legs and rested both hands on his knees, giving him a compassionate look.

"Couldn't sleep either, huh?"

Junior shrugged before joining him and leaning against his side, eyes downcast. There was no trace of mischief or deception to his demeanor. Only a defeated sort of acceptance.

Mario couldn't help but feel a genuine twinge of amazement at the vulnerable gesture.

"I'm... really sorry about your dad," he ventured, not quite daring to move.

Junior blinked wearily, but showed no other sign of acknowledgement. There was a brief moment of silence until Mario felt compelled to look at him once more.

"I don't know how long this might take, but I promise you we will find a way to turn him back to normal. I will not give up on you, or him. You have my word," he assured gently.

Junior merely curled in on himself more tightly as a response, appearing impossibly small compared to the gigantic beast his father had somehow become. His brows were furrowed in an expression the plumber had never seen before. A deep sadness mixed with a touch of remorsefulness, or perhaps resentment.

Mario was about to ask if he had somehow said something he shouldn't when Junior finally spoke.

"My Papa is wrong about you," he muttered, very quietly.

Before Mario could so much as blink, the small Koopa went on, shaking his head with a sniffle.

"You're not a coward and you're not stupid. You work hard and you never complain. You just want to help everyone, all the time. Even us."

His words, albeit said reluctantly, were spoken with uncharacteristic sincerity. Mario couldn't find it in himself to smile, so he carefully wrapped an arm around the prince's shell instead, giving his shoulder a comforting pat.

"I don't mind the insults. Not really," he amended softly, hoping that he somehow sounded more confident than he felt. "I guess that's just the way Bowser perceives me. It's okay."

"No, it's not," the young heir retorted. "He's very unfair towards you. He said some really mean and hurtful things, and-"

Junior stopped himself with a small whine, pawing at his face again. He was still averting his gaze, but the fragile tone of his voice betrayed his guilt.

"...I said mean things, too. I'm sorry."

For a few seconds, Mario could only stare mutely back at him, stunned by the unexpected apology. He then shifted closer, bringing his arm more securely around the Koopa in a side hug.

"Everybody makes mistakes," he murmured. "But everybody can change."

"I wish that was also true for my Papa," Junior mumbled, dejectedly.

At this, Mario hummed wistfully, his answer long believed and thoroughly considered.

"Maybe... all he needs is a bit of help."

-

When I first heard of Bowser's Fury a few months ago, all I knew about the plot was that Junior goes to seek Mario's help in the hopes of stopping his father's rampage. And words couldn't describe how much I LOVED the idea. Although this is an older drawing and my look for Junior has since changed a bit (the same way I eventually altered Bowser's design), this was the concept that later inspired the way I've decided to approach Mario and Junior's relationship in a broader sense - which means that there'll definitely be more with these two. :3

Mario being enduringly kind and winning foes over with nothing but his goodness of heart never fails to give me feels, and I want more of that. 💖

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 4: APHRODISIACS

grand admiral thrawn x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire.

cw: f!princess!reader, aphrodisiacs/sex pollen vibes so dub-con, fingering, cum eating, political mind games.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 5: CLOTHES ON ⇾

Perhaps others in your position would consider you a coward. The rebel alliance had pushed a revolutionary manifesto that had bled into the heart of each Empire-subjugated civilian in the galaxy, many taking up arms against the gigantic fleet of storm-trooper manned ships. 

However, lacking a large military and without weaponry or manpower, your small planet lay at the mercy of the Empire leviathan. The decorative crown placed atop your head was just that— embellishment. The significance of your birthright was as vexing to Grand Admiral Thrawn as a speck of dust on his pristine white uniform. A simple brush of his palm enough to toss any resistance aside. 

The hologram Thrawn sent you upon arrival to your galaxy was intended as an olive branch, one you gratefully received. A promise of clemency on the condition that you attend a dinner upon the Chimaera warship. 

“Princess,” Thrawn muses as he walks you towards the vast dining table, his own body language almost regal as he directs you to your seat, “I hope you don’t mind that I took liberty with the selection of delicacies I provided.” 

You had no quarrel; it was like a feast mosaic. Gorgeous, vibrant pomegranates split down the middle to expose the glistening seeds, strawberries doused in dark chocolate and shucked oysters fanned out on a plate of salt. 

“I am grateful for anything you provide, Grand Admiral,” you answer him politely as he pulls out a chair for you. You sit with a small smile, attempting to appease the man that balanced your planet’s fate on the end of his trigger finger. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Thrawn’s lips pull up in a smirk, the silky timbre of his voice dripping like molasses off the edge of your spine, warming something deep in your abdomen that makes you blush. 

Without ceremony, he settled in his seat across the table. Those crimson eyes pass over your frame with a gaze so heavy it’s as though you feel it dance across your skin, leaving flames in its wake. 

“I recommend the oysters, your highness,” he addresses you respectfully with your title. “Freshly farmed a few hours ago.” 

Upon his insistence, you began to feast. A polite silence falls between you, Thrawn’s eyes set on you as he watches you relish the flavour of the delicate oysters. He looks pleased. 

You cannot deny the warmth that creeps across your skin the longer he looks at you. Thrawn's presence makes you almost dizzy, but the fear that had prickled at the base of your neck when you had been informed of his arrival had been replaced with something far more titillating. 

“I must offer you my appreciation for your willingness to collaborate with the Empire, your highness, Thrawn praises you while you take a moment to sip the red wine you had been offered upon arrival. “I think you will find that I serve at your pleasure.”

“So it would seem,” you smile weakly, glancing across the table top. Pomegranate, oysters, wine. Your mind felt numb, slow to connect the thread that ran through each item— a singular quality they all shared. 

“I wish to assure you of my commitment to ensuring you and your people are appropriately cared for,” Thrawn continues, elegantly standing from his seat at the head of the table and approaching where you sat like a Groundlion; a creature you knew belonged to the Chiss star system. “That our relationship continues to develop organically.” 

The air around you vibrates as he approaches, your heart lurching. You had not failed to note the double meaning and slight innuendo to his comments. Flush paints your cheeks when you feel the slick wetness between your thighs, unable to look the Chiss in the eyes as he stands before you. 

The Grand Admiral’s azure palm takes hold of your chin gently, tilting your head back and forcing you to look him in the eye. He’s poised, ice cold and stoic while he watches you burn up. “Don’t you agree?”

Pomegranate, wine, oysters. Pomegranate. Wine. Oysters. 

Thrawn’s fingertips glide down your throat, tracing the dip of your sternum down down beneath your naval, leaving a devastating trail of arousal in the wake of his feather-light touch. 

Pomegranate. Red Wine. Oysters. 

Aphrodisiacs. 

“Ah—“ you gasp the moment the word comes to mind, Thrawn’s fingertip brushing the curve of your sex and finding against your swollen, throbbing clit through the layers of fabric. Your eyes roll back, knuckles bleaching as he steadily and oh so easily works his hand beneath your skirts. Each motion is fluid, as easy as breathing. 

“Apologies, your highness,” Thrawn spoke, his timbre even and mind-bendingly steady in comparison to your broken breaths of ecstasy. His fingers work through your folds, spreading your pussy lips and collecting your slick across his cerulean fingerprints. “I didn’t quite catch your reply.” 

There’s a vague cruelty to his tone, enjoying your suffering. His eyes are glued to your expression, watching it crumple with desperation as he removes his touch from your sex raising his slick-drenched fingers to his lips and relishing in the taste when he presses the digits to his tongue. 

Your chest heaves, utterly undignified with your thighs still spread in the hopes he’ll touch you again, trembling with need. Grand Admiral Thrawn’s eyes slip closed with a quiet hum of appreciation, removing his fingers from his tongue. 

“Exquisite,” he husks, eyes dropping to you once more. 

“Please—“ you beg him, far beyond the political ramifications and the threat of being labelled a co-conspirator. 

“A princess should not beg,” he scolds you with an even tone, his hand easily working itself between your thighs once again, immediately finding your swollen clit and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It’s tortuous, your body practically folding in on itself at the devastating arousal that causes slick to leak down your thighs. “She should command her subject. Demand their service.” 

You cannot even muster a plea of mercy, rocking your hips forward to grind your clit against his knuckles. He appears to savour the way pleasure contorts your expression, your brows knitting together and jaw falling slack as you chase the high that had so suddenly threatened to burst through you like a blaster charge. 

“It would appear that we are destined to have a successful working relationship, your highness,” Thrawn muses, the flat expression on his face doing little to hide the gleeful glint in his eye at just how easy it was to reduce you to a trembling wreck. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You have no time to answer, no chance to even suck air into your lungs before your vision goes white. Pure hot plasma bursts through your abdomen, running hot and thick like the magma on Mustafar. Sobbed wails of Thrawn’s name, sans his title pour from your lips as you grasp desperately at his wrist, drawing crimson blood from his cobalt wrist when you dig your nails in. 

Over the roar of the blood in your ears, rapid heart pounding in your ears as Thrawn continuous to torture your clit through the orgasm that threatens to obliterate you, you hear a twinge in the Grand admiral’s voice. Smug. 

“So it would seem.” 

star wars/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog1 @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @saradika @mylifeisactuallyamess

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

[crowthesley]

- It's basically about DT roles.

When I think that my life is a bad joke I reflect that it could be worse. It could be like the life of a David Tennant character. I could have a heart problem and need a pacemaker as I drag myself to death of my own accord, because I feel like I deserve this and I'm so tired of everything, but I still have so much to do and accomplish.

I could be a fallen angel with a love hidden for 6000 years, punished for loving the universe and the stars and for having questioned what no one else would have the courage to, abandoned by the love of my life right after kissing him and confessing my feelings and knowing that they are probably reciprocated.

I could be this neurodivergent, genderfluid alien who lost his home, his friends, his family, over and over again, with so much anger and fear and loneliness and despair and desire to be touched and loved and never lose anyone again, even though he knows it's impossible, and yet continues to move forward and help people even if they don't deserve it that much.

