#did i ever tell the story of the mouse that lived in my house for 18 months

[morethanwords229]

my cat is such a good buddy. i was having a lil post-work stress because it has been A Day (it has, in fact, been A Month) and he came over and sat on me and did the calming purring thing they do and he is so warm and cuddly and i love him so much even though he persists in letting live mice loose in my house at 3am so i have to catch them

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 014 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. modern royal au. explicit smut, 18+. fingering. angst. unedited. toxic characters & toxic relationships. fluff. romance.

notes. feedbacks / reblogs/ comments are appreciated <3

wc. 11k

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[ FOURTEEN ] you say, “I don’t understand,” and I say, “I know you don’t.” we thought a cure would come through in time, now I fear it won’t.

The night couldn’t come close to what Rintaro had dreamt of.

Laughter rang throughout the house, the gentle murmur of the ocean harmonizing with the convivial conversations, a moment that felt both timeless and precious. The beach house, aglow with soft, ambient lighting, mimicked the warm murmurs of his heart.

Rintaro sat between his brothers on the living room, a sense of profound contentment washing over him. His gaze swept across the scene before him: his family, radiant and effervescent, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames of a nearby bonfire. His brothers’ cheeks reddened by the liquor, their faces pulled back in laughter. They shoved one another as they fervently pressed on the game’s buttons, teasing and shoving one another.

He marveled at the simple pleasures – the shared stories, the clink of glasses, the playful banter that filled the air with a blatant sense of belonging.

The night was redolent with the scent of the sea, mingling with the fragrant notes of jasmine and citrus from the garden – he’d ensured to fill the surroundings with anything but vanilla in hopes of pleasing you. Leaning back on the couch, Rintaro watched as the waves lapped gently against the shore, their rhythmic cadence a soothing counterpoint to the lively atmosphere. The stars, scattered like diamonds, adorned the velvet sky – reminding him of you. How your eyes shone and glimmered like stars, or the way your face lit up each time he came close.

You no longer hated him. Or if you did, you hated him less.

You were finally looking at him like how you always used to.

In that moment, Rintaro felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude Everything felt right in his world. The beach house – a sanctuary where memories were made and love was rekindled. The laughter of his brothers, the shared glances and secret smiles. He felt connected to everything around him.

“What was that all about?”

Rintaro faced his brothers. The others who stayed around were huddled around the couch playing Mario Kart, their attention honed in on a deeply absorbed Tooru, determined to win.

“Yeah, what was that?” teased Atsumu, taking another swig of his drink. “Since when have you and Maiko become close?”

Tooru rolled his eyes. “We were always close.”

“Was close, until you got married,” corrected Osamu before sharing a knowing look with his twin. A split second later, and the twins erupted into laughter, the sound mocking and echoing. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for her.”

“I’m not. Don’t be stupid,” Tooru’s clicking on the controls got louder. “We just… fighting gets old sometimes, alright? You grow up eventually.”

“I’m pretty certain not fighting is not the same as ‘oh, I scored a point, let me run to my wife and hug her!’”

Rintaro and his brothers sniggered. It was the sight, indeed – one that both confused and amused all of them. The married pair had always been like cat and mouse, with Maiko being the cat and Tooru the mouse who ran away at the mere sight of her. But something had changed, something had shifted between the two. No one knew where it began, or how it happened. It was just there. A change so sudden Rintaro might’ve gotten whiplash, and wondered if Tooru had ever been interested in you in the first place. Or maybe he’d been so blinded by jealousy he assumed everyone was going to steal you away from him.

The thought of it made the liquor taste bitter on his tongue.

“The rest of you should get married and see for yourselves,” mumbled Tooru, “Might make you man up, too.”

His brother received a chorus of noncommittal grunts. None of them were in no rush to get married, more so because the Queen might arrange one for them. There’d been whispers here and there already how the twins might be next, and neither seemed ecstatic by the idea. Osamu was more on the neutral side, whilst Atsumu passionately went against it.

“Speaking of marriage, you and the Princess have been… oddly fond of each other.”

Rintaro’s eyes flickered to Osamu, brow raising at the hidden implications of his otherwise innocent tone. Although he knew his brother well – nothing was ever innocent with Osamu. He was merely a more discreet version of his reckless brother.

“We were always fond of each other.”

“I meant to say that she does not look like you she hates you now.”

“That’s because she does not,” affirmed Rintaro, feeling pride swell in his chest. He felt confident enough to believe in his words. He knew he’d been a good husband – he’d been attentive to all your needs, let you pull on the reigns and ordered him around like he wasn’t the Crown Prince. Curiously enough, Rintaro did not mind. He rather enjoyed that you were speaking with him again, and you’d tolerated him enough to even smile around his presence. That, and you’d finally let him hold you each time you slept. To say he was in heaven would be an understatement.

“We are finally heading in the right direction.”

“Right,” Atsumu scratched his nose, clearly not believing it. “If that’s what you say, sure. Congratulations on your everlasting marriage, brother.”

Rintaro bit back his tongue. Refusing to let his brothers ruin his night, he quickly stood up and bid them farewell. Find my wife was his only thought in that moment. He saw you rushing upstairs a while ago, but did not follow since you didn’t hear him calling out for you. Not that he thought much about it – he knew hosting and attending to everybody must’ve been quite stressful for you. You’ve been running around in circles.

Now that the night was ending, Rintaro’s only desire was to tend to you, and hold you close.

Taking two steps at a time, he quickly reached the bedroom. He hadn’t realized how eager he was to lay his eyes upon you. And as ridiculous as it sounded, he’d missed you. Having his brothers around meant both your attentions were divided. That could be changed, though. Everyone would soon retire in their rooms, and he could have you all for himself again.

Rintaro stepped quietly into your bedroom, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the expansive glass walls, casting a silvery sheen over everything it touched. He paused at the entrance, his breath catching as he saw you standing by the window. Your silhouette framed against the vast, star-studded sky. You’re wearing nothing but a silky white nightgown, the sides of it falling down your left shoulder to reveal a strip of bare skin. Bathed under the moonlight, he would’ve thought you were an angel who fell right before him.

Lost in thought, you gazed out at the night scenery.

The gentle waves of the ocean shimmered under the moon’s gentle caress, and the distant sound of the sea breeze whispering through the trees filled the air. The sight of you, bathed in the ethereal glow, made his chest tighten with something unfamiliar. Something alien, something stranger. You looked almost otherworldly, an arm wrapped around your center, and he found it impossible to look away.

The delicate curve of your neck, the lines that made up your profile – everything about you in that moment was perfection.

Rintaro felt his heart swell. Had you always been this beautiful? He knew you were attractive; he wouldn’t have bothered wasting his time on someone he didn’t find pretty. But you were always more than just a pretty face. You were so beautiful, so enchanting, standing there like a figure from a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. He was afraid just as he was bewitched – afraid he’d wake up and find none of this was real, and captivated by how ethereal you looked.

It seemed difficult to wrap his around the fact you were his, because how could he have been so lucky?

He approached you slowly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you murmured, sensing his presence without turning. It made him smile and pause on his tracks, his gaze fixated on your back before his eyes flickered towards the glass. Through the reflection, he saw you looking back at him, your lips pulling into the smallest of smiles.

His heart stuttered in his chest. Stupid – that’s what he felt. He was as nervous as a schoolboy. “Yes,” he replied softly, his voice full of emotion. As if pulled by an invisible string, Rintaro stepped closer to you – close enough he could inhale the scent of your shampoo and bury his nose in it. That’s exactly what he did. Weak when it came to his wife, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him, resting his cheek at the top of your head. “But not as beautiful as you.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes shining with the same light that illuminated the night. A smile played on your lips, and in that shared moment of silent connection, he felt an unspoken bond deepen between you. The night, the scenery, the serenity of their surroundings – it all paled in comparison to the beauty he saw in you.

He understood now – why men went to war and put their lives on the line because they believed in something. Because they had something, or someone, worth protecting. Now that you were in his arms, pliant and soft, wholly gorgeous and utterly his, he knew he felt the same.

He would gladly go to war for you.

In fact, there was nothing he couldn’t do for you, because of you. He understood now why people get married, because if this was how his daily life was going to look life, then it seemed a real shame that he could not live forever. A lifetime with you wasn’t enough. And for a brief moment, Iris’ face flickered through his head. This time, the image of her did not fill with him with adoration, or raging jealousy, the blinding effect of greed. He felt nothing but animosity towards her in that moment, his heart chiding him because how could he have been so stupid?

She was nothing like you. She couldn’t – and would never – come close to you.

Rintaro’s eyes softened as he studied your features. Your eyes were red, and dark circles lined them. “Hey,” he nudged your forehead with the pads of his knuckles, “What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating in his throat. It didn’t seem like it was nothing, but he didn’t push. He trusted you would tell him when you were ready. For now, he simply wanted to have you like this – in his arms, breathing in his scent, and eyes closed as he swayed you from side to side.

“I missed you.”

Your lips wobbled as you fought back a smile. “Did you now?”

Rintaro was not good with words – never have, never will. He decided in that moment it would be best to convey the emotions he couldn’t express through actions, kissing the top of your head and spinning you to face him. With your face cradled in his hands, Rintaro leant down, his lips gently – but passionately – meeting yours.

It isn’t his first kiss. But it felt like it was in that moment, his heart rampaging inside his ribcage when you made a small sound of surprise. The sound echoed through him, and he groaned, finding the last bits of his restraint breaking like a rusty chain.

Unable to help himself, he gathered you in his arms. Tapping you once on the ass, you immediately jumped into his hold, your legs wrapped around his waist. It was a blur after that – he’d fallen on the bed with you on top of him as soon as the back of his knees hit the wood. It’s nothing if not messy, just as it was sensual and slow – painfully and excruciatingly slow. Yet he couldn’t go fast, refusing to pin you down on the bed and take you hard.

Maybe it was the moonlight flittering in the room. Maybe it was your feminine, soft scent that made him lightheaded and heedy with desire. All he knew was that he wanted the moment to last, wanted to cherish every single thing he did.

So, slow it is. He was slow and took his time as he flipped you under him, using his knee to settle himself in between your legs. Your eyes are blown wide, the mounds on your chest rising up and down with each staggered breath. It filled him with a sense of achievement knowing he’d been the one to cause your undoing. Smiling softly at you, he dove in for another kiss, moaning all throughout at your taste – like red wine, soft and swirling at his tongue. With deft fingers, he reached over to slide the straps of your nightgown down your shoulder, pulling away to pepper small, heated kisses over the skin. You’re breathing hard the entire time.

And your hands are everywhere – tugging at the buttons of his shirt, pulling at the annoying pants he’d kept on. His laugh is muffled as he presses them to the nape of your neck, licking and sucking until you were keening under his palm.

He decided not to torture you any longer. Sliding his lips back to your mouth, Rintaro gently pushed you back to the pillows, his fingers finding purchase at your heat. The moment his hand came in contact with your damp underwear, you whimpered, and he greedily swallowed down the sound. You were so beautiful, so unreal.

Pushing the material to the side, he pushed two fingers and curled them in. Your reaction is instantaneous – pushing your hips off the bed, tilting your neck to the side as you gasped in his mouth. He took the chance and slid his tongue, sucking on yours while his mind ran a mile a minute.

It was as if his senses had been amped up to two.

The rustling of the sheets, the squelch of his fingers in your cunt, and the lewd, slick sounds of your tongues dancing together. It wasn’t long before you’re falling apart in his hands. Moaning, you tugged at his hair, the slight sting nearly driving him crazy. You did this to him; making him fall prey to your desire, making him bend his will at whatever you pleased. He realized you could stab him at this moment, slit his throat, abandon him – he would’ve died a happy man. Seeing you sprawled out before him, your nipples peaked and hard through the thin material of your nightgown, lips bruised and shiny with saliva. You’d never been more beautiful in his eyes.

And when you called out his name, not Your Highness, not my Prince, just Rintaro, he allowed himself to sink deep into you.

Rintaro has reached nirvana. With one hand holding you down by the hip, and the other cradling your face, his thumb caressing your lower lip, his eyes are locked with yours. The world could come crashing down, and nothing could tear his gaze away from you. He drinks you in greedily – every fluttering lash when he thrusts deep, or the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you squeezed tight around him. Beautiful, mine, mine mine mine – his throat constricts with the affection he’s trying so hard to hold back. He wanted to fuck you hard enough you left a deep imprint on the bed, the shape of your bodies embossed on the sheet. To slide in deep, and carve a space for himself inside you that no one else would reach.

He was a mess, and so were you. Wet, sloppy kisses that were more tongue and teeth than lips, with you holding onto him for dear life. It makes him chuckle, only for that same sound to come out garbled and chucked each time you tightened around him. And when you come, your cream outlining a ring around his cock, eyes shut tight and lower lip held captive by your teeth, Rintaro only had one thing in mind: marriage was a beautiful thing.

“You,” he croaked out, feeling a lump form at his throat. He couldn’t understand why his eyes glossed over with tears, or why the mere sight of you brought out with him emotions he was unfamiliar with. “I adore you.”

You reached over to cup his face, your eyes unreadable. “We should rest.”

The sheets were damp, your bodies sticky and uncomfortable. Yet Rintaro couldn’t pull away from you, not even if he were to be forcibly taken away. This is where he belonged – deep inside you, your foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling and your hands intertwined until your wedding rings clinked at the contact.

Here is where he belonged.

Kissing you one last time, Rintaro lets his arms fall around you. He collapses at your side, still buried in your warm, wet heat. He’d been mumbling sleepy nonsense as he tugged you closer to him, an arm wrapped around your midsection, your legs and his just one confusing entanglement. Slowly, his heart returned to its normal pace. It’s no longer screaming, rather humming your name. Nothing felt more right. You were there, your cheek resting on top of his bicep curled under you.

Drawing circles over your bare hip, the delicate scent of roses enveloped him, subtle yet intoxicating.

It was your scent, a fragrance that clung to you like an invisible halo. He couldn’t stop himself from breathing in deeply, savoring the floral notes that seemed to blend seamlessly with the night air. You smelled like grace and elegance, of tender moments shared and memories cherished. Like a princess from a fairytale, he thought, smiling into your skin, because you were a princess. His princess, his wife.

He loved the way you smelled, your fragrance lingering into the sheets and onto his skin long after you’d fallen asleep. Each inhalation was a revelation, a moment of pure, unadulterated connection he’d never felt before. Delicate and profound – you were kissed by the morning dew, fresh and timeless. He cherished it, breathed it in just in case he forgot before looking out the window.

Outside, the whole world stayed still. His Kingdom was out in the open, all for him to take. It was his – the land, the people, all the wealth and power one could wish for. Yet Rintaro felt no attachment to it.

The real treasure was there, in his arms, sharing the same bed with him.

The realization that he wasn’t desperate to be King anymore made him tighten his hold on you, his face buried at the crook of your neck. This was all he wanted now. To live the rest of his life like this – with you, in this home. But he knew it couldn’t be that easy. He had to sever all ties from his past before he could move onto the future, and fully enjoy the present.

Tomorrow, he would break up with Iris.

Tomorrow, he would tell you those three words he’d never uttered before.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞’𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

Through the efforts of the royal staff, the palace became a veritable spectacle of opulence and grandeur, transformed into a shimmering paradise befitting for the ninth prince’s debut ball. Crystal chandeliers hung like clusters of starlight from the vaulted ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the marble floors that gleamed underfoot. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries and floral arrangements that exuded a heady perfume – one that made Rintaro feel squeamish inside his suit.

Guests in their finest attire filled the grand ballroom, a sea of jewel-toned gowns and sharp tuxedos. The air buzzed with the lively hum of conversation, punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and bursts of laughter. An orchestra played a waltz, the music weaving through the crowd and inviting couples to the dance floor, where they glided with grace and precision.

Scanning the ballroom, it was a kaleidoscope of movement and color. Dignitaries, ambassadors, and nobles from far and wide had gathered, their presence a testament to the importance of the occasion. The most influential figures in the kingdom mingled effortlessly, their animated discussions ranging from politics to the latest fashions. The sheer number of luminaries was staggering, each one adding to the ball’s prestige and splendor. Leave it to the Queen to turn a young boy’s important day of his life as an opportunity to establish connections and flaunt her power.

At the center of it all stood Prince Tobio, resplendent in a tailored suit that accentuated his princely bearing. His eyes sparkled with excitement and gratitude as he moved through the crowd, graciously accepting well-wishes and gifts. He was the epitome of charm, engaging each guest with a smile that radiated genuine warmth.

Tables laden with an array of culinary delights lined the edges of the room, each dish a masterpiece of gourmet artistry. From delicate hors d'oeuvres to decadent desserts, the kingdom’s finest chefs had given their utmost best to impress. Servers moved with practiced elegance, ensuring that no glass went unfilled and no plate remained empty.

It was a beautiful ball, Rintaro had to admit. A ball he would’ve greatly appreciated were he not occupied digging his hands into Iris’ hip, her gown fisted under his palms. She tasted even more exquisite today, her lipstick had a touch of cranberries, and he could faintly taste fizzy champagne from her tongue.

It was an unspoken agreement between the two that they would keep their hands to themselves during public events like this. But it was far from being easy – not when Iris wore a tight-fitting gown that accentuated all her curves, leaving very little to Rintaro’s imagination. He’d seen it all, of course. He’d kissed and licked at every spot and corner of her body. He’d memorized the way she tasted on his tongue, or the face she made when he knew she was about to come. He knew all that, and still couldn’t get enough of her. Before the Princess could react, he’d already dragged her into the nearest hallway, his lips furiously crashing with hers.

Screw the party. It wasn’t like his presence was needed; all the Princes had attended. Surely they would not notice the absence of one.

Iris moaned into his mouth, her perfectly manicured nails running upward his suit. She broke free from him to breathe for a moment, but Rintaro was unbothered. He’d turned his attention to sucking down on her neck, his mind flaring with possessiveness. A strategically placed hickey for everyone to see would please him – but it would also make Iris mad at him.

“Your Highness, we should stop this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Iris,” he mumbled, uncaring as Iris wove her hands through his thick hair. “We’re just having fun, are we not? It’s not like anyone can see. I made sure we would be alone.”

“It’s not that,” she flattened her palms over his chest and gave a gentle shove. It’s enough for Rintaro to pull back, studying the way her lower lip puckered out – just like how she always did when she wanted something from him. “I just… I think our relationship is pointless. I don’t see this going anywhere.”

Rintaro chuckled, tipping her chin upwards to make her look at him. “Where would it go? You’re married. I’m in line for the throne. We couldn’t have any more than what we have now.”

“That’s exactly why we should break up. I’m married, and I’m tired of being passed around between you brothers like I’m some sort of toy. I’m a princess, Rinnie. I deserve to have more dignity than just being your… plaything, or whatever.”

“You are not my plaything.”

“I am not your wife, either.”

He stepped back. Tipping his head to the side, he let his eyes roam over Iris’ figure. She was gorgeous, that much was evident. She had sinful curves, her golden skin radiant as if she was touched by the light itself. It was fitting, he thought. Iris burned bright like the sun – passionate, fiery, and scalding. He’d known her long enough that she would stop at nothing to get at what she wanted, but her dilemma was not something he could easily offer her on a platter.

“Is that what you want, then? Title and dignity?”

Iris was a Princess by marriage, one arranged by the Queen herself.

However, Rintaro thought bitterly, no amount of elegance lessons or femininity practices could change Iris at her core. She was a Princess only by decoration, the twinkling tiara on her pretty head an accessory she received from being associated with his brother. But she was not regal – her temper too short, her lies too deceiving, and her smiles too empty.

He loved her, yet somehow the thought of sharing the crown with her felt wrong. Now that he thought about it, not even Princess Maiko would make a fitting Queen – not that Tooru would ever be in line for ascension. It was just a realization. Iris was too hollow in her heart, and Maiko was too childish.

None of them would make good Queens.

Iris shook her head, the tendrils of hair left to frame her face swaying at the motion. “I want security. I don’t want to keep fooling around with you if it risks my position. Unlike you, I don’t have a sweet, dear mother who would catch me if I’m kicked out of the Palace.”

Rintaro gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Fine. I’ll be King, then. And once I ascend to the throne, I’ll have you and my brother separated, and you shall be mine for the rest of our lives.”

She looked like she wanted to laugh at his face, which shouldn’t have to hurt as much as it did. “This is a ridiculous plan. You’re not serious, are you?”

His lips twitched. Somehow, he wanted to wipe that smug look off her face. It was a face he’d seen enough from his tutors and governesses – all too familiar with their disappointed shakes of their head, their pitying looks whenever Rintaro aimed too high. Just stick to the books, they said, there is no need for you to be great. Follow only what is expected of you. Rintaro detested that, to fit into their image of how he should and shouldn’t be.

Levelling his hard gaze with hers, he ripped himself away from her body. Scalded, burnt – that’s how he felt each time he was with her.

“Watch me.”

Rintaro stood at the edge of the ballroom, his keen eyes sweeping over the glittering crowd. His heart was set on finding a suitable potential wife, someone who embodied innocence and modesty. He sought a woman whose presence did not draw undue attention, someone who exuded a quiet grace that promised loyalty and submission. He needed a woman who would be malleable to the wife he wanted, the Queen he needed her to be. Even if it was only to prove a point to Iris that he could succeed, Rintaro still felt that he could not take his decisions lightly.

He had to consider the throne, the mother of his children, a future Princess and a potential Queen.

Observing the throng of guests, his gaze flitted past the more striking and flamboyant ladies who basked in the limelight. They were all stunning, of course. He’d be lying if his gaze did not linger longer than what was seemed acceptable whenever the ladies giggled at his attention. Nevertheless, his attention lingered on those who seemed to blend in the background, their beauty understated and their demeanor serene. Surely one of them would catch his eye. That’s all he wanted – an unassuming, plain, and dull doll whom he could shape to be good enough to stand next to him. He was the Crown Prince, after all.

He looked and looked – and there you were. In a dark blue gown, your eyes downcast in shyness. You moved with an elegance that spoke of gentleness and humility, smiling politely at everyone who greeted you. Still, he could tell you felt out of place. You stuck out like a sore thumb, plastered at the wall, staring out into nothingness and looking like you’d rather be anywhere than here.

And the best part? No other men approached you.

With his goal in sight, Rintaro approached you, impressed with the way you carried yourself with quiet dignity, your every gesture imbued with a subtle charm. You seemed unassuming, yet your eyes held a depth in them that intrigued him. He smiled to himself, deciding that a demure maiden like you might just be the perfect match he was seeking.

“Splendid ball, is it not?”

“Your Highness,” your eyes widened, and Rintaro awaited it. A crack in your composed stature, a flaw for him to point out. Yet, you did not stutter despite your initial shock, your features schooling into that of well-practiced manners in the blink of an eye. “A most wonderful ball, indeed.”

As the Prince surveyed you, his eyes were drawn to your modest adornment. You wore a simple necklace and earring set, understated yet remarkably elegant. It was vastly different from the layers and chunks of crystals the other ladies wore. It was then that recognition sparked in his mind – the jewelry was from a rare collection that had once captivated Her Majesty. He could still remember that day clearly; his mother’s disappointment when she learned it was already sold. Very rarely did the Queen not get what she wanted, but to think that you – simple, quiet, and shy – would be the one to snatch it right under Her Majesty’s nose.

He had to admit, you piqued his curiosity and admiration.

“My baby brother is finally on his path on becoming a man,” he continued, effortlessly swiping a flute of champagne when a servant passed by. You were quick to follow his action, and Rintaro couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name, and your face… Have I seen you around before?”

“Probably not, my Prince. These events are not really my thing.”

He didn’t doubt that. Shortly, you introduced yourself, shocking him as he learned you were a daughter of one of the three noble clans that helped his ancestors build the Inarizaki Empire. He hid his surprise by taking a sip of his drink, and pretended to be nonplussed.

“A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

“How very kind of you, my Prince.”

Deciding you couldn’t be any more perfect, Rintaro cut to the chase. “Are you married?” he’d blurted out, amused by the way your brows shot up. A quick glance at your gloved fingers showed that you were ringless, but so was he, and his heart was still taken by another. “Or, to be married?”

“No. I’m… as available as a lady can be.”

“Then I suppose you would not mind entertaining a Prince bored out of his mind for one night, do you?”

The internal dilemma is written all over your face. It’s obvious you didn’t want to dance, but who are you to say no when the Crown Prince has his hand outstretched?

“Oh, uh… I don’t think you would want me as a dance partner, Your Highness. I have been told I have two left feet–”

“Don’t worry about it. You can step on my feet if you require,” he encouraged, “Come on. Will you really deny your future King a dance?”

“If you insist…”

Forcing a smile to yourself that was more shy than uncomfortable, you eventually placed your hands on his. A perfect fit, if he dared to say it.

The orchestra struck up a waltz, and Rintaro led you to the dance floor. As you began to move, there was an initial and pronounced awkwardness, your hesitance palpable. You were able to follow his lead with precision, your steps flawless and elegant, yet your body was stiff with discomfort. You even stepped on him once or twice, grimacing and quickly apologizing – much to his chagrin. He hadn’t realized one could look so adorable in their conquest of trying not to crush his toes. Despite your unease, however, you danced with a grace that naturally came to you.

