polisena-art · 2 days ago
Note
The thought came to my mind and sparked some curiosity, so I wanna know(if u feel comfy sharing!!), what's your take on why Zico and Zeca live w/ Zé? By the looks of it, I imagine he's their legal guardian, so you can't help but wonder what happened to make it end up that way.
My personal headcanon for it is that the twin’s mother wasn’t the best parent, but something happened that made her completely snap, which eventually lead to the twins being taken away by CPS. Zé was informed of this, and while It took a lot of thinking, he decided to adopt the kids. He didn't want them to suffer their whole life in a foster home, or be with somebody who might not even love them like a real parent should, so he stood up and took responbility. At first it was hard, as the people who had Zico and Zeca were hesitant on giving the kids to him. Everyone was, I mean, the guy has a reputation for being extremely lazy, how could he take care of not only one, but TWO kids? He fought in court, and proudly won the case, becoming their legal guardian.
(Bonus hc: Panchito and Donald helped a TON w/ raising the boys, once they learnt Zé had taken custody, they immediately rushed to Vila Xurupita to help. They were there for 2 weeks, but once they had to go, Nestor immediately showed up, boxes filled to the brim with supplies needed to take care of toddlers, ready to help Zé just has much as his partners did.)
Sorry if I started to ramble, I rlly like getting deep into things like lore and general hc’s😭😭
Hi there!! Thanks for sharing your headcanon, it was an interesting read! And yes! By the comics, José is Zico and Zeca's legal guardian! He attends the twins' school festivals, parent-teacher meetings, cooks their meals and it's pretty much the only adult shown being responsible for them (having been threatened more than once with having the twins taken away from him as well LMAO). There is no mention of their mom or dad and weirder yet is how, despite the twins refering to Zé as "uncle", Zé is more than once said to be an only child! I do love the idea of Zico and Zeca not being blood related to Zé, so that's a headcanon that I do consider canon compliant (at least for now). At the same time, I'm not a fan of José being the sole caregiver for the twins or that their parents are completely taken out of the picture, as the comics insist on doing! At least that's my take in regards to their mother. Single mother households make up a significant proportion of Brazilian families, especially in favelas. So I think it would be cool for this aspect to be represented using these characters as well! I like to think Zico and Zeca's mother is still present in their life but, unlike Zé, she works all kinds of crazy hours to provide for her kids. Zé helps her out by staying with the twins while she's out and he's some sort of godfather to them, hence the uncle title 😌 I do think it would be a funny gag for her face never to be shown, at least to kind of keep the tradition the comics have of never refering to Zico and Zeca's parents. I guess it would be some sort of middle ground XD
21 notes · View notes
gildeddlily · 1 year ago
Text
no thoughts, just kanan as a little commander messing with his big brothers (why did i read this it's not like I needed more clone angst)
Tumblr media
188 notes · View notes
seaweedstarshine · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
RIP Krakoa 🌹 I can’t lie I’ve been kinda behind since midway through Fall of X I’m gonna catch up before my first SDCC this summer but I hear Vulcan didn’t see much action anyway. Anyway my hand slipped and I found myself looking into the eyes of my canonically psychotic son the best Summers brother who’s never done anything wrong in his entire life, (he’s done lotsa wrong things but I love him more for it)
#canonically psychotic = he canonically has psychosis. (not in the ableist way in that hes evil. which he is. lemme enjoy problematic rep)#Gabriel Summers#art by seaweed#words by seaweed#X-Men Red#the Gabriel hate during the Krakoa era pffffft. was 100% from ppl who didnt read the Rise and Fall of the Shi'ar Empire#“he attacked Storm” hes also a genocidal dictator who tortures ppl for catharsis. drunkenly coming at Ororo is the least bad thing he did#“he's a douche” mother of all understatements. now get this man back w his boyfriend who he forced to be his best man under pain of death#Gabriel fans LOVE that Ororo beat his ass. he deserved it. it was a fake discourse made up by a certain segment of goddess!Ororo fans#I say as an Ororo fan! Shes my fav A-list x-man🥰 yes Gabe was at a mental low but Ororo didnt know that. that was Scott's responsibility.