#apology fudge

[stillpanicking]

Jack Fenton loves his children. His heart forever aching for his past, current and possible future mistakes. Crying onto his children's shoulders begging for forgiveness for his and Maddie's actions and inaction. Maddie right there by their side, horror overwhelming them for what they have done to their children.

Despite the reassurance that all has been forgiven, Jack and Maddie try their utmost best to help their children deal with those that dare cause them harm. Even if it means backing treats for them.

One said treats is Jack's apology fudge.

It is mentioned that once, when Dan escaped from Clockwork's relam, he found himself facing his parents. Danny found Dan eating a tray of apology fudge while Jack apologized for not being a good father in his timeline. Dan was so entrapped by the treats that a deal was made. It was clear the fudge has an effect on Dan that made him more... subdued. More calm... more....

"It reminds me of hugs... I missed the old man's hugs."

It's making him feel whole again. Long as Dan is on good behavior, he will not need to return back into the thermos.

When Dan once lost a container of his last batch of brownies and cookies made by his father, it was found on a roof in Gotham...

Red Hood found the baked good on the roof of his warehouse one night. Wondering who left it there. Normally he would throw it out or call out who left it there. Yet...

He felt the need to get one grew strong. Picking up the container, the smell from the goodies caused something within him to get warm. It took him 10 minutes to realize he ate everything in the container. Shock over whelmed him as he hasn't felt this much in peace since his revival. He felt... he feels that he's getting better.

He needs to find more.

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A few digital drawings of the archive crew with cats on an off-white background. Martin is a fat white man with short, bright red hair and a small goatee, freckles, a tooth gap, and round glasses, and he's wearing a blue t-shirt; Sasha is an Afro-Latina woman with light brown skin, curly dark hair in a bun, cat-eye glasses and freckles, and she is wearing an orange hoodie; Tim is a mid-sized Latino man with light brown skin, a lilac mullet with the sides shaved, and he is wearing a purple t-shirt and laying under a blanket; and Jon is a thin Arab man with brown skin, black and gray hair pulled into a braid, a mustache, patchy beard, and eyebags, and he's wearing a green t-shirt and laying in bed under a blanket.

Martin is sitting up and has a white cat with brown paws and brown on the tip of her tail kneading his chest. He's smiling, holding her gently, and she is purring. Sasha is facing away from the viewer, looking at a small gray kitten with yellow eyes, who is playing with and biting her phone while looking at her mischievously. She says "baby boy" with a grumpy ">:T" emoticon next to her words. Tim is laying with his hands behind his head, smiling down at a sleeping brown kitten with pink toe beans laying shrimp-posed on his chest. Tim giggles at him. Jon is laying with his head propped up against a pillow and a white and brown kitten with little eyebrows laying on his chest tucked under his blanket, and he is holding the kitten protectively with both hands. Their conversation proceeds thus:

