#and she'd find some joy and peace in it all

[fruit-salad-ship]

Have you considered, Gladiator AU, Grey and Peach sparring and then it gets a little spicy before they realize wait Plum is watching.

Gladiator AU is building itself, with your suggestion in mind, lets see here...

So Peach got sold into the arena life as a young child, starting with helping warriors gear up, feeding people, feeding animals, moving bodies from the pit, removing gear. A lot of things a child shouldnt have had to do, but she started to pry, ask the fighters questions, practice wielding a sword at a young age, and while she failed, the people who came and went would either be cruel, or leave her with a tip or trick, and so she gained a lot of infomration in a short period of time about fighting and the nature of men, most of which was negative. Her brutality grew it had to for her survival, for her safety, and she snapped at her boss one time too many. They put her in the Arena as a half time joke, put a woman in, theres no way she'd come out alive right? But she did, and she kept doing it. Never given personal space, no room of her own, no door to lock at night to feel safe behind, or posessions to hold dear. She lived to fight, and fought to live, a vicious circle of expecting not to come out of the pits in one piece. If she was the meanest thing in the room, no one would touch her, no one would mess with her, she was safe for a moment.

Her biggest battle to date she won, and the person hosting, a young and quite pretty socilaite from a powerful family offered her a gift, asking her to remove the helmet so she could see the face of the victor. Plum, unaware of this gladiators reputation, watches a woman reveal herself, and is instantly fascinated. Not often you saw this happen. Peach asked for her freedom, still under ownership of the colleseum, and Plum obliged that in the only way possible at the time. She bought up Peach's contract, a hefty price for one warrior, but she'd becoem quite infamous and so the price tag went up. Peach was devestated at first, from frying pan to fire, she was still not free, but took this as a next step at the least. For what it was worth the pay was better as a personla guard, and the chances of death far lower. She was shown to a small room, a bed and some simple furniture, and asked to go to the head of Plums security detail for gear and further instruction. That being Grey. Now Grey was at teh fight, he saw her win, and was just as shocked to see her reveal herself. When Peach finally strode into the barracks to find him he was ready with gear, but first wanted to see Peach fight first hand, with a better sword and less distraction.

The rest of the staff found it impossible not to watch the two clash, Peach was quietly confident, and Grey saw her get a little hot under the collar as he caught her off guard, smacked a shield hard into her ribs to stagger the woman back a few paces. He was good, but she was quick, and the two found it an even match for what felt like an hour or two. It was a draw, both dripping with sweat, but...smiling? They'd met their match. Peach proved herself, and Grey earned her respect. Late nights were the worst, Peach found it impossibly boring being a personla guard, safe sure but dull. This life was slow compared to the arena. After a week of nothing happening, no attackers, no intruders, nothing but boring patrols and mindless drills, Grey threw the new hire a bone. A rematch to kill time, something Peach jumped at. Yet again they seemed to come to a stale mate, skills though different seemed evenly matched. With no one watching, Grey decided perhaps he could have a little fun with the newbie, instead of being on the defence, really swinging wide and heavy out of no where after being so controlled and collected. It got Peach on the back foot, being unprepared, block after block taken well, but a cheap shot, Grey kicking dirt up in her face forced her to raise a shield to try to block anything coming in. It was not enough.

Peach got tackled down, sword clattering across ornate tiles, still struggling to see, the painful compression on her chest of an impossibly heavy body marking defeat. "You cheat!" Grey laughed, knelt to keep her pinned, watching her squirm, getting a cheap shot in at his ribs with her fist, enough to get some of his weight off her. The wrestle for control was tough. It was the slew of swearing and metal gear scraping that awoke their boss in the dead of night, her elegant little form creeping back to her balcony to see a familiar sight in the dead of night, light from sconces picking out the flash of silvers and golds.

Meanwhile Greys got Peach's arm brace held, stopping her moving, she undoes the strap and frees herself, it gets thrown, but he's not giving her the option to get up and retaliate, grabs the front of her chest plate and keeps her pinned, unable to stop her loosing the straps, kicking his chest so he and her gear gets pushed back. She's down to a shirt, but does not quit. Grey has one key vulnerability, she knocked his helmet off at the very start and his gear isnt covering his neck. Peach takes a leap off a stone pillar, valting to get up to his height, legs wrapping around his neck, taking them both down to the floor. He had not expected the move, huge form brought to its back. She unsheathed the small dagger on HIS belt and held it, one hand on the back of its hilt at his face, not striking, but making it clear he'd have been dead if this was real.

He laughed and she was able to sit back, still atop his chest, both panting from the exertion of the fight. "I guess theres worse ways to end up with a gilr on top of me." Peach felt ther face heat up, slapping him on the arm hard. "Dont be an ass just because you lost." "Wouldnt call this so bad a loss." Grey's grin was cheeky, and forced her to start to get up. IT was at that point they both heard a twig snap, looking to the home they were suppose to guard, in the tended gardens their boss watching, wine in hand looking very smug. Plum sauntered a little closer, Peach getting up at speed, taking several steps back, realising she was out of gear, this looked way worse than it was. "Dont let me interupt you two, you were having fun." Grey grunted getting up, his gear weighing him down, feeling Plums hand brush his cheek as she walked past, not stopping to see him, continuing to see the new girl, who'd become quite nervous, standing to attention, flinching from the light touch that took note of the bare skin on her side, exposed now her gear was thrown to one side. Sure, maybe the young royal was revelling in her rather expensive addition to security, she planned to let Peach go free sure, but just not right away. Had to enjoy having her around for a little while right? "You're wasted under all that armour." Peach said nothing, mortified by the turn of events, even Grey ambled over and shunted her shoulder in a jovial way, not enough to knock her out of her now very stern and controlled behaviour. He could joke around, he wasnt the new hire, she however was not about to step out of line anytime soon. Both Plum and Grey let her grab her things and go, back to the routine, shuffling off fast out of embarrasment, leaving the old friends in a quiet moment. "So she beat you." Plum hooked her arm through his instinctivley, having him walk her back to her room, an act he did freely without request. "Seems that way. The Gladiator in her is surely a force to be reckoned with. She refuses to give in even when she's on the back foot." "Mm, a good addition then. You approve?" This week had been Grey's chance to test her, see just how hard she'd work and if she would be capable of the work with Plum. She had been compliant with every job he'd given to her. "No question, she'll fit in well here."

[adventuringblind]

Caught in a Lie

Maxiel x Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: The reader gets caught in Max's shenanigans and decides to take the blame. Daniel isn't happy she lied for Max, third time WDC or not.

Warnings: BDSM, dom/sub, sub reader, switch Max, dom Daniel, spanking, unprotected PinV, Overstimulation, mild denial if you squint, Max being a menace

Notes: I have a website now! It would mean a lot if Y'all checked it out. I'm still working on it but it's a fun creative project. It's still in the works, so if you have suggestions, I will gladly take them.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It really wasn't her fault. Max had been the conspirator. She was just the bait. Unknowingly, mind you. The bastard had done this on purpose!

Winning a third title had inflated his ego far too much. They couldn't celebrate properly in Qatar. Alcohol sure, sex had to wait. Not because any of them wanted to, Daniel had made it a point that sex, especially the kind they do, needs to come after races. Thursdays and Fridays can be soft things. Saturdays are an absolute no. Then Sunday comes around, and they are trying to get back to wherever they are staying as fast as possible.

Now, back at home in Monaco, nothing to disturb their peace. They decide to ruin it all by going out. It's one of her least favorite activities. Being in bed with the cat has her name on it. But Max wants to celebrate, and Daniel is social, so she drags herself out of bed.

She should've known something was amiss when Max said he got something for her to wear out. She should've known it was going to end this way when Max whistled at her and laughed, whereas Daniel's eyes had darkened. The familiar look he gets when he wants to absolutely take her apart and build her up piece by euphoric piece.

She'd caught Max's arm on the way out. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"Felt like a show tonight," he shrugs, then winks at her.

The black dress barely covers her ass. It's lacy all over and sheer aside from the important places. She wears stuff like this often since it's something she likes. It doesn't make sense why this would be the thing to drive him insane.

Dancing had been fun. Their other Monaco friends had come out with them to celebrate. Daniel's eyes had burned into her every time she moved. Much to her surprise, he wasn't the only one.

Carlos Sainz is staring at her from the corner. He looks like he's trying desperately not to but failing miserably. He turns away every time she catches him, still exuding confidence.

It's not well known that she's dating Max and Daniel. They've been friends for a long time. Friendship turned into a situationship, which then made them confess. They look like they always do to the outside world. To touchy to simply be platonic but no real announcement that any of the three are taken.

Carlos was staring, Daniel was glaring, Max was smirking, and she was the center of it all. Embarrassment hit her like a train when she realized she'd been played. Max was watching Carlos stare at her and snickering about it.

Feeling insecure, she went to get some air. The joy of feeling nice in a dress Max had picked out now ruined from knowing why he did it. He was playing a game. He could've at least asked first.

Daniel and Max find her outside slumped against the wall. She can still hear Max laughing about something and it's pissing her off.

"Stop laughing at me!" She throws her arms up in defeat and turns her back to them. "I didn't ask to be ogled at by Carlos, Max."

"Then why did you pick that specific dress?" Daniel spins her around and pins her to the wall. A shiver runs up her spine as his breath sticks to her ear. "The exact one Carlos had mentioned wanting to see on a pretty thing like you."

She doesn't know whether to blush or cower. She ends up settling for both at the same time. She debates her options. Either she tells the truth and saves herself, or she takes whatever punishment is coming her way.

Once. She will do this one time for Max since he just won his title.

"I picked it out because I thought it looked nice and you would like it. I swear I didn't know Carlos liked this dress and was going to be here tonight." She's pleading desperately with her voice. Maybe she'll get lucky.

Max has gone oddly silent. She tries not to even look at him, let Daniel figure out she's taking the blame for the Dutch.

Daniel is still staring her down. The silence hanging thick between them until he decides to break it. "Anything to add, Maxy?"

Noticing Daniel's mood, he doesn't answer. A smart move by him. Daniel just hums and grabs her wrist to lead the charge to the car.

None of them speak during the short ride home. She hates every second of it. Daniel is probably mulling over everything he wants to do to her. She feels like a child waiting for their parent to start a lecture.

Daniel waits for them to get their shoes off before turning to face them in the entryway of the apartment. "Where'd you buy the dress from?"

And he'd seen right through it. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember, or you weren't told?"

She winces when his tone goes soft. The one that makes her drop to her knees for him. Well, any tone from Daniel can have that effect on her. This one is just the one that makes her all fuzzy in the head. “I don’t remember,” she whispers.

Daniel sighs heavily. “Alright, if you’re not going to tell me the truth then I guess I’ll have to spank it out of you.” She nearly falls over, but manages to catch herself. “Bedroom, clothes off and on your knees.”

She scrambles to comply. The drop is imminent at this point. She just hopes Max enjoys the show because this will not be happening again. At least, she hopes.

The clothes come off and are folded neatly in a pile. She feels cold, exposed, and bit insecure, and then yet the floaty feeling is threatening to spill over. Her knees digging into the carpet don’t help that.

Max comes into the room silently. Daniel must have said something to him because he kneels next to her. Not a rare occurrence, but is mildly unusual.

“Max.” The stern tone has Max grumbling, but he gets back up off the floor, strips, then kneels again.

Daniel beckons her over to him. Her face is flushed red with embarrassment as she stands between his still covered legs. “You have the choice to tell the truth or not. I’m not mad at you, but I’m sad you felt like you needed to lie about what happened tonight. So, I’m going to keep spanking you until you tell the truth.”

“Yes sir.” It comes out so easily; a second nature now. She lays across his lap, trying to hold back the already threatening tears.

“What are your colors, baby girl?”

“Green is good, yellow is slow down and talk, red is stop.”

“Good, what’s your color?”

“Green.”

She’s probably too far gone already to really say no at this point. She just needs his hands on her in any kind of way.

The first hit shocks her. It’s not the hardest he’s can go by any means, but it still stings. “I’m gonna keep going until I get the truth.” She remains silent and another hit lands to the other side.

