#and then their pit through the echo chamber of fandom

[theshadowrealmitself]

I’m glad that Henry turned the job offer down, he doesn’t even actually help them that much, he’ll usually just go “Shawn I’m not a part of this >:(“ then bring up hats or maybe something mildly useful and that’s it!

Which is fine since it’s not his job, it’s Shawn’s, but oh my god I did not like Chief Vick thinking he helps way more than he actually does

[distort-opia]

you know i often see people throwing around the claim "joker r*ped/sa'd barbara in tkj" (mainly to shame people for liking the joker or batjokes) even though alan moore has dedunked it at some point. like the only piece of media i can think of with joker as a rapist is the azzarello graphic novel which is shit and doesn't need to be accepted as canon. i know it's kinda of a touchy subject but i'd be interested to hear your thoughts

Well. You've pretty much said it, to be honest.

Even a cursory Google search will reveal that Azzarello's Joker (2008) is a one-off, non-canon story. The just as much stand-alone sequel, Batman: Damned has a grieving Harley Quinn almost force herself on Bruce, and yet I haven't heard people say Harley is a rapist. Hell, didn't Batman and Harley Quinn (2017) have Harley and Nightwing sleep together... with pretty dubious consent on Dick's side? And yet fans are able to acknowledge that these are not canon storylines and that the writer matters a lot-- in the case of the latter, it's co-written by Bruce Timm, who is infamous for his shitty portrayal of female characters (also see the animation Batman: The Killing Joke, in which Barbara very assertively has sex with Batman, because that's of course the only way a woman can exercise power). Actually, Barbara's character has suffered so much... there's even Batman Beyond 2.0 #28, in which Bruce apparently got Barbara pregnant, Dick's girlfriend at the time.

But we all dismiss these storytelling choices because we know they're idiotic. They go against the core of the characters, simple as that. Why is Joker not allowed the same? While what he canonically did to Barbara in TKJ was horrible, rape did not happen, and that's a fact. Any other implications of sexual assault can only be connected to Frank Miller's writing in the TDKR series (not canon), or that horrible (and again, not canon) book adaptation of TKJ by Christa Faust and Gary Phillips. Unfortunately, there are always some writers who think that it's just darker and grittier and cooler, more shocking to have Joker attempt rape or resort to sexual means of intimidation; though it's funny how it happens that these are also generally controversial writers for their sexist depictions of women.

But we do know why Joker is not afforded the same kind of treatment as other characters who got butchered by out-of-character stories, canon or otherwise. He's become the punching bag of the DC fandom; it's so easy to proclaim loud and proud these days how much you hate the Joker and want him dead. If you're an anti and looking to feel morally righteous and signal to your echo chamber how good and pure you are, it's a low hanging fruit to latch onto Joker and criticize him for all he's done. The problem, of course, is when these people start attacking actual, real-life fans over their fictional preferences, shipping or otherwise.

But to give a more general conclusion, and my actual opinion on the matter: Joker is a master manipulator. His main schtick is literally getting Batman to kill him by orchestrating all manner of situations; he manipulates his doctors, his henchmen, he manipulates Gotham itself through the media on countless occasions. The very reason why he did what he did to Barbara in TKJ was to manipulate her father into having a mental breakdown. Joker picks people to break and then breaks them psychologically, that is his MO. What he wants is to expose the people around him, he wants to show that deep down, everyone is rotten.

It probably becomes obvious why rape is inconsistent with this mindset. Joker isn't the kind of monster to make things happen by brute force, he's the kind of monster to manipulate people into the worst versions of themselves and then laugh at them as they hate themselves for it. He'll murder and torture and imply any manner of atrocity to make that happen, but the source of his glee is seeing people fall into the same dark pit, devoid of humanity, he's chosen to live in. (And don't even get me started on the fact that Joker was canonically shown to have been a victim of sexual assault himself as a child, in Batman: Streets of Gotham. As an adult, he's depicted as gruesomely taking revenge on the man who did it. Something tells me there's more than one reason why Joker would not resort to rape, and it goes beyond MOs or agendas.)

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢᴛʜᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"...ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ."

Word count: 4,300.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

MEETING — 2. Him.

Several nights had passed since he made his way to his father's chambers, who had summoned him. He vividly remembered the journey through the corridors of the keep, walking with a stupid smile on his face. Except for his racing heart, there was no evidence of his passage through the pit, as the water had taken care to erase them.

He was heading towards his destination without any idea, eager to share his new adventure and see his father's face change when he discovered that he was not a lost cause, like his brother. He truly possessed the potential and courage to fill him with pride if only he was given the chance.

Viserys had always been more focused on his elder sister, a reality he fully understood; after all, she would eventually occupy the throne. While Alicent had been too busy all the time, immersed in concerns, striving to cover Aegon mistakes at every turn.

However, the meeting with his father was anything but expected, worse, even. His mother had beaten him to it and had let him know the situation beforehand. He received nothing but a sermon, and Viserys let him go without even a gesture of affection, with a heavy heart and his eyes glassy from holding back tears.

He did not expect to be placed at the top of the priority list, although he wanted it with all his being. It was known that, as a second son, he could not expect it, but he did not think it was too much to ask for a minimum dose of attention and affection.

It seemed to be his destiny; his expectations always soared above reality, and he knew that he had to learn to accept it, for there was no one else hurt but himself. But how would he now abandon them, if she seemed willing to answer all his pleas? Or to stop his naive imagination, if she seemed determined to shame the image he had forged of her? Or to stop being a believer, if her delicate hand continued to bless him with caresses? How would he calm the beats of his racing heart if she continued to look at him and listen to him like no one ever had? As if he were brave, important, cherished.

She approached him with the grace of someone who doesn't know that's fulfilling desires that had inhabited his mind for so many nights, preventing him from thinking of anything else. He had so longed for this. While in his fantasies it had been him who took the initiative, at this moment the detail seemed as trivial as every unaccomplished aspiration he had harbored before.

A fleeting regret overwhelmed him as he realized that his excitement had prevented him from behaving with the chivalry he longed to demonstrate. His words flowed ceaselessly, revealing everything he had always wanted to share in each previous encounter. And now, they had to part ways. What if the next day her curiosity and interest faded? What if she considered him an idiotic and insipid egomaniac who did nothing but talk about himself?

"Forgive me, niece, I must have tired your ears," he muttered, his head bowed, before rising from his seat, "and I didn't ask about your stories; you must think me rude." He avoided meeting her gaze, fearful of finding confirmation of his words. However, he heard her melodious laughter once again, an echo that ignited his hope and relieved him.

"Not at all, I would have liked to keep listening to you. Besides, I don’t have stories as brave as yours, and I wouldn't want to bore you to exhaustion" she replied.

A latent worry gnawed at him; he hoped that having worn a mask to hide his emotions and thoughts from her for so long wouldn't prevent her from glimpsing the authentic feelings overflowing within him.

He reached the exit and, as he grasped the knob, said sincerely, "I do not think that's possible" his gaze trying to convey the truthfulness of his words.

He opened the door and waited for her to leave. Never before had he gathered the courage to engage in direct conversation with her; he had then preferred to demonstrate his intentions through other gestures. As long as he was present in the room, he would not allow a simple guard to open her door or escort her to her chambers.

They bid farewell with the promise of meeting again the next day, and he had the sensation that the night slid by with the most exasperating slowness he had ever experienced.

Each conversation was like a new chapter, a story filled with complicity and companionship. He proposed question games, and she accepted with a sparkle in her eyes. His mind seemed insatiable for information about her, and it was no surprise; after all, each answer added brilliance to the gem he was uncovering. Enchanted by her curiosity too, he revealed parts of himself that he had never shared before.

It was something new and refreshing to have someone who seemed to share the same ambitions and with whom he could express his darkest fears and boldest dreams. Every word and shared anecdote created a bridge between their worlds, one he eagerly sought to reinforce every day.

"What would you have liked your dragon to be like?" she asked. It no longer hurt him to have these conversations, he had grown accustomed to them, as she loved them. Always telling him the stories of the ancient ones and their brave riders, showing her fondness to one in particular. And lately, he had found that they gave him more determination to one day claim his own.

"I never really imagined it" he replied. They were both sitting face to face by the window, their knees touching and their gazes contemplating the sea, with its gentle murmur in the background. "But one big enough to carry two riders would be just perfect for me." She offered him a smile, understanding the longing for a new companion to take them both to new horizons.

"Can I tell you something?" he had said after a long silence. His voice trembled slightly, his vulnerability showing.

"Of course you can" she replied, turning gently to face him.

"I..." he took a deep breath, confessed, "I lied to you the other day."

"About what?" she asked, curiosity on her face as she awaited the revelation.

"When you asked if I was scared in the pit," he said, ashamed, "the truth is, I had never felt more terrified in my entire life." He sought her eyes, prepared to face the disappointment covering her delicate face.

She settled in, resting her face on her knees and looking into his eyes with tenderness, she said, "anyone would have been, my prince." She put another small smile. "You were brave to go in, and clever to come out." A wave of calm washed over him as he listened to her. "But do not feel the need to lie" she added, gently. "We're in a safe place." He nodded, grateful for her words, feeling the weight of his confession dissipate in the light of her understanding.

They had found a shelter there in the library; her warmth and tenderness had brought those corners to life, turning them magical, where entire afternoons and evenings slipped away unhurriedly, filling the place with whispers, laughter, and secrets. Where the books, once so revered, began to be less and less present. It was just them and their hearts laid bare, open like pages waiting to be read.

"I was planning on skipping my class tomorrow" she confessed as they walked arm in arm to the door of her chamber, "I'm not as good as Helaena embroidering, and I'm tired of pricking all my fingers." He laughed, sensing her frustration. "Maybe I could sneak into the training yard… and watch you?" she suggested timidly.

"Do you think they'll let you in? It's not exactly a place for ladies" he warned.

"I'll find a way." A spontaneous smile lit up her face, pulling at her lips. 

"Then you'll always be welcome, my princess" he affirmed. She kissed his cheek goodbye and entered the room without saying more. He silently thanked that she hadn't turned back before closing the door, because she would have seen his clumsy gesture. His hand, futilely, over his heart, trying to keep it from escaping his body and follow her.

He felt renewed during the training, radiating spirits never seen before, and a spark of energy burned inside him. Saturated with excitement and anxiety that prevented him from focusing on anything other than the gates of the yard, his eyes fixed on them, awaiting her arrival. 

Ser Criston fell silent when his nephews took their turn practicing with the straw dummies. This routine was nothing new to him, but he had never given it much importance until he heard Aegon whisper maliciously.

"Did you know that Cole used to be Rhaenyra's protector?" His brother's words hung in the air, laden with an insinuation he couldn't quite grasp.

"So?" A pang of intrigue stirred him.

"I heard the idiot was in love with her and she rejected him" he continued amidst laughter, "I bet that's why he hates the little bastards."

A furrowed brow was his only response at the moment. Though he was still too young to fully comprehend the weight of the words, he caught their meaning. Could it be true? Aegon didn't seem like the most reliable source, but he still planted a seed of doubt in his head. 

Of course, he had noticed the visible difference between the young Velaryons and their parents, but it didn't seem really rare to him. Not every child was the livid image of their parents. 

He cared little for an insult directed at his nephews, who, like his elder brother, constantly sought ways to hurt him with jokes that were never funny. But this blow reached someone else. Someone he cared about.

"Do not say that" he warned, trying to quell his doubt.

The taller one looked down at him, puzzled. "Why not? It's the truth, just look at them" he insisted.

Before he could respond, the knight overseeing the training interrupted. "Princes, your turn" he announced, his hands clasped behind his back, his face stern and his authority unwavering.

"Come on, brother! The Pink Dread deserves to be ridden by a good warrior" escaped his brother's mouth, followed by his nephews' laughter. However, amidst the noise, a warm presence enveloped him, and he vowed not to let them ruin his day or steal his motivation.

She gave him a smile from across the yard before stooping to plant a kiss on Viserys's cheek, who, seated, watched everything attentively from the steps.

With determination, he took the wooden sword and, gathering all the concentration he could muster, immersed himself in the practice.

"Soften your knees" Ser Criston told him. "Keep your feet light and your hands heavy."

"This is the stuff, Lyonel" the king told the big man to his right. "Lads that learn together, train together. Knock each other down, pick each other up. They will certainly form a lifelong bond, wouldn’t you agree?" He said with a smile. Little did he know.

"That is the hope, Your Grace" the hand responded.

"Don't stand too upright, my prince, or you'll get knocked down." He adjusted his posture and continued to sword the mannequins. 

The yard was filled with grunts, the sound of wood clashing against the straw created a symphony of skill, and the air was imbued with effort.

Once agitated, they turned to exchange places again, but Aegon lingered, his gaze following the sway of two servants passing through.

"Aegon" Cole scolded. He couldn't understand how his brother could have so little shame and respect.

The accused returned his attention to the training field. "I won my first bout, Ser Criston, my opponent sues for mercy" he declared with his usual lack of seriousness and a mocking smile on his face.

"Well, you’ll have a new opponent then, my lord of the straw" Criston retorted, turning to retrieve his black leather gloves and another wooden sword. "Let's see if you can touch me, you and your brother." He sighed and silently cursed his older brother, heading towards them. He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of her, but backing down was not an option.

They began to fight simultaneously, trying to attack Criston from both sides, but he seemed undisturbed. Standing still, he effortlessly deflected every blow that came his way.

"You're gonna have to do better than that" his opponent said firmly.

He began to grow impatient, swinging the sword without any strategy, his breath ragged, showing the fatigue that already engulfed him. In the blink of an eye, both were on the ground, exhausted and defeated. He got up and leaned against the large table, trying to normalize his breathing.

"Weapons up, boys, give your enemies no quarter" Lord Commander Harwin Strong ordered, directing his words to the younger ones. Aegon nudged him in the shoulder, indicating that he should pay attention. "It seems the younger boys could do better with  a bit of your attention, Ser Criston."

Both men exchanged challenging glances before Criston asked, "You question my method of instruction, ser?"

"Oh, I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils."

"Very well."

Jacaerys appeared grateful for the intervention, a smile briefly gracing his face, but it quickly faded when Criston roughly grabbed him by his metal breastplate, positioning him in front of Aegon, who watched all with amusement. He turned towards the stairs and upon seeing her face, he found concern. He tried to offer her a reassuring look, but she did not move her eyes from her twin.

"Eldest son against eldest son" declared the guard, initiating a new challenge.

"It's hardly a fair match" Lord Strong pointed out, indicating the clear disparity in strength.

"I know you've never seen true battle, ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn’t something anyone should expect" he said. Once they were in position, he instructed: "Blades up. Engage."

Aegon crossed the field and violently lunged at his opponent. It only took him a moment to throw him to the ground. A laugh escaped his lips, inevitable given the clear injustice. His older brother not only towered over him and outweighed him, but he had also had more training time than Jacaerys. He called an end to the match, a mistake born of his narcissism, as Jace still held his sword. Turning his back disdainfully, Aegon was caught off guard by his nephew, who skillfully disarmed him. The elder grabbed the straw dummy and hurled it at his opponent, in a desperate attempt to stop him.

"Foul play!" shouted the commander, his voice resonating with indignation.

"I deal with him." Both men took hold of their respective fighters, pulling them apart to offer them their expert advice.

"You!" shouted Aegon, his face furious. His pride tarnished by letting his nephew outmaneuver him and embarrass him.

"Close with him" Criston said, guiding Aegon every step of the way. "Press him backwards. Stay on the attack." Jace was cornered against the wall, with no escape. "Use your feet!" A question crept into his mind as he observed everything, would his brother be capable of winning without trickery and instructions? A kick found Jace's chest, leaving him breathless on the ground. "Don't let him get up" he ordered.

His nephew fought with all his might, but it was in vain. Aegon managed to disarm him and prepared to deliver the final blow, intended solely to injure him, as the battle had already concluded when the younger was left empty-handed.

"Enough!" Harwin shouted, intervening and grabbing Aegon from behind, pushing him away.

“You dare put hands on me?" his brother roared in response, indignation palpable in every word.

"Aegon!" called Viserys, noticing his son's exaggeration.

"You forget your place, Strong. That's the prince."

"Is this what you teach, Cole? Cruelty towards the weaker opponent?" Harwin inquired as he gathered the swords to put them back in their rightful place. Jacaerys got up and went to his younger brother's side, shielding him with his back. When the Lord Commander passed by Cole, the latter threw his sword at his feet. Challenging him. Provoking him. He walked past, determined not to fall into the trap.

"Your interest in the princelings training is quite unusual, Commander" he began, his expression drawn. "Most men would only have that kind of devotion towards a cousin, or a brother..." noticing the direction the conversation was taking, he looked worriedly towards her. Lyonel Strong was trying to persuade the young princess to return inside the keep, but those pleas fell on deaf ears. "Or a son" Criston concluded.

Without warning, Harwin lunged towards Cole, knocking him down. Blows filled the air as the commander unleashed his anger on the guard beneath him, shouting thunderously, "Say it again." Blood flowed from the guard's nose, most likely broken, just like his lip, as he lay with his back against the rocks. "Say it again."

"What are you waiting for? Take her away!" the king's exasperated voice was heard, ordering the guards to intervene and search for the princess. He felt the urge to move towards her, but a circle of guards formed around him, enclosing him with his brother and nephews, ready to defend them in case Harwin Strong misdirected his wrath.

Jace recognized his twin's desperate voice, calling out for them. He took Lucerys's hand and quickly broke free from the guards, running towards her. He tried to follow, but Aegon stopped him with a hand on his chest.

By the time they managed to separate Harwin from his victim, the princess was nowhere to be found. "Say it again" he screamed once more, as the guards struggled to restrain him.

"Look at him" Aegon said, nodding towards Cole's limp body on the ground. He heard him mutter something, but couldn't discern the words, then he spat blood from his mouth, with a triumphant gesture.

In the days following the intense training, his heart beat with the hope of seeing her again, but his princess seemed to have disappeared into the shadows. Perhaps she didn't desire company, still haunted by the grotesque images that had wounded her eyes in the yard, or too saddened by the news. Harwin Strong, dismissed from the king's guard and sent back to Harrenhal, where the towers stood as silent witnesses to the tragedies that occurred there.

He had searched every room she frequented and every nook of the keep, in vain. She seemed to have vanished into thin air. He walked through the shared hallway, his eyes eagerly searching for the door that separated their worlds, hoping to see her open it and come his way.

The void left by her absence was palpable, stripping the soul of the library along with her, depriving it of all warmth and charm.

A new feeling invaded him, threatening to take root in the depths of his being. Has it all been a fleeting dream? He needed to see her face and make sure it had all been real, that she was still real and not just an echo in his memory.

He decided to seek solace in his sister, hoping her company could distract him from his unease or illuminate him with her usual riddles. The guard announced his arrival, and as he entered, found a familiar scene: his sister absorbed in her weaving, oblivious to his presence.

"Sister" he called softly.

"Brother" she responded, without taking her eyes off her work, as if the outside world were just a distant sound in her universe woven of threads and needles. "You may sit by my side" she murmured. He was accustomed to waiting for her commands; Helaena wasn't very fond of closeness. He walked the few steps that separated them, taking the seat beside her.

"Oh, sweet brother, your afflicted heart beats with sorrow" she whispered, furrowing her brow, laden with a wisdom that transcended words. She decided to set her sewing frame aside, taking his hand in her cold ones. Imaginary lines were drawn and read in his palm.

It made him uncomfortable to be so exposed, as if she could see beyond him, decipher his hidden secrets. His eyes avoided hers, filled with shyness, but his sister's gaze found him. "Do you not perceive the scent of roses in the air whispering to you?"

He tried to dissect her phrases, but it was more complicated than any philosophy book ever written. His furrowed brow showed his confusion. "The green awaits patiently for you" she concluded, refocusing on her former activity. A black spider adorned the fabric, formed by hundreds of delicate and meticulously planned threads.

He said goodbye to his sister, ready to go in search of her. Before stepping out of the room, he heard Helaena whisper a warning.

"Beware of the keeper of secrets." Still intrigued by the enigmas, he continued on his way.

Three knocks on the door, each one stirring his nervous breath and marking the beat of his racing heart. A fine mist of tension enveloped the air. His hands trembled slightly as they brushed against the wood, fearful of having made a mistake in coming here. He wondered if his visit would be well-received or if she would consider it an intrusion. Perhaps they didn't yet have such confidence in each other. These thoughts tormented him, suffocating his lungs. He decided it was best to let it be and wait for her to be ready to come out on her own. He would wait without haste, without hurry. He was about to turn around when he heard her low and soft voice resonating from the other side of the door.

"Who is it?" she inquired cautiously. 

He hesitated for a moment, still with time to turn back, but before doing so, he replied firmly, "It's Aemond, my princess."

There was a brief moment of silence before the sound of the latch yielding and the door opening, revealing her before him. For the first time, he saw her wild hair loose, falling in beautiful curls around her shoulders, framing her tired face. It was usually up in braids. Her eyes were swollen, with bags under them, and her light blue dress slightly wrinkled, as if she had been in bed all day.

"Come in" she ordered softly, moving aside and gesturing for him to enter the room.

He thought it was exactly as he had imagined. Her distinctive and sweet scent filled the air. Shelves filled with books, the table with an unfinished meal, her messy bed, hair brushes on her dresser, along with other items he couldn't identify... It was like entering a sacred sanctuary, where each object told him more about her. He turned his gaze back to her when he heard her speak.

"I missed you" she said, her voice barely a whisper, loneliness evident in her tone. She walked to her bed, not waiting for his response. She carefully smoothed out the sheets, apologizing for the mess, and sat down, patting the empty space beside her.

He still didn't know if it was appropriate to enter a princess's chamber, let alone sit on her bed. But she was inviting him, and he couldn't resist. He approached, his gaze fixed on her, moving his norms aside.

"I missed you too, my princess" he confessed, tenderly. She rested her head on his shoulder, taking his hands in hers.