As the dance progressed, Rintaro’s eyes scanned for Iris. He found her stood beside Kiyoomi, her husband uninterested and unresponsive as ever. He had his back turned to her, his eyes closed as he leant against the wall. Nursing a drink in her hands, Iris’ gaze connected with his, her eyes narrowing at Rintaro’s hand resting on your waist. Then, her gaze flickered upwards to smirk at him – daring him, challenging him, to prove his words.

Rintaro clenched his jaw. He’d been so distracted by Iris he didn’t notice you’d stepped on his toes again until a short laugh bubbled up from his throat. It surprised you both – neither of you had expected he would find it funny. But he did, and he found himself inexplicably drawn to you.

When the music finally ceased, you both shared a knowing smile before doubling over in silent chuckles. Rintaro pointed at his toes, faking injuries until you were apologizing again and again – your eyes lighting up in joy.

“You are a splendid dancer. It is a shame you look like you would not entertain me for a second one.”

You placed a hand to your chest. “Of course I would never say no to you, Your Highness.”

“So you would not mind if I asked you for another dance later?”

“If it is what you would like.”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

 He led you off the dance floor after that, compelled with a desire to actually speak to you. And so conversations were had, and he soon discovered your intelligence and wit, the humor lighting up your face and bringing a warmth to your demeanor. It was a warmth people from the Palace lacked, a genuinity in them he never knew was possible.

Your laughter, a sound he found unexpectedly enchanting, softened your features, making you even more beautiful. In those moments, he realized with a pleasant surprise that he enjoyed your company. In fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed that hard, or spoke so easily with someone like he’d known them forever.

Could it be fate, then? Was he always meant to find you?

Shaking his head in laughter, his bangs fell into his eyes. “You are very pleasant company to have. I’m surprised no one has snagged you for themselves yet.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nobody is interested.”

“I find that a shame. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“There are just more eligible, more charming ladies out there. One with more charisma, and a little more grace–”

“But they do not have your humor. Or your wit,” tracing his gloved fingers to the curve of your cheek, Rintaro’s voice lowered as he spoke softly. “Or your beauty.”

The moment your breath hitched, Rintaro learned of a new desire: to learn what other reactions he could pull from you. It made him want to learn of all the most heart-fluttering lines, to memorize poetry and recite them to you, if only it would make you turn away, abashedly, once more.

“You are too kind, my Prince.”

“I am only being truthful,” he smirked, “And I have always been a lover of all that is beautiful.”

As the evening wore on and Rintaro spent more time with you, your innocent charm and unguarded nature became increasingly apparent. He felt a calculated determination solidify within him. You were the perfect person to be his Princess – not because his heart yearned for you, that was impossible. He had Iris already. Rather, your genuine demeanor and lack of guilde made you an ideal figure to shape and influence, a malleable partner who would submit to his will and fortify with his position without the complications of a more independent, fiery spirit.

You were simple, quiet, and boring. And the plan was simple enough: win your heart, marry you, become King, and cast you aside once he could finally be with the one he loved. Rintaro knew with absolute certainity when that time came, you would be too deeply in love with him. And when one was in love, one would forgive.

+

“You came.”

“It would be considered treason if I didn’t.”

Ah, yes. You and your quick remarks. It was one of the many things he liked about you. Smiling to himself, he pulled you deeper into the gardens. “Come. Follow me.”

It had been exactly three days since Tobio’s debut ball, three days since he’d laid his eyes on you. Rintaro wasted no time formulating his plan and putting it into action. He immediately called on you, made a formal visit to the Yuzuru Estate, and finished reading The Art of War if only to impress your father. That night he found out your father was also the Kingdom’s general, Rintaro hesitated. You seemed too important a figure to depose when the time came. But the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.

He would be the future King, and the General was loyal to the crown and whoever sat in it. He would simply do his best to win your parents’ favor – which wasn’t all that hard. As soon as he arrived, your mother was swooning, and Rintaro knew he’d already won.

Today marked the first of your many dates. In a year or two, he would finally marry you.

Walking through the gardens with your hands shyly brushing against each other, Rintaro struggled to contain his emotions. It was his first time wooing a lady, much less be with someone who he’d never known before. Things were different with Iris; she approached him first. But with you… Rintaro felt that he had to be careful. Precise. Perfect.

He’d stayed up all night searching up on good date spots before deciding to invite you to the Palace. He didn’t think a public appearance for a first date would be good. Sure, he liked you, but things could still go wrong. But here in the privacy of his home, it felt more natural to act like he was this charming, effortlessly smooth Prince he wanted to present himself as.

Thankfully, the day was beautiful.

The morning sun bathed the palace gardens in a soft, golden glow, casting delicate shadows among the vibrant flowers and lush greenery. As you strolled through the grounds, he spotted you standing by a rose bush, your face turned towards the sky, basking in the gentle warmth of the new day.

For the first time, he saw you clearly in the daylight, and the sight took his breath away.

Your beauty, which had been understated under the dim ballroom lights, now seemed to radiate with an ethereal quality. The sunlight danced on your hair, highlighting its hues, and your skin glowed with a natural luminescence. The simplicity if your attire, a pale yellow dress, unadorned by the elaborate jewels of the previous evening, only served to enhance your natural beauty.

Your eyes, bright and clear, reflected the sky’s azure, and your lips curved into a serene smile as you inhaled the fragrant air.

Unknowingly, his mouth opened before he could think twice about it. “I thought you were beautiful in the moonlight, but seeing you for the first time in daylight… you are nothing short of bewitching.”

The smile on your face faltered, your fingers nervously twisting the fabric of your dress.

“Your Highness, if I may be so bold–” you sucked in a breath, grimacing, “–why are you interested in me?”

Rintaro blinked back in confusion. He was the Crown Prince. He was wealthy, handsome, and powerful. Shouldn’t any woman he showed interest in look delighted? Why did you look baffled instead?

Scratching his ear, his brow furrowed. “Do I have any reason not to be? I enjoyed my dance with you, and so did our conversations. You are… different from everyone I’ve met. I found myself unable to stop thinking of you ever since I held your hand in mine,” he said, surprising himself that he actually meant what he said. “When I formally called to your parents to court you, they welcomed me like I was their own son. I knew immediately I wanted to give their daughter the whole world and nothing less.”

Your pretty face pulled into a frown. “But you do not know me yet.”

He gestured to the gardens around you. “That is what we are here for – to get to know each other.”

“And if you do not like what you learn?”

Ah. So that’s what you were worried about?

He wanted to call you out for being silly; he would never choose someone he did not think was good enough for him. Love or not, he needed a woman he wouldn’t be ashamed to marry. However, he kept that sentiment to himself, because he, too, was curious on who you were beyond the surface.

“Test me, my Lady. You’ll find I might like you more than you’ll know,” he insisted, carefully picking out a rose and picking out the thorns. Your eyes widened in panic, but he merely brushed you off with a reassuring smile. Once the rose was picked free of its thorns, Rintaro offered it to you. “So tell me. What exactly can I do to win your heart?”

You giggled, twirling the rose between your fingers. “I believe you could win anyone’s heart. You’re a Prince, after all.”

“I do not want to steal anyone’s heart. I only want yours,” he smirked, basking in the way you hid your flustered face behind the rose. He couldn’t understand this sensation – like a flower blooming in season, his heart slowly unfurling as he leant down to your level, using his fingers to delicately pry the flower. It truly is a shame; you didn’t need to hide your lovely face so much.

“Are you saying if I were not a Prince, I would not even be worth your time?”

You huffed, turning away from him. Behind you, you could hear Rintaro laugh, the both of you knowing you were determined to not let the Prince read you like an open book. “I think… even if you were a Prince, I would appreciate it if a man took his time to get to know me.”

“I see,” he says, unfazed by the challenge. “It’s a good thing I have all the time in the world – there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than know you, my Lady.”

The palace gardens lay before you, a hidden paradise veiled in the delicate glow of twilight. He gently guided you along the cobblestone path, his heart pounding in anticipation. This was your first date, and he listened to every word that escaped your lips. Everything you wished for was going to be his bible now, his guide into winning your heart. Not a word spoken by you was left unheard, and Rintaro already had your heart mapped out inside his head.

As you walked, the gardens seemed to come alive. Each flower and leaf whispering secrets of the past. The air was heavy with the fragrance of blooming roses, their velvety petals a riot of colors against the lush greenery. And when you walked past him, he vaguely realized the scent was emanating from you, too.

Rintaro stopped by a secluded alcove, where an array of moonflowers and lillies bathed in the sinking glow of the sun. He turned to you, his eyes reflecting the gentle light.

Reaching out, he gently took your hand and led you closer to a cluster of white lilies, their pure, delicate blooms standing tall and proud. “You remind me of these lilies,” he continued, his voice low and sincere. “Graceful, elegant, and timeless. They possess a quiet strength, a beauty that captivates and endures.”

You looked at the lilies, then back at him. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” you whispered, voice tinged with awe.

He smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckles. “Nor have I, until I saw you. Just as these lilies thrive here in this garden, I hope you’ll find your place in my life, bringing beauty and grace to every moment we share.”

Your nervous giggle echoed through the alcove. “That’s a little fast, isn’t it, Your Highness?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “My apologies. You couldn’t blame me for getting excited,” at his words, you both shared an easygoing laugh.

Soon, he fell into step beside you, enamored by the way you fit so perfectly beside him like this – with him standing tall in his boots, and your steps falling in sync with your dainty heels that peeked out often from your dress.

“What would your dream life look like?”

“Dream life?” you hummed to yourself, your hands joined d behind your back. “I guess… I’d want to live by the sea – with a nice, beautiful house. I want it big enough that I feel like I could walk there forever and not get tired, where there’s a sunroof and plenty of glasses so it looks like I’m being bathed by sunlight each time. That sounds perfect, does it not?”

“It does,” he could picture it already, this house of yours. It’s only the first date, and Rintaro was already eager to go out and find this house you dreamt of. And if it did not exist, then he would have to build it with his own hands. “Does this dream life include being with a loved one?”

You snuck a shy glance at him. “Well, of course, but it never crossed my mind I might get married for love someday.”

“Let the world surprise you, my Lady.”

The two of you stood there, surrounded by the fragrant blossoms and the gentle glow of dusk, the world narrowing to just the two of them. Thought not yet in love – and he could never be – Rintaro savored every moment spend in your company, enjoying your conversations and the shared laughter that echoed under the orange sky. In your presence, he felt a rare ease, a comforting companionship that hinted at deeper – more intimate possibilities – yet unexplored.

And when you gazed up at him, with your head tilted down and peeking up only from your lashes, your smile shy and reserved, Rintaro knew he had to see you again. Soonest, at best.

“May I call on you again?”

You dipped into a curtsy. “Of course, Your Highness.”

“A call you would heed, I’m hoping?”

Biting your lip, you nodded. “I’ll be there. You know I could never refuse a Prince.”

+

A week later after your first date, Rintaro realized – much to his dismay – that he does not have any pictures of you. With flaming cheeks, and a hand to cover his face, he quickly typed your name on the Internet. There aren’t much results, as he expected. But there was one article, dated six months ago when you were sighted travelling with your mother in Greece. You’re in a flowy, white sundress, waving shyly at the cameras. There’s a hibiscus tucked at your ear, the flower the exact same shade as your lipstick.

Rintaro’s arm draped over his head.

“What am I doing…” he muttered to himself, and with one eye peeking at his phone, he saves your photo and sets it as his phone wallpaper.

+

It’s around your eleventh date when he decided that he wanted to take you out personally, sans the security team and the cameras following around. It wasn’t anything extravagant; just a simple, romantic dinner at your favorite restaurant. It went like any other date – peaceful, enjoyable, memorable.

The night wasn’t any different than the others. At least not until he’d dropped you off at the Yuzuru Estate. You’d been so beautiful that night in your dress, the fabric cascading like silk spun from dreams. You’d always been like that – dreamy, a tad too good to be true.

Driving you home along winding lanes dappled with moonbeams, Rintaro sensed the weight of the moment poised delicately between them. Halting at your place, he stopped you before you could move. He was a gentleman, he should open the doors for you, but his touch felt different. He felt different. His gaze traced the contours of your face, where the shadows danced upon it. In that suspended breath, in the silence of his car where he could hear the rapid beating of both your hearts – and he thanked the Gods he wasn’t the only one nervous – Rintaro leaned in.

The first touch of your lips set his nerves on fire. Like fireworks exploding within him, his stomach tumbleweeding and crashing, like being sucked into a black hole and drowning in non-existence.

It isn’t his first kiss – that was Iris. But it might as well be his first kiss, with the way he’s immediately hungering for more. To kiss you harder, press against you with more ferocity than he ever thought he was capable of, and to pull you onto his lap because you simply weren’t close enough. No, he wanted you to take up every space and inch of his life. To breathe in the same air you did, to exist under the same stars and moon. You could consume him and he would thank you for it.

Was this how first kisses felt like? If it was, then he would willingly sacrifice one of his idiot brothers in the hopes you felt the same. That he’d made your first kiss a good and memorable experience, instead of feeling like it’d been stolen just like Iris did.

All too quickly, the moment ends. The need for air makes you both pull apart, eyes wide and breathing heavily. The kiss is short but sweet, one that Rintaro would stay up all night thinking about over and over again. He almost regretted it, how it was over sooner than he’d liked – until you leaned in and kissed his cheek, mumbling a quick “thank you for dinner!” before running out the car, and disappearing behind the gates.

Rintaro fell back into his seat. Any other time, he would’ve felt upset you didn’t let him escort you back the house. He’d let it slide for tonight – only because you were embarrassed, and that sneaky cheek kiss was enough to appease him.

He doesn’t pull out from the driveway until you were waving at him from your bedroom window. Windows rolled down, he waved back, and headed back for the Palace.

The entire ride back, Rintaro had his thumb swiping over his lips every so often.

Your lip gloss still lingers, and he can’t help but wish you’d been his first kiss instead.

Tonight, Rintaro whispered to himself, tonight he would tell you everything.

On the secluded stretch of sand where the ocean collided, Rintaro had meticulously laid out a tableau of romance beneath a canopy of stars. Each detail spoke of his adoration: a gossamer canopy adorned with twinkling lights gently swayed in the sea breeze, casting a warm glow over the fine linens and flickering candles. Seashells adorned the table, their iridescent surfaces reflecting the moon’s gentle caress.

A carafe of chilled wine stood ready, its glass catching the shimmering light of the evening tide. Nearby, a small fire crackled, casting a warm, inviting glow amidst the cool embrace of the night.

As Rintaro amidst the romantic dinner he’d prepared, a nervous anticipation fluttered in his chest.

Tonight, amidst the symphony of the waves and the whisper of palm fronds, he would finally reveal the depth of his heart. It would be more than a confession – it was also the right time to ask for your forgiveness. Until now, he still couldn’t believe you chose to be by his side after everything he did. How you chose to protect him, and risked meeting men alone, all to save his reputation. He’d hurt you, over and over, and you’d chosen to stay loyal, over and over. He had to make sure tonight was perfect.

He’d been so desperate he turned to his brothers for help: Osamu prepared the meals, Tobio went out to buy a bouquet of flowers, and Kiyoomi helped him decorating the table. Kiyoomi seemed hesitant at first, scowling down at him when he knocked down his brother’s door. Rintaro couldn’t blame him – he’d been an awful husband to you, no excuses. But he could be better. He would be better. And after seeing his sincerity, Kiyoomi eventually stopped grumbling and helped him.

“Don’t mess this up. This might be your last chance,” he’d warned Rintaro, and he couldn’t agree more. “And for the record, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for her.”

When Rintaro woke up that morning and you weren’t beside him anymore, he felt true fear for the first time. He felt like he was brought back to that time you’d gone for Itachiyama, and left him behind. That bone-chilling fear of seeing your side of the bed empty was enough to wake him up.

He couldn��t restart over from zero, but he could try. He would go down on his knees to beg for forgiveness if he had to. He’d do anything – absolutely anything – just to win your heart once more. He’d done it before, he could do it again. Only this time, he promised to keep your heart safe. Rintaro didn’t want to hurt you anymore.

But before he could confess to you, he had to get this over with first.

With the sun dipping low on the horizon, the sky painted in hues of melancholy gold and crimson, Rintaro made his way silently toward the beach. The gentle lapping of the waves provided a solemn rhythm to his steps, each footfall heavy with the weight of his purpose. There, amidst the soft, shining sands, he spotted Iris, her figure a silhouette he’d immediately recognize against the backdrop of the fading day. She sat with her shoulders slumped, her gaze distant and eyes glistening with unshed tears.

The air around them hung heavy with the unspoken knowledge of what was to come.

In the quietude of the moment, Rintaro approached with a heavy heart, knowing that their time together would soon unravel like the receding tide.

“Hey,” he mumbled, crossing his legs as he filled in the space next to her. Beside him, Iris rested her cheeks on her arms, her knees drawn together. Rintaro sucked in a breath. Iris looked… miserable. Her skin was dull, and dry. If he’d seen this side of her months ago, he would’ve reached over and wiped the tracks of dried tears on her face. Pulled her into his arms as he consoled her, and maybe even joked he’d beat up whoever made her cry.

But he couldn’t do that now. He didn’t want to, either.

Looking at Iris felt like looking at a stranger. Rintaro had loved her for a long time – ever since he was eighteen. Now, eight years later, and she still held a portion of his heart. Not romantically, but he’d known her forever. She’d been his first kiss, his first love, his first time, his first everything’s. She was the one who’d taught him how to handle his alcohol, the one who told him it was okay to not be so perfect, and when the time came – the one who’d been the reason Rintaro found you.

He couldn’t hate her, not really. Iris wasn’t a bad person; she was just misunderstood. She was lonely, desperate, and didn’t have a place to call home. She had nothing at all before she was suddenly thrown into a loveless marriage with a man who couldn’t stand her. And how could he hate her? He was just to blame as she was.

He was just as lonely as she was.

“Hey,” she greeted back, her voice cracked and broken.

“Are you alright?” he couldn’t help but ask, bumping his shoulder with hers. The contact didn’t set his skin on fire anymore, and Rintaro pursed his lips as he recalled it all – the times he’d obsessed over her, only for it to disappear. Like it never existed in the first place. In the back of his mind, fear loomed over him again – because what if that happened to you, too? What if, one day, you looked him in the eye and couldn’t recognize him anymore? What if one day, all the love you had for him vanished into thin air, too?

“I’m okay,” Iris said, even if they both knew she didn’t mean it.

“Kiyoomi told me you barely left your room.”

She chuckled, the sound mocking and muffled as she buried her head in her arms. “Pardon me if I didn’t want to join your play pretend of house. My entire stay here has been awful. You’re all acting like… like everything is okay.”

Rintaro sighed, “Listen, Iris… I know what we had was complicated. You’re married, and I was young and foolish. We did things we weren’t supposed to do – things we cannot take back,” he admitted, finally braving to reach over and cup her knee. Iris didn’t react, didn’t move or pull away. She remained frozen where she sat, save for the slight shake of her shoulders. Rintaro’s heart ached. “What we had was special, and I cherished it, cherished you, but I think we should finally end things.”

“You’re breaking up with me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. One Rintaro couldn’t deny.

“Yes.”

Iris lifted her head, her face tear-stained as she laughed. “You should’ve done that a long time ago, if you weren’t so damn stubborn.”

Despite himself, Rintaro’s lips pulled into a bitter smile. “That would be my fault. I thought I was in love with you.”

“Are you not?”

“I don’t know,” he said, even though his heart was screaming no, no I don’t. “I always thought it was going to be you. You were the only one who I ever wanted this much, and when I found out you married my brother, I thought my world was going to end. That I was put on this Earth just to suffer and watch you fall for someone else when that should’ve been me. But then she came, and – and marriage is not so bad. If it’s going to be like this every day, I would gladly endure the troubles of the throne. I can do anything as long as she’s by my side,” the words are spilling out of his mouth, his heart, before he could stop himself. Rintaro clutched at his chest, watching the way his wedding ring glinted with the sunset. “I’m not sure if it’s love, but I do know I can’t watch someone I care about slip through my fingers again. I lost you already; I can’t lose her, too.”

“You’re giving up on becoming King? Just like that?”

“Not entirely. The throne is my birthright,” he reminded her, hating the way she always seemed to doubt him even in their end. But he was tired, so tired, that he no longer argued. “I just want to enjoy my marriage, Iris. And I think that’s something you’ve always wanted too.”

“So that’s it. We’re over.”

“We are.”

“Good,” she sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her palm. The relief on her voice was palpable, and Rintaro lifted his head to look at her – watching the way her face broke out into a giddy smile. “Because I never wanted to be with someone like you in the first place.”

“Someone like me? What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you know, Rin?” she turned to him, her smile cruel, and her eyes so cold it brought a chill down his spine. But nothing could compare to the dread he felt when he heard her next words, and that’s when he knew – his life would never be the same ever again.

The morning unfolded with a gentle whisper of anticipation when you returned to your room, a cryptic note left behind by Rintaro. It bore a simple request: “Dress up for tonight. Meet me at the beach.”

You loathed the way your heart fluttered with a blend of nervous excitement and curiosity. You loathed yourself even more for what you let happen last night – with him making love to you, and worshipping your body before you’d fallen asleep in his arms. It was slowly becoming torture. You didn’t know how to act anymore, how to keep up this act. How could you have been so foolish – believing that he could buy you a house and ignore his girlfriend, and suddenly that made everything okay? Because it didn’t. It didn’t change the fact that he loved her first, he loved her long enough that he’d gotten her pregnant.

It hurt even more the longer you pondered about it – did he know the entire time? Was that why he’d suddenly become sweet? The longer you thought about it, the more you felt sick to your stomach whenever you entertained the possibility that maybe he didn’t know.

Maybe he’d just truly had a change of heart.

Maybe he’d finally fallen in love with you.

But if that was real, all would change once he found out he was going to become a father. Iris couldn’t get rid of the baby – it was a royal child, unborn or not. She must’ve known that, too, otherwise she wouldn’t be so desperate. And what would happen next? You could lose Rintaro and Kiyoomi all at once.

You crept out of your husband’s arms the moment you came to. He was still fast asleep, looking so at peace and unaware that it felt wrong to leave. But it felt even more wrong to stay, so quickly exited the room and started early. Breakfast was served, the other Princes started playing again, until you couldn’t handle it anymore – pretending everything was fine, pretending like you couldn’t notice Rintaro’s longing stares at you from the other side of the room. You avoided him under the guise of tending to your guests, and it wasn’t long enough before he’s kissing your cheek, and went upstairs to disappear.

That was when you saw his note.

Now, you stood before an array of delicate fabrics and jewels. Choosing with care, you draped yourself in a gown of celestial blue, its silk like a cascade of moonlit waves against your skin. Jewels, glinting like captured stars, adorned your neck and wrists, adding a subtle sparkle to your reflection in the mirror.

As evening descended, you made your way down the beach, the scent of night-blooming flowers mingling with the soft rustle of your gown. There, your eyes caught sight of candles lit in the distance, a scatter of petals around a table and two chairs. The glow of lanterns and the shimmer of a thousand stars above awaited you like a secret garden of enchantment. There, beneath the velvet sky, you stood in quiet expectation, your heart racing with the promise of an eventful evening.

The dinner set up, adorned with its evening charms, you awaited Rintaro’s arrival with a patient grace. You stood there, rubbing your hands down your bare arms with growing unease as the minutes stretched into an eternity.

Each passing second seemed to amplify the rustling of the wind, heightening your senses to every distant footfall and murmur of the night. Your fingers, intertwined nervously, betrayed the inner turmoil mirrored in your furrowed brow and the anxious flutter of your heart. Time itself became an adversary, teasing you with its slow passage as uncertainty wrapped around you like a shroud.

The breeze picked up, whispering the unspoken question – where was he?

With each unanswered moment, your apprehension deepened, casting shadows upon the once-hopeful tableau of your rendezvous. When he finally appeared, a chill seemed to settle over the air despite the warmth of the evening.

Rintaro’s handsome features, usually a portrait of princely composure, were now etched with lines of sorrow and eyes that spoke of turmoil within. In his trembling hand, he held a bouquet of deep red roses, their velvety petals trembling as if mirroring his own unsteady emotions. Every movement he made seemed to carry the weight of a world crashing down upon him. The carefully chosen attire that once adorned him with regal splendor now draped over a figure that seemed to struggle beneath its weight.

As he approached, your eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes – of secrets unsaid, of a heart breaking under the strain of unspoken burdens. The bouquet he offered, usually a gesture of affection, now felt like a peace offering. A plea for understanding amidst the raging sea of emotions crashing against the shore of your fragile marriage.

The question hung at the tip of your tongue. Do you know? you wanted to ask, your fingers trembling and your eyes welling up with tears when Rintaro pointedly avoided your gaze.

“Rin,” you pleaded, closing the distance between you two as you stepped closer to him. Please, say something. Tell me, do you know? Did she tell you?

The questions die at the back of your throat as Rintaro closes his eyes, leaning forward and kissing your cheek. Your husband had never felt so far away than he did in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, and pulled away. His words were loud and clear, yet his gaze was distant – like you weren’t even there in front of him. “This was a mistake. We should get divorced.”