I could be a loonie, passionate about radio and music, with lots of family problems and a brilliant twisted mind. I could be the coward vampire hunter with a wig, fake beard and parents dying in front of me when I was a boy. Could it be this old man who spent his entire life sitting in an armchair, so many ideas and desires in his mind, without the courage to take a step forward and witness what his inner adventurer is capable of accomplishing.

I think the beauty of David Tennant's characters is that you can look them in the eye and feel like they are as broken and mistreated as you, or more so. You feel like you could be one of them, and that they're almost like you (but not you, Killgrave, for god's sake).

And you see these characters rising up and geting a good perspective in the midst of it all, and that comforts and motivates you. It's like an impulse that gives you the feeling that you can do it too. That you can turn a bad joke into something you can laugh at at the end.

And I think that's truly amazing.

(This thought actually cheers me up a little. But after all, even though the lives of these characters are pretty much messier than mine, I really envy their undeniable style, the elegant walk and the Scottish accent. Oh how I love the accent.

Right. This text suddenly became gigantic.)

Allons-y!

[obeythebutler]

anyways before i forget.

coward!MC lesson 16 reactions,,, bro the angst potential there is so real idk even where to start.

i legit imagine,,, you're in such a state of abject terror and shock, like, you literally died, not a game, no joking, it HAPPENED, and no one saved you, belphie didn't stop, there was absolutely nothing you could do

first lucifer rejecting you, and then this. it'd be a massive setback to any kind of bravery you'd been able to muster because seriously, post lesson 16, literally fuck that. you could DIE, this is REAL, and you were stupid for ever forgetting that.

hhh just. satan, lucifer, mammon,, whichever other boys (i love me some dia so maybe him and barb, who probably deserves to feel at least a little responsible), knowing how much you suffer. trying to help.

HNNNNNG YOU WROTE MC'S TERROR SO FUCKING GOOD AND NOW THE ANGST POWER LIVES IN MY BRAIIIIN

strongly worded and more detailed letters to follow, love, elsey,

Coward! MC here

Hellfire tea sits cold in your lap.

The flames in the fireplace burn with vigour, bright and burning as expected of something like Hell. Mammon once threw a broken chair in there, to hide it from the eldest, and it reduced to ashes in front of your eyes within seconds.

The fire devour anything it gets.

Like that black tapir roasted to perfection by Satan. Babylon curry stirred by Asmodeus, with two pink hairclips that he put in place before beginning with the cooking and as he chirped "so that my hair won't be affected by the heat !," and the cheerful chatter in the air. Plans made and some promptly turned away (exploring all Devildom restaurants in a day might just lead to bankruptcy) and smiles which were not seen before.

And Quetzalcoatl brain soup stirred by a tall demon.

For his twin, of course.

Bony fingers that gripped the ladle and lips curling into a smile at the taste. Those same fingers around your throat. Tightening, not letting you breathe even when you begged. Black spots in your vision and a throbbing pain in your chest after having been thrown down the stairs. You must have broken a bone or two in there, but you're not sure.

You're not even sure why you are alive.

Belphegor laughs, and you freeze in your seat, fork with spaghetti twisted around it falling on the table with a plop!

You blame it on clumsy hands. And yet, your heartbeat can be heard by inhumane ears.

You stare at it with detachment, perhaps wondering if the piece of food will jump to life.

"Here," Belphegor says, passing you a plate of sushi. "I thought you would like it, since its from the human world."

You stare but smile, and when his fingers brush against yours you tremble.

"I missed out on a lot, didn't I?" He mentions with gaze half-lidded. "I want to catch up on everything."

You chew on rice and fish but the taste doesn't matter at the moment. The room is gigantic and you already dwarf in comparison. Eyes gaze at you in concern, but you pay no heed.

Did your death even get a mourning?

When Belphegor says your name, you nod and say yes.

Even when you beg yourself to say no and get out, out of the room where he is sitting and eating and you're dining with him and his brothers and you're dining with rejection and death in front of you and oh god you can't say no—

Your fingers dig into your thigh.

"MC, are you alright?" Asmodeus whispers, unable to avoid the way in which your hands tremble when Belphegor is near. You don't hear him, continuing to stare at the half-eaten sushi on your plate. Your heart pounds in your chest, the familiar tendrils of fear clinging to you as the seventhborn draws nearer.

"MC—"

He is barely able to place a hand on your shoulder before you jolt, throwing away your cutlery with a clang. The chair makes a noise that makes everyone else wince, following which you're gone and out of the dining room.

You're gone in a flash, footsteps fading with the door of your room slamming shut.

This is your chance.

Go back in time. Find out what helped Belphegor escape. Come back.

Sounds like a pretty neat plan.

"Thank you, MC." When Lucifer expresses his gratitude for your help, you smile in understanding.

Even after what has happened, you will show everyone that you can be better. That you're not the coward you used to be. After having faced rejection and cried outside the firstborn's door, writing on paper that tore due to how much you erased your work and after Lucifer's demon form towering over you. Teeth bared in a display of aggression, and the sickening thud that was made when Beel collided with the furniture.

And after all that has happened, things are finally looking up for you. You've fallen down many times, but you're learning to brush yourself and get up, persevere, and not shrink when faced with the slightest threat.

This is your chance, you affirm, clenching your fist. You can finally prove that you're worthy of respect, a value that you want to be admired for.

"Remember, you must not tell anyone that you are from the future, as well as me. That might end up warping history. Return after finding out the reason for Belphegor's escape."

The butler instructs, finger under his chin. You nod, flashing the demon a smile to let him know that you are prepared. Barbatos's warning echoes clear in your head as you approach the door, and open it, revealing a purple mist.

When you look back at the demon, his expression reveals nothing. Bidding him bye, you step forward.

You can't wait to return.

As soon as the haze clears, you find yourself in the hallway of the House of Lamentation. You pace around, trying to ascertain as to during which event you are here.

The sound of bickering catches your ears, and you step forward into Mammon's room.

"When you're silencing yourself, ensure to quieten that stomach too!"

"Hey! Don't ask me to do the impossible!"

"Lucifer and MC should have opened up to each other by now."

Your breath hitches in your throat as you take in Asmo's words. So the whole game with the firstborn was planned...

A smile forms on your face at the realisation, but it drops as soon as you remember that they don't know what will happen. Screaming and shouting. Bristled wings and snarls. Threats on your life. Careful to not make noise, you step forward to listen better.

And the sound of the empty can crushing beneath your feet is enough to attract attention.

Mammon's head whips around. "I didn't know you were in here the whole time!" He says in disbelief, and the others look on. You gulp, having the urge to get out of the room without explaining yourself, but you stop.

"Yeah, I followed Satan around.." You mutter, embarrassed, and the fourthborn frowns.

"See! I told you to be careful" Asmo complains, pointing a finger accusingly at his brother. "Now look what you've done."

The idea to make Lucifer and you talk again has not worked out, and the demon pouts.

Levi furrows his brows."You should see him." He says, and you nod, glad to get out and solve the mission. Back in the hallway, you hear faint voices, and on inspecting closely you discover that they're coming from the top of the stairs.

Where Belphegor is held prisoner.

"The old Lucifer wasn't like this! The old Lucifer didn't care what others thought of him!"

You don't hear a retort.

Perhaps this was one of the many reasons why you fell in love with Lucifer. Brave and confident of himself, willing to sacrifice himself for those who loves.

Something you wouldn't have been able to muster the courage for.

But you're growing. You're making progress, as small that might be. You no longer tolerate lower-level demons stepping up and stealing your lunch or bothering you in class. Grades are improving, and so are your relations in the house.

You don't want it all to shatter.

You don't want to pick yourself up again like that night.

Descending footsteps alert you, and so you hide.

And Belphegor's pleading voice for help is something you are unable to resist.

And so you step forward and open the door.

And so Belphegor embraces you.

And then he transforms.

"What—What the hell are you doing?!" You stammer, fear creeping in your veins at the sudden reveal of his demon form. "Belphegor, what exactly are you planning?"

When his hand curl around your neck, you scream.

He pushes you against the wall of the attic, your head colliding with the stone, further adding to your agony. The demon laughs, and you wonder if this is his genuine smile, finally revealed in a moment of cruelty.

"Don't blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for falling for it," He snarls, teeth too sharp and eyes too bright in the dim light. You struggle to breathe, your clawing and kicking of no use.

"Please," You beg, barely able to rasp out words when he squeezes your neck so tightly you fear he might just wrung it and kill you. "I don't want to—I—please d-don't—"

His smile is cruel.

"It's rather unpleasant, in't it? Being choked like this." Belphegor laughs, the sound throaty and cruel, and you feel your heart breaking further at the betrayal. You thought you were friends. You trusted him. You freed him.

All that courage you had gathered, all gone to waste. Your mission—failed. What you feared during your time in the Devildom is happening, and you can't even do anything to stop it.

You are about to die.

Your vision blurs with tears, and you struggle to breathe in his grasp.

Not this time. Not this. Anything but this. Please don't kill me.

His laugh still rings in your ears as your eyes close.

"Not my breakfast!"

Leviathan protests, unable to do anything but watch as Beel downs the rest of his food, miffed at his ignorance. He slams his hand on the table, and Lucifer frowns.

"Beel and Levi—"

The delicate normalcy in the room has been broken, and now it lies shattered like a thousand glass pieces that will be hard to pick up and will pierce skin.

If not of demons, than of a human.

The demon straightens his posture, realising that his presence has stopped the chatter that he had anticipated. Belphegor gazes around the room, and when he turns to look his brothers in the eye they don't meet his gaze.

"Come on," He drawls, pulling back the chair to sit down, the sound making everyone wince. "Continue."

He grabs his portion of bread and soup, but no one resumes their actions.

Indifferent, the demon takes a bite of the bread.

"So...are you going along with Belphie to school?" Asmo questions, hand resting under his chin.

Besides him, Leviathan announces that he will grab something to eat at the cafeteria, and the fading footsteps create a sound no one wants to hear.

Belphegor takes a sip of the soup. "MC doesn't have to go along if they don't want to." His expression reveals nothing; and your shoulders sag with relief.

You don't go with Belphegor to school that day.

But that doesn't spare you from his presence next to yours in the class.

Neither does the fact that you're sitting next to the demon that killed you once.