"It's just us here, Aemond, you may call me by my name" she whispered.

Her name rolled off his lips like the sweetest secret he had ever kept. "Why are you sad?" he asked, concerned by what her eyes conveyed.

She hesitated, as if debating in her head what to say and how to say it. "I'm not sure I can tell you all my reasons" she admitted with sorrow. A small pang of disappointment inside him, but he knew that even in trust, secrets would exist. "I lost my protector, Aemond. He took my strength with him" she confessed. 

Understanding fell on him. He wanted to offer empathetic words, but he didn't know which ones would alleviate her pain.

Why was she grieving that farewell so much? As if he were a father... or maybe just a very good guard. He wanted to believe the latter, but the words he heard in the courtyard echoed in his head, making everything increasingly clear.

There was nothing more to say; he didn't want to torment her further by asking questions.

"My mother wants us to go to Dragonstone" she declared.

He spun around quickly to look at her, surprised by the news, causing her to give a small jump at the sudden movement. How could he be so unlucky? He had found the companion of his dreams, only a few moons had passed, and now he had to let her go?

"What? Why?" he asked, unable to hide his dismay, a knot threatening to form in his throat.

"I do not know" she murmured, shrugging with sadness, and the tears that he suspected had been accompanying her these days returned, filling her eyes.

"When?"

"In a fortnight, perhaps, when everything is arranged."

"You cannot leave" he protested, his voice trembling with emotion. "You cannot leave me. You’re my only friend."

"I do not want to go, but it's not my decision" she replied with the same helplessness as him.

"Please, ask your mother to let you stay," he said urgently, determination in his eyes, "I’m going to take care of you. I really am."

"You're just a boy" she denied.

"I'll be three and ten soon" he reminded her, taking her hands again in his, searching her gaze. "I'll train harder, I swear" he pleaded, not knowing what else to say. "I won't let anyone ever hurt you."

His lips began to tremble, and tears fell from her green eyes, sliding down through  flushed cheeks. He felt a deep pain in his chest at seeing her like this, and he didn't want to make this any harder for her, but he wasn't ready to lose her.

"Please" he whispered, begging.

"I'll talk to my mother, but I cannot make you any promises" she warned.

It was enough for him for now. He clung to that small hope, determined to fight alongside her and for her through whatever challenges fate had in store for them.

“Would you sleep with me tonight?”

@callsignwidow @helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers ♥︎

[author-morgan]

Could I request a sub!Halfdan please? Its such an underused trope in this fandom

of courseeee. ♥ hope you enjoy this little fluffy-filth ficlet with Halfdan. :) Halfdan x fem!Reader

HARALD FINEHAIR LEANS against one of the dock posts, his arms crossed, though a kindly smile graces his countenance upon hearing the good news. Soon Tamdrup would have another young child running about, causing trouble for the townsfolk —just as he and his brother had when they were younger and wilder. He can’t help his eyes from darting to your middle. It is still too soon for the signs to show, but there is already something different —a new spark in your eyes, Freyja’s soft glow surrounding you. “You’ll have to tell him sooner or later,” Harald muses, rubbing the dark whiskers on his chin.

“I know” —you look up from the knotted fishnet laid across your lap, smiling sheepishly— “I know, Harald.” You’d been searching for the right moment for almost a fortnight now. If not for Harald catching you leaving the medicine woman’s hut with a pouch of herbs for morning sickness, he wouldn’t know either.

“He’s going be happy,” he assures you, recalling the warm spring evening you wed his brother —a crown of wildflowers upon your brow. That must have been some six years ago, in the weeks before sailing to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his raids on Frankia and Paris. Harald doesn’t think he’s ever seen Halfdan so happy as when he first called you his wife, but he suspects his brother will be just as ecstatic when you share the good news.

“We’ve waited years for this day to come,” you almost whisper, still disbelieving at times. Over the years, you had begun to fear the worse —even before your marriage to Halfdan. All the times you lay together, there was never a child, never any signs life would take root, and it certainly was not for lack of trying. He swore it did not make a difference to him. Halfdan loved you, child or no —but as the years crept by, you couldn’t deny your desire for a family, especially seeing him play at swords with the children of Tamdrup. Alas, the gods finally heeded your prayers. Harald moves from the post to the small sandy shore, sitting next to you, helping unknot and repair the fishnet. You nudge his ribs with your elbow. “You’re going to be an uncle.” Harald smiles again.

THE WOOD PLANKS creak underfoot just outside your chambers, iron hinges creak and groan when the heavy door is pushed ajar, you lift your gaze from the heddles of the loom, glimpsing your husband’s reflection in a cloudy silver looking glass as he nears you. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you away from your work and into him. He’s been on a hunt the last three days —the scent of moss and fresh soil still linger in his clothes and beard. It’s always a good feeling being held like this, but you cannot forget your resolve. You were supposed to be upset with him, and the soft kiss on your shoulder and neck won’t be enough to get him out of this. “I’m not speaking to you, Halfdan,” you remind him, wiggling from his embrace.

He lets you go, laughing under his breath. “You just did,” he remarks, lips kinked into a playful smile, half-hidden beneath the golden whiskers on his upper lip and chin. Halfdan knows this bout will pass —quick as a summer storm— neither of you can stay angry at each other over trivial things. “Still mad?” It’s a teasing question and one he already knows the answer to when you glare at him, arms crossed.

“Yes,” you lament, “you ate the last honey cake.” You saved the last little honey cake from supper, knowing how much you’d begun craving them of late, but when you woke the next morning, Halfdan was already off to help his brother, and the plate on the table tucked away in the corner of the room was empty save for crumbs.

Halfdan grips onto your arms, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your biceps through the wool sleeves of your dress. You know when he’s trying to be charming —his smiles are wider, he flicks the hair falling over his right eye to the side, and his eyes, dark and warm, take on a glint of mischief. “And I regret it, deeply,” he confesses, embellishing his apology. His hands slide down your arms, fingers interlocking with yours. Halfdan lifts your hands —placing a quick yet lingering kiss on your knuckles, drawing you closer. “What can I do to make it up to you?” He asks.

“Trying to seduce me?” You ask, brow raised —feigning annoyance. But it’s close to impossible when he cranes down, lips hovering over yours. He’s so close you can almost feel the tickle of his beard.

“Maybe,” he muses, letting your hands go and seizing you by the hips, fingers twisting into the green wool of your dress, “it’s worked in the past, hasn’t it?” You shake your head, smiling, unable to resist his charms or your desire to fall into his arms after he’s left you in a cold and lonely bed.

At first, he tenses when your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, then relaxes when your tilt your chin up, pulling the two of you closer. “Kiss me, husband,” you whisper —it’s a command and one he is happy to oblige. His lips brush against yours, teasing when he pulls back a little before surging forward again. You sigh into his kiss, hands moving to rest on his neck and jaw. His tongue parts your lips, and you welcome him with a soft moan, pushing your hand through his hair.

He draws back, just long enough to take a deep breath and move his hands from your hips and to your face, cupping your cheeks as he kisses you again —this time with more fervor, and it sends heat rushing to the pits of your belly. Frantically, you pull at his tunic, hands sliding beneath the hem to feel his warm skin and the muscles of his abdomen ripple under your touch. Halfdan groans when he breaks away, pulling his tunic overhead and tossing it aside without care —eyes dark with lust when you run your hands across his pectorals.

“I want you, Halfdan,” you tell him, pushing his shoulders back toward the bed, “now.” He falls onto the mattress when the back of his knees hit —the wooden frame creaking at the sudden impact of his weight— and watches as you slide your dress off your shoulders, letting it pool around your ankles. Halfdan groans at the sight of your newly naked skin as your stride to him, a playful and teasing glint in your eyes.

Leaning over him, your hands go the laces of his britches —quickly untying them— and fingers hook underneath the waistband, tugging them off. Halfdan helps you, lifting his hips, hurriedly shimmying them off for you to toss to the side. You sit back, really taking in the sight of him. Half his face shrouded behind his wild blond hair, his eyes are glassy and half-lidded, pupils blown wide with want. You smile, enjoying having him like this —with a dusting of a pinkish-blush all over, from his cheeks to his ears and even down his neck. His lips are wet and bitten pink from your kisses, mouth hanging open slightly as his chest —a smooth plane of taut muscle— rises and falls with his labored breathing. Then your gaze darts to his cock, painfully hard and resting against his stomach.

Halfdan isn’t one to give up control easily, but he’ll let you have your fun for now —he owes you this at the very least for eating the last honey cake. His gaze is like burning embers when you straddle him. His hands drag down the arch of your back, thumbs catching in the creases of your hips and thighs to push you back towards his cock, but you won’t let him win so easily. You reach for his hands, pulling them away from your hips, and press them into the mattress on either side of his head. Straightening, you let his hands go but give him a look of warning —one that tells him not to move. The defiance flares in his eyes, but you smile, bending down to lick a stripe across his chest and are rewarded with his low groan.

Moving back up, you press your lips firmly against his, offering him little control —nibbling light on his bottom lip— enjoying playing with him for as long as you can. Opening your mouth to his, Halfdan attempts to push forward with a moan and deepen the kiss, but you pull away, hands resting on his chest. “I see why you like this so much,” you tease, lightly raking your nails down his ribs, watching him shiver. “Do I make you beg too?” You ask, looking down at him with a raised brow.

“Kjære min,” he warns, voice a low rasp, but whatever he means to say next dies on the tip of his tongue as a strangled groan. His hips press up off the bed when your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking him from base to tip, thumb following along one of the throbbing veins on the underside. You shuffle back, eagerly, guiding the weeping head of his cock between your slick folds until it catches on the entrance of your aching cunt, and you press back further until the slight resistance gives way, sinking onto him with a lurid moan —echoed by his own strangled groan and a string of curses.

You fall still, not moving —torture for you both— but seeing Halfdan’s hands twist into the patchwork of pelts below is worth it. Alas, you end the torment, slowly rocking and twisting your hips, building a pleasant rhythm, working yourself on top of him. His lips are parted, breathing heavily as he watches you use him —watches how your cunt takes him in over and over again, a sight that drives him to oblivion and paired with how you whimper and moan, hands fondling your breasts, he thinks he could finish then and there.

But then you lift yourself, pulling off him just far enough that only the tip of his cock is left inside you before sinking back down, hips meeting his again. He digs his heels into the bed, attempting to aid you as you bounced and twisted atop him. “Halfdan,” you whimper, knowing you need more than this —you need his touch. He’s quick to answer the soft pleading, hands squeezing against your hips, arms flexing to lift and drag you across his cock himself as his hips roll upwards, pressing deeper it feels than ever before.

Leaning down, you press your lips to his —panting against his mouth as your chests move against one another, hips rolling and filling the room with the unceremonious sound of flesh slapping against flesh and a chorus of low moans and breathy praises. You rest your forehead on his, hand tanging into his hair as the knot in your belly tightens, a familiar warmth starting to take old at your extremities. Halfdan hears the subtle hitch in your breathing, feels your walls flutter around him, gripping onto his cock —a greedy vise, but he won’t relent until you’re both spent.

It doesn’t take much longer for Halfdan to let go, his hips stuttering, cock twitching deep inside you —filling you with warmth. The way you move, rolling against him, causes your clit to catch on his pubic bone, just right, giving you the friction you need to fall too, calling out his name like a prayer. You don’t have the strength to keep going. All your energy sapped away —shoulders shaking, elbows ready to give. Halfdan urges you down to rest on his chest, and you tuck your face into the underside of his jaw, breathing heavily, smiling against his neck when you feel the tickle of his beard against your cheek. His arms come around you, heavy and secure, holding you close and tight. Other than the sound of your breathing mixing with his, there is only the drumming of your own heartbeat in your ears and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

For a handful of precious moments, you stay like that —too sluggish to move— the pads of his rough fingertips tracing a crooked path up and down your spine. It isn’t until you feel his softened cock slip from your warmth and his seed trickling down your thighs that you clench and sit up again —knees still jelly. Then you look over Halfdan. He’s ruined —hair in a mess, clinging to his sweat-slick forehead, cheeks flushed red with exertion. But his eyes are closed, and his breathing relaxed. “Still mad?” He asks, one warm-brown eye popping open to look up at you —skin glowing in the mix of daylight and firelight.

“No,” you laugh, leaning back down —nose just barely brushing against his, your breaths mingling. Halfdan’s hands follow the curve of your hips, along your waist, and across your shoulders before taking your face in both his hands. You smile, balancing your weight on one forearm, reaching to brush back the strands of yellow hair clinging to his face, pausing for a moment to trace the lines and twists of his tattoo. He tilts his chin up, surprising you with his kiss, and rolls both of you onto your sides.

“Halfdan,” you breathe, reaching for his hand resting on your hip and twining your fingers with his. His gaze is focused —intent— he’s close to asking if something is wrong or if he’s done something else besides eating your last precious honey cake when you smile, squeezing his hand before bringing it to rest on your stomach. There’s a spark in his dark eyes like he knows but is still unsure if this means what he thinks. “I am with child,” you tell him, watching his dark eyes widen with the announcement.

Halfdan falls silent; his lips parted, brow furrowed —wrinkling the blue-black ink on his forehead— almost disbelieving that after so many years, he would be a father, that you would have a family together. “Mine?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper and filled with wonder.

Your smile widens. “Of course, it’s yours, silly man,” you laugh, scooting closer to him —pressing your forehead against his, resting a hand on his neck, and letting your thumb stroke over the raised silver scar there. “You’re my husband.” Even after the years gone by, it still feels good to call Halfdan your husband.

He smiles, eyes crinkling, wrinkling the dark tattoos on his cheeks and brows as he leans into you, closing the small space between your lips. It’s soft, exceptionally so, and sweet —far sweeter than most of his kisses. Halfdan kisses a line across your cheek, pulling you close, his hand still resting against your stomach, wondering how long it will be until your belly begins to grow and if he would make for a good father. “I won’t eat your honey cakes anymore,” he breathes, earning a huff of laughter from you as you nuzzle your face into his chest, feeling your heart swell, falling further in love with him.

[ taglist: @elizabethroestone @ahotmesswithprivilege @naaladareia @charming-merlin @certifiedlittleshit @pat-talks @gossamarnie ] if you want to be added to my Vikings (Harad, Halfdan, and Ragnar) taglist, just let me know! if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you.

[ectonurites]

Okay, so I kinda wanna know your thoughts about how weird the fandom portrays the bat characters. Canon is ... not my favorite, but it actually offers a lot of nuance to the characters that I think makes them all interesting. Unlikable, but interesting. I noticed fanon tends to boil the batkids all into these superflat caricatures. Like, cereal obsessed manchild Dick Grayson or bad boy who's literal crimes are only because of the lazarus pit Jason Todd. Its not really a major problem, just weird

Oh I have a LOT of thoughts about this. I try so hard not to shit on how other people interact with content because like, it’s comic books! We’re all just here trying to make the best out of a mess of stuff and have fun, but admittedly a lot of fanon stuff drives me fuckin’ nuts as someone who reads a ton of comics.

Like, I like memes, obviously, I draw tons of memes with the batfam (+ yj) characters and make lighthearted jokes etc etc, and honestly if it’s just for jokes then I don’t mind people having whack interpretations of the characters quite as much. The thing that drives me up a wall though is like... when serious works and analysis and discussion are very clearly based on just the fanon interpretations without any bearing on canon aside from what you could skim from a wiki page, and it’s spoken like it’s fact! There’s ‘having fun with jokes that aren’t taking things that seriously’ and then there’s ‘blatantly mischaracterizing based on misinformation’. Way too often I see things fall into that second category.

Now, a lot of people in the batfam fandom don’t... actually read comics (or at least not frequently) and that’s not even a bad thing necessarily, like you’re 100% allowed to enjoy content however you want to! (I don’t wanna be gatekeepey, especially since comics are confusing to get into)

But the problem is that when a lot of people aren’t reading the comics, then the people who do’s opinions have a lot more influence if they’re loud enough. All it takes is one person who read something and interpreted it a specific way that might not even be correct, and then it can echo chamber and suddenly half the fandom thinks it’s 100% canon that way because ‘oh so and so said that and they actually read it’.

I also think that’s a problem with the popularity of out of context panels/blogs, while they are super funny sometimes, when people make assumptions about characters based on just a few things without context... it can lead to problems. If enough people say something enough times people just... start to think it’s true, even if it exists entirely devoid of context which changes the meaning.

Like, for example, according to canon there’s no actual confirmation Tim stalked Batman on foot for an extended period of time! We know from Lonely Place of Dying that he followed him once to get a picture to convince DIck that he still needed a Robin. Otherwise his ‘stalking’ & how he figured out Batman’s identity was more through media appearances (like newspapers and tv). This is wildly different from the common fanon idea that little Timmy was sneaking out regularly to follow Batman & Robin around with his camera.

I primarily blame Geoff Johns for this misconception because of these panels in in tt 2003 (from issue 29)

But like, think about it for a second, literally how would Jason know that? This is one of the first times he’s ever interacting with Tim, and he was dead/catatonic when that would have been happening! He is either making a wild assumption or perhaps Talia told him this when she told him about Tim, whichever of those it was it’s secondhand information not something he witnessed. Taking his word as fact here makes no sense, he was just trying to get under Tim’s skin while fighting him. But seeing those panels out of context if you haven’t actually read Lonely Place of Dying/only read a vague summary of it, and don’t necessarily know the details of the Jason situation, it could absolutely lead you to believe otherwise!

Dick as a cereal manchild is a weird one because like... okay yeah sure he likes cereal, I can think of like two panels I’m too lazy to find right now off the top of my head of him having it, but... that’s not something we see all the time! Its not like Ollie & his chili (which IS a running joke- seriously I have not read that many Green Arrow comics but the amount of times I’ve seen that man bring up chili in just in the few things I have read is wild. there’s even an official recipe. his chili has it’s own dc wiki page). Then, because Dick isn’t quite as emotionally closed off in the same way the rest of the batfam tends to be, people project literally all the pent up feelings onto him, making him this hug-crazy crybaby manchild... again it’s just very clear people who perpetuate those ideas (outside of like, maybe as jokes) haven’t actually fully read that many comics with him. I’d also even blame the Young Justice cartoon version of Dick for some other traits fanon Dick has, bc that version of him is def a bit of a Hot Mess™️ once he’s Nightwing 

Jason I understand misconceptions about probably the most because of how wildly inconsistent his writing was before the new 52 and how consistently Not Great it was once Lobdell took over. Jason’s one of the few characters I have read like, 90% of appearances for so I’m speakin’ from experience here. But still... acting like Jason as Red Hood is just a ‘bad boy rebel’ that could have a relatively happy connection with the whole Batfam is fun but unrealistic. You can not blame everything on the lazarus pit... he still has killed people! Lots of people! Willingly! Yes he has reasons and when he’s being written well it’s clear that he’s not just ‘random murder happy’ but rather ‘I kill when I feel they deserve it and that it’s necessary’ which is what keeps him an anti-hero rather than a full fledged villain most of the time, but that still keeps him so at odds with the rest of the Batfamily! Writers in more current continuity have had him compromise by only using rubber bullets in Gotham so they can have him interact with the family, but he’s still killed and will do it when he deems it necessary.

Also like... at the time of Under The Red Hood in the comics... theoretically... he hadn’t even been in the lazarus pit for well over a year. Go read Lost Days (it’s short! And except for the thing with him & Talia towards the end of the last issue it’s pretty good!), he spends a lot of time traveling the world and learning things/training before the events of UtRH. Yes you could interpret there still being some Lazarus influence going on there but I think the movie version of UtRH especially leads people to believe there’s a lot less time between his dunk in the pit and his first actions as Red Hood.

Fanon also has a lot of ideas about pit madness that vary wildly from what we have seen in canon, like yeah it’s been said to be a thing to some extent, but there’s not really the Danny Phantom Glowing Green Eyes™️ or anything like that... it’s fun to explore cool new ideas for sure but I just think it’s important to recognize the distinction between things that are actually canon and things that are popular fanon. (Also there are things that fall somewhere in between, there’s definitely stuff that isn’t 100% confirmed canon but could still be plausible/has been hinted at by some writers/is only canon in some settings)

Other things that drive me nuts are ‘quiet does-no-wrong angel Cass’ and ‘the Normal One™️ Duke’ because those just make literally no sense if you’ve read any comics with either of them... but fan content either does those versions or just completely ignores their existence a lot of the time! So! That’s a whole bigger problem!

In general though, this is fandom it’s not like this... matters that much on the grand scheme of things in life, we’re just people on social media talkin’ about comics. And this kind of misconception/flattening of characters does happen in literally every fandom ever. But it still does suck to see characters that have a lot of nuance and interesting history to play around with get reduced to a few traits that aren’t even actually that relevant to who they are.

[remnantoforario]

Closing the Book: I’m Done With RWBY

At the beginning of Volume 8, I made a vow to myself that no matter WHAT happened, no matter how the volume ended, I would officially be finished with RWBY as I know it. 

Honestly, this was a long time coming. The first time I ever thought of dropping the show was after Volume 6 (specifically the episode where Adam was killed) but decided to hang on and see what would happen in Atlas because of all the build up. 

The next time I thought of hanging up my hate with this show was the end of volume 7, but again I decided to hold one for at least one more volume to see where things ended up. 

Though before I explain why I’m dropping the series like a bad habit, I suppose I should start from the beginning and explain just how I found myself pulled into its orbit in the first place. 

Unlike a large majority of the FNDM, I didn’t come into the RWBY back when the series started back in 2013. I had heard about it of course, I remember the hype surrounding it on the interwebs, but the original Poser animation turned me off. So I was content with ignoring it. 

It wasn’t until the aftermath of Volume 3 that I revisited the idea of starting RWBY. I believe that was in part due to Monty Oum’s unfortunate passing.

I remember seeing Dead Fantasy some time before then so the name was familiar, but I never knew that he was the Creator of RWBY. So hearing the outpouring of sorrow and praise for the man who had given so much to so many people motivated me to check out the show. 