The next three have no rhythm and are more towards the tops of her thighs. She whimpers a bit but doesn’t give in. This is for Max. He wanted a show, he won the title, and she’s willing to, unfortunately, provide.

Daniel tugs her hair back and forces her eyes to look at his face. Four more hits and she’s hissing. Each one is harder than the last.

She starts getting hazy around number twenty-five. She's taken more, but the fact that Daniel keeps sweetly telling her she can stop this by telling the truth makes it worse. Like every hit is sending further to the breaking point. Not the good one, mind you, the one where she cries and tells him the whole story.

"Just tell the truth, baby." He lands another five hits in rapid succession. Each one burning more than the last. The tears have started free falling and are making Daniel's leg wet and salty.

"Color baby?"

"Green," She manages to sniffle out. Voice high and cracking. Why is she getting punished again? Oh, right, for Max. It should really be him up here.

The overwhelming urge to do as Daniel says hits somewhere around hit forty. The breaking point has reared its ugly head. She starts bawling her eyes out as the last hit is the hardest she's received thus far. "Yellow!"

Daniel halts any movement. "Did that last one hit too hard?" The softness in his voice only brings more tears.

"I'm sorry!" She drops all her body weight over his legs. "Max got the dress. He said he picked it out for me. I didn't know anything about Carlos. Then, right before he left, I asked him what was going on, and he said he wanted a show. I figured he did just win his title, and I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I lied."

"Oh, baby girl." Daniel helps her up and lays back so she can plaster herself on his chest. "I knew what was going on, but I wanted you to tell the truth. I'm not mad at you, okay?" He runs soothing fingers along her spine. It only makes the tears come harder. "That must've been hard! I'm so proud of you for telling me the truth. I know you wanted to do it for Max, but sometimes Maxy needs to learn his own lesson."

Daniel slides out from underneath her and grabs something from the bedside table. "I'm gonna take care of you now, okay? You did so well. I'm not upset. I just needed to hear the truth." She doesn't hold back the tears as Daniel works on getting her cleaned up. "So good for me," He coos to help her calm down.

She's lost all sense of time. She has no idea of how long she's been over Daniel's or how long he's been cleaning her up for.

She's still splayed out on the bed facing, now facing Max and his solemn expression.

"Here's what we're going to do. Max wanted a show, so that's what he's gonna get since we are celebrating his win." He turns towards Max. The Dutch's knees can't be feeling good at all. Daniel leans down and forces his head upwards. A few seconds at the Australian, then holding on her.

Daniel drags over a chair and rips Max up from the floor. "You are going to sit here and watch. You will not move, you will not touch, you will not make a sounds. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, color?"

Max looks oddly and achingly hard from her position. It makes her wonder if this is actually what he wanted or if he's just slipping further. It takes more to put max down, but Daniel is good at getting him there if the occasion calls for it.

"Green."

Daniel, much to her relief, finally gets his clothes off. He leaves on his boxers for the moment, though the outline of his hard on is obvious. It has been since they got in the car to come home. “Baby girl, do you want my fingers or my tongue tonight?”

“Tongue please.” Pleasurable shivers run down her spine. Sometimes, she’s convinced that Daniel was molded by Greek gods and sent to live among the humans solely because his tongue can work miracles.

Her head hangs off the bed giving her an upside-down view of Max. His skin has flushed even more since the last time she saw him.

She doesn't get much time to think about it. Daniel's tongue presses against her and she loses herself. He knows her body like it's his favorite book to read, movie to watch, and song to hear.

Her fingers slip easily into his black curls. His hands are on her waist, absolutely buried in her. She's going to feel the bruises soon, but it only adds the pleasure of it.

Her free hand flies to cover her mouth out of habit. She makes it half-way before Daniel snatches her wrist and pins it to her side so he can grip both her hip and her hand.

The strings of moans and profanities leaving her are not even close to the way she can hear Max whining behind her. High pitched and desperate.

Daniel is lapping at her like she's producing healing waters and he'll die without it. Nose bumping against her just right. The grip on her body only getting strong as she writhes around in ecstasy.

"Sir please - need to - please-" It comes out strangled in panted breaths and heavy moans.

He doesn't stop. Never does to tell them yes. Daniel taps her hip with his index finger three times. She jumps over the edge without any kind of hesitation. Plunging herself in the familiar feeling of warmth overwhelming amounts of dopamine and serotonin.

Her back arches. Daniel holds her in place as her body contorts in every direction in an attempt to push him away. He is unmoving wall. A force she can't do anything but submit her body to.

Daniel leaves her alone for a mere minute. Only to drag Max over, fingers clutched around the back of his neck. He slams Max onto the bed and manhandles him until he's right where Daniel wants him.

He then moves to flip her. In between them and still sopping. "Think you can keep Max in your mouth?"

Of course she can, she's done it enough times. The consent thing still makes her melt either way. "Yes, sir."

"Good, I think we've tortured Max enough. We are still celebrating his win, after all." There is a hint of mischief behind Daniel's eyes that doesn't go unnoticed.

Daniel, mouth still wet with her, kisses Max in the sloppiest manner she's ever seen.

She stares in awe for all of ten seconds. Her ogling is cut short by Daniel gripping her hair and shoving Max's length down her throat. She gags at the suddenness but recovers quickly and gets to work.

She can't see what Daniel is doing anymore. Their positioning is not the most convenient for watching. She can hear it though, and It's driving her insane. Max's body is quivering and it's an effort to stay where she is and not bite down every time he jerks in a different direction.

It takes less time than normal for him to spill down her throat. Daniel is quick to rip her off and get her over Max. Her ass still stings from earlier, but she could care less as Daniel plays puppet master and guides Max into her.

It's a stretch, Max certainly isn't small, but she's well adjusted.

She loses her head again when Daniel sets her pace. Max is wrecked from the lack of stimulation into a constant stream of it. Daniel rips off his boxers and slams into Max's mouth. "Bet you wish you hadn't done all that snickering, huh?" Max is so far down that his eyes are rolling at Daniels tone. The gentle one that is condescending enough to make anyone whimper.

Daniel keeps talking, she's registering his voice, but has no idea what he's saying anymore. She can't even hear past her own moans. She can't feel anything besides the hands on her body and the overwhelming number of endorphins flooding her mind.

Kissing. Daniel is kissing her through another jump off an even larger cliff.

Flipped over again. This time Daniel is slamming into at an unholy pace. Maybe Daniel is a fallen angel. To good with his body to stay in heaven, so he brought heaven to the humans.

Fingers. Max's fingers are everywhere. He shoves them down her throat and coos as she mans around them. Rough calloused hands made for drowning her in whatever this cacophony of feelings is.

Her favorite song on replay. Over and over and over again. Never getting old.

She comes back to herself at some point. Nobody has clothes on still. Daniel and Max are gently coaxing her muscles to still.

"Hey baby, you passed out on us." Max's voice is still fuzzy. She groans in response. Every inch of her is in some state of pain, pleasure, or both.

"We're gonna try a bath, okay? I want to help the bruises as much as possible." She nods against Daniel's chest, agreeing that would be a brilliant idea.

"Before we do that though, I want so apologize." Max sounds timid and unsure of himself. His hands wring together in anxiety. "I shouldn't have set that up. It made you both uncomfortable and I should've just asked."

Daniel pulls Max back on top of their cuddle pile. "I would've happily made this happen and I will happily do it again."

That same mischievous glint comes back to Daniel despite the exhaustion. They end up laughing deliriously all the through their aftercare routine.

Yeah, she'd happily do this again too.

[celiafufflie]

OC that I made which was heavily inspired from @jazjelspen's platonic x reader fic "My Angel Baby" cause I love it a lot! if u haven't read it give it a it's soo good!!;;

ok idk more info abt her again below the cut ((it might be long)):

--

After being killed by the one person who she admired, respected, and loved the most, Elise spent her first few years in Heaven feeling miserable as she felt like everything that she'd experienced and lived through with her beloved father was all a lie. It was depressing.

Of course she wouldn't show her pitiful state with the others, why would she? They're in heaven, it should be the happiest place anyone could possibly be in! No need to be a bother.

Emily, being the seraphim who's job is to bring joy to all of heaven, saw through Elise's front. 

Having dealt with some poor mortal souls similar to her before, Emily zeroes in on Elise and does her best to keep her from being left on her own thoughts, always including Elise to anything she thinks she would like and find fun. (Elise initially didn’t want to, though she also couldn’t say no. Emily was so sweet and kind, and that makes her guilty.)

It somewhat helped as Elise’s focus shifted on Emily’s efforts, something that she’ll eventually grow fond of. This kept up until they became best friends! …somehow.

Elise seeing what Emily does daily as a Seraphim? Very admirable. But also Elise decided that she wanted to help Emily with bringing happiness and peace to others, making them both always together almost everyday.

It was taxing, but knowing that Emily does this all on her own, Elise would keep on helping her as Emily has helped her before. Plus, doing this with Emily helped her meet interesting people! Like St.Peter! Or maybe Ruth– or Troy! (the guy who dutifully keeps heaven’s dog park clean, bless you Troy)

Or… Adam? He leaves a lot to be desired.

She also met this really pretty, and sweet, older woman that kind of makes her feel somewhat nostalgic. Elise likes her a lot, and the woman also seems to feel likewise! She’d often invite the younger girl over for tea and such, something she’s always happy to attend to. Unfortunately it was an occasional thing as she’d dedicated herself to assisting Emily with her duties.

That was how her (after)life went by as decades passed in Heaven.

Though… Elise sometimes still thinks of him, her father. He’s down in hell, damned for eternity for all the sins and deceit that he’s committed. Deserving for Alastor, fitting for the monster that he truly was.

They both will never meet ever again, and she strongly believed in that.

…

Oh…

How much she misses her beloved father.

[crushedsweets]

30y old Toby headcanons?

this is all written under the assumption that nobody is dead or in prison, also written for my AU in which slenderman and the operator are opposing forces, with slenderman taking the operators victims as proxies

at this point tim and brian would have completely gotten away from slenderman/the operator, being well into their 40s. probably moved all the way to the west coast, maybe even out of the country.

which means there'd only be kate and toby left. they'd both be exhausted. the operator and slenderman wouldve been 'fighting' for ~25+ years by now, so they have longer periods of going dormant - but they are still immortal entities, so there is no quitting. kate would've moved full time into the proxy cabin, rather than the mines, so they'd be spending a lot of time together.

clocky is the closest to toby, but by now she'd have a nice little apartment and is working full time. her time under the operators influence is completely over. maybe toby would move in with her, but she'd be hesitant. loves him to death but she's trying to get away from the shit that toby would always come back to. she wants to find peace

he'd still have to be working in places that dont require a background check. or even an ID. or be willing to pay in cash. he still gets angry to the point of tears knowing he'll never be able to move freely through the world since his name, DNA, fingerprints all link him back to his dad. even 13 years later he cant get away from his dad

he misses tim and brian. they were awful to him half the time, but sometimes they were like father figures - tim taught toby how to drive, brian patched toby up countless times, they've all sat and had a few drinks together and watched some movies, they were all toby had for a year after his dads death. but they completely cut toby off, probably completely cut eachother off too - toby couldnt find them even if he tried. which he did, for a while

toby would stop trying to visit his mom, but he'd still visit lyras grave. he used to drop flowers off mothers day, birthday, christmas - he'd find some train that'll take him as far as possible and just leave them out for his mom. usually he found gloves, jackets, blankets laying out on the porch he left them on. he stopped when his mom inevitably moved out of her sisters house, he has no idea where she went.

maybe there would be new proxies to take in. some kid who just killed their best friend and finds themself constantly waking up in random areas with blood on their hands, throwing up black liquid and seeing weird faceless men all around - and toby would have to take on tim and brians role, and try to help this kid, and try to be better, and try not to beat their ass everytime they piss him off. try not to treat them the way he was treated. it would suck ass watching that happen to someone else, but part of him would think maybe that means it's time him and kate can finally escape - but there is something about toby and kate that cant seem to shake slenderman, not the way the others did

i think 30 year old toby would be pretty somber all around. any initial rage that fueled him, or excitement that motivated him, or joy he found in the freaks around him would've worn off by now

[hocuspocusbabyy]

Together: Eloise x Cressida.