Has he brushed aside what happened so easily? And have the others done the same? You ask yourself as the professor demonstrates how to manifest magic circles. And rejection still sits bitter within you.

After that class is over, you have to go shopping for Diavolo's birthday. You're not sure if you'll be able to do that with Belphegor around.

Every step you take will have to be done with caution. Because you, foolish human, had forgotten that you were defenseless, with or without the pacts.

They knew what would happen when you would step into the portal.

Neither did you find someone who loved you.

Neither was your love returned.

The pain of rejection dulls in comparison to death, and even then you find yourself in shambles.

You were, after all, sent to your demise instead. You laugh at the fact, a low chuckle that breaks off into a crack at the end, and it doesn't help that Mammon winces noticing your expression of happiness is a bitter one. Nor is it true.

After running into the residents of Purgatory hall, you find that nothing escapes Simeon's gaze.

When he advices you to serve as a bridge for the brothers, you are tempted to cackle.

The angel quietens when he sees the dark circles under your eyes, and the way your eyes dart around the stairs, waiting for someone to strike. Instead Simeon breathes out, murmuring that you are welcome to come to Purgatory Hall whenever you wish. The angel doesn't know what took place, but he knows you're in turmoil.

"If you want someone to talk to, I'm right here." He departs with those words.

He leads Luke back home.

He doesn't know what to say.

And your vision blurs as they walk away.

Nothing can be said of this moment, nothing is left to say. Its silence silences.

Game night is not a peace-building activity.

Rather, it leads to chaos.

"Wrong decision Mammon! You could have had Ruri work as an idol and instead you've sent her to the casino!"

"She'll make more money and then you'll get more! Stop shoutin at me!"

"This was my videogame—"

The door slams open.

And then it begins.

"So you're telling me that Beel is feelin guilty because he didn't know you were being held..prisoner?"

"What else," Belphegor rolls his eyes, and when his gaze meets yours his expression is unreadable. He settles away from you, swiping a pillow from Levi's lap who gazes around the room, and placing it on his own. Although he's not touching you, his presence is enough to inspire fear. Your nerves stay on edge, body stiffening as you attempt to stay still and not shrivel besides him.

You want to go back to your room.

"Should we go and see Beel?" Mammon mutters in your ear, not wanting to let Belphie hear, but the action has you nearly jolting in your place.

Your eyes are downcast. "S-Sure," You whisper, voice low. "We should see him." You play with your thumb, refusing to meet either brother's gaze. The audio from the game stops playing, and the silence that follows starts to envelope the room in a heavy blanket.

The secondborn frowns.

"Ya alright?" He questions, eyes travelling over your form, inspecting for any injuries you might have been trying to hide or any signs of illness, but when he sees the way your hands tremble and breath runs ragged Mammon bends down.

"Let's go to your room MC, how about that?"

You nod, and let him lead the way.

When the door closes again, it is Levi's turn to gape at Belphegor.

"They're scared of you," He blurts out, unable to bear the silence. "MC doesn't want to be near you."

Belphegor stares at the tank in resignation.

Back in your room, Mammon dims the lights with a simple incantation that he heard Lucifer recite countless times. "Thanks," You say, voice muffled under the blanket. The demon smiles, his eyes looking unusually bright in the dark, but you brush it aside as a demon quirk.

"Anything for ya."

He turns to leave, ready to walk out the door and close it, then walk straight towards the end of the hallway where—

"Mammon?"

His name comes out in a whisper, and he stills.

"Could you stay?"

A smile. "Of course."

"Are you alright?"

Lucifer questions, and you tremble.

"I'm fine," You mumble, unable to meet his gaze. You don't have the courage to even look the demon in the eye, and so you stare at your notebook. "Just doing some assignments," You blurt, picking up a pencil in hopes of making yourself look busy. "We've got a test tomorrow in Hexes and Curses."

The demon eyes you, lips turned downwards and brows furrowed.

The man can see you trembling. The way your eyes flicker nervously over lines of text, or the way you keep fidgeting with the pencil.

You're scared.

And who's fault is it?

Who is responsible for your death?

Who is responsible for locking Belphegor?

Who is responsible for the fall from the Celestial Realm?

Who is responsible for destroying any courage you had gathered?

All these questions are screamed at him, and the war comes to mind. When others had believed in him, and he failed them.

He failed you.

Lucifer knows that it is him, and no other being. All that had happened to you are the consequences of his own actions. That after having finally gathered yourself from the pain of rejection, the pain of dying had finally torn down any remnants of your happiness and peace here.

And...would you even trust him?

The firstborn asks himself this question as he ogles your form; desperately trying to find a way for you or him to leave. Because he can't be trusted, not anymore.

And he can't even believe you when you say that you're fine.

"You should rest," He says, voice raspy. "The past few days have been....."

The demon winces, stopping himself before he goes and says something that will tear the manufactured normalcy you've been desperately trying to present.

You nod in return, muttering out a 'good night,' before gathering your notebook and scurrying out from the room. You can feel eyes burning holes in the back of your head; you can feel Lucifer staring at you, but you don't want to look back.

And as your footsteps retreat, Lucifer replaces the vacant spot you had left, on the chair.

He inspects the wood, eyes gazing over the material before he rests his head on it—too exhausted to do anything else. Too tired to try right now.

He's worsened your agony.

Gloves fingers pick up the pencil lying abandoned, and the firstborn stares at it. Your departure sets something in his chest throbbing with pain, and he knows it is love that he cannot speak about.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

He loves you. But it is an affection he does not have the courage to speak about, for his actions say something else.

Does he even deserve you?

Lucifer's throat tightens, and he refuses to acknowledge it.

His mind drifts back to the time when his brothers were creating a fuss about that Devilgram photo with you and Satan. How you both looked so happy and it was someone else who'd made you smile. How hard you had cried that night when he had rejected you and how scared you were after. How you avoided him after and how you must have cried and how scared you must have been when Belphegor killed you—

A garbled cry spills from his throat.

The sound Lucifer makes is something he's mortified to hear from himself. The man's vision blurs and all he can feel is the agony in his chest. His face is wet. And upon realising that the library isn't soundproof he casts an enchantment, through a tone that cracks in the end.

No one will be able to hear his cries now.

Your spirits have been crushed, and the MC he once knew is gone, replaced by one that had their spirits defeated.

Lucifer is witness to that. From watching you run away, leaving behind Beel and Luke in the underground tomb to standing in front of Diavolo, going back in time....and being rejected and yet bouncing back...there's no greater testimony than it.

He calls you to his room the night before you're supposed to leave for the human world.

You walk into the room to see Lucifer by the fireplace. The flames frame his features in a way which takes away your breath. It is in this moment that you're reminded that you are in a room with the Avatar of Pride and fallen angel, Lucifer himself.

You suppose there's no better time to be wary than now.

In hindsight, you should have never trusted them from the start. For who knew smiles and laughter would get you killed? So when the demon asks for you, it takes fifteen minutes itself to muster up courage to move.

And even more to stand in front of him.

"Come, sit down," He murmurs, gesturing to an empty couch across him. "Please make yourself comfortable."

The man attempts to make yourself feel relaxed in his presence, but you can't help the racing of your heart when you sit down on the plush couch, darting your gaze around the room, looking everywhere but in his eyes. When you finally do, look in his direction, you find that Lucifer is not scrutinizing you.

Rather, he's focused on the fire.

"I chose you as the exchange student for this programe." Lucifer declares, voice somber.

You fidget in your seat, not knowing what to make of his words. When he looks at you, your guts tell you to flee, yet you remain like a deer frozen in headlights.

"There were times when I regretted my choice."

Your heart sinks. You know Lucifer doesn't have the best opinion of you, you are pretty sure you are nothing more than a coward in his eyes, just a human to take care of for a year. A responsibility.

"But I made the right choice in choosing you." Lucifer smiles, and it is an expression full of warmth, unlike anything you've seen before.

"H-How?" You question, utterly bewildered and confused. "I thought you—that you—"

"That you had no value in my eyes." The man cuts you off, and you flinch. "That I had no respect for you." Your hands tremble, not knowing where this conversation is leading to. The door is right in front of you, maybe if you just excused yourself—

Yet another part wants to stay. Remain and listen to the demon. Lucifer's voice is soft. "I was wrong about you," He admits, smiling softly. "For you are someone to be respected."

?!

"Ever since the day I saw you in the Devildom, I assumed that you would be another hassle, another responsibility to take care of. And observing you during your first week here, didn't exactly put a decent impression of you in my mind."

You gape at the man, waiting for him to continue.

"You ran away from me in the underground tomb, and yet you went up the stairs that I stated were forbidden. I have seen you struggling with coursework, thrust into a new environment which you did not consent to have been put into..." He places a hand under his chin. "In hindsight, I should have been more understanding of your situation. I was the one to bring you here and you even got killed because of my mistake.."

"Don't say that."

He sighs, his shoulders sagging, and you've never seen Lucifer look more defeated.

"I have seen you grow. I assumed you were weak, a coward, and yet you grew and overcame your fears. You have helped me and my family immensely, and all I did was get in your way." He says, and your heart aches. "I've been cruel."

A sob chokes your throat.

"I am proud of you for what you have done and achieved, and I can never make enough reparations for what you had to suffer. But I swear I will prevent anything like this from occurring again." He gets up, suddenly, startling you. "And I offer you my pact as promise and as gratitude."

And as you watch, the Morningstar gets on his knees in front of you.

"Control over me as your demon, and you my Master," He mumbles. "Will you allow me the honour of making a pact with you?"

When Lucifer gazes at you with nothing but sincerity in his eyes, you have to blink back tears.

"Y-Yes."

The firstborn bows his head. "You will never have to fear me again." He swears. "And I will give you a reason to believe." And with that, you feel infernal magic flowing through your veins. A burst of energy so intense that it raises your heartbeat and makes you close your eyes momentarily.

When you open them again, you feel powerful.

For you have command over the Morningstar himself.

"Thank you," You whisper, placing your hand atop his own.

Satan has seen the way you carry yourselves now at RAD, an invisible presence amongst the crowd of chattering demons. Withdrawn and downcast. Despite the pacts, you were murdered.