After watching the original RWBY trailers (which still fairly impress me to this day) I ended up marathoning V1 and V2 on Netflix not long after. Soon after I bought Volume 3 and watched that as well. 

Now from Day 1 I knew that the show wouldn’t blow my mind narratively or visually, but the amount of effort and overall passion for the series by its creators was what gave its overall charm. If anything, at least for me, V1-3 were FUN to watch. 

However, that charm began to fade with the start of Volume 4. 

Now on the whole I liked Volume 4. After the massive shift in tone at the end of Volume 3 a reset was needed, and V4 provided that for the most part, but its also where the larger problems of the show began to show themselves for me. 

RWBY in the grand scheme of things is a fairly simple show with a fairly simple premise: four girls go to school to learn to fight monsters and hijinks ensue. Volume 3 is where CRWBY started to inject actual plot into the show, and each successive volume after 4 showed how this writing team just couldn’t handle it. 

Retcons, inconsistent character motivations, infuriating writing choices, nonsensical plot twists, and haphazard timelines turned what was once an relatively easy to follow series into a tangled mess that tripped over itself the longer it went on. 

The characters I had grown to somewhat attached to slowly but surely became shells of their former selves. Team RWBY is no longer Team RWBY. That’s not even going into how other characters have been treated, or ruined, by this writing staff. 

Then there’s the fans. 

Usually I’m not the type of person to get involved in the fandoms of shows I watch, mostly because I dig to deep and end up in some hellhole that’s near impossible to get out of. 

RWBY’s most hardcore fans are probably some of the most ravenous pit of piranha’s I’ve ever seen in my life at this point. Any slight against the show is met with overwhelming hate and negativity, to the point where some people are told to kill themselves. All over a stupid internet show. 

Any criticism over the White Fang plot gets you labeled a racist or abuse supporter.

Criticizing the show’s abysmal handling of LGBTQ+ characters gets you labeled homophobic. 

Criticize the writing and you’re just a “hater that didn’t pay attention”. 

The RWBY FN/DM is just this pit that is constantly eating itself, patting itself on the back defending people (CR//WBY) who wouldn’t spare them a glance if they were starving on the street. It’s super unhealthy. 

I’d also contribute this abuse to RT themselves, but this post will be way longer than it already is. So I’ll just say that the echo chamber that they have made for themselves where they reward the (unearned) praise and dismiss the (valid) criticisms speaks volumes of the show’s decline in quality. 

TLDR; I will no longer be posting about anything RWBY past volume 8. I’ll likely still reblog cool looking art, but that’s about it. I’ve cancelled my First Membership and I’m through supporting the company as a whole. I’m done. 

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Four: Reaching Out

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, welcome! I hope you're all having a good day, and that you're all staying hale and hearty. This chapter somehow got even longer than the last one, I do apologize once again. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @toxiicpop @huliabitch @helplessly-nonstop @culturalrebel @literal-fand0m-trash @sinnamon-bunn @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @absurdthirst

Part One [Should Have Known Better]

Part Two [Tranquil Turmoil]

Part Three [Vibroblade Mettle]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains character death. Stay safe!]

"Hand over the child, Mando." The man's voice said cooly over the comms. "I might let you live."

You snarled under your breath in frustration and you heard the Mandalorian echo your sentiment. Ever since the two of you had departed Sorgan, your proverbial footsteps had been dogged by hunters. At least they had followed you instead of harassing the small village. You still had yet to learn why the child was being hunted, but you supposed that was a minor detail in light of your current predicament.

"I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold!" The hunter continued to taunt as another hit rocked the Crest. The left engine sputtered and whined, rattling audibly. 

"Alright, that's it." The Mandalorian bit out, flipping switches to cut power from the engine before it shredded itself. "You're up." He informed you, reaching for the thruster bar. "Be ready on the guns, we'll only get one shot at this. Take out that son of a bitch."

Your eyes were glued to the targeting screen, only barely noticing the choke of the thrust and subsequent drag of the Crest that threw you sideways against your seat harness. All you cared about was that blue ship indicator on the screen finally blinking red. 

Right before the Crest's artillery roared to life and reduced the bastard that had been tracking you to space debris, the Mandalorian growled, "that's my line."

You laughed in relief, slumping down in the seat. "We did it!" You cheered quietly, raising your fist to bump his own when he extended it back to you. 

Your celebration was short-lived, however, as sparks exploded across the panel in front of the armored man. He swore under his breath, quickly readjusting trajectory coordinates while the sextant holo reeled drunkenly. "Looks like the damage was already done. Sorry, stowaway. Unplanned pit stop." The Mandalorian grunted, actually managing to sound the tiniest bit contrite.

The ship shuddered and lurched, listing slightly while its main working engine struggled to maintain forward motion. "As long as we land safely, I can live with it." You assured him, eyeing the large, tan planet that loomed in the viewport. "Where to?"

"Tattooine. Closest port's Mos Eisley. Should be able to find a job so we can afford repairs." He flipped a switch overhead, then pressed his fingers to the side of his helmet. There was a shrill burst of feedback and he shook his head, grumbling and striking the control panel with a firm hand. Then, he tapped the side of his helmet again.

There was a brief pause. "Th-is is Mos Eisley Tower, we are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, o-ver." 

The voice was staticky, but still easily understood. "Copy that." The Mandalorian confirmed, toggling the overhead switch. "Locked in for three-five."

His fingers drummed on the control panel absently, then shifted around to check the levels as the Razor Crest began its approach.

…

The landing was, to quote a certain armored man...not spectacular. 

You could feel the Crest sliding to one side, the Mandalorian just barely missing the edge of the hangar bay. The landing gear whined loud when it extended and the whole ship settled onto the ground with a series of clatters and clanks that had you grimacing. You clearly had your work cut out for you.

"I'll get started." You sighed, undoing your harness. 

"No. Stay put." He answered sharply, already shuffling past you.

"What? But I'm...I can help!" You protested, pursuing him down the ladder. Was he really still in that mindset of not letting you do anything? Even after you had patched this junker up on Sorgan?! 

The boarding ramp lowered, steam billowing as the cool air inside the ship hit the blistering heat outside. Now this felt familiar. Sand, sun, grungy little droids…

You opened your mouth to greet the spindly pit bots and a blaster bolt kicked up a chunk of sand right in front of the closest droid. You whirled, snapping, "Hey! Do not shoot them! I was going to say hello!" 

The impassive man offered you a shrug, sliding his blaster back into its holster before droning, "No droids near my ship."

You threw your hands up and then jammed them in your coveralls, spotting a surly-looking woman heading your direction. "You can talk your own way out of this one, bucket boy." You muttered.

A stifled chuckle issued from the Mandalorian at your hissed words, the warm noise sliding down your spine to curl in your stomach. You blinked several times, a little confused at the violent reaction your body had to something as mundane as his laugh. 

The older woman (her jumpsuit name patch read PELI in faded blue lettering) did in fact proceed to verbally rip the Mandalorian limb from limb for "putting his bolts anywhere near her bots." She then started looking the Crest over, somehow simultaneously unimpressed with the state of it and impressed that he had managed to land it at all.

The Mandalorian bore the assault silently, but you could tell how irritated he was just from the set of his shoulders. You refused to pity him though, at least not outwardly. "I've got five hundred Imperial credits." He stated once she allowed him to get a word in edgewise.

"Five hundred and seven." You amended, shooting him a glare when he jerked his head to the side to look at you.

The woman snorted derisively, frizzy hair bouncing on her shoulders with the force of her head shake. "That'll cover the bay, but you want repairs done without droids. My time is valuable!"

"I'll get you your money." The armored man assured her tersely.

"I've heard that one before."

"I'm a former detailer." You spoke up, drawing her attention off of him. "I can follow directions and I'm familiar with this particular craft."

"Ah, that's why he's got you with him?" Peli mused sarcastically. "I figured it was for your stellar listening skills."

"I'm also a real crackerjack of a singer." You shot back, grinning. "I help keep the ship morale up."

"Oh I'll bet you do." She rolled her eyes and then jabbed a stern finger up at the Mandalorian. "Listen, I'll get started on it. But I'm making no promises and if you try to stiff me, I'm not giving you your junker back. Understand?"

He exhaled hard, nodding. 

Peli made a shooing motion. "Alright then, git! Go on. Off you go. Find a good bounty and don't you dare come back without the money!" The fact that she was ordering him around made your giggles incredibly difficult to stifle, but somehow you managed until he stalked off out of the hangar. "Mandos are always so self-important and broody." Peli informed you sagely over the sound of your sputtering laughter. "Gotta' take 'em down a peg or two whenever you can." 

A wail echoed from inside the ship and your cackling jerked to a halt. "Oh!" You exclaimed, bolting back up the ramp. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

The child, who had awoken alone and secured in the bunk, sniffled up at you when you hit the auto-roll for the shutter. They looked so incredibly distressed that you immediately felt guilty, scooping them up and moving back to the ramp. 

"I'm sorry, were you scared?" You asked the child as their eyes squinted in the brilliant desert sunlight. "It's okay, I'm right here with you."

Peli whistled. "Maker, that thing is ugly. But a cute kinda' ugly, I guess." The baby cooed, clawed fingers tangling into your tan cloak. "Oh, he's a little heartbreaker. Look at those eyes!" Peli appeared to be absolutely smitten, the older woman scooting in close to examine the child. "You'll need to be careful with his ears in this sunlight, he looks thin-skinned. Don't want him gettin' crispy, no we don't!" She continued in a singsong tone, tickling them under their chin. 

…

You were uncertain of when exactly the Mandalorian had returned from his job hunt, too preoccupied with the repair work. Up to your armpits in the left engine's ion acceleration chamber, to be precise. 

Your only warning was an abrupt shout of "hey!" and then the kid started bawling, which in turn sent you into fight or flight mode. You pulled free of the turbine and skittered down to the cockpit of the ship, hauling your wrench with you for protection. 

Your heart rate slowed once you realized he was just arguing with Peli, the older woman holding the child protectively to her chest.

"And you!" The Mandalorian yelled up at the ship, making you squirm guiltily. "Get down from there, I told you before that I don't want-"

"They're just helping me out!" Peli protested. "My joints are too rickety to be up on top of that death trap."

The Mandalorian glared at her, his shoulders heaving. You scrambled down the handholds alongside the cockpit and dropped to the ground from there, hesitantly coming alongside the seething bounty hunter. "I...I just wanted to help." You mumbled, fidgeting with the wrench and then tugging the repair manual Peli had given you out of your pocket. "I can-"

"Fine." The armor-clad man spat, the word jagged even through his modulator. "I've gotten a job. Shouldn't take too long." He was pointedly avoiding looking at you, all of his attention narrowed to Peli and the child in her arms. 

The noise of an engine outside the doorway had him jerking his head up, and with a final muttered expletive he stormed off. Peli followed after him, still berating him for his "rude language in front of the baby!", and you trailed along behind. You were admittedly curious about the job. What could he have found in this tiny little town? Did they even have a Guild outpost here?

Once you reached the outer doorway, you realized that he was apparently no longer working alone. There in front of you was a young man, dressed in entirely the wrong clothes for the climate. He was perched nonchalantly atop a speeder bike, a second one hovering alongside him. "Mando!" He greeted the armored man, gesturing at the bike. "What do you think? Not too shabby, eh?" 

The Mandalorian just grunted, beginning to circle around the bike. 

Your hands balled into fists and you huffed out an angry breath. Oh sure, he would work with some random stranger he dug up out of the sand! But the second you tried to be helpful, you got put in a glorified cupboard on baby duty! 

The young man leaned back, giving you a friendly look that went on for a bit too long. "Hey there. Name's Toro. Toro Calican." He introduced himself with a little bow, a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth. "I've been here a while but I haven't seen you before."

"Let's go." The Mandalorian demanded before you could say anything to Toro, impatiently revving the starter on his speeder bike.

"Stay safe!" You snapped. You might have said it more out of spite than good will, but the wish was no less potent for it.

The armored man tilted his head, giving the impression that he was surprised. "You...you as well." He replied begrudgingly, then opened the throttle.

"It was nice meeting you!" Toro called over the sound of the engine, throwing up a quick wave before he set off in pursuit of the other man.

"Well, that was interesting." Peli mused once the two hunters had vanished into the dust. She shot you a curious look. "Is your Mandalorian always so possessive?"

"He's not my Mandalorian!" You retorted hotly. "I have no idea why he's being so...so-"

"Pigheaded? Stubborn? Broody?" Peli suggested one word after another and you felt yourself smiling, even though you were still angry.

"Stupid." You corrected her. "He's stupid. And not mine. I take no ownership of that." You gestured out at the sand dunes. "If there's work that needs to be done, I'm not asking for permission."

"Well, we had better get to it then!" Peli said, strangely enthusiastic. "There's a hell of a fuel leak I'm going to need you for, as well as some kinks in the strut shocks. Never mind the engine, though I'm sure you're already halfway done with it."

You flipped to the first page in the repair manual, tapping your fingers down on the exploded view of the engine. "I did have a question about this section here. As you can see, this one has a weird shear point where one of the bolts should be removed. If I put the pins here instead, do you think it would hold better?"

…

The two of you worked long into the night. It seemed as soon as you fixed one thing, a new issue would arise. The Crest had been held together with nothing but spot-welding and a prayer! Your stomach flip-flopped at the realization that you had trusted that in deep space. Granted, you hadn't exactly picked the ship you were stranded on, but still-!

"You are a lucky, lucky thing." Peli called up the ladder, continuing to seat the refresher's new gasket snugly into its coupling. "If this seal had gone, your whole ship would be swamped with the grey tank backwash."

"Better the grey tank than the black tank." You replied, laughing when she made a gagging sound. You had taken a break from the engine to unbolt the cockpit shielding so you could scrape it, planning on putting down a fresh line of caulking around the edges of each pane. When you and the Mandalorian had returned to the Razor Crest after it had been parked on Sorgan, a small puddle had collected on the floor beside the pilot's chair. Whether from condensation or an actual leak you couldn't say, but everything on the ship seemed due for a replacement.

"Pass me the sealant when you're done with it." Peli requested loudly. "This gasket won't do you any good unless I patch these areas."

"Need the spanner too? I've got the fifths up here." You offered, hanging upside down through the ladder port to hand her the extra tube of caulking.

"Yeah--wait no, give me the flathead. Sealant and flathead so I can cinch this ring." Peli tweaked one of the child's ears fondly while you fumbled around in your tool belt. Sure, you could have sat upright and gotten it done much quicker, but hanging upside down was half the fun of even having a tween-decks ladder in the first place. "Does he usually just watch like this? He's being so quiet!" She remarked.

"Those eyes see everything." You replied wryly. "They're probably just glad something isn't exploding near them."

"Exploding?" Peli sputtered. "What have you two been up to?!"

You bit your lip, uncertain of how much you should actually say. "We had a few run-ins with some...less than friendly people. Raiders and stuff."

"And how did you end up around people like that?" Peli queried, her voice muffled as she ducked back into the fresher. 

You groaned, rolling over onto your back on the cockpit floor and staring up at the starry sky overhead. "A certain stupid armored individual with a gruff attitude and…" you paused as the gravity of what you were saying hit you. "...and...and a soft spot for helping people in trouble."

"Oho, so that's his story, huh?" Peli's tone was smug. "Should have figured. Not everyone reacts like a raging anooba when they see a stranger holding their baby." 

"Is that what he was angry about?"

"I'm pretty sure if I hadn't been holding this little nub the way I was, your Mandalorian would have put a hole in my chest." She didn't sound overly concerned.

"Not mine." You corrected her absently, getting back up and using the flat of your old knife to smooth out the bead line. "Never mine." You murmured quietly to yourself, barely resisting the urge to heave another sigh. Obviously the armored man's most prolific method of expression was rubbing off on you if even you were resorting to sighing. 

What were you thinking, letting yourself get all twisted up over someone like him? This was pointless. 

…

It was mid afternoon, nearly dusk the following day when you finally managed to finish repairing the engine. It had been a big job, the biggest one you'd ever tackled, but Peli looked it over several times and declared it fine work. 

"You did almost as good as my droids!" She exclaimed, one of the spindly bots beeping a loud complaint in reply. "I'd offer you a job if I thought you'd take it, but I know better than to trust your Mandalorian alone with this little angel."

You had given up on insisting he wasn't your Mandalorian, simply rolling your eyes instead of wasting your breath. "What does the rough estimate look like? I may have no choice but to work off the debt if he doesn't come back." After the playful words left your mouth, your brow furrowed. He had said it wouldn't take too long. What was his idea of not taking too long? A day? Three days?

Concern churned in your mind as the older woman laughed off your inquiry. You had no real frame of reference to work with, no clue how long a bounty hunt could actually go on for. What if something had happened to him? You swallowed hard. 

What if he and that young man he had joined forces with were stranded somewhere out in the dunes? Guilt elbowed in to war with the concern. If something had gone wrong, the last thing you said to him…

Stay safe, your memory reminded you, in a tone laden with spiteful sarcasm. 

You shook your head at your unusually-dire train of thought. That would do you no good! The Mandalorian would be back soon enough and then you would be on your way to wherever came next, is what you told yourself firmly. 

Fake it 'til you make it, right?

In the face of the encroaching twilight you sat cross-legged on the boarding ramp, slowly fishing tiny bits of pickled mudjumper out of one of the jars that Omera had sent with you. The child gurgled happily, little fingers clumsily shoving the meat into their mouth.

"Do I even want to know?" Peli inquired warily, gesturing at the jar.

"Mudjumpers." You replied, giving the brine a shake. "The kid loves 'em. They'd eat 'em whole."

The older woman pulled a face. "He's lucky he's cute. For anyone else, that'd be a dealbreaker."

The pit droids abruptly started to shriek and rattle, indicating that something had spooked them. You peered out into the darkness, squinting and then grinning with relief. "Mr. Calican!" You greeted the young man gladly, getting to your feet and wiping your hands off with a rag. "I take it you two finished the job?" You looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the large, beskar-clad form bringing up the rear. "Where's the Mandalorian?"

Toro seemed a bit preoccupied and didn't answer you immediately, his eyes darting to the baby who was still gnawing on a chunk of mudjumper. "Oh, yeah. Mando's uh...he'll be along. You guys have any water? I'm parched."

"Of course! I'll get you some, give me a second." You nodded, turning and rushing back into the Crest. As much as you had been fearing and anticipating the Mandalorian's return, it was still a relief to know that he was alright. 

Calican accepted the small canteen you gave him with a murmur of thanks. He had the kid on his knee, the small child too invested in their snack to pay him any mind. "He's a cute little guy. Where'd you pick him up?" Toro asked curiously. 

You shook your head. "I couldn't say. He was here before me. The tyke is a veteran shipmate." 

"Oh? Huh. Interesting." Toro took another long swig from the canteen. "You know, I heard something a while back."

You cocked your head, confused and a little uneasy at the way his expression had darkened. You abruptly wished that he wasn't holding the kid. "What...what did you hear?"

"Well, I mean, it's not that interesting. Still…I'm kinda' interested to figure out if it's true or not." He shifted to his feet and pressed his blaster to the side of the child's head. "Call it...morbid curiosity."

"W-What are you doing?" You asked, your voice shaking. "Calican, if this is a joke, it's not-"

"Keep back." He warned sharply. "I'm not looking to hurt any of you, but I will if I have to."

The blaster gave neither you nor Peli any room to argue, though the older woman still wanted to try. "You're gonna' be real sorry when their Mandalorian gets here!" She said angrily, her hands hoisted over her head.

Toro scoffed. "Their Mandalorian is a traitor who shot up the Bounty Hunter's Guild on Nevarro! I'm bringing him to justice." He announced, his voice dripping with self-importance while he prodded the baby with his blaster. His motions made your heart leap into your throat in terror, "and this little runt is stolen property, which needs to be returned to its rightful owner."

Your mind whirled. That couldn't be right. Nevarro--

What the armored man had admitted to you on Sorgan came rushing to the forefront of your memory, "I won't be able to bring you back to Nevarro. I can't...I can't go back there." 

Was it true? Is that what the child was? Is that why he couldn't return? He had stolen the child and shot up the Guild?

You took a step forward without conscious thought, reaching down to your boot for your vibroblade. "Let them go." 

Toro wasn't some hulking Klatoonian. He wasn't a veteran dropship trooper and he definitely wasn't a lightning-fast Mandalorian. As far as you could tell he was just like you, except he had a gun. Reducing him down to that made him much less terrifying.

The young man yelped, jamming the blaster against the child's head. "You do anything with that and I'm gonna' take this kid apart. All I want is the Mandalorian." He snapped.

"Unfortunately for you, all I want is the kid." You snarled.

He whipped his blaster around to your head, obviously shaken. "I'm not-"

"If you shoot me, you'd better kill me. Because if you hurt that child, I will kill you." You announced firmly, your trembling knees locked in place. He's just a human. He's young and dumb. "Let me hold the child and I'll get rid of my knife." You bargained, holding the weapon up. "I know how the kid operates. If you keep jostling them around like that, you're going to make them cry. They're loud, Toro. Someone will hear." You extended your hands. "I promise. All I want is the kid."

Toro appeared to mull it over, his eyes narrowed as he stared at you. "Drop the knife first." He demanded finally. "You drop that knife and...and you promise to keep this little bastard quiet."

You nodded. Your blade landed with a hollow clatter on the boarding ramp and Toro shoved the child into your waiting grasp. You didn't even have a second to breathe before the young man had your free arm wrenched behind your back, making you cry out in pain when he twisted your wrist. 

"Calican!"

You almost lost your grip on the child in relief when you spotted the Mandalorian standing at the end of the ramp, blaster in hand and somehow giving off the impression that he was fit to be tied. He had his shoulders squared, helmet tilted down and his feet spread like a raging mudhorn about to charge.

"Took you long enough, Mando." The young man drawled, his blaster thumping against your temple. "Looks like I'm calling the shots now, huh partner? Drop your blaster and raise 'em. And you," he jeered in your ear, "had better stay where you are if you know what's good for you."