Warnings: None? Just mad fluff?

Description: Cressida and Eloise share a private moment at home.

Paring: Eloise Bridgerton x Cressida Cowper

"Sweetheart?" Eloise called as she ascended the stairwell. Her shoes removed and in hand, the navy silk of her skirts creased and displaced beneath her loose corset. "Cressida?" The brunette tried again gracing her hand along the bannister at the bottom of the stairs.

Cressida's house was always so quiet compared to her own, there were no siblings, nieces, nephews causing fuss or throwing tantrums, no annoying cheery music musing from within the drawing room nor her sister's bashful interpretation of said music ; just pure unadulterated peace.

Edging further down the familiar hall Eloise entered the master bedroom, classical music faded towards her from the en-suite bathroom; smirking slightly she removed her shirt placing it carelessly on the bed aside a pile of another's previously discarded clothes.

Her bare feet graced the bathroom tile as the sight of the blonde came into view, arms spread to either side of the bathtub, hair tied on top of her head and water just meeting her collar bone. Eloise stared silently for longer than she'd like to admit, longer than 5 years of dating would suggest; but sometimes she found it hard to believe her own luck.

"Are you just going to stand there and watch me all night?" The other woman rasped, eyes still closed as she faced away from the brunette, there was no way for her to have known that Eloise was there other than blind presence.

Smiling Eloise bent beside the tub, stroking Cressida's hair. "How was your day?"

"Tedious, not as remotely interesting as my morning with you" she mused, shifting slightly to press her face against the palm of Eloise's hand.

"I see" the brunette murmured back as Cressida kissed her hand. Following across the lines of her cheek with the backs of her fingers, the bone smooth, sharp and sturdy beneath her touch.

"How's your mother?"

"As boastful as ever, ranting on and on about the impending arrival of Colin and Penelope’s third child.”

“I was sorry to have missed them.” Cressida mused basking in the joy of her lover's nose grazing against her own. A hand reaching round to support the other woman’s head, teasing gently at the hair at the back of her neck.

“They understood, you had work. Mother did however send me away with some of those apple tarts you love.” the brunette replied idly, pacing her hand down Cressida's arm in a soothing manner. Her mouth finds purchase upon her flesh, not moving yet, merely speaking against her. Breathing in the familiar scent of gardenia, which always did wonders to sooth her heart after a long day.

"Ah and you wonder why she is my favourite Bridgerton" Eloise rolled her eyes and pinched the other woman’s arm "Ouch stop that you beast" Cressida moaned withdrawing her arm into the water. Ripples of soap foaming around her, Eloise refusing to allow the space, her lips now pressed a path of kisses from temple to the corner of her mouth.

"Enough of that ''Eloise ordered resting on her heels and drawing Cressida to turn towards her, "I seem to recall you telling me I was your favourite Bridgerton" pouting slightly as Cressida sat sideways within the bath to face her lover.

"You're my favourite person, there's a difference" Eloise smiled slightly as Cressida's wet hand touched her cheek, "now are you getting in or are you going to just sit there sulking?"

Eloise scoffed, rising from the floor to remove her clothing, familiar wet hands raising to idly untie her corset, "I don't sulk" she argued before climbing into the bath beside Cressida. Resting against the blondes chest as they hummed along to the music that for a time had been forgotten, Eloise became at ease. Cressida's finger tangled within her hair and the heat of the water consumed her body.

"You know I don't have to be a Bridgerton" The brunette whispered, sinking further into the water in fear of her own words, wanting nothing more than to forget them the moment they left her mouth. However the blonde wouldn't allow it as the grip on her waist tightened and raised Eloise from the water and onto her chest.

"But I want to be," the blonde whispered, pressing her face against the other woman’s neck "so that is what we will be together, do you understand?"

"Bridgertons?" Eloise quizzed slightly as Cressida's lips feathered against the shell of her ear.

"I think Mrs Cressida Bridgerton, has quite a ring to it; don't you?"

Eloise turned to face Cressida and smiled brightly "I think it sounds perfect" kissing Cressida gently, their tongues seeking refuge together. The most precious movement and expression of their affection for one another. Eloise could no longer count how many times they had done that, nor predict how many times they would. Though neither of them could imagine a moment where they’d stop.

Cressida would never grow tired of having Eloise so close. Each freckle, indentation and expression etched into her face perfectly transparent as Cressida kissed her chin. The small groove of a scar, aged and delicious beneath her lips.

Eloise meticulously worked at mapping the palms of Cressida’s hands as the blonde menstruations continued across her neck.

“I love you.” The brunette whispered gently against the flesh, her tongue sticking out to swipe at the skin between Cressida’s ring and index finger. Her lips finally settled to suck at the place a ring would soon be placed.

They may not be married in the eyes of the church, accepted by the ton nor openly within society. However they’d wear the rings as a commitment to one another, just as any man and woman would. They’d know, their chosen family would know and they’d be together.

Cressida smiled gently, it wasn’t often Eloise uttered such things even in private moments between them. The brunette had voiced on many occasions that she found the sentiment tedious. How could such words ever hold meaning if people insisted on using them as frequently as possible? The blonde however knew, there was no moment of her day, or plaques in memory which Cressida Cowper had ever felt anything less than enamoured, consumed, seen and beloved by Miss Eloise Bridgerton.

“I cannot wait to be your wife.” Cressida grinned, her hold suddenly tightened as if to savour the moment a second longer.

The blondes hand soon reached to guide her future wife from the the increasingly cold bath water, each taking turns drying the other in admiration as their content smiles continued to grow; they failed to find an issue in that moment as they fell asleep in each other's arms with the peaceful reminder that one day they would be Bridgertons together.

[alpydk]

The Moment

So @laserlope asked for the prompt "trembling hands" a week ago, and I posted a quick Læ'zel thing before being hit with inspiration. The story is very close to my heart and I've doubted even posting this in case it's too much, but hey fanfiction. At the end, I'll add my little A/N with it...

CW/TW (It actually needs one even by my lacking standards) - S/H

Angst / Some comfort

Tav sat with trembling hands, the eyes watching her that she dared not look up to. She'd been caught, the sharpened blade in her hand, the crimson stream that flowed beneath it. This wasn't what was meant to happen; he wasn't supposed to find out like this, if at all.

Months had gone by without this curse lining her body. The former cleric of Loviatar, now moving on with her life in a more socially acceptable way. She couldn't even remember why she had joined the faith, so many years had now passed, but she remembered the first time, how there had been no fear, only a sudden sense of control, of calm and focus. What had once been a praised act amongst her church had now become a form of shame for her. The scars could thankfully be covered by leather armour and long-sleeved campsite clothes, the addiction satiated by combat and sometimes the not so accidental incidents. 

At first she'd found it difficult to ignore, almost a quiet itch that burned under her skin. Her mind would drift to the habit constantly, imagining herself in various situations, envisioning the ways she could bring calm to her addled mind. Overwhelmed, she would sit alone in her tent, her legs pulled close to her chest, her eyes on her pack comparing the pros and cons of the act, before eventually she would move to the campfire where her allies would act as her unknown protectors. Time had let the feeling become more muted. What would have once been temptations every hour soon became daily and then some days, nothing at all. Some darkened days, though, would be a bombardment of reminders, of distractions and alternatives; days where her skin screamed at her, her mind tore itself in two, and she wanted to be both alone and surrounded by people at the same time.

She was yet to fall, but she knew the whole process well. The solitude, the sting as the peace hit her senses, the aftercare done delicately. Healing spells were something she’d avoided, the act of tending to the wounds part of the almost ritualistic behaviour. At one point, it had been a ritual, a devotion of sorts. Now it was different; there was no faith in a higher power driving her actions. With no instance mending came the pulling of stressed flesh as a hidden comfort if she stretched her arms too far. Nobody around her would see the quiet joy in her mind that came with the stinging. Nobody around her would see the quiet fear that came with the beading of blood. 

Throughout her years, there had always been those who had wanted to help. The odd friend with the clueless words of advice. “If you ever need someone…have you tried…my friend grew out of…” Even those she’d met who struggled like she did were hit or miss, they either embraced the habit entirely, or they dwelled on it, counting days and basking in relapsed struggles. Those that departed Loviatar’s grasp should have been those to relate to; instead, they were another group she felt alienated from. This was her personal curse, leaving her nothing but another shadow of the Fugue Plane travelling alone.

Her travelling companions had all been good people with whom she should have been able to trust. Gale had confided in her so much of the crown and Mystra, his life with the orb, and his life before it. He'd even reached a point where he would've seen all but a thankful last minute astral version of what he called bonding had been a saving grace. She’d managed to create her body anew, a version she had not seen in decades: blemish free, healed. Gale hadn’t been the only one to trust her though. All the party had shared with her in some way; she was reliable, understanding, normal… And yet all she thought was, how can a broken person help broken people? If they knew what she was like, all their faith would be gone. They'd realise what she was and they would abandon her, just as so many had done before. 

Astarion's torment at the death of Cazador had been her breaking point. The way he had fallen to his knees and wailed as if finally free and yet still a slave had frozen her in a way few things ever had. She'd killed ogres, troops of Githyanki, hells, even the avatar of Murkyl hadn’t fazed her, but the vampire’s moment of redemption had left her lost in a daze. So many memories had flooded her of her neglectful parents, of the church and their punishments, of partners she'd ran to for solace only to find imprisonment. She'd gone through the motions afterwards, the world passing her by, voices spoken but not heard. Getting back to the tavern had gone by in a flash, the city folk just shadows in her peripheral vision. Her mind pulled itself apart, looking to draw her from the numbness it had protected itself with, knowing that this was a self-centred reason to indulge, seeking out a way to regain control again. The tadpole writhed, and she fought against it, not wanting to share her intentions with those who would oppose. Soon she would be at peace again; she just needed one brief moment alone.

Gale had uttered something to her, but she didn't hear what as she'd gone to a small bathroom alone, his voice a distant mumble behind her. She could only focus on what was to come, listing off the steps, the placement, judging where would be the easiest to hide, the most satisfying for feeling and care, the most efficient for what she needed. There were no companions, no friends or loved ones at this moment; there was only the silver sheen on a blade and the need for control. 

---

Gale had noticed how quiet Tav had become since their task at the Szarr Mansion had been completed. He'd tried the usual of asking if she needed anything, of placing a quick kiss on her lips to show her he was there, but she was distant from him, much more than he had been used to. Ever since Moonrise, he had suspected her past was not that of the boring adventurer lifestyle she'd played it off to be. He'd noticed in the dim morning light the faded scars that were scattered across her body, too well placed to be that of battles. Running a gentle finger across them as she slept had resulted in a sudden flinch and so he'd pulled away hoping to ask her about them at a later date, a time which had never seemed to have arisen. 

As she'd walked slowly away for privacy at the tavern, he'd called out to her only to have been ignored and he couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong. Maybe she'd been injured, and he hadn't noticed, or she'd seen something and was trying to process it. Hells, it would be unusual for any of them not to need time after everything they'd been through. Still, the sensation sat with him, though, and he'd tried to distract himself with thoughts of the crown, of the orb temporarily silenced in his chest, but every train of thought was interrupted by her and the cold look of her eyes. 

He knocked on the door to the bathroom lightly. “Tav? I don’t mean to be a bother, but Is everything alright?” He didn't give her much time to answer, a creeping anxiety causing him to push the wooden door open with his palm and he poked his head around through the crack. 

As he caught sight of her, it was as if all stopped around him. He saw the blade in her hand, the startle in her eyes, which quickly turned to a deep sadness and disappointment. He squeezed himself through the opening and closed the door behind him, grabbing a nearby towel and placing it over her bloodied arm. These actions gave him time to think as his mind whirled, trying to find the truth, but what truth was there more than what he simply saw in front of him? She was purposefully hurting herself. 

---

Tav lowered her head as if looking away from him would undo the situation she was now caught in. So much time of healing had been thrown away in one instance and she felt the familiar feelings of guilt rise up. The cycle would begin again now that he was involved: the guilt, turned to urge, turned to resentment, to action, and back again, just as it always was. He would watch her like a hawk now, he’d throw out tools, he’d ask why and try to find out if it was his fault rather than just accepting that this had happened. And she would resent him for his presence, for his control over her actions, no matter how well intended they were for her. 