[kaaaaaaarf]

Hey you, I'm here for Wolfstar raising harry recommendations 🤗

Hello!! I'm also going to tag @imsiriuslyreading because I know Lana was also looking for some recs!

This is by no means a comprehensive list, but these are some of my very favs:

Wolfstar Raising Harry

Ten Reasons (To Go To Michigan) by @greyeyedmonster-18 (I also love these two unrelated wolfstar raising harry microfics by the same author) — This is a Sirius raising Harry and meeting recently divorced Remus (who happens to be a writer) on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. A must read! that's the art of getting by by sarewolf — Remus becomes Harry's guardian and they move to a muggle village in the middle of nowhere. Eventually, Sirius is freed and comes to stay with them, but can they get back what they once had? Honestly, majorly obsessed with this one, but watch out for the angst! Stealing Harry by copperbadge — In an alternate universe where Sirius Black never went to Azkaban, Harry divides his life between the Dursleys' house and Mr. Black's bookshop -- until Sirius realises what the Dursleys are doing to him, and takes him away from their care. This series is fucking amazing and actually spans several of the books!! Mr Mouse by TracingPatterns (which continues in their wolfstar raising harry series) — A lovely little piece in which a young Harry learns about grief.

Like Real People Do by third_crow (part of the coffee shop au series) — Sirius raising Harry, when he starts falling for local barista Remus Lupin. This is also a beautiful story about what it's like to live with epilepsy and I am extremely obsessed with this series. The Things I Did by Lolo_row — canon compliant, Remus gets custody of Harry and works to get Sirius out of Azkaban. A bit of angst, but tasty! the dogfather au by hollimichele — Harry was raised by his adoptive muggle family, when one day a big black dog shows up. His parents just thinks he's a stray, and Padfoot becomes the family pet (to keep an eye on Harry, and protect him from Voldemort). Eventually this morphs into Remus also coming into the picture.

Wolfstar Raising Teddy

the mayors of simpleton by @fruityindividual — Divorced wolfstar are co-parenting a very mischievious Teddy who is not about to let his dads stay divorced!! Honestly this fic is so funny, so heartfelt, so fucking lovely. It also features the most beautiful portrayal of a blind character that I ever seen. A must read! Of Memories and Milk Thievery by @mayescapade — Divorced wolfstar raising Teddy again! Wolfstar have been co-parents for years and they wont stop terrorizing/pranking one another. An Infinte Ocean by orphan_account — Single dad Remus. Remus Lupin knows two things--working and caring for his son, Teddy. When his babysitter sets up crowdfunding so Teddy can go swim with the sea turtles at the local animal rescue, Remus doesn't realise how completely their life is going to change. Especially when he meets Sirius Black, the weekend merman in the aquatic show, and someone who might convince him of love at first sight. Honestly a lovely piece, and it also features the Potter clan.

Other (raising both teddy and harry, wolfstar girldads)

Let's Play Pretend by MsAlexWP — My current obsession!! I can't tell you how many times I've read this. Single parent Remus and single parent Sirius meet at a play date and end up pretend dating so that the old women in Sirius' building (who basically stalk him) will stop trying to set him up. Neither of them can date at the moment, so what could possibly go wrong?? Ultimate comfort fic. Of Quiet Hearts And Thundering Dreams by TracingPatterns — This is single parent Sirius and single parent Remus, both having moved to a small village and meeting at Harry & Teddy's school. A Cup of Sugar by MsAlexWP — Again, they are both single parents. Harry Potter is recovering from surgery and facing the worst summer ever until a guy with the same crutches as Harry moves in across the street with his son. So lovely!! Hide-and-Seek by onehundredflamingos — Wolfstar girldads raising their adoptive daughter Cassie, who is also a werewolf. This is the story of her first transformation. It's soooo sweet! @industrations has done a bunch of wolfstar and Cassie art, which you should absolutely go and cry over!

For supplementary material, feel free to check out my Wolfstar Raising Harry, Wolfstar Raising Teddy and Wolfstar Girldads tags!

[siconetribal]

Put it on My Tab (19)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Warning: Frustration, Online Gaming, and Revelations

A/N:

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

As always, a huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

All occupants of Wayne manor knew Jason was in a sour mood. To what extent or why was not clear, but it was obvious in his lack of snippy banter and increased silence, and when he did respond, it was sharper than usual. It was as if he was regressing back to the days when he was still finding his footing amongst them. He and Bruce never had an outwardly discussion clarifying everything, but there was something that was done to help build a new foundation, regardless oh how shaky that was.

They tried to approach the second Robin in a variety of ways, trying to unearth the reason for the sudden slip into anger. Some thought Bruce and him had an argument, while others thought there may be trouble in the Outlaws. Neither was able to confirm their suspicions, and any attempt to do so was met with aggression and deflection.

Annoyed by all their brown nosing, Jason left the manor and spent the next couple of nights at his own apartment. Of course, I’d have no privacy in a house full of detective vigilantes. He rolled his eyes as he rolled out of bed and made his way over to his computer. Plopping onto the chair, he let it wheel backwards before pulling himself forward by the desk. He stared at the game icon on his desktop for what felt like the umpteenth time today. His fingers drummed just below his keyboard as he eyed his mouse, which rested only a couple inches away. I can’t just log on and act like I haven’t been gone in forever. She’s probably pissed that her online buddy has been MIA for so long. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back, the chair reclining with his weight. This is my only way to even speak to her, though. I cleared up the bill crap, maybe I can meet her again through here? Fake that I didn’t know who she was? Not like she’d ever know that I knew anyway. Pursing his lips to one side, he intensely stared at his ceiling, as if it held some sort of secret that would aid him in his decision to long on or not. 

“Fuck it, I’m logging on!” The seat swung forward with him as he sat up and logged onto the game.

Arkam_Knight has logged in. The italicized text popped up on the screen, much to Y/N’s surprise. Her character was currently standing in the town square looking at the request board for something that was easy enough for a solo hunt. Seeing the name of her dearly miss comrade was an answer to her desperate pleas for some miracle because there was no mission that allowed solo entry. She eagerly opened the chat box and began to type.

<Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Where have you been?! I would’ve called the police for a wellness check, but I don’t have a clue on where you live.>  She watched the ellipses bounce then vanish repeatedly for a couple of minutes. The longer he took to reply, the more concerned she was becoming. An unknown weight slowly creeped onto her shoulders. Anxious thoughts spun around in her mind. The distant ding of his response was able to rip her from the thoughts.

<Yeeeaaah, my bad. Work was crazy and shit had me all over the fucking place trying to clean up. I can’t go into detail, a lot of confidential crap.>

<Yeah, I figured. So, I know you can’t tell me what you do for a living, but I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re working as a high level officer of some kind. I won’t ask you what branch, but sounds like you do work city wide, which I have no clue how you handle that.>

<Someone’s gotta do the dirty work, right? It ain’t for everyone. It just so happens that I’ve got a knack for it.> He added a little proud sticker. <You’ve been MIA yourself, I’ve logged in a few times and saw you hadn’t been on in a while.>

<Where do I even begin? Life has been kicking both of us in the asses, it seems.> She sent an exhausted sticker. She paused for a few minutes, staring at her blinking cursor. How was she going to explain it all to him? Would it even be believable? She, herself, also found it hard to swallow was true. From dealing with Waynes to meeting two of Batman’s partners to being part of a claim investigation because of the collateral damage to the building.

I thought dealing with snobby rich kids and wild Karens was as crazy as my life was going to be. Who knew I’d be entangled with crime fighters and a Trust Fund kid. She slumped in her seat, slowly tapping at the space bar to let him know she was still there. Erasing the long gap of emptiness, she sat up once more.

<Give me a sec, gotta organize my thoughts on this.>

<Damn, that much? Take your time, I’m here.>

<Thanks.> She smiled at the animated thumbs up sticker was sent. At least I still hot my friends.

Jason sank back into his computer chair, rocking back and forth and swinging side to side as he awaited for her response. Watching the symbol of her typing appear and disappear multiple times was far more torturous than he anticipated. He knew what she was going to tell him, he was there with her. She did not know that, and he did not know how she took any of it. The only thing he could rely on were the facts, but that did nothing for his nerves.

If someone told him that he would wake up one morning in a hotel room next to a stranger, who knew how to get under his skin and take over his thoughts, he would have laughed at them. If they told him she was his online gaming buddy as well, he would have scoffed the added detail and never spoken to the person for being out of their mind. And yet, here he was, months later, talking to that very strange woman, battling between keeping in touch and cutting all ties. 

If things could just go back to when we didn’t know each other, it could just be simpler. I can’t even game with her without feeling some sort of way. He rubbed his chest as that uncomfortable weight sank onto his heart. I should’ve just paid the bill and let it be. Why did it matter if she knew me or not? I knew she got screwed over because of me, I should’ve just ended it as soon as I found her. His irrational actions bothered him. He was a cold and calculating vigilante that played by his own rules. He even ran the crime world for a time when he was completely at odds with Batman and was blinded by his heightened rage. He survived death and a beating from the Joker. Handling a hotel bill for a girl should not be this difficult, and yet here he was stuck in quicksand. He glanced at his computer monitor and his eye twitched at the site of the dots vanishing again. “What is she doing, right a novel?!” He threw his hands up and heaved a heavy sigh.

He swung his chair straight at the ding and leaned in close to the monitor, skimming the paragraph before forcing himself to read from the start.

<Ok, Dickens, you didn’t tell me you were publishing a novel! Lol, give me a sec to read all this.>

 It started off as he expected, she mentioned their first few meetings and how she fumbled with trying to hide herself. He could not help the snicker that came at her admission of being angry at him, but a grin quickly took over when she confessed that she found him good-looking. 

“Damn right, you did! I’m fucking handsome!” He boasted, puffing his chest with pride before diving back into the text. I came that night and those pricks were there, ok, Nightwing and Red Robin came crashing through the window, fine, so then-wait, what the fuck! His gaze snapped back to the two mentioned vigilantes and the incident he was not aware of at all. “When the fuck did this happen? Did Dickhead do this on purpose?! I’m going to enjoy getting answers out of him later.” He cracked his knuckles as a wicked smirk took over. He carefully read through the incident and soon realized that this was in fact a coincidence, but his ‘darling’ older brother failed to mention it to him. At least they left her a tip.

Pushing forward, he read about the following insurance claim filing that was on going to prove that this was not something staged. Then there were her concerns about a particular caffeine addicted young teen who was another Wayne with another name. His mind instantly flashed to the memory of Tim’s coffee cup.

Don’t tell me he’s in on it too! Nosy assholes, Jason was ready to flip his computer table but kept his composure. No, he can’t be. He hasn’t been asking me shit or tailing me in any way. That means this is just his need for coffee, and she makes damn good coffee. He reasoned himself back into a state of calm to read onwards. The name of the detective in charge of the claim has him seeing red. He paced the length of his bedroom to avoid breaking his only means of communication with her. “Oh, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him the next time I see him! That was on purpose, he chose to take the lead on this because I told him her name. Dickhead is in for a world of pain.” His voice rumbled in anger as he expended the rage through physical activity. 

He sat back in his seat when he felt he was calm enough to, and continued to read the rest of what she had to say. She finally got to their last evening together. He made her brownies and she was really touched by it.

<I was purely joking about the brownies, but he actually went through with it! I don’t think I’ve ever dated a guy who made me brownies, and he’s a stranger! It’s insufferable just how perfect he is for dropping such a huge bill on my head!> She punctuated with angry stickers. <I didn’t want to eat them, though. I wanted to keep them forever, like a memento since-well, I’m getting a head of myself.> She dove into the details of their diner date. He remembered that night, they talked for hours, but it felt like hardly any time had even gone by. <I hated asking him to pay, but I had to. It was getting to be too much for me and my roomie. He was great about it, a real gentleman. I said to just help with what was left, but he paid me the whole thing! I really had him wrong in my head. We ended up staying out late, talking. I don’t think I’ve ever had such an easy conversation with a guy before. When the diner had to close, he took me home and even waisted until I got through the front door. But now I don’t have any reason to talk to him, and he hasn’t made any effort to reach out to me either. Which loops back to the brownies. I wanted to keep them as a memento because it looks like that chapter is closed. But all of his efforts would’ve gone to waste. They were really good, which sucks. Now he’s even more of a jerk wad because it’s not fair! My roomie has plans to celebrate my freedom, but I’m not so sure. I want to, but it involves the tip from Nightwing and Red Robin. Would that be considered evidence or something I should hand over to the detective at my formal interview?>

The infamous Red Hood sat there, speechless, with his head swimming from his and her emotions. She clearly wanted to keep up their friendship, and he did too, but it was not safe. She was already linked to two of them, which was bad enough. He knew he was the worst of them to ever be associated with, and that made this more irritating for him. He muttered profanities as he slammed his fist on the desk. If only he could untangle himself from all this, everything would be fine.

<Shit, you really were busy. Glad to hear he paid his dues like a man. But if he’s so hot, why not just ask him out yourself?> He suggested. He needed to act like any other citizen. He needed to distance himself from himself in her mind. <Did you really serve Nightwing and Red Robin while they were on a mission? I definitely wouldn’t have thought about giving them coffee in the middle of all that. Though, he sounds like a weirdo saying your name so many times. I doubt he was threatening you, maybe he’s got some weirdo fetish? I’d say keep away from him. As great as he is, a masked guy flipping through the Gotham night in spandex must have some sorta thing.> He insisted. That’s what you get, Dick-wing. He smirked. <The tip is yours to keep, you served them, and they gave you a tip. Unless it had some secret message or some sort of flash drive, cash isn’t going to be a dig deal. Plus, they didn’t ask you about the tip though they saw it on camera, you’re good. It’s yours, use it.>

<Yeah, she said the same thing. Said it was a gift from the heavens and I shouldn’t be so paranoid. Also, no way in hell am I asking him out! He’ll think I’m some gold digging hussy! The guy paid for dinner and the hotel bill, I think I’m the last person he wants to see again!>

<Listen to me, I’m a guy, trust me. If he thought you were a gold digger, he would’ve ended shit right away or left you at the diner. The guy made you brownies! I think you can give him some slack and think that maybe, just maybe, he likes your company too?>

<If he liked it so much, why hasn’t he texted me?>

<Because he’s a bigger dumbass and overthinks like you? Thinks you hate him or that you don’t want anything to do with him because he landed you in shit?> He countered. <You don’t have to do anything, I’m just saying thinking about it. Whatever you choose, just don’t abandon me again! Solo raiding was horrible!> He added a few tearful stickers to gain sympathy.

<You think? Alright, alright, I get it! Sheesh, I just told you, I didn’t vanish on purpose! I promise, I’ll keep in touch as best I can! I don’t have to OT anymore, so that’s promising. Thanks for listening. Now, let’s go kick some monster tail!>

<LOL, anytime! I thought you’d never ask!>

Tags:

@vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotall @antiquecultist

[bitethedevil]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love 💚

I have only written three longer fics, so some of them will be oneshots

Living with The Devil You Know (AO3 Link):

It's probably my favorite that I've done. It's getting rather long but we are nearing the end soon. It's at 14 chapters right now. It was supposed to be a very light-hearted fic but it has turned pretty dark.

Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge. Tav gets chained to the House of Hope with constructs similar to those of Prince Orpheus'. When her friends eventually come to save her and brings him back his Orphic Hammer, Raphael will kill each and every one of them in front of her before claiming what is rightfully his: her soul...

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

The Devil's Dinner Party (AO3 Link):

This one has a special place in my heart because it was the first fic I ever showed anyone! It has a bit of a dark twist that I won't spoil too much. It's three chapters and it's a finished work.

Summary: Tav accepts Raphael’s invitation to a dinner party after she had handed him the Crown of Karsus. None of her companions show up, so it is just her, Raphael, and a bunch of Raphael’s favored clients. Raphael is suspiciously kind to her, but everything might not be as perfect as it seems

More Than Our Fathers (AO3 Link)

I love writing this one so much. It's a Raphael x Demigoddess!Reader fic. It's probably my most planned work to date and I have read so much lore for this one. It is still ongoing but there are currently four chapters.

Summary: It was in the years after the Fall of Netheril that fate decided to push the two of you together: the daughter of the God of Divination and the son of the Archdevil of the Eighth. An unlikely pair, but you learned throughout the years that you had more in common than you thought: you were both driven by ambition and you both longed to become more than what your fathers made you.

A Portrait of a Cambion (AO3 Link)

This was a 'character study turned fic'-kind of situation. It is basically my headcanon about why Haarlep is with Raphael and why he hates his father. It's a story of how he once loved someone and how he learned the consequences of getting distracted by those feelings. It's a oneshot. (Fun fact: I consider it as canon in Living with The Devil You Know too, and when Raphael tells Tav about his previous love, this story is what he is talking about.)

Summary: Raphael rejects his icky mortal feelings for Tav because he remembers what happens when one is distracted by matters of the heart. He reminisces about a woman who taught him how to paint and who stole his non-existent heart over a thousand years ago.

Good Little Mouse

This is just pure depraved smut but I really liked writing it. It's pretty short. It is also pretty fucked up so remember to read the warnings.

Summary: Reader/Tav did not give Raphael the Crown but it ended up in his hands anyway. You become Raphael's pet as revenge and he uses the Crown of Karsus on you to keep you docile.

(Thank you so much for the ask! I love the idea of spreading self-love like this. It can be hard to remember to appreciate one's own work I feel like.)

[perfectprofessorloverapricot]

•| A not so stolen youth |•

Stranger things / chapter 2

Summary: Everything in life seemed limited to walls of whites and rainbows. Caged within the confines of the lab. But an accident that involved a group of teenagers and the upside down world finally let him free. In a funny turn of events he found himself hiding in a step sibling's shed. A redhead that loves video games and a blond that spends his time making sure to keep his good looks.

Character: Male child OC

Warnings: Possible to descriptive scenes, child abuse, use of drugs and bad language.

A/N: I ask you to take into account that I lack experience writing in English and there'll be some grammatical mistakes because my native language is Spanish.

Prev part - Masterlist - Next part

To say that Billy was surprised is an understatement. A whole week came and went without any inconvenience.

The asshole he has as a father isn’t even suspicious that there’s basically a fifth person living with them. In the shed, but still under their roof.

He is never, ever, going to say it out loud but he admires the guts Max has to look at Neil during diners and give no hint of any other emotion than the hate and forced respect she already harbors towards the man.

He became a silent witness of her plan. Watching her pretend to be tired earlier in the nights and leave to her room to rest only to jump through her window the next second to hang out with the boy in the shed.

And talking about the boy. The only way Billy could describe him is, strange. The boy is as silent as a mouse. He appears and disappears without making a noise. Which is creepy in the most part but thankfully helpful.

The asshole of his father has been busy recreating his righteous façade in front of everyone in Hawkins to actually pay attention to any mistake or misbehavior he does.

He could even bet that it has been the best week he’s had in years.

As for Thirteen, he’s living the best three weeks of his entire life.

Clean clothes instead of a gown, a roof to protect him, outside of the lab, learning to read comics and with a real friend.

Max even brought him to the arcade once, in the night and when it was about to close. It didn’t end that well as she thought it would. That night she found out the boy has a sensitive hearing after he bolted out of the place. ‘Too much noise’ is what he said. Since the arcade wasn’t an option anymore she came up with another idea. She would teach him how to skate.

Fortunately, she had her skateboard with her.

It was to be expected that Thirteen would fall a few times, it was his first time in his life doing a physical activity and didn’t have any kind of coordination with his feet.

When they went back to the house, Thirteen was covered in dirt, a couple of bruises and scratches but he had such a big smile in his face that only by looking at it Max couldn’t help but do the same.

Little by little Thirteen has started to open more to Max and vice versa, making it obvious that he is comfortable with her. He likes to hear about her day in the school with the other kids, the way she tells the story of a group of stalkers reminds him of the way she reads the comics. And she likes that she can openly talk about whatever she wants without the fear o being judge.

Things are working better than they both expected.

Until the day everything would change finally arrived.

Halloween.

Max loves Halloween and she’s made it clear every time she tells him stories of what she did back in Cali. She wanted him to come with her this year but after what happened in the arcade he is a little uneasy.

Besides, the only reason he wanted to be part of a big group of kids was to make a friend. He was looking for someone to help him stop being alone, and now that he has Max there’s no reason to go out there that much. Now the fear of being found is the only thing that remains in his mind.

“Still don’t want to go with me?” Asked Max to the kid seating in her closet.

The boy smiled and shook his head.

“You could use a sheet to cover yourself completely like in the E.T. movie I showed you. The group of stalkers will be there…” at least, she hopes they’ll be there after her step brother almost ran over them with the car after school. “We’ll meet in the street for trick or treat.”Thirteen frowned a little, considering the pros and cons in his head but the worry was still evident in his face. “Still don’t want to?”

The boy pressed his lips together before shaking his head.

Max was internally disappointed but she understood his fear. She already tried running away to her biological father when she found out they were moving from Cali to Hawkins. She was just as paranoid and worried. She only lasted a few hours away from her house, and she doesn’t how log has the kid been hiding.

“Are we still up for sweets and comics, though?” She asked getting an instant nod from the boy with a big smile.

She was confused for a second when she saw his smile fall and glance at the door. The boy slide the door of the closet almost completely, avoiding being engulf by total darkness, just in time when her mother opened her bedroom door.

“Sweetie, do you have your costume yet?” She asked in her always flowery and nervous tone. Max still doesn’t get why she is so jittery with her own daughter.

“Yeah, this.” Max rose the mask of Michael Myers and fake knife she had in her hands. She already had her black coverall that belonged to her father on. The measures were changed to fit by Susan herself a year ago and fits perfectly.

Her mother gave her a little forced smile. “Are you sure? I could try to make something with the things in the closet. There’s still time.” She recommended, pointing at the closet in the hallway.

Max pressed her lips in a thin line. Comments like that are common from her mother. She knows that Susan would like to have a more feminine daughter. One that prefers to use make up. One that has girls as friends to go shopping with instead of boys to skateboard with in the neighborhood. One that likes princesses and romance instead of monsters and assassins.

But she wasn’t like that and she’s didn’t want to be like that.

“No. This is fine.” She said.

Her mother nodded with the forced smile still in her face. “Okay then. Am. Have fun.” Not knowing what else to say she turned back and closed the door behind her.

Max let out the breath she was holding. Why everything in her life has to be weird?

She turned to the closet when she heard it slide open. The boy looked at her with his brows furrowed in worry. She looked upset.

Max understood the look. Her friends used to look at her the same way back in Cali. ���It’s just-“ She pointed at the door with her thumb but didn’t know what to say or to explain. “I-“ she was interrupted when Billy passed by the door saying her name in a singsong tone.

“Max~” Even though it sounded like he was happy Max could still identify the dangerous threat deep down.

“Just a minute.” She yelled when she heard his footsteps going further in the hall. She turned back to the kid as she walked backwards to the door. “Comics and sweets when I return?”

The boy nodded.

“Max. I’m leaving.” Shouted Billy from the front door, his singsong tone completely gone.

Feed up with him she opened the door and yelled her answers rushing down the hall. “I’m coming.”

Thirteen blinked a few times, watching in curiosity at the opened door. He still doesn’t understand their bond. They seem to care and know about the other but act so hostile.

Max closed the front door behind her, already out of the house, finding Billy leaning against his car with a lit cigarette in his mouth. He was invited to a costume party and yet, his costume was a leather jacket covering his shirtless torso, fingerless black gloves, dark jeans and his usual boots. That wasn’t even a costume, but when you have the popularity Billy does, nobody gives a shit.

“What, the rat is not coming to be a looser with you?” He asked taking the cigarette out of his mouth, taking a final drag and throwing it in the floor before opening the car’s door.

Max threw him a side glance, not at all agreeing with the way he speaks.

“He is a boy and no. He wants to stay.” Billy turned to his stepsister, looking at her over the car.

“The brat better not blow the cover because I swear to god Max.” He threatened.

Max rolled her eyes as she got in the passenger sit. As if she didn’t know what could happen if Neil finds the boy. “I already told you, nobody’ll know he is there.”

“Hey.” scolded the older boy once inside. “Watch. Your attitude.” He threatened, making a pause to be sure Max understand he is being serious.

She understood. Max looked at the front, avoiding the glare Billy threw at her.

He huffed in annoyance turning on the engine and driving out.

But he couldn’t help the question that lingered in his mind.

What kind of monster is that guy for the kid to rather stay in a strangers house than to go back home?

He slightly tightened his hold in the wheel.

He shouldn’t be thinking about it. It’s not like it’s his problem. Why should he care about a coward?

Unknown to the step-siblings on their way to celebrate halloween, Thirteen was still in Max’s room searching through the box full of comics a few that he could take to the shed.

Even though he can’t read that well he loves to watch the colorful pictures of the stories. Even more when those are telling Magneto’s story.

He feels like he can identify himself with him a little. Their powers are similar, they both can control things with their minds but magneto only controls metals while thirteen controls any kind of material.

But his story is the most intriguing. He sees magneto as someone really brave, confronting the masses for the opportunity to free himself and those who are like him. And he is feared for his capabilities, just like it happened to him in the lab.