The Mandalorian obeyed grudgingly, spitting, "Damn it stowaway, why-"

"Hey, it's not my fault that your hotshot pet bounty hunter skittered out from underneath your thumb!" You barked at him.

"I told you to stay safe!" He bellowed in reply.

"I told you first!" You screamed. 

"Will you shut the hell up?" Calican punctuated his request with a solid slam of the pistol grip into the side of your head, the blow sending stars across your vision. "Shut the hell up, the both of you. Now," He continued to Peli, tossing her a set of magnacuffs. "Cuff him."

The older woman slowly made her way down the ramp and Calican shifted his weight nervously, keeping you tight against his side as a human shield. "Fennec was right." He giddily declared to the Mandalorian. "Bringing you in won't just make me a member of the Guild, it'll make me legendary." 

The baby squirmed against your arm, obviously uncomfortable. "It's alright, sweetheart." You crooned, trying your hardest to keep your voice steady. "I'm right here with you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Yeah, except it's not really up to you anymore, is it?" Calican pointed out snidely. Peli raised the cuffs to snap them onto the Mandalorian's wrists and Toro's arm went tense, no doubt in preparation to squeeze the trigger. 

There was a strangely-muffled report and then blinding light seared your eyes, forcing you to slam them shut. Was that a flare? When you opened them again, the Mandalorian was gone. Toro swore, firing wildly at where the armored man had been standing. The kid started to sob pitifully and you struggled against Calican, simultaneously panicking and furious. "Let me go!" You yelled, straining to twist free.

The distinctive sound of the Mandalorian's heavy blaster firing from the side made your ears ring. Calican grunted and you felt his hold on you tighten, the young man toppling off the edge of the ramp. 

The baby!

You reeled, cupping the back of their head when Toro's limp weight knocked you over with him. You barely managed to roll in time, absorbing the brunt of the impact with your shoulder as you hit the ground still half on top of Calican. The sharp edges of his belt buckle drove into your hip for your trouble. 

You coughed out, keenly aware that the child was screaming. Maker, hopefully they were simply spooked by all the commotion. After all, if something happened to them the Mandalorian would absolutely slab you, or worse. 

"You're alright sweetheart." You assured them shakily. You settled onto your haunches as they continued to wail, keeping them tight to your body while you blinked away your reflex tears. "Shh, shh, you're alright. It was just noise and some bumps, love," you soothed, rocking them gently. "I've got you."

The Mandalorian skidded to his knees in front of you, gloved hands fumbling at the little one's limbs like he was checking for breaks. As the child's hysterics petered out into exhausted sniffling, the armored man slowed somewhat. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I-I shouldn't have-"

"Hey, hey. You got him." You interrupted, shaking your head. "I'm just glad you're such a good shot. I'm sure losing my cool didn't help your aim!"

"I d-didn't...know what to do." He admitted. "He was...I just couldn't think of anything else." His hand covered your own on the back of the child's head. "I'm sorry. For everything." He apologized sincerely. "For being so--for treating you like…" he trailed off, muttering something under his breath. His helmet pressed to your forehead and you cursed inwardly, positive he could feel you trembling. "You're not here because you chose to come along." He said finally.

"I did choose, but I get it." You said softly. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have been so reckless. Both when I was working on the ship and, uh, just now, I guess."

"No, you did well. You...you did very well." There was a smile in his voice when next he spoke, "You got him to hand over the kid so I could take a clear shot. You keep surprising me, stowaway."

"Alright, break it up!" Peli said loudly, getting between the two of you to extract the snuffling child. "Honestly, shameless." She chided and the Mandalorian sighed in exasperation, the familiar noise making you smile for a second. "Now, I'm going to assume you didn't get paid." 

The armored man turned and jerked a small pouch off of Toro's belt, then tipped the prolific contents into the older woman's hand. "That cover me?" He asked bluntly.

"Oh." Peli pursed her lips. "Yeah, yep. I'd say that'll just...well, you can have your five hundred seven deposit back." She amended after a moment of counting the various currencies in her palm.

The Mandalorian shook his head. "Keep it. We've put you through enough." He pulled you upright and as he moved to take the child back, you noticed the large impact mark on his breastplate for the first time.

"Hey, wait." You said, catching his arm. "What happened? Your chest…"

"Sniper bolt." He muttered to you. "Beskar took the brunt of it. Got a bruise and a headache from the impact."

"Excuse me, sniper?!" You squeaked. 

"The bounty. She's dead, thanks to a certain someone." The Mandalorian grumbled, none-too-subtly shoving the toe of his boot into Toro's ribs. A large hand palmed the side of your head and you winced, letting him check the area where Toro had struck you with his gun. "Doesn't look like he broke the skin, but you'll be sore."

"Yeah, and you mauling me like a wampa isn't exactly helping that." 

"Sorry. Forgot you're not used to the armor." He apologized again. Maker, you could endure him being apologetic! It made his voice all gentle, even through the modulator. He touched his forehead to the child's, running through a few gestures as their tiny hands clawed for purchase on his smooth helmet. "Let's get moving."

You caught his arm again when he went to turn away and you shifted up onto your tiptoes to press your forehead against his helmet. "Thank you." You said sincerely.

He was still for a moment, before he simply responded, "This is the Way."

"Alright pit droids, let's get this out of here!" Peli ordered, gesturing down at the former Calican as the Mandalorian headed into the Crest with you in tow.

…

You settled the child into their bassinet, running a hand over their tiny head. Those eyes watched you blearily, and a small hand clutched at your sleeve when you went to leave. "Okay love. Do you need a song?" You asked softly, smiling. "A little song so you can sleep?"

The child whimpered uncertainly, their body wriggling underneath their covers. 

You cleared your throat, crossing your arms and leaning on the edge of their bassinet. "Say 'nightie-night' and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me," you sang, stroking a gentle finger down the bridge of their petite nose. "While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me…" You hummed a few bars, continuing to stroke downward on their face. Soon enough (sooner than you expected, truthfully), their heavy little eyelids slid shut. 

You rose from your spot beside their bassinet, stretching and then climbing the ladder to the cockpit.

"How is he?" The Mandalorian asked worriedly before you could even sit down. 

"Tired," was your honest answer. "I didn't even get through the full song before he was gone."

"At least he's sleeping." He sounded relieved. The Razor Crest cruised along sand dunes and broad, flat mesas bathed in the light of the stars and you moved up to the side of his chair, wanting to take in the sight before the ship broke the atmosphere. 

"Wow." You breathed. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head to look up at you, but you didn't pay it any mind. "It looks so pretty from up here. Lonely, but..." 

"Beautiful." The Mandalorian finished quietly when you trailed off.

"Mm, yeah. Melancholy." You nodded, accidentally bumping his shoulder as you went to go back to your seat. He waved off your apology silently, already heavily involved in making the star map calculations. 

You just sat and looked on passively, swiveling the seat back and forth. He was entirely engrossed, fingers tracing diagonal lines as he plotted the course he intended to take. It was entrancing to watch him work, watch the calculations play out in real time at the flick of a switch or the pull of a lever. You were so used to astromech droids being readily available, you had never realized the amount of effort that went into something as 'everyday' as flying a ship.

"I'm going to clean myself up." He announced after the Crest punched through the atmosphere and shifted into hyperdrive. "I've got sand in places I didn't know existed."

"It was just like being back on Nevarro." You said with a smile. He unbuckled his harness and rose from his seat, squeezing past you in the tight space. He stank of speeder oil and dewback, so you were absolutely on board with him bathing. 

Before he swung down onto the ladder, though, you heard him grunt and his breath hitched.

"Are you alright?" The query came out louder than you had intended, making you cringe at your own volume. 

"The bitch shot the speeder out from beneath me before she tried to kill me." He shook his head. "I got thrown. Just a little banged up, that's all." 

"Do you…" You struggled to get the words out as he waited patiently at the top of the ladder. "Do you need help? I mean, I know you've probably dealt with way worse stuff than this. Alone, y'know."

You waited for the curt dismissal, or even worse, the heavy, wordless sigh. But instead, "That's very kind of you."

What?

He cocked his helmet, his visor just as unreadable as ever. "I'm sorry if I caused you concern." He said evenly. "I'm alright."

"Wh--Concerned? Me? Ha! I wouldn't...what, about you? It'd never happen!" You blustered. "I-I was just offering because I know you're--you don't have a great range of motion, that's all!"

He immediately bristled, "My range of motion is just fine-"

"Psh, you could barely get your hands up behind your helmet!" You teased, raising your own arms in mockery of his earlier motion.

"I'm stiff and sore. That's got nothing to-" The Mandalorian cut himself off with a growl, shaking his head again. "You're ridiculous."

"If you need help, I'm here." You sang.

"You certainly are, aren't you." And with that wry observation, he clunked heavily down the ladder.

You unbuckled your own harness once you were certain he was sequestered in the fresher, getting to your feet and pulling your tunic up over your head. Toro's belt buckle had left a healthy divot in your side just above where your pants sat; you winced in pain every time your waistband grazed the area. 

You reached for your toolbelt, abandoned on the floor hours earlier once you had finished your work on the engine, and rifled through the pouches for your jar of bacta salve. A staple of any self-proclaimed drifter, the thick cream was useful for everything from numbing to disinfecting an area. You scooped a healthy amount into your palm and then gingerly started smearing it on the angry reddish-purple mark, hissing in pain.

The sound of footsteps on the ladder took you by surprise and you froze as the Mandalorian hoisted himself back up into the cockpit, flight suit peeled down to his waist and sans-armor aside from his helmet. 

He also froze when he saw you all hunched over without your tunic on. Or at least, you thought he saw you. It was difficult to tell where he was looking sometimes. 

"Sorry." You apologized with a helpless little grimace after he just stood there for a minute. "I thought you'd, uh, take longer."

"When did that happen? Did he do that to you?" His voice was rough.

"Oh! It's...it's from when I fell." Why was breathing so difficult all of a sudden? "He had a really fancy buckle that made itself comfortable in my hip." The Mandalorian crouched beside you, his hand reaching out. "Wait!" You exclaimed, catching his wrist with two of your clean fingers. "If you get this salve on your gloves, it'll stain-"

"I don't care." He gritted out. Something in his tone caught you off-kilter, different from when he had been apologetic. His fingers pressed into the skin just above the bruise, holding the area taut. "Shit." He grunted, his thumb circling to rub some of the salve in. "You landed hard."

"Had to. It was either that or crush the baby, and I'm not looking to hurt the kid and get slabbed for my trouble." You mumbled. 

His head jerked up to look at you, beskar helmet barely missing your face. "What?" He asked. Why did he sound confused, of all things? He had been the one to threaten you with it!

"W-Well, when I first...when I came onboard, you told me you'd put me in carbonite. You know, if…if something happened to the kid?" You answered hesitantly.

He was silent for a long time, just continuing to work the salve into your skin while you sat panicking. "That was before," he finally replied quietly. "You were a variable. But after what happened on Sorgan, I..."

"Anyway, I'm not the one you should be worried about right now," you rushed on to point out. "You're the one who got thrown from a speeder bike and shot and whatever else you're not telling me. You're kind of the tactical priority in this outfit." 

His chuckle was rueful. "Just thrown and shot a few times, stowaway. I'm hungry, thirsty and sore, not dying."

"Want me to put together a snack for once you're done getting rinsed off? It's the least I can do for your help here." You offered, gesturing down at your side.

He shook his head. "No. I-I won't be able to eat with you."

"I didn't assume that you would." You startled yourself with your own reply. "I know that your helmet is...well, a fixture. I don't know a lot about the Mandaloria...Mandalorian culture, obviously, but I know enough not to expect any shared mealtimes."

"I'm sorry."

"Shush, look, I get it. It's a vital part of your people's way of life, right?" You waited for his nod while struggling back into your tunic. "So, stop apologizing. Lots of different people have lots of different cultures. You not taking your helmet off isn't offending me, it's what your people do. It's your reality, your day to day." You thumped your chest sternly, "This is the Way, right?"

He laughed quietly, mimicking your gesture. "This is the Way."

"So don't worry about it. I just feel bad that you probably only get a few minutes to eat." You continued, "If you want, you can just tell me when you want your, um, out of helmet time, and I can leave you alone until you say otherwise?" 

"I've survived this long." The Mandalorian hesitated, "That's kind of you to offer, though."

"I'm sure you're used to being alone and being able to take it off whenever." You theorized, a little sad that he had to stay in it all the time now just because you or the child were with him.

"I usually keep it on regardless." He shrugged. "Taking it off just means I have to put it back on. It's a necessity."

"Well yeah but...I'm sure you'd like to not have to inhale your food. Maybe wash your hair. Ooo, wait, do you not have any hair? Are you bald?" You gasped in mock-horror, clutching at your chest theatrically. "Maker, is that why you all keep your helmets on? You're as bald as the kid, aren't you?"

"I do groom myself, you know. Regularly." The Mandalorian retorted, the tilt of his head decidedly haughty. "And I'm not bald. Wish I was sometimes. The nape of my neck grows quickly and if I'm sweaty, I get knots."

"Sounds like something that a bald person would say if they're trying to hide it." You teased, grinning at him.

"M' not bald." He insisted after a second, sounding almost sulky. He yanked his threadbare liner shirt up, jabbing a finger at the thick trail of hair that began around his belly button. "I grow hair. I have hair." He continued indignantly.

"You have pubes." You corrected him automatically, your brain grinding to a halt afterwards. Maker, had you really just-?! 

"I've got body hair." He stressed firmly. "Hair on my body. Not just my pubic area."

Ignoring the incredibly alluring prospect of following that trail of body hair down past where his flight suit bunched up around the 'V' of his hips, you forced your eyes upwards when he dropped his shirt hem. "Stars, that looks like it hurts." You winced sympathetically, taking in the livid purple contusion that spread across his right pectoral. The fact that it was dark enough for you to see it clearly through his liner-

"I can live with it. If I hadn't had the beskar, it'd be hurting a lot less." Because I'd be dead hung unspoken in the air between the two of you. 

"I-I'm glad you have the beskar, then." You managed to say faintly. "I'd hate to have to explain to the kid if something...happened."

"Likewise." The Mandalorian responded, his own tone troubled. "He's...he's gotten used to having you around."

The both of you stood there awkwardly, the silence stretching long. "Did you need something?" You asked finally.

The Mandalorian jolted, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be. "Uh, yes! Yes, I was going to ask if I could borrow your...salve. Used up the last of mine on Sorgan and I haven't been able to get more." He mumbled. 

"Absolutely, definitely!" You exclaimed, hurrying to screw the lid back onto the jar. "I'll just...yep, here you go. Bacta salve." You pressed it into his hands, unable to keep from anxiously fidgeting when he didn't immediately leave. He just stood there, staring down at you. "Was there...was there something else you needed?" You queried nervously.

"I'm not sure." He muttered cryptically, tilting his head to the side. "I...I mean, thank you. I'll bring this back." He quickly amended, tapping his fingers to his chin and then all but bolting for the ladder.

"Be careful, you'll break a leg!" You yelled after him, certain that you imagined the husky laughter you got in reply.

…

It was much, much later when you decided to move down the ladder and head for bed. 

You had stayed in the co-pilot chair for ages, slowly spinning back and forth while your mind replayed the way he had hauled his shirt up. It was so nonchalant, innocent. You had been under the impression that Mandalorians had strict rules about exposure, but maybe it only applied to revealing their face? 

You could always ask, but the idea of offending him was somehow even more repugnant now than it had been when he was threatening to give you the full carbonite treatment. 

You sighed and headed for the ladder, moving carefully when you realized the hold was pitch black. 

He must be asleep, you reasoned a split-second before the fresher door slid open and you were blinded by the brilliant light. Right as your eyes shut in reflexive response, they landed on a pile of beskar armor heaped on the floor. 

There was a very familiar helmet sitting on top of it, the visor glaring up at you mockingly.

You heard him curse and you immediately started apologizing, keeping your eyes shut and waving your hands wildly. "I'm sorry! I-I didn't see, I promise! The light-" 

This is it, you realized grimly. This was the end of you.

"I thought you were still up there. You startled me." He paused, yawning loudly and then continuing, "s'alright now, I turned off the light."

"You're...you're sure it's okay to open my eyes?" You asked cautiously. 

"Hmm? Yeah, it's fine." He mumbled, and you heard the sound of fabric rubbing rapidly back and forth. "Had to clean the armor first, n' then me." His voice was so clear without the helmet. You would be lying if you said you weren't entranced by the soft gravel of it.

You snuck a peek and were simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find that you were still blind. "Shit, I got all turned around." You swore, crouching slightly and feeling your way forward. "Don't want to trip on your knightly attire and wake up the kid." A large, warm hand caught your elbow and you almost shrieked. "Hey! Warn me next time. Maker, I lost years off my life from that!" You hissed, your panic intensified in no small amount by the fact that it was his actual skin touching you, not leather gloves. 

In that moment, you felt like you were somehow responsible for breaking seventeen different rules. And you weren't entirely certain whether you were particularly contrite about it.

"Mhm." He could apparently see fine in the darkness, or at least well enough to lead you across the hold to the space behind the pile of crates that you had claimed as your own. "This s'your stop, stowaway." He murmured sleepily. You froze when you felt his chin brush your forehead lightly, stubble rubbing against your skin and a set of lips pressed to your hairline as he breathed, "G'night."

You managed to pull yourself together long enough to squeak out a reply of, "sleep tight," and you proceeded to tunnel into your blankets once you were certain he had left. What was that?! you asked yourself frantically. 

That was...he was human underneath all that armor. You had known that. 

Technically. Logically. Your brain understood that even before he had decided to flash the great golden expanse of his abdomen at you. So what was the issue? 

Had he just kissed your forehead?! Did that even count as a kiss or was he just so tired that he had bumped into you accidentally? Nothing about it seemed accidental, but he was exhausted. It must have been a mistake, a clumsy little...accident. That's all it was. 

You were just reading too much into it.

Part Five

[soniabigcheese]

Thwarted Escape

For @ak47stylegirl​ and @badthingshappenbingo​

Fandom: Thunderbirds/Thunderbirds are Go Prompt: Thwarted Escape Characters: Scott Tracy, Alan Tracy, guest appearances by Kayo and EOS Genre: Some silly fluff stuff and brotherly bonding time

Scott’s breath was harsh against Alan’s ear.

“Hey, slow down, or you’ll fog up the visor.” “Sorry, forgot.”

It was downtime for Scott and Alan. And the youngest one was bored already and wanted a challenge. So he tried to enrol his big brother in a brand new puzzle/maze/conquest game. Because Cavern Quest had become a big snore once he beat the BOSS level.

“Yeah yeah, it’s more of a mental agility thing, you know?” Alan said, twisting his wrist to open up a scroll, “you don’t have to run, just push your hands forward and your character does all the rest. Double tap and he’s sprinting.”

Video games weren’t really his thing, but he thought he’d indulge, just this once.

“So,’ Scott ventured after narrowly missing stepping on the tail of a sleeping dragon, “where’s Kayo then?”

“Oh careful there,” Alan countered, squeezing the blue button to make him jump, “meh ... she said it’s not her thing and had better things to do.”

“John?” “Scott .. please ... can you just stop for a minute and have some fun? Stop checking on everyone.”

Scott couldn’t help thinking that something was amiss. That was his nature. Always jumping at shadows and tilting at windmills. He couldn’t help it. Not especially that blatant threat from Kayo when he laughed at her fear of butterflies.

She hadn’t made good on her threat ... but there’s time. And if he knew Kayo, she would wait .. then pounce.

So far so good.

“Scott!” “Huh? What?” “C’mon bro, you need to get your head in the game here. I can’t do this without you. You’re my healer and spell-caster.” “Oh ... sorry. Where were we now?”

Level seven complete

Well ... they were making great tracks, previous boss levels were far too easy to subdue and beat. And now for Level Eight.

“This is the maze level,” Alan said, he sounded tense and focused, “you gotta keep your wits about you here. One wrong move.. and you’re cornered. And it’s bye bye ... game over.”

It felt strange, hearing his kid brother’s voice through the headset, so commanding. Reminded Scott of himself when he was younger. Taking the lead with the Rescue Scout team.

He was interrupted by Alan’s voice yelling and a loud thud.

“Scott!”

He blinked. There was a moss covered wall before him. One step further and he’d have been crushed. He floundered, trying to figure out what to do, turning his head so quickly that the graphics blurred his vision.

“Dammit Scott,’ Alan whined, “that was our only escape out. We’ll have to take another route and hope that we don’t find trapdoors.”

“Uh, yeah, right.”

He REALLY wasn’t cut out to play video games and it showed.

They’d barely made it along the next corridor when the wall behind then slammed down.

“So ... Alan,” Scott silently cursed himself for messing this all up,” uh ... what do we do now?”

“There’s a dead end to the right ... and if memory serves me well ... a pit of molten lava just a few feet away.”

“How ... how you you know this?” Scott sounded surprised.

He shouldn’t really, because this is Alan’s expertise, but he was.

“Meh, played it a few times - practice runs. EOS helped me with the programming.”

Ah, now that made sense. She wanted to play, Alan needed more mental stimulation. It was a match made in ....

Suddenly there was a roar, and the ceiling tore open, light blazed into the narrow, dark corridor.

“Whoa! That’s new, hey, thanks EOS!”

He paused, waiting for her to chirp her usual ‘you’re welcome Alan’ but the silence was deafening.

“Maybe she’s busy. But cool graphics though. She’s been busy tweaking it a lot since I last played.”

The head of a huge scaly beast, appeared over the ridge. It’s dagger like teeth bared, saliva dripping from its mouth.

Oh, shit. They were so screwed.

“So ....” A very familiar voice echoed in the chamber. “Spellcaster ... brave but foolish knight. Thy quest is officially over.”

And with one fluid motion, both were obliterated and the screen flashed up ...