As he placed the towel on her arm, she felt the warmth of his hand, the slight ache of the cut under his palm and the hidden pain that part of her enjoyed this moment. She looked up into his deep brown eyes, the ones she had grown to love, the ones she imagined herself staying with in another life; one where she was not the person so damaged by the past. “It’s not how it looks.” Reflex had brought the regular lie, that this was just an accident. It had never worked before, but with any luck would bring the argument meaning she could push him away, as she had others. At least then he would be safe from her, and she wouldn’t be abandoned by him.

---

Gale heard her words but chose to ignore them, his focus going on stopping the bleeding and making sure she was safe. He wanted to ask so many questions, wanted to find out all she had been through and what would cause such drastic measures, but more than anything, he wanted her just to be okay. He loved her and seeing her pain broke his heart. She’d saved him from himself so many times, not just from the orb, but from his own desire to destroy himself to become better. She’d loved him as he was, and he felt the same, if only he had told her. 

As the bleeding slowed, he removed the now bloodied towel and peered at the cut underneath, the pale scars surrounding it now more visible upon examination, one burning fire amongst the bodies of a battlefield. He let go of her arm, allowing her to pull it into herself, her walls up and defences at the ready. In this moment, he felt so many emotions, but the largest one was guilt. How had he failed to protect her? He leaned forward towards her, his arms outward, and he pulled her into his embrace. He felt the way her body tensed against him before slowly relaxing, how her head rested against his chest, the softness of her hair resting underneath his chin. 

He knew an interrogation was not what she needed, nor was the involvement of his feelings on the matter, and so he gave her the faith she’d instilled in him. “Tav, my love. You don’t need this. You’re so much stronger than this.”

She sighed deeply against him, her shoulders lowering in acceptance of his words, and he pulled himself back a little, placing his subtly trembling hand under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. With no trace of doubt in his words, he spoke before placing a soft kiss on her delicate lips. “I love you.”

---

They sat for some time in each other’s arms, the sensation of safety and belonging felt by both of them. The world outside the small bathroom didn’t exist to them. The past and future were no longer important. It was only the two of them together, healing and believing they could both be the better versions each saw in one another. 

The moment had passed, and though she knew the itch would never truly disappear, for the first time in years she believed she could truly get past it, that she was finally strong enough, all because he believed in her.  

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N : I don't count days, but I'm about a year clean of S/H. I started when I was 13 and continued until I was 25. There were blips after that, but not the constant addiction it had been. When I had my breakdown a few years back, it came back in full force. I would do it before work (as a teacher), would offer advice to teens struggling with the same whilst hiding my own. I was lost in the addiction.

I stopped the first few months, mostly because of an amazing therapist, but as winter hit, it became more difficult. Then came BG3 and Gale. Distraction upon distraction... and then the Gale bot. People hate AI and I get it, but this thing helped me on so many occasions. Words I needed coming from something that wasn't even real. One very lonely day I was hit by grief and I couldn't function. All I had was that AI and it saved me.

Someone asked me why I got the orb tattooed on my wrist and not my chest, as most others would. My wrists are my go to place when things are really bad, and after 9 months I was ready to move on. Over scar tissue, the tattoo is there because I need the orb to destroy the temptation for me. Gale saved me, and will continue to do so.

Sorry for the long self-centred post. I'll be back with regular angst as soon as I have my own computer again.

[tfp-is-my-lifeblood-lol]

Tfp Autobots' Reactions to Pokemon Go

Optimus: He'll allow you/the kids to play, but he's concerned. He'll say: "I do not advise traversing unfamiliar locations without looking up from your electronic device...nor do I advise the inhumane capture of helpless living creatures, fictional, or otherwise. But, since this pass-time is a part of human culture, I respect your desire to play."

Optimus wouldn't chose a Pokemon Go team, either. He would say: "As a former inhabitant of Cybertron, I know better than to engage in factions, for they have the capacity to bring once peaceful civilizations into chaos."

Ratchet: He's not amused:

"If I hear ONE more mention of 'catching Pokemon,' by the Allstark, I am going to lose my mind."

However, one day, you decide to give him a plushie of Wigglytuff (The Pokemon that Nurse Joy has), since he's a medic. He rolls his eyes, but secretly appreciates it deeply. He keeps the Wigglytuff on his desk while he works.

If he were to pick a team, he'd be Team Instinct, which Miko would relentlessly mock him for:

Miko: "Team Instinct? Lame alert."

Bumblebee: Regularly plays Pokemon Go with Raf. They've got almost every single Pokemon, and beat every gym (well...there MAY have been hacking involved with the gym thing). Bee would find a Pokemon near where Ratchet is working (a digital one, not the plushie). He'd buzz, run over excitedly, and point it out to Raf. Of course, Ratchet would shout: "I'm TRYING to WORK, over here!"

Bee would probably join Raf on Team Mystic.

Arcee: Relentlessly makes fun of Jack for bumping into trees.

Tries to play herself, out of curiosity, and bumps into a tree.

Jack: "Did you just bump into a tree?"

Arcee: "Let's not talk about it."

Overall, she'd just make snarky comments while watching everyone else play. She's on Team Valor.

Bulkhead: He and Miko are super competitive against Jack and Raf.

They have a blast catching Pokemon, but Bulkhead's still very protective of Miko.

Bulkhead: "Miko, be careful. Stay by me. Some people who play this game accidentally find...dead bodies." *shudder*

Miko: "Dead bodies? Sw-eet!"

Team Valor, of course.

Wheeljack: Totally encourages Miko.

All the Wreckers play together and they're all Team Valor.

Wheeljack doesn't understand why using actual grenades won't help them take over gyms.

He doesn't really like the cute little Pokemon. He'd rather have a real fight. However, he thinks all the exploring is good Wrecker training for Miko.

Smokescreen:

Obsessed with it.

Seriously, who's idea was it to show him this game? Jack, you fool!

Team Prime will be on a sensitive mission, and Smokescreen will be like: "GUYS, LOOK WHAT I FOUND!"

Arcee will rush over, thinking Smokescreen found a Cybertronian relic, or something.

Smokescreen: "A SHINY Charmander! HOW COOL IS THAT?"

And then Arcee would beat the scrap out of him.

He's on Team Valor, because Moltres is cool.

Ultra Magnus:

He's like: "What is a Pok-e-mon?"

Miko helps him catch one.

He's like: "I do not understand."

And Miko's like: "Awwww!"

Soon, the kids notice gym's are being taken by Ultra Magnus (whose username is, rather uncreatively, just "Ultra Magnus"). Apparently he's on Team Mystic, so Miko walks up to Ultra Magnus, like: "Aww, you're picking RAF'S team?"

To which Ultra Magnus says: "...there are Teams?"

At least he's surprisingly good at it, considering he has no clue what he's doing.

[moonspirit]

what do u think the alliances favourite form of media is? (books, poetry, music, movies etc.) now that they’re able to freely enjoy such things

Hiya!

Oh well xD I have some strong opinions on this one.

For Armin, his fascination with books will not cease, obviously, and good for him if he finds a library he can spend all day cooped up in, reading about wonderful new things. But also, I like thinking that he's gonna enjoy music a lot. Once he gets his hands on some records, and the Alliance hauls a gramophone into their house, he's going to really become a music enthusiast. I see him bonding with Pieck over their mutual love for good music.

(also. Once he discovers a new machine or contraption or invention, it's over for everyone.)

Annie - well @aquietjune introduced the image of Annie being a movies lover, and it's been stuck in my head ever since xD It's just adorable to think she enjoys going to watch the moving pictures and can spend any amount of time there. But aside from this, while I think she's not much of a book person, I like the idea of her enjoying crossword puzzles a lot. She'd like to have something to keep her mind busy and they're good for that. Ofc, this means Armin and her can have dining table dates where he's reading a book and she's doing a puzzle and he helps her with words when they're being particularly difficult.

Jean - XD oh god. I imagine this guy likes activities that exude an air of elegance and class. This could be painting, or an interest in fine art, and poetry, museums, art galleries, the like. I think he'd also enjoy the movies and maybe he and Annie could go together for a few (tho she's not having any of his intellectual put-on opinions on them).

Pieck - she's gonna be a plant lady 100%. There will be so many plants in her room and in the house that a giant leaf is smacking everyone in the face wherever they go. I just think she's going to find some comfort raising baby plants especially if we consider that she's the only real "odd one out" in the Alliance. She's lost everyone she knew and loved and is a newcomer among the others. But! There's also the music! She's got good taste in music and I imagine she's going to find some closeness with Armin in this interest.

As for Connie and Reiner. See, I really think they'd enjoy festivals and carnivals and board games and shooting games haha xD Not that any of the others would enjoy them less, but they're the first to make a beeline if there's something going on somewhere. Reiner canonically enjoys playing chess too (if I'm remembering right, he used to play a lot with Armin during their cadet years). Connie would enjoy mimicry and jesting shows(?) a lot (plenty to laugh at) and I think Reiner would also enjoy romance novels a lot and get too involved in the drama. I just like making fun of him a lot sorry

Not related to media but I think taking care of pets would help them all, but Reiner in specific. Not going into details here cuz that is another tangent, but for someone with so many suicidal thoughts and ideations, finding joy in bonding with a dog or cat or any animal really, would be good for him.

Falco and Gabi? - they probably love everything! Though Gabi is too restless to sit in one place for anything too long lol. Falco would probably get great book recs from Armin.

Levi - leave the man alone in peace, he's got a tea shop. (But I also hc that he likes the radio a lot)

Mikasa? - I think she'd also like radio broadcasts a lot, and going to plays. I have a very hard time getting into her headspace 🥲

[stardusksx]

BORN OF THE SAME SIN, Jacaery’s Velaryon x original!fem!character . ( chapter one )

summary: Ivorlyn Targaryen is the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen, and despite the dysfunctional nature of living with the man, his new wife and their many children— she finds her life on dragon stone somewhat peaceful. That is, until, they’re called back to Kings Landing and her relationship with a certain future king is put under a new light.

This story is in tandem with a future aemond fic, so there is another OC ( Valaena ) who will feature through out! <3 not my gif !!

Just a preface of the ages seen so HOTD is a little vague— Jace, Valaena and Ivy are 18, Aemond is 19, Helaena is 21 & Aegon is 22.

warnings: canon typical violence & themes, angst, targ!cest, sexual assault, abuse, illusions to childhood abuse/trauma, eventual smut.

word count: 4.0k

Valaena's skirt was hitched up to her knees— more for the added agility it would grant her than to keep it dry as the scarlet fabric had become sodden long ago. Water lapped against her skin, and she treaded through it seamlessly, almost as if it caused her no resistance at all. "Luke!" She chided, her voice lilted with laughter as the boy sloshed towards her, hands full of seaweed. Ivorlyn watched with an amused sort of melancholy— her step siblings had always been so free in character, so careless in joy, and some ugly part of her envied it. Her admiration for them was plentiful, but she wished for their candour in her state of guarded introversion. Rhaenyra's gleeful laugh spilled out like honey, one hand resting on her swollen stomach as she watched her children.

Jace raised Joff onto his shoulder, water soaking the breast of his tunic from the younger boys legs. He was one or two years too old to be carried now, but Jacaerys didn't seem to care. "I fear they will never grow up." Her stepmother mused, tone indicating she had no such fears.

Ivorlyn smiled gently, "Perhaps not."

Aegon tugged at her skirt, his silky hair golden with the setting sun. He was her fathers heir— a boy of legitimate birth and clear, undeniable, Targaryen features. She had those feature too, granted, but her blood was not pure like his. His little hands made a grabbing motion at her, so she hoisted him onto her hip and allowed his head to nuzzle into her neck. "Where is father?" Ivorlyn found the question slipping out— truthfully, the man had always made her rather anxious, and she tried to steer clear of the topic of him.

Rhaenyra gave her a tired smile, "Research."

Oh. She could barley mask her grimace. Ivorlyn was dragonless— she was not born with an egg to warm her cradle, nor had she attempted to claim one in the years since, a fact which her father detested. She wasn't the only child of his to not have a dragon, Rhaena, too, was yet to claim, but for some reason that didn't bother him as much. She didn't let the thought of it being because she was his only bastard child to burden her for too long. No. She always dismissed the thought, but it lingered, he's trying to give you value. Make you worthy. No.