#psychotic Emperor Vulcan is what we call a problematic mentally ill villain trope. I love him SO much. (okay lets talk)#we don’t know much about his childhood but we do know he spent 2 years in a fugue state after escaping slavers when he was like ten ):#as an “adult”-ish he's uh “mentally” 15 or sumn according to the calculations claimed to him by his hallucination of his actual child self#and apart from THOSE hallucinations. he’s very paranoid to the point of killing his advisors because he becomes convinced-#that they’re plotting to kill him. they aren't. he relies on Calseye to ground him thru his paranoia. and then of course in the Krakoa era#he believes his energy constructs of Petra and Sway who drink with him till he blacks out every single day are real. he isnt consciously#creating them; but he sees them- and bc he’s a godlike mutant his subconscious makes his hallucinations visible. making everyone uncomfy#Charles tries to use telepathy to FORCIBLY reality check him. which of course triggers his trauma. and GABE is punished for it?#(oh plus our finding out Gabe got brain surgery done on him by some gods outside the universe offpanel. he never does well with tampering)#and now the writers who pushed Hickman out (also RIP Sabretooth & the Exiles. RIP Hellions) want us to be SAD Krakoa is gone?#yes Gabriel is the mentally ill villain trope. but Krakoa never cared for mutants who couldn’t fit in. who were traumatized. disabled. etc#Alex OF ALL PEOPLE should understand that. ALEX should’ve been there for Gabriel. (why wasn't he. did he hold a grudge for past torture.)#Alex also w Murder-Enjoying Disorder but it was actually treated as an illness and those in authority presented as wrong for excluding him#instead of helping him. which v flawed but Hellions was one of the best mental illness comics? like Zeb Wells was conscious of the genre#but Gabriel was just… cast out. for panicking when his prime traumatizer Charles invaded his mind. he deserved help too#and all because his family were annoyed at him for drinking all night and throwing up and passing out on the floor? for being delusional?#And like- all of the summers brothers are nd (Scott's brain damage; Alex's dissociative episodes; Gabriel's psychosis)#I have nothing to say about Adam X ((I highly doubt he's neurotypical and/or mentally healthy)) ((nothing to say abt him tho))#and Gabes paranoia is 100% rooted in his issues of being made to feel like an outsider. like YES the obvious MUTANT identity but also#he thinks his father abandoned him to be a slave. he's not Summers enough for Scott. hes not Shi'ar enough for the Shi'ar
15 notes · View notes
schemelin · 2 months ago
Text
every now and then i experience brief moments of self-awareness telling me to make major changes to the fusionsprunt story
#queue#maybe it has to do with this need of visualizing it as an actual tv show. it's not necessarily a bad thing#it's so much fun to question what would happen if a specific part was rewritten or twisted into smth else. how would it work and all#for example. i've been thinking. what if Hunter was an actual robot? how does his interaction with Exocannis and B2 change bcs of it? :0#i dont think that part will be rewritten but it's an interesting possibility#one thing i wanted to change is Gideon's lore though!#the way he disregards B2 doesn't sit right w me (and ig it didn't with everyone else who read the lore)#also! there's not much info about his childhood. it was nice until BOO TRAUMAAA.#overall i wanted to introduce him some other way. the way Gideon Rigell would do!#perhaps with a little comic? a loose dialogue in an artwork of sorts#comparing him to who he is currently is like going. wow! good job buddy ur getting better! but also you should probably seek therapy...#as for B2. i have some ideas.#some times i enjoy exploring new designs in which she looks VERY non-human or has some sort of non-human mentality#a true alien!#i wanna redesign her siblings and make all of them have an 'x' somewhere in their names#what if Beatrix had 4 siblings? what if she was the 'youngest'? what if they were all created by the same person#a person who was responsible for their creation but who also treated them like their own children#some kind of enthusiastic visionary with a passion for robotics who genuinely cared for machines. even 'mindless' ones#Also B2's relation to the Holloway Comet#like no. that's the. that's The Mother. that's the mother guys that's UNQUESTIONABLE#im talking about Monument Mythos vibes yknow. about giant n terrifying monuments/objects#i'm also cooking up ideas for comics focused solely on Bee#oneshots of sorts.... i should probably start sketching......#why am i having good ideas when i barely slept last night HSBWYSBWHDBHQHASSHHA#starbstalks
17 notes · View notes
eregyrn-falls-art · 1 year ago
Text
youtube
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
And here it is at last! The Gravity Falls Multi-Artist Lyric Comic tribute to the Stan Twins, "Trouble"!
