#all her descendants have hair styles too

[strawberryfrostedkitties]

[starshipdecay]

Toon Zelda redesigns! I've never been fond of the Toon Zelda design, and these girls deserve some individuality. Design notes and rambles below the cut :D

(time to turn the proper grammar off i aint capitalizing all this. warning: i am verbose)

first up, tmc zelda!

shes the one most like toon zelda, since i felt like the vibes fit the *most* (though not a lot). also, with her place on the timeline, i could justify a lot of bits, like the wings and the cape

the cape! obvs it comes from the toon zelda base design, but also it involves skyloftian fashion! i take the timeline as a challenge, and i once saw a take somewhere that the skyloftians all wear their family crests (most often birds lol) on their person. zelda here (and link too) do just that, wearing their family crests on little caplets. on the back is, of course the royal crest

i went very cutesy princess for her. tmc has such a *whimsical* vibe that i feel is very. muted? by the fact its stuck with the toon style. so i wanted to put in that vibe here. also her sprites make it look like her skirt is super poofy, so how could i not?

curly hair: i wanted something interesting, and most zeldas have straight hair. so! adds to the cuteness

i didnt draw it so well but she (and link) both have very sleepy expressions. zelda especially just has a sleepy expression in her sprite, its quite adorable.

shes not as decked out as other princesses, cuz i see tmc taking place before the royal family really starts to get *royal* as we see it. shes still of course got a tiara and some embroidery tho.

Tetra! her base design isnt all that changed from the original. her name is a fun hc of mine tho. i think "von Hyrule" sounds better as a surname than just "hyrule". shes not zelda, but shes still a descendant.

(WW) princess z (as i call her)

I went more oot zelda vibes for her, since she would be closer, temporally, to oot. i also went very warm, since ive never seen the flood as a *warm* endeavor.

shes got the shoulder danglies, as most zeldas have shoulder armor of some kind. the danglies instead of actual armor are supposed to kind of evoke a royal sea captain kind of vibe.

shes ghostly, with a fish-eyed stare. shes been dead and gone for a long time. shes also a bit taller and a few years older than tetra (as of ww). shes just some spectre the king saw in tetra, not at all a close match

tetra, being smaller than princess z, doesnt fit into the clothes. the dress is too big for her (as is in canon gd that skirt is WAY too long for her), the coat is baggy. the role of a princess *literally* does not fit her.

the ribbons! theyre my replacement for the wings, and they represent the wind in the game! since its represented by white lines, the ribbons are a perfect symbolic match. (also, a note, tetras hair is shorter and coarser than princess z's)

i mostly bullshitted the blue panel but the vague idea i gave it was 'a hope for the triforce to give good fortunes to the people' (pictured as dots, mostly behind her arms)

Pirate Queen Tetra

ph! about a year has passed, and tetra has really grown into her own! as well as literally grown!

shes still tetra, pirate and captain, but shes incorporated that royal heritage into her identity: quite literally! she made piecemeal of the original outfit (what was left of it anyway after the fight), and added bits and pieces to her new life.

she also takes full advantage of said heritage to call herself pirate queen. its great for branding. whos gonna say she CANT go by pirate queen?

the seagull feather is from Aryll. only crew member tetra wears a trinket from (who can say no to that ball of sunshine! certainly not tetra)

not many notes. yall can see whats there. (also she still wears her hair in a bun, its just in a low bun (you can almost see it) when she wears her hat)

st zelda!

first note is: shes not a princess! shes an heiress of the company tetra had made and left behind. hence her title of Lady zelda. ("new hyrule" rly just like-- the ending of ww was *literally* that hyrule is dead and thats okay. how did they miss that :sob emoji:) also calling her Lady Zelda fits with the train vibes

shes in a 1880s style bustle dress because 1) i am OBSESSED with bustle dresses. i love them. so much. 2) the more historical vibe works really well with trains! also a lot of the other outfits in the game have late victorian vibes, so shes certainly not out of place.

her hat (and gloves): any proper lady has a hat on when going about town, however, when she gets body snatched, she pulled out her hatpin to use (ineffectively) as a weapon (she IS tetras great-great-granddaughter), causing her to lose her hat *and* hairdo.

shes still got the hatpin in her ghost form, too. she uses it to threaten people for funsies

Ribbons! on the topic of hairdo, her ribbons! visually tying her to tetras design, the ribbons here instead take on the image of train tracks, with her pin (on the left side) evoking a train engine. the pin also makes her look rich and girly. when her hair comes undone, this makes the ribbons all loose, like how the train tracks disappear in game. (the hat also kinda connects her to tetra)

thanks for reading :D i hope you liked reading this as much as i liked typing it

[littlestpetgoth]

Tell us more about your little homestucks?

ok.. ill only go over my descendent ocs because they're the ones ive been posting about recently, i have too many homestuck ocs to cover lol..

mayosi pyrope is the first descendent oc i made back when there was a brief trend on twitter to make, fan descendants of the trolls. i think i was inspired by ko's descendent acarid, and terezi being one of my favorite trolls i ended up making a bootleg pyrope. (and i draw them together all the time bc they rot my brain)

they're a radical transmasc weeaboo skater "vigilante" who grew up being raised by humans in a very normal average household where they got basically anything they wanted with no issues. their interests include; dishing out justice, watching animes, playing videogames, and doing sick tricks on their board. they wield a katana that resembles terezi's dragon cane.. they're my simplest designed character, and though they look a lot like terezi with a skirt and long hair their design was heavily influenced by dirk because i imagined that dirk has influenced some kind of anime character that mayosi obsesses over and has based their look on..

they aren't at all interested in, being a lawyer or anything like that and would like to take care of bad guys samurai batman style in their ideal world.. unfortunately the loving gently parenting of their human family didn't toughen them up enough so they're mostly a baby who doesn't do well when faced with conflict. mayosi's easily bossed around by anyone who firmly tells them to do something because they're too scared to step up and stand up for themself and others, they have a lot of shame for not being as strong and cool as terezi or red glare. real wet blanket.

uuuh like terezi, they weren't always blind. they were lured in by their ex best friend now super complex hate not boyfriend acarid and he poured acid into their eyes, ruining their vision and giving them crazy chem burn scars.. i think around this time they were also given their super rad pointy shades so they can look more like their hero, but it was a major blow to their confidence since not only are they a weak coward they're now a weak coward who can't see. they eventually learn to navigate the world via sound waves, its not as effective as terezi's sniff and taste vision but mayosi isnt as interested as smelling and licking everything in their presence.

example of what i think it's like for them here..

theyyy are convinced by acarid to join him in his perfect sburb sesh, where they eventually grow a pair and cut off his arm and gouge his eyes before being shot in the brain and killed dead without ever waking on their moon. (sad) mayosi's feelings about acarid, who essentially abuses and manipulates them constantly, are very complicated because they feel an obligation to take on the brunt of his crazy in order to protect everyone but also because they cling to the nostalgic memories they have of him and are hoping he'll one day go back to that.

kokesi megido is based on kokeshi dolls, i think she sees ghosts and is really scared of them so she's super skittish and is always finding ways to shoo them away.. she probably knows how to speak japanese ig, i dont have a lot to say about her unfortunately.. i like how her design turned out though.

grimir maryam and romato vantas are brothers adopted into a rich human family, they're both spoiled brats and are constantly bickering with each other when they aren't pretending the other exists. grimir is mute and likes to garden (sooo original, i know) and romato speaks a lot and is a hopeless romantic writer. shrug.

i don't have as much to talk about. for any of my descendents other than mayosi because i have a really hard time developing ocs when i dont have people to bounce ideas off of. i mean most of mayosi was formed around acarid's existence and from ko's influence, otherwise they also wouldn't be developed . sorry .

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 6

You can read previous chapters here.

Summary: Y/n decides to attend the meeting with the High Lords, where she is more open and relaxed than usual.

Word Count: 3K.

Y/n was pacing around the living room when Feyre, Rhys and Mor returned. Before Y/n could speak, Nesta asked what had happened. Rhys relayed the details of their victory and the state of the Summer Court. Nesta inquired about Cassian, to which Mor replied coldly that he was busy. 

Y/n did not dare ask about Azriel, for various reasons. One: it would imply she was worried about him, a notion she was reluctant to entertain. Two: it would suggest she cared about him, a feeling she was not ready to confront. Three: asking anyone about him would give them the wrong idea. Four: she might not like the answer to her question.

Y/n did not encounter Azriel until the day of the meeting with the High Lords. 

“You are still here?” Y/n called from atop the stairs, observing Rhys, Feyre, Azriel and Mor assembled below, preparing for their departure. Y/n donned a dark, regal purple gown with off-shoulder puffy sleeves. The layers of tulle floated around her like wisps of smoke. Her hair was styled in a braided crown, reminiscent of Nesta’s style. She wore no jewelry, except for the necklace she never took off, gifted to her by her mother. The celestite stone remained hidden beneath the fabric covering her chest. 

She descended the stairs slowly, still contemplating her decision. Although Azriel has seen her in extravagant gowns before, Y/n still took away his breath every time, and his shadows constantly seemed intrigued by her presence. 

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m coming with you” she announced. No one said anything, fearing any comment might dissuade her. “I cannot promise you that I’ll hold back” she added. She was going to go, but she was not going to let them win. She had put on a mask, where she was going to deal with them as she would if they were humans. 

“Alright” Feyre nodded “I’m glad you decided to join us”.

Rhys welcomed her to the court and the inner circle started betting on who and when a fight would start. Azriel left first to check for traps, and when everything was clear, Rhys winnowed Feyre. Y/n was left with Mor and Cassian. 

“Hello, Y/n” Cassian greeted. This was the first time she’d seen him since the attack as well.

“General” she acknowledged, as he took her hand and Mor winnowed them.

The palace of the Dawn Court was a sight to behold. From the colors to the decor to the view, it was enchanting. They were greeted by an attendant who led the way. In the chamber where the meeting was supposed to be held, the High Lords of Day, Dawn and Winter awaited. 

“It seems you’re not the only Fae with wings” Y/n whispered near Azriel.

“Yours are much cooler, though” she playfully remarked, and he softly chuckled “hello to you too”. This was the first time they had spoken since the attack on Adriata.

Thesan, High Lord of the Dawn Court welcomed them, and much to everyone’s surprise, Y/n complimented his palace. Azriel, Cassian and Mor bowed, while Rhys, Feyre and Y/n remained upright.

“He’s pretty” Y/n muttered to her sister in a low voice, but loud enough for the three Illyrians to hear.

“What has gotten into you?” Feyre tried to hide her smile, and Y/n merely shrugged. 

The white-haired High Lord, Kallias, approached Rhys. Mor and the woman accompanying him squealed in delight upon seeing each other. Mor introduced Feyre to the woman, Viviane, Kallias’ wife, while Y/n stayed behind Rhysand.

“This is Y/n, my mate’s sister. Y/n, this is Kallias, High Lord of the Winter Court” Rhys introduced.

“I guessed as much, with the- the white hair, pale skin and all” Y/n remarked.

“Have we met before?” Kallias inquired.

“I don’t think so. I’d remember someone with your… appearance”.

The last High Lord approached. Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, greeted Rhys and Mor. Then proceeded to ask about Y/n. Feyre explained to him what happened and Y/n confirmed.

“I always disliked the brightness of the sun and mornings in general, but somehow he makes the day seem beautiful” Y/n whispered to Cassian and she could’ve sworn Azriel clenched his jaw. 

Cassian was confused by her remarks about the High Lords and she could see it on his face “Ah, don’t worry. I still haven’t changed my mind about your kind. You all suck”.

“You had me worried for a second” Cassian quipped and Azriel relaxed slightly.

“But I have to say, you can still appreciate the beauty of your enemies or the people you hate” she shrugged, and Azriel glared at her.

Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, arrived late. Everyone was already seated, with Y/n positioned between the two Illyrian warriors. “So, that’s the High Lord of the Summer Court!” Y/n exclaimed, her eyes widening in curiosity.

“I swear if you say he’s pretty-” Cassian began, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement.

“Are you jealous, General?” she smirked, her eyebrows raised provocatively.

“You wish” he retorted, his glare sharp but playful.

Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court, arrived next with his sons. From the stories she’d heard, Y/n expected him to look grumpier, older and meaner, but he appeared surprisingly well and composed. His sons, however, sneered at them, except  for Eris, who ordered his brothers to stop.

“These are the two I’ve heard a lot about?” Y/n asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Yes, why?” Cassian responded, raising his brow slightly.

“He doesn't look awful. I thought he’d be really old” she mused, scrutinizing Beron.

“He is”.

“Well, he hides it well. And that is the son that has been giving you a lot of trouble? The one you all hate?” Y/n gestured towards the ginger male, who gave her a polite smile, one she did not return.

“Yes”.

“Then, you probably don’t want to hear my remark on this one” Y/n bit her lip, supressing a smile.

“I do not. And might I suggest keeping these remarks to yourself? Others might not like what you say and won’t be able to control themselves” Cassian warned, glancing at Azriel.

“Everyone is entitled to their opinions, so why should I care?”.

“Because you do not want to see him angry, trust me. I might seem wilder with my hot temper, but he has an icy rage. Sometimes, he scares me too” Cassian whispered.

“Ooh” a shiver ran down her spine at the thought of Azriel’s anger. Part of her wanted to see what that looked like. Another part did not even want to think about it. So, instead of complimenting their appearance, Y/n turned to Azriel, her playful tone shifted to a serious one and asked “are you alright?”.

“I’m fine, why do you ask?” Azriel’s voice was calm but tinged with suspicion. His eyes did not meet hers but were fixated on Eris.

“I know there are people in this room you’d rather see dead”.

“Did Cassian tell you that?”.

“He doesn’t have to. I can see the way you look at that Ginger. Like you’d jump on him any second”.

Just as Rhys began explaining why they gathered everyone, Tamlin winnowed right into the chamber. Silence fell as he surveyed Feyre before finally, in a monotone, congratulating her on the wedding. 

As Tamlin argued with Feyre and Rhys, he tried to play the victim, accusing Rhys of stealing Feyre from him. He even claimed he would have found a way to stop Hybern. He had the audacity to try and convince the High Lords that only Feyre and Rhys would benefit from this war, suggesting they had ulterior motives. 

Then the High Lords started arguing with Rhys about his involvement Under the Mountain. Although Feyre had once told her sisters about Rhys and what happened Under the Mountain, she had only explained vaguely. Y/n was now listening and learning about what had truly happened back then.

With all the lies Tamlin was spewing and the gaslighting, Y/n couldn’t take it anymore, especially when he implied that she and her sisters wanted and enjoyed the change, accusing them of lying.

She stood, her eyes blazing with fury “You really have lost your mind, haven’t you? To think for a moment that my sister actually truly loved you, I cannot. How she endured you, I do not know. You are delusional and if you think people are going to believe your lies, then you’re even more delusional. You claim to work against Hybern, but I was there. I’ll never forget how you betrayed my sister and how your whore of a priestess sold us out. How I was turned and was forced to watch my sisters being thrown into the Cauldron. You made a bargain with the King and you did not feel any remorse for everything that he did. And now what? Anyone who works with my sister’s mate is working for Hybern. Is your brain still functioning? Or have you truly lost your mind after my sister left you?”.

Tamlin bared his teeth as he growled at her. Azriel growled back, his eyes darkening with menace “I would suggest you choose your next words very, very carefully” he warned, his voice cold as ice.

“It appears you Archeron sisters have similar taste in men” Tamlin scoffed.

“I can show you other similarities we have” Y/n shot back, her smile cold and sharp.

Feyre cut in, not wanting to escalate the situation further, but Tamlin insulted her, resulting in Rhys silencing him with his mind. 

After that, the meeting seemed to go well until Eris called Mor a slut. In a blink of an eye, Azriel was at his throat, sealing them in a wall of blue, caused by his siphons. 

“Enough” Rhys ordered seconds before Azriel could rip Eris’s throat out, shadows on full display. 

“Is that what you were referring to?” Y/n whispered to Cassian, her gaze fixed on the Shadowsinger. This was the first time she had seen him enveloped in the shadows like this. 

“That’s a glimpse of it” Cassian answered, his expression serious.

Although Azriel halted from ripping his throat out, he still squeezed at his throat. “Enough, Azriel” Rhys spoke into the Shadowsinger’s mind.  Azriel drove his knee into Eris’s stomach before releasing him, rage still consuming him.

Back in his chair, Azriel kept his eye on Eris, giving him a death glare, until the male finally apologized to Mor. The talks proceeded, and they discussed strategies of where to begin and what to attack first. Thesan informed them that they found a solution for Faebane and introduced one of his most skilled craftspeople, who was also an alchemist. Y/n was intrigued by this powder and wanted to learn how to make it. 

Beron started talking about the refugees, and one thing led to another, resulting in him saying he doesn’t care about the fate of the humans beyond the wall. 

Y/n spoke again, her tone sharp and accusatory “of course, how typical of Fae-kind. Your arrogance and shamelessness know no bounds. It’s no surprise there, I mean you always thought you were the superior race, which is why peace will never last in your courts” Y/n huffed.

“Are you threatening me, girl?” Beron’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I’m simply stating the facts. It is only natural for chaos to erupt if High Lords thought they were superior. Your ego would lead to not being satisfied as being superior to humans, which then would turn into ambition to become even more superior than other High Lords. Grab more lands, force others to submit when you find out their weakness. Should I go on?”.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Beron sneered.

“If I was, I would have run as far away as possible the moment Fae-kind knocked on our door. But you know what? That trait you have of feeling superior would actually benefit humankind. You’d all be busy fighting each other to care about humans. And who knows? Maybe one day, while you’re all fighting, depleting your forces, the humans would attack and get rid of you”.

“Y/n that’s enough” Rhys interjected firmly. 

Not two minutes later, fire exploded out of Feyre blasting Beron for insulting Rhys, talking about him being Amarntha’s whore, and implying that if things go badly, he’d become the Kings’ whore. 

The meeting had been filled with the Night Court attacking everyone who insulted one of their members, for Rhys attacked Beron for insulting Feyre after, making Beron angry and preparing to leave the chamber as he shouted that he hoped Hybern would kill them all.

Y/n rose to her feet and managed to stop Beron with her speech “This meeting is not over. If we do not act now, Hybern will butcher us all, humans and Fae alike. Even if you don’t care about humans, you must at least care about your people. Before you ask, I know this because I went into the Cauldron and I saw the intentions of the King, what he plans to do. You all hurt for the people you lost, the children. But what about the human children? The ones who died because of starvation, poverty, while you sat in your comfortable homes with excess food and gold long before Amarantha came. Humans have suffered for far too long. They have no one to protect them, to shield them, so I ask you to fight, to protect those you’ve forgotten for so many years” Y/n urged, her voice filled with emotion.

The High Lords finally agreed to fight against Hybern, and Beron said he’d consider it before winnowing with his entire family and Y/n released a breath before sitting down again.

Even after the meeting officially ended, they kept talking and discussing strategies. By the time they were done, it was evening. Only Rhys and Kallias’s entourage remained in the chamber.

“That went well” Rhys declared, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Azriel gave a non-serious, cold apology. Since his attack on Eris, Azriel hadn’t uttered a word, his expression remained cold as he stayed in the shadows.

“If this went well, I wonder how it would have been if it went bad” Y/n commented dryly.

“You don’t want to know, trust me” Cassian chuckled.

“Maybe when the threat is neutralized, you can come and visit. We can work on our estranged relationship” Kallias told Rhys, extending his invitation to everyone in the room, before everyone finally retired to their suite. Azriel was leaning against the wall beside a window, shadows consuming him, while everyone relaxed on the couch. A knock sounded on the door, and Rhys went to open it. It was Helion, who appeared to have a thing for Azriel by the way he spoke to him. But then he started making sexual innuendos, which everyone seemed used to.

“Is he always like this?” Y/n whispered to Cassian, who nodded.