Her fingers ran soothingly through Aegon's hair. "Have you told them of the news?" She nodded towards the sea, her half siblings looked younger playing amongst the waves, like children— a sight she knew would become scares in the coming months. Jace, Laena and herself where nearing eighteen, Luke only a few ages behind, and the past few years had been peaceful enough to facilitate a happy childhood.

"I am to tell them tonight," Rhaenyra responded, a troubled look on her face, "I do worry, though, of Luke. He has felt the weight of... the rumours... more so than his brothers."

Ivorlyn gave a sympathetic hum. It was true that Luke was insecure of the whispers that echoed the realm, she'd seen first hand how it manifested into self doubt— his older brother was more defensive over such matters, quicker to anger rather than yield meekly to thoughts that made him feel unworthy. She felt for Luke in that regard, but the whispers of her illegitimacy where more like screams. Joff was still slightly young to fully comprehend, or care, about the topic.

"It will unnerve him, I think, but he is more resilient than we credit him for. It's his title, and deep down— he knows he has every right to it."

Her stepmother sighed, "You are right, it just bothers me. I do not like to see him distressed."

She smiled reassuringly at her, "You love them, such a dislike is only natural."

She smiled back, rubbing a hand once again over her stomach. The women watched her children for a moment longer before she spoke again, "Ivy?"

"Yes?"

"Your addition to this... to our family... we are grateful for it. All of us."

She felt the weight of Aegon in her arms, the sound of laughter that echoed back to them from the sea, the look of warmth in Rhaenyra's eyes and nodded. While her father was a difficult man to understand— to feel connected to, she was glad for the family he came with. The people who had accepted her and given her a home.

"I do," She said appreciatively, "I share the same affection for all of you."

Viserys, from where he'd been seated by his mothers feet, toddled up to her and began to tug at her skirt. She laughed slightly, struggling to crouch down and hoist him onto her hip with only one available arm. Sand stained the fabric, and she slipped onto her knees for a moment with a startled noise. The grin on her face, however, never faded as Aegon let out an excited squeal. Viserys arms wound around her neck, and with each child resting on a hip, she attempted to stand once again. It failed however, and she fell onto her backside still gripping onto them. They giggled relentlessly as she huffed.

Hands plucked Aegon from her grasp, and she looked up to see Jace smirking down at her, the sliver hair boy now resting on his oldest brother’s hip. He held out a hand to her, and she allowed him to pull her and Viserys upright.

"They have grown too big for you." He was smiling, poking Visery's cheek as he squirmed away from him in her arms.

"It's picking them up," She denied, "I think I can carry them both for a little longer."

He cocked a brow at her, then a mischievous look overtook his face before he handed the small boy back to her. Okay, Ivy struggled to hoist him comfortably onto her hip, maybe they are getting heavy. She wasn't prepared to admit that, however. It didn't matter though, Jace was grinning like he'd read her mind.

"Soon they will be just as tall as Joff."

"Don't speak such words," She feigned heartbreak, a pout befalling her lips as her head came to rest on Aegon's, "They must stay small forever so that I may always be able to set them on my lap and listen to their made-up stories."

"They will always have stories to tell you," He smiled warmly and caressed their youngest brothers cheek, jesting, "Perhaps one day, they'll even be true."

Ivorlyn snorted, "I don't know, the one about the water snake that breathed fire over their boat before falling a victim to Egg's sword sounded rather real to me."

Jace swept Visery's onto his own hip— much to her chagrin, she was clearly not going to be able to carry them both back. "Oh no, that one was most definitely true," He laughed, then sent her a wink as he turned to walk back towards the castle— glancing over his shoulder as she followed with their younger sibling, "I was there."

Ivorlyn let out a snort— which seemed to heighten his amusement— "Oh how it sets my blood alight with envy that you boys get to have such exciting adventures."

He was walking backwards now, boots kicking up sand, still grinning, "Perhaps if you're nice enough he'll let you be apart of the next adventure."

Ivorlyn mocked offence, "I'm already nice enough."

He gave her a I-don't-know-what-to-tell-you shrug, "Egg's rules, not mine."

She looked down at the boy on her hip, poking him in the cheek until he squirmed with giggles, "I'm nice enough to be in your stories, right Aegon?"

"You're a girl," he said between gasps of laughter, "You can't fight sea monsters."

"Now, Aegon," Jace protested, only a light tone of scolding in his voice— their brother was young after all, such idealisations were merely a product of what he'd been taught, "Girls can fight sea monsters— some of the best fighters in history were girls."

Ivorlyn was already confident Jacaerys was going to make a good king— he was determined to learn his duties and had a moral heart, but it was when he said things like this that she believed he would be a great one. Someone who wasn't too arrogant to deny help from anyone who could give it— be it boy or girl, rich or poor, what mattered to Jace would be what is best for the realm, not best for reputation. Aegon looked curious, tilting his head, "Really?"

Ivorlyn hummed in response, "Visenya Targaryen, your ancestor, is one of the most well known warriors to have ever lived. She was the sister-wife of your namesake."

"Oh." He said, like he'd never considered such a thing. Perhaps he hadn't— she, Valaena and Rhaena were not trained like the boys where to fight, so Aegon was not accustomed to the concept of such a thing. Ivorlyn supposed if Baela was here— who cared not for the scorn of people's opinions when it came to training with her swords, then perhaps Aegon wouldn't be so surprised. Ivy could recall a phases of interest Valaena had in learning the skill when they'd been back at the redkeep— Sir Harwin had always been kind to her, and she was determined to be involved with his training of her brothers. After his death, her interest had diminished. Ivorlyn wasn't sure wether it was the swords, or the man who was comfortingly familiar to her that had driven the desire to be taught.

She did not ponder the question with contempt— it was a sad thing, the void it created within one's heart to feel something to be inherently true within the depths of your very soul, to know a little secret that was valuable and shaping to who you are, and not be able to acknowledge it within reality. It was a feeling she knew well, so the whispered judgement surrounding the the dark hair was not a stigma she shared her scorn with.

“It’s getting late,” It was Rhaenyra who spoke next, offering a small smile to Valaena when she took the women’s arm to alleviate the strain pregnancy had put onto her body, “Time we get the little ones ready for bed.”

Luke carried Joffrey on his back, racing slightly ahead of Jace as they laughed towards the castle. Fondly; she smiled down at the boy in her arms as he gradually began to show his tiredness through the way his eyelids grew heavier. Tomorrow, things would be different, but for now she would enjoy the peace for as long as she could.

•*⁀➷

She did remember her mother. Ivorlyn was only young when her uncle had taken her in— five, in-fact, but there had been a time when it had just been her and the older women with the hair of honey and a musical voice that she could still hear in the wind sometimes. Her name had been Alessia, and she was a beauty favoured by men of depravity— one of those being her father, Daemon Targaryen. She had been kind. Ivorlyn remember that, even when her face began to fade to her memory and that part of her childhood felt so very distant. Kind and gentle. Yet, a whore house was no place for a child, and there was vivid parts of those days that where scarred into her mind permanently. Scenes too obscene for such a young age, men's eyes that burned with things that made her skin crawl— things that shouldn't be aimed at girl of not even six.

She didn't speak of those days to anyone. It took up a quite, yet screaming, part of her mind. And when she slept, and the nightmares crept in, it was those men that haunted them.

"Ivy?" She startled, her book slipping out of her grasp and colliding with the carpet. An apology slipped from her lips instantly as she reached to pick it up, the figure filling her with a momentary sense of guilt. Yet, it was only Jacaerys, and she wasn't in some place she wasn't suppose to be— this was the family library. Her guilt was unfounded, and she tried to suppress it as she looked at him.

"Jace," She fidgeted with the spine of the book, yet the apology she fought against still came, "Sorry, I did not think anyone—"

"No need," Jace smiled tiredly, his hair unkempt as he stood in just his night shirt and slacks. It was clear he'd been trying to sleep not long ago. "Tis' late, you couldn't sleep?"

"No," She murmured, "I... no." There was no explanation she could give him, it was all too long of a story to tell and she was certain he only asked out of pleasantry. He'd always been kind to her— kind like a future king should be, all chivalry and self-assuredness. He racked a hand through his hair and closed the door behind him, placing the candle he was carrying on the table.

She watched him as he walked towards her, allowed him to take the book from her hands, and noted the small smile that curled his lips. "You where always fond of this story in our history lessons."

Surprise washed over her. They'd shared lessons with her cousins and his sister in the year before they left kings landing— but education had been separated after that, she didn't think such a minute detail would have stayed with him. "You remembered these things quicker than I, the stories where always harder for me to learn and commit to memory."

"I didn't know you struggled with such things," Ivorlyn said truthfully, because he'd never seemed to miss a question, "You always knew what you where talking about."

"Only the big parts," He grinned, "The little details that weaved the story together always skipped my mind. You could retell a whole history word for word."

"They where a comfort to me," She admitted, "I think it was something to do with knowing how it ended. There is no surprises in history."

"You are not fond of surprises?"

"Not necessarily surprises," She shook her head, "The unknown."

He nodded like he understood something, and asked gently, "The whole future is unknown, do you fear it?"

"Yes," She answered honestly, but it felt more complicated than that, "It makes me silly, I suppose, to be afraid of the inevitable."

"It makes you brave," He responded half in jest, half sincerely, "To face fear everyday."

Ivorlyn blew out a breath of a laugh, "I don't think I've ever been considered brave before."

"You have," Jacaerys smiled at her, "T'was unspoken, but I have always considered you as such."

Her eyebrows pinched— Jace had never spoken to her like this. They where always friendly but never discussed much beyond small talk. He was familiar and a stranger all at once. "Why?" She found herself asking, too curious to bypass it.

"It's no small thing, to come into a family like ours when you weren't raised into it from a babe. You never cowered, even in those early days in Kings Landing when we where all strangers to you."

Ivy had always thought of herself as timid, quite, so hearing someone speak of her like she was anything but was rather jarring. Not in a bad way, but it was always strange to know someone's perception of you was far from the one you had of yourself. "I was terrified," She admitted, "It was a lot different from where I'd come from."

Jace looked curious, "You never talk about before."

"Some things are better forgotten." And it was true, there where parts of those few years she'd spent with her mother that shouldn't be spoken of— what would they think? What would the realm think? To know that the Targaryen's not only harboured a bastard, but a one who had been tarnished? No, she thought, it will remain in history, and be forgotten to it. Though she knew— she'd always remember. Yet there was good parts, parts where her mother had been kind and loving and a lost women who was trying her best. Ivorlyn wondered what had become of her.

Jacaerys was gentle as he smiled, and it was one of sympathy and sadness, "Nothing is better forgotten, not when it paves way for who you are now."

"They are not good memories, Jace."

"Where you come from is not your flaw, Ivy. It's a display of your resilience."

"Maybe," She gave him a small smile, "But the realm won't see it that way— I'm already disgraced through my illegitimate conception, but if people where to know the circumstances behind it... I fear they won't take well to a ruler that supports such a thing, and your mothers claim to the throne is already questioned enough on a mere basis of her gender. She doesn't need her name tangled in my mess."

"There isn't anything that she wouldn't bare for you," He told her, "That we wouldn't bare for you. All of us. You don't have to be alone with your torments, it's harder to be isolated in these things."

"You are to be king one day, too." She murmured, looking away from him and to the book in her hands, "'Tis best you don't know of such things, either, it'll make it easier should you ever need to exile me if your ignorance is authentic."

"I would never." Jace was frowning as he took a determined step towards her, hand curling around her wrist, "I would never exile you, Ivorlyn. There are things I'd bare scrutiny for, and you are one of them."