GAME OVER

They took their VR units off, to reveal Kayo standing before then, her own VR tucked under her arm and a smirk on her face.

“What are you doing here?” “Just getting a little payback ... with a fair bit of help from EOS by the way. Thanks EOS.”

You are welcome Kayo, that was fun

Kayo flicked her ponytail and strode away, a self satisfied grin on her face.

“What was that all about Scott?” “Butterflies.” “Huh?” “Kayo’s afraid of them.” “Oh, that ... I knew about it a long time ago. Thought you all knew.”

Kayo’s voice trailed back to them.

“Oh, by the way, Grandma’s looking for you,” she said, a gleeful tone in her voice,”she’s after someone to test her new recipe. See ya ... bye.”

[overstimulatethis]

Of Course [Supercorp fanfic]

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Supercorp, background k*ramel but it’s not a thing i promise (mostly a Lena case study)

Rating: T

Summary:  Of course. Leave it to Lena Luthor to have the kind of luck that has her newly-found mentor betraying her, kidnapping her, and forcing her to marry the prince of Lena’s nightmares—the one currently courting Kara Danvers. As if she hadn’t already had enough trouble throughout her entire life trying to denounce herself of the Luthor brand, she was now being forced to participate in the takeover of the world. Of course.

Chapter: 1/1

Of course. Of course. Leave it to Lena Luthor to have the kind of luck that has her newly-found mentor betraying her, kidnapping her, and forcing her to marry the prince of Lena’s nightmares—the one currently courting Kara Danvers. As if she hadn’t already had enough trouble throughout her entire life trying to denounce herself of the Luthor brand, she was now being forced to participate in the takeover of the world. Of course.

She hated how good the red dress she’d been given looked on her. She hated everything it represented in that moment, and she hated that it was touching her body. If she’d had any say in the matter, however, she never would have picked such a bright red. And the crown. Lena rolled her eyes as she glanced at the offending garment in the mirror. How terribly gaudy.

When the guards came to retrieve her for the ceremony, she felt her mask slip into place, the one she kept up around people like her mother. She took a deep breath before following them down the hall of the spaceship—and that was taking some getting used to, as well—and into the main chamber. Rhea was waiting for them with a nauseating smirk. One of the guards held out a hand to Lena to escort her to the altar; she could barely hold back an eyeroll as she scoffed, “Yeah, I’m good.”

And then, she was holding hands with the one thing that stood between herself and Kara—well, she supposed in this present moment that there were some decidedly larger things standing in her way. As much as she knew and understood that she had to work with this Mon-El, she couldn’t quite quell the slight ache in the pit of her stomach at the physical proximity to him. She shook her head ever-so-slightly to force herself to tune into what the alien woman before her was saying.

Right when Lena felt as if she were going to puke, Cat Grant decided to make a surprise reappearance and save her marital status for the time being. She couldn’t help but glance over at Mon-El as they were being escorted back to their chambers, and Lena felt Cat Grant’s words echoing in her ears.

The next thing she knew, they were escaping—and rather successfully, at that. When she finally found a purpose for that terrible crown, she stumbled a bit, because Mon-El had gone and said something stupid like, “I see why Kara loves you.” So, of course, Lena had immediately been reminded of the fact that the love she received from Kara was not the kind she wanted. Her jealousy flared, and it was difficult to force herself back into the current moment. She mustered up a, “Likewise,” in return before continuing their escape, telling herself to refocus on the situation.

And then Kara showed up, and Lena immediately felt that stupid, dopey smile that she always got around Kara take over her face—but then Mon-El was stepping forward, and Kara wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. Lena’s expression fell quickly. She saw Kara glancing back and forth between the two of them like a confused puppy.

“Uh, Kara Danvers sent me to get you,” Kara rushed to explain.

Surprisingly, the words weren’t what broke Lena; it was the way Kara immediately turned to look at Mon-El as if he put the sun in the sky. Lena suddenly felt completely exhausted. She looked down at her shoes as she made a hasty exit, accidentally brushing shoulders with Kara on the way out.

Kara did nothing.

But her mother was here to save her, supposedly. That was something, possibly. She never knew if she could really be off-guard with Lillian and be safe simultaneously.

As they walked to complete their escape, Lena’s mind immediately went back to Kara. She shouldn’t have been so disappointed. She wasn’t dating Kara. In fact, Kara was most certainly dating someone that was the complete opposite of Lena, so there was no way she would ever even have a chance, if that was Kara’s type.

Plus, there’s the whole fact that Lena had known that Kara was Supergirl for months, now, and Kara still hadn’t informed her, herself. Every time they had another intimate moment—both with Kara and Supergirl—Lena would start thinking, this is it. She’s going to tell me. But she had been left disappointed every time.

Sometimes, she considered simply confessing to Kara that she knew; God knew the poor girl needed one less secret to—“What are you doing, Mother?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could control them, but her stomach was rolling intensely again as she was transported back to Earth without warning.

“Humans only, dear,” Lillian replied, before contacting Alex and telling her it was okay to fire the positron cannon that would evaporate the Daxamite Mothership… and everyone on it.

It took Lena a moment to process the words. She felt as if all the breath had left her, as if she were going to implode with emotion—anger at her mother’s prejudice, longing for Kara, anxiety for her safety… But Kara would figure something out. Supergirl always survived, even when it wouldn’t seem as if Kara Danvers could. She prayed she would find a way out of this, as well.

Her heart skipped as someone else was transported to the warehouse. When only Mon-El appeared, however, all her breath left her with a shrill, “Where’s Supergirl?”

“Supergirl stayed up there!” Mon-El said. Lena had never wanted to throttle him more severely.

But then the cannon itself exploded. And well, Lena went a bit numb after that. She didn’t remember much about how she got to her apartment, past the paparazzi and up the elevator; but she was somehow aware enough to strip out of the red dress, scrub her skin clean under a scalding hot shower, find clean clothes, and pour three glasses of whiskey.

Eventually, she stopped downing each drink in one go and took a glass to the couch. As she sat down, she noticed that obnoxious red mocking her from her peripheral vision. She studied it harshly, as it now lay rumpled on the floor. It was useless, now. It had no power over her. Lena narrowed her eyes as she started to contemplate whether to donate the dress to charity, sell it for money to use as a donation to charity, or burn it.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and her mother, of all people, stepped through. Half-drunk and heartbroken, she only had about 12% control on what she said, for a while. But once Lillian proposed her idea for the lead dispenser…

This was the second time Lillian had been kind to Lena in a row, but she still couldn’t fully trust her. After all, she had tried to get Kara vaporized. She didn’t really care about how Lena felt.

However… it was a good idea.

Of course, this meant that Lena had to see Kara again, very soon—much sooner, in fact, than she really was comfortable with. But she wanted to make sure that she was giving full disclosure, lest she be suspected as the villain once again. So, she and her mother met with Superman and Supergirl to tell them about their idea for the device.

Seeing Kara was difficult, extremely so. She looked exhausted, and that crinkle looked like it might have become permanent. Lena’s heart ached for her, even more so when she saw the moment Kara realized that she might have to sacrifice Mon-El for the sake of the planet. Her jealousy at Kara’s feelings for him was dampened down by the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of causing Kara pain.

Kara told them to go ahead in developing the device, though. Lena wanted so badly to reach forward and grasp Kara’s arm in comfort—but she wasn’t Kara right now. She was Supergirl, and Lena Luthor, as Kara knew her, would not reach out to Supergirl like that. So, she resisted the urge, feeling sick at the entire situation.

Something in her gut told her to make sure only Kara could switch on the lead device, and she was proud of her instincts for a moment when Lillian tried to activate it before they had planned. Always so hasty. It was one of her few predictable traits. Lena fought hard to hide a smirk at the small win. She would take it, though.

It’s unfortunate, Lena thought, that Kara ended up having to use the device, after all. As much as she loathed the frat boy out of jealousy, he didn’t deserve this—and Kara most definitely did not. Kara could never do anything to deserve such heartbreak; Lena was sure of it.

She desperately wanted to reach out to her over the next week, but she had no clue how to do so. What does one say to their best friend/love interest who just lost their slightly-emotionally-abusive significant other because he was part of a race of aliens that were trying to take over the world? Eventually, she decided that she would let Kara have some space.

However, the day after she made this decision, Agent Danvers stopped by her office (Lena had returned to work the day after the entire fiasco, of course). She looked almost nervous as she took the offered seat in front of Lena’s desk. “How can I help you, Agent Danvers?” she started. “I’ve already given my statements to the relevant departments regarding the… Daxamites.” Her voice had caught ever-so-slightly before the name of the alien race that had kidnapped her. She loathed the way it still affected her so.

“Oh, no,” Alex replied with an awkward laugh, “that’s not what—um, I’m here on more… personal business?” Lena raised an eyebrow, relaxed back in her chair, and motioned for the elder Danvers to continue. “It’s about Kara.”

Lena sat forward immediately, at that. “Is she all right?” She almost cringed at the slightly desperate tone in her voice, but Alex didn’t point it out.

“No, yeah, she’s fine! Well, I mean… I guess it really depends on how you define ‘fine…’”

Lena held back a huff. “Alex, what’s going on with Kara?”

Alex seemed to deflate in front of her. “Well, you know that she was dating that Daxamite, Mon-El… who kind of ended up having to leave the planet. And I’m pretty sure she’s told you some things about their relationship, which is—er, was—pretty, uh, turbulent, to be quite honest. So, she’s just kind of… lost?”

Alex leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She ran a hand through her hair and finally met Lena’s gaze. Lena held back a flinch at the open way in which Alex was looking at her, the high-intensity emotions making her uncomfortable.

Alex sighed a bit before continuing. “You’re… the only other one who was there, with her, with…” Him. She didn’t have to say it, but she gestured vaguely off to the side, anyway. Lena nodded to show her understanding. “So, I think you’re really the only one who she’ll be willing to talk to, right now.”

Lena felt the beginnings of a blush coming on. She sat back a bit in her chair, opposing Alex’s stature. She shook her head. “She hasn’t reached out to me once. I’m not sure you’re right with this.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Kara is… such a giving person that she never wants to burden anybody else with her problems. She has a really hard time asking people for help.” It made sense, Lena realized. Who else could be so selfless to become Supergirl? “But I promise you. I know her. You’re her best shot at healing, right now.”

Lena bit her lip in thought, swiveling back and forth in her chair a bit. “I wouldn’t even know what to say, or how to behave… whether to text her or call her, or…” Her brain was kind of going into overdrive, short-circuiting at the thought of seeing Kara before she had fully processed how to feel about her.

“Honestly,” Alex interrupted, “all you have to do is show up at her apartment around at least a vague resemblance of a dinner time, with at least five cartons of takeout, and she’ll either eat it all in one bite, collapse crying into your arms gratefully, or kiss you.” She gave a light chuckle at her joke, but Lena had to force herself not to choke at the image.

“Five cartons of takeout. Got it. Wait.” She leaned forward again, palms flat on the desk in front of her. “What kind of takeout? Chinese? Italian? Thai? Pizza?” She had only been to Kara’s apartment to hang out a mere handful of times, and it had definitely been a while since their last get-together. Lena could feel herself becoming increasingly frazzled.

“Literally anything, Lena. You know Kara. You’ve seen her eat.” Alex laughed more openly this time, which helped Lena let out a more genuine chuckle in response. “So, are you down?” She was much more relaxed, now that Lena had become decidedly less tense.

Lena said, “Yes, of course,” before she gave it a single thought. It didn’t stop there, either; words that she couldn’t stop just kept tumbling out of her mouth. “I’ll go over to her apartment tonight, then.” Her heart raced as the reality sunk in.

“Okay.” Alex smiled widely. “That’s great. Thank you, Lena. I really appreciate it. And, um,” she shifted in her seat, “I also wanted to know… how are you? I mean, are you processing everything okay? Did you need someone to talk to?”

Lena immediately thought of the glasses of whiskey she’d been looking forward to drowning herself in that night. She didn’t know how to respond, but Alex continued talking with a kind, serious tone.

“I know we’re not close, or anything, but it appears that our lives are going to be intertwined in some way, no matter what. I’d like to be your friend. I guess what I’m trying to say,” she jokingly rolled her eyes at herself as she smiled, “is that I’m here if you need me.” Alex tucked some of her red-brown hair behind her ear, in a move that instantly reminded Lena of Kara.

Honestly? Lena had no clue how to act in response to such open kindness. She had fumbled her way through these kinds of situations before, with Kara, but for now, she was at a complete loss for what to say.

But Alex didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes shined with understanding. She knew about Lena’s relationship with her mother, how she had never been given kindness without the expectation of something in return. It was clear that she was being patient and letting Lena work through her emotions to say what she wanted to say.

Lena’s heart felt… fuller.

“I…” Lena coughed to clear her throat a bit. “I think it goes without saying that I greatly appreciate the offer, Alex. And I would truly love to be your friend, as well.” She found a smile slowly growing on her face at the prospect. “I, um… I’ve been coping. Probably not in the healthiest of ways,” she looked down at her fidgeting hands, “but I’m… managing. It was definitely a… difficult experience.” She looked back up to Alex with a shrug and a hint of a smile.

Alex hummed, mirroring Lena’s posture. “It was… a very emotional time. Nights are hard. If you ever find yourself in need of some company,” she said as she pulled out a business card, writing her personal number on the back of it, “feel free to call me, any time. It helps to talk about what happened with someone who shared in the experience, sometimes. I’m sure Kara would love to talk with you too, though. It’s completely up to you, but here.” She handed the card to Lena, who took it with a hint of astonishment.

The Danvers sisters were like no one else Lena had ever met.

“Thank you, Alex,” she said softly, with as much genuineness as she could inflect in her words. “This really means… so much to me. Thank you.” She looked up at Alex’s blurry figure to realize that her eyes were starting to tear up. She hastily blinked the wetness away and smiled openly at the agent in front of her.

“It’s really no problem, Lena. I should let you get back to work, but I mean it—call me any time.” She smiled again as she stood, but paused a bit before she moved away. “Um… you’re probably used to this from my sister, but—can I hug you?”

A laugh escaped Lena’s throat before she even realized it was there. She found herself standing and walking around her desk, into Alex Danvers’s open arms.

Honestly, it wasn’t quite as nice as one of Kara’s hugs, but it was wonderful all the same.

Work was a blur after Alex left. She’d been so distracted about going to see Kara for dinner that she didn’t really remember doing anything else besides telling Jess to free up her schedule beyond five o’clock that evening. The next thing she knew, it was 6:30, and she was carrying two bags containing a massive amount of pot-stickers and other assorted Chinese foods down the hall to Kara Danvers’s apartment.

Her heart was beating rapidly. When Kara opened the door almost immediately after Lena knocked, she wondered if the Kryptonian had been able to hear it pounding against her chest.

“Lena! Hi!” Kara said, looking slightly bewildered to see her, but smiling widely nonetheless. “What are you doing here? I mean, not that you’re not welcome here, of course—come in!” She waved her in, continuing to ramble as she did so. “You’re welcome here any time, I hope you know that—well, I mean I guess you do know that, since you came over right now without asking—which is totally okay! I love that you came! Honestly, I—”

“Kara,” Lena interrupted gently. She could feel the adoring smile on her face, that same stupid one she got when Kara showed up on the Daxamite ship. “I honestly just wanted to see you. I’ve missed you, and a lot has happened… I just wanted your company. Obviously, I’ve brought compensation-slash-bribery, as well.” She held up the bags of takeout, which Kara scrambled to take for her.

“Oh, trust me,” Kara replied as she set the food down and went about grabbing forks, “while food is always accepted and appreciated, bribery to spend time with you is never necessary.” Kara paused after she seemed to have gotten all of the necessary equipment. She took a quick, deep breath that moved her shoulders as she stood and fully met Lena’s gaze. She smiled softly before opening her arms, and Lena gratefully fell into them.

Honestly, there was nothing like a hug from Kara Danvers to make her feel both vulnerable and invincible simultaneously. She could feel herself practically melt into the embrace, her heart calming against Kara’s strong chest. Kara had her right hand between her shoulder blades, and her left hand was slowly, softly, comfortingly moving up and down her lower back.

She wished she could have this every day.

Eventually—probably after longer than what would normally be appropriate—Kara released Lena from the warmth of her arms. She looked down at Lena with a soft smile. “Would you want to watch something while we eat? Or we could talk and catch up a bit?” she asked as she started setting the boxes out by the couch.

Lena’s heart started to quicken again at the prospect of talking—any time she talked to Kara, it seemed that she spilled her emotions out all over the floor. She would rather not take over the night like that quite yet, not when she truly had missed Kara’s healing presence and company. So, she followed Kara to the couch and suggested that Kara pick out a movie for them to watch.

Halfway through the movie, however, Lena noticed that Kara wasn’t even looking at the screen; she was just staring at some point in space in front of her. She reached out and touched a hand to Kara’s shoulder, ever-so-gently.

The superhero didn’t jump, but she did turn to face Lena very quickly. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?” Lena asked before worrying her lip. “Of course, considering the recent events, you’re most likely not okay.” Lena sighed at herself, withdrawing her hand. “I mean to say—how have you been? I’ve wanted to check in on you for a while, but I didn’t quite know how.”

Kara simply stared at her for a moment, before her face slowly crumpled as a sob escaped. Lena reached out again immediately, bringing Kara close to her and holding her tightly as she cried into her chest.

When her sobs died down, Lena didn’t stop rubbing her hand over Kara’s arm or holding her in place. She felt them both relax into each other. It was… content.

“Thank you,” Kara nearly whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

“It’s no bother at all, Kara,” Lena assured her. “You’ve been there for me countless times. I think it only makes sense that I be here for you, as well. Besides,” she cleared her throat a bit, causing Kara to shift so that she could see her face better while still laying against her, “I’ve been… struggling with some of these events, as well. I think, maybe, we could be there for each other, right now.” It came out as more of a question, but Kara was smiling at her, so it couldn’t have been too bad.

“That would be perfect, Lena. Honestly, you’re about the only person I can fully tolerate seeing right now. I can’t even be around Alex for too long before I get… tense and agitated. But with you, well….” She smiled before snuggling back into her embrace with Lena.

She had to hear the way Lena’s heart was fluttering, even without using super-hearing.

Speaking of superpowers…

“I know you’re Supergirl,” came out in a whisper before she could stop it. Apparently, some part of her had decided that she was going to confess her knowledge of Kara’s alter ego today. It would have been nice if the rest of her had been given a warning.

Kara’s head shot up off of Lena’s chest. “Wait, what?” she said with a forced scoff. She waved her hand through the air. “Lena, come on.”

Lena stared at her flatly before reaching forward and yanking down the column of buttons on her shirt, parting them to put the Supergirl emblem on full display. Kara was left agape for a long moment.

“I’ve known for months now, Kara,” Lena confessed gently. “I was waiting for you to tell me, but after almost losing you, I—” Crap. Here she was again, drowning the floor in her word vomit. “I knew that I just had to be as truthful with you as possible, to have the best relationship with you that I could possibly have before something happens to take it all away.” She rolled her eyes at herself before looking down at her hands. “I’m trying to stop holding everybody that cares for me at arm’s length.”

Kara didn’t say anything. Lena saw her glance over to the television, where the credits of the movie were rolling. Kara turned the television and DVD player off before turning to Lena and finally speaking. “It’s late. Do you want to stay over tonight?”

At the mention, Lena couldn’t stop a yawn from stretching her mouth open. Kara giggled and continued, “Yeah, you’re tired. Let me get you something more comfortable and less tear-stained to wear. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, but I get the feeling that…” she paused, causing Lena’s breath to stop as well. Kara bit her lip and sighed. “I think we both might sleep a bit better with someone else next to us. Don’t you think?” She fidgeted with her glasses as she waited for a response.

Honestly? The offer sounded absolutely wonderful. Sleeping with Kara next to her would probably make her wake up feeling amazing. She felt a bit of guilt at not sharing her feelings for Kara, as well—as if she were taking advantage of her by accepting her offer. But, honestly, Kara had offered, and Lena would never do anything that Kara was uncomfortable with.

“I would greatly appreciate it, Kara. Thank you,” she finally responded, softer than she normally would. She saw a warmness cover Kara’s expression at the sound of a message meant for her ears only.

Soon, Lena had changed into a pair of Kara’s sleeping pants, which hung low on her hips and past her feet, and an oversized t-shirt Kara claimed had magical powers.

It smelled like her.

They got into bed once Kara turned the lights off, facing away from each other. Lena was suddenly surrounded with that same smell of Kara, and she wished she could stay here every night.

She heard Kara turn over behind her. “Hey, Lena?” she said softly, as if Lena could have fallen asleep so quickly.

Lena turned over to face Kara, in return. “Yes, Kara?” she replied, just as softly.

In the darkness, Kara was just barely outlined in the silver-blue moonlight peeking through the window blinds. Her glasses were off, but Lena still saw Kara Danvers. And she was absolutely beautiful.

Then Kara lightly placed a hand on Lena’s jaw, catching her completely off guard. It was the most intimate touch Lena had received from her to date. It took her breath away.

Kara stroked her thumb over Lena’s skin before continuing. “I want you to know that I love you. So much. And if it hadn’t been for…” she paused, closed her eyes, and shook her head. Lena placed her own hand over Kara’s to hold it in place and show that she understood what she meant. Mon-El. “…well, who knows what could have happened by now with us. But now, things got so… so messed up, and I just wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t wait for me.”

Lena was extremely confused. A roller coaster of emotions ran through her at the mini-speech Kara gave. She gripped Kara’s hand tighter, but the superhero was still talking.

“I don’t want you to wait for me to get my head together and waste your time on me. I just want you to do whatever makes you happy. Okay?” She looked at Lena with her eyes shining gray in the moonlight.

“Of course,” Lena whispered with another squeeze to Kara’s hand on her jaw, “but, just so you know, I’d wait forever for you and still be happy just to be your friend.” She gave a small smile, which Kara immediately returned.