He's seen you fall and rise, unwavering determination as you gathered courage and spoke up for yourself. Improved yourself and went against Diavolo, the literal Prince who few dared to oppose. You went back in time for all of them, and what did that get you?

Death.

But now you can barely muster any courage to even look him in the eye. Lucifer and Belphegor have made their pacts with you too in penance and forgiveness, but that is not enough to help the trauma inflicted upon you.

Satan doesn't know what to say now, seeing your downcast gaze and the way you tremble when Belphegor is near. He's seen you rise and fall, and seeing you destroyed makes Satan realise that he and his brother are all responsible for what happened to you. He loves you too; for seeing you strive to improve and overcome the fear that is justifiably humane, and observing you grow reminds Satan of himself.

But you've fallen down and been killed.

Therapy, he concludes one week before you're supposed to leave. It is perhaps the best option for you.

And all that on Diavolo's dime.

Lucifer and Satan had worked it out all together, and the Prince had readily agreed. He knew what would happen, and yet he allowed it.

One life in exchange for peace and order.

It sounds simple, but when you realise the weight it carries you can't bring yourself to do it. The man is a Prince, and with that title comes responsibilities and power more than anyone could fathom.

But did it give him the right to put you in a completely different realm and place an unwanted burden on your shoulders?

He muses, late at night when the moon is at its brightest. When he can't sleep, and the dark circles in the morning will surely concern Barbatos who won't hold back on a lecture.

But some questions won't stop bothering him.

Do you hate him?

Would you have hated him?

For what he's done to you?

Was he making the right choices?

Was he trying enough?

But he's still learning, still observing, still growing. He never lies.

And Diavolo doesn't ever want such a circumstance to occur. When he felt infernal magic radiating from you, so intense and of a magnitude that only the firstborn could muster, the Prince knew what had happened.

Pacts with the seven avatars.

Command over them.

Could....would you have forged one with him, if possible? Would you want to? He wants to ask, and yet Diavolo knows he can't make one even if you were willing.

Not yet.

But he'll work towards ensuring a world where he can.

[starwrighter]

I am not a baby!! (Yes you are)

(Ao3) (Masterpost) (Previous) (Next)

(The eleventh chapter,)

The hatchling lay still, motionless inside his little building. His tiny body pressed against the see-through barrier wrapped in one of the creations he built. Did he strangle himself? Had Damian scared the hatchling into killing itself?  The Hatchling didn't seem scared when he'd attacked him earlier, but fear could show itself in various ways. Some tended to freeze up, some fled like cowards, and others fought for their lives with every fiber of their being..

Damian was gigantic compared to the hatchling.. The hatchling's entire body could fit in Damians palms. Something, admittedly, he'd foolishly thought wouldn't be distressing for the hatchling. 

Pressing his face against the transparent barrier, Damian listened to the chaos engulfing the bond. Not the usual idiotic rambling and tease that often clogged up the bond: grief, mourning, an overwhelming sadness from his entire family.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," That's all Damian could really say. If he'd stayed away, avoiding contact like father instructed, would the hatchling still be alive?

"Are you sure he's dead?" Dick questioned.

The hatchling skin was pale, lips tinged blue. Unmoving, chest stilled, no sign of the rise and fall of breathing .

"What else could he be, Grayson?!" He snapped, Dick went silent.

"Sleeping...?"

His gills flared, tail snapping, seething through clenched teeth.

"Do you think I'm an idio-" He started, rage cut out by a sudden movement.

The hatchling had rolled over, throwing his chubby arm over his face. A content yawn as he took a slow breath, color returning to the hatchling's lips.

"..."

"He's sleeping, isn't he?" His face grew hot,

"Shut up! His lips were blue, and he wasn't breathing! You would have freaked out too!" He snapped, watching intently at the slow rise and fall of the baby's chest.

"Absolutely, without a doubt, instant heart attack," Dick replied quickly, a tsunami of relief and concern clogging up the bond.

"Why did he stop breathing?"

"Babies do that sometimes Damian, It happened a lot with you whenever you slept," Father soothed. "Sent everyone into a panic no matter how many times it happened,"

"Karma," A barrage of his siblings coughed out.

"Are his lips still blue?"

"No," The hatchling's skin was still pale, but his lips were a light pink. Tiny hands clenched into fists, contrasting the peaceful expression settled on the child's face. A cold radiated through where the hatchling’s hand touched the barrier. Not corpse cold, more like poking your head above water during a raging storm. A closer comparison would be the barren wastelands of the void or the eerie depths of the lost river where he spent his early childhood.

The child seemed to be thriving just fine despite being out of his designated environment. From watching, they could tell the babies liked to spend their early days in shallow water, sometimes above water, before they migrated deeper and deeper. It was quite possible he’d move down to the lost river or the deeper side of the grand reef when he got too big for the shallows.

Father would be elated to have a baby swimming around in the reef. However, they’d have to guard the lost river entrances to prevent him from wandering. Although it was one of the coldest places in the crater, it was way too close to the lava zones, and even closer to the precursor settlements. 

“I think he might be a cold-dwelling species,” His family would find out regardless if he told them, and it was better for them to be aware of possible dangers before it was too late.

“Oh, do you think he’ll-“ 

“Not that cold,” The child was nowhere near the temperature of the Arctic. Temperatures far below zero and constant snow and hail storms would be too much for him, let alone traveling through the void to get there. Sure, the predators were smaller over there, but they were much more aggressive, and precursor artifacts and buildings were littered around the tundra no matter where you went.

The child slept for hours. Concern nagging at him the longer he remained unconscious. Father reassured him that he’d slept a lot as a baby too, but he’s doubtful any of them had ever been asleep this long. The sun had begun to rise again, shallows warming from the sun. It was under his impression that babies needed to eat every few hours or so. It had been much longer than that, and Damian feared he would begin to starve in his sleep if he remained unconscious much longer. 

Tap…Tap…Tap

Pitch-black claws scratched the barrier, the hatchling rolling away from the noise, arms guarding his little ears.

Tap…Tap…Tap

Blue eyes flew open, head whipping to face him.“AngeR,”

@ashoutinthedarkness @avelnfear @meira-3919 @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @hugsandchaos @blep-23 @zeldomnyo @bytheoldwillowtree @justwannabecat @shepherdsheart @starlightcat04 @stargazing-bookwyrm @pupstim @dragongoblet @noxcheshire

[whbfan]

The Two Stars That Fell From The Sky | Part 4/6

Even after that, Lucifer was torn between reality and nightmare against his will, torn between guilt and justice.

And whether Lucifer was in reality or in a nightmare, Gamigin completely forgot about his normal life and devoted himself to curing Lucifer.

It did make him forget something important…

—

Jjok: What! It’s been two weeks already! Two weeks! Since Gamigin hasn’t shown up!

A small devil, perhaps no bigger than Gamigin’s fist, complained and dogged through the grass near Gamigin’s house.

Jjok: What! A distance that would have taken me ten minutes on Gamigin’s shoulders took me over an hour on foot!

The small devil Jjok grumbled and pushed away a weed that was taller than he was.

It was a habit he developed because if he didn’t walk around making noise, devils and animals passing by might step on him.

Finally, in the distance—actually, a good ten paces away for a man of normal size—Gamigin’s cabin came into view

Built as if to hid among the tall grasses and trees, the cabin was a lair known only to the few devils and animals who knew the geography of this deep forest.

Bang bang bang—!! Jjok knocked on the door with all his might.

………….

Jjok: Huh? Is no one home?!

Bang bang bang—!! Jjok knocked on the door again. But once again, there was no response from inside.

Jjok: What? No way! What if this Gamigin became so sick that he’s on his sickbed?!

Feeling a cold sweat run dow his back at the thought, Jjok leapt in place with a surprising leap and turned the doorknob.

When the front door swung open with a click, Jjok inwardly cursed his defenseless friend but was simultaneously relieved.

Creaak…

The unusual, eerie atmosphere of the house dominated Jjok’s view.

Jjok: …Gamigin! How dare you not show up for weeks! How rude! Are you sick!

The little red creature strode towards the bedroom, bellowing out a line that was either worry or anger.

And just when he was about to run through the open door and shout at the bed—

Jjok: Gami—!!

Lucifer: ?

Jjok: EEEEEEEEEEEK?!?!

He was frozen in place when he came face to face with Lucifer, who was lying in the bed instead of Gamigin.

He had neither the divine halo nor the twelve gigantic wings but Jjok knew who he was at glance.

The sacred and delicate features that looked like they could have been carved from a fine candle. The pure, white, curly hair and full eyes.

And the imposing ‘one who lives above’ look that was unable to hide, although he was scarred here and there.

Jjok: I-i-i-it’s— I mean! Y-y-you’re L-L-L-L-Lu—!

Jjok stammered and feel back with a plop that sounded as trivial as his size.

Lucifer: ?

Pissssss…

A few drops of hot water like sweat trickled out from between the fallen Jjok’s legs and soaked the floor.

Lucifer: …….

Lucifer was dumbfounded.

For a moment, he thought if he should clean that thing that’s so small and insignificant that it doesn’t even feel dirty?

Jjok’s small body jumped up.

Jjok: You…!! You’re definitely…!! Lucifer…!! The highest wing out of angels trying to destroy Gell, the one who shone first, the Morningstar…!

Lucifer stared at him as though telling him to do something with what was flowing between his legs…

Plop. Pisssss…

Lucifer: ……?

Jjok fell backwards again and peed himself for the second time.

Then, Jjok stood up for the third time and said ‘Lucifer….!! How can you, the first Seraph be here…!!’ and collapsed yet again.

Gamigin: Huhh?! Jjok?!

Gamigin who had gone out of the house to pick up berries returned and was surprised to find Jjok soaked on the ground.

When he came running and picked Jjok up, the staff tied to his back jingled as through guffawing at Jjok.

Gamigin wiped the fallen Jjok with a clean towel and a look of pity on his face as though he had grasped the situation.

Gamigin: This is Jjok. He’s my friend and he says his piece but he’s a scaredy cat. He might even be the biggest coward in Hell…

When Gamigin who had a pretty sour assessment of his friend gave him a pat on the butt, it brought Jjok back to his senses again.