“Ah, right. Where are my manners? We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Helion, h-”.

“I know who you are. I was in that meeting” Y/n reminded, her arms crossed.

“Feisty. I like you. My offer extends to you as well, if you like” Helion remarked, a playful glint in his eyes.

“What offer?”.

“To join my bed, of course”.

Y/n snorted “in your dreams”.

“I certainly will dream about you” he smirked, and Y/n gave him a disgusted look.

Helion and Cassian talked about their forces and what their plan was. Then they discussed Beron and his past choice to join the war, which led to Helion talking about Beron’s wife, where Y/n discovered they had an affair for decades until they were caught by Beron. Y/n deduced something that night but kept it to herself, not knowing if she can use it to her advantage in the future. Everyone retired to their room, Mor taking Helion with her, while Azriel stayed by the window. 

Two hours later, unable to sleep, Y/n went to get some fresh air on the balcony of their living room. To no surprise, Azriel was there, no doubt reflecting on what had happened that day. Y/n stood near the edge in silence, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. After twenty minutes, she almost forgot he was there from the way he stood there in silence without moving an inch like a stone. His shadows, on the other hand, snuck up on her and brushed the skin on her back. 

“Are you alright?” she finally asked as she approached him.

A long silence followed before he answered “I’m fine” his tone rough and cold.

More silence ensued. She debated whether to ask or not, not knowing if it was a smart move given his current state. “You’re quieter than usual. I noticed today you haven’t been yourself… or maybe you have been your truest self? Is that why?”. 

His shadows danced around the strands of her hair that fell loose. “Would you be scared of me if I said this is who I really am?” he finally turned to face her, closing the distance between them.

“No. I think I could never be scared of you” she replied softly, surprisingly not backing away.

“And why is that?”.

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling. You- it feels safe to be around you. Like a sense of security. I don’t know how else to describe it….As long as you don’t lie, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter to me which way you are”.

“The truth is, I don’t know my true self. I don’t know if what you saw today- the violence, or the pain I inflict on others during interrogations, all the killing and bloodshed is who I truly am or if I’m the one you’re used to, the composed, righteous warrior” Azriel found himself admitting things he never told anyone before, and to his surprise Y/n was supportive. 

“I suppose you can be both, depending on who you’re dealing with and which treatment they deserve. I’m fine with either” her lips curved into a gentle smile. 

Suddenly her expression changed into a worried look “what is it?” Azriel, who immediately noticed, asked, his shadows stilling at her change in demeanor.

“I don’t know, but something is wrong. We have to leave now”.

Taglist: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllitas-blog @nebarious @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride

[gingerlurk]

Honey

Din Djarin x f!Reader

A Lovers' Crest one-shot (Here's its Masterlist)

Summary: You and the Mandalorian hatch a plan to trap an elusive bounty. And Din Djarin absolutely hates it. Until he doesn't.

[Or, the characters from Lovers' Crest have a little post-story adventure! Can be read standalone.]

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pwp, unprotected piv (be safe), creampie, semi-public sex, (there's an unconscious guy in the room), established relationship, Din lifts you but damn he is a strong strong man, Reader described: wearing a dress, heels, having longish hair, does a lil pole dance. I know this isn't how a 'honey pot' situation works but oh well it's just a bit of fun.

A/N: What's this? It's the first fic I ever wrote. Posted to AO3 in June last year. No idea if it's anything anymore, but it dragged me out of a desperate writing slump - and led me to write the longer fic - so I will always feel affection for it.

--

‘No.’

‘Oh, come on!’

‘I said no!’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t like it. It’s not a good idea.’

‘It’s a great idea. And… all we’ve got.’

So, Din Djarin sits in an upscale-style club sharing a table with Mythrol mobster Earl Gorstrik. 

The crime boss has been an elusive target for months, and a royal headache for Greef Karga. Taking out shipments of essentials, extorting construction projects and all manner of agency rackets, Gorstrik’s activities had pushed poor old Greef into upping the reward to nearly double.

‘Just get this fucker out of my business, please,’ Greef had begged him last time they’d dropped into town.

Then you had proposed an idea that had set his blood to boil, a constant roll that continued to this very moment. He’d remained unconvinced by the whole plan, but especially by your assertion that you would be sure to ‘really make it worth his while’. Din is dubious.

He doesn’t even get to have Grogu for company. This is not a child-friendly mission.

Gorstrik is yammering in his ear.

‘Seriously, Mando,’ he slurs. ‘I’m so glad a man of your calibre recognises the value of partnering with my… endeavours…’

Din is barely taking it in. Why are these types always so verbose? He mutters something about ‘needing to expand prospects’ and that sets the mob boss off to wax lyrical about property scams.

Din swears he’s going to ditch this whole, terrible attempt, when the music pounding in every corner of the place transitions to one of heavy bass and soaring synths.

Earl Gorstrik slaps at Din’s shoulder. ‘Oh excellent! It’s starting. Ever been to one of these Mando? No, bet not. Haha! Sit back and enjoy!’

Lights dance on the raised catwalk that dominates the middle of the room. Long, shiny polls descend from above, dropping within arm’s reach of the stage. A tall, lovely twi’lek female struts into view. Skin-tight body suit and stratospheric pumps. She reaches up to a poll and spins, smiling at the whooping and hollering rising from the patronage.

A short, sultry routine ends as the poll she holds rises back toward the ceiling. Din follows it, and her, up to spy the lofted gang plank that vanishes into an upper area.

Gorstrik leans into Din’s space.

‘You like that?’ he breathes. ‘Best part? If you spot someone you really like, you can arrange your own little meeting. Heh, up there,’ he points to the disappearing legs of the performer. ‘Just wave down a tender.’

Two human males saunter to neighbouring polls. They look to be twins. A stunning display of athleticism and strength concludes as they too rise upwards. Din spots several hands frantically waving at the establishment’s staff.

Fed up, Din is about to take his leave – to go find you – when a vision walks onto the stage and sucks all the air from his lungs. He’s locked rigid in his seat and his cock swells so fast it’s almost painful.

An adept lighting droid starts with revealing a pair of black, luxurious stilettos that step with languid grace down the catwalk. Silhouetted legs are shown to be bare as they curve up, all the way up – impossibly far – to the hem of a scant black dress. Deliciously tight and hugging every single curve.

Reaching the pole at the very end of the stage, the vision twists to face away from the crowd and is lit up all at once. The Mandalorian’s eyes are wide and his mouth has fallen open behind his helmet, made utterly transfixed by what he’s seeing onstage.

Glossy hair cascades over bare shoulders, swishing gently as you turn back to the crowd with a flourish. Your glittering eyes lock onto Din’s visor for a split second and he fair nearly blows his load then and there. 

You take hold of the pole and give a single lazy spin, letting Din’s eyes roam every inch of you. Then you slide down the pole some and spin again, extending your legs so the sides of your knees and shins skim the flooring. 

A few of these rotations before you tuck your long legs under you to stand for a moment. You make one swaying motion to put momentum into the pole and swing yourself up, using a turn away from the audience to open your legs, kick up and cross them to lock over the pole. 

With your lush thighs riding the cool metal, you lean back and extend an arm out to the audience, gazing upside down into the pulsing darkness.

You let the pole drift back to stillness, allowing every set of eyes in the place drink in your figure, bust heaving, hair falling below you and swaying. Then you swing your upper body upwards, grasp the pole and drop your hips so your legs release out into open air and propel it all into a renewed twist. 

After a moment, you plant your heels and the pole lowers with you as you sink into a narrow squat, facing away from the audience, which is by this time splitting the air with pitched screams and shouts.

You look over your shoulder with mischief in your eyes and the whole place goes ballistic.

The pole begins to rise and you move with it to stand. You let it slip along your figure, waiting until it is moving past your head to slide your arms around it and lift from the floor. It is given to look as if you’re floating on air, still twirling and giving an exquisite 360 view of your legs.

As you vanish into the loft, Din’s reverie is interrupted by a waving hand next to him.

He turns, Gorstrik is beside himself. A frenzy of other hands bat at the air, but Din’s table companion always gets first flush.

‘God damn,’ he exerts. ‘What a show. You do not get enough of that type of cream around here anymore.’

Din fights to quell the incredible urge to rip this pig’s head clean off his shoulders. He channels it all into issuing the slightest shrug he can manage. Gorstrik scoffs.

‘Suit yourself, man,’ he stands. ‘I’m getting my ass a front row seat to the encore. M’sorry, Mando you understand. Particulars can be worked out with my second here.’ He gives a vague wave to the pinch-faced twit next to him and scurries toward the elevator.

Din seethes.

Your voice crackles in his helmet, whisper quiet.

‘Staff access is on the residential side, basic hatch code to get in. Stairs, then make a left. My booth is second along.’

He makes a grouchy show of ‘only doing business with the actual boss’ before leaving the irate lieutenant at the table.

He stalks onto the street and rounds the building to the alleyway that connects the red-light district to the high-density worker housing. Spotting the door you described, he makes short work and slips inside. Climbing the stairs two at a time, he’s trying to concentrate and stop his mind wandering to all the ways this could go wrong.

Could be going wrong.

Why has he let you be alone with this scumbag. That was incredible. What if you’re not quick enough. Hells, fuck! Where had you learned that? What if… So fucking sexy. Why didn’t he just… Maker but that was incredible. He follows your directions and slaps the booth’s open panel.

The door slides across to reveal the scene. A small, velvet-lined room. One long bench against the far wall with a floor to ceiling one-way window looking out over the club floor. Your back is to the door and you’re settled in that narrow squat again, heels spiked into the floor, nimbly cuffing the unconscious Gorstrik, who is sprawled out by a drinks stand.

‘Just in time,’ you say. You peak over your shoulder at Din and slowly, agonisingly, start to rise up. Knees straighten first, keeping yourself bent at the waist. Ass on full display, the hem of your dress has ridden up to show just a hint of cheek. Finally, you lift your torso and turn toward him, something droll to say on the tip of your tongue.

You don’t get the chance. Din has kicked the door hatch closed and barrelled into you. Hands grip your waist first, pushing you back into the wall, then reach down to lift your knees to lock them at his sides. Holding you up, he paws at your ass.

‘Where’d you get this dress,’ he growls into your ear, letting you loop your arms across his shoulders and use the purchase to grind yourself against his erection.

‘Boutique in the main square,’ you mutter, eyes already closed and focused on lust. ‘Only used some of the advance.’

‘It’s obscene.’

‘Mmm, I don’t have to keep it.’ You rub the front of the dress against his chest plate, pushing your breasts into the firm pressure. ‘Could turn it to scrap for engine cleaning,’ you tease.

‘Absolutely not,’ he grinds out. He rubs at your thighs until the dress inches up, exposing your soaking panties. ‘This dress,’ he grunts. ‘This dress is for me now. You’ll wear it for me.’

‘Fuh—Fuck,’ you huff. ‘Thought you’d like it.’

‘Mmm, so fucking divine,’ he keens. He leans back a little. ‘Help me out here, love. Get this cock out for me.’

You reach a hand down and fumble with buckles and garment until you can push his pants low enough for his screaming hard on to bounce free. You immediately move your hand and tug the edge of your underwear aside.

‘Now Din,’ you moan, looking down. ‘Fuck me n— ah!’ He sheaths himself home in one go, piercing you to the wall. 

Hips sitting flush, Din trembles at your tight walls stretching and fluttering around him. He lets you adjust. ‘Oh fuck, so ready for me. That performance of yours get you just as worked up as me, did it?’

Humming an affirmative, you reach up to brace your elbows on top of each pauldron, locking your hands together behind his helmet and nuzzling your face into his neck. Like this, you can tilt your hips back and forth to grind into where you two are connected, his pelvis making a perfect surface to work at your aching clit.

It’s so goddamn sensual when you use him like this.

He holds onto your ass and helps you along by lifting you up with each one of your thrusts, creating a harsher connection each time. You writhe and work yourself against him, legs shaking with effort.

‘Din, Din,’ you lift your head with a gasp. He watches your eyes screw shut and your mouth fall open to release harsh, pained puffs of air. You’re so close, he can see it. You press your face into the sharp curve of his helmet and whisper, ‘Din, tell me t--’

‘Come for me, mesh’la,’ he snarls into your ear. ‘Do it, come now.’

You cry out and smack your head back against the wall. Din loses himself in your blissed out features. In the feel of your legs spasming around him, tightening muscles drawing aching throbs out of his cock. You push your hips in tiny little circles to suck down every drop of your climax. ‘That’s it, beautiful. That’s perfect,’ he murmurs to you. ‘You’re perfect.’ 

Huffing harsh breaths, you open your eyes and smile at him. 

He pulls out of you and takes your quivering legs from around his middle, dropping them to plant your heels on the floor. Then he pushes off the wall, spinning you to face the bench and bending you over. A heavy boot nudges at your ankles to spread them apart. He’s back inside you in one intense thrust of his cock.

This position affords you the view through the one-way window, so you’re both looking down at the bustling bar floor. 

Din begins to move, barely letting any room between your bodies as he grinds hard and deep. You shuffle your feet wider to give him even more. He chokes out a groan.

‘When you were on that stage,’ he hisses from behind, hands in a bruising grip on your hips. ‘Fuck, when you were up there, everyone down there wanted you.’ He sees your head turn to roam over the crowd, you look over your shoulder again at him, eyes unfocused and lustful.

‘Oh yeah?’ you say, hands sliding a little on the bench with your movements. ‘All of them?’

‘Every. Single. One.’ He punctuates each strangled word with a harsh, deep thrust. ‘Wishing they were here now. Wishing they could have you like this, know the feel of your clenching pussy. Sucking me in so hard, can- can barely pull myself- out…’   

He grips a fistful of your dress and uses the leverage to drag himself back before pistoning into you again. The obscene sounds of your slick flesh pumping against each other fill the air.

He’s so deep he can feel the pressure building within you again right as you slam your fingers hard against your clit, letting the friction of his furious thrusts carry you over the edge into another orgasm.

‘Fuuuuck,’ you both groan in unison. He loops an arm across your front and slings you up, back flush to his chest as he drives up into you. His rhythm is starting to falter, the haze of pleasure reaching toward unbearable. You know what he needs and how to bring him over the edge with you. He trusts.

‘But none of them can have me,’ you gasp. ‘Only you. Only you- know- this- pussy, Din.’ The final words are accompanied by the last few slams of his hips as he spills inside you with another strangled moan. He feels, as always, like his soul is being sucked from him and drained into you. It goes on for an age, wave on wave as you squeeze and clench around him. He finally slows.

His hand moves from your chest up to cup your face, fingers sifting through the hair at your shoulder.

As he huffs deep breaths into his helmet, you squeeze again and he gasps in near pain.

‘N-n, please mesh’la, you’re gonna kill me.’

‘Mm, sorry, thought you liked “the feel of my clenching pussy”.’

‘Oh I do, I do. Hope you let me feel it again when we’ve actually finished this job.’

‘Admit it was a great idea,’ you clench one last time and at that he withdraws from you. Groaning a raspy sigh. He turns to your captured prize.

‘Honey pot,’ he mutters. ‘Ridiculous.’

--

Din tucks himself away and bends to hoist the limp quarry over a shoulder, readying to exit. 

You adjust your dress, feeling delicious as Din’s seed slides past the hem. A job well executed and a fucking great time had by all. You grin to yourself. You’re going to walk down the street with this man’s spend slicking your thighs together. It’s filthy and you love it.

--

Thanks for reading! Have a great day and drink some water x

[alicentsgf]

Re: Alicent Margaery thing

They get so mad because they like to revel in the fact that Alicent has no known direct descendants. They like to headcanon that Daemyra’s direct descendants are the most important characters in Westeros from the North to Dorne, so they say that Margaery is a direct descendant of Daemon’s through Rhaena when there is no real evidence to support that. She became the wife of a third Hightower son and had 6 daughters and no sons of her own and because there is no political advantage and nothing to gain from Lord Lyonel marrying his heirs to his brother Garmund’s daughters. His brother is already his ally, Lyonel is the Lord and inherited everything and there are no more dragons to claim by then so Dragon’s blood is not important anymore. Targaryen Princes are unlikely to ever marry a Hightower daughter again. So marriages between the cousins probably didn’t happen, especially when more important alliances within the Reach and Realm had to be reformed.

On the other hand we can say with just about 100% certainty that although Margaery is not a direct descendant of Alicent, they both directly descended from the same line of the Hightowers. We viewers/readers are definitely meant to draw parallels between Margaery and Alicent. Both of their Grandfathers were the Lord of House Hightower. Both are the youngest of their siblings and are the only daughters amongst multiple brothers (book Alicent, although Condal also mentioned that he hasn’t forgot about Alicent’s other brother?) they have brothers that are knights and are very protective of them. Both happen to have mothers named Alerie/Alyrie and that’s a purposeful decision by the writers meant to remind us that they have a familial link.

One had a scheming father and uncle and the other had a scheming Grandmother and father. They were both the favorites over their brothers and their families had all of their ambitions riding on and invested in them and not their brothers, they were taught how to play the game at a young age and then they made them Queens. Both worshipped the Seven and were beloved by the smallfolk. Both were clever, witty girls with snappy one liners who had big hearts but could also be scheming, cunning and cruel. They were ambitious Queens who wanted their sons to end up on the iron throne. Both were smarter than their husbands who were both shitty Kings. Margaery wanted to manipulate and tame Joffrey so she could rule the Kingdom for him, while Alicent actually got to rule in place of Viserys for many years while he rotted away

We can also look at Alicent and draw similarities to Margaery in appearance too. While their actresses look nothing alike both were stunningly beautiful and stylish girls. Their hair colors and textures are close as is the way it’s styled at times. Green is also a shared theme between them. It’s a color constantly linked to the reach, which is the hub of agriculture in Westeros. They’re descendants of Garth the Greenhand whose name evokes thoughts of greenery, flowers, planting and growing, Margaery’s house words are “Growing Strong” and it’s colors are Green and Gold, a color Marg wore often in the book. While Alicent adopts green as hers and her children’s Official colors in relation to the color that the Hightower lights up when declaring war. In addition to the green. Aegon incorporates the color gold as well in honor of his Dragon. The Greens were constantly surrounded by the colors green and gold. Helaena wears gold and she dresses their children in Golds and greens.

There are no links like that from Margaery to Rhaena and there are no parallels between them. We aren’t meant to think of Margaery when we see or read about Rhaena.

Disclaimer: This is in no way implying that Rhaena’s children are not real Hightowers because whichever houses her daughters and their children ended up in, they still descended from the Hightowers too.

Literally not gonna say anything. You said it all perfectly.

[sea-lanterns]

OH MY GOD, Mama navia with her smug smile as she sees her little ducklings (children) follow her around and how theyre like a train, Oh and i think if she had a girl she would personally curl their hair like hers and then her boys would get jealous and ask for a curly haired like hers too and it descended with you two curling and styling your children's hair like their mom's 😍😍 They admire their mom so much and it just makes you giggle in joy when they copy her.

Mama Navia’s children would have the most luscious and healthy locks of hair in all of Fontaine. I’m not even kidding, Navia takes care of her kids’ hair so much, they are just like mini hair models 😍

Also, if your hair type is vastly different from Navia’s and your children end up with your type of hair, then Navia will definitely try learning how to do her children’s hair until she’s a pro at it. I like to headcanon that Navia is very good at hairstyling, so your children will always look like little angels sent from Celestia since their mommy knows how to make their hair beautiful.

Mama Navia ftw! 💕

[sporesgalaxy]

A friend I have on discord asked me like a month ago if Franky and Buggy are related (they had just gotten to Marineford/right after Impel Down) and I have not been able to stop thinking about it since. Just imagining Franky hyping up his cringefail older brother and his explosives 😭😭😭

AH.... You've unlocked my secret favorite One Piece conspiracy theory >:)

I mean, think about it....

They were both born on the Grand Line

they both have blue hair, which doesn't seem to be that common.