Kara shifted to press their foreheads together, and Lena could feel the pull of her lulling her to sleep. They brought their hands down off of Lena’s face to meet between them, their feet tangled slightly at the other end of the bed.

Of course, it was the best night’s sleep Lena had ever gotten.

[bobasheebaby]

In My Veins- Be Careful What You Wish For chapter 3

Pairing: Drake x MC; (past) Liam x MC

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Choices (The Royal Heir Book)

Square filled: food/drink tampering

Word count: 2,100

Warnings: deceit, manipulation, threats, evil Liam

Summary: Stress is felt. 

A/N: A huge thank you to @sirbeepsalot for all of her help and advice and being an ever patient sounding board. (MoE thanks DoE as well.) In My Veins by Andrew Allen is the song inspiration.

Series warnings: Evil Liam, dark!fic, deceit, manipulation, dub con, possible NSFW content, possible character death. This is taking the Liam from TRH to the extreme, he is not the Liam we know and love. By clicking read more you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

“Allen, Rebecca, I wish you’d listen to me.” God I could use a drink. Why did I suggest I not drink in solidarity before we got pregnant. Drake ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Rebecca’s sapphire eyes flashed with anger. “Listen to you? Like I listened to you when you said we had to name our child Liam’s heir because we owed him? Haven’t you given up enough for him? Done enough for him? Will I or our child be first in your eyes? Or will you always put him first out of some twisted sense of duty?”

“That’s not fair, you and our child will always come first!”

Liam stopped in the doorway. They are fighting already, perfect. Soon she’ll be coming to me for support.

“Really? Were you thinking about us when you agreed without talking to me?”

“We’ve been over this Allen! I’m sorry I didn’t discuss it with you first, I should have.”

“What if he says the baby has to grow up at the palace? Would you just blindly agree?”

“Liam would never ask that. But of course I would say no!”

“Okay.” Rebecca sighed. “You need to stop feeling guilty. You didn’t steal me from him.”

“I know I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I’m just so frustrated.” She blinked back tears. “I know it takes time, but I don’t understand why it’s not happening.”

Drake took her hands. “It will happen. And when it does you will be an excellent mother.”

“I just wish it would happen already,”

Liam cleared his throat from the doorway, announcing his presence.

Drake and Rebecca turned in surprise. “Hey Li, we weren’t expecting to see you today.” Drake awkwardly greeted Liam with a forced smile as he joined him and Rebecca in the solarium. How much did he hear?

“I was passing by on my way home from business in the neighboring duchy and thought I’d see my favorite couple and see how you are doing.” He looks well, doesn't seem to have lost any weight, no hair loss, maybe I’m not using enough… “I brought you another bottle of your new favorite.” He held up the bottle of whiskey.

“Oh.” Drake swallowed. Crap all his gifts. “I haven’t been drinking.” He grabbed Rebecca’s hand over the table. “In solidarity, since she can’t drink just Incase.”

“As I told you Drake, I don’t care if you have a drink or too.”

Well that explains it. “Well since your wife doesn’t seem to mind, perhaps you can join me in a nightcap? One drink a night never hurt you.” I’ll just have to up the dose.

“He’d love to.” Rebecca vacated her seat, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Night. I love you.” She headed towards the door. “Goodnight Liam, try to convince him to loosen up.”

Liam forced a smile as he felt a tinge in his heart. “I’ll see what I can do. Goodnight Rebecca.” My love, queen of my heart and soon my rightful queen. “So should I pour us one?”

Drake hesitated, watching his wife’s retreating form. I really need one tonight. “You know what, you’re right, what harm will one drink do?”

“Excellent.” Yes drink, be merry, leave me your grieving wife to consol. “So how have you two been doing?” He asked setting down Drake’s whiskey, sitting across from him.

Drake arched his brow. “Since when do you drink scotch neat?”

Liam smiled as he brought the glass to his lips. “I don’t mind it now and then.” And I needed to be able to tell the drinks apart. Wouldn’t want to get the wrong one.

Drake nodded as he sipped his whiskey, relishing in the smooth burn in his throat. “It’s been okay, I just worry the stress is getting to her. She’s so tired and irritable, but every month the test is negative.” He shook his head. “I just feel like we’re letting you down.”

Liam sat his glass on the table. “You’re doing no such thing. Sometimes these things take time. Is the doctor worried?”

“No, not yet. She said the same thing as you.” He nervously ran a hand through his chestnut locks. “I just thought it’d happen by now.”

“It will happen Drake, when it’s meant to.” And it’ll be my rightful heir when it does.

“You’re right Li, thanks. Now enough of the baby stuff.”

*

Liam grinned to himself as he navigated the corridors to his royal chambers. One drink turned into more than half the bottle, for Drake. They don’t suspect a thing. Soon she will know she chose the wrong man. He felt his mind wander, taking him back to the day he first felt his heart crack, when he first realized he would do anything to regain her heart.

“Marry me.” Liam’s words hung heavy in the air, his smile wide with hope and joy.

Rebecca looked down at Liam, blue eyes shining with unshed tears. Liam smiled up at her, moved by her emotions. “I—I think I love someone else.”

Liam’s jaw dropped, his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach. But what about? The ring slipped from his grasp, falling into the grass. Where did we go wrong? “Who?” His voice cracking as his kingly demeanor slipped.

Rebecca shook her head, her golden blonde hair shimmering like gold in the moonlight, any other time it would feel like a beautiful sign, a good omen. Today it felt like it was a cruel joke played on him by the gods. “It doesn’t matter.”

Liam carefully stood from the grass, his mother’s ring momentarily forgotten. Last time we were here she was talking about love at first sight and soulmates. All that mattered in that moment was what he lost and if there was anything he could do to prevent it. “It must be recent if I’m just hearing about it now.” His voice took on a biting edge. “I just want to know what happened since Paris when we placed our lock on the bridge. Since Shanghai when we went to the pond. I need to know what I did wrong to lose you now when we can finally be together.”

“Liam please. Don’t do this.” Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks.

His mind raced. He needed to know who took her away from him. Who has she been close with? “Maxwell?”

“Liam.” She pleaded.

She’s been close with Hana since the start… “Hana?”

“Liam, please stop.” She sobbed.

Only one name left. Please not him. Anyone but the man I’ve always considered a brother. “Drake?” Her head dropped forward, he felt his heart shatter in his chest. His jaw tensed and his hand curled into a fist. “Does he feel the same?” If he doesn’t we may still have a chance.

“Yes.” Her voice but a whisper, nearly lost in the wind.

Liam nodded, trying to pull himself back together. How could he do this to me? This night was supposed to be one full of joy and somehow it turned to one full of turmoil worse than the night he’d had to choose Madeline. “Did you ever mean it?”

She looked up, tearfilled sapphire blue locking on heartbroken chestnut brown. “Mean what?”

“What you said, that you loved me.” Why can’t I just drop it? Because I need to know. Was she simply playing me for a fool or did she mean it when she said we were fated?

“Of course.” She took a breath. “Maybe part of me still does, but you didn’t choose me when it mattered most.”

Liam looked down, trying to bury his anger and sadness, pulling back on his kingly facade. “Okay.” He nodded. “I would still like to name you Duchess.” Drake doesn’t want this life, he’ll back off. And this way you will see who you’re better suited for. If I keep you close I can regain your love, and once again possess your heart. “I know you would do so much good for the duchy I chose for you.” He paused. Act supportive. “Both you and Drake would both do so much good for them. I would hate for them to lose out simply because you fell out of love with me.”

“Liam...” She sighed shaking her hair, the glittering gold strands flying in the breeze. “I didn’t, you just didn’t fight hard enough for me.”

“Liam.” Her sharp voice cracked through the halls like a whip, breaking him from his thoughts, sending him spiraling back to the present.

“Olivia.” He turned giving her a tired smile. “I didn’t realize you were returning from Lythikos, I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

Olivia laughed. “Yes well, we need to talk and you’ve been ignoring my messages so I thought I’d come and see you in person.” Her tone tinged with agitation.

“Can it wait until morning?”

“It could, however you’ve worn down my patience.”

Liam sighed, eyes quickly darting in the direction of his royal chambers. “Let’s head to my study.” There’s only one woman I want to invite back there.

Olivia rolled her emerald eyes. “Fine.” Her heels clicked loudly on the polished marble floors, the sharp and shrill sound echoing through the halls of the silent palace.

Liam unlocked the door pushing it open. “After you.”

Olivia entered, crossing the room, taking a seat on the couch. “We need to talk.”

“So you said. What is this about Liv?”

“Sit.” Her tone strong and commanding.

Liam arched his brow, grabbing one of the chairs at his desk flipping it around. He sat with his hands folded in his lap.

“You need an heir.”

Liam chuckled. Where is she going with this? “I already have one, or will soon.” As soon as Rebecca sees she chose the weaker man. “I named Drake and Rebecca’s child, remember?”

“I remember.” She drummed her perfectly manicured French tips on her thigh. “I don’t understand why you put so much pressure on them when you had other options.”

“What options? I’m a single king without any prospects for a queen.” I would have a queen if Drake hadn’t stolen her from me!

Olivia’s features clouded briefly. “Me.” She straightened her back. “I could give you an heir by blood. You know I’d never say no to you.”

“Liv, I appreciate the offer but I won’t have a political marriage.” I didn’t expect you to want one after what your parents did.

“I said give you an heir, not marry me Liam. I’m being pragmatic about it. I know you don’t love me, and I can’t marry until I figure out how to get out of that damn agreement; but you need an heir and I’m willing to help.” She smiled. “Think about it, a child of Rhys and Nevrakis blood, no one would dare cross them.”

Liam fought to keep his kingly stoicism in place as the anger heated in his veins. There is only one woman I want to sire my heir. “You seem to be forgetting about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Legitimacy. A child of my blood would have to be proved legitimate. Since you can’t marry and I have no intentions of a political marriage, any child we would have would be unable to ascend the throne.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Her voice hardened as anger consumed her. “You know that’s an old rule that never gets enforced any longer just like your bullshit ‘I’m allowed to appoint a newborn of noble lineage’ excuse. You and I both know that rule hasn’t been used in over a hundred years and that you could appoint anyone of any age.” She stood up abruptly, in that moment she reminded him of a raging fire ready to engulf anything in its wake. “I don’t know why you insist on following that archaic law, or why you need to have her child as your heir. You are making it impossible to happen, they are under too much pressure and stress. It’s been months.” Any kindness on her face was gone, anger and hate taking its place. “I was simply making a suggestion to make it easier, give you a backup plan as you would.” She stormed to the door, wrenching the door open, the flurry of red silk only reminding him more of flames. “If you didn’t want Nevrakis blood on the throne, there were kinder ways to say it.” The slamming of the door vibrated around the room.

Olivia, please don’t become a problem, I would hate for you to become collateral damage.

Feedback fuels me, please like, comment reblog or send an ask. Feel free to scream, I promise I can take it.

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[inquisition-dragonborn]

History has recorded that the Dwemer disappeared under mysterious circumstances many millennia ago. They were a resourceful people possessing wonderous technology, knowledge, and wealth, but at the pinnacle of their mastery over their world, they vanished entirely. Or did they? This is the tale of the last Dwemer who awakens to find themselves in a far different world than they left. 

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandoms: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls Characters: Original Dwemer Character(s), Various Skyrim Characters, College of Winterhold

Ratings and warnings are subject to change.

My dreams are filled with the sibilant sound of escaping steam, the whir of flywheels, and the rhythmic clank of metal cogs stepping through the gears one lash at a time. The constant noises are comforting in their way, like a mother’s heartbeat, echoing through the darkness of the womb.

My nightmares are different. They are filled with the horror of artificial silence, hunger and desperation, and the acrid scent of sweaty fear. The nightmares seem both immediate and distant in my mind and I do not like to dwell upon them.

I don’t know if my eyes are open or closed; darkness envelopes me in a constant state with no relief. I am neither warm nor cold. I cannot feel my body, assuming that is, that I still have one. I’m not aware of the passage of time, a blessing and a curse that I will come to understand later.

“Carefully now. We do not know what dangers may await us.” A ball of light zoomed into the middle of the pitch-black room then hovered lazily, rising slowly toward the ceiling of the cavernous space. “We don’t need a repeat of yesterday.”

Status: Initializing…

“Understood, professor,” a male stated, nervously clearing their throat.

“Dwemer ruins are notorious riddled with traps. Wards at the ready. Phinis, a little bit more light, if you please.”

Six people, five humans and an Argonian, cautiously entered the room, their eyes darting from shadow to shadow, looking for dangers. A middle-aged man, balding and with a confident stride, came first, sending globes of light up into the air. The two younger human men, twin brothers and Nords by appearance, jostled each other as they came through the door. A Redguard woman walked cautiously next to the Argonian. An elderly looking man, grey hair and beard neatly trimmed despite the unkempt look of his robes, brought up the rear.

Several more globes of light shot into the room distributing themselves into a ring, illuminating the space with a pale blue light. Smooth stone walls gleamed with collected moisture and crystallized mineral deposits. Rays of light, weak and watery, filtered down through the fractured stone. Metal glinted in the wavering light, twinkling in and out of view as the balls of light shifted on the air currents created by steam that rose from the single piece of machinery still working.

“Remarkable, simply remarkable,” the elder stated, craning his head to look around. “These ruins are unlike any we’ve discovered previously. Carefully now.”

The room was circular in shape with only the single door they entered by. At the center of the room stood a narrow waist-high pedestal with two rows of buttons, a single button glowed with a green light. Fanning out from it by narrow metal conduits were a dozen larger tubes, circling the available space like markers on an incomplete sundial. Most tubes were dulled and broken, but one glowed like polished moonstone in the magelight.

“Never have we seen construction such as these. Remarkable.”

“Yes, Professor Tolfdir.” The younger members of the group looked at each other and rolled their eyes at the elder’s rambling. None of them had any real interest in being there but as the oldest apprentices at the college, they had the dubious honour of being farmed out for such research expeditions.

Above each tube, ominously familiar round metal hatches were pressed into the wall. They were not the usual dull gold of dwarven metal either but silver, pitted and tarnished black with age. Nonetheless, these were easily recognized by the explorers. Most were ajar and empty, their contents of sleek silver metallic spiders, lay broken and dormant on the crumbling stone floor. Several hatches remained closed despite the broken tubes, but from within one, a green gem began to glow. The gem slowly rotated within the gyroscope housing that served as the spider’s head to focus on the interlopers.

Status: Analyzing…

“Look!” one of the Nords, the nervous male, stated excitedly, “one of them is still working!” He hurried forward, tripped over one of the conduits and froze at the ominous clacking of metal on metal.

When nothing further happened, everyone gave a slow sigh of relief.

“Apprentice Rundi! Would you please restrain yourself… by the door!” The professor’s voice had slipped from its normal calm tone to something much sharper and impatient.

“Yes, professor. I’m sorry, professor.” He carefully walked back past the group, slouching his head and shoulders forward with shame. His brother shoved his shoulder as he passed, making him stagger slightly.

“Borvir! This is neither the time nor the place for roughhousing of that nature.”

“Sorry, professor.”

“Now, where were we—?” Tolfdir muttered to himself, sounding bemused, before his eyes lit up with renewed focus. “Ah, yes. It is truly remarkable to see equipment of this age still functional! You can see that even here, the walls and floor have fractured with the upheaval of the mountain at some time during the past; however, the ingenuity and redundancy of the Dwemer design has allowed the machinery to continue to function despite damages.”

“What do they do exactly?” The Redguard, Yisra, asked, cocking her head to the side as she carefully studied the steam outlet on the single working tube.

“We have no idea.” The students stopped in their tracks and turned back to look at him with an assortment of incredulous and confused looks on their faces. “We have only recently discovered two of these ruins and they significantly pre-date the oldest known ruins of Nchuand-Zel, Alftand, or Bthardamz. Those ruins do not contain these circular vaults. They are an intriguing curiosity. Perhaps it would be best to have Calcelmo join us before we proceed further.” He turned around and looked startled to find a student at the door. “Oh! Borvir…”

“Yes, professor?” Borvir replied, standing next to him.

“Oh!” Tolfdir blinked repeatedly, then realized he had confused the twins. “No, no. Rundi—please fetch Master Calcelmo from the other chamber. Tell him we have a working example.”

While they waited, the students carefully examined the silent tubes and compared them to the single working one. The tubes, slightly longer than the average Altmer and wider than a Nord, were oval in shape instead of the expected round. The surface was slightly warm to the touch, slick as polished marble in some places, pitted and rough in others with the accumulation of minerals similar to the deposits on the surrounding walls. Pairs of pipes entered and exited either end, with gauges marked with illegible figures. Only the gauges on the functional tube flickered to suggest some unknown activity within.

“This tube is open,” Borvir said sticking his fingers under the edge of what looked like a lid and lifted. A loud creak of hinges made everyone freeze in their tracks.

Status: threat assessment pending...

The gem turned yellow and its legs flexed for the first time in millennia, the joints popping with a soft hiss of steam.

The tube was empty except from some sort of mineral deposit fused to the inside bottom of the surface that he scratched at with his fingernails. “What do you suppose was in them?”

“It’s hard to say. They could have been storage tanks for fuel or food. Perhaps fermentation…”

Borvir threw his hands up into the air as his brother returned with the Altmer mage, Calcelmo. “Dwemer mead!”

Phinis shook his head and rubbed at his temples in frustration at his students’ behaviour. He wasn’t the only one as their fellow student, Yisra curled her lip in disgust. “You and your stupid mead. One day you’ll freeze to death toasting to your own stupidity.”

“Now, now… Master Calcelmo. The students have found a working example of the Dwemer devices.”

“So your student said Master Tolfdir, although I very much doubt that,” Calcelmo said as he strode into the room, shooing the students out of the way as he entered, “but I suppose I can see what you have found. Ah!” He walked around the tube that continued to emit a jet of steam with perfect mechanical timing. He walked around the adjacent tube that had been pulled open. “Fascinating. There is no outward sign of hinges or latches, and yet they can be opened. But how? There must be some mechanism—”

“What about this?” Rundi asked, running his finger over the green light on the pedestal.

“Do not push—” Phinis called as the button depressed under Rundi’s finger.

Status: unauthorized input...awaiting bypass command...

The gem started to pulse.

The room fell abruptly silent as the methodic rhythm of the device’s gears ground to a halt and the vent of steam tapered off with a waning hiss.

“How many times must you be told—"

“Of all the stupid—"

Status: eliminate threat...

The gem turned red as the weapons system activated.

A loud chime rang startling them all into silence. They had never heard such a thing before in a Dwemer ruin. It nearly drowned out the swish of the remaining hatches on the walls, opening and spilling out their mechanical eight-legged guardians.

The spiders rapidly climbed over their fallen brethren, their metal legs tapping sharply on the stone floors as they advanced. Lightning arced through the air sizzling across hastily erected barriers.

Spikes of ice exploded against the spiders sending them tumbling across the floor only to right themselves with acrobatic leaps before charging back at the mages, razor-sharp edges slashing against fabric and flesh.

“Ice doesn’t work!” Rundi screamed, tripping over his own feet as he retreated.

“Then use fire, ice-brain,” Yisri barked, blasting the spider advancing on the scrambling Nord with a fireball. The spider flipping onto its back, legs kicking, then burst apart in a shower of sparks.

“Don’t panic. Work together now,” Phinis called out as he brought his conjured sword down onto a spider.

“Remember your wards, apprentices!” Tolfdir reminded them, his own glowing blue ward crackled but held firm against a bolt of lightning.

The spiders were vastly outnumbered and quickly overpowered by the mages. The final spider staggered upright again on its remaining five legs, two of which dragged on the floor from broken joints. It snapped its single functional scissor-like front legs aggressively at the intruders before being slammed back against the wall with a glancing ball of fire.

The spider’s inner workings hissed and spun in a mindless effort to fulfill its directive. The gem pulsed with red light, weaker than before.

Status: critical failure…

It burst apart in a shower of sparks and scattered legs to collapse in a silent heap.

The mages panted with exertion, sucking in gasps of ozone scorched air, all the while glaring daggers at a now-sheepish Rundi. “Sorry.”

“And that, young man, is why we do not go pushing buttons with abandon like a skooma-raddled khaj—”

A loud crack echoed off the stones abruptly ending Calcelmo’s tirade. Wards and destruction spells bloomed as they all rapidly scanned the room for new threats. Their hands slowly lowered as nothing came at them. Indeed, even the alarm bell had fallen silent.

“Oh, it’s leaking!” Yisra exclaimed, jumping back from the previously functioning device as a gold-coloured, viscous fluid started to pour out of the tube and splashed onto her shoes. The device had become hinged like its counterparts and was rapidly losing its contents.

“Quickly now,” Calcelmo darted forward with surprising agility, holding out a flask pulled from the inner folds of his voluminous robes, “get a sample before it all runs away.”

“Ew!” she protested even as she held the glass under the slowing flow of liquid. She held her hand up and rubbed her fingers together. It felt creamy, not greasy or sticky as she had expected. She wrinkled her nose; it was still disgusting. She wiped her fingers on Borvir’s shirt.

“Hey!”

“Well, I think there is no longer any harm in opening this the rest of the way, do you?” Tolfdir asked Calcelmo.

“No. I think what’s done is done. Let’s take a look inside.”

The lid opened smoothly after some initial resistance and more fluid spilled out to reveal the contents.

“Xarxes Backside!” Calcelmo exclaimed in an uncharacteristic display of shock.

“Is that—is that—”

They stared in stunned amazement at what appeared to be a female body, coated in the remnants of the golden liquid, lying in repose at the heart of the tube.

“A Dwemer,” Calcelmo said in awe upon finally collecting himself. “This is the find of a lifetime. All my research, my work as the pre-eminent scholar—”

The body jerked once, then again; gold fluid started to bubble at the mouth.

“It’s alive!”

“Nonsense. That’s not possible.”

Phinis gestured with his hands and each one of them in the room glowed with a red light in reaction to the life detection spell he had cast. And so, too, did the body before them.