Jjok: What? Gamigin?! Gamigin!! You’re safe!! I thought that angel ate you up— (Plop!)

Jjok explained to Gamigin but all it took was one glance at the bed to make him faint again.

His legs shivered like a pissing dog when he collapsed but he didn’t wet himself as through there was nothing left to pee.

Gamigin: …Anyway, he’s a guy like that so please don’t say anything too scary.

Lucifer: (I haven’t done anything yet…)

Lucifer felt so dumbfounded that he didn’t think it was worth responding and swallowed his words.

But the truly ridiculous thing happened next.

—

Slam—!

Jjok: What? Gamigin—!! You’re still with Lucifer—? (Plop!)

Slam—!

Jjok: What the! Gamigin—!! I thought it over and over, but is that really Lucifer— (Plop!)

Lucifer: ……

Jjok kept fainting by simply turning his head by mistake to where Lucifer lied, let alone at Lucifer himself but frequented Gamigin’s house every day.

Meanwhile, Jjok’s attitude slowly changed.

When Lucifer wasn’t looking, Jjok jumped up and down and told Gamigin to drive out that dangerous being immediately. But soon, when he realized that Lucifer didn’t harm Gamigin at all, he began to get curious.

Soon, Jjok realized that Lucifer was Gamigin’s savior and even felt favorable to him.

Jjok: What? There’s no way your wounds would heal if you eat poorly like that!

With that small body, Jjok came to Gamigin’s house with a small cart full of small berries.

And he trembled with that small body as he uttered arrogant words and worried for Lucifer.

Each time he did so, Lucifer grimaced in case Jjok peed himself again, but Jjok thought Lucifer was scowling because of his yet unsealed wounds.

Another week passed like that.

—

Lucifer: …….

Lucifer woke up from yet another nightmare and stared at the dragon who had his eyes closed as he coiled on top of him.

Although others would see a boy of mysterious features dozing on top of Lucifer’s chest, he only looked like a young dragon to Lucifer.

Lucifer: (He has a restore like the magic pearl but he’s sharing his warmth with me because he doesn’t know how to use it properly?)

He only felt sorry and pitied him, but there was nothing he could do with it. Just then, the door burst open with a familiar voice.

Jjok: What? Mr. Lucifer, rise and shine? Today, I brought fragrant mushrooms—

Lucifer: There’s no need.

When Lucifer sat up and tried to push back his blanket, disheveled Gamigin woke up from his chest.

Gamigin: You shouldn’t move yet—! …Huh?

Although the wounds from Lucifer’s back were still bleeding, everywhere else had healed.

Gamigin: How…? You said the energies of Hell were preventing you from healing…

Lucifer: I am no longer an angel.

Jjok: ….What?! Do you mean you’re a devil now?!

Lucifer: No. I belong nowhere and there is nowhere for me to exist anymore.

Lucifer spoke calmly as though he was reading from a book, without a hint of sadness.

Jjok: W-what? What do you mean you belong nowhere? When Gamigin is nursing you so hard like this?

Jjok said hastily. As though he thought Lucifer would leave immediately if he didn’t say so.

Lucifer scanned Gamigin and Jjok. He noticed the palms that had become worn from trying to bring some good things for Lucifer in the past few days.

Lucifer: …I don’t feel comfortable being a freeloader to such children like you… So this time, I will go.

With those words, Lucifer stood up.

But there were no sounds of his feet touching the ground.

He floated in midair for a moment, as if there were a force pushing between the soles of his feet and the ground.

Jjok: H-how is this happening…!

Unlike Jjok who was bewildered, Lucifer smiled bitterly at him.

Lucifer: I told you. I belong nowhere.

Lucifer left the house.

And… Lucifer’s footprint-less feet rally did return to Gamigin’s house.

Gamigin and Jjok were worried in case Lucifer left for good, but they were glad he returned.

Even Lucifer himself had no idea why he returned to that house, but he had neither the time nor the will to think deeply about anything.

But Gamigin looked after Lucifer without fail, and Jjok sweated as he came with a small cart full of berries every morning.

Lucifer still looked empty, but their meetings soon became a routine.

Until that day’s sad events.

—

Two year later

Jjok: Now…! Nearly…!! There…!!!

Jjok looked desperate as he stretched out for the berry on the tallest tree on the hill in the center of the forest.

Jjok was falling his wings that weee no better than toothpicks with all his might as he flew.

Tap-

Every time Jjok gave out and was about to fall, a large, white hand would tap him on the butt and lift him into the air.

It was Lucifer, floating in the air and watching Jjok from behind.

Gamigin: Let’s go, Jjok! You’ll be sure to do it on your 311th try!!!

Each time Gamigin grasped his fists to cheer him on, the staff behind his back jingled.

When Jjok’s wings lost their strength and he tried to go back down to the ground, Lucifer gave him a pat on the rump to bring him back up.

Jjok: Ughhh…!! I’m tired…! Just pick it for me…!

When Jjok exerted the most strength he had ever exerted in his life finally flew to the top of the tree and finally picked the fruit.

Jjok: It’s heavyyyyyyyy!

The weight of the berry that was as larg as Jjok led him straight to the ground and he groaned as he was through to the ground.

Jjok: What the—!! It hurts so much!! It’s broken!! Broken!!

Watching Jjok cause a fuss while rolling over the ground, Gamigin drew his staff and touched Jjok with its tip.

Gamigin: [I pray to the gods of the sky and earth, please heal Jjok’s pain].

Then, the round orb at the end of the staff seemed to glow brightly, which then flowed into Jjok.

Jjok’s scream died down when the light from the orb faded.

Gamigin: Mr. Lucifer! Did you see that! I did well this time!

Back on the ground, Lucifer didn’t praise him or pat him on the back, but lied down with his back on the grass and softly raised the corners of his lips.

Gamigin felt glad as though he had been greatly praised, and jingled to his side and lied down next to him.

On the other hand, Jjok jumped up and looked at Lucifer and Gamigin in turn, then shouted.

Jjok: Gamigin, Mr. Lucifer! Did you see that? This Jjok has flown greatly by his own powers to dominate the berry at the topmost part of this hill!! Mwahahahahaha!!

Jjok: But it would have been easier if you just picked it for me!

Jjok who peed himself and fainted when he saw Lucifer was still small but became much stronger and bold in two years.

Lucifer didn’t seem to look down on Jjok anymore, but it didn’t mean he was affectionate.

Lucifer: If I spread my arms wide and hug him, I can never scold him again.

Lucifer spoke in a kind voice as though he was speaking to a foolish younger sibling. His voice sounded so sweet that both Jjok and Gamigin momentarily forgot what he had said.

Gamigin noticed that Lucifer was staring into the sky again.

He no longer pushed Gamigin and Jjok away.

But he didn’t let them into his arms, nor did he fall into their embrace.

He could leave at any moment, leaving behind no sounds of footsteps.

That made Gamigin sad.

Jjok: …What is this. Are you talking about your brothers again? I’m not Mr. Lucifer’s brother so you could coddle me a bit.

Jjok grumbled awkwardly.

Just as Kucifer thought over the words [Because I’m not Mr. Lucifer’s brother] in his mind and was about to give a bitter smile.

Gamigin: I want to do it. Mr. Lucifer’s younger brother!

Gamigin yelled with sincere, shining eyes.

Jjok cursed him inwardly with a ‘that tactless guy!’ but also thought ‘if he gives Gamigin permission, should I pester him too?’.

Gamigin: Can I call you hyung? Can I?

Gamigin repeated, but Lucifer wordlessly stood up.

And left without the sound of footsteps.

Where he lay, where he walked, there were no traces of the grass being squashed.

Jjok: …Did he feel offended…? What if he abandons us?

Gamigin: He could have gone home. Don’t worry.

Jjok: He did for the past two years, but how can you guarantee that he’ll always return there?

Gamigin: ……..

Jjok: …I dont want it. I don’t want Mr. Lucifer to leave.

Jjok mumbled, gathering his small knees.

Jjok: Uh, you know… I was surprised when I first saw Mr. Lucifer… I thought he killed you and took over your bed.

Jjok: But now I know. Although he was an angel, he plucked his own wings. He’s not a devil either… But he’s not a bad guy.

Jjok: Even myself who was once a coward changed a lot. Now, I think I can go to Gehenna that I’ve dreamed about so much and ask bravely if I can live there.

Jjok: And… I want to go there, with you and Mr. Lucifer.

Jjok: Because Gehenna accepts everything. Because devils don’t lie.

Jjok stared at Gamigin as though promising himself but Gamigin was looking elsewhere—where Lucifer left, just like how Lucifer stared into the sky.

But unlike Lucifer who always smiled bitterly at the end, Gamigin smiled.

Gamigin: There’s no impression. But there’s warmth.

When he smiled with his hand on the spot where Lucifer lied on, Jjok also smiled with him as though he couldn’t help it.

—

Lucifer returned home first, his head pounding.

Hyung. The moment he heard that word, he remembered his lovely brother who called him with the exact same title for eons.

At the same time, he remembered the cruel history they committed, which scratched his conscious and goodness.

What’s more, imagery of Gamigin and Jjok always followed at the end of this painful imagination.

How they looked like his brothers who were hurt that he wouldn’t give them his heart…

Lucifer: …I should stop.

But he couldn’t even take his own life.

It was God’s will, and as His creation, Lucifer couldn’t defy Him.

After a while, Gamigin and Jjok returned, looking a little gaunt.

Gamigin left to prepare dinner, Jjok awkwardly approached Lucifer.

Jjok: Mr. Lucifer, take this…

Jjok handed Lucifer a red berry as big as his own body.

Jjok: You know… I could only give you small berries at the time, so I wanted to treat you with something like this once. That’s why I was trying on my own.

Jjok: But… I didn’t think the two of you would appear and watch me fail 311 times…

Jjok: I would have been able to give it to you like this if Mr. Lucifer picked it for me…

With those words, Jjok soon left as though he felt embarrassed.

Lucifer: …….