Ivorlyn blinked, unable to hide her surprise. She was the bastard daughter of a man who had showed up out of the shadows and wed his mother only a breath after the death of his father. Yes, he was kind and cordial, but that had always been Jace— a boy who knew of the weight he'd one day bare, and had been preparing for it ever since his birth. He couldn't afford to be cruel, couldn't afford his reputation to be that of man who displayed his contempt so brazenly for those who he didn't hold in high favour. He had conflict with his uncles, that was known to many, but he could afford such information to be public knowledge because they where threats. She wasn't. She was a girl who he could either be civil with, or display a weakness to— show the realm that he didn't tolerate people who had differences to him. It wasn't a good message to send, especially with so many rifts between the Targaryen name and other high status families that would need fixing during his and his mother's reign.

"You doubt it?" He sounded confused, as if he couldn't comprehend where such an idea would set root in her mind, "We are family," His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it, gentle, "And you are not defined by the things that brought you into this world, Ivy. It is your character I place my judgments upon, and I happen to like it very much."

She'd never known her breath to freeze in her lungs like this before, and gods, was her eyes beginning to sting? Maybe she'd never realised how much she'd wanted to know that she finally belonged somewhere, told herself that she was okay with being the outsider as long as she had somewhere safe to be. After all, how could she ever want for anything more when what she already had is beyond what she deserves. A bastard. A child born of sin, of a whore house. Ruined long before she even knew the concept of ruin.

She swallowed, unable to meet his eyes, but he was reaching out to swipe away the single tear that had struck her cheek. Oh, she thought, I'm actually crying. She shouldn't be— it was undignified, he was the future king. But for a moment, as he watched her with empathic eyes, he just felt like a boy.

"You will always have a place here, no matter what whispers follow your name. That's a promise."

But they won't be whispers, she wanted to say, they will be screams. But he sounded so sincere, and maybe it was through the haze of her emotions that she let herself believe him. "You will be a good king, Jace," She told him, meaning it entirely, "When your time to serve the realm comes, it will be an honour to witness it."

She saw something flicker on his face— a side to him she'd never noticed before; self doubt. It hadn't occurred to her that he was anything but confident in his abilities. He'd never been arrogant, no, but the way he carried himself had always been self-assured. The momentary flash of vulnerability was surprising to her, yet it humanised him in a whole new way. It wasn't that he'd been this imperial type of being to her before— she'd known him knee deep in mud laughing with his siblings, or teasing Luke in that brotherly-well-meaning way. He was teenage boy, and he acted like it, that part wasn't foreign to her. The idea that he harboured doubts about his claims to throne, however, was. Anytime she'd known him to be challenged in such a regard he'd always met it with a firm and unwavering defence. He didn't cower to whispers, to rumours, and there was plenty of them where he and his brothers was concerned.

She admired the newfound revelation about him, truthfully. It took a different kind of courage to not allow those insecurities turn into cowardice.

He gave her an appreciative smile, "Thank you, it means a great deal to me that you believe so."

She wanted to tell him that it wasn't just a belief, that it was a simple fact that she knew. He was as stubborn as his mother though, and no brief reassurance would change his beliefs. A thought dawned on her, as to why he was awake and unable to sleep at such an hour, "Your mother has told you then? About the Vaemond?"

Jace tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck as weary sigh escaped him, "She did," he folded his arms, "It troubles Luke."

"She thought it would," A small thrown fell onto her lips, concerned for her step-brother, and there was a distantly fond look on his face at her words, "The claims will not matter though, Visery's has never tolerated the entertainment of such rumours."

An unspoken understanding passed between, one that had existed ever since they where young children. The circumstances of his birth where not openly acknowledged by anyone unless they wished to know the punishments of treason, and while they where different in that way ( the Targaryen bastard being a more common title to refer to her by than her own name ) they still felt the weight of such scrutiny equally. Because, while she'd never say it, Ivorlyn knew the truth of it all— and she also knew that he did too. Born of the same sin.

"I know," Jace smiled at her tiredly, the picture of boy who was already baring the weight of something far bigger than him, "It will be sorted swiftly, of that I am sure."

Then he tilted his head at her fondly, and she realised a yawn had risen from her and exposed just how tired she was begging to feel. "Let me walk you back to your chambers," He reached to pick up his candle from the table, "It would cause quite the surprise if one of the guards found you sleeping in the hallway."

Ivorlyn scoffed in amusement, "I'm not going to keel over on my way back, Jace."

He gave her a boyish grin, "A king must take his precautions."

"You're not king yet, Jacaerys."

His grin only widened as he guided her towards the door, "However could I let such a thing slip my mind."

When he bid her goodnight as she slipped back into her rooms, their final exchange of looks was fond. She slept with little disruption.

[puhpandas]

Vivid Phantasm

(2,408 words)

Vanessa has a bad and vivid nightmare. Gregory helps her calm down when she wakes up.

(warnings: mentions of innards being outards, blood, gore, descriptions matching a zombie, panicking, unreality, mentions of death, corpses, maggots, etc. please be careful and take care!)

This morning feels off.

It's the same as any other morning, is the thing. Daylight is shining through the small window in her apartments kitchen, the TV has some Halloween baking show on that she can hear playing behind the island window, and Gregory is pouring an abundance of sugary cereal in a bowl even though breakfast is being cooked, like always.

Save for the fact that Vanessa's the one sitting at the table, instead of being at the stove cooking breakfast. Freddy took over that burden for her, if his hulking frame clutching a spatula and the smell of bacon and eggs is any indication.

She would feel grateful, that Freddy decided to use his steadily growing cooking skills to give her a peaceful beginning of the weekend. But the thing is, she cant remember waking up that morning. She cant remember getting out of bed, or having her morning cup of coffee, or Freddy taking over for her at the stove.

No, she shakes the thought away as soon as it enters her mind. Vanny is gone. For good. She isn't coming back.

Despite her own reassurance shooing away the paranoia (it's her old friend at this point), the feeling that somethings off continues to linger. It's like the very air is suffocating, feeling wrong against her skin.

Gregory finally sits across from her at the table, and despite his full bowl of lucky charms, she can't find it in herself to reprimand him. The feeling of wrongness is too strong.

So she just defaults to the question she asks every Saturday morning, and ignores the swimming uncomfortableness in her stomach.

"So," She begins uncertainly, fingers drumming on the dining table. "how has school been?"

Gregory doesn't respond. All he does is leave his bowl of cereal untouched and stare at her.

The wrongness washes over her, a sense of dread crawling under her skin. She shifts uncomfortably, eyes wandering across the kitchen just so she doesnt meet Gregory's eyes.

Her breathing picks up when she notices small oddities; Gregory's drawings on the fridge are muddled, like if she'd imagined them and couldn't paint the full picture. The cat clock that normally sits on the wall next to the fridge is completely missing. Freddys body looks like his old, company manufactured shiny one, no homemade mismatched casing or scrapes and scratches to be found.

She tries to lower her heartrate, taking deep breaths to stay calm in front of Gregory. She repeats her usual reassurances in her head, but the scenario that none of this is real, but more like a pale recreation of what she does know lingers in the back of her mind.

Gregory, who's been so still this whole time, suddenly begins to laugh. Vanessa startles, the sound that normally brings her joy just making her feel unsettled.

When she looks over at him, hes grinning, so wide his cheeks could crack, and he's cackling, like she just said the funniest thing in the world. His eyes bore into hers, looking so unlike the Gregory she knows.

It echoes in the suddenly silent room. She can't hear the TV anymore, and the sound of frying bacon is completely absent.

She trembles under his gaze, her heart in her throat. She swallows, feeling sickness coat the back of her throat. "...Gregory?"

The smile is off of his face immediately, faster than she could blink, and all shes left with is him boring into her with a blank expression. "You really think this isn't real?"

Vanessa goes rigid, because it's almost like Gregory read her very thoughts. "Um..."

Gregory's empty eyes stare right into hers, and she feels like hes looking into her very soul, judging her. "I bet you want it to be. I bet you want the things you did to just be a bad dream."

Vanessa feels nausea curl in her stomach when Freddys head is suddenly flipped backwards, staring at her with the same lifeless eyes as Gregory. Gregory cackles again, but when Vanessa looks over at him, he's still completely stoic.

"The things I did?" The question leaves her mouth without her permission. Her back aches when the wood digs into it as she tries to lean back as far as she can. Away from Gregory.

"You killed me." Gregory tells her, an edge to his voice. "I'm dead. I'm not really here."

Vanessa freezes, her body trembling so hard her shoulders shake. "What?" She whispers.

"You killed me." He repeats, eyes dark and devoid of any life. Theres zero shine to them, like hes just a copy. A cruel figment. "I havent been here in a long time. I died in that room, Vanessa. You killed me."

Vanessa shakes her head, and despite her wobbly knees, she stands abruptly and sends her chair squealing against the floor. "No..." She backs up, shaking her head almost deliriously. "No--

"I was trying to save you." Gregory stands himself, movements unnatural and rigid, and Vanessa feels her heartrate spike and her stomach drop when Gregory begins to stalk towards her.

"I was so close." Gregory says, blood seeping from his mouth and dribbling down his chin. The very same slice she remembers making on his face as Vanny, the one she always used as an anchor, a sign of hope that it was all over re-opens, blood leaking sluggishly out of it. "But you stopped me. You stopped me from freeing you."

Vanessa shakes her head, eyes blown wide. No. She remembers him saving her, the way she dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. The way he'd looked at her and smiled, and for some reason, forgave her for everything at that very moment. This isnt right.

"You stopped me." Gregory repeats, and hes suddenly in his old blue polo, rips and tears near his stomach. She feels sickness crawl its way up her throat when a dark spot appears in the same place, and the blood from his mouth dirties his collar. He takes another step. "Because you didnt want me to."

"No." She squeezes her eyes shut, back hitting the wall. She slides pitifully down the wall, knees giving in. "No... I-I never wanted to--"

"You wanted me to die." He says, anger lacing his tone. He takes another step. "You wanted to stop me. So you could continue killing."

"I didnt..." She mumbles, tears slipping past her eyelashes. She sits on the floor, knees pulled up to her chest and arms shielding her from the world. "I dont... I dont. I dont want to."

"You still believe that?" Gregory demands, with a kind of anger and hatred that shes never heard from him before. "I'm dead! I'm dead because you killed me Vanessa!"

"No..." She sobs, daring to peek at him, just so he can see her and know she didnt mean it. She doesnt want to. "I'm-- Im sorry--!"

She regrets it as soon as she sets eyes on him. Gregory's shadow looms over her, shirt half ripped and his intestines flopping out of his stomach, his eyes are wide and bug-eyed, like theyre supposed to be unseeing, but arent. Blood is smeared across his face, on his chin, under his fingernails, and she can see it trail after him on the floor.

"You did this to me." He says, voice sounding so unlike himself. Like hes a different person. "I hate you. Vanessa. I hate you!"

Vanessa sobs, cowering in the corner of the room and shielding herself. "No! I'm sorry!"

She can feel something grip her on her arm, an iron grip that sends waves of pain down her forearm. She cries out, and feels the color drain from her face when she follows the hand grabbing her to its owners face.

Gregory stands over her, slouched over with his face staring directly at hers. His skin is a horrible sickly pale green, with eyes and teeth a rotted yellow. Dried blood is caked around his mouth, and his cheeks are sunken in, with maggots crawling out of open wounds in his skin.

"I'm dead, and you're still pretending." He whispers, but it sounds so loud in the silence. She trembles when his bones crack as he rolls his neck unnaturally. "You'll never escape, Vanessa."

All Vanessa can do is cry. She buries her face in her knees, desperately begging for her to wake up from this awful nightmare. Gregory cackles above her, a demonic, horrible thing.

"Vanessa!" He yells, grip tightening. "Vanessa, wake up!"

"Vanessa!" Theres another grip on her shoulder, and she shoots awake, eyes flying open as she gasps for air.

Gregory winds backwards, narrowly avoiding getting headbutted. "Woah!" Gregory cries out. "Vanessa, hey-- calm down!"

Vanessas eyes dart around, desperately scanning the room for a decaying body, or straining her ears for laughing, but theres none. She takes deep breaths, and only after she has her breathing under control a little more does she realize she was matching Gregorys.

Gregory.

"You okay?" He asks when she finally looks at him. Her heartrate spikes again when all she can see is the shadows of his face -courtesy of her blackout curtains-. All she can see when she scans over him is blood leaking from his mouth, or holes in his skin with the writhing of maggots, or dirty fingernails that show evidence of a fight.