“It’s not possible. To be alive after having slept for seven thousand years—”

The body jerked again, less violently, with another bubble of fluid rising from the mouth to burst and spill over the cheeks. The lingering red glow of the spell began to flicker.

“If we don’t do something quickly,” Phinis barked at them, “it’s not going to live for very long. It’s drowning!”

Ilas-Tei, the Argonian, jumped forward, “turn it on its side to drain the lungs. Dryskins are always drowning.”

“Yes, carefully now,” Tolfdir directed them.

“It’s softer than I expected,” Borvir said, his hands were wrapped over the hip and thigh.

“What did you expect? Metal?” Yisra asked, wrinkling her nose at the draining fluid as she held the head steady.

“Well yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Dwemer made things out of metal.”

“They made things out of metal, but they weren’t constructed of metal themselves, you frost-brain.”

“Apprentices! There that should do it. Carefully now, onto the back.” Tolfdir stood up and looked to Calcelmo. “Now what should we do?”

He waved his hand at the now breathing body. “I study ruins. I don’t know anything about caring for—” he waved his hand again, “bodies, persons. You look after it. You have healers, restoration experts at the college. If it survives, I’ll have questions. Until then, it's your responsibility,” he added as he strode out of the room.

Tolfdir scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “Well then. Suggestions?”

[anxtheroliveinthehouse]

Bathed in Flames.

Hello, I wrote a little something. I also posted it on AO3 if you’d rather see it there.

rating: G || no warnings || fandom: atla/atlab || character(s): Zuko, Mai || 

additional tags: other main characters mentioned, vignette, angst, Zuko-centric, Zuko’s scar, angst and feels, teen angst, guilt, dysfunctional family, family issues, personal growth, bending, Iroh is a good uncle, meditation, dreaming

summary:  Three vignettes written about three of my favorite parts Zuko's character arc: where he came from, what he did, and who he became.

There were times when he didn’t dream. His sleep was left unmarred by troubling visions of destiny or night terrors of dishonor. However, this wasn’t a night of blissful awareness, as most nights were. He was only half asleep, one part of his brain could still hear the crackling of the fire in the center of his chambers as well as the sound of the water sloshing against the sides of the ship. The air was tainted with the smell of coal burning deep within the belly of the ship. The blazing hot life inside the engine called out to him, the flames he could clearly feel licking up his legs and torso, arms and back, until it entirely engulfed him.

It could have been terrifying for someone else to experience. However, it was only natural for him. Firebenders could sense their element when it was in close vicinity, and of course the stronger the source, the more it made itself known to the benders that controlled it.

This was perhaps the only time of the day in which his bending abilities and his sense of fire did not soothe or calm him, ground him or give him balance. When he slipped into his own dreamworld where he couldn’t hold back his ridgid control on his memories, he fell into the deepest pits of despair. The sound of the crackling fire and the sloshing of the water on ship and the sense of the great roaring fire within said ship only brought him back to the day of his Agni Kai.

The torches that filled the viewing benches around the arena crackled the same as the one in his room. The water in the moat around the arena sloshed against the stone structures that confined it as did the sea against his confining ship. The engine rumbled . . .

Zuko distantly felt the rumbling through his bed from the floor. It wasn’t enough to rouse him from his half-aware state because of how long he had been on this Godforsaken ship. Regardless, the rumbling only further enhanced his painful memory. The rumbling was the way the crowd stomped and cheered for the fight between father and son. It was the sound of the searing flames his father unleashed upon him even when he begged for mercy.

The pain was all he could remember after looking up to see the fire reaching for him. The agony remained for days and days afterwards. It smarted him for weeks to come, the skin always sore and hurting. It would never feel normal, always tight and dry like leather. He was lucky to make it out with his eye and eyesight.

Barely aware he was doing it, Zuko reached for his scar, covering it from any further harm. It was a pathetic attempt. His father could sear through his hand and probably his skull as well. The threat always lingered with him. His father was clear that if he were to return to him, Zuko would be killed.

Banging on his chamber door startled him out of his sleepy brooding and into his fully awake brooding.

“What is it?” He snarled.

“Prince Zuko, we have reached the Southern Water Tribe.”

Cruel excitement swirled in his gut. “Gather your men. We disembark as soon as the ship’s nose crosses into their village.”

*

Zuko dreamed pleasant visions for once when he was back inside the Fire Nation’s capital, he was home . It felt right to be there. There was always the bonus of having Mai in his arms. Her hair brushed against his chin and her breathing against his throat. Something about those feelings lulled him into a sense of security.

The dreams, while happy and contented, were sure to bring anguish to Zuko when he woke. He dreamt of the Avatar, alive and well. He dreamt being on the shores of the Fire Nation watching the kid sail through the wind off the ocean on that contraption of his. He kept happily gliding without a care in the world, whooping and laughing all the while. It was almost like the scene took place a hundred years prior. When there was no war and the Avatar had visited the Fire Nation as a normal boy. He had friends here and a good relationship with the people.

Of course, Aang was enjoying himself, as were the other three. Toph had busied herself trying her hand at sand bending a sandcastle, though Zuko could tell she wasn’t a huge fan of it. Katara and Sokka were out in the water with Sokka trying to surf but ultimately failing, eventually Katara bended a wave that was easy enough for her brother to ride on. This only boosted his ego.

Zuko smiled, genuinely smiled, at the scene. Maybe this was paradise? Some idyllic world where the crown Prince of the Fire Nation was friends with the Avatar.

As soon as the vision began, it was swiftly taken away. Zuko stirred, feeling the coattails of happiness in its wake. He opened his eyes to the choice he had made. He chose not to fight with the avatar, but against him. His sister had shot down the boy with lightning and killed him, yet gave Zuko the credit. It wasn’t long afterwards that the guilt set in. A myriad of emotions crashed over him. Anguish was the best descriptor. The Avatar’s words echoed to him as he laid there watching his girlfriend as she slept.

If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends, too?

*

It was the day of Zuko’s coronation. He was dressed in robes that reminded him of his father. They were heavy on his shoulders. Or perhaps it was the weight of the responsibility that he now carried. Even though he had not been officially crowned as the new fire lord, he had inherited the position after his father had been forced out. As Ozai’s oldest child, Zuko was set to be crowned and carried the burden of the entire fire nation.

Not even a week ago he was still on the run with the avatar, fighting and sneaking around. He had been starving, imprisoned, shunned, and beaten the first time he had been away from home, right after the Agni Kai. And since then, Zuko has been at his lowest in the past year. He hadn’t even thought he could go lower. Then to be humbled when he joined the avatar’s gang and redeemed himself.

What a journey he had been on.

When Zuko found his own eyes in the mirror of his dressing room, he couldn’t believe the contrast in what he found. He recognized himself, but he had changed so much that he was unsure. He had aged and lost weight, leaving his cheeks hollow and his face gaunt. He was wearing the fire lord’s robes, a sight he never thought to be possible. His hair had grown long enough to be put into a top knot which a hair piece would be placed signifying his new status. It was almost too much to comprehend.

The scar was the only thing that grounded him. It made it unquestionable who Zuko was seeing in the mirror. The person he saw was a product of their journey. Whether the wounds were physical as the scar on his face or invisible as were the ones on his heart, they were testament. They would be his legacy.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He faintly felt the candles and low embers of the incense burning in the room. When he took a breath, the few sources of fire flared and grew brighter. Then, Zuko meditated. Everything he was worried about was being pushed aside in his mind. He thought of Iroh and his tea to help.

The first thing Zuko came across in his thoughts was his sister. Azula was still wailing and fighting for escape. This particular thought was unexpectedly painful to deal with. There was so much driving force between them from their father that once he had been removed, it left this awkward, empty space. He always loved his sister, but it wasn’t like how Sokka loved Katara. It was a cold and distant concern. At times, Zuko questioned if he did actually care. He was afraid that maybe too much time and pressure had permanently estranged them. It felt like they could never be able to pick up the pieces or try to have a semblance of normalcy, but he knew he had to try and bridge the gap. Though, in the state Azula was in, that would be completely impossible. Maybe the healers Zuko sent to her would be able to help her.

He pushed the thought away and made it smoke in his mind. It drifted away.

Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Toph were all going on more adventures. Really they were supposed to be helping people in their transition out of the fire nation’s hold. However, Zuko was sure they were prone to stir up trouble. Deep down he worried for their safety, especially now in the midst of great change. There were already reports of rebellions both in and out of the fire nation. Secret groups were being formed and threats on his life were being sent out. He could only imagine what hung over Aang’s head.

The thought became mist, and drifted before settling on another worry.

His mother was still alive. It was a thought that had been pushing for attention in his mind even when he needed to stay focused. He missed her so much at times he felt like he would implode. The first thing he did when he had the power to was order an investigation into the whereabouts of Ursa. Even so, he was planning a visit to see his father. There was a chance the previous fire lord would at least give him something, but Zuko wasn’t optimistic.

The thought turned to rain. Curiously when he opened his eyes to find the rain he began to feel, he found fat tears rolling down his face.

He wiped them away. They had caught him off guard. No more would his emotions catch him unaware. He needed to be comfortable in his ability to feel them, name them, and, to an extent, control them. His empathy was the tool he needed in becoming a great fire lord. One that Ozai refused to acknowledge during his time in power. Hopefully, Zuko would be able to hold onto it.

Hopefully, Zuko would never become his father.

[thebookkeeperslibrary]

Lost Time: Ch. 2

Fandom: Time Warp Trio

Author: The_Bookkeeper_96

Rating: T

Summary: Another summer at Horae Manor begins, but before Joe and Tessa get the chance to train, they are sent out on a mission to explore the magic capital of the universe, Mancika. Rumors of illegal magic conversion spread throughout the city, and Joe and Tessa need to locate those responsible. But after the events of last summer, Joe isn't eager to work with his Aether partner, and the two are struggling more with each other than with their enemies.

Read on AO3

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

"Magical fates are somewhat of an oxymoron. Fate is a predestined experience that cannot be avoided. Magic is an unexplainable force that does everything in its power to defy all rules and expectations." - Mancikan Philosophy

Tearing is just as awful as I remember it being. The sensation of being pulled in a thousand different directions, spinning through the air uncontrollably, and finally, being squished back together in the tightest ball imaginable. I nearly vomit on the floor when we land.

Knees shaking, I brace onto the person next to me to keep from falling. Too late, I realize that it's Tessa, and I am far too unstable to let go of her. I force away my discomfort. I can trust her to not let me fall. I think.

She chuckles behind her hand, attempting and failing to hide her amusement. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Unless you've got a weak stomach. Arwen still gets nauseous from time to time."

I choose to not tell her the number of times I've nearly vomited just from warping before, and warping was nowhere near as bad as tearing. "Doesn't matter, by the end of this summer, I won't need you to tear me anywhere anymore. I'll be able to warp myself wherever I want."

She sighs. I catch a glimpse of her lowered eyes and a frown before she turns away. "Whatever you say, partner."

My strength finally returns to my legs, and I'm able to push myself away from her. The lobby of Horae Manor looks exactly like I remember. Tall marble pillars line the walls, and in between them, portraits of the past Warp and Aether Wizards are hung high and proud. At the end of the hall, a grand staircase spirals up towards more rooms. Most of which I didn't get the chance to explore last time I was here.

The air feels more alive this time around. Maybe it's just because my magical senses are awakened now, but the buzz all around me is electrifying. It courses through me. I close my eyes and breathe it all in, enjoying the sensation.

I open my eyes to find everyone staring at me. "What?" I ask, feeling defensive. Can't a guy just enjoy some magical air in peace?

"Dude, you're glowing."

Suddenly, I'm aware of the tingling sensation in my palms. I raise my hands up. I shouldn't be surprised, and yet, I jump back anyway, rapidly shaking my hands and wiggling my fingers. The green glow doesn't fade. I try wiping it off onto my jeans. Nothing. 

"Just pull it back in," Tessa offers. "Your powers clearly haven't settled yet and coming back to a place with such a strong connection to time must be sending them into overdrive."

"How am I supposed to pull magic light into me?"

"You just do it. Or have you forgotten that you have the ability to control and manipulate time energy?" She crosses her arms. "This used to happen to me all the time. Just think of it as magical puberty."

The thought of magical puberty makes me cringe, as if actual puberty wasn't bad enough, but I do as she says. The energy around my palms feels like an extension of my hands. I curl my fingers into a tight fist, pulling the magic in as well. The glow slowly fades away, and the tingling sensation in my palms crawls back into my chest.

"Thanks." It hurts me to say it.

"No problem." Tessa offers me a small smile. I only nod in return.

Footsteps echo down the walls, breaking up the awkward tension. Cassius and Rowena enter the room and calmly make their way over to us.

"Children! Perfect timing." Cassius' face is flushed, and his smile looks forced. I glance at Rowena, who's wearing a similar expression. 

"Oh? Is dinner ready already? Because I am starving." Tessa moves to head into the dining hall but stops when Rowena grabs her by the shoulder.

"Not exactly. There's been a slight change of plans."

"You're friends are more than welcome to go to dinner. Arwen and Juniper have just sat down to eat, but you two will be joining us for an impromptu meeting. There's a lot we need to discuss."

Tessa's shoulders drop. "Already? We just got here."

I perk up. Why is Tessa so disappointed by this? We could eat dinner later. They were probably going to take us in to do some training. My excitement dulls. Or to see if we did our homework while we were away. The heavy weight of all the books in my backpack reminds me that I did not. Magic is not all fun and games. Which really sucks, because that's exactly what it should be.

Cas finally lets his forced smile drop. "We have some news to discuss with you two."

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

I get that the whole theme of Horae Manor is time and space, but a whole room filled with clocks and stars seems a bit much.

My vision sweeps across the room. Clocks of all shapes and sizes decorate the walls, and high up above us, an inky black sky filled with golden stars illuminates the room. Somewhere in the corner, a cuckoo clock goes off. The only other furniture in the room is a large desk sitting directly in the center. The layout reminds me of the All Father’s temple, where I was awakened last summer. I have no idea what this place is but given the measures we had to go through to get here, it must be important.

Cassius and Rowena had led Tessa and me through a maze of hallways that I didn’t even think could fit inside this place. I immediately pushed my doubt away. Magic could make anything possible. I should really be used to that by now. Our mentors must have traveled this path a thousand times. They knew which turns to take without hesitation. If they hadn’t led us through it, there was no way Tessa and I could have found our way out.

When we finally reached the end of the maze, a short staircase led us up to a solid wooden door, perfectly smooth except for two symbols etched into the center. The one on top was a small green diamond shape trapped inside a larger square, with the corners of the diamond, touching the sides of the square. A cross ran through both shapes, connecting them to the outline of the circle. The other symbol directly below the first one was a purple square fitted inside a diamond, with a cross running through both and connecting them to the circle surrounding the shape. When I first arrived at Horae Manor, I had no idea what those two symbols were. Now I recognized them as the symbols for time and space magic.

Cas placed his hand on the time magic symbol as Ro placed hers on the space magic symbol. Their hands glowed with pulsing green and purple lights, and the symbols responded by doing the same. I heard no click or any indication that the door was unlocked, but it swung open to let us in.

And now, Tessa, Cassius, Rowena, and I all stood in a circle. No one spoke, as if Cas and Ro were waiting on Tessa and me to start this impromptu meeting that they had called us in for.

Finally, with a sigh, Rowena looks to Cassius and asks, “Are you sure about this? There’s still time.”

“They have a right to know,” Cassius responds like Tessa and I aren’t standing right here in front of him. Like he's not intently staring right at us. “And you know there’s not that much time left.”

“Care to fill us in?” Tessa crosses her arms and flicks her eyes back and forth between Cas and Ro. “Or we just supposed to stand here and act like it’s normal for us to be pulled away from dinner into a room of clocks?”

As much as I hate to agree with her, she has a point. I want to know what’s going on. Why drag us away from our friends with such urgency if they weren’t going to say anything?

Ro gestures to us with a full arm swoop, as if telling Cas: you've got your cake, now eat it too. She leans against the desk and stares up at the sky.

"I just… wouldn't you want to know?" He looks at his sister. His eyes bore into her.

She ignores him and looks at us again. This time, her eyes are filled with sorrow. "Not if I still had my innocence. I'd want to hold on to that as long as I could."

Tessa drops her arms. "I don't like where this is going."

A heavy feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. "Maybe if Ro thinks this is such a bad idea, we should-"

Tick.

Who knew one simple sound could be so loud? Tessa and I both flinched from the sudden noise. The sound continued to reverberate throughout the massive chamber. Cassius and Rowena only frowned in response, as if it was only a minor inconvenience to have your ears blown out.

"What was that?" I finally manage to ask. There were over a hundred clocks in this room and that tick could have come from any of them, but my eyes were drawn to one clock in particular.

A normal-sized and somewhat simple-looking grandfather clock stands off to the side. Everything about it looks normal except for the pendulum which is shaped like a skull with hourglasses where the eyes should be. The clock face glows green and mist of the same colour pours out of the sides of the black wood. The mist slowly fades as the last of the echoes from the tick die out. The time reads five-o'-one according to the clock, but my internal senses tell me the local time is actually six thirty-three in the evening.

I groan, "Why do we have a death clock?"

My mentor rubs his hands together and grumbles under his breath, "Technically, it's a doomsday clock."

"A what?" Tessa gazes at Rowena, as if she'll start laughing and say this is just some weird Great Wizard initiation.

Rowena sighs. "It's the reason we called you two here. Cas seems to believe you need to hear the whole truth of the matter. I like to think that you two deserve more time to prepare before we drop such heavy news on you."

"Prepare for what exactly?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Cassius finally looks up at us again. "Doomsday. Your destiny."

"Our destiny is doomsday?" Tessa and I exchanged nervous glances.

"As in to save the world from it, or cause it?"

"That remains to be seen." Now it was Ro and Cas's turn to share a nervous look.

"All we know is that five years ago this clock came to life. It's been progressing at about an hour a year. Once it reaches midnight-"

"Are you saying we're seven years away from the end of the world?"

"Not just the world. The entire space-time continuum."

"Haven't you been listening to the news? All those artifacts that are disappearing from museums? They're not being stolen. They're literally vanishing because the times they were created are gone."

"Gone? How can time just disappear?" The news is hard for me to grasp. I barely understood my math teacher half the time. How was I supposed to comprehend all this?

"Space and time are slowly decaying. Starting from the beginning of time and spreading closer to the present. If the clock is already at five o'clock. That means almost half of all time that's ever existed is gone."

"And you two are fated to end it."

A heavy silence settles over us. Tessa is the first to break it. "You said it started five years ago? Do you know what set it off?"

She doesn't make eye contact with anyone. Her gaze is locked onto the clock.

Rowena studies her. "No. We've been searching for answers, but we've yet to find anything. The rest of the council is aware of the issue, but since this is out of their fields, they're limited with what they can do."

"The council?" No one else in the room seemed confused by this. Why was I the only one left out? Was I really that behind in my training? "Like, a council of other magicians and wizards?"

Cassius nods. "The other Great Wizards. All nine of the magics are represented, plus there is a non-magic representative." He gives me a pointed look. "Did you read any of those notebooks I gave you?"

I blush and turn away. "I skimmed them," I mumble.

He sighs. "It's going to be a long night."

"Practicing magic?" 

"What do you think?"

"You're going to make me read, aren't you?"

"Clearly, reading is not your strong suit." He clears his throat. "At least, it's not the best way for you to learn. We're going to try a different method. But first, dinner."

[novantinuum]

Ballroom Etiquette

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 2.8K~

Summary: As much as it pains him to admit it amidst all the boring protocol, Pearl is absolutely right. There’s no room for imperfection at a Homeworld Ball.

In which Steven is publicly introduced to the Gems of Homeworld as Pink Diamond, and he experiences the first true stage fright of his life.

(Canon compliant, a missing scene set during ‘Together Alone.’)

You can find the AO3 link in the reblogs! (I have to omit it from the original post these days to ensure this will show up in the tags.) If you enjoyed this, I’d greatly appreciate your support over there as well.

Ballroom Etiquette “Do we have to say all this?” he questions, nose scrunching as he squints at the string of dialogue displayed on the view screen that Pearl’s been so gracious to translate out of written Gem for him.

His guardian wets her finger, and begins the meticulous and daunting task of coaxing his flyaway curls to stand still. For once in his life he doesn’t protest.

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid we have no choice,” she mutters, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear as he continues to commit the mini speech to memory.

“But it’s all so stiff!”

“It kinda feels like we’re in one of the Regency Era dramas my mom watches,” Connie comments, peeking over his shoulder to read the screen, and shrugs. “I always thought they were pretty boring, really.” She’s wearing different clothes now, namely that skirt and blouse she showed up to Kevin’s party in, and her dark hair is tied back. She looks lovely, he thinks, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

“Well, boring or not, it’s very important that we uphold every Homeworld custom to the letter tonight,” Pearl says, and crosses her arms. “And that includes all the stiff dialogue.”

He visibly deflates, his shoulders hunching inwards. “Awww man, can’t we like... adapt it a little or somethin’?”

Any and all remaining color drains out of the pale Gem’s face at his suggestion.

“Not with White Diamond in attendance, goodness no,” she says in a fervent whisper, eyes blown wide. She rapidly scans their surroundings, as if paranoid someone unwanted is listening in to their rebellious conversations. “You have to understand, she won’t settle for anything less than complete perfection!”

“Doesn’t feel like perfection,” Steven mumbles, glaring daggers at the view screen in hand.

“Yes, and I’m sorry for that. I know none of this is ideal, but like you said— we need to talk to White. And I think this may be the thing that finally coerces her out of her head.”

“Hey, it’s just for tonight, right?” Connie says with a reassuring smile. Gently, she rests her hand on his arm. “We’ll be fine!”

He breathes deep, letting her solid presence ground him. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do this.”

“Excellent!” Pearl nods. “I’ll let Blue and Yellow’s pearls know we’re about to begin.”