Lucifer stared at the red berry as though he had seen it somewhere, and stood up after a while

Outside, Gamigin was nowhere to be seen and only Jjok was sleeping on the table with his stomach out.

He picked a berry as large as himself so it was no wonder he was exhausted.

Lucifer: ……You obtained something high with your own power. Magnificent.

Lucifer murmured very quietly and placed a handkerchief over the small body,.

He had many things he wanted to say, but he thought he would regret it if he said anything kinder than this.

He thought he couldn’t stop being affectionate once he began.

That made Lucifer hesitate.

Just then.

Gamigin: Wait— Stop! Talk with me here!

Lucifer: …?!

He heard Gamigin’s urgent voice outside the door.

Lucifer’s keen senses scanned for signs of movement in the direction of the voice.

He felt hostile signs that belonged to someone other than Gamigin.

They were devils. The eternal enemies of angels.

[archie-sunshine]

Pharma def the kind of mecha to mod his peepee to make it as big as possible (maybe it turns out even bigger than his ego)

Depending on if its like, pre or post delphi (so ratchet/pharma or tarn/pharma) both their reactions would prob be relatively the same lol.

Ratchet will probably laugh his ass off and Tarn will snap his panel shut like im not cramming a behemoth up my internals (that sounds like something theyd both say 😭)

But at the same time.. small pp Pharma getting humbled in a sexy way

YES!!!!! YES YES YES!!! ABSOLUTELY YES!

God i love the idea of pharma being so chapped about ratchet leaving him that he goes wild modding his junk. Only to be stuck with an absolutely gigantic hog he has no idea what to do with.

I imagine when tarn and him start hooking up pharma would play coy for a while just so tarn doesnt think he's a threat, lots of bottoming for him, being all sweet and demure like 'ooooh mr big scary decepticon don't huuurt me!'

and then once he's got him on the hook, then he's like 'i wanna try something new tonighttt...' all innocent. and then HUGE dick. and Tarn i think would be a valve virgin, and he'd be like 'you are going to kill me with that.' and pharma would be like 'coward.' and tarn would be like 'FINE.'

I think tarn as pharma's punching bag rebound when ratchet dumps him is very fun, but i also do just have a thing for size difference with tiny mean tops. I think pharma should get to be horrifically mean to tarn and tarn should begrudgingly tolerate it because he knows he could crush that man like an accordion.

[olderthannetfic]

re: RF Kuang: what really annoyed me was, in Yellowface, there was an interesting element to the characters I wanted to see. The white character is from a middle-class background and has to work throughout college and beyond, writing her manuscripts on the side. The Chinese character is from a upper-class background, never had a job, and attended elite schools. It would've been interesting to dive into how race and class affect your chances in the publishing industry. Race affected the Chinese character's chances, but she also would've had more chances overall since she had the luxury of not needing to work and having more time to write and develop her skills. Although the white character didn't suffer from racial discrimination, her being from a middle-class background and needing to work to support herself meant she just didn't have the same number of chances.

It's a shame that the potential for a more complex look at the different factors which affect your chances at becoming a published author was thrown away. Instead we get the white author being cartoonishly racist and stupid for pages on end, just so RF Kuang can make sure we all understand that white author is racist and bad!!!! For someone who writes about topics which seem to be serious, her delivery is too heavy-handed.

--

TBH, a lot of people who make it as published authors are gigantic cowards about addressing how free time affects that and exactly where that free time comes from—family money, indulgent spouses, etc.

[didishawn]

Part 4 of the mbappe fic where jude, Kobe and kylian meet irl + the mom too cuz why not. Sorry for asking too much but this is too good 😫🤚❤️

Face to face (Kylian Mbappe x Reader)

Warnings: so much teasing, your brothers being little shits

Masterlist

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 5

If it were for you, this wouldn't be happening right now, but after your mother threatened to go to Paris herself to meet your boyfriend, you couldn't delay this anymore, so that takes you here, standing in front of your family's front door, hand in hand with the Kylian Mbappe.

Unfortunately, it's Jude who opens the door, eyebrow raised and pretended disgust as he looks you both up and down.

"Jobe! They are here!"

That call definitely did not sound good, your boyfriend giving you a confused look as you tense up.

You were right to be suspicious, as your little brother decides for some reason to come out to greet you both wearing a pair of boxing gloves, struggling to hug you then lightly hitting Kylian.

"Hello, Kyky" he greets "Prepared to fight?"

"This has to be a joke..." you sigh, unbelieving of your brother's antics, glaring at Jude snickering in the background.

Kylian, Kyky, smirks "I mean, I forgot my gloves, but we can do this the traditional way, unless you are too afraid to face me without the fancy gear"

You give him a wide eyed look "You have to be kidding me-Mum! Your sons are being weird again!"

The two brats glare at you "Snitch" they say.

You mum comes out of the house, your father close behind, both pushing through your gigantic brothers to tightly embrace you, your mother leaning to whisper into your ear.

"You and I still have a long conversation pending" wide smile that gives you the creeps when she talks, Jude and Jobe sticking out their tongues at you.

She separates from you, your father still taking you into his arms, you watch as your mum observes your boyfriend for a minute, before truly smiling and also hugging him -the look of betrayal in your brothers' faces hilarious.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Kylian, you don't know how much I longed to finally meet the man who has my little y/n so head over heels.

"It's so nice to finally meet you too, Mrs Bellingham, I can definitely see who my dear y/n got that amazing smile from"

She laughs, Jude groans, it's your father's turn to greet your boyfriend, you can sense the evil and self-satisfied vibes coming from your brothers.

Your father has always been hard on your boyfriends, they know he will be on their side.

The older man looks the footballer up and down, blank look on his face.

He then smiles, kind greeting as his sons call him a traitor.

But what can your dad say? He is a true lover of good footballers, and Kylian looks nice enough.

Your mother calls you both to enter, hitting Jude and Jobe on the back of their heads as they try to put up mean faces.

Dinner is already set, and you have to fight off Jude as he tries to sit in between Kyky and you -little shit, he glares at your for the mumbled insult.

Jobe struggles to eat with the boxing gloves -he states Kylian is looking for the chance to catch him off guard and start their fight.

For some reason, Jude feels the need to tell Kylian all about the Erling Haaland being into you.

"Be careful, Kyky, or Erling might steal my sister from you"

Kylian laughs "He can try, but something tells me your sister has a clear preference in between us both"

"I honestly am curious to know if this little quarrels of yours will keep on going if you both do end up playing on the same team"

"Yeah, I will be like: Kyky, pass me the ball! Erling used to do it faster, you fucking idiot!"

"Jude!"

"Sorry, Mum"

Kylian pays no mind to Jude's words -he knows the Borussia Dortmund's player to be a little shit as you have told him so multiple times.

"When is our fight starting?" Jobe asks, everyone else having almost finished eating as he keeps on struggling.

"You know I am not going to fight you, right?"

"Ha! Coward!"

You turn to whisper to your mother "And you wonder why I waited so much for this to happen"

Dinner is over, and you all lazy around the living room, honestly, more of a "interrogating Kyky session" -you throw cushions at your brothers for their stupid questions.

Your boyfriend suddenly perks up "Oh, right, Jobe, I have something for you"

The youngest instantly stands up, getting away, raising his arms in a defensive way "Please, don't punch me!"

"Who is the coward now..." you whisper, he glares at you.

"Don't worry, Jobe, we won't fight until you give the sign, this is something else" he reaches down to his bag, searching through his packed up clothes before finally taking it out "Here you go"

Jobe hesitantly takes the package, eyes widening up as he sees it's contents "No way..."

"There you go, my shirt, given to you by me as you wished"

"You know where that would look amazing?" you ask "In your room, right in front of your study table, it will for sure upgrade your bedroom"

"But that is where he hung up my shirt!" Jude protests.

"Exactly, so much better"

He turns to you mum "Are you going to let her talk like that to me?"

"I mean, it's a pretty good gift, Jude"

"Mum!"

Your father looks almost shy as he opens his mouth, but before he can even talk, Kyky hands him too a package, smiling reassuringly as your father smiles happily.

"Seriously? You are all a bunch of traitors"

"I suppose you don't want yours"

"... I know realise why you are with my sister, you are both asshats"

Still, he happily takes his gift, your mother does too.

It gets late, everyone bidding goodbye as you all retire to your rooms, you taking Kyky's hands, taking him up to your room.

He admires where you grow up, looking around even if you are tangled up, cuddling, talking nonsense.

The door suddenly opens, you sit up, annoyed when you see both your brothers walking in without any notice, sleeping bags in hand.

"What do you two think you are doing?"

"A sleepover, of course" Jobr says as if it was obvious.

"Mum and Dad don't want grandkids yet, and besides, you want us and Kyky to get to know each other better, don't you?"

Your parents sure are confused to see the empty sleeping bags the next morning, Jude and Jobe having annoyingly thrown themselves to sleep in top of you and Kylian.

It surely will be a long week.

[circle-with-me]

'tis the damn season - part 4

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Gen/Viv/Vivvy)

Content Warning/tags: 18+ MDNI!, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, body worship, hurt w/ comfort, fluff

Word Count: 4.6k

Tag list: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @midnight-eternals @bngurngheart @malice-ov-mercy @witchyweeb34 @lyschko666 @cookiesupplier @lilrubles @meekahy @lacktoesandtoddlerants, @sammyjoeee

If you would like to be added to my tag list for this series or my other works, please sign up here.

Author’s Note: This part took longer than I had anticipated due to some personal issues, but hopefully this was worth the wait! I'm certainly proud of this part. Thank you to @deathblacksmoke for editing this and helping me rewrite parts that I was unsure about. Thank you to @concretenoah for helping me brainstorm and letting me bounce ideas off of you. Love you both sm ����.

A loud knock at the front door scares Gen awake. She sits up abruptly, holding onto her head as the pounding begins. She looks over at the coffee table and eyes the empty whiskey bottle, remembering the night before. Once Will left she downed the rest of the bottle to numb the pain and anger. Soon after, she passed out on the couch, whispering his name over and over. 

She groans when she hears another loud knock, scooting off the couch and heading towards the door. The knocks become louder and more frequent the closer she gets. 