Buggy is just 3 years older than Franky

their names are both weird and weirdly similar (Cutty Flam and Buggy, that is)

We don't know how the Roger Pirates met Buggy, but we know Franky was abandoned on Water 7 by his birth family of pirates

We see that Franky doesn't think too highly of Pirates after being abandoned, whereas young Buggy idolizes pirates for all the wrong reasons, even insulting the Roger Pirates and Shanks for being "soft"

they're both really fixated on ONE adjective that they very strongly identify with and try to say as much as possible ("Flashy" and "Super")-- and both adjectives describe something that stands out in a big way!

very minor, but their eyes are stylized similarly, with the eyelashes typically on the bottom instead of the side like Usopp

But you already knew that.....so what if I told you.....I CAN MAKE IT MORE RIDICULOUS

WHO ELSE HAS BLUE HAIR AND PRONOUNS IN ONE PIECE? THAT'S RIGHT: NEFERTARI VIVI

WHAT THE FUCK'S SHE GOT TO DO WITH ANYTHING? NEED I REMIND YOU...

HER ANCESTOR, NEFERTARI D. LILI, WENT MISSING AFTER THE WORLD GOVERNMENT WAS FOUNDED!!

Sure, maybe she just died...BUT this was the queen smart enough to fool Imu and scatter the poneglyphs!!!!!

It really seems like she was unaccounted for, not just assassinated!!!!!

So...could she have started a new life at sea??!!!?!?? Could Nefertari D Lili have direct descendants, in addition to the descendants of her brother who rule Alabasta??!!!!!???!!!!??? Could those descendants..........be blue haired pirates on the Grand Line?!?!??!?!!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!

Doesn't all that make you think....ISN'T IT INTERESTING....THAT WHEN ODA COULD DRAW BUGGY WITH ANY HAIRSTYLE HE WANTED DURING IMPEL DOWN.......HE GAVE HIM THE SAME HIGH PONYTAIL THAT WAS VIVI'S SIGNATURE STYLE⁉️❓️‼️❓️‼️⁉️⁉️💥💥💥💥💥

THATS RIGHT. CONFIRNED

[redisaid]

Strangers - Part 3 of ???

Colors and Photographs

I forgot I love this AU a lot. It's more of the same bullshit I always do, but I don't care. Bon appetite.

5006 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Sylvanas Windrunner—burner of trees, blighter of cities, former Warchief of the Horde, former Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, former Ranger General of Quel’thalas, now wearing the title of repentant prisoner and nothing more—sits upon a ridge, looking down at her camp in the Maw, contemplating. Above it, an arcane flare blazes bright in alternating hues of blue and purple, and it is for this reason that she hesitates to return to it.

Next to her, Dori’thur perches on a spur of rock, silent and staring as ever, though the piercing gold of her eyes feels extra judgemental in this moment. Years of time being stared at by an owl have not prepared Sylvanas for this moment, where it seems to be asking her, “Why don’t you go to her?”

The answer is complex. Too complex for an owl to understand.

That’s what she tells herself, at least. In reality, a drop of water rolls down the exposed skin of her arm, chill on chill, to remind her of the real reason. She’d just taken a bath in Korthia. Her hair is still wet.

“Inconvenient,” she mutters in Thalassian.

Dori’thur, she supposes, must be fluent in it now. In moments where she is more prone to amusement, this makes her grin, thinking about the day she will eventually return, and have the beast somehow hooting in her nasty little Highborne dialect. What then, Tyrande?

She wears the new leathers Vereesa sent for her, and they don’t fit quite right. Not yet, at least. Her old set, worn as they were, were perfectly molded to her unchanging form, but comfortable. These are of a similar, but updated style. The top is too baggy for the fine stitching around the sides and neckline. The leggings are too tight in the calf but not enough in the thigh, and woven with useless ties down the sides that don’t even serve to help her in loosening or cinching where needed. Definitely something Vereesa would choose—style over substance.

Sylvanas prefers her clothing like she does anything—simple, precise, and practical. These leathers offer none of that, but she can fix them, with time.

And time, well, she has plenty of time.

It has been some time since Jaina Proudmoore’s ostentatious arcane flares have lit the monotone skies of the Maw. Keeping count of what might equate to days has been her chore between visits. It has not been a pleasant one. Sylvanas has never enjoyed dwelling on time and its terrifying numeracy.

Still, she knows it has been a while since she’s seen Jaina. She knows she’d prefer to do so with dry hair and properly-fitting clothes. There is still a spark within her demanding she not show her enemy any weakness, she supposes. Her lonesome repentance has not dimmed that yet.

Nor does it change the fact that the living always seem to hold a schedule that conflicts with her own.

She relents, after a time. Minutes, petulantly spent dripping onto twisted stones. Sylvanas has names for all the formations, because what else is she to do but invent geographic classifications. There is only so much of her mind that can be occupied by the endless search for lost souls. This rock she calls Broken Tree, because it has branches or sorts, but all end in blunt ends, their sharp edges perhaps snapped off by a rampaging minion of Zovaal’s long ago, or perhaps not long at all.

What does it matter? It doesn’t. Time is irrelevant. It crawls on, unfeeling, with or without her.

So while Sylvanas doesn’t want to be wet and ill-prepared for company, she doesn't want her company to leave because she’s kept them waiting too long. While Jaina Proudmoore isn’t exactly the most welcome of guests, she still makes for better conversation than an owl.

First, before she descends from the stone branches of Broken Tree, she reaches into the pocket of these unnecessarily embellished leathers. Really, isn’t that just like Vereesa to pick something like this? These damn ties. She never had good taste, and apparently still lacks it. Even the compact that Sylvanas pulls out of her pocket is adorned and impractical, its silver embossed with a hunting motif, a deer leaping over a stream, but the latch sticky and difficult to open.

Sylvanas would rather it remained closed, but she is unfortunately in need of a mirror. She hates looking at herself. It has been a dreaded chore since her first death, her first transformation into something she was not meant to be. Now she is changed again, and the blue eyes that look back at her don’t belong on her face and never have. Her eyes were a soft grey before she died, not blue like her sisters. She misses the distinction, even though this blue is not like theirs either.

But the face that stares back still doesn’t feel like hers. The ashen skin, faded hair, wet and stringy and plastered to her gaunt frame. She only sees the banshee within the body—the long fangs and sunken cheeks, the ghastly hands with too long fingers, reaching out to harm but unable to touch. Embodied now, she is still a ghost. A dead thing lingering and not wholly dead, but never to live again. She is a monster, an abomination, a blemish on her own existence.

But still, she sets the compact on a higher branch of Broken Tree, and uses the mirror to ensure she pulls her damp hair into a respectable and straight ponytail, devoid of imperfections. She might be a monster, but she will be a well-groomed one, even if it kills her for whatever time this death would be.

She catches another set of eyes in the mirror. Dori’thur’s yellow eyes reflect back their own glow. The spectral owl tilts her head, amused by the reflection.

“What are you looking at?” Sylvanas asks of her anyway.

Perhaps she too is vain, for the owl seems to be looking at herself rather than her charge for a change.

“Birds,” Sylvanas mutters to herself as she ties the ponytail tight, and gives one quick glance back toward her own reflection before she closes the compact.

She swears she hears a slight huff of disappointment behind her, but when she looks back, Dori’thur is staring at her as passively as ever. Always watching. Never not. It’s maddening, but Sylvanas thinks she might become concerned to see that damn bird do anything but that, should her attention ever be diverted.

She enjoys a brief respite from those yellow orbs as she begins to move toward her camp, and Dori’thur takes to the grey sky above. There is no color in hell, save for the white and pale teal shades of the owl, the yellow of her eyes, and the odd reflection of blazing blue that meets Sylvanas when she dares to look in Vereesa’s gaudy little mirror now and then.

Well, at least today there’s new colors. Blue and purple arcane light still projects into the sky from her camp, and now that she knows what that means, Sylvanas does not meet it with aggression this time.

She thinks it silly to announce herself. Surely Jaina has sighted Dori’thur circling overhead, and well, there is no one else here. Wandering souls do not count, in Sylvanas’ opinion. They are not even akin to ghosts such as herself, and seem to lack awareness of their surroundings, awareness of her, and the ability to do anything but screech out their confusion and fear.

She finds Jaina Proudmoore an array of new colors in her grey world. She is bent over a crackling orange and red fire she’s conjured for herself, but looks up with eyes of natural and subtle blue through stark white hair, streaked with gold. Today, she wears no armor, no regalia, and dresses casually in a white button up shirt and high-waisted navy leggings that tuck into high brown boots with bright, polished brass buckles. The contrast of her is almost blinding. Sylvanas has to blink away the color so it doesn’t overwhelm her vision all at once.

But Jaina is still there when she opens her eyes again, and she’s offering a kind, polite, and rather diplomatic smile—the kind that humans so famously do where they don’t show any teeth. Sylvanas does not deign to return it, and feels the expression would look too ghoulish on her, teeth or not.

Instead, she nods.

“Before you ask,” is what she greets Jaina with, “I have attempted to keep count. It has been about thirty days since I’ve last seen you.”

A month. There was so much Sylvanas could have done with a month on Azeroth. Troops to be trained, equipment to requisition, artillery to inspect. Even without a military to command, she could visit her sisters. She could travel, go to see someplace exotic and far off—Winterspring or Feralas, maybe even a trip back to enjoy Pandaria instead of battling against the mage standing in front of her within its confines. She could read so many books. She could rest, or whatever equivalent of that was left to her.

Counting the days is worse, but she’s done it because she knew Jaina would ask. She feels the corners of her lips pull up into a grin in spite of her resistance when Jaina’s mouth opens, then closes, meaning to utter a greeting but instead having to contemplate what this means for her.

“It’s been a week for me,” Jaina tells her. “And thank you, for counting.”

Sylvanas nods again. She is nothing if not efficient and proficient in her ability to provide necessary information. A good Ranger knows how to observe and report above all else, after all.

But she is not a Ranger. She is a grinning ghoul, a monster, the last devil left in a monotone hell.

She wills her mouth to stillness again, and feels her ears flatten along with it.

Jaina clears her throat. She turns, and Sylvanas can now see she has taken the liberty of setting her tea kettle over the fire to boil. She seems to look for a moment as if Sylvanas will take offense, but that comfort was for her guest, not her. She does not need to drink, nor does she care to. It is not her concern what Jaina does with something that is for her.

It is her concern when Jaina—seeing she’s unchallenged—is so bold as to pour the contents of the kettle into two mugs, and not just one. Sylvanas’ hard-won neutral expression turns to a frown unbidden.

She makes a point of walking past the steaming mug without acknowledging it as she goes to sit on the opposite rock stool from Jaina. To her credit, Jaina does not press the issue, and simply takes up her own, leaving the offending object to sit steaming on the ground, abandoned and unwanted.

There is a glint of recognition of all of this in her eyes as she looks to Sylvanas, sipping at her own tea. Those eyes are nearly as watchful as Dori’thur's and while they aren’t as severe in their judgment, Sylvanas feels as though there is no escaping what they observe in her. There is no doubt that Jaina is picking her apart, piece by piece. She may never say how, and that would be wise of her, but Sylvanas knows she sees every move she makes, every detail of her appearance and demeanor.

The mirror was a cruel thing for Vereesa to give her, at least she thought at first, though perhaps her sister did not know of her dislike of mirrors in undeath. Now Sylvanas understands the gesture. It was a kindness, an odd one. Vereesa was cognizant of her enough to know that, if she was going to be observed, she would want to do so knowing she was presentable. Much less if she was going to be observed by someone with such keen eyes as Jaina Proudmoore.

“Thirty days is a long time,” Jaina notes, finally, mercifully blinking. “Your sister had to arrange for something, and wanted to wait until it was ready.”

“I don’t see why you need to apologize for her then,” Sylvanas tells her as she settles onto the stool, crossing one leg over the other and again cursing the stupid, useless tiles that bite into the sides of her thighs.

“I suppose I was, wasn’t I?” Jaina says. She smiles again over her mug, clutching the bright copper in both hands as if to warm them, or perhaps just for comfort. If she can observe Sylvanas, then Sylvanas can observe her too, after all.

Jaina then points with a nod toward the ground beside Sylvanas’ stool, where a small package wrapped in brown paper resides. Even dull brown paper and flaxen twine are a welcome change from grey.

Vereesa’s handwriting is present on the corner of it, its black ink easily visible as Sylvanas picks the package up, with her messy, rushed scribbling spelling out “Lady Moon” in Thalassian characters. She would always write like she had something better to be doing, and clearly, still thinks that she does.

But what does Sylvanas know about that, really? Her little sister is almost as much a stranger to her as the woman who delivers her letter these days. She knows Vereesa as a disorganized and immature Ranger Captain with a lot of discipline left to learn—a spoiled little sister whom she was part of spoiling, certainly. She doesn't know her as a leader, a mother, a person thoughtful enough to send her mirrors and little paper packages. All of these things are strange to even imagine describing Vereesa as.

Sylvanas is careful as she opens the package. She can save the paper, use it for maps or notes. She still has plenty left of the stack that Jaina brought last time, but who knows how long it will be before she sees her again? Rationing supplies is part of what keeps Sylvanas sane here, and so she saves the paper rather than tearing it, and the twine too.

And she knows Jaina notices all of this, but she does it anyway.

Inside are three things. A small envelope of a different brown paper, which sits atop a long, flat glass bottle, padded with a mate to the towel Vereesa included in her last package. Sylvanas knows what it is without looking at the label. The shape of it, the floral scent that already fills her with nostalgia, even though the bottle is sealed shut—it’s her favorite shampoo, from Quel’thalas.

She nearly drops the bottle.

Her sister is a mother and leader and a person she no longer knows, but she clearly still remembers Sylvanas being angry with her for swiping her bottles of Camberon’s Lemon and Honeysuckle shampoo. It was expensive, after all. Too expensive for little silly girls, Sylvanas remembers saying.

But Jaina is smiling and watching her, conspiratorially so. She eyes the envelope and not the shampoo, and Sylvanas can’t fathom what means more than Vereesa remembering such a small thing.

Still, she sets aside the shampoo and its towel padding. She laments not having either for her bath today, and resolves another is in order sooner rather than later. Her hair does not dry nicely when it’s up, after all.

She opens the envelope to find it contains a small picture, framed simply in pale, knotty pine. A photograph, an invention of gnomish origin relatively recent in the annals of Azeroth’s history, after her death even. She has been photographed, but such perfect images of her likeness were not possible while she was alive. She only has the memory of her reflections, and portraits that have no doubt been burnt or broken by now, both from spite for her actions and disrepair of the places where they once hung proudly.

But on the plate she finds her sisters, their warm skin and shining hair and blue eyes. A bit of purple swirls in Alleria’s that wasn’t there before but it is so small a change compared to what Sylvanas has undergone. They are still themselves, at least on the outside.

With them are three faces Sylvanas doesn’t know, hasn’t seen, but knows who they belong to. Arator no longer has the pudgy baby cheeks that reminded her of her deceased brother. He is long and thin and elegant in many ways that remind her now of her father, but stocky in others that show the human half of him. He looks worried, blue eyes shining with concern as he glances more toward his mother than the camera.

In front of Vereesa are two identical redheaded, gangly youths. Giramar and Galadin. They wear their hair shorter in human tradition, and it makes them look far more human than their cousin of similar heritage. They look like trouble, is all that Sylvanas can think. They look like Vereesa.

Jaina smiles wider, a few teeth on display now. They are flat and distinctly human, even the half-elven boys in the photos still have little blunted fangs, but Jaina lacks them entirely. Still, she seems pleased. She expects a reaction.

Sylvanas does too, but finds herself more interested in her sisters than her nephews. She’s probably still spent more time with Arator than Alleria has, but he was a baby, and he likely does not remember any of it. But her sisters, why is it they get to remain unchanged by it all? Is that part of her penance too? If she had made the right choices, could she look in the mirror and find herself again? Do they even appreciate it when they do?

“I understand the wait, it must have been a real feat to gather them together for this,” is what she offers Jaina, photograph still in hand, eyes squinting at her sister’s faces, looking for any equivalency of change within them.

“I’m sure it won’t surprise you of all people, but Alleria was the hardest to wrangle, apparently,” Jaina reports.

It does not surprise Sylvanas. She huffs a laugh because of course she was. Alleria looks as though she’d rather not be there, and perhaps that is why her son seems worried. Alleria hasn’t been worried about another person and their feelings a day in her life, so for that reason alone, he seems nothing like her, though his long hair shines the same color gold as hers.

There is a bitterness that clouds her thoughts that reminds Sylvanas she is perhaps where she belongs. No doubt she does not belong in this photograph. Her greys would sour the colors of it. The gold and blue of them, of the Alliance. No, those were not colors for her.

“Vereesa told me you helped her with Arator, when he was still a baby,” Jaina goes on. “I remember him as a child too, so it’s so strange to see him grown now.”

Sylvanas realizes she has no idea how old Jaina Proudmoore is. The white of her hair belies an age that is much younger than such a feature would tell of in humans. But still, she knows of her father, her lineage, and does a quick calculation. Yes, she supposes Jaina knew her nephew as a boy, somewhat.

Strange. It’s all very strange. That is a good word indeed.

This woman knows her family so well, sees her sisters and her nephews regularly, yet Sylvanas has only ever seen her here in her prison, and before on a battlefield. Once during a trial. Only in times of stress and duress. Never before today in casual dress. Jaina cuts a fine figure without all those layers of mage robes and armor, actually.

“He was a good child, easy to manage,” Sylvanas reports. “Easier than Vereesa, certainly.”

Jaina laughs at this. Sylvanas wonders if she has the context for the joke. Does she know how her little sister tormented her? How, when she grew out of that, she moved onto constant whining?

Well, she is Vereesa’s friend, after all. No doubt she knows about the whining.

“Vereesa’s boys carry on the illustrious red hair of their father’s name I see. They’ll do well with it in Quel’thalas, should they be welcome there. It is relatively rare among elves,” Sylvanas goes on.

Not as rare as dark hair, of course, but she can still remember Lady Liadrin back when she was just a priestess, and being both too holy and too oblivious to the amount of attention her red-hued locks brought her, back when she was younger.

But Sylvanas supposes she knows little of the dating scene in Quel’thalas these days, and little of chasing redheads. There is only grey in the Maw, except when Jaina Proudmoore visits and colors it to the point of blinding radiance.

Jaina laughs at this too though. She nods sagely. “I don’t think there was any escaping it for them. But yes, they look a lot like their father.”

Their father, who as Sylvanas remembers, died to save the woman in front of her from Garrosh’s bombing of Theramore.

It’s all so complex and entangled. Jaina’s life has brushed up against her own in so many ways, yet they’d never really spoken until that first letter she’d delivered. Even when Sylvanas turned against the Jailer and offered her assistance in defeating him, Jaina would not speak to her, only listening to her counsel with a daring glare. No doubt she blamed her for what happened to Anduin. It was fair, Sylvanas blamed herself too.

Sylvanas wonders if Jaina feels as protective of her nephews as she does of the Alliance’s own High King, who apparently calls himself her nephew in name only.

And now, she searches Sylvanas’ face for signs of reaction, fondness, and humanity when looking at a picture of her own family.

Sylvanas struggles to find anything but nostalgia for connections long cut and things long made untrue by the relentless march of time. Such numbness rings true for the banshee in her, but it strikes a discordant bell for the soul that’s been restored to her. The same soul that gets lost in that nostalgia in the countless lonely hours of searching. Sylvanas misses her sisters. She always has. She knows she will never fit into their happy little photographs. She will never again shine with them in brilliant blue and gold.

She supposes this is what Jaina Proudmoore looks for when she studies her face. She wonders if she’s been able to find it yet.

“I suppose I have you to thank for orchestrating this,” Sylvanas says as she finally looks to her, and sets the photo down on her tie-bedeviled thigh.