The day he finally unleashed his powers was to protect himself from the people who tasered him on his father’s orders. He screamed and sent flying everyone in the room against the walls, breaking the white tiles. They feared him that day.

He just wants to be as brave as Magneto to confront those who wronged him.

He was in his voyage when he heard the always heavy footsteps of Neil. He knew both him and Susan were in the house due to the sounds they make, but Neil was getting to close to comfort, and the door of the room was open.

He grabbed the two comics he already found and jumped trough the open window, squatting down once he landed to reduce the noise to the minimum.

He acted in the right moment because once he was out Neil stoped at the door when he caught something moving in his peripheral vision.

The man furrowed his eye brows as he entered the room. It was a mess by his standards, just like Billy’s. But the place looked empty of any presence.

No one could fit under the bed and the closet had only clothes, the only option left was the open window that let the autumn wind enter.

The boy outside was tiptoeing along the backside of the house without making a single sound, still crouched. He turned around the corner and pressed his back to the wall just before the adult stuck his head out of the window. He waited patiently, keeping his breathing even. He could still hear him breathing heavily by the window, inspecting the surroundings.

Assured that everything was in order the man grunted an went back inside, not before closing the window and locking it from the inside. It’s not like that would stop Thirteen but the man didn’t know.

The boy waited some more time, just to be sure. He heard his footsteps reach the living room and take a seat in the old couch that creaked under his weight accompanied by Susan’s voice.

When the coast was clear he walked calmly back to the shed with the comics in hand ready to wait for Max to come back with the sweets she promised.

Coming back home wasn’t as easy or peaceful as the teenagers thought it would be.

Max waited for Billy for an hour before she realized that he was never going to pick her up, so she ended up walking all the way home.

The situation got worse when she found Neil and her mother waiting for them awake and in the living room.

Neil was fuming, already assuming and getting it right about why she came back home alone.

Max tried to lie about Billy dropping her at the front door and leaving to droop one of his friends and that he would be back soon. But the lie flew out of the window when said teenager appeared stumbling and staggering through the front door two minutes later.

When his father asked him why he was late Billy made the excuse that he had a flat tire.

Those simple words left both teenagers as liars and idiots. And yet, Neil’s anger was solely directed to his excuse of a son.

Max left to her room before everything started, she already knew what was coming. Neil beating the shit out of his son, Billy not having the courage to fight back and her mother watching, to much of a coward to either live the scene or stop her husband.

Max stayed in her room imagining she was in another place, in another world, pretending she didn’t know Billy enough to care about him. But actually, it was the opposite.

They’ve had a few moment between them in which they manage to understand each other silently. Without having to mention they’re main problem. Neil and Susan’s uncomfortable relationships that put they’re lives upside down.

But while she was creating walls to protect herself from her powerlessness, Thirteen had come out of the shed a few minutes ago. When he heard Max walking to and opening the front door to be exact.

He sneaked into her room, unlocking the window with his powers, waiting for her in her closet. But when she took longer than normally and he heard Neil’s voice grow more and more dangerous, he went back outside to see the living room trough the window.

He saw and heard everything that happened. He even witnessed Neil hitting Billy and beating him to the ground.

That man was like papa, it’s what he thought.

Watching Billy get beat made Thirteen’s blood boil so much he didn’t realize his powers where starting to act up.

The shelf beside them fell loudly startling a scream out of Susan and distracting Neil. The sudden pause at least got him to calm down and see his son seating in the floor, beaten and drunk. He thought that was enough, he didn’t want to leave a mark of obvious evidence in him, he didn’t need someone coming to ask questions.

Thirteen went back to Max’s room. He knocked on the window, getting her attention. She turned towards the boy, taking the mask off.

Once he was inside, he instinctively sat down beside her and gave her a hug.

Oh how much Max wanted to cry right there. But she hates crying. She didn’t let any tears come out but she leaned in to the boy’s hug.

The world doesn’t deserve someone like Thirteen, is what came to her mind. So young and so aware of the bad things and yet, he remains with a heart of gold.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours until everything calmed down. They waited when everyone was back in they’re room, and even a few minutes after that.

They sat in the girl’s bed, getting more comfortable.

Max dumped the bag full of candys in her bed between them. She had skittles, 3 musketeers, nerds, fireballs, monchitos, tunos and a lot more she didn’t know existed.

She was obviously trying to change the atmosphere and thankfully it was working.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” mumbled Max with her mouth stuffed with whoppers, making sure to speak softly. She didn’t want anyone coming to knock on her door when she should be asleep. “Do you remember when magneto choose another name when he was on the run?” she asked the kid. Thirteen nodded, still munching in a bar of the three musketeers. “I was thinking. What if you do the same? Having a number as a name easily raises suspicions. But if you have another name…” she left the idea hanging, already noticing the understanding in the kids expression.

The boy opened his eyes wide, nodding a few times in happiness.

“Wanna choose a name?” She asked after she swallowed the chocolate.

With the most innocent eyes and without hesitation he said. “Magneto.”

Max laughed a bit and shook her head. The kid was to innocent for his own good. “Magneto is not a name for a person. That’s his title as a villain.” She explained.

Thirteen deflated a little bit. He wanted a name from magneto.

He thought for a moment under Max’s attentive eyes. Until he came with an idea. “Magnus.” He said in a dreamy tone of voice.

Max repeated the name in her head and in a whisper, testing how it sounds before nodding. “Magnus. I like that.” She extended her hand, expecting the kid to do the same.

Thirteen looked at her hand for a second, not getting the memo, but he trusts her so he raised his hand, blinking a few times when she grabbed it and shook it.

She smiled at him. “Nice to meet you, Magnus.” She said

Thirteen felt cheeks warming and a smile spreading in his face. He likes how it sounds. “Nice to meet you.” He whispered.

He now has a name, a friend and a place to stay. He has everything he ever wanted, and he’ll do everything in his power to protect it.

Any comment or constructive criticism are appreciated.

[alexagirlie]

20 questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @whitedarkmoonflower @foxyanon @lord-aldhelm and @legitalicat !!

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

...133

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

194,499 words, hoping to hit 200k with my next fic!

3. what fandoms do you write for?

The Last Kingdom, Dune and House of the Dragon primarily but I have dabbled in a few others.

4. top five fics by kudos

1. We share spit like venom and call it a kiss - Feyd/Paul, Dune Fandom

2. Close Your Eyes and Think of Caladan - Duncan/Paul, Dune Fandom

3. Under the Hood - Duncan/Paul, Dune Fandom

4. At the Touch of You - Duncan/Paul, Dune Fandom

5. The One Where Paul Gets Wrecked- Chani/Duncan/Paul, Dune Fandom

5. do you respond to comments?

Yes, I try and respond to as many as I can anyways.

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh fuck, uh that is hard to choose... Song Challenge ... it does end with Sihtric dead so... Song Challenge 2023 Day 23: A song with a color in the title

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I can't choose this, most of them have a happy ending haha

8. do you get hate on fics?

Not so far no

9. do you write smut?

The 106/133 fics rated E or M says yes hahaha

10. craziest crossover?

The fic Im working on right now, One Call Away, is a modern au crossover with Sihtric from The Last Kingdom and Masema from Wheel of Time... both characters played by Arnas Fedaravicious 🤣

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of.

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

No but I would definitely be interested if it was the right fit.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I have had offers but I am such a control freak I'm not sure I would make a good partner 🤣

14. all time favorite ship?

.... I think Fintric (Finan/Sihtric TLK) but its followed closely by Atreidaho (Duncan/Paul Dune), Malec (Magnus/Alec Shadowhunters) and Obikin (Obiwan/Anakin Starwars)

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pffft probably We Daren't Go a-Hunting for Fear of Little Men

I have the whole story outlined and I love the lord I've made for it but it's been hard to find the motivation to work on it. It has very little interaction/feedback too which doesnt help 😆 I want to finish it tho! I love the concept and what Ive written for it.

16. what are your writing strengths?

Ive been told my characterizations are good, and I guess smut?

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptive language, I have a hard time with the showing not telling part of writing, doesnt feel natural to me when writing.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

It really depends. For myself I have included very little dialogue in other languages. If any? I honestly can't think of any of my fics where I did it.

19. first fandom you wrote in?

I wrote a one off fic waaaaay back on ff.net like 15 years ago for an anime I can't remember the name of, but beside that the first fandom i wrote seriously for is Dune.

20. favorite fic you've written?

The Sharpest Lives! I love writing Fintric, and bdsm my beloved.

Uuuh tags

@thelettersfromnoone @sleepstxtic @almostg @cordspaghetti @nights-ofren

@simpfornegan @desert--mouse

[tinkabelle24]

To Build a Home

Chapter 8: Bad Child

A/N: The altercation between Val and her mother depicted in this chapter is loosely based on an incident I had with my own mother, at sixteen.

This incident is what prompted me to write this story, four years later, to help me cope with the lingering trauma. It's been incredibly therapeutic.

TW! Physical and emotional abuse inflicted by parent onto adult child.

Masterlist / Chapter 7

---

"Hey, you. How's it going?"

"Hey, Val," Liv answered. "Yeah, fine, I guess. School's still shit-"

"Hang on, lemme put you on speaker so I can keep going with this... There. Can you hear me?"

"Yeah... What are you doing?"

"Making dinner."

"At 8 o'clock? Bit late for you, isn't it, grandma?"

"Hardy-har. I have a friend coming over; he couldn't get here any sooner."

"He?" She could hear her sister's grin through the phone.

"Hey, don't get any ideas - he's just a friend."

"You said it, not me."

Val playfully rolled her eyes. "...Any more incidents with that boy?"

"Nope. I think bein' knocked on his ass by a girl finally did the trick."

"Hmm..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I just... I really wish you didn't need to go that far, that's all."

"Yeah, well..."

"I know, I know... I'm proud of you for sticking up for yourself, though."

"Thanks, Val."

"...Where's Noah?"

"In his room - playing his game."

"I wanna say hi."

"Yep... Hey... Hey, shithead! Don’t what me. Take your headphones off. Valerie's on the phone."

"Don't call your brother that, thank you."

"Yeah, don't call me that," Noah parroted. "Hey, short-ass. How's it goin'?"

"Don't call me that, either," Val let out an exasperated sigh. "I oughta wash both your mouths out with soap..."

"Can't do that if you aren't here," Liv retorted.

Was that a passive aggressive remark, or was she still messing around?

"...How's mom?"

"She's fine," her sister answered simply.

"Where is she?"

"In the living room, watching a movie - with Steve."

"Steeeve!" Noah exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.

A small smile pulled at the brunette's lips. "...Is he nice to you guys?"

"Yeah, he's fine," Liv replied. She was using the word 'fine' a lot... "Sleeps over almost every night..."

"Okay..." Val wasn't sure what else to say to that. Her first thought was to suggest her sister inform mom of her discomfort, but it'd likely do no good. She did this herself once, when they overheard mom doing... things, with another man she introduced them to literally that day. It did not go well...

"Hey, it's been forever since we've seen you. Are you coming home any time soon?"

Val could no longer hear her brother’s incessant mouse clicking in the background; Liv must've gone into another room.

"...No, I won't be coming back to the house... I can't. Not yet." She finally replied. "I've got my own place now, remember? But I'd love to see you guys sometime soon. Maybe we could meet up at Central Park after one of my shifts next week? The three of us? ...Or maybe you'd like to check out my new place? It isn't much to look at on the inside, but it has nice views."

"Are you ever gonna tell us what happened with you and mom? Mom still won't tell us anything..."

Mom keeping shit to herself? Must've thought it was pretty bad... Good.

"We had an argument."

"Well duh," Liv was growing impatient. "About what?"

"I'm sorry, Liv; I really can't say any more than that - it's adult stuff."

"Yeah, whatever..."

Val sighed wearily. "Don't be like that, please... You know I'd tell you if I could. But I can't."

"Yeah, you can; you just have to open your mouth and speak."

"I'm sorry, Liv," the eldest sister doubled down. "I'm not gonna do that-"

"Y-you can't just take off like that and not expect me to ask questions!" Liv snapped, voice breaking. "What could mom have done that was so bad that you won't talk to her, or even come to the house? I don't understand. I just want my sister back..."

That last part felt like a stab to the heart...

"Liv, I-I'm so sorry-"

"Whatever. Bye."

Click.

"Liv? Hey, Liv! ... Shit!"

Panicked, Val went to compose a message for her sister. It broke her heart to hear her cry... But what else could she say that hasn't already been said? She wasn't about to involve a thirteen-year-old in adult matters, no matter how much it upset Liv. She wanted to preserve what little innocence those kids had left...

A text notification popped up on her screen. Immediately assuming it was her sister, she opened it without checking the ID.

She really wished she had...

[So, you'll talk to the kids but not your own MOTHER??? I see how it is. You have NO IDEA how difficult our lives have become since you upped and ABANDONED us!!! I'm sorry that I hurt you but YOUR SELFISHNESS drove me to it. In case you forgot, family HELPS and SUPPORTS one another!!! All I needed was a packet of cigarettes because I hadn't had a SINGLE one in THREE DAYS and you couldn't even do that for your own MOTHER. I gave you life and raised you BY MYSELF with NO HELP from anyone!!! And this is how you repay me??? It's been TWO MONTHS and they haven't seen you. We don't even know where you're living!!! I WILL NOT put up with the silent treatment ANY LONGER!!! When you're ready to behave like an ADULT and have an actual conversation, let me know. You're VERY lucky they still want anything to do with you after what you've put them through, because this will be the last time you hear from ME!!!]

Val fought back tears as she read through the wall of text. She knew, as soon as she realised who it was, that she shouldn't have kept scrolling. But, as usual, curiosity got the better of her. Or was it hope? A hope that her mom may actually be offering an apology without a big fat 'BUT' attached to it...

Selfish.

Mom liked using that word. She said it a lot that night; the night Val fled...

Selfish-

"No. Stop it," the brunette chided herself, promptly silencing her phone and placing it face-down on the kitchen counter. She quickly wiped away her tears.

In...and out. That's it, Val.

It'll be okay...

She returned to slicing her cucumber.

A soft knocking drew Val's attention to the window - it was Raph, carrying a backpack. She expected to feel many things in that moment. Excitement, mostly. A bit of anxiety, for sure. But not this...

Not dread.

The urge to hide was overwhelming. If he asked, Val was certain she'd cry again. She didn't want to cry in front of him; not so soon after the first time...

It took everything in her to step away from the counter and approach the window.

It'll be okay, she repeated her mantra. It'll be okay...

In...and out. In...and out...

"Hey," Val greeted, stepping aside to let him in.

"Hey," Raph replied with a warm smile. She attempted imitating it. "Smells great in here. Curry?"

"Uh, yeah- no." She was already stumbling over her words. "It's, um... it's one-pot chicken and rice. I found the recipe on Tik Tok, of all places, heh. It's one of my favourites... I was just finishing up the salad..."

The terrapin quirked a brow ridge at her. Val recognised that look; it was the same one Molly levelled at her whenever her friend suspected she was hiding something.

Please, don't...

"You alright?" He asked, setting down his bag. "You seem... upset."

Keep it together.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the brunette reassured, nodding a little too enthusiastically. She could feel the tears threatening to fall, again...

"Val," he insisted gently.

Hoo boy...

"I-I was just, um..." Val croaked, her entire body trembling with adrenaline. "I, uh..." One tear became two, then suddenly they were streaming down her cheeks.

She could not keep it together...

Raph caught her wrists as she attempted hiding her face, bringing her into his arms. She practically melted into him. He held her firmly while she sobbed, about a minute or so, before she finally pulled away.

"S-sorry, let me get this shit off you..." Val sniffled as she wiped his shoulder with her sleeve. She felt calmer, more clear-headed. But now she was going to have to explain herself; it'd be unfair of her not to.

"My mom... She texted just before you arrived... It wasn't nice to read..."

Raph nodded, compressing his lips; he looked to be contemplating whether to enquire further. After some hesitation, he finally asked: “Wanna talk about it?”

"...Would you like some dinner first?”

---

They decided to eat on the roof. Val passed the food and blankets to Raph from the fire escape, then was helped up herself. Neither really spoke to the other during this time, though she could feel his concerned gaze on her throughout.

“I’d planned on staying home as long as I could, for my siblings,” Val began, once they were settled with a plate of food. “I’d been paying my part of the rent, utilities, whathaveyou, pretty much since I started working. I left school to go full-time, so I could help more... I felt I was doing everything I could for my family... But then...”

She paused to compose herself, before continuing. “...T-the morning I left, my mom asked for my card. I asked her: ‘what for?’ She told me: ‘does it matter?’ … She didn’t say anything else after that; she just left the room... I thought she’d dropped it. I left for work. When I arrived home that afternoon, she wouldn’t speak to me. Wouldn’t look at me. Just completely ignored my existence... I went into mine and my sister’s room, and..."

---

Val barely had the time to register what was coming before it literally hit her.

She shrieked as the large object struck her chest, causing her to topple backward. Fortunately, her bed broke her fall. Once the initial shock wore off, the brunette quickly realised she was holding a suitcase. Confused and alarmed, she looked up - oof.

Another smaller, lighter object flew into Val's face, momentarily blinding her. She swiped it away only to be immediately bombarded with several, similarly weighted items. Arms, legs, chest, face...

When she could finally see clearly, she saw her mother standing before her; red-faced with clothing spilling out of her white-knuckled grip.

Clothes were strewn all over the floor and beds. Behind her mom stood Val's narrow chest of drawers, which had been ransacked. Nearly everything she had hanging up had been pulled down - ripped down. one of her more delicate dresses dangled haphazardly from its hanger with a torn seam.

She was stunned.

The brunette flinched as her mom suddenly slammed a fistful of shirts onto the ground, before jabbing a finger in her face.

"You can get the fuck outta here if you're gonna continue being a selfish bitch!" She bellowed, trembling with anger. "Go live with your dad, wherever the fuck he is. I don't give a shit. Just get outta my sight!"

Val was sobbing by this point, cowering on her bed while her mom raged. Her mom's done some pretty scary shit in the past, but nothing like this. No matter how angry she became, not once had she intentionally caused any of her children physical harm...

"You know, all I wanted from you was some goddamn cigarettes! Do you know how long I've been without them? Three days! Three days and not a single one, Valerie! I'm going insane, here, and you don't give a shit! ..."

Val was no longer listening. Her mind had taken her somewhere else; somewhere infinitely more pleasant.

By the time she finally came to, she was alone.

Val realised then and there she had to leave. What little hope she had left for a somewhat peaceful cohabiting situation had just been obliterated.

Her own mother assaulted her, plain and simple. She no longer felt safe. This was not something she could easily forgive, if at all.

---

"So, she blew up your relationship over cigarettes?" Raph was incredulous. "Are you serious?"

The brunette averted her gaze, unsure how to respond. She didn't want to believe her mom would be this cruel over something so trivial. Surely, she wasn't that expendable...

The terrapin scoffed, shaking his head. "What a piece of-" he promptly stopped himself. Exhaling slowly to expel his anger, he eventually returned his gaze to hers. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't... She's still your mom."

"Yeah..."

"Were your siblings around durin' this?"

"No, thank God; they were still at school. I haven't told them exactly why I left, just that mom and I fell out. My sister's upset with me right now; she wants to know what's going on and I won't tell her..."

"Why's that?" Raph enquired, confused. "I mean, I'd wanna know if someone close to me was doin' that shit."

"They're kids, Raph," Val countered gently. "I get where you're coming from, I just... I can't. They already know they can't rely on their dad; I'm not about to pull the rug out from under them with their mom, as well..."

"So, you're lyin' by omission."

"I'm trying to protect them," Val shot back, levelling the terrapin with a hard stare. "The things I've seen, the things I was told, at their age... I wished for this. I prayed for someone in my corner, to say: 'hey, this isn't right. She shouldn't know these things. She's only little...'"

At that, Raph's expression softened considerably. He lowered his gaze.

"...Believe me, if something even remotely like what I experienced happens to them, the gloves come off... Until then, it's between mom and me. If that makes me the bad guy, then fine - I'll be the bad guy."

"Fair enough," the terrapin nodded with sad smile.

The pair finished eating in silence.

"So... what'd you decide on - for dessert?" Val finally enquired. She let out a soft chuckle. "I hope it didn't need to be refrigerated..."

"Nah, it didn't." Raph avoided her gaze. "It's nothin' special, just a bar'a chocolate... I tried makin' mousse with avocado in it; figured it'd be somethin' you'd like. Tasted like ass, though, so I chucked it."

Val didn't know whether to be flattered by the gesture or horrified by the fact he threw out perfectly good food. “Did you let it set?” She braced herself for the answer.

Raph stared blankly. “Was I supposed to?”

“Oh, God...” The brunette laughed incredulously, shaking her head. “You’re supposed to let it set; the avocado taste goes away once it’s set.”

“...Oh.”

“Oh, indeed... Oh well, plain old chocolate will do just fine. Chocolate's always good.”

---

Masterlist / Chapter 9

@miss-andromeda @android-cap-007 @happymoonangel

[sleepyems-15]

yandere red hood x reader

(this story from my wattpad account)

charaters : you and red hood/ Jason todd

You were walking home in Gotham until you heard footsteps behind you. You turned around to see no one, there was no one on the street.You thought it was in your head but when you turned around you saw a man with a red mask on with a hoodie on with his hood up , his chest plate(or t-shirt I could never tell which one it is) having the a bat symbol but instead of black it was red.

"You lost little lamb" he purr "um..no I'm going to a friend house" you lied, your friends had sadly recently died they got murdered by a psychopath on the loose "well let me join you, it's not safe for a little mouse out here" he said joining you walking with you.You just kept walking without talking to him. You walked into a random street "this isn't where you live" he blurted out, you froze, you heard what he said.Thought about making a run for it or just pretend you didn't hear anything. You choosed the safest opinion and make a run for it, you sprinted away from the man.

You turned your head to see if the man was there, he was gone. You stopped and thought it might of all been in your head, you turned around  to walk to your house until you bummed into 'him'.You looked up seeing him ".how..." You whispered in shock. If you could see his face he would be smirking "didn't your parents ever told you that running away from someone rude" he teased."And didn't your parents tell you not to creep people out" you snarled.("I don't have parents" "oh my god, I'm so sorry"🤣) He laughed "how cute" he knocked you out in just a blink of an eye.

After a couple of hours you woke up in a room, the first thing you noticed was your legs and your wrists tied up, you were gaged with a cloth and you were being cuddled by the man that kidnapped you.You struggled to get out of his grasp.

"Oh you're awake" he said stitting up, he was about to let off the gag "if you scream I'm just going to to keep the gag on, got it" he said, you nodded your head.He removed the gag. You didn't say anything you wished you did but you didn't, "good little lamb, you can talk but don't scream, I already have a headache" you inhaled the air trying to stop your self from screaming.

"Who are you?" You asked trying to keep your composure "my name is Jason , your new boyfriend mabye husband" he whispered the last part. He played with your hair making you move a little bit "w-why am I here?" You questioned him "just rest sweets, ok"He laid back down and put your gag back in "love you little lamb" he fell asleep while you're still awake full of questions.

Counted words: 527

[tobacconist]

At The Back Of The North Wind

Chapter I:- The Hayloft

I have been asked to tell you about the back of the north wind. An old Greek writer mentions a people who lived there, and were so comfortable that they could not bear it any longer, and drowned themselves. My story is not the same as his. I do not think Herodotus had got the right account of the place. I am going to tell you how it fared with a boy who went there.

(his name was Little Diamond)

He lived in a low room over a coach-house; and that was not by any means at the back of the north wind, as his mother very well knew. For one side of the room was built only of boards, and the boards were so old that you might run a penknife through into the north wind. And then let them settle between them which was the sharper! I know that when you pulled it out again the wind would be after it like a cat after a mouse, and you would know soon enough you were not at the back of the north wind. Still, this room was not very cold, except when the north wind blew stronger than usual. the room I have to do with now was always cold, except in summer, when the sun took the matter into his own hands. Indeed, I am not sure whether I ought to call it a room at all; for it was just a loft where they kept hay and straw and oats for the horses.

And when little Diamond—but stop: I must tell you that his father, who was a coachman, had named him after a favourite horse, and his mother had had no objection:—when little Diamond, then, lay there in bed, he could hear the horses under him munching away in the dark, and moving sleepily in their dreams. For Diamond's father had built him a bed in the loft with boards all round it, because they had so little room in their own end over the coach-house; and Diamond's father put old Diamond in the stall under the bed, because he was a quiet horse, and did not go to sleep standing, but lay down like a reasonable creature. But, although he was a surprisingly reasonable creature, yet, when young Diamond woke in the middle of the night, and felt the bed shaking in the blasts of the north wind, he could not help wondering whether, if the wind should blow the house down, and he were to fall through into the manger, old Diamond mightn't eat him up before he knew him in his night-gown. And although old Diamond was very quiet all night long, yet when he woke he got up like an earthquake, and then young Diamond knew what o'clock it was! or at least what was to be done next, which was— to go to sleep again as fast as he could!