Jon: meeee-ow Kitten: MOW Jon: meow Kitten: MAOW

end ID]

~~~~

oh wowzers its mallow family monday. im not done playing with this au and likely never will be. its kitties that inadvertently save the world and the gang taking care of them. what more could you want.

of course we got Martin's cat, the mother of the litter, Ms. Marsha Mallow, Sasha's little troublemaker Turing, Tim's little baby Lil Baby Fudge, and Jon's new son, Duke Archibald Von Mallow. they make me. SO happy.

[mushtoons]

WHEN I WOKE UP TODAY YOU HADN'T POSTED THE OUT OF TOUCH THURSDAY STUFF YET AND I WAS LIKE NOOOO WHAT HAS THE WORLD COME TO??? NO OUT OF TOUCH THURSDAY POSTS??? :((((

But then you guys posted them :)

I feel like the balance of the universe has been restored....

DJDJDJDJDJ LMAOO BALANCE WAS RESTORED

[xamaxenta]

xam reads fanfics

[vaguely-annoyed]

18 & 21 for the handwriting asks 😄

hi! <3

doing these!

[torn-between-horn]

Tf is the Difference between an Alto and Tenor clef

-New French Horn Player

So, I'm probably not the best person to ask this, because I don't really know, but from some quick research:

The alto clef is used primarily for viola, and middle C is place slightly differently,

And the tunnel clef is used for instruments like trombone and bassoon, and places its middle C differently.

Because I'm really bad at explaining placement, Here you go!

Also, here's some acronyms I made on the spot for if you ever decide that these cleffs are the way to go!

Alto: "I like your FACEG!" "Good boys don't frolic"

Tenor: "I DFACE a lot of property dude!" " Euphonium's got big dumptrucks."

[thotsforvillainrights]

Hi! Okay I'm doing this off anon cuz I might become a regular around here. I really enjoy your writing, and your smaus make me giggle SO MUCH.

So, here's my request! Basically, reader is like. 5 or 6 years old and has a HUGE kiddie crush on them right? Even to the point the reader basically forces them into a kindergarten wedding lol.

The reader would be any person you wants kid, but I'd like to specifically request Dabi, Shigiraki, Twice, Spinner, Compress, Pops, AFO, And Chisaki? Sorry if that's too much! But yeah if that's okay lol :> also how would the kids parent/sibling react!

(So I might've had a hard time understanding this one since I'm grow more dense the longer the night goes on. The reader is anyone I want child, but the person the reader thinks of is the people listed above? I hope that's right! Also don't be mad, please don't be mad but I'm not too much a big fan of the kid's having crushes trope! Although its a real thing -I say this because as a small child I wanted to marry Inuyasha after seeing him on my Tv one night.-Anyway, can I opt out of the wedding and tweak it to them being huge fans please???)

(No seriously, don't be mad. I'm very sensitive)

(I decided for the dad to be Re Destro since he's been present a lot lately here on the blog. I was originally going to make the dad Twice but I looked back and saw he was already listed as the person of interest lol)

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

-Dabi: Rikiya first started to suspect that you were a weird kid when he found you out in the garden one day trying to have a full conversation with earthworms in the tomato plant. Being a huge fan of the villain Dabi only cemented this. He figured you'd grow out of it in about a month or two but it didn't seem to go away. In fact, it only seemed to get worse with time! By the time you hit the age of 6, your entire bedroom was themed after a villain. It was somewhat disappointing since Re Desto figured you'd admire dear old dad around this age. Nope! You ran around the house throwing blue tissue paper here and there, pretending it was blue flames. You even went and scribbled purple paint all over yourself one day. It was getting out of hand but he tried to hand in there. What was a man to do?

-Shigaraki: There are worse things in this world...but having a kid that was obsessed with the Leader of the League of Villains definitely cut the cake. How on earth was he to cope with the various doodles of Tomura taking up space on his fridge? You even wanted him to call you Shigaraki around the house. It was no longer Cowboys and Robbers. It was now League and Heroes. There were no tea parties or fishing trips. You wanted to be Tomura you admired him so much. Your growing collection of red shoes was a sign of that. Re Destro has to hear Shigaraki's name leave his toddlers mouth at all hours of the day. "Papa look, Shigaraki is on the news!" He groaned and turned to stare at you as you excitedly watched the show. The man sighed to himself and smiled. Oh well, you were still his child and he still loved you dearly no matter what weird thing you were into at the moment.

-Twice: It's pretty obscure that Twice's biggest fan is a 6 year old but hey, what the hell. However, Rikiya did grow weary of watching his child try to make clones 24/7. That wasn't even the kind of quirk you possessed! Either way, he would learn to be patient with you until you found interest in someone else. At this point he'd prefer if it was anyone else other than Jin Bubaigawara. Damn it, anyone please? Here, hang out with uncle Skeptic or aunt Curious. Someone please help this old man lol.

-Spinner: At your young age you likely thought he was a dinosaur. It was innocent and very cute. You'd probably been raised up on a lot of dinosaur kids stuff so your brain made that connection when you saw Spinner one day. You'd suddenly started wearing a bandana/mask around the house and wielding an empty paper towel roll as your sword everywhere (even school). To you, spinner was the coolest person...dinosaur in the whole world. You would even take the toys you already had and wrap little masks around them and tie hairpins to their backs with rubberbands so they'd be like Spinner too. You also found out about Spinner before Stain so now you were thinking that Stain must be a huge spinner fan too.

-Compress: Anybody that can do magic tricks is going to have the best interest of a kid. That's a given rule. Poor Re Destro tried his hardest to explain to you that Compress was a villain and that he couldn't book him for your 6th birthday this year but you just weren't listening. Now Rikiya by no means raised any type of spoiled brat, but you certainly knew how to get what you wanted when you wanted it. You threw a fit. You thrashed about, cried until your eyes were swollen and itchy. You sniffled and snotted everywhere. You crossed your little arms and stomped your feet. You even threatened to hold your breath until you couldn't breath anymore. Your father folded faster than origami. Now he had to figure out a way to get a literal fucking villain to perform at a kids birthday party. Good luck with that one lol.

-Pops: You'd met the old man in public a few times. Your young mind couldn't gather much about him other than the fact that he must've been an important guy. All you knew is that 'old man pops' always reached into his pocket and gave you candy/sometimes money whenever he saw you. Re Destro usually chatted with the old man since they'd basically done business at the same bank and shopped at the same store sometimes. Your papa loved leaving far out of Deika to do errands since it was a nice trip to take. He didn't know his kid was going to admire the literal leader of the yakuza so much to the point that they wanted to be like the man. It wasn't too big of a deal though. He'd seen how nice the old man was to you. Maybe he'd arrange a time or two to take you to the compound so you could learn about the yakuza? Of course he didn't want you affiliated with such a group, but education at a young age was always essential.

-AFO: Rikiya is seriously considering sending a 5 year old off to therapy because what in the hell is going through your mind to have such a deep interest in All For One of all people. Sometimes things that are meant to scare people have little to no effect on small kids. Kids tend to be fearless (it's true), so sometimes they can have interests that border on the macabre. That must be what's happening right now. He hopes soon you'll come out of this before you turn 6 because he's getting weird looks buying AFO figures off the black market for a fucking 5 year old.

-Overhaul: Your obsession with Overhaul runs so deep that you've taken to covering your mouth everywhere. It started around the house with just your hand. You'd reach over your face at odd times and cover your mouth. Rikiya just thought that maybe something smelled weird but he could never figure out what it was. Then you progressed towards trying to make masks out of paper and yarn. He finally figured out you were interested in the young head of the yakuza after seeing him on the news one day. Now he had to deal with his child using their candy money to buy black surgical masks that barely fit their face. It was an odd interest indeed.

[untoterxhund]

might get another pot of coffee brewing but would I be able to interest anyone w/ another unprompted inbox call?

[carewyncromwell]

“I’ve had enough of reading things By neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politicians! All I want is the truth... Just gimme some truth...”

~“Gimme Some Truth” by John Lennon

x~x~x~x

brief reference to Merlin Wyllt @oneirataxia-girl

x~x~x~x

As January 1996 turned into February, Mia found herself less settled than ever. 

After the Azkaban break-out, Dolores Umbridge issued yet another “Educational Decree” for Hogwarts’s students, which Mia’s nephew Olin described thusly --

Now the teachers can’t talk about anything with their students unless it’s specifically about their classes! I heard Professor Flitwick appealing to Professor Dumbledore about it, since he frequently councils Ravenclaws about personal matters at home. He said he couldn’t bear it if anyone else went through what “Jacob” went through, so I reckon one of his students ended up in a bad place once. And my friend Catie’s parents are going through a nasty divorce right now, so Professor Sprout’s been helping her through it...are teachers just supposed to not talk to their students when they’re afraid to go home because of what’s going on with their parents? 

It made Mia suspect all the more that it had less to do with fixing problems at Hogwarts and much more about keeping students in the dark about what was going on in the political world...for what reason, Mia couldn’t figure out, but it troubled her all the same. The development concerned Florean too.

Brainwashing children to blindly trust in anyone’s authority is never a good sign. Muggle dictators have done it countless times over the centuries, to justify their claim. Even our own Ministry has done it, up to a point, in how they’ve whitewashed Merlin’s legacy as nothing but an example of “the most powerful wizard in history,” rather than someone who actively opposed and fought against what would become the Ministry of Magic and the Statute of Secrecy. I don’t want to believe this decision could be so maliciously motivated, and instead just be out of a misguided kind of protection...but considering what Olin has told you about Dolores Umbridge, I regret to say I have trouble promoting the latter. 

As if sensing how much people were starting to doubt the Daily Prophet, and by extension the Ministry of Magic’s account of what was going on, the Quibbler published an interview with Harry Potter, written by the Prophet’s once star-reporter Rita Skeeter, centered around the events of Cedric Diggory’s death. In the interview, Harry laid out a harrowing account, detailing how he and Cedric had decided to take the Triwizard Cup together for Hogwarts, since they’re reached it at the same time; how the Cup had actually been a Portkey, enchanted to transport them to a dark, unfamiliar graveyard; how as soon as they’d arrived, Peter Pettigrew (who was somehow both alive and a Death Eater!) killed Cedric on the orders of a malformed creature wrapped in rags in his arms; how that creature turned out to be Voldemort himself, who ordered Pettigrew to forcibly take some of Harry’s blood for a potion that restored his body to him; how Voldemort, newly restored and alive, summoned his remaining Death Eaters and tried to kill Harry; and finally how Harry miraculously escaped when his and Voldemort’s wands linked via Priori Incantantem and he magically summoned the Portkey back to his hands, returning him to school. 

It was an outrageous tale -- one too terrifying and ridiculous to believe. And yet, as much as Mia hated to admit it, parts of it seemed oddly sincere. Harry’s responses, for instance, came across as very modest, just like Florean had said he was -- Rita at several points seemed to encourage Harry to embellish his story, asking him about how the Death Eaters tortured him and such, but Harry didn’t rise to the bait.

“They didn’t do anything to me,” said Potter. “Except laugh, maybe -- a couple of them laughed. It was Voldemort who used the Cruciatus Curse -- they just stood back and watched.”

Trying to place herself in this poor boy’s shoes, your humble reporter asked him whether he’d resigned himself to death, upon facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or if he had been truly so determined to survive and tell his story. Potter, however, confessed a shocking lack of introspection.

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” said Potter. “I just knew I didn’t want to die on my knees. I wanted to die fighting. But then our wands connected, and my...the...ghosts appeared...I guess they’re called shades?...but they told me to...to get the Portkey and run. And Cedric asked me to take his body back. So I did.”

Then there were details here and there that were so specific, it seemed incredibly unlikely that a teenage boy could’ve just made it up. Why was it that almost every name Harry recalled among the Death Eaters belonged to someone who’d been accused but acquitted of helping the Death Eaters? And the one that hadn’t, Peter Pettigrew? Mia remembered Pettigrew and his little “buddies,” Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and James Potter, from school -- they and Severus Snape had been all four years older than her, but Mia remembered them, and even at the time, she’d had a hard time believing that Peter Pettigrew of all people had tried to stand up to the likes of Sirius Black. She’d ascribed this to Pettigrew losing all common sense in response to the grief of losing the Potters to one of his other best friends -- but even then, Pettigrew had always had a bit of “Slytherin” in him. He was cowardly, sure, and he was never as talented or intelligent as his other friends, but he was also rather clever, when push came to shove, and he had a way of weaseling his way out of trouble. If this story of Potter’s had been made-up, anyone else would’ve accused Sirius Black of being the ringleader of this whole affair -- Minister Fudge himself had claimed the Azkaban break-out was all his doing. Some others might’ve even gone after Severus Snape, considering his history with the Death Eaters. But Pettigrew? Why would Harry accuse someone who’d supposedly been dead for so many years? Why bring up this man, after so long, and depict him as this cowardly, reluctant supporter of the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time? How would Harry even have known Pettigrew was the sort to cower behind his more powerful friends, when Pettigrew had supposedly died when he was still an infant? How could Harry describe Pettigrew so well, as if he were a real person who’d aged and grown over the years, instead of just how he looked in his old photographs? 

Mia had been so invested by Harry’s account that she’d read the interview all the way through without putting it down. She then read it several more times over, and each time, she felt like her stomach was being tied in another knot.

It was only when a grayish-brown whippet came over to rest his head in her lap that Mia looked up from the Quibbler at last.

She forced a smile.

“...Hi, Dad.”

The whippet stared up at Mia for a long moment. Then some small flare of consciousness seemed to flicker to life behind his eyes, and the dog seemed to bend in on himself, resting his paw on the arm of the chair Mia was sitting in. Little by little, that paw seemed to grow and his short gray suede-like fur began to dissolve away into peach-colored skin...until at last, the bald, aging candymaker Ambrosius Flume sat curled up in a ball on the floor.

He opened and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he looked up. He put on a brave smile, upon seeing his second daughter.

“...Mia,” he said warmly. “Good morning.”

He glanced over at the closest window.

“...Or perhaps it’s good afternoon. Is it still the 13th?”

“Yeah,” said Mia.

“Oh good, I haven’t missed Valentine’s Day,” Ambrosius said brightly. “I still need to finish that special Sugar Butterfly for your mother...”

Seeing the somber look on Mia’s face, the candymaker’s face lost some of its cheer, but he still tried to keep a brave smile on.

“Mia, it’s all right,” he said gently. “I didn’t leave the house, I know that much. And I’m perfectly safe, so long as I don’t wander too far...”

Mia’s gaze fell down to the article she’d been reading uncomfortably.

It was true Ambrosius’s condition could be managed. He had always been able to turn back, once he’d interacted with his family and recalled his true self through them. But blood Maledictions were an incurable condition, one that gradually worsened over time. Sooner or later, all of those afflicted by it would transform into an animal devoid of any human consciousness and never be able to turn back into themselves. And the more Ambrosius turned into a dog without meaning to -- the longer he stayed in that form -- the more afraid Mia would be that he'd never become human again. It was a fear she’d had since she was a young child -- one so strong that her boggart for years had been her father in dog form...his eyes completely blank and growling at her like she was a stranger...

Ambrosius reached out and took his daughter’s hand. Mia looked up at him, to find a very comforting expression on his face.

“I may not remember everything, after getting dressed for the morning,” he said, “but I know what woke me up -- as it so often is -- was me seeing my little Pepper Imp and needing to be her father.”

Mia’s lips curled up in an emotional smile despite herself. Ambrosius smiled affectionately in return as he brought up his other hand to lightly pat her cheek.

“You looked quite troubled, when I came to,” he said. “Yet I don’t think it was just about me.”

He eyed Rita Skeeter’s article in her lap significantly.

Mia exhaled heavily.

“...Dad...I’m so conflicted,” she confessed. “The Ministry of Magic has always there to keep us safe -- that’s all it’s ever wanted to do, I know it. And yet...everything it’s been saying about Potter lately -- about Azkaban -- about You-Know-Who...none of it’s making any sense, Dad! Even Tia agrees. Dirk even thinks that Sturgis Podmore might’ve been put under the Imperius Curse, when he was found down in the Department of Mysteries last year for seemingly no reason. And Callie...Callie’s been talking to folks, ever since Rita Skeeter interviewed Potter...not just airheads like Jacob Cromwell or Xenophilius Lovegood, people who live in the real world, like Mafalda Hopkirk and John Dawlish -- respected Ministry employees -- ”

She picked it up and handed it to Ambrosius so he could read it himself from his spot on the floor.

“...And all of them -- well, just about all -- think Potter’s telling the truth! That Minister Fudge knows it too, deep down, but he’s been actively trying to discredit Potter and Dumbledore, all because he doesn’t want to face the truth! Even if that would have to mean that the Ministry has been lying about everything for the last year -- about Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, the Azkaban break-out -- about You-Know-Who not being back! And worse still...I’m starting to think he might be too...”

She bowed her head, swallowing back the lump that had cropped up in her throat.

“I just don’t understand how Fudge could do something so horrible,” she said weakly. “Even if he is afraid...what about all of us? Aren’t we afraid, not knowing what’s going on? Does our fear not matter? Does Olin’s and Skylar’s fear not matter? Fudge is supposed to be our leader, our Minister. Won’t we be afraid -- even more afraid than him -- not even having someone who’ll fight to protect us and the ones we love?”

Ambrosius got to his feet so that he could settle himself down on the arm of Mia’s chair, bringing a paternal hand up to rest on the top of her head.

“I know,” he murmured. “It is a terrible thought.”

He slid a lock of hair that had come out of Mia’s bun neatly behind her ear.

“I wish I could say that it has to be some sort of misunderstanding...but based just on what I’m reading here -- ”

He flourished the article in his hand before putting it down on the side table.

“ -- and hearing what I have from Callie’s broadcasts...I don’t think your suspicions are as farfetched as we’d like to believe.”

Mia looked up at Ambrosius. His face was incredibly solemn.

“I hate to say it...but we may indeed be in a situation where the ones we’ve chosen to lead us have chosen their own self-interest over our lives. And if that’s truly the case...I think we may have to do some looking, to find others who see the road we’re on and may also want to reroute our course.”

"How could we do that?” asked Mia. “We’re just confectioners -- we’re not politicians, or Aurors...we’re not Dumbledore or the Minister. What could we do to protect our world, if things really are as bad as we think?”

Ambrosius put on a brave smile again as he scratched the back of his neck beside his ear. “I’m not sure...but, well, we can’t be the only ones, to not believe the Ministry’s narrative. Who knows? Maybe if we can find those other people who see the dark clouds overhead and want to do something about it, we can put our heads together. Then maybe we’ll find some way to be of use.”

But Mia shook her head.

“‘Be of use?’ In a second Wizarding War? Potentially facing off against the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time?”

She brought her arms around herself as she rested her face in her own lap.

“We’re just normal people, Dad,” she said despondently against her legs. “What would we be, to a monster like that?”

Ambrosius brought his arms around Mia and gave her a hug. Mia inhaled the familiar vanilla smell off of his coat, trying to find some shred of courage, however elusive it was.

She didn’t want to believe things were as terrible as she feared. Merlin...did she hope beyond reason that she was wrong.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Family? Assemble!

Reporter: Gotham News, and we have a new supervillain on the line. Mr Phantom, what are your demands at the moment? Phantom with lack of sleep and with tears: I..I want a titanium model of a spaceship! And to get a good night’s sleep and to go to the local school…and some fudge and.. Reporter: Oh, my bad. Just one question for clarification, are you by any chance an orphan or are your parents villains? Phantom: I prefer the term mad scientists Reporter: Okay. So, Gotham news! And with me on the line is the new potential child of Wayne or Batman. Want to know how two serial adopters will share a child leading a double life? Stay with us and find out. Now let's check in with Jessie for our weather report. Phantom: Wait, what?