Jaina waves off the responsibility, releasing one gloveless hand from the copper mug. Her fingers are practiced and graceful with every movement, aware. A mage through and through.

“No, no,” she says. “I merely brought it up to Vereesa and she ran with it. She said she wanted some photographs for her home anyway.”

Still, Sylvanas sees through her meddling. Mages always want to fix and change and alter. They cannot leave nature well enough alone. Jaina Proudmoore brings her colors and views of a world she cannot have and cannot help it, just as she surely does not know how her fingers look as though they’re tracing runes even when they do not.

But it is Sylvanas’ nature to haunt and wail and linger on a life long gone. She is a ghost, after all.

She supposes it is fitting she may yet spend centuries here, shepherding the dead.

And Jaina Proudmoore will go home to have more tea with her sisters and her nephews and everyone that will certainly be glad Sylvanas isn’t something they have to worry about anymore. She will put happy photographs on her mantle in Boralus. She will meet so many people and do so many things that this odd chore will be just another appointment on her busy calendar.

And yet, she and the things she brings will be the brightest colors Sylvanas sees until her penance is done.

“Vereesa said she didn’t have time to write another letter and apologizes for that,” Jaina relays. “She still wanted me to bring you the photograph, and whatever that bottle is I suppose.”

“Shampoo,” Sylvanas tells her. The Common word for it is so silly. It sounds like something one would name a fluffy little lap dog.

She watches as Jaina cranes her head a bit to read the label. No doubt she can read the Thalassian. Sylvanas is sure she can speak it too, but chooses to speak the human tongue to her anyway.

“Well that was nice of her,” Jaina notes.

It was, but it’s more than nice. It’s both infuriatingly confusing and overwhelmingly loving. Sylvanas deserves neither. She was ready to be forgotten. She was ready for no one to remember her name, to curse its mention, and to forget anything they knew about her, much less such a small detail as her favorite shampoo.

A part of her wants to keep that detail for herself, but it burns within her. She wants to talk, to vent, but also desperately to keep everything within the fortress of herself. Such nostalgia for her is a part of the pain, the loss of it all.

But Jaina Proudmoore, perhaps, is a person who can understand that.

“It was a favorite of mine,” the words spill out before she can rethink them. “Back…before. Vereesa always used it without my permission. It’s expensive.”

But what does Jaina Proudmoore of all people care about elf shampoo? Of photographs and colors and mugs of tea ignored, left to cool on grey dirt. Why did she come back with no letter to deliver? Why does she smile at these words, this time genuinely, where a dull canine peeks past pink lips, unadorned with makeup or the mask of war. She is just a woman, a friend of the family Sylvanas no longer knows, a stranger. Still, she seems happy to listen, intrigued.

“That sounds dreadful. I’m thankful to only have brothers then. Derek and Tandred would never take any of my toiletries, or at least never admit to it,” Jaina tells her through that smile, giving up her own tiny, innocuous details.

Sylvanas remembers Derek Proudmoore, gasping on the deck of her flagship for breaths he no longer needed. The seawater stink of him, the barnacles that still clung to his tattered coat. She remembers questioning even then why she did the things she did, even as her Dark Rangers peered at her with concern in their red eyes. A part of her knew it was wrong, even though those that return to unlife must make the choice to do so themselves. She and her Valkyr lacked the ability to force them as she was forced. That requires a mournblade, but there will be no more of those ever forged. Never again.

And now his sister jokes with her about how he would never steal her things, or whatever makes her white hair shine so brilliantly even when there is no sun to light it.

Perhaps Sylvans should ask her about her hair care routine. What else is she meant to do?

Instead, she apologizes, “About Derek—”

Jaina doesn’t let her. “He’s told me. You don’t need to explain. It was his choice, you merely offered him the vehicle to take it. Honestly, for all of how it worked out, I should thank you, for being part of what brought my brother back to me.”

“You should not,” Sylvanas assures her.

She cannot possibly offer the explanation as to why. It was never meant to be Derek. Some other Kul Tiran admiral was the target, another sailor sleeping in a watery grave. But the opportunity presented itself and Zovaal had told her that Jaina Proudmoore must die, and this was the best way to do it.

She was always far too hard to kill. And Baine always was too soft. In truth, it had all worked out for the best.

Still, it’s a change of heart from the woman who stared daggers at her for daring to put Anduin in the Jailer’s hold, even though it wasn’t entirely by her own choice. Such forgiveness Sylvanas supposes comes with time, though it has only been a year for Jaina since then.

Longer still for her.

But now the words are spilling out of Jaina, and it seems that the silence of the Maw demands filling from the both of them. “I’ve missed him so much. Derek’s death was incredibly hard on my parents. I was young then myself, maybe a bit too young to really understand, but I think a part of me missed him in the way that his absence affected them more than anything else. Even now, I’m happiest seeing him with my mother again, and how much joy he brings her.”

Sylvanas doesn’t often like to dwell on Derek Proudmoore, but the thought of an undead man being embraced by his living family hits her in a place she didn’t know was so exposed. She’s seen so much rejection of her Forsaken, though they are hardly hers anymore, so much hatred for them. She cannot imagine anything else but that for them.

Does Jaina have happy photographs of him next to those of the Windrunners on her mantle?

It isn’t her right to ask the question.

In fact, she can’t say anything at all.

“Derek drinks tea still,” Jaina tells her. “He says he likes how it makes him feel warm for a time. I thought you might enjoy it.”

She wraps her gracile fingers around her mug again, and tilts her head to the second one on the ground.

Sylvanas picks it up, but does not drink from it. She holds it, and admittedly relishes in the warmth that flows into her hands as she listens to Jaina talk about her brother with a fond grin.

[a-998h]

Heyy, guess who’s backk😁💕

Anyways, 🍉 ANON here and I would like to make a SAGAU request

{Reader} is a teen in this one, so obviously all of their relationships are platonic with each character

So in this scenario when {Reader} descends down to Teyvat, higher ups like gods and Archons [I don’t know if those are the same in thing in Genshin] but immediately get pampered

You see, the Archons think that {Reader} wasn’t strong enough to go into their full form—so they came back as a teen, and as well lost some of their memories

{Reader} half of the time barley can grasp what’s going on because they just got randomly teleported to their favorite game, and now they’re suddenly being showered in diamonds and the richest gifts

I also feel like there would be times where people would gather in where {Reader} resides to worship them, offer gifts and ask for favors

And honestly the archons were expecting {Reader} to be an adult [Not in a weird way] so when they wear their ceremonial clothes they look so adorable in them because their arms can’t even fit through the sleeves

And I feel like {Reader} would take advantage of their role in Teyvat, like they would complain of their feet hurting and people would rush towards them, offering to carry them on their backs or their already building something to carty them with that’s equally comfortable

And randomly people would see {Reader} outside with a character as they plan to build a building of {Reader}‘s choice

Scenario: “And the buildings gonna be pink! And have clouds painted on the walls, yes! And with comfortable seats and flooring! And lots of stuffies!” {Reader} yelled enthusiastically as they waved their arms around which was hidden by their ceremonials long sleeves which covered almost all of their hands, as they excitedly explained what their building was going to look like

So now there’s just random vibrant ass buildings in the middle of towns that anyone can visit— and they all treat it like a sanctuary

I also feel like people would obviously give them special treatment, and {Reader} would try to wave them off like “I’m not a piece of glass, I’ll be fin-“ and as they say that their trip on their robe and fall face first on the ground.

Or like {Reader} would run away from important meetings, and they would lie to get away with it because the Archons would never think the Divine one would ever lie to them—so like the Archons, soldiers like Gorou waiting for {Reader} to arrive and it’s dead quiet, the only sound is the clock hanging on the wall ticking as some of the characters count the seconds of how late {Reader} is—before eventually someone goes looking for them responsibly or everything goes to shit as everyone tears the place up to find {Reader}, while they’re like up a random tree or something giggling mischievously, while behind them where they reside is burning down because they’ve disappeared/j—

Or I wonder how the some characters would react if {Reader} had a crush on someone their age, like an Npc and I wonder how overprotective they would be while the parents of that kid are just like “The Divine one has chosen my child” and the child in question is scared shitless because the most powerful people hate their guts because {Reader} likes them

But yeah, that’s all I request! Have a good day!

-🍉 ANON

Thanks 🍉 ANON, but next idea only have one idea per request so the post doesn't get too crowded.

But you are right, the Creator is getting pampered by everyone. Whether it's Venti braiding your hair, Furina sharing her sweets with you, Xiangling cooking for you, etc. You're their devine creator, they love you. They think something happened to your powers to make you teen sized. They love you regardless of your age.

The building idea is funny. Every nation has shrines for the Creator. They would decorate the shrines with the local style mixed with however you want. They're grateful that you welcome them into your sacred spaced.

Running away from important meetings would never happen because they wouldn't make you go to any. You're powers haven't fully returned, meaning you got injured in some way. They also knew you wouldn't be able to focus so no important meetings for you.

If you had a crush, everyone would fine it cute and kind of sad. If the crush was on someone who is immortal then it would be OK because then you two can date and be with each forever. If the crush was human, they would feel upset having to crush your hopes. Humans won't live as long as you will, so they want to try and save you from that heart break. Zhongli would try and set you up with Xiao, Xianyun would try and set you up with Ganyu, and everyone who wants to date you would try to win your affection.

[yourmomxx]

GIRL CRUSH

❧ summary - you are in love with jj, but he only has eyes for someone else

❧warnings - signs of depression, disassociation and withdrawal, all the angst, unrequited feelings, this is written kind of abstract, I think?

❧word count - 4.7k

❧based on this request

songs ❧girl crush - harry styles ❧she - dodie ❧astronomy - conan gray

❧main masterlist

“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?” ― James Patterson, The Angel Experiment

Kiara Carrera was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.

It was a fact almost as certain as the continous circling of the earth around the sun.

She was captivating, really, and it was such a strong pull toward her it almost confused you.

Her hair was dark, curls silky and defined, in a way that yours could never be. You wished, sometimes, you had her tan skin, smooth and soft, the object of all desires. The way she walked was enchanting, floating just the right amount in her step and never too harsh. You could drown in the deep brown of her dark eyes, expression of empathy and compassion, sincere in a way you only wished you could be.

You were in love with Kiara Carrera, because who couldn’t be, with her angel voice, and her confident attitude, and the way she smelled of flowers, and beach, and the rising sun on the first summer day.

Kiara Carrera had once in your presence been compared to a descendant of the Greek goddess Aphrodite, which, in all honesty, you couldn’t do anything else than agree to. You would know, you were one of her best friends, you spent almost every waking minute with her and the rest of the pogues, and yet you never grew tired of the spark she had that made her glowing golden.

The amount of guys you’d had walking up to you, to ask for her or about her, and how could you blame them, you understood. But you turned them away.

You would like to say it was merely for Kiara’s gain, because you didn’t want one of those not-serious screwboys in her near, but it wasn’t, you weren’t considerate like that, another trait that she had you forward in.

But Kiara Carrera, beauty incarnate, the princess of pogues, living evidence of relations between the rich and the poor side of the island, had only eyes for one specific person herself. A boy that made her smile in a way that made her forget the entire world around her, and also shake her head in exasperation when he talked sometimes.

The lucky guy’s name was JJ Maybank, and he was her best friend, and, in a way, also yours.

JJ admired Kiara. In that way, he was no different to the other guys that kissed the blessed ground she walked on. He loved the way she paced around the room when she was contemplating hard, or the way the wind from over the sea blew a stray curl in her face.

JJ Maybank was more than his love for Kiara Carrera, though. JJ was kindness, and consideration, and he was the overcome of a terrible childhood, and he was the love he held for his friends.

In that way, you couldn’t blame Kiara for being infatuated him. Because who wouldn’t be? Thinking about it like that, they fit for each other perfectly, like two pieces of the same puzzle.

There was no space for you in-between. There never had been.

It had become a tradition for you and JJ to meet up in-between lessons to talk about the most mundane things, gossiping about annoying teachers and getting at least one intelligent conversation for the hour.

It was mostly JJ doing the talking, though, oftentimes. You didn’t mind. Letting JJ’s voice wash over you like the silent lullaby of the waves on a windy day had turned into a necessary comfort you couldn’t imagine to miss.

You hadn’t enjoyed school for a while now. There were too many people cramped up on too little space for your liking, and everyone wanted to talk about everything, and it demanded your concentration on things you found yourself not caring about or interested in.

But you met deadlines, and you delivered the grades, so that meant you were alright.

If the breaks you spent in-between classes leaning on your locker, talking to JJ - or mostly listening to him - were what made things worse or better, you didn’t know. And even if you had caught yourself glancing at his quickly moving lips for far too long than a friend should every once in a while, then you didn’t allow yourself to think about it.

The cheaply painted, red metal was cold against your cheek, as you did your best to not bend over and throw up that sickening feeling that’s been sitting heavy on your chest the entire day.

It was Thursday. Maybe. Might be Friday. You didn’t really remember it all that much anymore, it all was blurred. JJ was talking about a party he went to, where he met someone who told him something, that’s what your mind managed to register.

JJ didn’t enjoy spending time with you anymore. It was clear to you, clearer than freshly polished glass windows.

He hasn’t said it like that, of course.

JJ would never, he was too nice.

But you weren’t Kiara, and JJ would much rather spend time with her than with you. You knew that, it was not hard to tell.

All at once, JJ suddenly stopped his rambling mid-sentence.

You didn’t need to see the way he glanced over your shoulder as he suddenly stood taller, or hear the silk voice travel down the hallway, calling out his name, to realize who had shown up.

You recognized it in the change of his eyes when he looked at her.

Kiara swerved a younger student as she headed straight up to JJ, hugging him, and greeting you with the most blinding and sincere smile you’d ever seen someone wear.

She made it so easy to love her that you felt terrible about wanting to hate her.

Those thoughts were changed when she looped her arm around JJ’s and fixed his hair.

JJ’s hair didn’t need fixing, that’s what you thought. He was beautiful when his blond strands were tousled, boyish, and it added up with the mischievous glint that swam in his eyes.

You were being unfair now, you knew that, Kiara wasn’t the bad guy here, she’d merely pushed a strand of JJ’s hair aside as she talked to him.

JJ’s skin was surely burning at the spot where her skin had touched his.

You knew yours was.

JJ’s voice would be different as well, when he spoke to Kiara.

It was light, in a way that you knew you could never make him sound, because you had no way to make him feel free, and careless, and cared for, not in a way you used to, when he was still only friends with her and you were allowed to be selfish enough to keep him to yourself.

The sickening feeling spread again. From your chest, down to your stomach and in your throat, quite like the exact opposite of the warmth that seeing JJ once had given you, and you almost laughed at the irony if you weren’t in so much pain.

JJ waved his hand at you. “Hey man, see you later, I told Kie I’d walk her to class.” You blinked.

Kie. He liked to call her that. A nickname. He’d never given a nickname to you.

You nodded. “Yeah no, sure. See ya.”

JJ disappeared into the crowd, Kiara somewhere next to him.

All of a sudden, you didn’t know if the world had been this blurry the entire time.

The next time it happened, was at the beach.

You were walking next to JJ on your right side, Kiara was occupying your left. You were on your way together to John B’s cabin to meet him and Pope there, and had decided to take the long route next to the raging sea.

Wind was carrying the smell of salt in your direction, and JJ’s tanktop was tugged around all over his body.

In hindsight, you should have known. In hindsight, if you had spun the thought only a bit further, you would have known that there would not be a way for this to work.

JJ and Kiara were two forces pulling each other near, nothing that only possessed human strength could put itself between them, it was no use, not even to try.

“And I mean, the Carsons got this huge boat-”

JJ gestured around with his hands when he talked. You leaned slightly away as to not get in the way of his movements.

Kiara was focused on him when JJ spoke. Her body subconsciously drifted nearer.

You leaned slightly away so she wouldn’t bump into you.

JJ made a joke.

Kiara laughed.

She doubled over and leaned into JJ. Her hand found his arm as she slapped him playfully. JJ tucked his head down. Blushing, probably.

This time, the sickening feeling started in your stomach and chest already.

They were walking together now, right next to each other. Their joy-bounced steps carried them further than yours, weighed down by longing, and caring, and guilt, and you fell back.

The only thing you could do was follow their already vanishing footsteps in the sand.

When you arrived at the cabin, and Kiara and JJ greeted your friends a whole lot of feet before you did, John B raised his eyebrows at you, questioning.

You ignored his suspicious look.

Pope seemed to hold you just the tiniest bit closer when he hugged you.

The feeling spread out to your head.

The last time it happened was at a party.

One, that, in your defense, you did not even intend to show up to. It was a house party, which was unusual enough as it was, which pogue was there you could meet that had enough space in their house to throw a party and enough determination to clean it all up afterwards?

But, apparently, John Laren had moved new on the island, and wanted to make his presence known as of that event. Where middle-aged people brought casseroles, cupcakes or batches of brownies, eighteen year-olds threw massive parties with drugs and alcohol for everyone that was underage and younger.

As mentioned, you hadn't planned to go. In your current condition, a party was really the last thing on your mind.

Unfortunately for you, though, you had not calculated Pope Heyward into that idea.

That prick.

"Yes, I'm coming!"

You rushed to your front door, almost tumbling over that goddamn couch leg that you had wanted to rip off for years now, and quickly swung open the thick hardwood, before the person on the other side could get a chance to pound against it as if their life depended on it again.

"Geez!"

Before you were even able to realize who stood before you, Pope had already shoved you by the chest, and into the house again.

The door slammed close again.

“You are going to that party.”

Your mind wasn’t working right now.

“What are you- Hey, come back!”

But Pope had already made his way up the stairs. You turned and ran after him.

By the time you arrived on the upper floor, Pope was already standing in your room, ready to open the closet doors. You jumped forward and slammed then closed, guarding them with your arms spread like something sacred.

“Slow down,” you said. Pope rewarded you with an impatient look.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know what i’m doing here,” Pope shot back, no hesitation.

You withstood the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’m not going to John Stewart’s,” you clarified.

Pope did roll his eyes.

“His name is John Laren,” he corrected you. “John Stewart is on reality tv.”

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and easily maneuvered your non-resisting body to the edge of your bed.

“And you are going,” He stated. He pressed you into the mattress.

“Now sit down and be quiet, and let me pick out something for you to wear.”

Pope whirled around and ripped the closet doors open. He began rummaging though the different shirts and pants that were hung up inside.

“I don’t understand why you so desperately want me to go,” You said, swerving right to ditch an orange shirt that came flying at you just in time.

“Because,” Pope drew out the word slowly, as he concentrated on a black tank top in his hands, “you’re sulking.”

He walked over and thrusted the top into your grip.

“And when you’re sulking, I’m sulking,” he continued. “We’re twinning.”

“But we’re not-“ Pope raised a warning eyebrow. You raised your hands in defeat.

“Alright, alright.”

Pope patted your cheek.

“That’s my boy.”

A second of hesitation, but Pope sighed and the mattress dipped as he sat down next to you.

"Look, man," He started, hesitantly. "I like to think that you don't think I'm stupid."

You raised your eyebrows. Pope continued.

"And, considering I don't need glasses, unlike - some of us-" He took a deep breath.

"Man, I see the way you look at Kiara."

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline.

The way you looked at- "What?" You stuttered out, not even trying to hide how baffled you were.

Pope shook his head. "My bad, I should have worded that differently. I mean the way you look at Kiara, when she is around JJ."

Oh.

Oh.

Ah.

Your body felt slow. This made way more sense.

You didn't even notice how you were slowly turning away to not have to look Pope in the eye.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't-" Pope scoffed. More at himself than you, really.

"I know we have that rule. No pogue on pogue macking? But seriously, man, I should be the first person who knows what it feels like to be in love with their best friend. And honestly? I can't blame you."

You felt a comforting pressure on your shoulder when Pope placed his hand there.