There was hay at his feet and hay at his head, piled up in great trusses to the very roof. Indeed it was sometimes only through a little lane with several turnings, which looked as if it had been sawn out for him, that he could reach his bed at all. For the stock of hay was, of course, always in a state either of slow ebb or of sudden flow. Sometimes the whole space of the loft, with the little panes in the roof for the stars to look in, would lie open before his open eyes as he lay in bed; sometimes a yellow wall of sweet-smelling hay closed up his view at the distance of half a yard. Sometimes, when his mother had undressed him in her room, and told him to trot to bed by himself, he would creep into the heart of the hay, and lie there thinking how cold it was outside in the wind, and how warm it was inside there in his bed, and how he could go to it when he pleased, only he wouldn't just yet; he would get a little colder first. And ever as he grew colder, his bed would grow warmer, till at last he would scramble out of the hay, shoot like an arrow into his bed, cover himself up, and snuggle down, thinking what a happy boy he was.

He had not the least idea that the wind got in at a chink in the wall, and blew about him all night. For the back of his bed was only of boards an inch thick, and on the other side of them was the north wind.

Now, as I have already said, these boards were soft and crumbly. To be sure, they were tarred on the outside, yet in many places they were more like tinder than timber. Hence it happened that the soft part having worn away from about it, little Diamond found one night, after he lay down, that a knot had come out of one of them, and that the wind was blowing in upon him in a cold and rather imperious fashion. Now he had no fancy for leaving things wrong that might be set right; so he jumped out of bed again, got a little strike of hay, twisted it up, folded it in the middle, and, having thus made it into a cork, stuck it into the hole in the wall. But the wind began to blow loud and angrily, and, as Diamond was falling asleep, out blew his cork and hit him on the nose, just hard enough to wake him up quite, and let him hear the wind whistling shrill in the hole. He searched for his hay-cork, found it, stuck it in harder, and was just dropping off once more, when, pop! With an angry whistle behind it, the cork struck him again, this time on the cheek. Up he rose once more, made a fresh stopple of hay, and corked the hole severely. But he was hardly down again before—pop! out it came on his forehead. He gave it up, drew the clothes above his head, and was soon fast asleep.

Although the next day was very stormy, Diamond forgot all about the hole, for he was busy making a cave by the side of his mother's fire with a broken chair, a three-legged stool, and a blanket, and then sitting in it. His mother, however, discovered the hole, and pasted a bit of brown paper over it, so that, when Diamond had snuggled down the next night, he had no occasion to think of it.

Presently, however, he lifted his head and listened. Who could that be talking to him? The wind was rising again, and getting very loud, and full of rushes and whistles. He was sure some one was talking—and very near him, too, it was. But he was not frightened, for he had not yet learned how to be; so he sat up and hearkened. At last the voice, which, though quite gentle, sounded a little angry, appeared to come from the back of the bed. He crept nearer to it, and laid his ear against the wall. Then he heard nothing but the wind, which sounded very loud indeed. The moment, however, that he moved his head from the wall, he heard the voice again, close to his ear. He felt about with his hand, and came upon the piece of paper his mother had pasted over the hole. Against this he laid his ear, and then he heard the voice quite distinctly. There was, in fact, a little corner of the paper loose, and through that, as from a mouth in the wall, the voice came.

“What do you mean, little boy—closing up my window?”

“What window?” asked Diamond.

“You stuffed hay into it three times last night. I had to blow it out again three times.”

“You can't mean this little hole! It isn't a window; it's a hole in my bed.”

“I did not say it was A window: I said it was MY window.”

“But it can't be a window, because windows are holes to see out of!”

“Well, that's just what I made this window for.”

“But you are outside: you can't want a window.”

“You are quite mistaken. Windows are to see out of, you say. Well, I'm in my house, and I want windows to see out of it.”

“But you've made a window into my bed!”

“Well, your mother has got three windows into my dancing room, and you have three into my garret.”

“But I heard father say, when my mother wanted him to make a window through the wall, that it was against the law, for it would look into Mr. Dyves's garden.”

The voice laughed.

“The law would have some trouble to catch me!” it said.

“But if it's not right, you know...” said Diamond, “that's no matter. You shouldn't do it.”

“I am so tall I am above that law,” said the voice.

“You must have a tall house, then...” said Diamond.

“Yes! a tall house - the clouds are inside it!”

“Dear me!” said Diamond, and thought a minute. “I think, then, you can hardly expect me to keep a window in my bed for you. Why don't you make a window into Mr. Dyves's bed?”

“Nobody makes a window into an ash-pit,” said the voice, rather sadly. “I like to see nice things out of my windows.”

“But he must have a nicer bed than I have, though mine is very nice—so nice that I couldn't wish a better.”

“It's not the bed I care about: it's what is in it.—But you just open that window.”

“Well, mother says I shouldn't be disobliging; but it's rather hard. You see the north wind will blow right in my face if I do.”

“I Am the North Wind.”

“O-o-oh!” said Diamond, thoughtfully. “Then will you promise not to blow on my face if I open your window?”

“I can't promise that.”

“But you'll give me the toothache! Mother's got it already...”

“But what's to become of ME without a window?”

“I'm sure I don't know. All I say is, it will be worse for me than for you.”

“No. it will not. You shall not be the worse for it—I promise you that. You will be much the better for it. Just you believe what I say, and do as I tell you.”

“Well, I can pull the clothes over my head,” said Diamond, and feeling with his little sharp nails, he got hold of the open edge of the paper and tore it off at once.

In came a long whistling spear of cold, and struck his little naked chest. He scrambled and tumbled in under the bedclothes, and covered himself up: there was no paper now between him and the voice, and he felt a little—not frightened exactly—I told you he had not learned that yet—but rather queer; for what a strange person this North Wind must be! that lived in a great house— "called 'Out-of-Doors' I suppose..." thought Diamond " —and made windows into people's beds!" But the voice began again; and he could hear it quite plainly, even with his head under the bed-clothes. It was a still more gentle voice now, although six times as large and loud as it had been, and he thought it sounded a little like his mother's.

“What is your name, little boy?” it asked.

“Diamond,” answered Diamond, proudly, from under the bed-clothes.

“What a funny name!”

“It's a very nice name,” returned its owner.

“I don't know that,” said the voice.

“Well, I do,” retorted Diamond, a little rudely.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking?”

“No...” said Diamond.

And indeed he did not. For to know a person's name is not always to know the person's self.

“Then I must not be angry with you.—You had better look and see, though.”

“Diamond is a very pretty name,” persisted the boy, vexed that it should not give satisfaction.

“a diamond is a useless thing, rather,” said the voice.

“That's not true! Diamond is very nice—as big as two—and so quiet all night! And doesn't he make a jolly row in the morning, getting upon his four great legs! It's like thunder.”

“You don't seem to know what a diamond is...”

“Oh, don't I just! Diamond is a great and good horse; and he sleeps right under me. He is old Diamond, and I am young Diamond; or, if you like it better, for you're very particular Mr. North Wind: he's big Diamond, and I'm little Diamond; and I don't know which of us my father likes best.”

A beautiful laugh, large but very soft and musical, sounded somewhere beside him, but Diamond kept his head under the clothes.

“I'm not Mister North Wind,” said the voice.

“But... you told me that you were the North Wind...” insisted Diamond.

“I did not say Mr. North Wind,” said the voice.

“Well, then, I do; for mother tells me I ought to be polite.”

“Then let me tell you I don't think it AT ALL polite of you to say MISTER to me.”

“Well, I didn't know better. I'm very sorry.”

“But you ought to know better.”

“I don't know that.”

“I do. You can't say it's polite to lie there talking—with your head under the bed-clothes, and never look up to see what kind of person you are talking to.—I want you to come out with me.”

“I want to go to sleep!” said Diamond, very nearly crying, for he did not like to be scolded, even when he deserved it.

“You shall sleep all the better to-morrow night.”

“Besides,” said Diamond, “you are out in Mr. Dyves's garden, and I can't get there. I can only get into our own yard.”

“Will-you-take-your-head-out-of-the-bed-clothes!?” said the voice, just a little angrily.

“No!” answered Diamond, half peevish, half frightened.

The instant he said the word, a tremendous blast of wind crashed in a board of the wall, and swept the clothes off Diamond. He started up in terror. Leaning over him was the large, beautiful, pale face of a woman. Her dark eyes looked a little angry, for they had just begun to flash; but a quivering in her sweet upper lip made her look as if she were going to cry. What was the most strange was that away from her head streamed out her black hair in every direction, so that the darkness in the hay-loft looked as if it were made of her hair but as Diamond gazed at her in speechless amazement, mingled with confidence—for the boy was entranced with her mighty beauty—her hair began to gather itself out of the darkness, and fell down all about her again, till her face looked out of the midst of it like a moon out of a cloud. From her eyes came all the light by which Diamond saw her face and her hair; and that was all he did see of her yet. The wind was over and gone.

“Will you go with me now, you little Diamond? I am sorry I was forced to be so rough with you,” said the lady.

“I will; yes, I will,” answered Diamond, holding out both his arms. “But,” he added, dropping them, “how shall I get my clothes? They are in mother's room, and the door is locked.”

“Oh, never mind your clothes. You will not be cold. I shall take care of that. Nobody is cold with the north wind.”

“I thought everybody was,” said Diamond.

“That is a great mistake. Most people make it, however. They are cold because they are not with the north wind, but without it.”

If Diamond had been a little older, and had supposed himself a good deal wiser, he would have thought the lady was joking. But he was not older, and did not fancy himself wiser, and therefore understood her well enough. Again he stretched out his arms. The lady's face drew back a little.

“Follow me, Diamond,” she said.

“Yes,” said Diamond, only a little ruefully.

“You're not afraid?” said the North Wind.

“No, ma'am; but mother never would let me go without shoes: she never said anything about clothes, so I dare say she wouldn't mind that.”

“I know your mother very well,” said the lady. “She is a good woman. I have visited her often. I was with her when you were born. I saw her laugh and cry both at once. I love your mother, Diamond.”

“How was it you did not know my name, then, ma'am? Please am I to say ma'am to you, ma'am?”

“One question at a time, dear boy. I knew your name quite well, but I wanted to hear what you would say for it. Don't you remember that day when the man was finding fault with your name—how I blew the window in?”

“Yes, yes!” answered Diamond, eagerly. “Our window opens like a door, right over the coach-house door. And the wind—you, ma'am—came in, and blew the Bible out of the man's hands, and the leaves went all a-flutter, flutter on the floor, and my mother picked it up and gave it back to him open, and there——”

“Was your name in the Bible—the sixth stone in the high priest's breastplate.”

(Exodus 28:15-19)

“Oh!—a stone, was it?” said Diamond. “I thought it had been a horse—I did!”

“Never mind. A horse is better than a stone any day. Well, you see, I know all about you and your mother.”

“Yes. I will go with you.”

“Now for the next question: you're not to call me ma'am. You must call me just my own name—respectfully, you know—just North Wind.”

“Well, please, North Wind, you are so beautiful, I am quite ready to go with you.”

“You must not be ready to go with everything beautiful all at once, Diamond...”

“But what's beautiful can't be bad. You're not bad, North Wind?”

“No; I'm not bad. But sometimes beautiful things grow bad by doing bad, and it takes some time for their badness to spoil their beauty. So little boys may be mistaken if they go after things because they are beautiful.”

“Well, I will go with you because you are beautiful, and good, too.”

“Ah, but there's another thing, Diamond:—What if I should look ugly without being bad—look ugly myself because I am making ugly things beautiful?—What then?”

“I don't quite understand you, North Wind... You tell me what then.”

“Well, I will tell you. If you see me with my face all black, don't be frightened. If you see me flapping wings like a bat's, as big as the whole sky, don't be frightened. If you hear me raging ten times worse than Mrs. Bill, the blacksmith's wife—even if you see me looking in at people's windows like Mrs. Eve Dropper, the gardener's wife—you must believe that I am doing my work. Nay, Diamond, if I change into a serpent or a tiger, you must not let go your hold of me, for my hand will never change in yours if you keep a good hold. If you keep a hold, you will know who I am all the time, even when you look at me and can't see me the least like the North Wind. I may look something very awful. Do you understand?”

“Quite well,” said little Diamond.

“Come along, then,” said North Wind, and disappeared behind the mountain of hay.

Diamond crept out of bed and followed her.

[baelonthebrave]

'til queendom come, ch. 8

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,870 😮‍💨

ch. 8, fire and blood: “Prince Aemond and I are to march on Harrenhal, take it back from your father.”

She shook her head. She felt so numb. She could not remember the last time she had felt anything that wasn’t agony. “What authority does Prince Aemond have to make such a decision? Where is Aegon?”

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: tags have changed for probably the last time in the story, so double check and stay safe <3 asks, reblogs, likes, replies are like crack to me. I am the mouse hitting the pleasure button until I die. *drops this and runs the fuck away*

The days seemed to blur together as Sena was held in the Tower of the Hand. Once for guests, her room had been converted to a cell with the door barred from the outside and everything that could be fashioned as a weapon ripped out. She knew she should be grateful that they had not just thrown her in a Black Cell and left her to rot. Still, it was somehow equally aggravating to be a dragonrider who bested the King himself but somehow be too gentile to be kept in the cells with the rest of the prisoners of war. She paced the floor and tugged at the ill-fitting cotton gown they’d given her. She had no idea where Rhaenys was, only knew she’d been pulled from the carnage around Meleys’s body, blessedly still living and in good health, and taken back to King’s Landing in chains. Aegon had not been so lucky. Sena had winced when she’d seen her older cousin dragged from the battlefield, burnt and twisted. She’d done that, she had realised, with a sickening twist in her stomach. Groaning and moaning, King Aegon II had been spirited away into a wheelhouse for the ride back to King’s Landing, tended to day and night by maesters.

Sena’s only indication that he still lived was that she hadn’t had her own head struck off.

Months. That was how long she paced that floor, took her meals alone and yelled out through the door to anyone who would listen. The only people who ever came into the room were the servants and Ser Criston. Not Alicent. Not Helaena. Not Aemond.

Sena had laughed when she’d heard Aegon had sacked his grandfather as Hand and replaced him with Cole. Cole was clever and filled with enough spite to carry this war, that she knew, but Ser Otto had engineered all of this from day one, lurking in council meetings and pouring poison into his daughter’s ear. If Aegon wanted to truly win that throne he sat on, Sena would have counselled him to hold faith with his grandfather. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“You’re going to drive me to insanity,” she snapped at Ser Criston one day. He stood before her with the simple missive he had drafted to keep her up to date on the war, although she suspected it was a heavily edited version as it only ever seemed to bear bad news for her side of things, as though trying to convince her resistance was futile. For example, this newest one stressed that whilst Jace was currently combing Dragonstone for wayward seed of their house who would be capable of mounting dragons, he had been incapable of finding a rider for Silverwing. Sena did not point out that being incapable of finding a rider for one dragon did mean he had successfully found riders for two. Two more to their already vastly more impressive score of riders than that of the Greens. “The maid who brings my meals and draws my baths does not even look at me. How am I supposed to keep a grip on my wits if my own family won’t even speak to me? All I have is you, and you despise me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. He looked handsome, out of his heavy plate armour and dressed in more simple garb, the pin of his office gleaming on his chest. But his was the sort of treacherous beauty that Sena instinctually mistrusted on sight. It was like one of those carnivorous plants from Sothoryos that Helaena liked to read about, the sort that drew in insects with their pretty colours and then snapped shut around them. Her father had that sort of beauty. She’d seen it in Aemond too, that day on the battlefield, his hair pulled back from his sharp features, his armour gleaming. 

“I don’t despise you, my lady,” Cole told her, and the sympathy in his voice made her shudder. “Keeping faith with your father was just about the only honourable thing you could do in your situation.”

Sena could not help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth as she thought of how Daemon’s blood had looked on the front of her dress. I did not even do that, she thought grimly.

“I’m sure you understand that the Queen Mother, the Queen and Prince Aemond are all kept busy by their duties,” he said. 

“Then why are you here?” She snapped. “That is a clear lie, my Lord Hand. If anyone has no time in the day, it ought to be you. At least tell me how they are.”

“The Prince-“

“I didn’t mean Aemond,” she cut him off. There was no part of her, no piece of her being that was ready to confront the mess the two of them had made for themselves. “Tell me how Helaena is, how Queen Alicent is.”

Cole sighed and looked at her.

“Please, Ser Criston. From one soul who loves them to another. Please tell me.”

“There’s not much to say, my Lady,” he said with a shrug. “The Queen Mother is throwing herself into every small council meeting, every letter coming and going to keep her mind busy. And Queen Helaena- she is not well.”

Sena’s heart was pounding in her ears. “Then let me see her,” she breathed, drawing closer to Cole and taking one of his hands in hers. She would beg if she had to. “Let me do what I can to ease her suffering, Ser Criston. Let me at least hold her.”

To his credit, Ser Criston looked to be genuinely struggling. His throat bobbed, and his brow was furrowed deep. “You know I cannot do that,” he said.

“Why not?”

“The King, the Prince-“

“Fuck them,” she rasped, her throat burning at the thought of Helaena all alone, lost in her grief. “This is about Helaena, Ser Criston. Not Queen Helaena, or Princess Helaena but our Helaena. The girl we have both known and loved since she was a child.”

He sighed, blinking back tears, went to say something then thought better of it. He stiffly pulled his hand from her grasp. “I’m sorry, my Lady. I’ll bring you a book next time I visit, to assuage the boredom.”

Sena threw up her hands in frustration, tears of anger spilling from her eyes as he turned to leave. Well, thank the Gods, a book was bound to solve all her problems, she thought bitterly. But she would not lose her temper at him, would not lose the only human contact she had in the entire keep.

She would have been as well throwing her dinner plate at him, though, as the next visit was so dreadful she wished it had never come. Ser Criston laid a copy of the Seven Pointed Star on her dressing table, then turned to face her. The missive in his hand was crumpled, as though he’d been stressing on how much he ought to tell her, and instead of reading it to her he simply handed this one over.

With one son dead and one daughter in chains, it seemed Daemon and Rhaenyra had finally decided to send the rest of their children to safety. As Prince of Dragonstone, Jace was to stay with the black council and Sena could all but hear Baela refusing to go anywhere without him, but Joffrey and Rhaena had been sent to the Vale of Arryn, ostensibly to lend protection with Joffrey’s Tyraxes. As for her youngest brothers, Aegon and Viserys had been sent East on a ship. 

However, the ship had not made it clear of the Gullet before it had been attacked by the Triarchy of Free Cities that Ser Otto had enlisted to the Green cause. Jacaerys had immediately rushed to his brothers’s aid, along with his new dragonriders, Addam of Hull - now Addam Velaryon by royal decree, supposed bastard son of Laenor - and the peasant girl, Nettles. But a third of the Velaryon fleet had been dashed on the Gullet, young Viserys had been taken prisoner and Jace-

Jace.

Sena stopped reading.

She looked up at Ser Criston sharply, her throat going tight. “Ser-“

“I take no pleasure in telling you this,” he said grimly.

“Like fuck you take no pleasure in this,” she spat and knocked the copy of the holy book he had left on her dressing table to the floor. He flinched but did not move to pick it up. What did he- what did any of them know of holiness, piety, virtue?

Jace was dead. Sweet, handsome Jace who should have been a King. His gentle smile, his strength with a sword that always caught her off guard, his piss poor High Valyrian, all gone in the blink of an eye. “Oh Jace,” she breathed, tugging at the neck of her dress in an attempt to get some air. The room seemed stiflingly hot all of a sudden. “Jace.”

With him went Viserys, for all they knew. With him went Vermax and Stormcloud, her brother Aegon’s dragon. With him went a little more of her light and love.

“There’s more,” Ser Criston said.

She clutched at her stomach, feeling nauseous. “More?” She hissed. Her cheeks were damp. “I don’t have many brothers left, Ser,” she moaned.

He shook his head. “Not your brothers,” he said. “Prince Aemond and I are to march on Harrenhal, take it back from your father.”

She shook her head. It was all too much, far too much. She felt so numb. She could not remember the last time she had felt anything that wasn’t agony. “What authority does Prince Aemond have to make such a decision? Where is Aegon?”

“Incapacitated,” he told her grimly. And now she knew why he had not told her that earlier, because the small thrill it sent through her was shameful but emboldening. She had done that. Then the guilt twisted inside of her. He was still her cousin, how could she be so cruel? This war was turning her into a shadow of her former self. With every child lost, every great destiny wiped out, she felt herself becoming a crueler, harder person. But why was Ser Criston telling her now? “Aemond wears the crown, serves as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.”

Sena’s heart lurched. Aemond, crowned in Valyrian steel and rubies. Would he truly wear it better than his brother, as he thought he would? Or would his head bow under the weight of it also? “What does it matter to me?” She hissed. “My father is a seasoned battle commander, rides the Blood Wyrm, defends one of the strongest keeps in the realm. What could you hope to accomplish?”

“You will be accompanying the Prince and I to Harrenhal as ransom,” he told her, “so your father might give it up without a fight.”

Oh Gods. Oh no. Hysterical laughter climbed her throat. She was torn between telling him Prince Daemon would not trade a hot meal for her, let alone Harrenhal, and the creeping fear that he would, just so he could have her back at his mercy. And that scared her more than anything else. “I’m not sure I am the ace you think I am, Ser Criston,” she sniffed. Her nose was running and she swiped at her cheeks with her sleeve angrily. “My father and I are not exactly the image of familial harmony.”

He shook his head. “Perhaps not, but it would be shameful,” he said, “not to pay the ransom, not to take that deal. His eldest daughter, hale and healthy, still a maiden, in exchange for a burnt out shell of a castle.”

She could not help the little smirk that teased at the corner of her mouth at the thought. “Come now, Ser Criston,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “When has my father ever known shame?”

That was how she got out of that tower cell, though. Shackled at hand and foot and immediately bundled into a wheelhouse in the courtyard before she could catch a glimpse of the Prince Regent, yes, but at least she was past the four walls of that room.

The wheelhouse hit every bump in the Kingsroad and her tailbone suffered for it. Still, no one spoke to her. Not for days, not for the weeks it took to venture North with an entire army trailing behind them. She was left to her thoughts. Her ruminations, her tears, her dark spirals of dread. Jace, Luke, Jaehaerys. The only people she saw all day were the guard who took her to relieve herself in the woods and the cook who served her meals. When she was led away from the column of the army during a rest break to piss, King Aegon’s men leered at her. “Oi! Dragonrider! I’ll give you something to ride,” one man hollered at her, and Sena yanked at the chains around her wrists, desperate to go choke the life from him with the cold steel. But her guard had a firm hold of her and led her on at a shuffle. The men’s laughter echoed in her ears. 

Her head whipped around, this way and that, searching for Vhagar in the sky.

The guard - Jarrad, she’d heard his commanding officer call him - dutifully stood with his back to her as she relieved herself. She looked down at her chains, wondered how far she would get if she choked him out now and ran. Not so far in a thin cotton gown, shackled at hand and foot, with few places to run and hide in the scorched Riverlands. Aemond would hunt her down by sunset. “Where is the Hand of the King? Where is the Prince Regent?” She grumbled at the guard. “Shouldn’t one of them be making sure their high-value hostage is being held securely?” She was a Targaryen, she had been a dragonrider and she was the entire conceit of their plan to get Prince Daemon to give up Harrenhal without a fight. It was almost insulting that they were ignoring her like this.

The guard shrugged a little uncomfortably, not looking back at her. “We got told, ma’am, before we marched. The man who lets you escape will watch his wife and children hung, drawn and quartered. The man who molests you will be fed his own cock. The Prince Regent was quite clear, m’lady.”

She shuddered. “That’s one way to inspire loyalty,” she muttered with a grimace as she righted her skirts and bent to wash her hands in a nearby stream. Jarrad turned around and offered her a hand up. She took it gratefully. “You can relax, Ser Jarrad. I won’t run away.” Moons ago, back on Dragonstone, she had thought of it. She should have then. But she had too much unfinished business to run from all of this now.

“‘M not a knight, it’s just Jarrad,” he mumbled. “But thank you.”

She nodded. “Please excuse Prince Aemond. He is a good man underneath it all, I promise,” she said with a grimace.

Jarrad raised an eyebrow in confusion. “We heard you were trying to slice him in half at Rook’s Rest, m’lady,” he said, eyeing her shackles.

Sena pulled a face. “Yes, well… he upset me,” she said. “How far to Harrenhal?” She looked around, trying to spot anything to be used as a landmark. Between Aemond’s army and her father’s, they had made short work of this scarred land. Every field her wheelhouse rolled past was scorched, every town pillaged. It made her sick.

“Head of the column says not far now,” he told her. “Three days, mayhaps.”

Three days. Three days to come up with a plan before there was a bloody battle for Harrenhal. But what plan could she come up with, held prisoner as she was? She looked to the guard. “Do you have a wife, Jarrad? Children?” She asked as he followed her back to the column. She was dragging her feet, she knew, but finally someone was speaking to her and she was desperate not to be left alone again so soon.

“A wife, m’lady. Her name’s Marigold. We live in Fleabottom for now, but we’re saving to get somewhere nicer before we try for a babe,” he told her.

She gave him a soft smile. “Well, see, now I know Marigold’s name, so I definitely won’t run from you,” she said. He returned her smile uncertainly. “I’m going to do my best to get us home safe and end all of this, Jarrad. Then you and Marigold can move out of Fleabottom.”