~~~~~

Danny spends the night running from the Red Hood with a bag of fudge, Red Robin with a pot of coffee, Batman with the adoption papers and, for some reason, Brucie Wayne with an idea of internship at a space station. Ha! The Justice League will never let a ghost into orbit. Not that Wayne can blackmail superheroes or smth. Danny: Fuck you all! I’m done with vigilante activity, I’m not your competitor! What do you want from me? And I’m done with crazy billionaires too. I swear, I’d rather be adopted by a local mob boss just to piss you off! ~Later~ Danny *sees peering out of the corner Matches Malone*: Are you kidding me?! Robbie *jumps off the roof and lands right behind Danny*: Stop running, lil brother, No one’s left the family yet. Minnie: What about Neal? Robbie *shakes a knife with a bow on the handle negatively*: He’s on sabbatical, that doesn’t count. Anyway, it’s a gift for you, cub. Danny: Um, thank you, but my lab scalpels are definitely sterile, and your blade was in who knows who before you brought it here. Robbie: It’s brand-new! And Archie decorated it with a ghost on the handle. Look! It's cute! With a smile and… Dick: Hands up! You’re under arrest for trying to steal our new member! Minnie: Why is he yours, damn cop? Selina: Boys, don’t fight. He’s mine. Schrodinger’s cat is still a kitten. Killer Croc: No way, my niece is staying with me. Danny: Uncle Waylon? Long time no see. Ra's: My grandson needs steady access to ectoplasm. Danyal, come with me. Danny: Over my dead body! Oh shiii…I mean no. Anyway, don’t you think the alley’s getting a little crowded?

~~~~

Killer Croc: Is he still mad at me? RR: Danny doesn’t talk to uncles who tried to eat his beloved brother Red Robin. Killer Croc: He wasn’t even your brother then. What do you want? An apology from me? RR: That would be nice.

~~~~

Danny: I didn’t think the GIW agents would really fear the reputation of Gotham and not follow me. What a relief! Jason *quickly throws the knife into the sink*: Wow, you got lucky. Alfred: Master Jones, why don’t you eat your steak? I thought last week you were complaining to Batman that 'cause of him you got not many prey. Croc *pulls a piece of white robe from the teeth*: Well, now there is a lot of it. Bruce *gives Jason and Croc the side-eye*.

~~~~

Ra's: You do realize that Malone, Wayne and Batman are the same person, right? Boy, you were born into a family of geniuses, don’t disappoint Grandpa. Danny: Triple pocket money, triple gifts for the holidays, the opportunity to complain about the same family member three times. No, Grandpa, I definitely don’t understand. Ra's: Smart little weasel.