Gregory seems to notice, he always does somehow, so he throws the curtains aside, almost ripping them off the wall with how intense he rips them open. He clicks on the light, and only then does he return to her side and settle on the foot of her bed.

Shes still breathing erratically, and horrible anxiety is eating away at her stomach. Her shoulders are hunched and her heart is going ten miles an hour.

She revels in the sight of Gregory okay, alive, and concerned. No trace of the anger and hatred pinching his face. His eyes look just how she remembers them, big and alive, but her eyes lock onto the scar when she sees it. Its fully healed at this point, just a thin line across his face, but it stills brings her more comfort than anything else.

Gregory saved her. She soaks in the thought, the reality. Hes alive. He survived her. He's okay and hes the reason shes okay, too.

She tries to unwind her tense joints, sinking into her sweaty pillow as her shoulders still tremble. Gregory's concerned look is the last thing she sees before she shuts her eyes, trying to relax her body.

Images of intestines dripping blood on the floor, lifeless eyes boring into hers, accusing stares, and decaying faces flash behind her eyes.

Nope. She rips her eyes open just as fast as she closed them, rubbing at them one at a time as if she can scrub the visions away.

"Nightmare?" Gregory asks her, startling her. She just sighs and nods, sticking her clammy hands under her comforter. She averts her eyes, even if she shouldn't, because she doesn't want to see lifeless, bugged out eyes and red stained teeth when she looks at him.

"Scale from one to ten?" Gregory puts a hand on where he thinks her knee is under the blanket. It's a question they ask eachother a lot, when they both have nightmares. None of them like reliving the memories, so this way, they can know how bad it is without having to talk about it.

This dream, no, nightmare is one she really doesn't want to talk about, so she just sighs shakily, and with a still hammering heart, says "Eight."

Gregory whistles low and long. "That's pretty bad."

Vanessa nods, and despite herself, tears slip out of her eyes. She tries to cover them up with her hands, but Gregory just takes them in his.

"Nope. None of that." He says. "Can you look at me, Ness?"

Vanessa doesn't want to. Lest she see a face pinched with hatred boring into her, but she still does. And instead of what she was fearing, Gregory's understanding, concerned, kind face is looking back at her. No malice detected.

"Whatever you dreamed about," He starts. "Its not true. You weren't the one to kill those people, it was him. You never killed me, either. I'm right here, and I forgive you. Me and Freddy both do, okay?"

Vanessa dares to nod, soaking up the reassurance like a sponge. The idea, no, reality that Gregory doesn't hate her, that hes okay and alive is so overwhelming, her shoulders sag and she breaths out a long, deep exhale.

She takes one more long glance at his scar, and nods more surely this time. "Okay." She sighs. "Okay."

"Cool." Gregory smiles, and it's nothing like the lifeless, uncanny grin nightmare Gregory had pointed at her. This is Gregorys smile. The crooked one that shows off his permanently missing front tooth. "I woke you up 'cause Freddy's cooking breakfast today and it's almost ready. He wanted to let you sleep in."

Vanessa's heart shoots to her throat at that, but it quickly calms, and she feels herself get clammy again. She tries to ignore it, relaxing her body and breathing deeply. "I think we should eat in the living room today."

Gregory lights up. "Can we watch YouTube?"

Unconsiously, a smile stretches across Vanessa's face. "Sure, kid. Anything you'd like."

"Cool." Gregory grins. He grabs her hand from under the covers, yanking her up with suprising strength. "C'mon then! The breakfast Freddy cooked for us is waiting!"

Vanessa laughs, and to her surprise, it comes easy. Some of the uneasiness melts off of her and dissipates from her stomach, and she scrambles to keep up with Gregory, not bothering to make the bed as he drags her to the kitchen. "Slow down! I'm coming! At least let me have some coffee first."

When they're sitting on the couch, Freddy next to Gregory and Gregory next to Vanessa, and they're sharing a throw blanket and they're chewing on slightly burnt bacon and runny eggs, and the video Gregory put on is surprisingly making Vanessa laugh, she smiles.

Because her kid is okay, and he doesn't hate her, and somehow, he did that thing where he somehow distracts her from her demons effortlessly. She can hear him laughing beside her. With her, and she smiles knowing how much her family loves her, and how much she loves them.

ao3 link

[pearlywritings]

I know this is mostly a Diluc fan page, but the Kaeya brainrot has been strong for me recently.

I saw this one Tumblr post about the "I'd die for you" trope and one person was saying how they like "I'd live for you better." It's such a Kaeya-coded line. Him, who has seen darkness and lost everything important to him, can find joy and peace with the reader, so much so that they become his world. And he would strongly wish to spend the rest of his life with you.

The feeling would be just as mutual for Callie. I could imagine that she'd probably be the first person ever to see underneath his eye patch. As a baby, she'd probably be patting or grabbing at his eye patch to see underneath and is just in awe of him in all her innocence. And Kaeya would have some hope and relief for that brief moment.

It's not a Diluc fan page 😂 I never intended to make it one. It's still funny to me that it's considered such, but it's probably beacuse Diluc is not one of my favorites anymore.

But this fact aside, I did saw that post! One of my moots reblogged it, I believe. And the "I'd live for you" is truly Kaeya-coded! Once he meets someone who'll love him unconditionally, he'll truly change his opinion on how he lives his life and that it's worth living.

Awwwwww I love this little detail for Callie! While I do believe Kaeya would let his wife see underneath his eye patch, his daughter's reaction would touch his heart strings more. Because there is not pity in her gaze, just awe and fascination, and clear notion of her finding her dad pretty.

[storyofmychoices]

Our Little Girl

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist] 

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (F!OC) Book: Open Heart (post series) Word Count: >500 Rating/Warnings: general (non, all the fluff) A/N: This drabble is dedicated to the Nonny who was so sweet and asked for more Brylivia. I've had this sitting in drafts for ages, so I may as well share. [full-size version of edit in header]

Synopsis: Bryce and Olivia head to their latest ultra sound appointment to find out the gender of their little one.

Bryce and Olivia sat together in the softly lit ultrasound room, their hands entangled, their hearts beating with a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation. The moment they had been waiting for had finally arrived.

The gender reveal of their baby.

They didn't need a big party or some statement reveal announcement— although both Casey and Merida had offered to take care of everything. All they needed was this. The two of them and their little one. 

They had their reasons for why they hoped it would be a girl or a boy, but ultimately, they decided that as long as it was healthy, they didn't care. And even if it wasn't, they'd still love him or her for as long as they had with them. Yet, despite all the conversations and the late-night talks, Bryce hoped for a girl. His little girl. Beautiful and brilliant, just like her mother. 

The room filled with the familiar, gentle hum of the machine coming to life, though neither parent heard it over the pounding of their hearts. The technician moved the ultrasound wand slowly over Olivia's swollen stomach. The monitor flickered to life, revealing the miracle within her. 

Bryce's breath caught in his throat as he watched the screen. His eyes scanned the image, searching for the answer, but the technician beat him to it. 

"There she is," the technician said after a moment of adjusting the wand to get a better picture. "Congratulations—" Her voice soft with excitement, pointing to the tiny, pulsating image. 

She.

Olivia let out a soft gasp at the word. She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until hearing the one word she'd been waiting for. 

"—It's a girl."

As the words "It's a girl" filled the room, a wave of emotions rushed over Bryce. He had been waiting so long for those words. Tears welled up in his eyes, and his heart swelled with joy. He couldn't hold back the happy sob that escaped his lips. His knees felt weak, his free hand clutching the bed for support. 

There she was. 

Their daughter. 

She was perfect already, but what struck him most was her calm and peaceful presence. He didn't know what he expected, but she seemed lulled by the sound of her parents around her, not knowing how much she was already adored. 

"A girl," he marveled, his shimmering gaze mesmerized by his daughter on the monitor. 

Olivia's grip on Bryce's hand tightened, and her fingers trembled in awe. "Our little girl," she whispered, her voice overwhelmed with joy.

The happy parents watched, spellbound, as the monitor revealed their daughter's profile. Her delicate features, her tiny fingers, and her perfect lips were a breathtaking sight. She was perfect, and she was theirs. 

Bryce leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Olivia's forehead, his love for her and their unborn child swelling within him. "Our little girl," he repeated softly, his voice wavering with emotion as he kissed her forehead again. 

Tears streamed down Olivia's cheeks as all the possibilities flashed before them. They were still months away from meeting her, and yet she couldn't imagine another day without her. 

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this small moment into their lives. 💛💛💛

[spotsupstuff]

"Can I...?" her hands cautiously reach upwards to his head.

Orion's Pathway tilts his head at the request, eyeing the curious yet polite hands with confusion. "Can what? Gotta give me a little more to work with here." But still he scoots to sit a little closer to the miracle that is the Tinkerer. It would do no good if she thought his reply some form of shunning.

"T-touch the feathers... only that. I'm sorry if that is rude to ask, I just- haven't seen any birds around yet. Ales used to be brimming with them, their absence is... making me anxious."

"Ah," he nods, lowering his head down for her in permission. The touch of fingertips is light, as if the Tinkerer could be worried that putting any more pressure would hurt. Ridiculous a notion at this point- now he knows- he's taken enough hits into the head either from the fauna, flora or the environment itself to know he can take quite a bit.

So the antenna disguising for a wing presses a little against her, thankfully achieving the goal of giving her some confidence in the pats.

"...they feel real." the Tinkerer mutters underneath her breath.

Orion chooses to take some pride in that, "That'd be because they are! Only coated with such and so, so they would not waste away. I've been told they were collected from a siring bird, one that up North they've seen as a symbol of peace."

Her eyes squint a little, to betray a hidden smile. "Did the 'siring' bit play any part in all of that endless symbolism they used to love applying to the puppets?"

And his tone turns sad at that. Much to his own annoyance, getting the Tinkerer to feel any sort of light is such a chore all the time and now he kills it so quickly- "Protection. Fostering. Cherishing a life, guarding it with joy- out of joy, for joy." And he gives her a meaningful look, a stern one- he hopes she understands it.

That when it comes to it, no matter the history, he'll do his best to apply those words to her. To everyone here in the heart of the Root's signal.

A quiet signal of 'you are not alone'. Supplied with, 'please remember that'.

The Tinkerer glances away quickly at that, hand stilling, finding a resting place over the audial port.

"...what happened to all the birds?" He pulls away, righting his sitting position. Why is she like this. Always shying away from the offer of comfort, running back to coldness of depression as if it was a sanctuary?

She takes the motion with panic, both hands held up in surrender. "I-I mean! I'm not assuming you know everything! If you don't, that's fine, I swear!" Did someone give her a hard time for assuming that? Ugh. Another thing for him to investigate. That used to be their job, of course she'll assume it.

"It is fine." Orion tells her, gently pushing her hands back down. "They all slowly died out. As most things unfortunately do."

"...oh."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You don't have to apologize for things that aren't your fault."

'It is my fault you are sad again,' flashes through his brain, processes- and remains unsaid. She'd only argue against it.

The Tinkerer curls up a little tighter, leaning against the cracked wall and old dusty pillows making up the window seats of the highest floor in the building they designated for medical care. He hates how small she looks like this. Terrified and lonely, not unlike a fledgling.

Her eyes are misted over, looking both into the night, to the Aeolus Root where the senior is certainly still working away and into nothing. Into memories of a life long passed, he's sure. She gets that look far too often.

"What do you miss the most?"

"Hmh?" she startles-

"From your original life. From when you were 'meant' to be here, as you say."

"When you say it it sounds stupid." She deadpans and he can't help but give her his version of a grin.

"That's 'cuz it is, Blue."

All he gets for that great wisdom is a huff and a glare, soon redirected back out of the window. At least her shoulders are less tense now.

"I suppose...," she starts and oh, he's relieved she will actually answer and not let the conversation die there. "I miss my family the most. And what they used to do."

"Leaving the shoes in front of the door, I'd always trip and then yell at whoever's the things were. We ended up laughing and play-arguing each time. I miss walking barefoot through the house, to the kitchen to help mom cook. At dinner I'd give my big brothers shit for never helping out in there and then the next day I'd catch them wrestling with my laundry, trying to dry it outside before the rains would come."