He nodded, but she could tell he didn’t quite believe her. “Are you married to some Lord, m’lady?” He asked out of politeness.

Something in her gut twisted and she glanced overhead for Vhagar once more. “No,” she said with a sigh. “That wasn’t on the cards for me, Jarrad.”

His nod was stiff but he did show some sympathy at the sadness in her voice. “Don’t despair, m’lady. The Gods have a plan for us all.”

Sena agreed with him now more than she ever would have before. She just wasn’t sure if she wished to know what the Gods had in store for her.

She only grew more uncertain when the monstrous Harrenhal loomed into view and its drawbridge simply fell open at the sight of the approaching army. The men at the head of the column faltered at that and if Sena squinted out of the window, she could see Ser Criston directing his horse this way and that in the confusion, white cloak snapping in the wind behind him.

Then, the sound of Vhagar’s wings in the skies above echoed like a thunderclap, and Prince Aemond at last descended to the scorched fields before Harrenhal. He was so far away she could only tell him apart from the others by his hair.

If Vhagar had happily set herself down on the fields before Harrenhal, open on all sides to attack, slow and sluggish as she was, it could only mean that Caraxes wasn’t here. And neither was her father.

What in the Seven Hells was going on?

After much confusion and distant arguments, the column jolted back into motion and the head of King Aegon’s army trooped into Harrenhal’s walls. The larger part of the army began to set up camp around the keep, but Sena’s wheelhouse was drawn right into the courtyard.

When Jarrad finally freed her from the carriage, she shuffled out in her shackles into the yard. Harrenhal was even larger than she imagined, even more dizzying than when it was viewed from a distance. Her head spun as she looked up to try and see the heights of the twisted towers. The stones had melted when Aegon the Conqueror had descended from the sky on Balerion and burned Harren the Black and his sons in their beds. The ruined towers still smoked, a century and then some later. 

When she looked back down to the assembled men before her, she was greeted with the sight of a harried Ser Criston sharply questioning a man in the heraldry of House Strong. “-we had no choice, my Lord Hand. When Caraxes came down from above- it was either surrender or die.” 

“Is he truly not here?” Sena asked. They all turned to look at her - except for Aemond, who was resolutely looking anywhere but at her. When the Strong castellan could only shake his head weakly, Sena could not help the mad burst of laughter that bubbled out of her throat. “So you’re all saddled with me for no good reason?”

Prince Aemond’s jaw twitched. “You,” he said sharply to her guard. “See that the prisoner is found a suitable cell and guard the door with your life.”

“His name is Jarrad, Aemond,” she said even as Jarrad started to lead her away by her shackles. “And mine is Sena, if you don’t remember.”

He still did not so much as look at her, only gritted his teeth.

Jarrad only got her halfway across the courtyard before they stopped at the sight of a harried Maester. The middle aged man in a heavy robe and thick chain came rushing down the steps from the keep with a crumpled scroll in hand. “My lord!” He called in a distressed tone. The Maester went to give it to the castellan, but Aemond swept forward and snatched it from his hand before he could.

The Prince’s eye scanned the text, and they all watched with bated breath. What could have possibly happened in the time since they had left King’s Landing? No sooner was Aemond done reading the scroll than he was drawing his sword from his belt and placing the point against the Strong castellan’s thick neck. Gasps and shouts rose around them. “Fucking traitor,” he growled. “You had a choice when Caraxes descended, you just chose wrongly.”

“My Prince!” Ser Criston warned, and strode forward to grab the scroll from Aemond’s hand. He read as quick as he could whilst he attempted to keep Aemond at bay. “Gods be good… King’s Landing has fallen.”

“What?” Sena breathed as outcries broke out around her and Jarrad stiffened.

“The Black Queen’s dragonriders have taken King’s Landing, and Ser Otto Hightower has been executed…” Ser Criston said in disbelief. “Did you know about this, Ser Simon?”

Something hysterical was mounting inside of her. It was a trick, letting Aemond and Ser Criston lead their army back north to Harrenhal and taking King’s Landing out from behind them. Sena pulled at her shackles, still held by Jarrad. Over the din of the questions and exclamations from the assembled lords and knights, Sena spoke loudly. “Is there any mention of Helaena? The children?” She asked with panic in her voice.

“No,” Prince Aemond said, and at last turned his gaze to meet hers. He looked so tired and frustrated, the underside of his eye bruised a deep purple.

Ser Simon Strong used the Prince’s momentary distraction to draw his own sword and knock the Prince’s blade aside. Silence once again fell on the courtyard as the Prince turned his icy gaze back on the old knight.

“Can we calm down, please? And try to ascertain the truth of what has happened, like the honourable men we are?” Ser Criston insisted coolly, but Prince Aemond and Ser Simon were still eyeing each other, swords at the ready. 

“We know what has happened. Ser Simon has turned his cloak to my lovely sister and thought we would not notice,” Aemond said, dangerously quiet, and Ser Simon glared at him, holding his blade steady. It would not be a true match of skill - Ser Simon had grown stout and weary with age, whereas even exhausted, Aemond held himself like a viper ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Sena insisted, willing him to calm himself, pulling at her shackles in Jarrad’s grip. 

“Jarrad, I believe I gave you an order,” Aemond snapped, never looking away from Ser Simon. “See to it that it is done and she is out of my sight, now.”

“Right away, my Prince,” Jarrad said hurriedly and gave Sena an apologetic look before pulling her along with him.

“No,” Sena hissed, throwing glances back over her shoulder and tugging against her chains even as she was led away by the much larger and stronger man. Gods, Aemond, stop! Before you are truly lost, she longed to beg him, but he was not hearing her, lost in his own grief and anger.

No sooner was she out of the courtyard than she heard raised voices - Ser Simon, Aemond, Ser Criston - and the clash of steel.

At least it was over quickly.

Once Jarrad found her a tower cell, she did not see him again. Aemond seemed dead set on taking every friendly face away from her, and all she had were the maids who came in and out with food, water and fresh clothing. From what she could glean from the whispers of the maids and the guards on her door, Aemond put the rest of House Strong to the sword over the following days in his rage at losing King’s Landing and as punishment for the stain of bastardy their kin had left on the royal House Targaryen. Vhagar ate well.

The fear within Sena that there was no way to stop what was already in motion was starting to rise like a tide. 

She stopped eating, finding the food they sent her tasted like ash on her tongue and rolled around like putrid sludge in her uneasy stomach. She had one small window in the room, and confined herself to sitting in the sill throughout the day, her forehead resting against the cool glass, ignoring everyone who came and went. All she could see out the window was a small corner of the courtyard, the comings and goings of servants and soldiers. The occasional crow. Her breath misted on the window pane when she sighed.

“Again?” A woman’s voice - the one who had come to take her empty plate - sounded. Sena had not touched the supper she had been brought - it smelled like rot to her. The woman sighed. “That’s the second night in a row. You’ll get me in trouble, y’know.”

Sena huffed out a small laugh. “Can’t find it in me to care, if I’m honest,” she mumbled, never looked away from the rapidly darkening yard.

“Of course not,” the woman said coolly. “People like you never care when you tread on people like me.”

That got Sena’s attention.

She whipped her head around and caught the gaze of a tall, willowy woman. Beautiful, with long black hair and earthy brown eyes. She wore an uncommonly fine dress for a servant and a shimmering pendant about her throat. Who on earth did Aemond have serving her, that would speak to her in such an unguarded manor, even if it was deserved? “I do not know who you are to tread on,” she said shortly.

“No reason you would, I suppose,” the woman said. She dipped into a curtsey, fanning out the skirts of her dress with impressive grace. “Alys Rivers, m’lady.”

Sena swung her legs off of the windowsill and regarded the woman - Alys - curiously. “Rivers?” She asked. Some highborn bastard, then? Even the mere thought made her throat close up, her mind drifting to Jace and Luke. Dead and gone.

“Yes,” the woman said and gestured around. “This is my family’s keep. Or it was, before your Prince put them to the sword.”

Sena’s stomach twisted uneasily. Every enemy he was making was another person she could not protect him from while she was locked in a cell. “Not my Prince,” she protested weakly. She was locked up, after all.

Alys Rivers raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me. He speaks of you, day and night.”

Something lurched in Sena and her temper flared. “And why are you spending your nights with the Prince?” She gritted out, icy and monstrously jealous.

Alys laughed with satisfaction. “Not your Prince, eh? Don’t bother lying to me, girl, I’ve been walking this miserable realm a lot longer than you have,” she said, and Sena flushed with embarrassment at having been tricked so easily. “Don’t worry, I haven’t laid a hand on your Prince, as pretty as he is. I just report back to him about you and see his wine doesn’t run dry. It’s quite the task, right now, with you being insolent and him being rather depressed.”

Sena swallowed hard. “Why would you care if the Prince is depressed? You said it yourself, he put your family to the sword.”

She shrugged and gave Sena a little smirk. “Never said I liked my family, did I? You of all people should understand that, Visenya Targaryen.”

“I love my family,” Sena gritted out, “and I go by Sena.”

Alys Rivers gave her a smile that was all teeth. “You can love someone and not like them, Sena. Though you know that already, don’t you?” Sena chewed her tongue, did not like being read like she was an open book. Alys picked up her cold dinner plate with a sigh. “Be sure and eat everything tomorrow, for the both of us. Wouldn’t want that pretty figure of yours wasting away, would we?” Alys looked her up and down, and the feeling she sent through Sena was strange. Just like she was. Like there was something not quite normal about her, but Sena could not put her finger on it.

It was only when Alys Rivers had left and Sena readied herself for bed that it came to her. How old had she been? She had looked maybe old enough to be Sena’s mother, if a young mother at that, with fine creases around her large eyes and full lips. But she spoke as though she were an old crone and every time Sena had tried to look at an imperfection - a frown line or grey hair - her gaze had slipped off of it like water off a duck’s feathers. An exceedingly bizarre woman who confounded Sena long after she ought to have been asleep.

The next day brought the same dull parade of officers and washer women in the courtyard, but today, Sena’s mind was occupied by the strange woman. It was a serving girl who brought her her breakfast, but Sena forced it down on the off chance that Alys would return and keeping her happy would allow Sena to ask more questions. The fact that she was growing ravenous also helped her choke down the thick porridge.

After she had eaten, her eye caught on a familiar figure standing guard outside her door, through the small barred opening. “Jarrad!” Sena said with a smile in her voice, and the tall man’s head whipped around to meet her gaze.

He nodded uncertainly. “Mornin’, m’lady,” he said. There was an awkward beat of silence. “Are you… alright?”

“Yes!” Sena said, a little too quickly. “I just- I’m glad to see you, is all. I haven’t seen you since our first day here, I was hoping you were alright.”

Jarrad gave her a small smile at that. “I’m alright, m’lady. Just… worried, is all, about this King’s Landing business,” he said, but the shadows under his eyes and the crease between his brows betrayed the fact that worried was perhaps not sufficient.

Sena nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “Have you heard anything? From Marigold?” She asked.

Jarrad shook his head. “Sounds as though it wasn’t too violent, most of the casualties were soldiers and city watchmen,” he said. “There wasn’t much of a fight since King Aegon and his heirs have disappeared on the wind.”

It was the most she’d heard about Jaehaera and Maelor in months. She let out a small sigh of relief. “My closest friend is there, too, Jarrad. If your wife is anything like her, they’ll both be wise enough to keep out of trouble,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

Jarrad nodded with a sad look on his face. “I’m keeping Marigold in my prayers, m’lady. I just hope the Gods hear me,” he said and gave an exhausted sigh. “I can pray for your friend too, if you wish?”

Sena smiled at him and reached her hand through the bars to lay a gentle touch on his shoulder. “That would be most appreciated, Jarrad,” she said.

“Are you getting paid to talk or stand guard?” Came an icy voice, and Sena stepped back from the door as Jarrad jumped to attention, turning back to his guard post. There was a rattle of keys in the door and Alys Rivers was pushing it open.

“Leave him be,” Sena warned. “It was my fault. His wife is in King’s Landing, I only wished to know if he had heard from her.”

Alys gave her a strange look, like she did not quite know what to make of that, and kicked the door shut behind her. “You do know he does not have the keys to your cell? I’m the only one with them. It’s me you need to sweet talk, if you want to escape.”

Sena glared at her, not caring at all for the implication. “That might be what would go through your head, my lady, but we are not all the same.”

Alys laughed and gave her that same strange look. “You are an odd one, aren’t you?” She said, shaking her head in disbelief. Sena did not know what to say to that, only watched as Alys crossed the room and checked her breakfast plate. “You’ve eaten. Good girl,” she said and quirked an eyebrow at Sena. Sena did not like how Alys looked at her, like she could swallow her whole. “Have you bathed?”

Sena’s eye flitted to the door of the adjoining chamber, where the bathtub was. “No,” she admitted. “The maids filled it last night, but I was-“ What? Busy?

Alys just rolled her pretty brown eyes. “Right then, get in,” she said and pushed open the washroom door.

Sena followed her through to the next room and winced. The water was from last night. Even with the fire the maid had lit in the washroom, it would be stone cold by now. “I do not mean to be a priss but I would rather not get into a bath of cold water,” she muttered as Alys closed the door behind them.

Alys arched an eyebrow. “Blood of Old Valyria, are you? The toughest, most fearsome lot of dragonriding sister-fuckers in the known world? You’re all rather disappointing in person,” She said with a little laugh. “Worry not, Princess.”

“Lady,” Sena corrected, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“And yet you act so like a Princess,” Alys said with a deriding grin. “Take off your clothes, let me worry about the temperature of your bath.”

Sena frowned but awkwardly went to pull at her dress. She was used to getting undressed before servants, of course, but Alys was no servant and had a way of looking at her like she was a meal. Her nerves - and everything else - evaporated from her mind as she watched Alys raise a hand to her pendant necklace and mutter to herself, eyes flitting shut.

The fire before the bath guttered out in an instant, and so did the pillar candles lighting the recesses of the room. Sena’s eyes went wide and she was so shocked it took her an instant to realise there was steam rising from the bath water. “How-“ her words caught in her throat, her nostrils flared.

Alys gave her an easy grin and moved for the fragranced oils on a shelf. “Do not tell me you ride dragons but you don’t believe in a little magic?” She quipped and Sena’s eyes somehow went wider.

“Magic?” She breathed. She had seen strange things in her life, things that no logician or maester could explain. Dragons bending to the will of mere humans and great beasts that stalked the Kingswood, making the very air around them shimmer. She had heard tales of things that lurked beyond the Wall, of Old Valyria, of Asshai-by-the-Shadow. But she had never seen-

“It will go cold again if you keep standing there gawping like that,” Alys said.

“Right,” Sena said dumbly, and shrugged off her shift.

Alys was swirling lavender oil into the water by the time Sena was disrobed and stepping in. The water was so hot it would have made someone else hiss, but it was soothing to Sena’s dragon’s blood. She leaned back in the water and let her curls go damp.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Alys remarked, and Sena wasn’t sure whether she should be embarrassed or proud. “The swordplay has made you strong and a little mannish, yes, but you still have lovely breasts, full hips. And your face… yes, I can quite understand why the Prince is so taken with you.”

Sena reached up to cover her breasts and her bottom half, feeling heat rise in her face. “Can we not talk of him, please?” She asked stiffly. “And let us not talk of my breasts either.”

She could practically hear the smirk in Alys’s voice behind her as she started to work a lather into Sena’s hair. Long fingers worked her scalp firmly and Sena could not help the little sound that escaped her. “He’s a sore subject, then? You must be truly angry with him, to be so sensitive to the very mention of him. Either that or… he’s left you a maiden. Is that why you’re so bashful and demure?”

Sena flushed a deeper red, if that was even possible and Alys let out a low laugh. “Or both? Oh, my lady. That is sad,” she said with a malicious humour in her voice.

Sena twisted around to face her, the hot water sloshing against the sides of the metal tub. “Who are you to judge me? It’s not the same for me as it is for you, you know. I carry my family’s name. If I am not a maiden, I am ruined, I bring shame upon my House.”

Alys smirked at her. “Oh yes, things must have been truly difficult for you, Princess. Being raised in a fine castle and doted on by your royal father. Dancing at balls in silk dresses and falling asleep on satin sheets. I’m positively weeping for you.”

“You do not know the first thing about me,” Sena snapped and turned back to face the other way. “I’m not a Princess and my father never doted on me. Quite the opposite, he despises my very existence.” She ground her teeth as Alys resumed washing her hair. “I have spent the last year watching my family slaughter each other in cold blood. Two brothers. My best friend’s son. Countless men-at-arms and smallfolk and we carry on and step over their bodies as if they were nothing, as if they did not have families and hopes and prayers. And there has been nothing I could do to stop any of it - believe me, I tried. I will not pretend I have faced the same trials as you, my lady, but I have faced my own. They have been agony.”

That won her some silence from Alys as the elder woman washed the suds from her hair. The quiet was oppressive and Sena’s words bounced off of the walls around her, echoing in her ears. The heat of the water now felt uncomfortable more than soothing, like the temperature was slowly creeping up and she was being cooked from the inside out. “So… it is true, then?” Alys said, breaking the silence once more to Sena’s distaste. “What Jarrad has been saying about you? You’re the talk of the castle, you know, in the kitchens and the barracks.”

“I do not know what they say,” Sena gritted out. “That’s rather the point of saying it behind my back, is it not?”

“They call you a peacemaker,” Alys said, getting up from her position at the back of the tub and coming around to sit on the side, holding Sena’s eye. Under Alys’s strange, unreadable gaze, it did not even occur to Sena to cover herself. “A conciliator. They’re saying you want an end to the death and destruction as much as any servant or soldier.”

Sena gave her an odd look. It was true, but why did Alys care? “What does that matter to you?”

“Your Prince put my family to the sword,” Alys said. “And whilst I did not care for them, it took away any protection there was for every cook and serving girl and stablehand that has loyally served House Strong. Now, we all serve at the pleasure of the infamously merciful Targaryen Dynasty, whose dragons melted the towers of the very castle we’re standing in. And I’m sure it did not escape you on your journey up here from the capital that there is very little of the Riverlands left to lay claim to. Like I said, people like you never care when you tread on people like me.”

Sena rose from the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed over the side. She stepped out of the water and stood before Alys Rivers, naked as her name day. “It is not a responsibility my kin takes lightly, being sworn to protect and serve the people of this realm. Though we have been doing a piss poor job of it recently, I’ll give you that. I have fought my whole life for peace in my family. Now, I know I do not care who sits on that abominable throne so long as nobody else has to die for it. Not a dragonrider, not a soldier, not a peasant. I want this done, as much as you, and then I want to live out what days remain to me in peace.”

Alys considered her critically, but there was a small smile on her face. “You will not end this war without another drop of blood, Visenya. ‘Tis a beautiful dream, but it is just that, a dream.”

“But if we keep going the way we are, dragon fighting dragon, sister fighting brother, uncle fighting nephew, we will leave nothing but scorched earth and corpses,” Sena bit out. She finally saw this for the opportunity it was. The opportunity to escape this cell and maybe finally put an end to it all.

Alys stood and rounded the bath, passing her a clean sheet to wrap herself in. Sena took it gratefully, a small shiver running up her spine as she covered her skin. “You truly mean it? You wish to end this bloodshed more than you care about black or green, Queen or King? More than you care about your siblings and cousins, even your Prince?”

“I want to end this because I care about them. I do not care for their titles or their power or even whether they can stand the sight of me, so long as they all live. That would be enough,” she breathed, stepping forward to pull one of Alys’s supple hands into hers. “Just… tell me how.”

Alys gripped her hand tightly at that, so tightly it almost hurt, and Sena gave her a confounded look. “Listen carefully, girl, for I will only tell you this once,” she said, and her voice cut as sharp as Valyrian steel. “If you truly want to end this, no more asking others to tell you what to do. Can you honestly say you have done anything in this war besides reel and react? If you wish to lead, if you wish to bring peace, you must act. Show some initiative, girl. Wrestle back some control now or you will be left with no one and nothing to direct you.”

Sena looked down at their joined hands, her scarred and calloused skin in Alys’s smooth, flawless grip. She looked up at the vibrant pendant at Alys’s throat, then met her eyes. 

She nodded. “Okay.”

Alys nodded with her and released her grip on Sena’s hands. “Okay,” she said. “What is your first act?”

Realisation hit Sena with the force of an anvil. She knew exactly what she had to do. “I need to speak to Aemond. Alone.”

-----

It wasn’t until Alys pointed it out to her that Sena realised they actually looked quite alike. Dark hair, large eyes, similar height. All it would take was a simple spell - a glamour, Alys called it - and Sena would be indistinguishable from the true Alys Rivers for a short time. Unless she did something to expose herself to an observer.

That was how, some hours later, Sena found herself able to slip out of her cell, past Jarrad who knew her face and walk the corridors of Harrenhal. She and Alys had swapped clothes  and Alys would stay in her room and pose as her until Sena returned. Unassailed by all who saw her, she followed Alys’s directions down to the kitchens and without even a second glance at her, a cook was pressing a silver tray into her hands and hissing at her to get it to the Prince before it cooled. 

It wasn’t until she was at the door of Aemond’s chambers that she faltered, the tray wobbling dangerously in her hands. It was not a hypothetical anymore. If she could do this, if she could actually talk some sense into him, this could be the beginning of the end. If she could meet his eye, if he had the patience to look at her anymore. She drew a ragged breath. This was like to be one of the most important moments of her life, she realised. The moment where she would be made or unmade. But first, she would need to do her best to glean what information she could from his papers - Alys could only tell her so much. That Prince Daeron was at the head of the Hightower army and Ser Criston Cole was straining to leave Harrenhal and join their forces together. The rest of it she would have to figure out for herself, and decide how she was going to break the pretence and reveal herself.

She held her head high and pushed the door in.

The rooms were cavernous, like the rest of the keep. Aemond had a fire roaring in the hearth, but it did little to assuage the pronounced chill on the air. At the far end was a sitting area with soft cushions that looked untouched, and to one side was an arch that led to a bedchamber. In the centre of the room was his own war table, with maps and markers, a pitcher of wine, pillar candles that dripped wax. Aemond was sat at the table and did not even look up to acknowledge her entrance, so buried was he in a mass of scrolls and letters. He always had been an avid reader, but this was not the sort of reading he enjoyed - his brow was furrowed and he was chewing at his lip. His left hand was rolling something along the length of the table - no, not something, the crown of the Conqueror. Aemond toyed with his brother’s ruby crown as he read, twisting it on its edge, sending crimson glimmers arching over the ceiling, over his face. 

How does it rest on your head? She longed to ask him. But she could not break character, not yet. Although, it suddenly occurred to her that she had not the slightest clue how Alys acted around Prince Aemond. Was she as flirtatious as she was with Sena, as wickedly unknowable and sharp? Was she deferent?

He looked up from his letters and gave her an odd look. “Are you going to stand there all night or am I to eat at some point?”

She shook her head free of her stupor, her blood thundering in her ears. “Of course, my Prince,” she said hurriedly and moved to the table to set the tray down.

He watched her with his sharp eye and for a second, she could have sworn he saw right through her. Then he raised a hand and waved it. “Lay the table, then,” he said coolly, his brow furrowing further. “If you have not completely misplaced your wits.”

That made her jaw tick. “You’d do well to be polite to the person who could spit in your food,” she bit back, and she flushed at the obviousness of her mistake. There was no way, no way Alys would speak to him that way-

But Aemond only smirked. “There you are, Alys,” he said and went back to his papers. Relief swept through her. “Fill my goblet as well.”

Did he say please? Had he always been such a brat? She had never noticed it before now. She did as she was told, grabbing the pitcher to fill up his goblet from the other side of the table with wine of the deepest claret. Then, she took her chance to round the table and shuffle some of his papers out of the way so she could lay his meal. She slowed her hand as she scanned the seals - the flaming Hightower of Oldtown, the three-headed dragon of her own family. A peak and sunburst that made something tick deep in her memory of boring morning lessons in Queen Alicent’s solar. It was a Westerman, she knew that much, but why was a vassal lord writing directly to the Prince Regent instead of the Lannisters?

Oh, that was why, she thought as she scanned the letter quickly, setting it aside as slow as she dared. The Westerman - a Reyne, mayhaps, or a Lefford - had taken control of the Lannister forces after the death of Lord Jason Lannister, and they had been… slain on the shores of the God’s Eye by men calling themselves the Winter Wolves. Good Gods. Aemond caught her looking. “Careful, Alys, anyone would think you were scouring for information to sell to the enemy,” he snipped, and he would have seen the way her face drained of colour if he had not immediately bowed his head to his hand and pinched at the bridge of his nose, as if staving off a headache. “Untold loss of life. The smallfolk are calling it the Fishfeed.” He laughed bitterly and reached for his goblet. “It was the God’s Eye that Lady Visenya’s dragon retreated to, after our victory at Rook’s Rest. At least he will eat well out of our losses.”

Sena did not know what to say. She shuffled aside more papers to make room. “She is well… the Lady Visenya, that is,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “Eating again.”

Aemond nodded stiffly. “Some good news, at least,” he said.

It was enough to raise a lump in her throat. She took his dinner plate and leaned across him to put it before her. She caught him giving her an odd look. “What?” She asked, her pulse thrumming.