~~~~

Selina: Okay. Purely theoretical. Do you like to steal? Danny: I wouldn’t say that. But somehow I stole the sword from the fright knight. And also stole few jewels but then I was under the mind control. I returned them. Well, the crown and ring of the king of the ghost zone I also took without permission. Oh, and the answers to the test once. And I’m really sorry about the last one. Neal: I feel the story behind it but I prefer to know nothing about it.

[mars-ipan]

am i burning out or some shit why the fuck am i so irritable ????

[stillpanicking]

The Fenton siblings.

I like to think instead of freckles they have stars on constellations on their cheeks.

[facts-i-just-made-up]

whats the most powerful dessert in the world

In the summer of 1877, a man walked into Clarabelle's Chocolate Cake Shoppe in Boletaria, Michigan. He ordered a Rich Chocolate Cake, their specialty. What he got was said by all who had ordered the same to be a delightfully rich dessert, but he was not impressed. He asked to see Clarabelle and told her the cake wasn't at all rich to his palate. She apologized and not only refunded his cake, but promised to make him a much richer cake if he'd come again, money back guaranteed.

He came in the next day and took her up on the offer. She made him a special cake with twice the chocolate, but still, he found it underwhelming. True to her word, she refunded it and promised that if he'd give her one more chance, she'd give him a cake he couldn't possibly find bland. He accepted.

The next day, he came in for his cake. Clarabelle had made a new cake with ingredients known to include several pounds of concentrated cocoa, several blocks of pure chocolate fudge, at least two essential humors from the cocoa seed, and also one unknown substance, present in only a gram but said to have been delivered under armed guard by the Pinkerton Agency, which she ordered her staff out of the kitchen to fold into the batter.

The result was a strange cake that her waitstaff described as "barely-a-cake," held together by a minimum of flour and egg. It glowed brown and smelled most pungently of chocolate, a harsh sort of chocolate akin to sulfur in the burning sensation it caused in those near it.

The man sat down and ate a slice while Clarabelle and her entire staff watched, waiting to see what would happen. They found out, but few lived to tell. The man's head, according to the sole surviving waiter, melted quickly before exploding in a colossal chocolate burst that leveled the restaurant, killing Clarabelle, three Pinkerton Agents, four customers, two waiters, a passing ox, and left the entire region uninhabitable for 140 years. Nothing grows in the region to this day, but scientists have finally begun cataloging the state of the area and allowing critical personnel into the area with high-level biological protection.

The government naturally hid this from public knowledge for fear that Clarabelle's Last Cake could be duplicated by terrorists or food vloggers, but thanks to the freedom of information act, we now know the legacy of the cake if not its secret ingredients. The man who ordered the cake is still there. Nobody knows his name, but his body stays smouldering to this day, smelling strongly of delicious chocolate batter, and will still for a half-life of 400,000 years. Called "The Cadbury Bunny's Foot" by scientists, his remains are considered the most intense chocolate concentration in the solar system, perhaps the galaxy owing to the lack of genuine cocoa plants off the Earth.

It is still only half as terrible as those damn 90% Cacao Lindt bars.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 5: Forgotten

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your family gains new additions.

Hello! My sincere apologies for how long this took. I got massively sidetracked by researching how to bind a book, the interest in which hit at a completely inappropriate time in the writing-editing-crafting cycle, lol. I should definitely be focusing on finishing this thing before I start fixating on binding books. Anyway; this chapter is a little time-jumpy, given that I have to speed through a bunch of time. Also, note that I've fudged with the ages of Alicent's kids, so in Episode 3, know that she is now pregnant with Aemond, not Helaena like in the show. It's the only way to make him of-age in the Episode 8 scenes. Thank you to @randomdragonfires for workshopping this shitto for me, ahahaha! Happy (and well-deserved) holidays to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who I have graciously given a night off of slaving away for me, lol.

TRIGGERS: continued discussion of child grief, Viserys's shenanigans in impregnating an underaged Alicent (canon, this is NOT MY ADDITION).

When Alicent gets married to Papa, they have a big ceremony. So so many people come from all over the kingdom to see Papa take a new Queen, and the days of the wedding—there are lots of days to them starting in marriage—are full of more noise and colour and movement than you could ever think was real.

Her dress is very pretty, and Papa looks very nice in his new coat, but neither of them look so happy as people who are going to be in marriage should be. Papa keeps playing with the ring on his finger that is from Mama, while Alicent just looks like she is afraid. You think it might be because of how loud everyone is being.

’Nyra isn’t happy, either. She keeps you on her lap the entire time with an angry look on her face and doesn’t speak to Alicent very much at all, but at least she tries to be kind when she does. She ignores Papa, and because you are all sitting at the high table and everyone is watching you, he cannot tell her she is being rude and naughty.

Because you don’t want to look at Alicent’s unhappy face or ’Nyra’s angry one, you play with your sister’s necklace, letting the shiny metal take all your attention. It is Valyrian steel, which is what Papa’s and Uncle’s swords are made out of, so it is very special. Uncle gave it to her. When you let your fingers swirl over the ruby in the middle of the big pendant over and over, you pretend that it’s a part of him and that he’s here, after all.

After the big ceremony is done, life goes back to almost-normal. Now that Alicent is Papa’s Queen, she is something called a stepmother, meaning that Brella and Septa and all the people who are made to look after you and ’Nyra have to talk to her about you both. She is like your mama. You wake up and break your fast with Alicent, and she cuts up your food instead of Mama, and she takes you outside to play and tells you about the names of the flowers. Then, when it is time to sleep again, she reads you a story. You think that she likes it very much because she always seems sad until she sees you, and then her face goes bright like the sun.

‘Nyra doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. When she learns that Alicent is acting like your mama, her face goes very red like she’s going to scream, but she just goes very quiet instead and storms out of your rooms. For that whole day, ’Nyra takes you to the gardens and to see Syrax and to the library to learn some more High Valyrian, her new sworn shield Ser Criston behind her all the time. She never once lets you go see Alicent to do the things you normally do. When you finally get to be in the room with her at suppertime with Papa and ’Nyra, which Papa has said you all must do now so that everyone can get along, all she does is give you a small smile that doesn’t make her eyes go bright like usual and ask about your big day with your sister.

That is how things are for a while. Either you will go through your days with Alicent or with ’Nyra, and never both in one day because ’Nyra is still so angry at Alicent for being in marriage with Papa. You keep asking why, but your sister doesn’t tell you anything. She just goes quiet and frowns and mutters things you cannot hear. Meanwhile, Alicent will always stop, take a big breath that sounds shaky when she lets it out, and say, “I have no quarrel with Rhaenyra. She is as welcome to my rooms and in my company as you are, Princess.”

You think that might be a lie.

One day, though, everything changes.

’Nyra decides to take you to the library so that you can look at more books in High Valyrian. Even the books written in the Common Tongue make no sense to you yet, and Brella told you this is because you are not old enough to learn reading properly. Still, your sister says that it is still good to try when you’re young, so she sits beside you and points out all the funny-looking symbols and tells you what they mean all together. You fall asleep in there instead of having a nap in your bed, but ’Nyra just puts a blanket over you and keeps reading. When you wake, you listen to her voice as she speaks the words from the pages aloud. You don’t understand all of it, but you think you’ve learned more and more since Mama died and she stopped being friends with Alicent. It means she has lots of time for you. Maybe that shouldn’t make you happy, but you cannot help it.

At supper, you see Lord Hightower, Alicent’s papa, beside her. That means that you have to be next to ’Nyra tonight, so you follow her to her side of the table and sit in the chair that the maid pulls out for you. The chair is higher than the others, made special so that you can reach the food that is put before you. Looking around, it is easy to tell that something is different from how happy Lord Hightower looks and how smiling Papa’s face is.

“My two daughters,” he says a bit too loudly, cheeks bright red. His cup is in front of him, and the gold shines red from the drink inside. Wine, you think. It is for men and women, not little girls, and it makes the people who drink it act strange like Papa is now. He waves his hand in a ‘hello’ as he lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Ah!”

’Nyra starts eating her food without a word. Everyone has plates with different foods on it, but you have a bowl in front of your seat. Because you are small, the cooks always give you pottage for your supper so that you can eat it with a spoon and no one has to cut things up for you. You don’t always like it—there are lots of lumps and you can never tell what taste is going to be in your mouth with each bite—but it is warm and makes your tummy nice and full.