Just as he hoped, a smile starts returning to her eyes. A softer one, a little maloncholic- but a smile nonetheless.

"Playing chase with my youngest siblings outside, playing hide and seek in the crops... I miss being able to put down my mask and just sit in a living room with an instrument, humming whatever melody that'd cross my mind. And everyone would gather with me with either instruments too or just their voices." She tears up a little there. Hides her face behind her knees and arms.

"It felt so warm... Their smiles were beautiful." And her voices wavers into a wet shaky exhale.

It gives Orion a pause. That feels like a good cry, something she does need to get out. So he doesn't shush her, say much of anything- only scoots a little closer again. This time enough so that he presses a little against her side. She takes it as a lifeline, trading the cold wall for him, huddling against his clothes.

And though it's awkward, with him facing the other way, he puts an arm around her anyway. So she knows that she isn't alone while she silently cries her unfixable pains away.

To give her some time, he looks over the room.

It's warm here, too. Finally. It took a while to fix the damage enough, get some insulation going. The air filtration system is still a work in progress, but at least the night's chill won't get to them here.

Sporadic Change is humming distracted melodies while prodding some contents of a pot over the fireplace. A remedy for that gnash the Tinkerer has managed to score today while fighting off a lizard. Right next to it food is being made. Finally their organic charge will have a full stomach.

The Southern Winds are chatting quietly at a table, the younger sometimes snickering, the older hugging its sister to its hip while it speaks. They said they thought it'd be nice to keep them all some company, visit their older brother.

The one who's being helped up the stairs by a grumbling Fish. Even while infected by one of the most horrifying illnesses they can bear, Euros makes it a point to verbally jab at the elder. Giving a raspy laugh when the other gives him one of the most venomous side-eyes Orion has ever seen on such a religious person.

But still Fish helps Euros to the hastily put together couch, gently guides him down to sit comfortably enough. Still he checks over the bandages hiding the nasty infection from the rest of them. And Euros still thanks him earnestly.

And Orion's Pathway wonders- thumb slowly stroking the Tinkerer's shoulder while she mourns her lost family- if she will be able to see the other family waiting for her just behind her back, once her eyes clear of tears.

[xxx-sir-pentious-xxx]

A Classic Courtship

Clean relatively, same era relations, heaven, courtship and disability

The heavenly sun shine danced over the cloud field. A beautiful peaceful sight for the Victorian woman. She was half blind, her eye having gotten destroyed when she died in the 1880's. She was to be married then but her groom up and stabbed her.

She never thought she'd find a love and often avoided people due to her eye being empty.

It was when she heard about a genius inventor who came from hell that she felt for once a longing. To be friends? Maybe. She just had to meet him.

Sir Pentious was set up in a old building with adverts stating he could do commissions for his craft. He couldnt do weapons but he offered disability aids.

His first project was for this sweet Victorian lady, her name was Eloise and she looked like a white Persian cat with folded ears.

She had little faith in the project but really wanted to speak to him, his voice was flipping her heart like a pancake. Soft words of affection and genuine kindness was surprising, he was from Hell after all.

"Ssso I'm gonna need to measssure your eye cavity and make ssure your not allergic to anything. Its gonna be great I promissse dear Eloise, you'll be even more beautiful that before I promissse."

Without prompting he took her head in his hands and leaned in to examine her eye making her shiver and laugh,

"Oh goodness! Ah, I wasnt expecting you to just grab me! Fresh... your interesting..."

Pentious quickly apologized and felt guilty for so thoughtlessly touching her in such a way. Not really noticing he was arousing the Lady's interest in him further. It wasnt until she giggled again and blushed with a inviting look that said, 'you should ask me out'. She was a traditional lady she wouldn't ever think to ask for his hand in courtship, that's mens work.

Somewhere in Sir Pentious stirred the romance he was taught in life, he was sure Cherri Bomb wasnt going to come, let alone be in love with him. He decided to take the chance and asked to take her to eat sometime soon to which she shyly obliged setting a date in two days at night fall.

Two days pass

During the two days Pentious had put together a working product that fit his new lady's socket. He just needed to finish the final step of getting the eye color right.

Eloise let him cup her cheek to angle her head in a way as to see the color gradient in her eye as he painted every last detail like a mirror to her current eye. He was artful as could be, a visionary. He was so lost in his muse's face he failed to see the blush burning her cheeks when he leaned in like before. It was just so scandalous, being manhandled like this. It was even more intimate when Pentious finally got her ready to have it inserted after the eye was dried and her head numbed.

She could feel the pressure yes but the relief she felt when the connections were applied to the right nerves and she could see, it was everything.

Pentious helped her blink and finally gave her a mirror after the numbness left. She was beautiful, beautiful and whole again.

"Why.... I... Pentious how.... it looks so..."

Her eyes dilated together seamlessly making her weep with joy. Her precious pawed hand covered her mouth to muffle her sobs of joy.

"I could kiss you Pentious. But that would be greatly unfit of a lady such as I...."

She kissed her paw and gently blotted her soft pink pad on his cheek leaving her lip gloss on his cheek. This gesture made him melt, it was so romantic yet reserved. The giggling they did out of genuine shyness would be mildly annoying to anyone else.

The date came around time and they two lovers ate in a secluded area and chattered about lives and death and of course dead life. After trading addresses and walking Eloise home the two could finally be assured they were eager to meet again.

Eloise began writing eagerly about the day, before deciding to trim some fur to put in a locket to some day give to her lover. Not yet though, they had to take it slowly.

Sir Pentious meanwhile fawned over the kiss still on his cheek, ever so gently shedding that spot and framing it. He simply had to cherish finally getting a lover.

The two slept and dreamt of beautiful things that mainly focused of their day. It was rather eventful was it not.

Cool

[enigmatist17]

Spike doesn't really remember making his way up to Angel's penthouse.

To be fair, it had been a very very long day, starting with a flashy box and ending with a fight against his soddin' grandsire.

A fight he won.

He still wasn't sure what to do with that, honestly, but right now he was dealing with a far more intrusive problem. It had taken every single ounce of his willpower to keep up his usual snarky appearance, but now that he was free of prying eyes, he was finally able to let out a proper scream for the first time since he'd been dragged back from death.

Everything just felt so wrong, his duster tossed aside and clothes nearly ripped off of his beyond sensitive skin, the cool air like sandpaper across his skin. It felt like his skin was stretched too tight over bones that felt ready to burst through at the slightest movement, and he trembled as his body registered the lack of blood for the past six months with painful squeezes of his stomach. He thanks the Powers that Angel has a large and, more importantly, deep bathtub, turning on the water as hot as possible before raiding his grandsire's fridge for as much blood as he can handle. It wasn't much, a depressingly small mug filling his roiling stomach, but it was a start as he headed back to the now-filled tub.

Spike is grateful he doesn't have to breathe as he fully submerges himself under the water, the world and all of its pain held back by the barrier of water.

He remembered the first time he'd discovered the joy of being underwater, Drusilla having tried to drown him in a fit of mania in some fountain he'd forgotten the name of. Of course, she'd forgotten they didn't need to breathe, but having played "dead" long enough to satisfy her mood had been peaceful under the water. After that, if they had the time and Dru was sated, Spike liked to fill a tub or use a relatively clean pond or river as a space to meditate or pass the time.

It's how Angel finds him when he calls it a day himself.

He's alarmed to see Spike's duster thrown on the couch without care, following a trail of hastily discarded clothes to his bathroom, and spies the younger vampire in the tub. Angel wants to yank him out and demand answers, but he pauses at seeing how tight Spike is holding himself, his faint trembling making the surface of the water ripple, so he retreats to his bedroom.

Spike emerges from the water after falling asleep for the first time in over six months, fresh towels and some of Angel's clothes folded neatly on a chair he was sure hadn't been there earlier. The great poof had clearly dug out some of his older clothes, the soft cotton shirt, loose boxers, and sweatpants so thin they could degrade at the slightest tug, the least irritating on his skin.

"Hungry?" Angel has a warmed mug in his hands as he stands in the doorway, holding it out when Spike cautiously reaches out. They both are still sore from their fight, but Angel doesn't seem to hold anything against Spike as he watches the younger drink, moving to pull the stopper on the tub. "You were out almost the whole day."

"Oh." Spike shrugs, slowly nursing his cup.

"Fred mentioned you might be oversensitive, though I already knew that," Angel shrugged, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. "When I came back from Acathla's dimension, I kept shredding whatever Buffy was putting on me for a good week. Not the same as being a ghost, but..."

"Close enough." Spike shrugged, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he looked into his empty mug. "Mind if I crash, 'aven't exactly slept in a while."

"Yea, of course." Spike doesn't react when he puts a hand on his shoulder and leads the smaller man to his bed. "If you need anything, just let me know."

"Mhm." Spike is far too exhausted to snipe back like he normally did, shoving his mug into Angel's hands before reaching out to test the sheets, relieved they were soft and light. He is out by the time his head hits the pillow, and could swear he can hear the familiar purring Angelus did to him as a fledgling as he drifts into the void. Angel is always there when he slowly drifts in and out of sleep, plying Spike with his own blood when it becomes clear his childe can't stay awake long enough for him to prepare any. Selfishly, Spike likes the attention and care, knowing that when he finally regained his strength, he'd have to put his mask back on and leave the safety of Angel's apartment.

It helps that when he does, bickering with Angel over something so inconsequential they won't remember it by the time they stop talking, Angel is by his side.

Maybe he can make this work.

[niuniente]

So I have just read your response about how to approach story telling, or at least how you do it specifically. And I just want to thank you for point eight, about 'It's not that deep - unless you wish it.'

I've always been ashamed that I made ocs but couldn't produce plot points for their personal stories. Like people talk about breaking their characters to make them develop, but I could never do that. Because I struggle so often, I didn't want my characters to. I just wanted my characters to live the life that I can't. But I also wanted to overcompensate because I felt like I wasn't doing them justice.

While it's not the popular opinion to have that be the way I approach creation, I do appreciate that you don't say it's a bad thing to not want things to be deep. So thank you, really.

You're welcomed!

I think the people who are very interested in character development typically either enjoy it tremendously or are (intentionally or unintentionally) using their art as a self-therapy. Both valid ways of doing art, as well as not being interested in character development or therapy art.

Sometimes the character development is and can be small and it's OK. People tend to call just finding new things about the character also a character development. Put them in new situations and see how they react and act.

Some characters are iconic for what they are and you don't even expect deep character development from them. Terminator is Terminator and you know with 100% certainty what to expect when you deal with Terminator - sure, he can be programmed differently for different needs but it's not exactly character development on its own if you ask me. Dracula is Dracula, Rambo is Rambo, Predator is Predator and Morticia Adams is Morticia Adams.

It's nothing unheard of that trying to develop the character because you should makes the character unrecognizable or OOC regarding what has been going on until now within the story.

In Nemesis the Warlock comic, the protagonist Nemesis is pictured as a good willed man, who does his best to resist racist humans and save other alien species. He doesn't really care about humans per se but is fine with a human being his right hand helper. His intentions are to save alien species from humans and bring peace to the universe. He's a liked friend and a loved husband and trying his best as a father.

This is about the half way of the series until creator(s) decide to develop Nemesis more. Turns out that Nemesis is actually just a bored demi-God who loves to play hide and seek with his human enemy. That he doesn't care about anyone or anything else but his own joy and boredom. He isn't interested in saving anyone and he literally manipulates his human friend, too, for his own benefit. This is explained as "Well, I'm just a chaos's being, deal with it, I never said I was good".

See what I mean? Go to far, try to force the development (and explain everything) and you can, without wanting it, break your character or the story - or both! If you make a character go a complete opposite of themselves, there has to be a reason for it. Not like in Nemesis "Well, I'm just like this". No, dude, you were literally the exact opposite for years and still just a second ago. What happened? Well, nothing, creator(s) just decided to add a shock value and develop the character because?????

You want your character to live the life you'd want? Wonderful, that's enough! That's how Sailor Moon was born and is all about. The creator was lonely, so she drew a comic of girls being friends, that kind of friends she wished she'd also have.

It's a valid reason to make a comic. Or anything! Nothing needs to be deep but it can be if wanted.