He narrowed his eye, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Carry on.”

Her heart was in her throat as she leaned in to put down his fork and knife. His head turned to her once more, confused by something.

The knife was in his hand and back off the table as soon as she’d laid it down. He brought it down so swiftly and sharply she did not even have time to react, and he skewered the sleeve of her dress to the table. A scream jumped from her throat. “My Prince!” She cried.

He was up and had his hand under her jaw, tugging her face sharply to meet his. The melting of the glamour felt like a trickle of cool water. A cruel smirk spread across his lips as brown eyes gave way to violet. Sena swallowed hard.

“Nice try,” he said, almost a little admiring. “But remember for next time, most bastards cannot afford lavender oil for their baths.”

“You could smell me?” She balked.

He raised an eyebrow and schooled his expression. “You love lavender,” he said, as if it was obvious. “Are you going to tell me why you are here before I have you taken back to your rooms? Maybe clapped in chains for good measure."

She met his good eye defiantly. “What did you expect me to do?” She asked, belligerent, pinned to the table and caught in his grasp. “You won’t speak to me, you won’t even come and make sure I’m still alive, you just send some woman-“ 

“Whom I trust to know it is in her best interests to be loyal to me and protect you,” he snapped. He shook his head at her in disbelief, thumb trailing along the underside of her jaw. She tried to jerk out of his grasp. “Although it seems I trusted her a little too much, and once again seem to have underestimated your refusal to stay down when you’re beaten.”

She blustered out a laugh, sounding more confident than she felt. “From what I can tell, Aemond, you’re the one who is losing. Not me,” she picked up the letter telling him his casualties from the God’s Eye and held it up. 

He did not look at it, holding her gaze with frightening intensity, then ripped the knife free of the table. 

She stumbled back. Watched him as he carefully composed himself, an irrepressible undercurrent of rage running just beneath the surface. He sat back down again and fixed his steady glare on the crown on the table. “I have won all my own battles yet I am losing this war,” he admitted. “We lost King’s Landing- I lost King’s Landing. My grandfather is dead and gone. Aegon has vanished. I cannot even speak to my mother. All I have is Cole and we cannot even see eye to eye.”

Something in Sena gave a pang. How she hated seeing him lonely. They were supposed to be there for each other, supposed to stop each other feeling alone in the world. They had promised. Five-and-ten years ago, now, they had made that promise, holding hands in the dark. “You have me,” she breathed and his head whipped around to face her.

“What?”

She drew a steadying breath and leaned on the table next to where he sat, surveying the map. “Tell me what the situation is. Maybe I can help.”

He looked up at her from his seat and his throat bobbed. He dropped his head into his hands and began kneading at his brow. He was so tired there was an uncharacteristic slump in his shoulders. “Why would you help?” He asked bleakly. “It is your family I am trying to destroy.”

She huffed and shook her head. “It is our family, Aemond,” she said sharply. “You - all of you, Aegon, Rhaenyra, my father - are trying to destroy our family. We are one house, the last dragonriders, fire and blood. Do not forget it.” She did not wait for his response before she turned and looked at the map that showed all the realms below the Neck. He had it spread on the table and weighed down with crowned dragons representing his own forces, a cobbled-together mix of Arryn falcons and Velaryon seahorses representing Queen Rhaenyra’s. It made her ache to see it - nobody had ever chiselled two sets of dragon markers. Nobody had anticipated their house turning on itself. “What do we know of what is happening in King’s Landing?”

Aemond let out a long breath. “There is some good news there at least. When all this started, my brother’s council was prudent enough to split the treasury into four and send off three parts for safekeeping. Rhaenyra will be spending the last of what we left to her, by now.”

Sena grimaced at the thought. That would be putting pressure on her indeed. “The smallfolk will be suffering for it. Trade is already disrupted in the Narrow Sea, the Goldroad and the Roseroad cut off, so no trade from the Westerlands or the Reach.”

Aemond nodded. “They’ll be hungry, and what they can get will be taxed viciously by my sister to pay for the war.”

She drew a breath and looked at him. Did her best to steady herself. This was her chance. “This has gone on long enough, Aemond. This family has lost too much. This realm has lost too much.” 

He leaned back in his chair, considering her. “And what do you wish me to do about it, Sena?” He sounded more tired than anything else, shrugging his shoulders. “Crawl on my knees to King’s Landing and beg for forgiveness? Pray your father doesn’t have me strung up by my entrails? It’s not going to work, we’re too far gone to turn back now.” 

She shook her head. “It is never too late,” she said, and his eye flitted to hers.

He managed to give her a wry smile but shook his head. “You have heart, of that there is no doubt, but I will not see her on the throne, Sena. Nor will I see her bastard go after her. She has taken too much - from me, from all of us. My mother has given up her life, her whole life in service of the crown, the people. She gave the King, my father four heirs. Four pregnancies, four births and that is not even considering how she shouldered the running of the realm or the countless times she endured his rutting. And never once has she been thanked or loved or honoured for it. Only disrespected, treated like a brood mare, brushed aside and forgotten.”

Sena frowned, wrapping her arms around herself. “I do not expect you to forget that, Aemond. I do not expect you to forget any of it. I only wish for you to admit this has gone too far. That no throne or crown or title is worth this.”

He suddenly looked as though he was far away from her, in some deep dark place, and he swallowed hard. “Do you know what happened to Maelor?” He asked.

Maelor? A cold fear gripped her. All she knew was what Jarrad had told her - that the King and his heirs had vanished from King’s Landing the night of the Queen’s invasion. She knew not what had befallen Helaena’s infant son. She did not wish to know, if Aemond’s expression was any indication. 

“He was spirited away by a member of the Kingsguard, the night King’s Landing fell, to be taken to Oldtown and my brother. They only got as far as Bitterbridge before the smallfolk caught on, realised they were not who they said they were. They found Maelor’s egg in Ser Rickard’s pack, realised they had a dragon prince on their hands that was worth more than all their pitiful fortunes combined. The fight that broke out, they-“ His words caught in his throat and he cleared it harshly. Sena felt sick. “Some say they tore him limb from limb, Sena. So they might each claim a part of the Black Queen’s price on his head.” 

“Gods,” she said. A wave of nausea rolled through her. He had just been a little baby. This vile, vile war, the fact that their own shortsightedness and vengefulness had done this to them, led them to do this to each other. “Helaena,” she breathed, and Aemond swallowed hard, brushing angrily at the tears on his cheek. “Does she know?”

Aemond shrugged weakly, looking defeated. “I do not know. I fear my half-sister would delight in telling her.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, felt a twinge of pain where it had healed a little crooked. Closed her eyes as she willed the roiling in her stomach, the thudding of her heart to calm. There was a clammy sweat on her skin and she just wanted to cry. “We need to get to her, Aemond. If we can do nothing else, we need to get her back. We need to take care of her.”

“How?” He asked, sounding defeated. “Helaena, my mother, they’re being held in chains. I do not know what to do.” He sounded so small, so beaten down, and it was breaking Sena’s heart.

Sena stood and rounded the table, planting her hands and surveying the map in an attempt to occupy her mind, stop the dark, yawning pit in her heart from consuming her. “We need to force Rhaenyra’s hand,” she said quietly. “We need to make her come to the table, talk peace. Right now, she has King’s Landing, but that is all she has in the South. You still control nearly everything North of the Dornish Marches and South of the Eyrie and the Neck. If we can make her position untenable…“ 

Aemond was watching her with his reddened eye and drew a deep, ragged breath. He pushed himself up from his seat and came to the edge of the table. He picked up a crowned dragon marker from the Westerlands and rolled it in his hands. “You truly believe there is a way for us? We can end this, stop the bloodshed?”

She looked up and met his gaze steadily. How could he simultaneously look so young and so weathered? So terrified and so exhausted? “I will end this war,” she told him, with every shred of certainty she could muster. “We will save this family, save this kingdom or die in the attempt. That is the only acceptable path left to us, Aemond.”

He studied her for a moment, then looked back down to the figure of the dragon wearing a crown in his hand. He nodded once, then reached up with his other hand and snapped the crown off in one clean motion. Sena was taken aback for a moment, then watched him reach for the next marker, doing the same. Then the next, then the next. She took one up from in front of her and bent it with her hands, feeling the wood splintering under her grip.

The dragon markers went back to their previous places, now without their crowns, and Aemond nodded to himself. Convinced he was doing the right thing, at long last. “No more sides,” she said to him. “No more colours, no more division. Just us. One family. One realm.”

“Show me,” he said, watching her with his piercing, clever eye. “Show me how we end this.”

Sena took a deep breath then looked down at the map before her, a sudden surge of something unnameable in her stomach. Courage? Fear? Love? 

Whatever it was, it was time to get to work.

She had been thinking about this for weeks but now was the time to finally put it into motion. “We need to lay siege to King’s Landing. Block every road in and out, cut them off at sea. Choke Rhaenyra until she has no choice but to meet us under a peace banner.”

His eye flitted between the map and her, and he reached across the table to take her hand, pointing out to her the positions of two of his armies. Lightning sparked through her where their skin met, but she did not let it show on her face. “We have the roads, for now. If I direct Ser Criston Cole and my brother Daeron to march and siege the city…” he looked to the sea and grimaced. “There must be a way to broker another deal with the Triarchy, cut off the Velaryon fleet at sea. But we are low on funds, low on anything they would want. It will not be a pleasant negotiation-” 

“No. Not the Triarchy,” Sena said, shaking her head vehemently. “Your alliance with them is at an end. It will be hard enough to get Rhaenyra to treat with us as it is. We cannot sue for peace with a foreign power backing us and being seen to have a say in the outcome. They shot down Jace and Gods only know what has become of Viserys. Your sister will not listen to a word we have to say with them at our backs. We need another fleet.” 

He considered her words and conceded with a nod. “You have a point,” he said. “But that does not solve the problem. What fleet do we block off Blackwater Bay with if not the Triarchy’s? It will take months to sail ships from Oldtown or the Arbor, and I doubt Dorne would take too kindly to seeing a fleet of war galleys in their waters.” 

The question was making Sena’s head ache. What other options did they have besides the Hightowers and Redwynes? But he was right - it would take time they simply did not have to muster a fleet from the Reach that could rival the Velaryons and even then, they would be putting blind faith in the Gods that their southern neighbours would let them pass by unmolested. She scanned the map. Her eyes fell on the eastern coast. “The Arryns.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow at her. “They are sworn to Rhaenyra, Sena. Her lady mother was an Arryn-“

“I know, I advised Jace on brokering the deal,” Sena ground out. How wrong it felt, to be undoing her lost brother’s good work. Some part of her said that Jace would understand, though, if he was still here. “But if there is one thing our ancestors have shown us about the Vale of Arryn, it is that the impregnable Eyrie is vulnerable to dragons.”

Aemond looked a little bewildered. “We cannot just land a dragon on the Eyrie and demand they switch banners, Sena.”

She sighed. “No, we cannot, but my sister is ward to Lady Jeyne Arryn. Rhaena is a good girl, a gentle girl, she has always loved me like I was her true sister. She will hear what I have to say. And if a deal had the support of House Arryn’s most powerful bannermen-“

Aemond shot her a look. “You mean-“

“Yes,” she said with a nod and the certainty she felt in her was as strong as castle-forged steel. This was how they would accomplish this. She ran her hand over the place on the map where Runestone was nestled. “It is high time I raised my claim to what is mine by rights.” When she looked up, Aemond was smirking at her, brimming with pride. Her cheeks coloured and looked back to the map, desperate to move things along. “A city the size of King’s Landing could withhold siege for untold time, Aemond. They need to fall from the inside, too.” 

Aemond nodded and considered her words, trailing his fingers over the soft blue colouring of Blackwater Bay. In real life, it was a far moodier navy-grey. “My mother,” he said finally. “She’s a pious woman, she has friends in the faith that I reckon she would still be able to reach, even in chains, if they are letting her see a Septon. And if anyone could turn the smallfolk into a mob, it would be the Faith. If we can somehow sneak in a message to her…”

“What about Vhagar’s cavern?” She suggested. “It opens onto the cliffs. If we can get a man in that is familiar with the city and the Red Keep, we could reach her that way.”

He nodded vigorously. “Good. Good thinking.”

They both looked down at the map, moving their markers into place, surrounding King’s Landing fully from all sides. A lump was forming in Sena’s throat. The city was already tense, the smallfolk already being taxed to starvation. “This plan would be like throwing a torch in a hayloft,” she said, fear flooding through her.

Aemond considered the map, considered the armies that spilled out in every direction. Every orphan and widow they would make if they did not end this quickly. “What choice do we have?” He asked.

“Their dragons still outnumber yours,” she pointed out. “If this comes to a battle, you are outnumbered, two to one.” 

“Daeron’s Tessarion has grown into a fine beast, and Vhagar is worth half their dragons put together,” he insisted. “And you forget about your own dragon. We have Vermithor now, once we travel to the God’s Eye. I have received reports that Silverwing has been brought to the capital for Princess Rhaenys to claim, but the she-dragon will not fly against Vermithor. They are mated for life.” 

Sena repressed a grimace at the thought of the unruly dragon who had no love for her. She missed Grey Ghost everyday. But she had no choice and he was right, Vermithor would go a long way to evening the score, even if it was just to lay more pressure on Rhaenyra to negotiate.

Then, she thought of a person she had vehemently not been thinking about up until now. “What about my father?” She breathed, cold dread trickling through her. “Rhaenyra can be reasoned with. She loves her sons above all else. But my father… he will be unreasonable to the end.” 

Aemond gritted his teeth at the thought. “Let me deal with your father,” he said, looking for all the world like he longed to reach out across the table and touch her. “We just have to get them to the table, first of all.”

“And then, all we have to do is get the most unreasonable and obstinate family in the known world to agree with each other?” She asked, taking up the dragon marker and running her finger over the broken crown with a humourless laugh.

He reached across the table and grabbed it out of her hand, their skin grazing for the barest of seconds. “Be careful, you’ll give yourself a splinter.”

Sena could not help the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. Aemond looked up at her sharply as if he’d been slapped. “Sorry, I just-“ she shook her head. Laughed some more. “After all that’s happened… Luke, Grey Ghost, Rook’s Rest, you’re concerned about me getting a splinter?” She held his eye steadily.

He looked away from her, his shoulders bunching up around his ears. “If I could take it back-“

Sena shook her head, morose. “That’s not how anything works,” she said and reached for the pitcher of wine on the side of the table, the one Alys said she was working overtime keeping filled for him right now. Right enough, it was half empty. He was struggling and she was making him feel worse right now. 

No, he would not get her sympathy. So much of what had happened, of what was still happening, he could partly blame on his own pride, his inability to mind his temper or bite his tongue. And maybe that was a luxury of his station in life, maybe that was just one of the privileges of being a man, being a prince. But if he wanted to be at her side and help her end this, he had to learn control, learn remorse. She poured herself a generous glass and drank heavily, rolling the full-bodied wine over her tongue and savouring the bitter taste. “Are you going to apologise to me?”

“How do I apologise for something I did not mean to happen?” He asked quietly.

Was he determined to get on her very last nerve right now? “By saying you’re fucking sorry,” she snapped, slamming her goblet down on the table. A spatter of wine coloured the map and he looked up at her, shocked. Had she ever been the one to lose her temper first between them? She could not recall. “Now, Aemond. I will have your apology. My honour demands it. Either that or your head.”

He watched her with a flicker of something dangerous in his remaining eye. “Done playing the good girl, are you?” His voice was controlled - pure, cold control - and it only made the fiery rage inside her burn hotter.

“It wasn’t an act,” she bit out. She took another heavy swig of wine and wiped at her mouth. “It wasn’t an act. I love you. I love all of you. And you’re all ruining me. You’re making me into an angry, vengeful woman.”

The Prince only smirked at her and it stoked her rage. “Let the fire burn, love,” he said, something dark in his voice, a heat in his eye. “Part of me always wanted to drag you down to my level.”

“Say you’re sorry,” she demanded. “Say you’re sorry for shackling me hand and foot. Say you’re sorry for every bruise and broken bone. Say you’re sorry for Grey Ghost, for Luke.”

“Say you’re sorry for Jaehaerys,” he countered coolly, “for Maelor.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Aemond, I put a knife through my father’s neck when I learned about Jaehaerys,” she growled. “Do not play this game with me.”

That revelation made him come alive. His chest swelled, his eye went dark. He smirked. “Of course you did,” he breathed. “You are Visenya. My Sena.”

“Your Sena?” She said and her insides were on fire. What right did he have to claim her when all he had ever done was hurt her, cast her aside and place her dead last in his priorities? “Fucking make me yours, you coward.”

She did not know where the words came from. She did not even have time to draw breath before he was round the table and at her side, taking her hips in his hands and pushing her up onto the polished oak. Her blood roared in her ears and a guttural moan broke free of her throat as he fell upon her lips. Biting, licking, bruising. It was hot and wet and desperate, and his hands tangled into her curls, pulling her head back for him. Her hair strained at the roots. The pain was sweet. The pain was like fire.

Her hands flew up to tangle in his hair but he caught her before she could even lay hands on him. He pulled her arms sharply behind her back, held them there with one hand, and used his other to tug her head back by the hair at a sharp angle. “Say it again,” he hissed. His eye was malevolent. “I’m warning you. You have tested my honour too many times. Say it again and I’ll do it.”

The very air in her lungs was molten. She gasped in a breath, her lungs struggling for room as he bore down on her, her arms screaming in protest behind her back. She could break his hold on her if she really wanted to - he was wiry for a man and she was strong for a woman - but there was a current of heat running through her at the way he bowed her to his will. They were already agreeing to betray both their families, the people who had raised them, making a pact writ blood. Everything they had done in the last months - they were without honour, without virtue. That ship had long set sail. What was one final sin to add to her list? The very sin she had burned for, for years. And instead of hatred and despair, it would be committed with heat and desire. With love. It was only right that this final betrayal should be sealed with the blood of her maidenhead. “I won’t beg,” she bit out, her voice trembling. They were nose to nose, brow to brow. He had a beautiful nose. Strong, large, sharp.

He barked a malevolent laugh. “I’ll make you beg.”

Even with her throat bared, her head pulled back, she met his eye steadily. “Would you just shut up and fuck me?”

He gritted his teeth. His iris was swallowed up by the black of his pupil and she could feel a growing hardness pressed against her belly. “As my lady wishes.”

His hand still held hers tightly behind her back, the callouses where he gripped his sword dragging on her skin exquisitely. His other hand left their grip on the roots of her hair to tangle into the laces at the back of Alys’s dress. It was not as fine a dress as her own back on Dragonstone, though, and the eyelets caught on their laces. Aemond’s expression twisted with annoyance and he wrenched the lacing loose.

Sena felt the sharp tug, heard the ripping and pushed back against him. “Aemond,” she snapped, “this isn’t mine.”

He grinned maliciously and pressed his nose into the hollow under her jaw, pressing against her pulse, kissing against the place where she had struck her father with the letter opener. “Only allowed to rip your dresses, am I?” He asked with dry, dry humour in his voice.

She drew in a ragged breath. “Yes,” she gritted out, burning with shame at how needy she sounded. “Only mine. I’ll cut you open from your throat to your balls if I ever hear of you touching another.”

He grinned against her neck and bit her skin sharply, making her hiss. “Only you, my lady,” he hissed, and yanked her dress down, baring her breasts. He licked his lips and sighed shakily, raising a rough, calloused hand to pinch at one nipple, then the other. Sena whined low in her throat, and he dipped his head to latch on. She watched him suckling at her with desperation, watched him switch to her other breast and tweak at the tender, wet nipple with his teeth and tongue. She threw her head back in a moan.

Bent at an awkward angle, Aemond raised his eye to her and watched her sigh in pleasure at his ministrations. He came off of her breast with a wet pop and brought his spare hand up against one flushed, tender nipple in a hard slap. It stung and Sena moaned. “Aemond,” she hissed. “Fuck, please.”

His smirk was so infuriating it set a fire beneath her skin. He drew closer, pressed them together, her thighs parted for him. Chest to chest. He pulled her hips to the edge of the table and ground himself into her, and Gods, she could feel every last inch of him, straining through his breeches. Her bare, sensitive nipples grazed on the silver fastenings of his doublet and it sent a flood of heat through her. “Such a good lady, so obedient and demure for twenty-one long years, just to turn into a wanton whore at the end of it all. All for me.”

“I’m everything for you,” she breathed, hot against his lips. They were eye to eye, her throat bared to him at the most vulnerable of angles. Her shoulders were aching from the way he strained her arms behind her and his other hand was thrust up the skirts of her dress, shoving aside her undergarments and grazing a callous against the height of her pubic bone. “For you, I’m a lady, a whore, preacher, warrior. Fighting for forgiveness you do not even desire. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I was made for you, Aemond.”

That sealed the deal.

He let go of his grip on her so he could grapple with the front of his breeches and Sena brought her aching arms up to help him. Laces, laces, why so many fucking laces? There was a growing wet spot on the front of his breeches and it was making her mouth water. At long last, together they parted the fabric covering his manhood, and Sena winced, biting her lip. She took his thick length in hand, thumb grazing the weeping head. “Gods be good,” she breathed, trying to calm the small surge of fear at the sight of it.

Aemond smirked, proud, and watched her hand on his cock with avid interest. When she brushed a spot just under the flushed head, his eyelid flickered. “You do know how to flatter a man, don’t you, sweet girl?” He brushed her hair from her neck as she palmed at his cock, her cheeks burning. “It might hurt a little. Just for your first time.”

She drew a bracing breath. Wondered what it said about her that the idea of the pain was even more thrilling. She withdrew her hand from his cock, savouring the low grunt of protest in his throat. She spat into her palm and brought her hand back to him, grazing her fingers over that spot just as she reached the head. Just to watch his eyelid flutter. “Mightn’t be so sore,” she murmured. He slipped a hand between their bodies and used two fingers to stroke her entrance, spread her wetness. He gave her a pleased smile when he found her practically dripping. “I’ve spent so many nights fucking myself with my fingers, thinking of you, imagining it was you,” she sighed as his fingers caught on the rim of her hole. He groaned, his eye fluttering shut. With her spare, trembling hand, she reached up and unbound his hair, pulling his eyepatch from his beautiful face. The sapphire in his left socket glimmered at her and she brushed along the underside of his eye, the jagged line of his scar. “I want the real thing now, Aemond. Do not hold back,” she breathed.

“Fuck,” he choked. Even when his eyes slipped closed in pleasure, his damaged left eyelid let out a sliver of deep blue. He was bent so close to her that his beautiful hair fell like a curtain around them, and for a second, Sena could believe that the world only went as far as them. The table unrelenting against her arse, her own throbbing cunt, Aemond’s weeping cock. That was as far as it went. That was all there was.

Suddenly, he was in motion, pushing up her skirts, pulling down her undergarments and grabbing at her fleshy thighs. He pulled her forward so she was positioned at the edge of the table, at the head of his manhood. He took her hands in his, positioned them on his shoulders. Then he took hold of his cock and stopped for a second, eyeing her for any sign of hesitancy. “Last chance,” he warned her. “We can stop if that is what you desire.”

She pulled him down to her and kissed him. “Do not stop. Please, Aemond. Please.”

She let out a sharp cry when his cock pierced her core.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, gripping her jaw firmly in his large hands. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, held her gaze unshakeably, held her body steady. She knew he wasn’t just apologising for the pain of piercing her. Knew he was apologising for all of it, every last bit of pain he had caused her. Knew this was the best he could do. “I’m sorry.”

Every inch of her was alive, hot and white and bursting with agony. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Aemond,” she whimpered. “It’s- it’s too much-“

“You can take it,” he whispered. He was seated in her fully now. She could feel his balls brushing against the lips of her cunt. His own pale hair at the base of his cock against her black, coarse curls. The drag of their skin together burned with sweet friction. “You can, Sena. You can do it. You can do fucking anything, my girl.”

They were trembling together as they looked down at where their bodies joined. He groaned when he saw her skirts were in the way and pulled the ruined dress up over her head, leaving her as bare as the day she entered into the world. Now he could see, could see where he had parted and entered her. Her maiden’s blood mingled with her slick and his precum on the base of his cock. He dragged her hands up to his neck and held her trembling form steady. “Beautiful,” he groaned. “Look at us. I told you we’d be beautiful, didn’t I? As one? You impaled on me- Gods, Sena-“

“I’m ready,” she whined. She grabbed his hands in hers, caught them up, twined their fingers together. With a measured breath, she leaned back a little. The new angle set her on fire. She could feel the swollen head of his cock dragging on some dark and secret place inside of her. “Make me yours.”

His hands left hers so he could swipe away the wooden markers in her way, holding her lower back and easing her down to the table. Her shoulders and arse rested against the polished wood, but her lower back and hips curved upwards and met his in an unholy arc. Unholy, good Gods, if only his mother could see them now- “You were always mine, Sena. I was always yours,” he mumbled and she could see the thinnest of threads his restraint was dangling by.

She was in disbelief that it had taken them so long to realise it, such a simple, unassailable truth. She shifted back onto him, wanting to take every part of him and even the minute movement had pleasure spasming through her lower belly. “Well, seal the deal then, beautiful boy. My Prince."