The room is full of the sounds of chewing and clack-clacking when the knives and forks hit the plates. You pick up your spoon and scoop up some food. There are dark bits, which means the cooks have put meat in it. You scrunch your nose.

Papa coughs between bites. He is still smiling a lot. “It seems like an age since I saw you last!”

“We had supper with you yesterday evening,” ’Nyra says.

“Ah, yes!” He takes another drink of his wine. Maybe he shouldn’t, because he is blinking very much like you do when you’re trying to stay awake. “Perhaps the waiting has made it seem longer.”

“Waiting?”

“I am sure you have noticed Otto’s presence by now.”

’Nyra doesn’t even look at the man. “My lord.” Her voice seems cold.

“Princess.” Lord Hightower bends his head, but he doesn’t sound very happy either.

Alicent puts her hand on Papa’s arm. ’Nyra watches so closely that you wonder if her eyes can make holes in other people’s skin. “I—we—have some news, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh?” She sounds bored.

“Well…”

When Alicent doesn’t say anything, ’Nyra makes a huffing noise. It is very rude. “Well?” she asks, looking between Alicent and Papa. “What is it, then? Everyone’s acting rather strange.”

“Alicent is with child,” Papa says.

‘With child’ is what people say when a baby is growing in a lady’s belly. It’s what Mama told you before Baelon grew very large inside her.

’Nyra freezes, almost like she has forgotten how to move. No one says anything. Papa’s smile—the one that his words made so much bigger when he said them out loud—begins to fall, more and more with each moment that ’Nyra does nothing at all. Then, it goes away completely, and he’s no longer happy like he was.

It’s quiet again. Not the nice kind—the kind that means that someone is about to yell or be naughty.

“A baby?” you ask. Maybe you can stop the bad from happening if you help everyone remember that you’re still here.

Alicent looks at you, the fear leaving her face a little. She nods. “Yes, Princess. You’re to have a brother or sis—”

“Half-brother.” ’Nyra’s lips move, but the rest of her stays still. She cannot stop staring between Papa and Alicent. “Or half-sister. Either way, they will not be your full blood.”

“You are correct, Princess.” From the way Lord Hightower speaks and how silent Alicent and Papa are at ’Nyra’s words, you think she must have said something quite mean. He gives her a little smile, one that makes her hands squeeze really tight on her knife and fork. “Even so, these are glad tidings, indeed. Let us all pray for the Queen to be delivered of a son.”

“I’m sure that would be of great benefit to the Hightowers, my Lord. A son… to solidify your claim to my father’s throne.”

Lord Hightower stops smiling. Alicent gasps.

Papa makes a small noise. “Rhaenyra—”

All at once, she stands, the plate in front of her clattering loudly with how quick she rises. “Congratulations, Your Grace.” She doesn’t sound very happy for Alicent, even if the words are nice. “Forgive me—I feel suddenly unwell.”

“Daughter—”

’Nyra ignores Papa and storms out of the room, leaving her food only half-eaten. The rest of supper is very quiet, the loudest noise of all being the sound of your own breathing.

Isn’t a baby meant to be happy news? you wonder. You look around, but no one here is very happy—except for Lord Hightower. Though he isn’t smiling, he has his head held high like he has had every one of his wishes granted all at once.

“What do you think, Princess?” Brella asks.

You stare down into the cradle at the baby. Your brother. Aegon. He is squirming, face bright red, squished and crying. He hasn’t stopped even once since you came into the room. He might have been crying since before you did, even. Aside from the bright hair on top of his head, you don’t think he looks very much like you.

“He’s nice,” is what you say, but you don’t know if you really mean it. It’s more for Alicent, who is watching you from over on the bed. She looks very tired. If you said something less kind, she may cry.

Alicent smiles. “Thank you, Princess. Nurse—bring him to me, please.”

She doesn’t mean Brella. There is another woman here, Gwenys, who Lord Hightower and Septa Marlow assigned to help give Aegon milk and take care of him when Alicent cannot. Gwenys comes and picks up the baby, walking over to give him to Alicent. She rocks him in her arms which doesn’t stop him from crying, but she still keeps on bouncing him softly. He is very unhappy.

Now that Alicent is holding Aegon, you know that she’ll forget you are there. Ever since Papa told you and ’Nyra that he was in Alicent’s belly, neither of them have had much time for you. It feels like all the people in the Keep—from Papa and Alicent and Lord Hightower to the servants and maids and stableboys—have been more excited for the baby than they ever were for you. The only person who has remembered you is ’Nyra, and so you are with her on most days. It sometimes makes you sad, because it really was very fun to play pretend that Alicent was your mama for a while, but ’Nyra says that it wasn’t going to last, anyway.

“She is to have her own child to care for, now,” she told you in the days after learning about the new baby. “You were good practice—but you aren’t her blood, not really. Not like you and I. Her son will be born, and you’ll be given to a nurse or a Septa to raise.” When you cried, she bent down and wiped away your tears. “It doesn’t make her a bad person,” she said quietly. “But this is the way of the world, sister. Men and women, kings and queens… they all want sons. Us daughters must stick together, yes?”

’Nyra was right. At first, Alicent tried to keep pretending to be like your mama. But then, the baby made her very ill, so she stopped asking you to come to break your fast so you wouldn’t have to see her being sick into the pail by her bed. Then, she spent so much time sleeping that she didn’t have the energy to come outside with you, or to dance with you, and soon, the only time you would see her was at suppertime. Even that wasn’t always. And now the baby is here, you don’t think she will be going back to the way it used to be.

Maybe that is why he feels like such a stranger to you. At least with baby Baelon, you got to feel him kicking in Mama’s tummy. Aegon wasn’t here for so long, and then all of a sudden, he was. He is. You don’t know him at all. He’s just a baby, come to take your Papa and almost-Mama away from you like all the rest.

Brella’s hand on your shoulder is what helps you walk towards the door, Alicent and Aegon staying in the room behind you. With your back turned, it’s easier to pretend that Alicent is very sad by you leaving.

The more moons pass, the more faded Mama’s face is in your memory. You try to hold onto the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, or how her hair would curl a bit like yours after her bath, or the way she’d smell like roses when she hugged you tight. It slips away, out of reach. Putting rose oil in your bath helps you, but only a little bit—and the longer that Mama is gone, the less you can remember of her.

Papa doesn’t like to talk about her. When you ask him, he just spins the ring on his finger around and says, “Another time, perhaps.” You know that ‘another time’ really means ‘never’.

There is no one else in the Keep that really knew her like you and your family knew her, except ’Nyra. She tells you stories sometimes, but you don’t ask a lot because she usually likes to tell the ones that have you in them. When she finishes, she always smiles and asks, “Do you remember?” You never can, and it leaves you feeling like someone has scooped out all your insides.

So, Mama fades, and becomes part of that place in your mind where the things that are being forgotten go. Even though you try and try and try, there is nothing that can stop the forgetting. One day, you think she might be nothing more than a quiet sort of sadness, like looking out the window at the rain and wondering why it makes your chest hurt so much.

Seeing Alicent with Aegon is the only thing that reminds you of her. Even though Alicent’s hair is red where Mama’s was silver, and Aegon is loud and angry where you are quiet and shy, the way that she kisses his cheeks or hums little songs under her breath to him makes you think of how Mama would do the same for you. He doesn’t seem to be very happy when she does these things. If it were you in his place, you know you’d be better than him. You wish she’d realise that.

It seems like no time at all goes by when Alicent is with child again, meaning she’s going to have another baby. If it is anything like Aegon, you do not think you’ll like it very much. Sometimes, you feel very naughty for it, but you cannot help how he makes you feel. All he wants to do is make a fuss and take everyone’s attention, and he keeps crying and being naughty even as Alicent’s belly grows bigger and bigger with your new brother or sister.

When Helaena is born, Papa and Lord Hightower aren’t as pleased as they were with Aegon. You can tell because, while they are both in the room when you come to meet her, neither one is looking at her as she lays in the cradle. They had both been looking down at Aegon last time. You think it is because Helaena is a girl, like you and ’Nyra. You decide that you have to love her if they won’t.

She is a quiet baby, but so still that it makes Gwenys worry and worry, even though all she is doing is lying in her cradle and staring straight up. Maybe she knows how rude her big brother is, you think, and she wants to do and be all the things he isn’t.