“I’m coming. I’m coming!” she grumbles, flinging the door open. She immediately holds her hand up over her eyes as the sun blinds her, her head now pounding even harder. A tall figure steps in the ray of light currently burning her retinas, blocking it from her view. She silently thanks them.

Once Gen’s vision returns to normal, she recognizes the tall figure as Mr. Shaw. He was dressed much more casually from their initial encounter — a thick black sweater, jeans, and sneakers. He surveys Gen’s appearance and she’s suddenly very self conscious as she realizes she probably looks like a complete mess.

“Good Morning, Ms. Taylor.” He flashes his thousand watt smile at her. She smiles back.

“Good Morning, Mr. Shaw. Would you like to come in?” 

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t. I just came to make sure the rental company dropped this dumpster off.” He turns and points to a gigantic blue dumpster sitting at the curb. “I figured it would make cleanup easier.” 

“That’s very kind. You didn’t have to do that though.” 

Mr. Shaw waves her off. “Don’t get too excited. I used money from your inheritance to pay for it.” 

Gen raises her eyebrows in amusement, and he laughs at her. “You steal my money and you don’t even stick around to help me out.” Gen teases. “You really are a great lawyer!”

He laughs louder this time. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”

She laughs with him and leans against the doorway. “Jokes aside, thank you for all your help.” 

“It’s not a problem. If you need anything else, give me a call.” He walks to his car and leaves. 

Gen falls back on the couch and huffs. After a half gallon of water, some greasy food from the gas station and a few tylenol she decided to take on the house. Six hours later she has barely made a dent in all of the clutter. The entire kitchen is clean at least so she accepts the small victory. 

She has spent all day staying busy to keep him out of her head but as soon as she sits down and is alone with her thoughts, he is there. The way his face contorted at her words, his lips on hers, the final words he spoke to her as he slammed the door. All of it comes back in a flash and suddenly her head is pounding again. She pushes her palms into her eyes and curses loudly.

Gen eyes her phone. You can’t call him. You don’t know his number. She thinks to herself. Is she really going to be that much of a coward and apologize over the phone? She wanted to avoid this situation all together but her heart was beating her brain into submission. What did everyone always call her? Bullheaded? Obstinate? 

Stubborn.

She snatches her phone and dials the only number she remembers. It rings a few times and a woman speaking a language she doesn't understand answers. Gen hangs up quickly and drops her phone in her lap. Well that idea didn’t work. 

With no idea how to get in touch with him and no way of knowing where he lives now, Gen was out of options. Her phone pings in her lap and she looks down. An Instagram notification from Natalie sits on her home screen and Gen mentally chides herself. The solution is obvious. Stalk him on social media like a normal person.

Will’s Instagram is easy enough to find. He was verified now and had amassed a lot of followers. As she scrolls through his account, It doesn’t take long for her to find a photo of him with a woman hanging off of him. She scrolls past quickly, ignoring the way her heart sinks. The rest of his account is full of photos with his band, his car, and his cats. And a few more women. 

“You can’t expect him to be alone for the rest of his life just because you plan to be.” She whispers to herself tauntingly. She immediately groans at her own words. Could she be more insufferable? 

A video he posted two days ago catches her eye and she clicks on it. Will is standing outside in the snow. She’s so focused on his face she doesn’t even pay attention to what he’s saying. He flips the camera around to show his cats standing behind a familiar glass patio door and her mouth drops open. 

No fucking way.

The apartment building looks mostly the same as it did when Gen left, save for a fresh coat of paint and a few repairs to the outside. She stares at the door. Will’s car was right next to hers so she knows he’s home. That knowledge makes her nerves even worse.

She lays her head on the steering wheel and howls in frustration. Her head makes light repeated contact with the steering wheel as she hopes for some form of higher power to smite her now so she didn’t have to do this. 

Bullheaded.

Obstinate.

Stubborn.

Once again, her heart beats her brain into submission. She sighs and gets out of the car. As she approaches the front door, Gen reaches for the knob but pulls her hand back quickly because the door is already opening. She hears laughter, Will’s and someone she doesn’t recognize. A female appears and almost runs into her. 

“Oh!” The woman exclaims. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see you.” She laughs nervously and adjusts the bag on her shoulder. She’s pretty. Blonde, slender, and slightly shorter than Gen. Her bright blue eyes are accentuated by her long eyelashes. She has plugs and multiple facial piercings. There were no visible tattoos from Gen’s quick once over but winter isn’t exactly the best time to show them off. 

Gen holds her hands up. “No need to be sorry. I was the one just standing here.” 

“Viv? What are you doing here?” Will steps into view behind the blonde. His voice is honeyed for the sake of company, but his expression gives away his annoyance. 

As they both stare at Gen her mind goes blank. What is she doing here? She isn’t going to say it in front of this woman. It isn’t any of her business. Besides, Gen doesn’t even know who she is. She could be his girlfriend for all she knew. Gen ignores the queasy feeling in her stomach at the thought. 

“I- um…” She starts. Will cocks an eyebrow in anticipation and his friend gives her an awkward smile. Gen flounders for a few more seconds but luckily the woman has mercy on her. 

“Ya know, I was just leaving! I will leave you both to it. See you later, Will?”

Will stares at Gen for a moment longer then clears his throat. “Yeah, see you.” He gives her a soft smile and waves goodbye. 

He returns his gaze back to Gen, this time it’s a little softer. He steps out of the doorway and silently invites her in. She holds her breath as she walks past him but it’s forced out of her quickly once she’s inside. Everything was almost exactly the same as it was when she left. 

Gen feels something rub against her leg and a soft meow follows. She looks down to see a tan and black cat with white socks staring up at her, circling between her legs. She squats downs to pet it, cooing as it meows back at her. 

“This is Bobbi.” Will says crouching down next to her. 

“Hi Bobbi.” Gen says, planting a kiss on the top of the cat’s head. She looks back at Will and he smiles softly. He looks around for a moment before his eyes land on something and he rolls them. “And that loaf,” he points to her left, “would be Dusti.” 

Lying in a basket attached to the window sill is a black cat completely unfazed by the new guest in the home. Gen walks over and scratches Dusti’s head, chuckling as he rolls over and bats at her hand playfully. 

“What are you doing here, Vivvy?” Will asks. He’s leaning against the back of the couch now, fidgeting with his hands. His curls were out of his face for once, secured in a bun with a spiral hair tie. The look he gives her, likely without even meaning to, gives her goosebumps and causes her cheeks to heat. 

“I need to apologize about last night.”

He takes a deep breath and considers her for a moment. Gen can see he’s chewing on the inside of his lip. He looks down at his hands and adjusts the bracelet on his wrist. 

“No, you don’t.” He looks up, eyes boring into hers. “It’s me who needs to apologize.” Gen stares at him in disbelief. She had said such horrible things to him and he’s apologizing instead?

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” She questions.

“I’ve been a dick since you got here, Viv. All I’ve done is complain about you leaving and throw it in your face when I’m the reason you left in the first place. You’ve made this wonderful life for yourself. You made your dreams come true. I’m so fucking proud of you, Vivvy. You were right. If you had stayed you would have fucking suffocated here with me.” 

“Will, I-“ Gen starts but he puts a hand up to stop her.

“If I had been a better boyfriend… If I had just been honest with you in the first place then none of this would have happened. Maybe we would still be together and… L.A. would be our home.”

“What are you talking about?” Gen says as she walks closer to him. Will sighs and runs his hands over his face. 

“When you first told me that you wanted to go to New York, I was really excited for you,” Will starts, fidgeting with the skin of his fingers. “I knew how badly you wanted to get out of here, and how much you loved your job. I would have gone anywhere for you,” he admits. Surprised by the confession, Gen watches as tears begin to well up in his eyes. “I told my friends because I thought they would be excited too, but they all said how it was a terrible idea,” Will continues, face twisting uneasily at the memories. “They said you would be working with these big artists and producers, and you’d get so caught up in the music industry that you’d forget about me,” Gen’s heart sinks, she wouldn’t have, but she can’t exactly blame him, either. “I couldn’t let that happen, so I freaked out and refused to let you go. I should have talked to you,” The shame is clear, gnawing at him. He’s been sitting with this, alone, for so long. “I was selfish and thought I could keep you here with me, but I lost you anyway.”

Gen is left speechless at his confession. The more it sunk in, the more it made sense. He would never give her a straight answer even when she begged him to tell her why he wouldn’t go. This whole time he was scared she would leave him for someone else?

“If you were so afraid of me leaving you then why did you just let me go? Why didn’t you tell me the truth then?”

Gen watches as he shifts uncomfortably. A tear rolls down his cheek and he’s quick to wipe it away. 

“You made it clear you were going with or without me. I was heartbroken and angry.” Will closes his eyes, the memory becoming too much to bear. “When you left and never came back it just confirmed my fear. You forgot about me.”

His words punch her in the stomach, forcing all of the air out of her lungs. They’ve known each other since they were kids. They started dating at thirteen. He was her first boyfriend, her first kiss, her first everything. They made plans to spend the rest of their lives together. How could he possibly think that she could forget him?

It dawns on her that for him, the situation was reversed. All of this time she had spent thinking he didn’t care, that he had forgotten about her. When in reality, he thought the exact same thing. She was his first for everything too. How could she think he could forget about her? 

Suddenly, the photos of all of the women on his instagram and the woman at the door crosses her mind. Her heart starts to race and jealousy crashes into her. She knew it was irrational. He had every right to pursue other relationships but did he really have the audacity to be upset with her and accuse her of forgetting about him when he so clearly had no problem replacing her?

“I forgot about you?” Gen challenges, scoffing. “From the looks of things you had no problem forgetting about me. It seems I was easily replaceable.”

Will’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen your instagram. You haven’t been shy about posting your girlfriends.” Gen watches as he leans forward, like he’s making sure he’s hearing her correctly. “You haven’t posted the pretty blonde that just left yet, though. Is she brand new or just not special enough?” 