That was all the encouragement he needed. His hips snapped into hers with a lurch that made every muscle in Sena’s core seize, and there was a deep stabbing sensation in her as the head of his cock seemed to push against the very limit of her insides. He groaned and leaned down onto her, covering every inch of her with himself. One hand found her left nipple, tugging and tweaking. The other found the base of her skull, forcing her up into a savage kiss that had her lips singing and swollen. His hips pumped into hers, setting up a punishing pace. Sena brought her hands up to his scalp, knotted them into his hair and pulled. Her body jolted, her breasts bounced, the table creaked in protest. Every inch of her sung.

“Aemond,” she moaned, legs wrapped like a vice around his waist, her wetness running down her arse and the front of his breeches, urging him deeper and harder. He brought his hands down under her arse and pulled her up to meet him, changing the angle in a way that had sharp cries spilling from her lips. He was watching her moan and cry, a malicious, hungry look in his eye, hips slapping into hers, squeezing and kneading at her arse cheeks. He leaned back from her so he could bring one hand between them and a calloused thumb started rubbing relentlessly at her pleasure. The thickened, scarred skin that wielded swords and commanded dragons was building a wave of pressure in her as easily as he might finger out a note on a lyre. He was playing her like an instrument. 

The snap of his hips was growing more frenzied, more urgent, and it was driving her wild. “Yes, yes,” he moaned, “take it, Sena. Take me."

“Gods-“ she gasped, as the wave built.

“Name them,” he hissed. The relentless force of his hips was pushing her up the table, but he grabbed her by her hip creases and pulled her flush back against him, drawing a low moan from her. He was trembling. They would not last long. His hand flew up to fasten around her throat, choking, burning. It was too much, her every sense was screaming, it was way too much and it felt fucking divine. “Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes, Syrax… Maiden, Mother, Stranger-“

“You,” she moaned. She gripped the hand that covered her throat, holding it tighter around the airway that fed her very life. “Aemond.” 

Her body threw her into fits of pleasure. 

Spasms, tides, relentless waves.

He moaned, let out a sharp grunt as her cunt tightened around him. He was shaking, his eyelids fluttering, and all of a sudden his hips stilled against hers. “Sena,” he groaned and his balls went tight against her cunt, her arse. His cock pulsed deep inside of her.

She pulled him down on top of her and took every inch, every part of him. Thick, hot liquid coated her insides in ropes of syrup, ropes of nectar. Her throat burned to taste it. Soon, soon, she would taste him, taste his seed. “Fuck-“ she moaned, “Aemond.”

His grip squeezed around her throat as his hips continued to spasm, and she choked. The sounds of her gasping for breath alarmed him and he drew back. His head dipped to her collar bone. He licked at the sweat pooling there. “My lady,” he whispered into the hollow of her throat, his hair falling around him. “Are you okay?”

She gasped in a breath and drew his gaze up to meet hers with a finger under his chin. “I’m better than okay,” she said in a whisper. “I’m in bliss.” 

He moaned against her throat and the vibrations went straight to her swollen, abused pleasure. “My beautiful, beautiful lady-“ his cock was softening inside of her, but she never wished him to leave her. She wrapped her legs around the backs of his thighs and held him against her. She could feel the coarse hair coating his thighs and his crotch against the most private parts of her body. The rub and the burn was exquisite.

With a grunt, he leaned back and pulled her up from the table. Wooden markers scattered on the floor, maps torn and creased, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of her. She squeezed her thighs around his slender waist and moaned wantonly as his swollen head dragged inside her. Balancing her on his hips, he carried her through to his bed, and laid her down on the softer surface. She winced at the loss of him, but he kneeled down at the edge of the bed and brushed aside the curls that were stuck to her forehead with sweat. She could feel his seed spilling out of her between her thighs, mourned the fact that she could not hold on to every last drop.

An hour ago, she might have felt horror at the idea of going to Alys or the maester and asking for moon tea. An hour ago, that might have made her so ashamed she could combust. But every last second of Aemond inside her, losing himself in her had been so worth it, she’d let the whole fucking castle watch if he’d just do it again.

Now she knew. Now she knew why married lords and ladies guarded that act with their honour, their lives. Why they had to make it so dirty and wrong and shameful. Because if unmarried maidens knew such pleasure… they would be unstoppable. They would know their true power, know what they could give, know what they could take. Know they could turn lords and princes and kings into desperate, wild animals.

Aemond got up from the side of the bed, his legs shaking a little, she noticed with satisfaction. He grabbed a clean cloth, dunking it in the basin of fresh water and came back to the bed. “Open your legs for me,” he said softly, knuckles of his spare hand brushing the underside of her jaw.

She parted her legs and felt the ache in her hips, the stretch of her hole, and she winced.

“Shhh,” he soothed her and gently wiped at the stickiness between her legs. “You took me so well, sweet girl. Let me take care of you, now.” The washcloth was soft against her intimate skin and he pressed a kiss to her hair. “It won’t hurt so bad the next time, I promise.”

The next time. Her entire body was exhausted but the thought managed to raise a small flush inside her. “What if I liked how it hurt?”

His eye flickered to hers, his gaze catching on where he had gripped her neck. She reached her hand up to feel the ghost of his hand on her. “I lost control,” he said quietly. “I- You spend your whole life wanting something, and when you finally get it- I should have been gentler with you.”

“No,” she hissed, sitting up and pulling him down to sit next to her. “I made you grab me harder. I liked it, Aemond.”

“I should have asked.”

“I will tell you if you do something I do not like, my sweet boy. Do not fear,” she said and pressed a kiss to his brow. He bowed his head against hers and sighed. “And I want to know what you like.”

“I like-“ he stopped, struggling for words, and there was an enchanting blush rising in his cheeks. Was he… embarrassed? “I think I would normally be gentle, tender. It’s a form of worship, isn’t it, really? Honouring something so perfect?” She flushed a deep red at the flattery as he brushed his thumb along the underside of her breast. He looked so genuinely admiring of her body it made her blood sing. “But if I’m frustrated or angry or jealous, I’m going to want to… manhandle you.”

“I’m not fragile,” she said, skimming her thumb over his lower lip. He dipped his head to press a kiss to her palm. “And that was exhilarating. I can see myself enjoying slow and tender, or sitting on top of you and taking my own pleasure. But I loved that. The pain and the pleasure, it was exquisite. You did so well, my sweet boy. You made me feel so good.”

His breath stuttered at that, and his eye was dark. She looked down at the open front of his breeches, the fabric stained with the evidence of their exploits and watched in wonder as his soft cock gave a valiant twitch. She smiled. She would have to remember that for next time, that praising him got such a reaction from him.

He looked down at his own cock and laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back to clean himself with the cloth and then fasten his breeches again. “How come you are naked as your name day and I am still in full court dress?” He grinned, pushing himself up off of the bed and pulling back the sheet from under her so she could get comfy.

“I quite liked that too,” she said with a cheeky smile. “But next time, I want to see all of you.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “As you wish, my lady,” he said. “I’ll come to bed soon and we’ll get you moon tea in the morning. I’m just going to stoke the fire and write to Daeron. We’ve got a war to end, after all.”

She gave a shocked little laugh. “Don’t tell me that was what you were thinking about when you were inside me? Writing to your brother?”

His answering grin was beautiful and boyish, his sapphire eye twinkling at her mischievously. “No, sweetheart, I was thinking about how I could die quite happily right now with you on my cock.”

She knew it was only a jest, but her heart seized in her chest and her hand flew out and grabbed him, stopping him from walking away. “Don’t ever leave me,” she breathed. “Don’t ever, ever make me carry on without you.“

“Oh Sena,” he breathed and sat back down beside her. He pulled her close and dipped his head so he could kiss her tender throat. “You are mine,” he murmured, his voice rumbling against her vocal cords. “I am yours.”

“Mine,” she sighed happily, pressing her nose into silver blonde hair. They reeked of sweat and sex, and Aemond gently lowered her to the pillow. “Yours.”

He pressed one last kiss to her lips, then the bed shifted as he rose to go back to his writing desk.

Sena only lasted a few deep breaths before she dipped out of consciousness, so utterly blissed.

taglist (dm/ask/reply to be added): @stargaryen22 @trap-house-homiecide

[finefiddleheaded]

I was planning this whole post about my deep gratitude to the grocery store cashier and bagger who said not a word to me except the price I owed for my groceries.

But fate pulled a prank on me because who should I see when I pull up to my house, but my new neighbor, a woman infamous among my roommates.

Like, my husband gave her his number for emergencies and she called it so many times just to talk that he started avoiding her calls. (Something she brought up: "He started saying he missed my calls because he didn't have his phone on him and I know that's what I say when I don't want to talk to someone! But i only call for emergencies and the last three times he didn't pick up." Yall. We haven't even lived here half a year.)

So there I was, groceries melting, puppy barking from her crate needing to go out to pee, and me with growing brain fog from standing for a long time with a blood pressure condition (yes i did tell her.) I WAS THERE FOR AN HOUR. There was no escape, she never paused for breath.

I heard about: her doctor, her job, all the pizza places she likes in town, what she thinks of my roommates, what she thinks of my mother in law, everything about her dog, local wildlife past and present, her sciatica, her auto immune disorder, her sleep disorder, her thoughts on libraries, her strategies for puppy training, her crusade to get the power company to fix the flickering streetlight, the stories behind every dog she's ever named (4,) how good she thinks my husband's cooking smells and every conversation she's ever had with him, her thoughts on Dr Seuss, her mouse trapping techniques, the fact that she's never seen me walking the dogs even though my husband said that's what she'd probably see me doing.

I also heard about all the email name variations she tried bc she wanted a very specific one: TheGiftofGab 😭

And then she tried to get MY phone number and I heard Kill Bill sirens. Thankfully(???) at that point I had brain fog so bad I couldn't string words together right so I slipped outta that one.

But oh man I have never wanted my roommate's car to pull up to the house more in my LIFE.

[kamelpferd]

I Am Writing A Book

For the past year I have been writing a book. A Book Of Poetry And Short Stories. It's almost finished and I will put 10 Stories into it. They are all thought through and a lot of them have already been written.

And I am so proud of myself.

Anyways, here I have a few pictures and short descriptions of the stories that will be in the book, to give you all a little idea of what is coming to you if you think you want to give my little project a closer look. I hope you can find something that is of your interest.

From brutality to sex over fantasy up to historical gay romance. I covered a lot.

I think I have done a pretty good job so far, and it will not take long until it is done. :)

The Men I've Had

She has had enough. Enough of their ego, them wanting to be better, them thinking they have the right. The right to do whatever they want with whoever they feel like. Grace Dennehy knows that everyone just looks away and lets them do as they please. She knows nothing will ever change unless somebody takes matters into their own hands. And so she does.

The Nun And The Nurse

The bible says it is a sin. God says it is a sin. They says she will go to hell for it. Burn eternally. For feeling the purest and most beautiful kind of love. The love for another woman.

Good Night, Little Kimmy

He has known her since she was a little child - But she is not a child anymore. She is a woman. A beautiful young woman who has yet to learn what the world can bring. And he wants to show her. Show her everything he can, but is it right? Is it acceptable? It can't be.

Prince Of Blood - Fate Of The Undead

What would happen if a Vampire Hunter got captured? What if she got captured by the man she was looking forward to kill? What if it turned into a game of fetch between cat and mouse? And what if he showed her what eternal life actually meant?

The Day I Died

She has to kill her. It is her fate, her role, her prophecy - but does she even want to? Does she have to? Because what if she loves her? What if she would rather die than harm her? What if she will?

In My Room

She threw up; every morning she threw up. She saw him in her dreams, night after night after night - and it wouldn't end. He wouldn't go away. He couldn't. He was dead.

Hunting Season

A chance. A chance she took and ran but then it hit her. She wouldn't get away. So she forgot and forgave. She could never escape. She was trapped. Inside his house, his basement, her own delusions. She couldn't leave, she didn't want to.

Silent Night - You Can Run But You Cannot Hide

Lilly and Billly have always been good. One December night, their mother tells them about a creature who visits those whose names are on the naughty list. He comes on christmas eve. And the two children learn about what happens to kids that don't behave.

Bonnie And Her Bride

Elizabeth Hyde's dearest friend is fed up with a life as housewife, under the resistant hand of a sweetheart, a boss and a father. So she takes Bonnie Parker with her, leaves their lives behind, along with everything they were used to and runs away, jumping right into gunfire. Little did she know how much trouble her decisions would bring.

Visitors

"We are writing the year 1983 and just outside my house, Bakerstreet 985, there is a U.F.O. It crashed in my backyard and I think there is something inside-" "Peter what the fuck are you doing?"

Alright, alright. I spent a hell of a time to create this ass post, just for my own satisfaction and to make it a little easier for myself to dive into my stories. I mean, it indeed is easier if you can see something, instead of just reading (even tho reading is also seeing something...)

Anyways, I hope could catch some of you for the one or the other story. I have been working on this book for about a year now, and it is almost done (Jesus, never decide to write a book. It kills you. Really.) But there is still a lot of work to do, so I suppose I could be done in like a year. But then I have to find a publisher... or publish it myself... which I am scared of i mean imagine it doesn't work. 0-0

ANYWAYS lets not think about this right now, haha.

There is a bunch of work ahead of me, but I am willing to do whatever it takes.

-Spencer C. Belford

[inkspellangel]

First Stories Tag

I was tagged by both my spud friends @spuddlespud and @writingpotato07 <3

Rules:

What’s the first thing you ever remember writing

What’s one piece of advice you wish you could give yourself for writing it

I think the first thing I ever remember writing was when I was 5 or 6. It was a “book” about a mouse. It was short and if I remember correctly, he died in the end… I do believe that I have it somewhere 🤔

As for advice. I don’t think I would give myself any other advice than “Learn to spell correctly” then again, I was just a tiny baby. And I don’t think it was too badly spelled 😅

Since I was tagged twice I’ll also tell you about the first thing I remember being sucked into while writing.

This was when I was about ten, I believe. I wrote a story about a ghost house. Me and my best friend had made a performance at our school show and my brain was filled with the artists that sang the song we danced to, so they became my main characters.

I’m just now realizing that that one also ended in death… Tiny me, what did the world do to you?

The best advice I would give myself for this would be: “Don’t stop”

I remember sitting by the computer in our living room, it didn’t even have an internet connection and I think it was just for me and my brother to mess around in paint and play games on. And I just wrote and wrote… I didn’t do anything else. (It still ended up only about three pages long but hey)

Tagging @elijahrichardwrites @theskeletonprior @andromedatalksaboutstuff and an Open Tag!

[theauthorsarchive]

Statement #18: A Mother Love

[CLICK]

Clerk

Here's your prescription, Mr Araya.

Zaine

Thanks, have a good one.

Clerk

You too sir.

Step Step Step Ding Ding Step Step Step

Zaine

Pat Pat Did I leave my keys in the- Jingle Jingle oh nevermind. 

Kachunk 

Zaine

Alright, let me- oh it's already on, cool cool. 

Ahem 

Story by Filip W. O’Connor, who was an orphan raised by his surrogate mother from  1996 to 2005. Original recording by Zaine Allgood October 10th 2016. 

Story starts.

When I was seven I ran away from my home, my mother was an alcoholic and my father was a romanian immigrant that was rarely home. They would fight often for various reasons, not enough money, my mother's alcoholism, and for the times my parents really wanted a reason to argue, me. I was born with sickle cell anemia. My parents would sometimes forget to buy my medication and when they did they would fight because of the cost. It was a miracle I survived living with them. 

The boiling point was a particularly horrible fight. I couldn't tell you what started it but I could tell what ended it. I heard a loud bang, I was used to crashes when my parents argued, but something was off. It wasn't the noise that scared me, it was the silence that followed. I went outside and saw my father standing over my mother, a gun in his hand. His eyes told me it was an accident, the look of regret you could see from a mile away. He looked at me and told me to go back to my room. But I didn't listen. I ran past him out of the house grabbing my pills from the kitchen. 

I never saw either of my parents after that. I know it was on the news but I never checked. As far as i'm concerned my father is somewhere at work and my mother is at home drinking. But at the time I had nowhere to go, I had no close relatives I could call and being known as the kid with the drunk mom and spineless dad I didn't have any friends. For weeks I was homeless digging through trash and trying to survive. If it was a miracle I survived so long with my parents then I don't know what you would call my survival without them. 

The night I met her was the night I thought I would die. I was in an alley behind a butcher shop. Sometimes one of the employees would give me food after closing. Sadly the employee had not been to work for a week and I was already close to starving. I curled up next to a box I had called home and knew what fate had in store for me. That's when I saw her she eyed me like a cat with a mouse. Slowly she walked toward me, her eyes never leaving mine, I didn't even notice the fact she never blinked. When she was on top of me she stared into my eyes and spoke. She asked me why I was here, if I had anywhere to go? I said no, that I had run from home and I had no one. She smiled and bent down so she was right in front of my face. She was beautiful and almost flawless. She opened her mouth revealing several sharp teeth, and clamped down on my neck. I felt myself go limp as she fed. But as soon as it started it ended as I saw her reel back and regurgitate the blood from her mouth. She looked at me in confusion and for the first time I was glad for my disease. I touched my neck and felt the teeth marks. The pain was intense and in the middle of the wound was a circular cut that went deeper than the teeth. But strangely it hurt less.

She walked away in a flustered hurry and for whatever reason I followed her. She was too fast for someone who was walking and I had a very hard time keeping up with her. Eventually I followed her to an apartment complex where she entered and I followed suit. She took the elevator up and I jumped in with her. The look of shock on her face was some of the only emotion I had ever seen from her. At the last second another man jumped into the elevator as well. I stood next to the woman and the man looked at us in confusion. He smiled after a second of looking and asked if I was her son, before letting us speak he gushed about his own son how his mother had left them and his son needed more friends his age to play with and how they would love to come over. 

The woman smiled and said that I indeed was her son, how we just came back from a mother son date and that she would love for them to come over one day. The man agreed and got off on the third floor. We got off on the fourth and I walked with her to her apartment. It was homey, too homey, as if it was ripped straight from a catalog. I walked to the fridge and it was completely empty. I asked where the food was, she said she had no need for food so why would she store it. I was confused doesn't everyone need food? She said she wasn't everybody. I said that I needed food. She thought for a second before walking toward the door before she left. I grabbed her by shirt and thanked her for letting me stay. She didn't say anything and walked out the door. 

As I grew up and the wound on my neck scarred, I lived with her. I would tell her what humans needed and she would provide it. But it went both ways. I would bring single parents and their children to our apartment. She would feed and I would play with the children before she fed on them too. Some would call me evil and that I was a monster but to me it was just how the world worked, a wolf had to hunt to feed themselves and we simply adapted making it easier to feed. We would talk sometimes whenever I wasn't at school and she wasn't hunting. I asked what she was and she said humanity called her people vampires. How they were spawned by the need to hunt in order to keep the population in check, but also how they were a dying race. In the beginning was the golden age of vampires. They were feared and respected, some even gaining enough notoriety to become legends with cults. But then humans became hunters as well, they figured out vampires' weaknesses and better ways of killing them. Eventually their numbers dwindled to the hundred thousands, then the tens of thousands, then as of now the thousands, vampires don't have the instinct to mate; they counteract this with their lifespans being up to five hundred years. But it means nothing if they can't reproduce before their extinction.

I asked her how old she was and she said she was four hundred. I asked how she managed to stay alive for so long and she said she learned to adapt to people around her studying them, eventually learning so well she could even evade some hunters. I asked if that's the reason why she kept me, she said yes. I didn't feel bad. It was nice having a purpose being such a big reason why my mother could live without the fear of hunters. My mother said that vampires couldnt feel emotion but I think she loved me. When I was thirteen I was severely bullied in school because I was scrawny and unathletic. One day I decided to defend myself against them by striking my main bully, but all it did was make them angry, sending me home with a black eye. When my mother saw me she went hunting really late without speaking a word to me. The next day they all went missing along with their parents. My mother claimed she had nothing to do with it but she didn't need me to help with feeding for a while. 

But with such a large amount of people going missing at once people got suspicious and that suspicion attracted hunters. Vampires are nocturnal so when I went to school my mother would sleep. I was excited because it was my fourteenth birthday. I planned on grabbing a cake on the way home and sharing it with my mother. I had gotten the money from one of my mother's prey. In school I could hardly contain my excitement, my mother didn't understand my excitement but she would spend more time with me. When the school bell rang I practically lept from my seat and ran to my favorite bakery. Grabbing the cake, I ran home. I arrived around four so I had around two hours until my mother woke up so I decided to take a nap.

I awoke to the sound of crashing and screaming. I ran outside my room and saw my mother fighting five men. They screamed to hold her down, to stab her in the heart, burn her, I ran at one of them and tried to push them away from my mother. I barely made him flinch, he looked down in confusion and swatted me away. Again I tried to push him away and again he swatted me down this time with enough force to lay me on my back. I was powerless to stop them, but I tried anyway. Pushing, screaming, anything I could do. But all I did was make my mother worry. The person I assumed to be the leader of the group noticed me and ordered me to be apprehended. One of the hunters captured me and walked me over to the leader. All the while my mother tried her hardest to fight off the others.

I'll never forget that monster's face. He was older and had an eyepatch that covered a scar from his right temple to the right of his lip. “What are you doing here kid?” His voice was so calm and collected you would think he was a politician. I didn't have anything to say to such an evil man. I glared at him wanting to pluck his eyes out. He studied me trying to find my reason for being there, then his eyes locked on my neck. He smiled, “this kid's a vampire, kill it.” My heart stopped, the man who held me put me into a chokehold and grabbed something from his coat. He raised a stake in the air hellbent to stab my heart. 

I tried to scream but I couldn't make a sound. The world seemed to go into slow motion as the stake grew closer and closer to my heart. I closed my eyes waiting for the moment where I couldn't open them ever again. The only words able to escape my lips “Mother…”. I expected to feel a pain through my heart but instead I felt something familiar. I could feel a weight on top of me, opening my eyes I felt my mother's teeth sink into my neck with her arms wrapped tightly around me. The hunters stabbed my mothers back with stakes while trying to pull her off me. But she wouldn't let go. She felt warm, so warm I couldn't help but wrap my arms around her as well. I could feel the stakes that stuck out like nails on a cross pinning my mother to me. Tears flowed like rivers from my eyes imagining the pain that my mother had felt. 

When the hunters eventually ripped her from me our eyes met for the last time. As I will never forget the monster that took her, I shall never forget the last thing she ever said to me “Survive.” They grabbed her gagging and tying her like a prized catch. The look of satisfaction and delight on those beasts' faces was not a look of a successful hunt. But the look of a pack of hyenas laughing over a sight only they would see as noble. They lit her ablaze and congratulated each other on the kill. I had no more tears to shed as I stared on as my mother squirmed and flailed shrouded in flames. When she stopped her body shriveled and faded away in embers that carried away the only thing that I loved. 

I stared into the flames of what used to be my mother not noticing the monster beside me. He crouched down and inspected my neck. “She didn't suck. Hmm, consider yourself a lucky kid.” I turned and I stared him in his eye and made him a promise. 

“I'll kill you.”

Story ends.

Shrimp helped research and we discovered a series of disappearances in Chicago that went on for years, along with the murder of Yosef Adler around three years ago. He was a retired mercenary and gun for hire who had his throat slit while sleeping. Several bite marks were found on his neck along with signs of a forced entry. They say before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves, guess that doesn’t apply for vampires.

[CLICK]

[bishopknight0517]

Six foot three

Gonna know it’s me

Messed up teeth

Nice but something hidden underneath

A demon lying in wait

I’m the one that’s going to decide your fate

Have everything from a nine millimeter

To the three zero eight semi automatic heater

No light within my eyes

Stories that I can tell when I’m high

For me, I’ve never seen the light

Must be why I always travel at night

A demon in disguise

Acting dumb to get wise

Killing them with time

They’re never going to get there’s, but I’ll always get mine

Fiend to the alcohol and the drugs

Sweeping skeletons underneath the rugs

Never been one for positivity

Negativity, the only partner I’ve ever had is misery

Plaguing me through my entire life

Even so, I always found my stride

Stepping one foot in front of the other

Always know I have my brothers

Together, the end goal is to have enough paper to smother a fucker

Greed in the green eyes of mine

Back track to the DUI

Weed had me flying too high

Bipolar, depression, the alcohol pulled me out of the sky

From one extreme to the next

My life has always been a test

I’ve put shotguns to my head

Praying for a better life or just wanted to be dead

Bullies and characters always messing with my mind

Wanted to stick a fork in their eyes, to see what I’d find

A story similar to mine

Parents always neglectful, resentful, and territorial

Told you for, the last time, I’m timid but feral

Got a scope that can reach out and touch your ear hole

Maybe next time you’ll be a bit more mindful

Where did the time go

Got to keep calm and focus on the material

Don’t want to live with mediocrity

Excellence in all that we do, that’s the Air Force, and the military, disrespectfully

To the opposition that surrounds us

Having the best is always a plus

Was? No bitch we still hear, cuz

We’re the only thing you motherfuckers fear

Run up in your house

Clearing every room until we find the mouse

Decapitating our opponents before we head home

Ahead unable to roam, leaving no fingerprints, head rest looking like a tombstone