You weren’t allowed to hold Aegon because he was so disagreeable, which means he would probably have screamed and cried if you did. He still screams and cries, which is why Alicent has to spend all her days with him even though she’s just had a second baby, so Helaena is by herself with Gwenys most hours.

Helaena isn’t like Aegon. This time, Gwenys has you sit in a chair with a pillow under your arm and brings the baby to you. “Mind her head,” she says, tugging your arm forward so that Helaena fits nicely in your arms. “There we go.”

She is a big baby, round and heavy and warm, but you don’t mind because she gazes up at you with large blue eyes that look like they might turn purple when she gets older. The hairs she has on her head—and there aren’t many, not like Aegon had—are silver, and you know that she will look very much like you when she has grown more. When you stroke a finger over the skin on her hand, her whole fist grabs onto it, strong even though she is so young. It’s like she knows who you are, even without any words being said.

You wonder if this is how ’Nyra felt when she met you—a burning that tingles all through your arms and legs, not in a way that hurts, no, but in a way that makes you want to squeeze tight and never let go.

Helaena doesn’t cry. She falls asleep while you’re holding her, her face turned into you so that you can feel her tiny breaths through your dress. It is special and warm and love-feeling like Alicent used to be, like Mama was when she was not-dead. The hurt goes far away, still there but not so much, not so heavy in your chest.

For a little while, the sadness—of forgetting Mama, of being forgotten by so many others—fades away, too.

When you are five summers old, you have to say goodbye to Brella.

All the while you are breaking your fast, she looks like she is about to start crying. Even though you wonder why, you don’t ask. When someone cries, it means that something bad has happened. So much bad has already happened, and you don’t know if you want to hear any more. You eat in quiet, scooping porridge into your mouth while the sound of sniffles fills the room. The taste of honey would make you feel happy, but not when Brella is so upset. Your food sinks to the bottom of your belly like one of the hot bricks you sometimes get under your blankets when it’s very cold at night, only there’s nothing nice about it. It’s hard and rough and makes you feel sick.

After you have finished every bite—you have to eat all of it, or you don’t get to play—Brella takes you by the hand and leads you to the chair. “There is… there is something I have to tell you,” she says, slow and shaky.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. You wish that you were like ’Nyra, that you could say the words out loud—but you cannot. You don’t want to know, but you say nothing, and you wait for whatever bad thing is coming to show itself.

“I…” Brella swallows and looks down at your hands, still holding onto each other even though you are sitting and there is no need. “Tell me again how old you are, Princess.”

“Five summers.” It’s a very small number, but you are still proud because you’re almost a big girl now.

Brella laughs, nodding. “That’s right. Five. My goodness. How time flies!”

You find that silly. Time doesn’t fly. It isn’t a thing-you-can-touch, and only things-you-can-touch can fly, like dragons or birds or insects. Still, you try not to show your thinking on your face as Brella squeezes your hand tighter.

“Being five summers old is a very important milestone when you’re a prince or princess,” she says. “Do you know why?”

“No,” you say. “Why?”

Here, she stops. “It… It means—gods, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“Well, then. It appears that I must,” comes a voice from the door.

You turn. Septa Marlow stands with her hands joined in front of her, her mouth pinched into a line so small it is like it has disappeared from her face. Her grey wimple makes her skin look just as colourless. She steps forward, and the sound of her shoes touching the ground seems as loud as thunder.

“You are of an age to begin your lessons, Princess. Thus, it is time for your nurse”—she looks at Brella and her lip curls, though you cannot tell if she’s happy or angry—“to depart, and for me to take over your care.”

The sick feeling gets worse, and you wonder if you might bring up all your food from how bad the pains are in your belly. “But—but Brella will still stay, though? For Aegon and Helaena?”

Septa Marlow huffs. “There is no need, silly child. Their nurse has already been appointed, and Gwenys will suffice for any future children borne by the Queen. Brella is to collect her things and return to the Vale.”

Brella has taught you some of the places on the map that shows Papa’s kingdom. You live in King’s Landing, which is in the Crownlands, and it is at the bottom of the map. The Vale is where Mother—Mother, not Mama, Mama is for babies and I am not a baby anymore, you have to keep telling yourself—came from, that it is a bit up and to the side from the Crownlands. It isn’t that far in the drawings, but Brella says that maps show a smaller picture of what is really a very, very long distance.

If Brella has to return to the Vale, it means she will be very, very far away.

You think you might be frozen, like ice. You cannot say anything. All that you can think, over and over, is no, no, no, please, not Brella, no, no, no. The fire-burn of tears warms behind your eyes, but you know that you cannot let Septa see you cry. She’ll think you are weak.

Brella sniffles. “I can write to you,” she says, pulling you closer to her. “And, when you’re old enough, you can write to me. How about that?”

You nod, but her words don’t make you feel better. Paper isn’t the same as a person, not really. Even if she puts letters on paper and sends them to you, it won’t be like one of her hugs or the way she laughs when you miss a dance step or fall over in the grass. It won’t smell like her or look like her. It won’t make you feel safe like she does.

She will turn not-real like Mother. Only, maybe it is worse—because you’ll know that, somewhere a long way away from you, she will be real, but that you cannot have her anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” is what you say, but it comes out like a whisper, not strong like you wanted it to.

“I know, my darling,” Brella says, hugging you tight so that you can feel her heart beating through her skin and yours. “I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“If you could unhand my charge, Nurse.” Septa’s eyebrow is raised. “Although—now that it occurs to me—‘nurse’ is no longer the appropriate moniker, is it?”

Brella glares at her. “There’s no need to be so—”

“Your time here is at an end.” Even though she looks like she’s trying not to show her feelings on her face, Septa lifts her chin in the air like ’Nyra used to when she would win at cyvasse against Alicent. “Say your goodbyes.”

“What—here? Now?” Brella’s mouth is open like she’s very surprised. “I’d thought the Princess would be coming to see me off at the harb—”

“That is not a good idea. She is too… attached.” Septa says it like it is a curse. “A public display of histrionics does not a respectable Princess make, no matter her juvenility.” You have no idea what most of these words mean, but the way they make Brella sink in her seat cannot be a good thing.

She tucks your hair behind your ears as she looks down at you, her eyes wet. “Be good,” she says, very soft so that Septa cannot hear them well. “Make sure you write to me, yes?”

She brushes her thumbs over your cheeks—out, in, out, in—the way she does when she really means ‘I love you’.

“Please stay,” you whisper, trying not to let your lower lip wobble like it wants to so badly. “Please don’t go.”

Brella hugs you again, her whole body shaking. Your face is smushed up against her shoulder, the smell of her herness filling your nose with so much warm. You wonder if, by clinging on tight, you can stop her from leaving. She cannot leave. She is what you have left now that Mam—Mother is gone, now that Papa has Alicent and ’Nyra has Papa and Uncle has his war somewhere away from you. She cannot leave. She cannot.

It feels like she has been holding on for forever and also for no time at all when she lets go, stands up, and walks away without a word. The door shuts.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Is it worse or better, watching her go away? you wonder through the cold that settles in your body, in your arms and legs, the sharpness of it so much that you feel like shivering even though the sun is shining hot outside. You never saw Mother die. She was here, and then she wasn’t. But you have to watch Brella leave, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it all the while.

“Dry your tears, girl. ‘Tis about time your coddling came to an end.” Septa pulls you by the shoulder off the chair. Her hand doesn’t feel warm like Brella’s does. Her stare—fixed on you—travels up and down, her mouth crinkling at the corner like she is thinking about something. “Why she was allowed to linger past your name day, I will never understand.”

You cannot think of anything to say, so you keep quiet. It doesn’t seem to make Septa like you any more than she did before, which you don’t think was very much. The tears keep falling, though you try and try to make them disappear.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. The loudness of the noise makes you jump. Teardrops shake onto your dress. “We have a long day ahead of us. The Queen has requested an update on your progress, so you will be learning no less than three hymns before the end of the sennight. I should like to provide her with”—she looks you up and down again, and this time it seems like she is thinking something unkind about you—“some indication that you will shape up to be a lady of high standing.”

I’m a Princess, not a lady, you want to say. You don’t.

Septa begins striding away, then stops and turns around to face you. “I expect you to follow when I walk, and to acknowledge me when I speak by saying ‘Yes, Septa Marlow’.” She almost spits the words at you. “Understood?”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” It doesn’t sound as strong or as clear as when she said it. You wish you could sound less afraid. Still, she seems to find it good enough. She says nothing afterward, just waits for you to trail along after her.