"I want you to know I'm not judging you. Don't feel bad about ... what you're feeling. You know?"

You loudly breathed in, not even knowing what to say. What could there be to say?

Pope stood up again. His hand slid off your shoulder slowly. He didn't hold your silence against you. You silently thanked him for it.

"Look, that's the whole reason I want you to go to this party. You need to loosen up a little, drink away your thoughts, get some groove in."

Pope demonstrated his words by shaking his whole body from one side to another like a dancing snake.

The corners of your mouth cracked into a smile at that. Pope saw it as a win, turned back to your closet again, grinning.

You sighed, suddenly reminded of why he was here in the first place.

"What would I even be doing there?"

Pope shrugged, still rummaging through all your clothes, not caring about any mess. "Go out. Have fun. Have some drinks. Have some boys, have some girls, whatever you're feeling tonight."

You ignored him. "Are JJ and Kiara going to be there?"

"No," Pope answered shortly and pulled out cargo pants from the closet. "They both have plans."

"Together?"

Pope threw the pants at you. "Here you go. Put it on, fifteen minutes, downstairs." He waved himself off. "Actually ten, you're not a teenage girl. Let's go!"

And just like that, he was out the door. You regarded the clothes in your hands skeptically, the black tank top and dark green cargo pants, and couldn't help but notice, how Pope had not answered your question.

Jason Lawrence was a Pogue, whose lifestyle drifted more toward the direction of Kook. There had been a few of them over time, the line between too poor and too rich wavering, and they were trapezing on it.

Whether John Lance invited all entirety of the cut to show off, or to really just throw himself a good old welcome party, remained unclear.

In all honesty, you didn't really care that much. The only reason you were here was because of Pope, and the second he dared to take his eyes off you for more than five minutes, you would be gone like the wind.

Multicolored lights flashed over the ceiling like the spotlights in a club. Most people that were running around with red solo cups in their hands, you recognized - from bonfires or other house parties.

In a way, the entire cut was just like a really big neighbourhood.

Your eyes searched over the crowd of people, desperately looking for a quiet space next to a wall, hopefully, and you politely denied a blond girl with just the necessary amount of covering-up clothing, when she offered you a drink.

"Come on, man, at least pretend like you're having fun!"

Pope appeared next to you out of the blue, and if the loud music hadn't swallowed his equally yelled words, you would have flinched.

You shot your friend a grim look.

"That would be lying, and I don't like lying."

A sharp pain erupted in your chest when Pope stabbed his finger right above your sternum.

"See, I know that's a lie," He said. "Because I know you like lying, I saw you lying often, so what you just said -" He raised his poking finger, "-'t was a lie."

You leaned closer to him and furrowed your eyebrows.

"Dude, are you drunk already?" You asked loudly.

"We've barely been here for half an hour!"

Pope shrugged, shoulders and hips moving to the rhythm in a way that was definitely not correct by beat.

"Chester from the mini bar did a mix for me!" He explained, hand shooting out to point you in the direction where he had come from.

You raised your eyebrows. Chester from the mini bar might have mixed Pope's stuff a bit too well. That lightweight couldn't hold his own on a normal day with a beer.

You smelled the cup in his hand and couldn't fight off the way your face twisted in disgust.

"Dude, what is in there?" You took the cup out of Pope's hand, which was relatively easy, he wasn't all there with his hand anyways.

Pope drew his eyebrows together and pulled his lips into a pout.

"I was drinking that," He complained. You shook your finger in front of his face.

"I think you've had enough, honestly."

"Give that-" Pope burst forward and grabbed for your hand holding the drink, but you pulled it out of his reach just at the right time and raised your hand in the air the highest you could.

Additionally, you raised yourself on the tips of your toes.

Pope tried to stretch himself, but it didn't budge, so he shorthandedly pressed his thumb into the crook of your elbow hard, forcing you to bend your arm down.

Your friend let out a victorious laugh as he reached for the cup that was now almost on eye-level with him, when you made a not thought-through decision on the spot, raised the cup to your lips and downed its contents in one sip.

The liquid went down your throat like cold fire.

Your entire inside squirmed, and your face twisted into a grimace of pure disgust.

"Hey!" Pope threw his hands in the air.

"You're drinking, man! You're having funnnn!"

You wouldn't have put it like that, maybe. But when Pope grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you with him, through the crowds of people and to the shining neon letters that said MINI BAR, you just followed him.

You were having fun. It was almost an hour later, or maybe two, might have just been a half, you didn't really know. Or care.

The solo cup you were sipping held your fourth drink tonight, or your sixth, or your third, you had absolutely no idea.

All you knew was that it burned in your throat like any good liquor should, and that it made you feel good in a way you hadn't felt for weeks now.

The way you weren't quite in full control of your limbs was a side effect you chose to ignore.

The air was vibrating. All colors were more saturated than the first time you came in, they flickered behind your eyelids even when you weren't looking.

Hot bodies of multiple people crowded together, somewhere a table was playing beer pong, while the music roared through your blood stream and pushed arenaline with it.

It felt good. You felt good.

Why hadn't you done this much sooner, Pope was right. And alcohol was great. Like, actually.

The tunes drew you in. Masses of people, it felt, were moving in the same way, all together.

You closed your eyes, and just let it go.

No thinking about the right way to move your lips, the sweat slowly dripping down the back of your neck, or how the alcohol in the cup wasn't quenching your thirst, just worsening it.

It didn't matter. It was as if the music had manifested itself physically, and was moving all of your senses totally on its own.

You felt light, a feeling you had missed over the last few months.

Your chest was free, you could breathe.

The air was full of euphoria, it tasted of glee.

Suddenly, there was a sound that stood out, something that didn't fit the atmosphere.

You blinked your eyes open just the slightest bit.

There, just a few feet away from you, you made out a familiar arrangement of blond strands - some dark, others lightened by the burning sun out on the waves of the sea.

It was a magnetic pull, you couldn't do anything against it if you wanted to. You hadn't really been in posession of your own body since you had taken that drink from Pope.

"JJ!" You heard yourself call out.

Your friend turned around to you, and God, his eyes were beautiful. The string of colorful lights was perfectly illuminating the small streak of skin that was laid free beneath the unbuttoned top of his shirt, a brown one, lazily tucked into casual jeans.

He looked good.

And would you love to blame that thought on your currently dosed state.

So you did.

Your hand slapped on the place of his shoulder, just where his neck met his chest.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, loudly to overcome the sound of the music. "Thought you had plans."

JJ grinned. You mimicked it. Pope had once told you about the mirroring statistic with people one liked. You thought it was bullshit.

"Made a last minute change!" JJ yelled back, and even in your current condition you noticed how his gaze flickered, searching for something that wasn't you in the crowd of people.

"Me and Kie made a stop here before ending our date!"

You blinked.

“Huh?”

You were quite sure JJ repeated his same answer to you. But you didn’t really know, because your ears felt stuffed.

Me and Kie made a stop before ending our date.

Me and Kie. Our date.

You stumbled back.

John B had dunked your head in cold water once to sober you up. This was worse.

Your chest felt heavy, pressed together in a camp handle.

Your hand dropped from JJ's shoulder. He didn't notice. His eyes kept scanning the crowd.

You backed away. You needed space, just some way for your chest to expand and let air into your lungs.

Your back hit another wall of bodies. Everything was so tight around you.

The air didn't feel euphoric anymore, it felt stuffed, and thin, and heavy.

You needed to get out of here.

Stumbling, tumbling and tripping, eyes always focused downwards, you pushed past one person after the other.

You didn't know where you exactly were going, but when you reached a wall, there had to be a door somewhere too, right?

You got lucky. A tall boy was pushed into you and made you almost fall over, but the way you leaned into a different direction drew your attention to a large gate not too far away.

You gathered your last bit of lasting strength in your legs and pushed yourself out of the house, out of the stuffed room, into the cold air of the night, and the smell of sea salt rather than the salt of sweat.

You left the lights behind you. You just kept going. You needed to get some distance between you and that house.

You ran until you reached the shore; quite literally.

The hard wood of the dock creaked under every step you took further out, until you reached the ending.

Tied down ships were softly tuckering on the wooden stakes.

Rather laboriously, you leaned down to sit on the edge of the not fenced trail. You brushed some dirt off your palms, and hugged your knees to your chest.

Almost every last drop of drunkness you had felt just a few minutes earlier, had vanished.

There were no chattering voices around you, nor the hard bass of a remixed 2000's pop song. Just the small, almost not there, rush of the rustling waves.

An occasional drop signified fish swimming to the surface and diving down again.

Some frogs were quacking in the tall blades of grass.

You pressed your knees closer to your body.

Through your lungs, you inhaled the warm summer air. It would soon be morning.

Something directed your thoughts to the song 'Memory' from Cats.

"And soon it will be morning".

The background noise around you didn't change.

You hated how weary you felt, how heavy your heart. From one sentence, how your night was taken in one's hand, and crushed right in-between his fingers, without him even realizing the splinters digging into his palms.

You hated how much power you had given him over you, a man, a boy, who had no interest in you besides the one of a good friend, which was fine, you should be fine with that.

But for some reason, you weren't, in the same way that you weren't altruistic, and not a girl with dark hair and curls and tan skin, the way that you just weren't Kiara Carrera.

Who were you to blame JJ for the way you couldn't grow up and grow out of your feelings.

"Touch me, it's so easy to leave me".

A soft creak behind you caught your attention.

You didn't turn around.

There was no danger to be expected from the people on the Cut. Not that you knew of.

You told yourself that was the reason you stayed.

Not the fact that you didn't care, if the approaching footsteps were danger or not.

A body, clad in a dark brown shirt and jeans plopped down a few feet to your right.

You almost retched when the smell of distinct perfume reached your nose.

"What happened, man?" JJ asked loudly. "You just ... left, back there. We didn't know where you were." He chuckled. You could hear it in his voice, the way he was still rest-drunk. "Thought you found yourself a nice lady and decided we weren't enough fun, if you know what I mean."

You stayed silent.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw JJ looking at your side.

You heard him sigh.

"Man, I'm serious. If something's wrong, you can talk to me. I'm always there for you, you know that."

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Was it fair to let him fidget, like a fish on a rod? As far as you knew, JJ hadn't done anything wrong, not actively.

You stared out the sea.

"I don't like you with Kiara." Your voice was raw and rough. You slightly cleared your throat.

The light breeze made the reeds rustle in a whisper.

JJ sighed and rubbed a hand over his face frantically.

"I know, man," He murmured. "No pogue on pogue macking, I get it. I broke the rule."

You hummed. Behind the horizon, the sky colored brighter.

"Maybe it's that, yeah." You still didn't turn your head.

The night ended and greeted the day, the blood rushing through your ears drowning out any other noise around you.

You pushed down the shiver that threatened to shake your body when the wind picked up.

“But maybe it’s just because I am so terrifyingly in love with you.”

Behind the reeds and over the smooth water, the sun rose slowly above the Banks, a burning orange flare of light.

“I believe in love and lust and sex and romance. I don't want everything to add up to some perfect equation. I want mess and chaos. I want someone to go crazy out of his mind for me. I want to feel passion and heat and sweat and madness. I want valenties and cupids and all of that crap. I WANT IT ALL” ― Barbra Streisand

[lilap20]

Chapter VI: The Wedding

@koobratzy

@beebeechaos

New chapter released, hope you like it

The Kingdom holds its breath as the day of greatest union ever seen in the history of Westeros arrives. Princess Targaryen, second daughter of King Viserys, marries the Lord of Winterfell, unifying the two greatest Houses of the North and the South. It is said that many came to see this wedding, dragons roared in the night, wolves howled marking a great alliance. It is said that the ceremony was intimate, with love flowing from both bride and groom But the most interesting is undoubtedly the night you go to bed. Princess Nymeria was aged ten and six, Lord Cregan twenty. Many might say that the bride and groom would have waited until the Princess was ten and seven years old, but Maesters and Mushroom agree that the Princess was a worthy descendant of Princess Alyssa, her grandmother. It is said that Winterfell Castle was shaken by bedroom noises until early in the morning.

-It's the day ! Talyssa and Rhaenyra shout

It's the day…

All around me, everyone is busy, the servants are opening the luggage, the castle is being prepared for the reception, I am being grabbed everywhere and I don't see Cregan all day. It weighs on my heart a little but I have too many problems to think about it for long.

With my aunt and my sister I organize my outfits, listening to my aunt's advice carefully. My sister and Talyssa weave the pearls and rubies that will style my hair, I watch my aunt explain the duties of marriage to me, I have never been so embarrassed.

-Listen to me Nymeria, she said inspecting my dress, a good husband does not hurt his wife in the marital bed, and I turn purple, he is gentle and loves his wife.

Rhaenyra tenses when she hears our aunt's sideways glance at her. It is true that her marriage with Leanor is not yet bearing fruit, but we cannot ignore my cousin's inclinations either.

-From this union, the Kingdom expects a lot, continues my aunt inviting me to extend my hands, but you must not live only for duty, she smiles at me caressing my hands, enjoy your marriage and your husband my dear cousin .

My heart melts in my chest and without even waiting or thinking I throw myself into his arms, holding him against my heart touched by his words. The words they say now are the words my mother should have said.

-Thank you very much Aunt Rhaenys. I whisper against her

Tense against my embrace, she ended up giving me two pats on the back, then caressing my hair in a motherly way.

-You're welcome, my little cousin, you can count on me.

I haven't eaten since I broke my morning fast, the stress spinning like a ball in my stomach. The guests were arriving, the castle in the North was silent, the old town was becoming noisy and nervousness was playing with my mind.

My dress hangs in front of me, its pure color only increasing my apprehension. I will be married tonight, my cousin Ser Leanor will take me to my husband, and the Gods know I wish it was Daemon.

-Stop thinking too much.

I turn around watching my future husband's sister Sara come into my room, she didn't knock and her appearance took me by surprise, only I like her comforting smile on her face.

-How do you know I'm thinking? I ask inviting her to sit with me

She sits in front of me placing a large bag in front of us, I observe her for a while seeing a certain fur overtakes it.

-Every bride thinks about her wedding day, I can't imagine what's going on in your head given the stakes.

It is true that my marriage is not just a simple union between two beings who love each other, but it represents the union of the North and the South. This is the only marriage between a Stark and a Targaryen. The children who will emerge from this union will be almost like Gods to the people of the South.

-Don't worry too much, Princess, Sara smiled, my brother has loved you since the day he laid eyes on you. And I can assure you that he is in the same state as you.

My curiosity is immediately stirred and I ask him with my hand on my mouth as if it were a dirty secret:

-Is he really? Nervous ?

Surprised by my question Sara remains a little open-mouthed before laughing exactly like Cregan but with a thinner voice. I find myself smiling when I see her laugh, she will be a good friend, everything about her exudes confidence like her brother.

-My Princess, she smiled, trying to stop her laughter, I have never seen him in such a state, he is so confident, yet now he is only nervous.

It reassures me that Cregan is in the same state as me, I don't like being alone with the nervousness. Sara frowns when she sees that I haven't broken my lunch, she advises me to eat, but I explain to her that I can't swallow anything because I'm too nervous.

-You should really eat Princess, Sara points out, but I'm bringing you this, a gift that my brother can't take you.

My heart reacted a quarter of the time hearing that Cregan sent me a gift. I thanked him, opening the bag and my jaw dropped to the floor when I saw it. Beautiful soft white fur, my hand dips into it and I compare it to the clouds in the sky. It is not long dragging on the ground, it is worn on the shoulders.

-She’s beautiful… I whisper

-She is the piece that was missing from your dress. Adds Sara while smiling -She is.

We stay talking for a long time, and I get to know my future sister, she manages to make me eat which surprises my eldest when she comes into my room. Then Sara leaves, excusing herself to go see Cregan, leaving the women of my House to give me a bath and take care of my hair.

It is at this moment that I understand that evening is falling and that the ceremony will not take long.

The bath as hot as the dragon with scents of roses and spices from Pentos perfumes my skin making it soft to the touch. But I'm not concerned about the softness of my skin, or the noises behind my door, no. I am transfixed in front of my portrait which is reflected in the large glass. My silver hair is tied in a large braid wrapped around my elegantly tied hair, on top the pearls and rubies braided by my sister and Talyssa make it sparkle.

My snow-white wedding dress is decorated with a scaled pattern representing the dragon, its long sleeves have the pattern of dragons and wolves and dragons in silver satin, two brooches close the front of the dress, one Targaryen the other Stark, and the dress flares out from my tight waist. And to top it all off, the beautiful white fur that surrounds my neck and shoulders going down to my forearms and a little down my back.

-Gevis. Someone whispers and I jump

My heart races, my mouth drops open when I see my uncle Daemon leaning against the door with a satisfying smile on his lips. Even before my brain commands it, I jump into his arms, probably surprising him.

-Oh my little adventurer who are you going to fight in this outfit? He mocks, caressing my back

-What are you doing here ? I ask walking away from him

-Aren't you happy to see me? Daemon asks, raising an eyebrow.

A smile splits my face.

-Yes I'm happy, I really am, but you told me that…

-The scholar of Pentos allowed Leana to travel on the back of a dragon with me, my uncle explained to me, I didn't want to take the risk but your father sent me a raven urging me to go to the wedding and take you to your husband, so I spoke to the Lord of the North who swore to keep this a secret until I arrived here.

My jaw quickly finds the floor, so Cregan knew about Daemon?

-You came because Viserys told you to come? I ask playing with my fingers

-No, little adventurer, I came because I had to and I wanted to, it’s me who’s supposed to take you in front of your husband and not Leanor. You are like my daughter Nymeria, without even Viserys' letter I could not have left you alone.

Tears appear in my eyes and a small drop runs down my cheek, Daemon wipes it away with the back of his thumb, a tender smile on his face. Then Daemon will be the one to give me to Cregan, I am overjoyed.

-So cousin Leana is with you?

-Yes, smiled Daemon, she is with her parents going to the Heart Tree.

My throat tightens as I think of the guests heading to the place of the gods for the ceremony. My uncle notices this and comes over to take my hands in his.

-Everything will go well, your future husband is as nervous as you, proof that he undoubtedly loves you.

-Thank you for being here. I sigh looking at him

Daemon smiles fully something rare before leaving me to head towards the package he gave me.

-You didn't open it. Does he notice

-I was waiting for the wedding, I answer, I would like to open it now.

I approach and Daemon hands it to me so that I can open it, I discover the package with wide eyes at its contents. It's not often that Daemon gives me jewelry, he usually saves it for Rhaenyra, but for this day, he gave me a beautiful pair of dragon wing earrings, the gold and the glass shines and sparkles when I hold them.

-It's diamond and gold, I had it forged for you, you will be here with the Starks but I don't want you to forget that you are a Targaryen and that you are the dragon. You are the fire in the winter, you will also be additional security for the North, your children will speak Valyrian and will know their stories, and they will undoubtedly have Dragon and Giant Wolf. But you are still Targaryens, you are a Princess Nymeria, and I am proud of you. You do me honor.

My heart overflows with tears of joy and my hands tremble when I hear it. He brings me support and courage but above all love at this moment when I need it more than anything. I'm ready to take the step, I'm ready to go to my wedding.

The Heart tree in front of me is different from the one in the Red Keep. It is larger, wider, more majestic and its red is flamboyant. But my gaze is not fixed on this God of the Forest, my gaze is fixed on the man below. In his furs, shaved and coiffed, his gaze riveted on me, Cregan stands waiting for me for the wedding.

There were very few guests for the vow ceremony, present from my House, my Uncle and my Aunt Rhaenys and Corlys, my sister and heiress Rhaenyra and my cousin Leanor with them my pregnant cousin Leana and my Uncle who is holding my elbow with honor and emotion. Talyssa is there too, tears streaming down her cheeks causing my body to churn with love. Queen Alicent looks down at me from my sister's side, jealousy and contempt play on her face, but she smiles when our eyes meet.