She spins on her heels and leaves the ballroom’s connecting chamber with such refined, habitual grace that it sends a physical pang through his heart just to witness it. Sure, of course she’s worth far more as an individual than the endless servitude of the place from whence she came, but watching her interact with other Gems here on Homeworld carries a weight far greater than any burden he can imagine. The ease at which she slots back into old routine bit-by-bit— seemingly without thinking, from an outsider’s perspective— it stings.

Inhaling evenly, he eyes the thick curtain they’re set to enter the ballroom through in but a few minutes. Beyond, the Gems of the courts await the return of their beloved diamond. At least, who they believe to be their beloved diamond. Steven genuinely doesn’t know how these Homeworld Gems will react to him. He doesn’t exactly look like the Pink they remember, after all. Nevertheless, their excitement is palpable, hundreds of low chittering voices echoing through the crystal studded rafters despite the usual decorum of such a ball. Frowning, he nervously shuffles his feet underneath him as he tries and fails not to think about the near future. The white pom poms floating at the tips of his shoes follow his motion perfectly. The outfit the Pebbles made him may fit like a second skin, but the longer he wears it the more it feels wrong... in the ‘disrespecting the deceased’ sort of way.

He’s honestly never considered himself the type to get all nervous about crowds until this very moment. Sweat beads at his brow as his mind swims at the thought of their incoming entrance. His fidgeting hands grow clammy. Compared to the number in attendance tonight, his past Beach-a-Palooza performances are but a mere pit stop. The thing is, at least home in Beach City he has the reassurance that everyone personally knows him. At least then he knows he has nothing to prove.

Here? His every word— heck, his every waking breath— commands the sole line drawn between life and eternal corruption. Fall flat in front of this crowd, and he can kiss saving the bubbled Gems goodbye.

As much as it pains him to admit it amidst all the boring protocol, Pearl is absolutely right. There’s no room for imperfection at a Homeworld Ball.

Music begins to chime from inside the ballroom as Pearl, Steven, and Connie dutifully line up behind the opaque curtain, a number of Gems he hasn’t gotten the chance to officially meet yet still skittering around them in a logistics motivated frenzy. The melody is played on no kind of instrument he audibly recognizes— a thought that briefly excites him in its learning potential before he realizes no, no, there’s no time to waste daydreaming about enriching yourself with other forms of Homeworld culture. Regardless, the overall cadence of the piece brings back faint memories of the traveling circus Dad brought him to in Ocean Town once, on his sixth birthday. Which is a rather apt comparison, since that’s exactly what all of this feels like. One gigantic three-ring circus.

“By the way, the Diamonds told me to tell you that they want you to present your aura when you enter,” Pearl whispers, straightening her sash.

His brow creases, newfound worry rising to replace the fear he left behind.

“My what?”

“Aura. Theoretically, all diamonds have one, and they think it’d be helpful in convincing the courts that you really have Pink’s gem. Mind you, I’m just the messenger.”

“But I don’t know how to do that,” he blurts out in a mild panic, glancing from her to his gloved hands. “I barely know what I’m doing at this ball in the first place!”

“I’m sure as long as you try your best, everything will work out fine,” Connie says. “They have to understand by now that you don’t have any of your mom’s memories about this sorta stuff.”

“I’m afraid you overestimate their objectivity,” Pearl mutters, peeking through the curtain briefly before turning back to face the two of them. “But otherwise, yes.” With a reassuring smile, she kneels so they’re at eye level and calms his nervous hands in her own. “Listen… We’re all so proud of you for even attempting this, Steven. Just do the best you can following their customs. You’ll get through it, I promise.”

His heart grows a little lighter as she gives his hands a light squeeze, further reinforcing the sense of groundedness that hangs in such a delicate balance right now.

“All of us will,” his best friend adds, nodding towards the ivory Gem. “Together.”

“Together,” he echoes, and immediately pulls the two of them into a tight embrace. Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes as he focuses his mind on the comforting weight of their arms wrapped around him. “Thanks, you guys.”

“Ahem!” a familiar voice interrupts.

He looks up, their hug loosening, only to see Yellow Diamond’s Pearl looming over him. There’s almost something smug about the way she regards them all, eyes narrowed and pointed nose held aloft. He wonders if Yellow sent her personally. Notably, when her gaze briefly flickers towards Pearl, her mouth curves into a haughty sneer.

“Pink Diamond,” she says to him with a snappy Homeworld salute. “Whenever you are ready to begin, just let your pearl know. Goodness knows we can get ever so distracted. Perhaps the Diamonds should finally have us all replaced.”

Pearl freezes, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Even Connie covers her mouth in shock at her bluntness.

“No, no, I was just— talking to her, it was all me,” Steven explains, gesturing wide. “She did nothing wrong, a-and…” His eyes snap open wide upon realizing the self-depreciation evident in her comment. Perhaps the Diamonds should finally have us all replaced. And she said it with such nonchalance. Once more, his heart aches for the mistreatment of the Gems on Homeworld. “And neither did you!”

“If you say so, My Diamond. In any case, my Diamond will see you inside the ballroom shortly.”

With this final remark, Yellow Pearl turns on her heels and promptly removes herself from their presence. He watches her stalk off with a pensive frown, a sudden wave of melancholy flowing like ice through his veins. It’s a stark reminder of the truth he doesn’t quite want to admit after his previous starry-eyed optimism: that even if he can mend the bonds between the Crystal Gems and the Diamonds, even if he can heal all the corrupted Gems, there’s still a lot of inequality and unfair treatment on Homeworld they have to sort out. He has a lot of work cut out for him no matter what, that’s for sure.

“Well, guess we can’t stall this any longer,” Connie says. “You ready?”

Despite his currently conflicted emotions, he manages a grin. “As I’ll ever be. Pearl, you’ll be okay, right?”

“Hah, me?” she scoffs, gesturing at herself with a sly smile so befitting of the confident, fearless rebel he’s always known her as. “I participated in hundreds of balls during my time here with Pink. What’s one more?”

Squaring her shoulders back, she passes between the curtains and enters the ballroom. Immediately, their audience falls silent in anticipation.

“I still don’t know how to do the aura thing,” Steven frantically whispers to Connie, cupping his mouth with his hand. “I think it’s what I did in the battle on the beach, when I was stuck in that weird psychic ghost zone, but I’m not sure!”

“Well, what were you thinking during it?”

“Uh… mostly, I was tired of people fighting about it, so… I guess I just really wanted them to finally know the truth?”

“Then maybe you should try focusing on that,” she suggests, smoothing out the wrinkles on her skirt. “You’ll do great out there, I know you will!”

“If I may have everyone’s attention,” he hears Pearl declare from beyond the curtain, and promptly snaps to attention, preparing himself to enter. The almost robotic cadence of her voice as she’s forced back into her former role in yet another fashion is disturbingly jarring. “Presenting, safe on Homeworld for the first time in over five millennia, the kind and charismatic elegance that is Pink Diamond!”

He breathes deep one last time, in and out, and with Connie at his side (not even the stringent customs of the diamonds could scare him into presenting their relationship as anything but that of equals) he slips past the thick curtains. The music cuts off.

Immediately, his heart beating double time, his senses are assaulted by indiscriminate flashes of light and color. These further coalesce into recognizable shapes, into rows of Homeworld Gems of all courts and cuts, Gems as far as the eye could see. His hands jitter at his side. The amount of people watching, it’s- it’s unfathomable, and uncomfortable, and they’re all staring directly at him. Curiously, expectantly. But wait, what are they—?

He finally spots Pearl, his guardian standing stiff in fifth position at the foot of Pink Diamond’s throne, all the way across the vast reaches of the ballroom. A subtle smile curving across her face, the Gem nods at him, and it’s exactly the encouragement he needs.

“They want you to present your aura when you enter,” the Pearl of the past reminds him. “They think it’d be helpful in convincing the courts that you really have Pink’s gem.”

“I still don’t know how to do the aura thing,” he admits to Connie, hands growing clammy.

“Well, what were you thinking during it?”

“I guess I just really wanted them…”

“...to know the truth,” he whispers in completion, steeling his nerves. Even if this doesn’t work the way he intends, he at least has to try. Everything that happens tonight, he thinks, anchoring his mind and soul on all the bubbled Gems waiting for him back at home. This is for you guys.

His eyes flutter shut, and— aligning his thoughts on the same themes of radical light, hope, and love that permeated his sense of self when confronting the Diamonds— he extends his arms. Simultaneously, a strangely familiar rush of energy radiates outwards from his gem. Next to him, he hears Connie let out an awed gasp. Steven opens his eyes.

He… he actually did it! The entire ballroom is bathed in pink, the air nearly shimmering as the Gems in attendance audibly react to the reality of this revelation. Eyes widen in dumbfounded shock all throughout the crowd. Some begin excitedly chittering to their neighbors, while others fall silent in the wake of their slowly receding disbelief. In the front row, a stocky maroon Gem struggles to contain her tears. He can’t help but breathe a soft laugh of relief, knowing this success brings him one step closer to convincing White to help. The throne, however, lies so many steps further.

He and Connie cruise across the ballroom floor as fast as they can gracefully manage, desperate to get out of the spotlight. The fact that everyone’s focus is squared directly on him honestly leaves his skin crawling. In literally any other scenario he’d probably revel in being the center of attention, but here, presented in the guise of his mother, all of this feels wrong. It feels fabricated, insincere. Yes, he may have the same gem, but that doesn’t make them the same person. He’s not Her.

It’s the truth no one on Homeworld seems to understand.

Finally, they climb the steps to the pink throne. As rehearsed, Connie falls in place beside Pearl, demurely crossing her feet. At the foot of the throne, he turns to look back at the diverse crowd. Seeing who they believe to be their diamond standing whole before them once more, they fall silent. Sweat beads on his brow as his mouth bobs open. Words... Oh gosh, what are the words? His short speech?? His breath quickens as the silence drags on far too long. This is bad, this is so, so bad. He’s so sure he had it memorized a moment ago, but now he can barely remember a single syllable of it! His limbs go rigid, frozen in place under the weight of Homeworld’s judgement.

(He can even sense Connie’s eyes pinned on him, and he’s not sure what to feel about that.)

“Greeting,” Pearl whispers from the corner of her mouth.

“Uh... h-hello, loyal subjects!” he stammers, painfully aware how off-script he is, “I—“

A warm hand slips into his, a perfect fit. Connie. She gives his fingers a gentle squeeze. He inhales through his nose, wholly focusing himself on the solidness of the ground beneath his feet. Like a river breaking through a dam, the words surge forth.

“My courts,” he recites in as posh and refined a tone he can manage, “I appreciate having you all in attendance tonight, to celebrate the grand occasion of my return. That’s why, uh… As such, if White Diamond is in approval, this ball will mark the start of Era Three.”

Pearl gives a deep curtsey, gesturing wide at the assembled crowd. “Gems previously belonging to Pink’s court may now present themselves,” she says impassively, and then returns to fifth position.

“Thank you, Pearl!”

Her arms and hands automatically shoot into the traditional salute over her chest. “You’re very welcome, My Diamond.”

And with those very words, the spell over the crowd dissipates. The music resumes. A line of Pink court Gems begins to assemble at the front of the ballroom, preparing themselves for presentation. Nearly buzzing with excess adrenaline, he jumps up to reach the throne’s seat.

“You did wonderful, Steven,” Pearl says from below.

“Thanks for the help,” he grins, kicking his feet to slow his descent. His feet touch down with barely a hair on his head ruffled. “Geeze, am I glad that’s over,” he sighs, and plops down to sit in the massive pink throne with his legs criss-crossed. “I’ve never dealt with stage fright like that in my whole life!”

“Now you probably understand what I felt like at my middle school dance a few years ago,” Connie laughs.

“Heh, yeah! I—” he runs his fingers through the short curls at the nape of his neck— “I just hope it was enough to make a good impression.”

“I’m sure you did,” she says. “Anyways, there’s no use fussing about it now. What happens, happens. And hey, who knows? Pearl said there’d be dancing, right? Maybe the rest of this ball will be kinda fun!”

[delicrieux]

pairing: jon snow x f!reader

fandom: game of thrones

prompt(s): Some Jon Snow x s/o!reader would be greatly appreciated if that’s okay? Maybe where after the battle she’s hidden in the crypts and comes out and they hug each other and share a romantic moment and the dragon queen catches them and is suspicious because obviously they’ve had a thing as well and Jon kind of tries to act civil and upsets the reader, so later he goes to find her and they have an intimate moment where she helps cover his cuts and bruises (anon)

warnings: mentions of blood and death

words: 1.4k

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

masterlist | buy me coffee☕

It suddenly went completely quiet; not even hushed breaths of fellow Northeners broke the silence. The outside world ceases to exist completely, drowned in mystery. You sit perfectly still, hand clutching Sansa’s with the same crushing force she is clutching yours, eyes, wide from horror, staring at the remains of those creatures that a second earlier were mobile and ready to feast. You cannot fathom what had happened. It was all so terribly quick yet agonizingly slow at the same time.

The crypts open with a bang and the people below jolt from fright. A bloodied, bruised, and shivering soldier, holding his blade, rushes inside, scans the area and the perplexed faces which fill it. “It’s done.” He says, hoarse from screaming. A smile, one of disbelief, spreads on his face, “We won.” His words shake the crowd as some fall into tears of bliss while others breathe sighs of relief. You glance at Sansa. She glances at you. Her shaky arms pull you into a tight embrace, one you return with a soft laugh. The long night is over. All is left is to bury those who did not survive it.

And there are many dead to mourn.

The dawn is bleak, cold; the chill that came with the White Walkers lingers, freezes the breath inside your lungs. You pull your furs closer; cautiously examine the corpse ridden, once beautiful and mighty, now nearly fallen castle of Winterfell. Sansa beside you nervously looks about for her family. Sounds of distant crying and groaning echo from close and far away. It is a haunting sight, one that leaves a pit in your stomach, one you are unsure if you will ever be able to seal.

Admits the debris and contorted bodies you note a heaving figure, covered in ash and blood. Your heart leaps to your throat as you choke a sob, recognising the tar black hair and sunken saddened eyes. Jon drops his swords upon meeting your gaze, and you are unsure who sprung first but before you knew it your bodies collided into a fierce embrace and the stench of death and fire filled your nose. His arms are secure around you – the first warmth you feel after a night of numbness – as his fingers glide through your hair, a soft mutter of, “Told you we’d win.” falling from his lips with a tired laugh. You pull away slightly, letting his tender hand wipe away tears collecting on your lower lash. He smiles softly, “I’m alive.”

“Barely.” You say with a grin, glancing over his cuts and bruises, “But if you were not, I would have brought you back just so I could smack you.”

“A man who died twice?”

“Three times, if must.”

A lean figure clad in white catches his attention by accident, and he immediately lets go and steps back. A pang of hurt rocks your form, and worried you turn to the arch, only to find Daenerys, her face red from crying, watching you and Jon with eyes that burn from hate. His sister promptly takes your place in his hold, yet he is still awkward and stiff. You gently tug on Sansa’s sleeve, a quiet plead of “Come, let’s find the others.” drops from your lips and she happily agrees, with one last peck landing on Jon’s cheek before she takes your hand and the two of you rush to the God’s Wood. Your heart beats heavy in your chest. You despise Daenerys even more now.

It is late into the night, and many still celebrate the victory that everyone hoped for, yet knew was almost impossible to attain. Their cheers reach you all the way to your bedroom, lively fires burning in the streets by which people dance and drink and sing. You are too tired, too emotional to participate for that long. Once the Starks were reunited, you joined them for a pint, laughed, relaxed, though a few dances with Podrick and Jaime and you were beat. That, and Daenerys suspicious stare had made the festivities quite unpleasant. Podrick had graciously offered to lead you back to your chamber, yet you had insisted he should stay and be merry; insisted that you would find your way back on your own. And you did. You might have stumbled a few times on a loose board, jumped to the side when a wall crumbled, but alas, by a miracle, your home was left mostly intact.

As the fireplace lit up with twirling golden-orange flames, a knock on the door echoed, startling you if a bit. At first you figured it is someone from the drinking party you had joined, here to pester you to return. But as you navigated the dark hallways of your home, giggled at the lazy drawls of songs coming from outside, you could think of no one loving your presence enough to nag you into dancing. So that is why, when you opened the door, you were not all that surprised to see Jon, hair covered in snowflakes, untreated cuts adoring his handsome face.

You lead him to your room and he sits on the bed, all too familiar with his surroundings. You bring a pot of warm water from the other room, a few towels, and healing psalm, setting them down by the fire. You glance at him, “Well? Take of your clothes.”

He stares at you, mouth agape, “My-My what now?”

“Your clothes, Jon.” You repeat with a small smile, “Lest you want an infection.” You dip a towel into the water, rinse it, and turn to him, “Well, do you?”

In the dim light his cheeks glow with a healthy rose, reluctantly, and not meeting your playful gaze, he undoes the straps of his armour, lastly his shirt. His bare chest is purple from bruises and ridden with not yet healed wounds. He flinches once the cold air hits his bodice, and shivers once the warmth of the fabric splashes over his skin. You clean his injuries, humming as you do. He gazes into the fire, his mind somewhere far away.

“Considering how good of a fighter you are, I expected less.” You mutter, scooping up psalm and gently applying it onto his bruises, “This one will leave a scar.” You trail the outline of a deep cut, making him inhale sharply.

“I don’t mind.”

“Matters were little in this case, doesn’t it?”

“Even in the face of death itself your wit is unmatched.” He states with a grin.

“Lord Tyrion had tried to keep up. I shall let you decide whether he succeeded or not.”

“I can see it already. You and he in the crypts trying to outsmart one another.”

“I cannot wield a sword, nor would I be a good fighter even if I could. If I were to die, I at least wanted to fight in a battle I had a chance of winning.”

His hand rises to cup your cheek, momentarily halting your actions, “Even if you were the best fighter in the world, I would have never let you face the Night King. At best I would have ordered you to ride a dragon. At worst I would have barricaded you in the crypts myself.”

“You mean to tell me that I missed out on riding a dragon?” You ask cheekily, leaning into his touch.

“There’s always the next war.”

There is a brief pause full of breathy laughter, as his eyes scan over your body as if he had forgotten how it looks like. He might have; after all, he had not once touched you in the presence of the new Queen. It had burned terribly at first, though now…As you gaze into his eyes you realise the amount of restrain he has is immense. He is a man of honour. If he promises himself to something, or someone, he stays true to his word. It indeed is a shame that you are terribly inpatient with the things you desire.

You lean in gently, giving him enough time to pull away if he so wished. He does not, and you feel his breath fan your lips as you capture them into a sweet kiss that fills your heart with joy. His palm, rough and calloused, glides to the side of your jaw where it stays, feels your pulse jump in an erratic beat. Your lips quirk upwards in the kiss, and drawing away for just a moment, you breathe, “Will you need to get back soon?”

“No.” He admits with a grin of his own, “I’m all yours, if you’ll have me.”

❤  thank you for reading!  ❤

[uncomfortable-writers]

Littlest Maid (Ramsay x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Character: Ramsay Bolton

Persona: Female

Word Count: 512

Request: Hello. Can you write a cute strory about Ramsay and girl who work as handmaiden and who fall in love with Ramsay, but he don't love her, because she isn't so pretty like other women in Dreadfort and he sometimes tease her. Thank you :)

Warnings: Angsty, mentions of nudity, implications of sex and bullying (i guess???)

A/N - Wasn’t quite sure how to do this but I hope it’s okay <3

You weren’t sure why you were being summoned to Lord Ramsay Bolton’s chamber this late at night, although you had a perfectly good idea. A foreboding sadness blossomed in the pit of your stomach upon reaching his bedroom door, shakily you raised a fist and knocked as gently as you could.

“Come in!”, his loud voice was clear through the thick oak doors of the Dreadfort. With a swift movement, you opened the door just enough to slip into the room, you assessed the scene before you as you pushed the door closed. Ramsay was sitting topless on his bed, Myranda splayed naked across his laps. Her flaming red hair trickled down her body gracefully as she wrapped her arms around Ramsay’s neck and placed her face into the crook of his neck, all with a cruel smile on her lips. 

Swallowing your pride, you bowed low, “Good evening my lord, my lady”, your eyes stayed trained on the floor. 

“Do you know why I’ve summoned you here? Look at me when I’m talking to you”, he asked, a sadistic smile on his face. You shook your head and answered with a polite “No”. Ramsay’s smile only broadened as he gently tugged on Myranda’s hair, she lifted her head and Ramsay’s lips immediately attacked hers. You felt a pang of pain in your heart, Ramsay briefly opened his cold, blue eyes to make sure you were watching and when he was satisfied you’d seen enough, he broke off the kiss.

“You know why you’re here (Y/N)”, Ramsay stated, coyly playing with a strand of Myranda’s hair, “You’re here to be reminded that you’re nothing, what are you?”.

Automatically the words from the past encounters began to echo around your head until they flowed freely from your mouth, “I’m nothing Lord Bolton, I’m but yours to do with as you please. I will never be as beautiful as Myranda and...”, even though you’d done it before you could still feel tears stinging your eyes as Ramsay watched heinously, “And?”, he prompted in a demanding tone.

Taking a large gulp, you buried your pride and continued, “And my heart is at your...disposal”. 

The joy Ramsay felt was like no other, his grip on Myranda’s thigh tightened and she squeaked with delight. It was no secret that Ramsay Bolton knew your true feelings for him, but what was unknown to both you and Myranda was how deeply it affected him; you’d bend to his will effortlessly and as he was quickly growing bored of Myranda, you were the new method of getting excited.

Suddenly Ramsay stood up and threw Myranda onto the bed,  she giggled in delight. You started to turn away only to stop when Ramsay sharply instructed, “You are to stand and watch to remind you of your place”, he maintained eye contact with you as he undid his breeches. “Yes my lord”, you whispered drily, trying to suppress a sniffle. 

There was no greater pleasure for Ramsay, and as he began to touch Myranda he looked over to you, his little maid.