“Hmph.” She clicks her tongue. Staring down at you again, she adds, “And stand up straight.”

You do as you’re told.

Septa Marlow is as frightfully mean as you always feared.

One thing you learn quickly is that everything you do and say is wrong. When you laugh, it is too ‘unbecoming’; when you smile, you show too much teeth; when you walk, you are too hunched over; when you eat, you are too ‘gluttonous’. You’re a ‘simpleton’ when you ask to play with your dolls, so they sit at the foot of your bed slowly being covered by dust; you’re ‘graceless’ when you try to dance, so you practice after you have been put to bed to try and get better before each morning; you’re ‘impertinent’ when you say what you’re thinking instead of keeping it to yourself, so you learn to let your thoughts stay inside your head. There is little that she doesn’t pick on and tell you that you need to change.

“Use full words, please!” she says whenever you forget to speak in the proper way that she expects. She always raps her willow switch on the table in front of you after that. Lucky for you, she has not yet used it to hurt you. “It is ‘does not’, not ‘doesn’t’. There is no need to employ such low-class mannerisms as a lady of your standing!”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” There is no point trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

It isn’t all bad, though. Having Septa Marlow take over means that you are now expected to learn all sorts of things, and a lot of it is very interesting. New words, new Houses, new hymns, new dances—you start to learn how to sew, how to put letters together to read them, how to count numbers and add and take them away to make different numbers. Septa says that there are so many things a noblewoman like you needs to be able to do by the time she is ready to be married, so that she can run her husband’s household and take care of him and her future children. That is a long time from now, but practice makes perfect.

The only time you are not with Septa is when you are with your family, like today.

Because Aegon has lived past being a baby—and Septa says that babies die a lot from the weather or from being sick or from being fed too much or too little or sometimes for no reason at all—Papa has announced that everyone must go on a hunt to celebrate his name day. You have to sit in the wheelhouse with he and Alicent and ’Nyra and Aegon and three other nurses, but not Helaena. She’s only a baby still, so she must stay in the Keep with Gwenys.

It is not a very fun ride. Being in a wheelhouse with them all means putting ’Nyra very close to Alicent, whose belly has grown big with a baby again. Lots of people have lots to say about how many babies Alicent has had since she married Papa, and most of it is not very nice towards your mother. She could only have two girls, and it took her a long time to have you after ’Nyra.

Papa thinks there is another boy in Alicent’s belly. You hope not. Aegon is loud and rude. You think it might be worse if there were two of him instead of just one.

“…whole of our family off to celebration and adventure in the Kingswood,” Papa is saying. You swing your legs back and forth, though you must stop each time you roll over a big bump in the road. You stay quiet, because Septa says a lady does not talk unless she is asked a question.

A very big bump in the road makes Alicent’s smile fall from her face.

“Should you be travelling in such condition?” ’Nyra asks. She sounds worried, even though she is no longer friends with Alicent.

“The maester said that being out in nature would do me well,” is what Alicent says back.

Papa starts talking while he finishes giving Aegon a sip from his cup. You wonder if it’s wine. “Well, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire.” He is smiling, perhaps at the thought of it.

‘No, I will not,’ the look on ’Nyra’s face seems to say. You cannot help but agree with her. Having babies seems like such a tiring thing to do.

“It's not so bad.” Alicent has to speak louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels and the hoofbeats of the horses. “The days are long, but Aegon came quickly and without fuss. Helaena, too.”

The nurse who is holding Aegon in her lap—Delia, you think her name is—waves a toy dragon in front of him. He smacks at it with his hands, frowning. You would never treat your toys like that.

“You should ride out with me today,” Papa says to ’Nyra. “Join in the chase, while you”—his eyes go to you—“sit about with your lady stepmother. Hm?”

“Okay, Papa,” you say quietly. Proper ladies do what their fathers tell them to.

’Nyra’s hand finds yours. “I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they're being slaughtered.” From the way her fingers squeeze yours and her stare fixes on Aegon, you know she doesn’t mean you when she says that. “I find it discomfiting.”

“It's a hunt, Rhaenyra.” Papa smiles. It is a careful sort of smile, not a happy one. Aegon’s yell distracts him for a moment, but he is quick to return to speaking to ’Nyra. “How would you like to participate?” he asks her.

“I’d be leaving my sister alone with the vultures of the Realm,” ’Nyra says, “so I'm not sure why I must.”

Trying to understand what everyone means by what they say is very difficult—you aren’t sure if she’s saying that the ladies coming along are vultures, or if she’s trying to say Alicent is. You don’t even know what a vulture is, so you aren’t sure if it is a bad or good thing to be.

“Because you are my eldest daughter. The Princess.” Papa looks like he is finding it harder and harder to stop himself from telling ’Nyra off. “And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Your sister says it softly, but it is easy enough for you to hear from your place next to her.

Papa doesn’t, though. “I'm sorry?”

Instead of making up a lie or saying that she did not say anything at all, ’Nyra repeats herself louder. It is terribly rude, but you enjoy watching as you have always enjoyed watching her being brave against other people. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“You wouldn't need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No one's here for me!”

Papa doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Alicent. They both just fall silent along with the nurses. Even Aegon stops making all his annoying noises, instead sitting so still that he could be sleeping if his eyes were not open.

You make sure to hold onto your sister’s hand even tighter. If there is anyone in the whole world who does know what to say, it is you. If only you were brave enough.

I understand, ’Nyra, you want to say. No one’s here for me, either. No one’s ever here for me.

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[ladylooch]

(Ik your requests are closed so pls don’t feel super pressured to write but you write Nico perfect everytime so I choose you :3)

So we all know neeks isn’t into anything super hardcore or kinky when it comes to sex. But when he’s particularly frustrated with hockey or the media he can get a bit rough, needing to take his emotions out on something. (Here’s the angsty part? Idk if this even counts as angst but) maybe one night after a rough game you’re kind of just letting him use you as he needs, but he kinda ‘blacks out’ for a sec and gets a little too rough with you. Nothing super dramatic but you have to say something about it and he’s instantly reeling himself back in and profusely apologizing and completely shifting focus to make it up to you. Poor baby is in near tears over hurting his girl.

His Superstar- Nico Hischier

A/N: I just love the way I was selected for this blurb. Hahahah! I love you anon 🤭 fluff my feathers, bby. You know it works. Also, you know I have to be big sis here and address this theme: communicate with your partners. Keep it safe and respect boundaries.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, sexual boundaries talk

If one more reporter asks Nico if he’s frustrated with his lack of scoring so far this season, he might have to show that reporter just how frustrated he actually is by popping them in the face. 

Day after day, he stands up there in front of their cameras and microphones, answering questions he really doesn’t want to. 

It never gets easier. The vets told him  it would in this first season as captain. It doesn’t. He still has to resist hulking out at some of the dumbass questions and comments he gets in his media scrums. 

But when he gets home to you, none of that matters. He falls into your world where he isn’t an NHL captain. He isn’t a multimillionaire who is underperforming. He isn’t an international superstar.

He’s only yours. Y/N’s Nico.

You, his sweet girlfriend, were waiting for him in the kitchen with fudge brownies using the chocolate his mom sent from Switzerland. He knew exactly what he wanted from you when he saw you in those tiny, red shorts you know drive him nuts.

And it wasn’t food. 

You were unsuspecting, chewing on your bottom lip at the outward frustration you saw gathering in Nico’s eyebrows on social media that morning. He was at the rink longer- getting treatment. But the wildness in his eyes when he walked in did not prepare you for the position you were currently in.

Nico slams into you deeply again. It feels incredible. You moan out your approval to him again. He has you on the kitchen table so he can use his thick thighs to pound at full throttle. Nico rarely gets like this and the excitement of it all has your nipples piercing the air, meeting his groans. His hands come up, groping your breasts as he leans over you more. He is so far gone, whispering in Swiss German, losing control of himself completely as he pushes harder into you. The table moves slightly. You reach out for his arm for safety, holding and rubbing at him while moaning his name.

Nico grabs both of your arms, pinning you down with his palms on both your forearms. You are so close to reaching your climax. You open your legs wider, taking him deeper. Your breathing stutters and you move to pull your arms from his grip to hold his shoulders for security. Nico forces his fingers deeper into you. You’re eyes snap open in unease. You try again. Now his grip is uncomfortable. 