On Cregan's side, his sister Sara is standing in the front row, with her members of House Bolton and other guests.

With my heart beating I approach Cregan and the big bearded man in front of the tree I jump making Daemon laugh when the ceremony begins:

-Who comes before the ancient Gods this night? Exclaims a big bear man

-Princess Nymeria Targaryen. Presents Daemon with his deep voice barely betrayed by his emotion, She comes here to get married, a true and noble adult woman. She comes to implore the blessing of the Gods, who is there to claim it?!

A quick glint of challenge appears in his eyes and I smile when I see it.

-I, Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, come here this night, before the Gods, to claim this Lady. Who is taking her to me?

-Me, Daemon serves my elbow stronger, Prince Daemon Targaryen who is the uncle and the father. My heart is helped by hearing it.

He lets me go slowly, placing me in front of my future husband, tears wet the corners of my eyes, and my body trembles slightly. I've never felt my heart beat so fast, and when his gaze looks into mine, that purple of ancient Valyria, I know he considers himself my father.

Cregan faces me, our eyes do not leave each other and our hearts undoubtedly beat in unison, he smiles at me and I faint, swallowing back my tears of joy. We turn to the officer of the ceremony who hides a smile under his beard.

- Princess Nymeria of House Targaryen, do you take this man? asks the man

-Yes, a warm smile stretches my lips, I take him for my man.

Cregan holds my hand with his, a happy, joyful smile, he holds it so hard that it warms at his touch.

-So Cregan Stark, take your wife Lady Nymeria now, of House Stark. Said the proud man looking at Cregan

My heart stopped at the contact of his hand on my cheek, the blush didn't even color my face, my gaze fixed on his, and his thumb slowly caressing the corner of my lips.

And this softness that I feel and which envelops me, his lips on mine, the desire to abandon my body in his tickles my stomach as I press again on his lips when he tries to escape.

I force myself to separate myself from him, a playful smile hangs on his face and I roll my eyes, gradually turning red at the few mocking laughs from those assembled, but what makes me laugh heartily is my uncle's grunt behind me who had advanced:

-A little more and I would have ripped it off of you.

Cregan stifles a laugh at Daemon's threatening tone which makes me giggle.

-I present to you, Lord Cregan Stark, and Lady Nymeria Stark!

The party takes place before my eyes, men and women dance, children play and eat and I enjoy seeing my sister and my cousins ​​dancing with Talyssa.

Cregan's hand caresses my thigh hidden by my dress and I tense when his fingers dig into the fabric.

-Your intentions are not subtle my Lord husband. I scoff softly trying to shoo his hand away

Cregan laughed as he drank some of the wine specially sent by my uncle Corlys.

-Did I only want to be subtle, my dear wife. My intentions are clear.

-And shared, I whisper and he almost jumps, I want it as much as you my Lord.

Cregan's intense gaze falls on me and I heat up, if Daemon wasn't arguing with Corlys I think he would have pulled me back. I look out of the corner of my eye at Alicent who is playing with a ring on her finger, Ser Criston Cole is standing behind her making me feel nauseous. His gaze is fixed on Rhaenyra.

-I hope you won't cause a deadly fight tonight, Ser? I address provocatively to Criston Cole

The knight tenses, turning his tongue seven times before answering me, a sideways glance at me.

-I will Princess.

-What ? I push a little more, You will cause death this evening to be pardoned…

-Nymeria. Cregan whispers to calm me down

-Princess. Alicent hisses

Ser Criston Cole swallows again under my attack but does not respond, giving me a murderous look which undoubtedly attracts Daemon's attention.

I confront him without fear, remembering what he is and what I am. Ser Erryck should be here, but he is with the Queen's children. And a murderer replaces him.

-I will retire to my rooms, Alicent informs, my congratulations again, my Lord, my Lady.

Cregan gets up, but I sit there glaring at Alicent, she waits for me to get up then sighs, turning away from me when she realizes I won't move. She finally leaves the room.

-Was it necessary? Cregan asks, taking my hand.

-She deserves all my contempt, I respond, rolling my eyes, I despise this good woman.

Cregan chuckles as he plays with my ringed fingers, I didn't bring a lot of jewelry with me, but I'll always have my rings.

-I don't think I'll ever get used to it, I raise an eyebrow, your Dragon character. He explains

The fire crackles in the fireplace, the room is a little warm, my gaze is drawn to the eyes, the purple in my eyes must shine. I hold the dressing gown around me, sewn by Sara in the colors of House Stark. My feet tap the ground frantically, my excitement mixing with my fear.

The door opens and closes, its noise doesn't distract me, but the hand that lifts my chin makes my heart race.

-You are beautiful Nymeria, he caresses my grayed white hair, I don't deserve you.

-Oh husband. I whisper in response

I find a way to lay him on the bed, my hand on his chest as I climb on top of him, my legs surrounding his hips, one of his hands on my hip, the other on my cheek.

-I am yours Cregan, entirely yours.

My face leans toward his, our noses touch, and my hair forms a curtain around us. He smiles back, his chest rising and falling against mine. “Ride him, like a Dragon” Daemon had told me earlier, I blushed

But I don't blush with shyness when our lips meet, I sigh with excitement rolling my hips against him as his hand squeezes my neck.

Our sighs and heavy breathing fill the room, my little clothes become bulky, embarrassing, wet. My lips are kissed by his while my hips press quickly against his member which hardens at his contact.

-Nymeria, princess… Moans Cregan as I stand up

The nightgown falls on my shoulders, my breasts poking out into view, my body straightened I ride him like I ride my dragon, his hands on my hips to help me. I feel this heat rising and playing in my body, it burns and transcends, it makes me drunk on him.

-Cregan… I moan, closing my eyes

-No, darling, look at me.

My hips lift as he joins me and my legs tremble at the feeling of fire in my veins. I am trapped in a burning sensation demanding to be released. Little cries escape me as I claw at Cregan's chest, our noises hitting the walls of the room, our breaths in symbiosis.

The knot in my stomach that holds the dam of heat tenses again and again and I cry out when it breaks, my body shaking completely as Cregan holds me in his arms caressing the back of my neck.

-Cregan, oh shit…

My husband curses and grunts, slowly slowing his hips before stopping and catching his breath.

-Everything is fine. He whispers against my ear

-Hm, I'm taking a little breath, yes.

As soon as I respond positively, Cregan turns us so that my back ends up on the mattress, him above me, his hand caressing my cheek, looking amazed.

-I must say that I did not expect that woman, I am pleasantly surprised.

I blush at his playful and completely indecent tone, which makes him laugh loudly. Cregan stands up, his gaze fixed on mine as he takes off the simple clothes he had on him, I don't have time to look between his legs because he is already helping me get rid of my little clothes and the nightgown, I grimace when I feel the wet fabric.

-Is this normal? I ask perplexed watching him put the clothes down.

-Yes, my wife, that shows how much you desire me. He explain to me

-Then I want you very much. I said laughing a little embarrassed

A charming smile appears on her face, my eyes leave the smile to look between her legs and I immediately close my eyes. How can this even fit into me? This defies the science of my works.

-Look at me Nymeria.

I open my eyes with difficulty, losing my footing when Cregan lies on top of me and I feel his penis stretched against my thigh, it's soft and hard, I want to touch it and discuss it, but my breath takes flight when his fingers come to caress a sensitive part between my labia.

-You're so wet, he moaned, pinching my pearl, what do you want, Nymeria?

I can barely breathe, little moans and mewls leaving my lips trying to form a sentence, my hips rolling against his hand the more he strokes me.

-Woman, he stops his movements and looks into my eyes, I need you.

I swallow, I need him too, need him inside me. Need to belong to him. So I grab the back of his neck bringing his lips to mine, the kiss is less urgent, it is more tender, slower and languorous. It represents warm and sincere love.

-I need you, I moan against his lips, I need you husband.

With a low growl, Cregan raises himself up, his lips still connected to mine, his hand slips between our two bodies, and I feel something soft caressing my penis, it was undoubtedly his.

-I have to warn you, princess, it will probably hurt. Whine my husband while positioning himself

-I'm not afraid, I answer, still doubting a little, just keep kissing me.

His lips took me elsewhere, as he fussed between us. They play, peck and suck as I feel the first pressure between my legs, my breath catches. Cregan tenses above me with an almost hurtful growl.

He pushes his forehead against mine a little more, the sire pearling on his face, tense features biting his lip. He is perfect. I run a hand through his hair, breathing through my nose as the pain intensifies.

-Maybe, I'm holding back a little sob, should we go straight away?

-I don't want to hurt you…

I caress his neck, his hair, encouraging him to go, after a deep breath and a tender look Cregan asks:

-Are you sure ?

-Yes…

A soundless cry leaves my mouth, lips open and wide-eyed I hold Cregan against me, pain radiating throughout my body. It was sudden and fast, I feel him all inside me, stretching me, and he doesn't move.

We stay there for an indefinite time without moving, he kisses my tear-wet cheeks, my forehead, my lips, caressing my back and my arms. And then over time, the pain fades, leaving me with discomfort.

-You can… move.

-Nyme…

-Move, please. I moan while kissing him

Cregan doesn't protest, I feel his hips move in a circle, the discomfort diminishes a little in the face of the movement the strange sensation of burning and heat rises in my stomach.

-Your gaze in mine. Moaned Cregan

And my gaze doesn't leave his, he holds my hip not completely coming out of me before returning, I jump at the sensation, the knot in my stomach tensing, I share his moans and sighs, my embarrassment is present but in the background, I'm obsessed with him.

His pace accelerates and his chest trembles against my hand, my hips find their balance and accompany his hip rolls making us moan out loud. I feel it, this fire that burns my veins is ready to knock me down again, I cling to Cregan with pleasure in his voice.

-Oh woman, he moaned, your eyes, your purple, by the Gods!

I claw at her back as I feel my point of no return, one of Cregan's hands passes between us and I see the stars as she plays with my pearl. Cregan's unmeasured breathing is a melody to my ears, and I feel myself cumming again.

-Cregan! I scream, Husband…

My stomach knots, contractions wrack my body and my head sinks into the pillow as I let myself be ravaged by the sensation of climax, Cregan moans at this, unrestrained, it becomes fast and uncontrolled.

-Woman, he whines, can I? Can I put a… child inside you.

-Oh yes…

-Fucking hell…

Cregan almost cried out, his cock reaching a depth that made my legs buckle, a warm sensation filling me and I moaned softly at the feeling of his seed. He is against me, full-length, his heart beating as fast as mine, his muscles trembling, a film of heat covering us.

-Thank you husband, I love you. I whisper with tears in my eyes

He stands up weakly, caressing my cheek, his gaze completely dilated. My heart pumps with love.

-It’s me who thanks you, I love you Nymeria.

[candycorncremator]

Unfortunately lower visual quality than I wanted be because Tumblr only allows 10 images so I smushed them into three canvases instead of two post. Anyway beta trolls Headcanon and some thoughts below the cut.

Aradia

Aradia is the design I probably have the most experience drawing of the beta trolls purely because of how many zines I’ve drawn her in the last year. I like thinking of her hair similar to Pinkie Pies’ in g4 of mlp, where it’s very curly bouncy in her alive and godtiered forms but straightens out more when she’s ghosting up the place and in Aradia-bot form. I didn’t realize until a recent zine I had been drawing her horns ways too low for comic accuracy but I am a creature of habit so I keep drawing them like that.

Tavros

I’ve grown to love this kid because of my recent reread but I do not like drawing them. Between the Mohawk and the long, straight horns, I don’t care to draw their most important traits so he unfortunately only gets drawn in these group drawings. As for the one ear being pierced, it’s kinda a reference to cow tags but also I think it just fits them.

Sollux

Sollux a pretty easy character to design. I just have to imagine a greasy nerd kid growing up too fast for him to put on weight, add his troll bits and voila. The snake bites are definitely a hold over from the humanstuck I made for him last year but I think it just kinda add to his whole vibe. The undershirt comes from someone who also sits in a hot-ass room most of my days and will wears a second layer so leaving the room won’t feel like stepping out into a frozen wasteland.

Karkat

Karkat for me has always been short and stout guy. Other than that most of his facial features are taken from me, being someone who also over exaggerates their faces and nearly always is squinting a little.

Nepeta

Between all my designs of Nepeta the only thing that ever changes with any consistency is her hair. Like giving her cleft lip scar because I gave it to my fan-descendent of her and it’s cute.

Kanaya

Like two months ago I saw a post on here saying give that girl a nose (in reference to Kanaya) and it was the single most true HC I have ever seen. I also like completely throw out any references I have of her when I draw her hair because I think she should have 1930’s waves and curls. I typically only have to draw the super simple eyes so the only thing I had to change was giving her actual eyes.

Terezi

Got pretty comic accurate but probably would erase some of the chin to imply she’s fat a little better if I wasn’t doing this more rigid style.

Vriska

Also pretty comic accurate with the exception of the snake bites which is probably because I don’t draw her a lot and I don’t think about her much enough looks wise to have any specific head canons.

Equius

Goodness his hair gave me a struggle, kept on looking like a balding metal head until I added the pushed back stuff. Also returned back to drawing pseudo animal ears by giving him horse ears only angle to better fit a humanoid head.

Gamzee

I hate their make-up but every thing else about drawing them is a dream; goat ears, not straight hair, simple horns, silly little guy. What more could I ask for.

Eridan

And I’m almost done but unfortunately this doofus is next and requires the most detailed bust even in canon. Due to drawing them in this year’s 413 countdown I know how I like styling their hair and fins so I basically just chop the hair up since this is suppose to be during comic hcs and then follow their canon and Pesterquest designs with a few added features and boom. I was drawing everyone with the dark grey lips but I forgot for Eridan so I’ll just say they use concealer on their lips.

Feferi

Yippee! Back to ignoring canon and just giving her the biggest eyes on account of her glasses and cute piercings. I originally based her fins off of lion fish fins but they’re definitely more based off of betta ventral fin now.

[caswensworld]

“The outfits in Descendants: The Rise of Red are so bad” “I hate them” what Descendants are y’all talking about?

We gonna start off with Uma. No, I’m sorry, Principal Uma! She looks so good! D2 vibes all around. Sure, there’s not as many sea trinkets as I’d like there to be but I can live with that. I missed her Pirate hat and her fringed skirt! The shredded shirt, I see you, Harry Hook inspired! I love the brown sleeves with glitter, that definitely reminds me of the sea. I just got black fingerless gloves but now after seeing her, I want gold…Great. I haven’t talked about her jacket cause there’s no discussion to be said. No defense to be made. Uma will always have that fashion!

Princess Red of Wonderland here is slaying! The designer understood the assignment! Red’s style is like a combination of Mal and Evie. The gown gives Evie’s royalty and the other gives Mal’s edge. Let’s start with the dress, I have always had a thing for corsets , I don’t know what it is, I just love them. Her arm warmers! Maybe it’s something on the arms, I just find it so sexy (y’all should’ve seen me swoon over Mal’s D3 moto sport fit). Why does her dress give more Queen of Hearts then the actual Queen of Hearts. And don’t act like we didn’t see that crown, Miss Ma’am.

Now the other picture, it may be dark but I saw everything I needed to. I think that’s a double belt she’s wearing and I love wearing more than one belt! The leather pants with the gems on the side, love that! Combat boots are my true love, but y’all. Y’all. The hood. THE HOOD! WITH THE GEMS!! OHHH! I need the character pictures to drop so I know what to gender-bend and thrift.

First off all, Hades always got it on but THIS! Hades is my spirit god! I am Hadie. I can see how he pulled Maleficent. This is my father, I dressed up as this specific Hades for Halloween. I love it when my gender wears makeup, I personally like painting my nails and wearing eyeliner so to see it on Hades, I’m very happy. I am a sucker for jewelry and that choker around the neck! I recently bought my own choker because of him! His leather jacket is everything! The studs! I haves stud fetish! I need the jacket but it’s just too expensive. Now the main thing we need to talk about is THAT SHIRT! OR SHIRTS! I fully believe these are two shirts safety pinned together! I think that the blue might be long sleeve while the gray is short! I got the safety pins so I find the right shirts, I will my customizing!

The Mistress of Evil, Maleficent always has that fashion chic. The complaints I do understand are from her horns and hair. We’re gonna start with her hair. People were expecting it to be people because Mal’s was purple. Y’all, you cannot expect me to believe Mal’s hair was an inherited trait, I did not believe for a second that Maleficent had purple hair. (Imma have to do a whole other post on that). Now the horns, I do believe that her horns are there and her hair is just long enough to be wrapped around her horns. (And if not, then we go all Dragon). Now let’s talk about the pros. THE PURPLE EYESHADOW!! I LOVE THAT! The leather corset, again, something about a corset! Why do I have the feeling that’s dragon leather? If that’s a thing, is that a thing? Now let’s talk about that single arm sleeve. Even as a teenager, Maleficent still looks regal! How many chains does Maleficent have? I love that. Ulyana is a mean girl, Maleficent is a BAD girl!

It’s not that she doesn’t look good, it’s just that it’s all red. I know that’s her main color, but she does also wears black with a little bit of gold. That’s pretty much my only complaint, she looks beautiful, I love how the dress looks like roses! The sleeves, I love translucent or mesh or whatever it’s called. The crown is crowning! Don’t get me started on that corset turned collar!! But I do understand why they made her all Red so she can contrast with Queen Cinderella!

I’m am rating this because the other one we saw is not a dress, that is a cape or cloak or something, I don’t know what it’s called. This dress is very beautiful, I have always preferred her blue over her silver but I do like how the designer added silver swirls. The jewelry is everything! The earrings, the necklace, THE SILVER CROWN! IT’S BEAUTIFUL! Brandy is royalty herself! I’m not sure if you guys can see it, but she does have these shiny translucent gloves and I like them. I don’t care what you people say, even if it’s a little random, her blue braid is absolutely beautiful! I absolutely love it!! The first black Cinderella then the first Cinderella with blue hair, Brandy is the literal definition of iconic. She is the history of Cinderella.

Emilio Sosa, the designer, is amazing and he deserves his roses and trophies

[caliburn-the-sword]

Do you have any Lonnie+family headcanons? The descendants franchise has done them dirty.

tbf i think that lonnie's family is the most fleshed out after ben's, the core4's and audrey's. but anyway

lonnie mentions that she used to bake cookies with her mum. i think she also would've grown up making dumplings with her

i don't think that lonnie would have been raised as extravagantly as many of her peers - remembering that her parents are decorated war heroes, so while they would have lived a comfortable lifestyle, it wouldn't be ANYWHERE near the level of the princes and princesses surrounding her. i think that's why she's a lot more down to earth and... normal

i know for a fact that she probably grew up with a small crusty white yappy little dog. probably a shih tzu. and probably named something terrible like coco (can't lie i had the exact same dog)

when her and her brother were children and their parents took them to see the lion dance shang woulda let his son sit on his shoulders and then when he got too old for that, lonnie

also. i think lil shang and lonnie used to reenact all the epic climax battles between the heroes and villains. i think they also would've thought over whose turn it was to be the bad guy this time

i think. one time when lonnie was a child. she would've gotten super annoyed at her brother and thrown a tantrum and pushed him in a lake. i have no proof and i don't know what the cause is, but i am certain that it happened. they came back into the house and lil shang was dripping wet onto the carpet. neither of them spoke when mulan interrogated them

li shang is THE girl dad of all time. you know that luxurious luscious hair he got?? yeah he let her braid it and put it in pigtails all the time and paint his nails and do his makeup

mulan is also a certified mint chocolate ice cream lover. NO one else in the family likes it. she has her own special tub she keeps in the freezer. her kids rib her for her choice every time they see it

i also think the house is divided on moon cakes. li shang would be SUPER particular about it at the store like like "good morning, where can i find your moon cakes with double salted duck egg yolks and lotus seed paste filling with the flaky crust". mulan probably has the simpler (but delicious) style she grew up with, likely a regional style that she would have to handmake. lonnie is all for the super specific one her dad likes, her brother likes the traditional homemade one

li family snowball fights get INTENSE. it's not a snowball fight, it's snowball warfare. mulan won the ultimate snowball fight with an avalanche and she will remind everyone of this every single winter, "so don't you dare throw a snowball at the back of my head when i'm not looking"

lonnie and her brother used to do competitive tree climbing as children. whoever reaches the top wins

is merida in the descendants universe?? if so i bet merida would've been their family friend and very close to their family and she would've been auntie merida to the kids. warrior girlies for life

that's all i've got but i hope you enjoyed!!