Will remains silent for a moment. He watches her, his jaw clenched, lips pressed into a straight line. “The blonde you are referring to is Austin’s girlfriend. He’s the drummer for Lorna.” Gen’s stomach drops as she realizes her mistake. “She came by to pick up some stuff he left here on her way home from work. So, no, I’m not fucking her.”

He takes a deep breath and stands up, walking towards her. Peering down at her, he speaks calmly. 

“Even if I was, I don’t owe you an explanation for how I choose to cope with losing you. It took me over a year to even look at someone else.” Gen begins to feel sick, overwhelmed. She backs up, but he follows her. “When I finally touched another woman it damn near killed me but I wasn’t going to put my life on hold knowing you had moved on with your life.” 

“Will, You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” Gen snarls, shoving her finger into his chest. “When we broke up every shred of belief I had in true love dissolved into thin air. I’ve spent the last eight years alone or having meaningless sex because what was the fucking point if it wasn’t you?” 

Will’s face falls, the shame evident. He reaches for her but she recoils and turns away. She sits in the chair by the window and wraps her arms around her legs. Will wrings his hands and sits down. He fucked up again. How does he keep doing this? 

They sit on opposite sides of the room in silence for what seems like hours. Gen focuses on the snow falling outside, crying silently. Will sits on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands. The guilt and grief in the room is so palpable they can’t even look at each other. Will decides he can’t take the silence anymore. He sits up straight and looks at her.

“Viv?”

Gen folds in on herself as soon as she hears her name. He sees the sobs wracking her body and his heart aches. He was sick of the fights, the hurt. All he wants now is to fix things for good this time.

“Viv.” He repeats softly. “Will you come here to me, please?” 

Her sobs continue and his instinct is to walk over and take her in his arms, but he doesn’t. From her body language alone she was on the verge of a meltdown and he knew better than to touch her without her permission. Despite this, he couldn’t let her sit there all alone. Besides, he would be lying if he said he couldn’t use some comfort of his own.

“Vivvy…please?” Will begs, his voice cracking. “I need you.” Gen stiffens, her sobs turn to quiet sniffles. She shifts and for a moment he thinks she’s going to get up but instead she just repositions herself. Will sighs dejectedly and places his head back in his hands. 

A few moments later, he hears soft footsteps followed by the feeling of a warm hand resting in the juncture between his neck and shoulders. Will looks up to see her standing in front of him, her face flush from crying. 

She studies him, her other hand coming to rest on his opposite shoulder. Her fingers absentmindedly dip underneath the collar of his shirt. She rubs circles into the muscles of his back, a calming tactic she picked up years ago. Will exhales and drops his head forward. He begins to reach for her but stops.

“Can I touch you?” He requests. He tries his best to keep it from sounding like he’s begging. Gen nods but he isn’t satisfied. “You know I need your words, honey.” Tears brim in her eyes and as soon as the soft “yes” passes her lips he wraps his arms around her waist, burying his head in her stomach. 

Gen wraps her arms around his neck, and Will opens his legs to allow her to step in between them pulling her even closer. She feels his body shake as he weeps and she gently shushes him and scratches his scalp.

“I’m so sorry, Will.” She utters. “For everything.”

Will shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. This is all my fault and I’ve been treating you like it’s yours. If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened.” He places a single kiss on her clothed stomach right above her belly button and looks up at her. She runs her hand along the side of his face. “I guess we both made some mistakes, huh?” 

Will agrees and swallows harshly. He plays with the hem of her shirt, his fingers lightly caress her bare skin. “Let me make it up to you?” Gen’s heart pounds in her chest at his words, her own proving to be difficult. An “okay” is all she can manage but that’s good enough for him.

Will takes both hands and places them under her shirt, pushing it up slightly. He peppers the soft flesh of her stomach with soft kisses, his thumb lightly rubbing against her hip bone. He dips his thumb in the waistband of her jeans and looks up. She nods and he pops the button open, sliding them down her legs and helping her out of them. 

Will places his hands on either side of her thighs and squeezes. He takes in the sight of her, the plush hips and thighs that he loved worshiping. The dark spot that forms on the red lace panties she wears makes him lick his lips. Will pulls her closer to him and kisses her hips, the top of her thighs, her clothed pussy, anywhere he could reach. He inhales her scent and his cock twitches in his jeans.

He grabs her leg and hikes it up over his shoulder, making sure she holds onto his other shoulder for purchase. He pushes her panties to the side and runs a finger through her folds. They both gasp at the same time, Gen from the feeling and Will from how wet she was already. He gently presses a finger inside her and watches as her head falls back, moaning quietly. 

Will continues to watch her savoring the moment until she squeezes his shoulder and whines. “What do you need, baby?” He coos. “M-more.” She stutters, rolling her hips into his finger. Will smiles and kisses her thigh. He slides another finger in and she keens. 

He continues to kiss up and down her thigh, leaving soft nibbles as he goes. This was all about her but the way her slick was running down his hands made his eyes darken. It had been so long since he tasted her. He stares at her pussy as he fingers her, attaching his mouth to her thigh and sucking on the flesh as he’d suck on her clit.

Gen looks down at Will, his eyes rolling back into his head, and she nearly cums just from watching him. She grabs him by the hair and gently pulls him away from her thigh. “If you want to taste me, just ask.” 

“Can I?” Will pants. “Please?” Gen nods and he lunges forward, licking through her folds. He closes his lips around her clit and sucks. She shudders and grips his hair tighter, grinding against his face. Will moans into her, bucking his hips. He desperately wants to free himself from his jeans but his hands currently have a more important purpose.

Will is ravenous as he devours her, his fingers digging into flesh of her thigh. He feels her clench around his fingers and the arm he was using to hold her steady wraps around her waist, pulling her tight against his face. Legs shaking as she cums, Gen cries out Will’s name. Her release gushes over his face and down his arms. 

He doesn’t waste a single drop. 

Will barely gives Gen a moment to breathe before he’s picking her up and toting her to his bedroom. He lays her on the bed and makes quick work of removing his clothes. When he turns his attention back to her, the way she looks makes him stop in his tracks. 

She’s fully naked now, propped against his pillows. One hand is playing with her hair while the other draws lazy patterns on her stomach. He follows the curve of her breasts and he swears there has never been a woman more perfect than her. Their eyes meet and something akin to embarrassment settles in them as she attempts to cover her body. 

Will frowns and crawls next to her. “Hey.” He says, placing his hand over hers. Gen peers at him from the corner of her eyes, then down at their hands. “Please don’t hide from me.”

“I don’t look the same as I did before.” She laments. Will removes his hand from hers and cups her cheek. “No, baby.” He kisses her temple gently. When she leans into his touch he continues, leaving a trail down her face and along her jaw. “You’re even more beautiful now. Let me show you.” 

Gen lets him move her hands away. Will hovers over her and leaves soft kisses on her neck. He palms her breasts, drawing her nipple into his mouth. When his tongue swirls around and he bites down, she gasps and arches into his touch. 

“You’re perfect.” Will whispers as he leaves open mouthed kisses between her breasts. “You’re soft. And warm.” He punctuates each compliment with a kiss to her belly. He kisses and nibbles his way back to her lips.  “And you’re even more beautiful than the day I met you.” 

Their mouths meet in a deep, heated kiss. Will swipes his tongue on her bottom lip and her lips part inviting him in. Gen feels his hard cock press against her core and she squirms beneath him, desperate for friction. Will moans into her mouth and hooks his arm under her leg, using the other to push himself up on his knees. 

Will strokes his cock and places the tip against her slit, rubbing it against her and collecting her slick. He lines himself up with her entrance but looks up first. “Is this okay?” He breathes. She nods. “Mhmm.” He pushes in slowly. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut at how good she feels.

The feeling of him stretching her out makes Gen dizzy. She grabs ahold of his shoulder and he turns his head to kiss her hand, continuing to slowly pump inside her. As he bottoms out she takes a deep breath and rolls her hips into his, a silent plea for more. Will groans as he begins to thrust into her harder. 

Every single inch of him consumes her. Will grips her hips tight, biting his lip. His eyes focus on where they’re connected and he slams into her even harder. She cries out, clinging to him and scratching his arms. He dips his head down to kiss her and she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer. The kiss is messy and desperate. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” Will moans against her lips. Tears form in her eyes. She isn’t sure if it’s from Will’s admission or because he feels so god damn good. All she knows is that she hasn’t allowed herself to feel like this, to feel satisfied, in ages. She has punished herself for years and she decided she was done. It was time to surrender and take everything this man was willing to give.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Will doesn’t miss the crack in her voice as she says it. He kisses her fervently and sneaks his hands between them, massaging her clit with the pads of his fingers. “Want you— fuck,” He pants. “..need you to cum for me, Vivvy.”

The moans and cries that flow from Gen’s mouth as she climaxes are music to Will’s ears. He watches her face twist in pleasure and rubs his hands up and down her thighs as they shake. Her pussy clenches around him and he knows he’s not far behind. 

Will takes both of her hands and places them above her head. Instinctively, Gen wraps her legs around him and pushes him in deeper. He grinds into her and pulls all the way out, then slams back in. He repeats this a few more times and picks up his pace. Both of their moans fill the room. Will buries his face in Gen’s neck, sucking on the flesh as his orgasm approaches quickly. 

Gen can feel his thrusts get sloppy and by his whining pants in her ear, she knows he’s about to cum. The barrier breaks as she raises her hips to meet his. He cries out and sinks his teeth into the flesh of her neck, grunting and groaning as he stills inside her. She can feel the muscles of his stomach tense as he collapses on top of her. 

Will releases her hands and she scratches her nails up and down his back. He brings his hand to the top of her head and plays with her hair, the other caressing her cheek. She smiles and strains her neck to look at him, kissing the vein on the side of his head. 

“Are you just going to stay there forever?” She questions, poking him in the side. 

“Hmm.. don’t tempt me.” He mumbles into her neck and she laughs. She pokes him again and he squirms but doesn’t budge. “Willllll!” Gen whines playfully. “You’re suffocating me and I have to pee.” 

Will pops up suddenly. “Fine! I will let you up. On one condition.” 

Gen narrows her eyes at him and smiles. “And what is that?” 

“Will you stay here with me tonight?” 

part five