“Nico let go.” You stutter abruptly, feeling panic close your throat. It takes him a moment to hear your words. His head is knocked back as he begins to dribble into you. The reaction of his impending orgasm has him tightening further. “Nico! Stop!” You yell suddenly. Nico snaps to immediately, releasing your arms. You push at his abdomen until he falls out of you. 

“What!? What happened!?” You are still splayed beneath him, completely exposed. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself. You can tell he didn’t mean to, but you suddenly feel very naked and uncomfortable. Nico can see that. He grabs his jacket on the chair to his right, draping it over you. His expression is worried. He tentatively reaches out for your hand. You lace your fingers together. “Did you say something and I missed it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Baby, what did you say? I didn’t hear. I’m so sorry. I’m so…” He trails off, dashing a hand through his hair. He looks around the table frantically, trying to find the pants you both dropped on the floor in haste.

“Nico.” You call, reaching for him to come back to you. He is berating himself internally. You can see it with every twitch of his facial features. His shoulders are slumping inward as he leans over you, reaching out for your cheek then recoiling his fingers. You grab his hand, placing it there and leaning into his touch. “Can you please calm down so we can talk about it?”

“I hurt you!”

“No you didn’t.”

“I crossed a line!”

“Yes, but unintentionally.” You sit up, very aware of your naked core settling against the kitchen table. You open your arms and Nico steps in. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, his jacket still covering most of your naked body. You turn so you can brush comforting kisses along his stubbled jaw. “I asked for you to let go of my arms.” Nico shakes his head.

“I didn’t hear.”

“I know.” You murmur, “That’s why I yelled.” He nods.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am okay. And I want to finish, but can we not do it this way anymore?”

“Of course.” He nods. He pulls away to look at your face. “I’m so sorry. I did not hear you. I would never keep doing something you weren’t comfortable with.”

“I know, Neeks. Now let me finish you off on the couch.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He lifts you up, walking to the leather couch. He chuckles as you shiver when your back hits it, like always. The air of safety returns as you straddle his lap, sliding down until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He grips your hips tenderly, creating a line for you to buck yourself into. 

When he came into the apartment, he wanted to take you his way. But now, watching you ride him so good, he thinks about how much better this is. You always have better ideas than him. The bed you picked. The apartment you moved into together. The bedding. This couch.

And this fucking tempo. His head falls back; his belly burns with fire. Your inner walls suck him deeper and he releases white ribbons into you.

“Baby.” He moans against your mouth as you wetly kiss him in praise. You’re not quite there yet. He sinks deeper into the couch cushions as you use him for your own pleasure. He watches with heavy and lustful eyes, biting his bottom lip when you shout his name to the ceiling. He curls forward, groaning, gripping himself into your chest as you pulse around his sensitive cock. He shivers when your nails drag along his shoulders, leaving red scratches as you bounce up and down once more.

“Oh god.” You croak out when you find your voice. “That was… Fuck.” 

“You’re a superstar, baby.”

“Thought that was you?” You murmur, raking a hand through his mused, brown locks.

“No… Right now I’m only yours.”

[euphorix-moon]

Sweeter than Sweet

Jealous!Ellie x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Ellie introduces you to her friends for the first time at an ice cream shop. Things were going great until you run into your ex...Abby

Wc:1.1k

A/n: I just love jealous Ellie and decided to write all about it

You and Ellie have been dating for about 2 months, and you guys have been nothing but happy from the start. You guys kept your relationship pretty quiet at the start, but now Ellie has decided that she wants to introduce you to her two best friends, Jesse and Dina. Ellie had set up a date for the four of you guys to meet up at an ice cream parlor tonight.

Ellie had given your hand a squeeze of encouragement, sensing your nerves as you two walked closer to the entrance. "Don't worry, babe, I'll know they love you. Also, I haven't told them we're dating yet, just so there's no added pressure of meeting them for the first time. You smiled understandingly at the response.

You two had walked in and immediately heard the sound of a woman screaming from across the room, Ellie, we're over here! Ellie smiled, waving back, and the two of you walked over to the table Dina and Jesse were sitting at. Someone is surely excited to see her, you mused to yourself. You two had sat down, and Ellie introduced you to both Dina and Jesse. You had found yourself getting comfortable easily with Ellie's friends, and you were thankful for that.

You had learned that Dina and Jesse were dating and that three of them had met and became friends in college. At that time, you were also able to share small facts about yourself. Conversations flowed smoothly between the four of you until the talking quieted down when an unfamiliar voice appeared, asking for an order from each of you.

You had turned your head to look up at the worker who was supposed to be taking your order, but you were instantly filled with surprise at who you came to look at.

"Omg, Abby, it's been so long; I never thought that I'd run into you in a place like this!" You stood up, hugging the woman, the both of you laughing in the embrace. "Don't you remember? I told you that one day I wanted to own an ice cream shop. Ellie loudly cleared her throat, breaking the conversation between you and Abby.

Realizing that three other people were staring at her confusedly. Abby apologized for getting distracted by introducing herself to the rest of the group as the owner of the shop and explaining that you two had dated in high school. Ellie was confused at first when she first saw the very friendly relationship between the two of you, but as soon as Abby mentioned that you two had previously dated, her guard went up. "Interesting, why'd you two break up? Jesse asked curiously. Abby had glanced at you cautiously as if searching your eyes for an answer, in which you continued, I moved out of the state for college. We decided to end things there because we didn't think we could handle a long-distance relationship".

"It was a melancholic day for me and one of the few things that I regret," Abby continued, smiling softly at you. You smiled back at her before staring back down at your hand, nervously fiddling with them.

"Can we order our ice cream now? Ellie had asked bluntly, Oh, yes, I'm sorry. Abby had taken their orders and left to get the group their ice cream. Ellie had thought that would be the last she would see of the woman.

She was so wrong.

Ellie had barely eaten her ice cream, losing her appetite quickly as she watched the scene go on to her left. Since the shop wasn't too busy, Abby brazenly brought up a chair to the group table and invited herself into the group outing. Ellie had been not so secretly glaring at Abby the entire time as she was chatting with the rest of the table. Ellie had found herself comparing everything about Abby to herself, not getting what all the hype was about—that the entire table seemed to be so unbothered by Abby's uninvited presence.

Your hot fudge sundae was turning out to be a messy affair. The chocolate sauce had somehow spread all over your mouth.

"You’ve got something on your face. Abby said, using her thumb to wipe away a smudge from your cheek, leaving you extremely flustered at the action.

"Els, are you okay?" Dina whispered,Ellie had found herself broken out of thought by a concerned Dina. Ellie smiled. "Of course I'm fine; why'd you ask? Dina had pointed at Ellie's ice cream cone. She had zoned out due to her own anger; she hadn't realized that she had gripped her cone so hard that the ice cream had dripped all over her hand. She had dumped the ice cream on a plate and covered it with a napkin. Licking off the remaining evidence from her hands.

"Ellie How did you like your ice cream? Abby asked, either not noticing or ignoring Ellie's aloof attitude toward her. Oh, yeah, it was great—delicious even. Ellie smiled, lying through her teeth. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. How about you, Y/N? Abby smiled at Abby before looking back at you. "I really enjoyed my sundae; I'm kind of bummed Ellie finished her ice cream; I really wanted to try her strawberry ice cream".

Well, maybe one day you can come back, and I'll make sure to have one ready for you on the house. You know, maybe we should exchange numbers so we can meet up again. Maybe I'll show you around the shop. There's always a seat open for you. Abby smiled shyly at you, and you yourself laughed again out of nervousness. You weren't really the best at these types of awkward situations.

Ellie snapped at that point.

She reached over, grabbed your face between her hands, and pressed your mouths together. You had opened your mouth in surprise, and Ellie took the chance to shove her tongue in. The chocolate and vanilla in your mouth mixed with her own strawberry, and you both eagerly licked up the sweet taste.

They finally parted, and Ellie deliberately let her tongue slowly lap the outline of your lips, licking up the chocolate sauce that she had missed. You just breathed heavily in response, your mouth slowly curling up into a smile.

"Now you know what mine tastes like. Ellie had a smug grin plastered on her face, but her eyes were trained on Abby, who had looked a little hurt by the scene that had unfolded in front of her.

Woah, woah, woah! Everyone had turned to look at a shocked and confused Dina and Jesse. Both of their mouths were agape, and both of their spoons clanged on the table.

Dina finally spoke.

Ellie, I thought you said you two were friends!

A/n: i hope you guys enjoyed, as always feedback is encouraged