[kat-thepoet]

Veins of Violet

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Part 12: Sleeping beauty

A/N: Nothing- just enjoy!

Previous Chapters ☞ HERE ☜

8.6k words

Logans POV

I held her close, stroking her face, cradling her limp body in my arms. Everything around us was charred and broken, reduced to ashes. Laura sat beside me, absently poking at her shoes with a stick, but all I could focus on was Violet. I kept calling her name, urging her to wake up, but she wasn't responding.

"I think we need to go," Laura said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "She might not wake up." We'd been sitting here for what felt like an eternity, trying to get Violet to open her eyes. As I glanced at Laura, something gnawed at me, something I needed answers to."Why were you helping Strucker?" I asked, my voice low, barely keeping the anger in check. I needed to know why she was with that bastard, but it took everything in me to hold back the rage simmering beneath the surface.Laura looked at me, tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. She cleared her throat before speaking, and I could see the guilt written all over her face."Talk," I growled, my patience hanging by a thread. "I need to know why you did it."

Laura hesitated, the weight of the question bearing down on her, and I felt my grip tighten around Violet as I waited for her to answer.

"They found out where Violet worked, and they knew I was connected to her. For a month, I felt like someone was following me. Then, one day, when I was alone at the flower shop, Strucker came in and handed me a photo. It was of my foster dad—shot in the head. He said if I didn't help him, he'd kill my mom and brother too." She paused, her voice shaking. "I loved Violet like a sister, but they were my family, and I couldn't let anything happen to them. So I complied. I helped track where Violet lived, made it easy since she trusted me. But then I met you, and I wanted out. That's when Strucker killed my brother. He had them hostage at some unknown warehouse, so I couldn't ask anyone for help. He threatened to blow her to pieces if I did. I had to save my mom...she's the only one I have left, and—"

"You have me," I interrupted, my voice rough but filled with sympathy.

"But I betrayed you," she said, her voice cracking. "And now I have no idea where my mother is, and Violet is unconscious because of me."

"I know," I said softly, my voice gruff with understanding. "But you had no choice. And I know how it feels when you don't have a choice."

We sat in silence after that, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. There was nothing more to say—no words that could make this right. But I wasn't going to hold her responsible for something she couldn't control. 

After a few moments, we decided it was time to find somewhere that could help Violet. As we stood up, the sound of engines filled the air, and I looked up to see a jet slowly descending. It was big, black, and all too familiar. My heart skipped a beat as it landed—sleek and powerful, just as I remembered it. 

It was the X-Men jet.

Two figures emerged from the jet, and as they approached, their faces became clear. The first was Storm, her familiar gray hair styled in the same pixie cut that hadn't changed at all. Beside her was Hank—Beast. He looked a bit younger than I remembered, but the glasses were the same, and his scrawny body was the same as the other Hank.

As they walked toward us, Storm's eyes widened in shock. "Logan?" she said, disbelief clear in her voice. "You're alive?"

I met her gaze and shook my head slightly. "I'm not the Logan you think I am," I replied. "I'm from a different universe."

Their expressions shifted from shock to confusion. I could see the questions forming in their minds, but before they could ask, I added, "I know. I'm still getting used to it myself." Hank adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing as he processed what I'd said. "A different universe, huh?" he mused, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "So, I guess my multiverse theory was true after all."

I couldn't help but smirk at his remark—Hank's always been a nerd. But curiosity got the better of me. "How did you know we were even here?" I asked, glancing down at Violet's limp body, my concern for her outweighing everything else.

"Charles felt an intense amount of power here," Hank explained, his tone serious. "He told us to come check it out. But I never would have guessed you were here." "Well, it's good you came because we need your help," I said, my voice edged with urgency.

"We've been here for an hour, and she still hasn't woken up."

"Alright, let's get her onto the jet so I can check her vitals," Hank said, his voice calm but determined.

I nodded in agreement, carefully lifting Violet into my arms. Together, we all walked toward the jet, the weight of the situation pressing down on me with every step.

As Storm piloted the jet, Hank was busy checking Violet's vitals, monitoring her heartbeat with focused precision. Laura and I sat back, watching anxiously. I couldn't take my eyes off Violet, the worry gnawing at me. 

Noticing how tense I was, Laura reached out and placed her hand on mine. The unexpected touch made me flinch, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I let her hand stay there, a small comfort in the midst of the chaos.

After a few tense moments, Laura finally spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know when she's going to wake up?"

Hank glanced at her, his expression serious. "No, I don't. But when we get to the school, we can take a better look at her in my lab."

Laura furrowed her brow, clearly puzzled. "School?" she echoed, the confusion evident in her voice. Hank offered a small, reassuring smile. "Yes, the school. It's a place for people like us—mutants. We train there, learn to control our powers, and live together. It's called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

Laura's eyes widened slightly as she absorbed the information. "A school... for mutants?"

"Exactly," Hank confirmed, his tone gentle but inquisitive. "What's your name, if you don't mind me asking? And... are you a mutant?"

Laura hesitated, glancing at me before answering. "My name's Laura," she said softly. "And yes, I'm a mutant."

Hank nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Well, Laura, you're in good company. We'll do everything we can to help your friend, I promise."

I looked at Laura with a small smile, a flicker of hope stirring within me. She was tough, like me, but there was a vulnerability in her eyes that reminded me of what it was like to find a place where you belong. I couldn't help but think that she might like the school, just as I had in my world. It was a place that offered more than just training; it was a place that gave people like us a sense of family. 

It took about an hour to reach the school, which made sense once I found out we were in Serbia.  I couldn't shake the mix of anticipation and anxiety building inside me. I kept glancing at Violet, hoping she'd wake up, but she remained unconscious. Laura stayed close, her hand occasionally brushing mine, offering silent support.

Charles approached me, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of surprise and understanding. "Logan," he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of years. "I never imagined I'd see you again."

I nodded, the corners of my mouth twitching into a small, weary smile. "I'm not the Logan you remember, Charles. I'm from a different universe." The words felt strange, even after having said them before, but Charles took them in stride.

"I see," he replied, his tone contemplative. "The multiverse theory—Hank was always convinced it was possible. It seems he was right."

He paused, looking toward the medical room where Violet was being examined. "She's important to you, isn't she?"

"More than I can explain," I admitted, my voice rough with emotion. "She's been through hell, and now she's here... like this, because of Strucker."

Charles nodded slowly, absorbing my words. "We'll do everything we can to help her, Logan. I promise you that. You're not alone in this."

Hearing those words from Charles brought a small sense of relief, a reminder that even in this different world, there were still people who had my back. I leaned back in the chair, the tension in my muscles easing just a bit, as I waited for any news about Violet. As Charles looked over at me, his gaze shifted to the young woman sitting beside me. He studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was piecing something together.

"And who might this be?" Charles asked gently, his curiosity evident.

"This is Laura," I replied, glancing at her with a mix of pride and protectiveness. "She's... well, she's like me."

Charles raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like you? A mutant?"

"Yeah," I confirmed. "She's got claws, healing... the whole package."Charles looked at Laura with a soft, understanding smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Laura. You're welcome here, just as Logan is."

Laura met his gaze with a mix of wariness and curiosity, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation. But she nodded slightly in acknowledgment, her hand still resting on mine. I could tell she was nervous, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes—maybe she was beginning to believe that this place could be a new start for her.

----

After what felt like an eternity, the door to the medical room finally opened, and Hank stepped out. Laura and I quickly stood up, the tension palpable between us. My heart pounded in my chest as I searched Hank's face for any sign of what he might say.

Hank approached us, his expression serious but not without a hint of reassurance. "She hasn't woken up yet," he began, and I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. Laura's grip on my arm tightened, but she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

"But," Hank added, glancing between the two of us, "we were able to get some readings from the scan. It looks like she may have experienced some form of memory loss. There's some irregular activity in the parts of her brain responsible for memory retention and recall."

"Memory loss?" I echoed, struggling to process what that meant. "How bad is it?"Hank sighed, clearly trying to tread carefully. "It's hard to say for sure without her being awake, but it's possible that she could have lost some recent memories. We won't know the extent until she regains consciousness."

I felt a wave of frustration and helplessness wash over me. Violet had already been through so much, and now this? "Is there anything we can do?" I asked, my voice rough with emotion.

"For now, we just need to let her rest and monitor her closely," Hank replied. "We'll do everything we can to help her recover. But you should be prepared for the possibility that she might not remember everything—especially recent events."

I nodded, swallowing hard as I tried to keep my emotions in check. Laura's hand remained on my arm, her presence grounding me as I tried to absorb what Hank was telling us.

Hank gestured to a young woman standing nearby. "Micah, my assistant, can take you both upstairs to grab something to eat," he offered, his voice gentle, understanding the toll this was taking on us.

I shook my head, my jaw tight with determination. "I'm staying here until she wakes up," I said firmly. I couldn't bring myself to leave Violet's side, not now, not when she needed me.

But before I could say anything more, Laura spoke up. "No, let's go," she insisted, her tone softer but firm. She looked at me with those intense eyes, a mixture of concern and resolve. "You need to eat, and so do I. We'll be stronger when she wakes up if we take care of ourselves."

I hesitated, torn between my instinct to stay with Violet and the logic of Laura's words. I knew she was right, but it was hard to admit. Finally, I sighed, nodding reluctantly. "Alright," I said, though the decision didn't come easy. "But I'm comin right back."

Laura gave me a small, encouraging smile, and together, we followed Micah out of the room, my mind still with Violet even as we walked away.

As I walked through the school, everything felt strangely familiar yet different at the same time. It was trippy, like I was caught between two worlds. Memories from my past started flooding in, but I quickly pushed them back, not wanting to get lost in what was and what could never be again.

I glanced at Laura, and I could see the awe in her eyes as she took in the sight of so many kids like her—mutants—who didn't have to hide like she did before. It made me feel relieved, knowing that she was starting to feel comfortable here. I'm new to this whole dad thing, but I'm going to try my hardest to make sure she feels safe and secure.

As we walked into the kitchen, I suddenly froze. Two familiar faces were staring back at me, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief. The speedster with the big mouth looked at me like he'd seen a ghost, which, in a way, I guess I was in this instance. Beside him stood Raven, her eyes wide with surprise.

Peter, was the first to break the silence. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up!" he said, zipping around me in a blur before coming to a stop right in front of my face. "Did someone just hit the rewind button on life, or did I accidentally break the space-time continuum again? Because last I checked, you were... well, let's just say you were taking a really long nap."Raven, standing beside him, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her expression cool but clearly baffled. "Logan, is that really you?" she asked, her voice calm, but I could see the disbelief in her eyes. "We thought you were gone for good."

I sighed, already feeling the weariness of having to explain this again. "Yeah, it's me, but I'm not the Logan you knew. I'm from a different universe." The words felt like they were wearing out, even as I said them. 

Peter's eyes widened even more, and he let out a low whistle. "Different universe? Man, that's some serious sci-fi stuff right there. Do you, like, have a doppelgänger running around somewhere? Or maybe you've got a secret twin? Please tell me there's a multiverse where I have an infinite supply of Twinkies!" Raven shot Peter a look that said, "Seriously?" before turning back to me, her expression softening a bit. "This is... a lot to take in, Logan. But I'm glad you're here, even if it's not the same you."

I gave a half-smile, appreciating her steady presence. "Yeah, it's been a lot to take in for me too."

Peter grinned, clearly still processing the whole "different universe" thing in his own way. "Well, whatever universe you're from, it's good to see you, man. This place is way too quiet without you around."

"Quiet, huh?" I muttered, glancing at Raven, who smirked at the idea of this place ever being quiet. Peter's energy was enough to keep the noise level high, universe aside.

As we all settled into the moment, I could feel the tension ease just a bit, even if the situation was still surreal. 

As we sat down to eat, Peter zipped around the kitchen, throwing together sandwiches for Laura and me with his usual speed. Even in this universe, he still managed to give me whiplash with how fast he moved.

"Turkey and cheese, coming right up!" Peter announced, sliding the sandwiches in front of us with a grin. "And don't worry, I kept it simple. No surprises... this time."

Laura eyed the sandwich cautiously, but she didn't say anything, just took a small bite. I couldn't help but smirk, shaking my head at Peter's usual antics. "You're still a whirlwind, aren't ya?"Peter flopped into a chair across from us, already halfway through his own sandwich. "Hey, speed's my thing, right? Gotta stick with what I'm good at," he said with a laugh. Then, with a curious look, he turned to me. "So, Logan, how's it feel to be back here? Must be pretty trippy for you huh, huh."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the truth was, it was strange. Everything looked familiar, yet not quite the same. I glanced over at Raven, who was quietly eating her sandwich, watching the conversation with an amused smile.

"Yeah, it's weird," I admitted. "But, you know... some things are really different. Like you," I added, nodding toward Raven. "In my world, you were... well, let's just say we weren't exactly on the same side."

Raven raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the idea. "Is that so?" she said, her tone light, but there was a hint of curiosity there. "I guess I wasn't as nice to you over there?"

I smirked, taking a bite of my sandwich. "Not exactly. It's just... strange, seeing you here, being... well, nice."

Peter looked between us, clearly enjoying the exchange. "So, wait—what was she like in your universe? All bad and scary?" he asked, leaning in as if he were about to hear a juicy story.

"Something like that," I replied, keeping it vague. There were things about my world I didn't feel like diving into, especially not now. But seeing Raven like this, it was a reminder of how different things could be.

Raven just chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Well, I'm glad I'm on the right side this time, at least as far as you're concerned."

As the conversation flowed, it struck me how surreal it all was—being here, with familiar faces in unfamiliar roles. But despite the differences, there was a sense of ease creeping in, like maybe this place could still offer something I needed. As we continued eating, Raven glanced between me and Laura, curiosity written all over her face. "So, how do you two know each other?" she asked, pointing her sandwich at us casually. For a moment, there was an awkward silence as Laura and I both hesitated, not quite sure how to explain. Laura started to say something, but then stopped, and I could see her struggling to find the right words.

"She's my..." I began, trailing off as I tried to figure out how to phrase it. 

Laura, equally unsure, added, "He's my..." and then she just shrugged, looking at me for help. Finally, I took a deep breath and decided to just lay it out. "She's my kid," I said, my voice firm but a little uncertain, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.

Raven's eyes widened, and she blinked, clearly taken aback. "Your daughter?" she repeated, her tone a mix of disbelief and surprise.

Peter, who had been taking a big bite of his sandwich, nearly choked as he tried to swallow quickly, his eyes bulging. "Wait, what?!" he exclaimed, pointing at Laura. "She's your kid? Like... your actual kid?"

"Yeah," I said, meeting their shocked gazes. "I found out not too long ago. It's... complicated."

Peter let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair as he processed the information. "Man, that's wild. So, what, you're like... a dad now? In this universe or the other one?"

"Both, I guess," I replied, a bit of a smirk on my face despite the awkwardness. "It's been... an adjustment."

Raven shook her head slightly, still looking between the two of us. "Wow, Logan, I didn't see that one coming," she said, clearly trying to wrap her head around the idea. "You, a dad. Huh That's... something."

Laura glanced up at me, her expression a little uncertain but also relieved that the truth was out. I gave her a small nod, hoping to convey that we'd figure this out together.

Peter, still looking like he was trying to solve a puzzle, finally broke into a grin. "Well, this just got a whole lot more interesting. So, do you guys do father-daughter claw sharpening on weekends or what?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Something like that," I muttered, shaking my head. Despite the surprise and the awkwardness, it felt good to be honest about it, even if it was still sinking in for all of us.

A few moments passed after we finished eating, and the reality of the situation started to settle in. I realized I needed to call Wade and fill him in on everything that had happened. I turned to Peter, who was finishing off his 3rd sandwich.

"Hey, you got a phone I can use?" I asked.

Peter, always quick on the uptake, pulled out his phone and handed it over. "Sure thing, old man. Who you calling, anyway?"

I smirked as I took the phone. "Wade," I replied, dialing the number that was unfortunately burned into my brain. He'd made damn sure I'd remember it—kept saying it was my lifeline in case I got lost, like I was a damn dog or something.

As the phone rang, a sudden realization hit me. "Oh shit... his dog," I muttered under my breath. Raven, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow. "His dog?"

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my temples. "Wade asked us to take care of his dog while he and Vanessa are out of town. I've been a bit... preoccupied with everything going on. Haven't even thought about the dog since we got here."

Peter chuckled, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Sounds like you're really embracing that whole dad role—taking care of kids and pets now, huh?"

"Don't push it," I muttered, waiting for Wade to pick up. But even as I said it, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Wade's dog was probably causing all kinds of trouble back at the place.

When the call finally connected, I could already hear Wade's voice on the other end, likely mid-sentence about something completely ridiculous. But before he could launch into one of his usual rants, I cut him off.

"Wade, listen," I said, my voice firm. "We've got a situation."

I told him what had happened and that we left his dog in the apartment but before I could even get another word in, Wade's voice exploded through the phone. "WHAT THE FUCK, LOGAN?! You forgot about my dog? My sweet, innocent little girl? Do you have any idea what kind of mayhem she could be causing right now? Vanessa's going to be so pissed if anything happens to her!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear for a second, grimacing at the volume of his shouting. "Wade, calm down," I tried to say, but he was already on a full-blown rant.

"I trusted you with my precious little furball! I gave you one simple job—keep her alive! And what do you do? You go off on some crazy mission and forget all about her like she's yesterday's trash! She could be tearing up your apartment, peeing on your bed, or even worse—getting lonely!"

"Wade!" I practically growled, cutting him off. "We almost got killed. Violet's in the medical wing, unconscious, and we're dealing with some serious shit over here. Your dog was the last thing on my mind!"

There was a brief pause on the other end, and for a second, I thought maybe he'd realized the gravity of the situation. But then, in typical Wade fashion, he responded, "Okay, but seriously, Logan, priorities! Violet's a badass, she'll be fine, but my dog... she's just a delicate little bundle of chaos! What if she's scared? What if she's lonely? What if she's chewing up your favorite pair of boots right now?"

I let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing my forehead. "listen you dumb fuck, I'll check on your dog, alright? But I need you to focus here. We've got bigger problems than some chewed-up shoes."

"Fine, fine," Wade grumbled, though I could still hear the worry in his voice. "But you better not let anything happen to her, or I'm gonna make you dog-sit for a month. And trust me, you don't want that kind of responsibility."

"Noted," I replied dryly, finally getting him to calm down—at least somewhat. "Now, listen, there's more I need to tell you about what happened. Strucker was involved, and it's not over yet."

Wade's tone shifted, finally catching the seriousness in my voice. "Strucker? Fuck... alright, fill me in."

After I filled Wade in on everything that had been going on—the encounter with Strucker, Violet's condition, and the mess we were in—he fell silent for a moment, which was rare for him.

"Alright," he finally said, his voice more serious than usual. "Looks like I'm gonna have to cut this little mother-in-law reunion short. Vanessa and I will head back to the mansion, pick up my dog, and help you guys out. Can't leave my little girl hanging, or you, for that matter."

"You sure?" I asked, half-expecting him to make some joke about avoiding his mother-in-law. 

"Yes, I'm sure peanut," Wade quipped, the usual humor creeping back into his voice. "And besides, I can't let you have all the fun. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"Thanks," I muttered, genuinely appreciating the backup, even if it came with Wade's usual chaos.

"Just make sure my dog's still in one piece when I get there," Wade added, his tone lightening again. "And tell her I'm coming for her, with lots of treats."

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, shaking my head. "Just get here quick."

With that, I hung up the phone, handing it back to Peter, who was still watching me with that curious expression he always had when things got interesting.

"So, looks like the cavalry's coming," I said, feeling a little more at ease knowing Wade was on his way.

---

It was later in the afternoon, and I left Laura back at the mansion while I headed to the apartment to grab a few things. As I walked in through the blasted door, the familiar scent of Violet hit me like a wave. It was a mix of her perfume and something uniquely her, and it made my chest tighten with a longing I hadn't realized I'd been holding back. I missed her more than I could put into words.

Shaking off the emotions, I focused on my task: finding Dog Pool. I moved through the apartment, searching each room until I finally found her under our bed, happily gnawing on one of Violet's shoes. A little growl of frustration escaped me as I crouched down to grab the dog.

"She's going to kill you when she wakes up," I muttered, half to the dog and half to myself, as I picked her up. The dog looked up at me with those innocent eyes, clearly unbothered by the destruction she was causing. 

I let out a sigh, deciding to let it go for now. There were more important things to worry about. After stashing the chewed-up shoe somewhere out of sight, I quickly gathered some clothes for both me and Laura, tossing them into a bag. I found my phone that was stuffed in the couch cushions. Right next to it was Violet's gem bracelet. I quickly put it in my pocket as a reminder of her even though she's always on my mind. 

With Dog Pool securely tucked under one arm and the bag slung over my shoulder, I walked out the door, casting one last glance around the apartment. It felt empty without Violet here, a stark reminder of everything that had happened. I closed the remaining of the door behind me, hoping that the next time I walked through it, it would be with Violet by my side, fully awake and ready to tear into Wade's dog for her shoe.

-- Night had fully settled by the time I made it back inside the mansion. The halls were quieter now, the usual bustle of the day replaced by a more subdued atmosphere. The only sounds were the soft hum of the building and the faint echoes of footsteps from distant rooms. As I walked through the dimly lit corridors, the weight of everything that had happened today pressed down on me. Dog Pool, still nestled in my arm, had finally settled down, her small, rhythmic breathing a steady comfort in the otherwise silent night.

When I reached the medical wing, the lights were low, and the soft beeping of monitors was the only indication of life in the room. I stepped inside, immediately spotting Laura sitting by Violet's bedside, her eyes focused intently on the woman who had become so important to both of us.

Laura glanced up as I entered, her expression a mix of worry and exhaustion. "Did you get what you needed?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," I replied, setting the bag down and carefully placing Dog Pool on the floor. The little dog sniffed around before curling up in a corner, finally deciding to rest.

I walked over to Violet's bedside, taking in the sight of her lying there so still. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but she hadn't stirred since we brought her in. I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, feeling a pang of longing mixed with frustration. 

"How's she doing?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"No change," Laura whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "But I know she's strong. She'll wake up."

I nodded, hoping Laura was right. I pulled up a chair next to hers, sitting down and leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. The room was quiet, the soft glow of the monitors casting a faint light over us.

We sat in silence, the weight of the night pressing down on us as we watched over Violet. The quiet was almost oppressive, the only sounds coming from the faint beeping of the monitors. Laura sat next to me, her eyes fixed on Violet, while I kept my thoughts focused on anything but the worst-case scenarios.

Then, the silence was broken by the soft whoosh of the doors opening. Laura and I both looked up at the same time, and there, entering the room, were Charles and Storm.

Charles rolled in with his usual calm demeanor, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Violet. Beside him, Storm walked with that quiet grace she always had, her presence commanding yet soothing at the same time.

"Logan," Charles greeted me softly, his voice filled with understanding. "Laura."

"Charles, Storm," I replied with a nod, acknowledging them both. Laura offered a small nod as well, her expression cautious but respectful.Charles wheeled himself closer to Violet's bedside, his eyes filled with concern as he observed her condition. "Hank updated me on what's been happening," he said, his tone gentle. "How are you both holding up?"

I glanced at Laura, then back at Charles. "We're managing," I said, though the strain in my voice was clear. "Just waiting for her to wake up."

Storm stepped forward, her gaze soft as she looked down at Violet. "She's seems like a fighter, Logan. She'll wake up."

"I know," I replied, my voice rough. "I just hate this waiting."

Charles nodded, his expression understanding. "Waiting can be the hardest part, but you're doing everything you can by being by her side."

There was a brief silence as Charles studied Violet, his brows furrowing slightly. Then he looked up at me, his eyes thoughtful. "Would you like me to try reaching out to her mind? It might help... or at the very least, we could get some sense of where she is."

I hesitated, the idea of someone probing her mind making me uneasy. But if it could help... I looked at Laura, and she gave me a small nod, her silent way of saying she trusted Charles.

"Alright," I said finally. "Give it a shot."

Charles gave a reassuring nod, then closed his eyes, focusing as he reached out with his mind. The room seemed to grow even quieter, the tension palpable as we all waited to see if he could make any connection with Violet.

Charles POV

As I entered Violet's mind, I found myself standing in a vast, endless expanse of white. The emptiness stretched out in all directions, silent and still. In the distance, I noticed a small house, standing alone against the backdrop of nothingness. It seemed out of place, yet somehow fitting in this strange, mental landscape.

I began walking toward the house, each step echoing softly in the void. When I reached the door, I hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open. Inside, the atmosphere was entirely different—warm, almost comforting. There she was, Violet, sitting in the center of the room, her legs crossed as she floated just above the floor. A soft, purple glow of magic surrounded her, gently pulsing with energy.

Her eyes were closed, but the moment I stepped through the door, they opened. Her gaze met mine, calm yet distant, as if she was both here and somewhere far away."Violet," I said softly, stepping closer. "You need to wake up."

She looked at me with a serene smile, a strange sense of peace in her expression. "Violet is alright," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space. "She just needs to rest."

Before I could respond, she flicked her wrist, and suddenly, an invisible force slammed into me, sending me flying backward. The next thing I knew, I was being expelled from her mind with such force that it made me physically flinch.

Logans POV

I watched Charles intently, my nerves on edge as he entered Violet's mind. The room was dead quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the machines monitoring her condition. Then, suddenly, Charles flinched, his body jolting slightly as if he'd been physically hit. My heart skipped a beat, and I leaned forward, tension tightening in my chest.

A moment later, he opened his eyes, and I could see the strain in them, like whatever he'd just experienced had taken a toll. "Charles?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended. "What happened? Did you reach her?"

Charles took a breath, steadying himself before speaking. "I did," he said, his tone calm but with an underlying unease. "She's alright, but... she's not ready to wake up yet. She's resting, and it seems she doesn't want to be disturbed."

I felt a mix of relief and frustration at his words. Relief that she was okay, but frustration that she still wasn't coming back to us. "What do you mean she doesn't want to be disturbed?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "She's just gonna stay like this?"

Charles looked at me, his expression serious. "She's in a state of deep rest, Logan. Whatever she's been through, something is protecting her. She needs time to recover, and she's chosen to do so in her own way. I tried to reach out, but she... pushed me out."

"Pushed you out?" Laura echoed, her voice laced with concern.

Charles nodded. "Yes, with a significant force. It was clear that she wants to be left alone for now. But she's safe, Logan. That much I can assure you."

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of the situation settle in. "So we just wait?"

"For now, yes," Charles said gently. "All we can do is give her the time she needs and be here when she's ready to return."

I looked at Violet, her still form lying there, and the helplessness I felt was almost overwhelming. But there was nothing more I could do—nothing but wait and hope that when she was ready, she'd come back to us.

- 

I woke up to the sensation of Dog Pool's tongue on my cheek, her persistent licking pulling me out of sleep. Groaning slightly, I wiped my face and looked over at the clock hanging on the wall. It was 8 a.m., and I could already feel the stiffness in my back from sleeping on the hospital bed. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to sleep, but it was the closest bed to Violet, even if she was in a different room.

I stretched, feeling the ache in my muscles as I sat up. Dog Pool wagged her tail, clearly pleased with herself for waking me up. "Alright, alright," I muttered, giving her a quick pat on the head. "Let's see how she's doing."

Laura was upstairs, in one of the rooms with the other kids. I figured it was better for her to be around them, to get some rest in a proper bed, even if I couldn't bring myself to leave Violet's side. At least this way, Laura would have some semblance of normalcy.

I stood up, feeling the stiffness in my joints, and headed for Violet's room. The door was slightly ajar, and as I pushed it open, I saw that Hank was already there, standing by her bedside. He was checking the monitors, his face serious but focused.

"Morning, Hank," I said quietly as I stepped into the room.

Hank glanced up, giving me a small nod. "Morning, Logan. I was just going over her vitals again."

I moved closer, my eyes immediately going to Violet. She looked peaceful, but there was still no sign of her waking up. The machines around her beeped softly, a constant reminder of the limbo we were all stuck in.

"Any change?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Nothing significant," Hank replied, his tone measured. "Her body's stable, but her mind... it's still in that resting state. She's not ready to come back just yet."

I let out a slow breath, trying to push back the frustration and helplessness that threatened to overwhelm me. "I just want her to wake up," I muttered, more to myself than to Hank.

"I know," Hank said, his voice gentle. "And she will. But whatever she's been through, it's going to take time. Right now, all we can do is be patient and make sure she's surrounded by people who care about her when she does wake up."

I nodded, my gaze never leaving Violet's face. Patience had never been my strong suit, but for her, I'd wait as long as it took.

---- 

Just as I was settling into the quiet of the room, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw Wade's name on the screen. Finally. I answered, and before I could say anything, Wade's voice came through loud and clear.

"Hey, Logan! Just got off the plane—Vanessa and I are on our way to the mansion. Dog Pool better be alive and well, or I'm holding you personally responsible for every single shoe she chews from now on."

I rolled my eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth despite everything. "She's fine, Wade. Just get here."

"On it! We'll be there soon. Prepare the red carpet!" Wade quipped before hanging up.

With Wade and Vanessa on their way, I decided to head to the kitchen for some breakfast. I hadn't eaten since last night, and the gnawing hunger was becoming hard to ignore. As I made my way through the mansion, my mind was still on Violet, but I knew I needed to keep my strength up—for her, and for whatever came next.

When I reached the kitchen, the scent of fresh coffee and something frying on the stove filled the air. I rounded the corner, expecting to find it empty at this hour, but instead, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing by the counter, flipping pancakes with a casual ease, was someone I thought I'd never see again. Scott Summers—Mr.Cyclops. He looked up when he heard me enter, and for a moment, both of us just stared at each other, the shock evident on his face as well.

"Logan," Scott finally said, his voice a mix of surprise and something else I couldn't quite place. He gave me a once-over, his gaze lingering on the lines in my face, the graying at my temples. "You're here and... old."

I huffed out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, well, you're a dick.

Scott's expression softened, and he nodded. "I Guess I am."

There was a brief, awkward silence as we both stood there, trying to bridge the gap between what was and what is. Eventually, Scott broke the silence, gesturing to the pancakes. "You want some? I was making enough for a small army, anyway."

I hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Sure, why not."

As I sat down at the table, Scott brought over a plate stacked high with pancakes and a mug of coffee. It was strange, sitting here with him like this, after everything. But maybe, in some weird way, it was also what I needed—a reminder that, despite the chaos, some things still made sense.

As I dug into the pancakes, I couldn't help but think about the twisted paths our lives had taken to bring us to this moment. And while I wasn't sure where we stood now, it was good to know that some connections, no matter how strained, could still be there when you needed them.

As I took a bite of the pancakes, Scott leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched me. There was something searching in his gaze, like he was still trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

"When they told me you were alive..." he began, then paused, shaking his head slightly as if to correct himself. "Well, I mean, when they told me there was another you, I couldn't believe it."

I looked up at him, swallowing my mouthful of food before replying. "Yeah, trust me, it's been a trip for me too. I'm not exactly the Logan you knew, but... here I am."

Scott nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's weird, you know? Seeing you here, older, but still... you. Part of me keeps expecting the Logan I remember to walk through the door, full of his usual stubbornness and bravado."

I chuckled softly, shaking my head. "Well, I've still got the stubbornness, if that counts for anything."

Scott allowed himself a small smile, but there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. "It counts for a lot, actually. I never thought I'd get a chance to see you again, even if it's not exactly the same you. But maybe... maybe it's close enough."

I nodded, understanding the weight behind his words. For all the differences, there were still some things that hadn't changed, and maybe that was enough for now.

"Yeah," I said quietly, looking down at the plate of pancakes. "Maybe it is."

We lapsed into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that comes from shared history and mutual respect, even if the details are different. As I continued eating, Scott poured himself a cup of coffee, leaning back against the counter as he sipped it slowly.

"So," he said after a while, breaking the silence, "what's the plan now? With everything going on, I mean."

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. "Honestly? Right now, I'm just focused on getting Violet to wake up. After that... we'll see."

Scott nodded again, his expression serious. "Is she your girl friend or something " 

I met his gaze, and smirked " Yeah she is." continue with Scott saying something cocky towards Logan 

Scott raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, well, Logan. I didn't think you were the type to settle down. Guess there's a first time for everything, huh?"

I shot him a look, the smirk fading into something more serious. "Yeah, well, I don't need your approval, Summers."

Scott chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Didn't say you did, old man. Just surprised is all. But hey, if she's with you, she must have a thing for grumpy, brooding types. Lucky you."

I narrowed my eyes at him, not in the mood for his usual cocky attitude. "Careful, Summers. I might be from a different universe, but I'm still not above knocking you on your ass if you push it."

Scott held up his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. "Easy there, Wolverine. Just making sure you've still got that edge. Wouldn't want you to get soft now that you've got someone to worry about."

Scott's grin softened, the teasing fading as he gave me a more genuine look. "But in all seriousness Logan. Just... take care of her. Sounds like she's been through Hell."

I nodded, my tone more even. "I will. That's not something you need to worry about."

Scott nodded back, the moment of rivalry giving way to a mutual understanding. "Good."

As I chewed on my food, the thoughts of my past began to creep in, unbidden and unwelcome. Memories of battles, of lost friends, and of Jean. The weight of those memories made the pancakes taste like ash in my mouth. I glanced over at Scott, who was sipping his coffee, his gaze distant.

He must have noticed something in my expression because he looked up at me, eyebrows raised. "What?" he asked, his tone curious but cautious.

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. Part of me didn't want to bring it up, but the question had been gnawing at me since I got here. Finally, I just spit it out. "Is Jean here... I mean, is she...?"

Before I could finish, Scott cut me off, his voice flat and final. "She's gone, Logan."

The air between us seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of that simple statement. I looked down at my plate, the memories of Jean from my world flashing through my mind. The love, the loss, the guilt—it was all still there, no matter the universe.

Scott must have sensed where my thoughts were heading because he tried to lighten the mood, though there was a forced edge to his tone. "What, were you trying to steal my girl in your universe, huh?"

I looked up at him, a sad smile tugging at my lips. "She was always your girl, Scott," I replied, the honesty in my voice unmistakable. "But... she died in mine too."

Scott's face softened, the banter falling away as he absorbed my words. "How did she die here?" I asked, the question heavy with the shared pain of loss.

Scott sighed, setting his coffee cup down on the counter. "She sacrificed herself to save all of us. She couldn't control the Phoenix, and in the end, she chose to stop it the only way she knew how."

I nodded slowly, the ache in my chest familiar, even if the details were different. "Sounds like her," I said quietly. "She always put others first."

Scott nodded in agreement, his eyes clouded with old grief. "Yeah... she did."For a moment, we just sat there in silence, both of us lost in our own memories of the woman we'd both loved in different ways, in different worlds. It was a strange kind of bond, one forged in shared loss and the understanding that some things, no matter the universe, were just meant to be.

Eventually, I looked up at Scott, my voice steady. "I'm sorry, Scott."

He met my gaze, and for the first time in a long time, there was a flicker of something like understanding between us. "Me too, Logan. Me too."

---

Just as I was finishing my breakfast, I heard the unmistakable sound of Wade's voice echoing through the mansion. It wasn't long before he burst into the kitchen, full of his usual energy, with Vanessa following close behind.

"Logan!" Wade shouted, his face lighting up with that familiar, slightly manic grin. Before I could react, he wrapped me in a bear hug that nearly knocked the wind out of me. But, in true Wade fashion, he followed it up with a slap on the shoulder, not entirely playful. "That's for leaving my precious Dog Pool alone, you big, irresponsible lug! You're lucky she didn't redecorate your whole place in the color of destruction!"

I smirked, rubbing my shoulder where he'd slapped me. "She's fine, Wade. More worried about Violet's shoes than anything else."

"Yeah, well, priorities, man!" Wade retorted, though there was a glint of concern in his eyes beneath the humor.

Vanessa stepped forward, offering me a warm hug that I didn't mind at all. There was something comforting about her presence, a calmness that balanced out Wade's chaotic energy. "It's good to see you, Logan," she said softly as she pulled back, her expression turning serious. "Where's Violet? Is she alright?"

I nodded, but the tension in my shoulders must have given away the fact that everything wasn't quite alright. "She's in the medical wing," I replied, my voice a bit strained. "She's stable, but... she hasn't woken up yet."

Vanessa's face softened with concern. "Oh, Logan," she murmured, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on my arm. "I'm so sorry. we'll get through this."

Wade's usual bravado dimmed slightly, and he nodded. "Yeah, we're here now, man. Whatever you need, you got it."

I gave them both a grateful nod, appreciating their support more than I could express. "Thanks. It means a lot."

"Don't mention it," Wade said, though his voice was softer than usual. "Now let's go check on Violet. And maybe, just maybe, we can all figure out a way to get her back on her feet—so she can kill me for that shoe."

Together, we made our way to the medical wing, the weight of the situation heavy on all of us, but the presence of friends making it just a little easier to bear.

We made our way to the room where Violet was resting, and as we stepped inside, I noticed Laura was already there, sitting in a chair by the bedside, casually eating a bowl of cereal. She looked up when we entered, quickly setting the bowl aside and standing up to greet us.

"Hey, Wade. Vanessa," Laura said with a small smile, her tone a bit more relaxed than usual.

Vanessa immediately walked over to her and wrapped her in a warm hug, something Laura wasn't entirely used to, but she didn't pull away. "It's good to see you, Laura," Vanessa said, her voice full of warmth.

Wade gave Laura a quick nod, a flicker of his usual playfulness in his eyes, but he kept his focus mostly on Violet. As they approached the bed, Vanessa's expression turned to one of deep concern, while Wade, ever the joker, couldn't help but make a comment.

"Wow, Violet," Wade said, his voice laced with a mix of humor and genuine concern. "Gotta say, that's one hell of a suit you've got on there. Looks like something straight out of a comic book. Or maybe a sci-fi movie. Either way, I approve."

Vanessa shot him a look, half-amused, half-reproachful. "Wade..."

"What?" Wade shrugged innocently. "I'm just saying, if she wakes up and decides to join a superhero team, she's already got the outfit."

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smirk at Wade's comment. Leave it to him to find a way to make light of even the most serious situations. But I knew it was his way of dealing with things—humor was his armor, his way of keeping the darkness at bay.

Vanessa gently touched Violet's hand, her concern evident. "We're here, Logan," she said softly, turning to look at me. "Whatever happens, we're with you."

I nodded, feeling the support of those around me. It was a small comfort, but in a situation like this, even small comforts made a big difference.

Wade leaned down a bit closer to Violet, his usual smirk softening into something almost tender. "Alright, Violet," he said quietly, "time to wake up and show us all up. We're not the same without you around to keep us in line."

Vanessa smiled softly at his words, and Laura, still standing nearby, watched with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

All we could do now was wait and hope that Violet would respond, knowing that when she did, she'd be met with all the support and care we could offer.

Part 13: Fractured memories