Stay tuned, as @stariousfalls is working on making all of this into a video version. That will be coming along in the next few weeks!
EDIT: here is the video!
And of course, Happy Birthday to Dipper and Mabel! (Even if this project was Grunkles-centric, Stan and Ford's stories wouldn't have come to such a heart-warming resolution if it wasn't for their niblings. Credit where it's due!)
Some credits and acknowledgements below the read-more:
(I'll have remarks and thanks in another post; but for now, thank you SO MUCH TO EVERYONE who worked on this and made it spectacular!)
CREDITS:
Polaroid Collage One: elishevart, zephrunsimperium, pinkplatiploo, mother-ofthe-universedraws, fordtato, shadeartstuff, creativepup, skysdrawings
I've been a beggar: lemonfodrizzleart
And I've been a king: kingsofjersey
I've been a loner: muria-art
And I've worn the ring: everlight_283 (instagram)
Losing myself: batman-gif
Just to find me again: tazmiilly & gin-juice-tonic
I'm a million miles smarter: eregyrn-falls-art & stephreynaart
But I ain't learned a thing: annakitsun3
I've been a teacher: gobblewanker
And a student of hurt: skysdrawings
I kept my word: orangephoenix6
For whatever that's worth: mother-ofthe-universedraws
Never been last: jackyjackdraws
But I've never been first: jasmine-sketchbook
Oh I may not be the best: stephreynaart
But I'm far from the worst: spectralreplica
Oh I may not be the best: elishevart
But I'm far from the worst: zkyeline
Oh, I've seen trouble: fexiled / fexalted
More than any man should bear: mischieflily
But I've seen enough joy: ginandshattereddreams
I've had more than my share: gin-juice-tonic
And I'm still not done: morcian-draws
I'm only halfway there: jamesfenimoreharper
I'm a million miles ahead of where I'm from: fordtato
But there's still another million miles to come: deerpines, orangephoenix6 & fordtato
Polaroid Collage Two: creativepup, cbmagus49, inkdrawndreamer, bluefrostyy, mother-ofthe-universedraws, fordtato, bewildred-grimsley, shadeartstuff, alphazed
Oh I keep on searching for the City of Gold: vililae
So I'm gonna follow this yellow brick road: cbmagus49
Thinking that maybe it might lead me on: cutebatart
I'm a million miles farther: hellmandraws
And a long way from home: eregyrn-falls-art
I know that there's a plan that goes way beyond mine: possumbreath
Got to step back just to see the design: pottersfieldcustodian
The mind fears the heart: rechoclo
But the heart doesn't mind: novantinuum
Oh I may not be perfect: tazmiilly
But I'm loving this life: hubbabubbagumpop
Oh I may not be perfect: athgalla-arts
But I'm loving this life: thisiswhereidraw
Oh I've seen trouble: purblzart
More than any man should bear: shadowofaghost5
But I've seen enough joy: alextwdgf01 & fordtato
I've had more than my share: dragonsheepstudios
And I'm still not done: acetyzias & stephreynaart
I'm only halfway there: cryptidjeepers
I'm a million miles ahead of where I'm from: chiiroptereh
But there's still another million miles to come: stephreynaart
Polaroids Collage Three: cbmagus49; fordsy; fordtato; puppylove24680; sciencevillain; lemonfodrizzleart; mother-ofthe-universedraws; possumbreath
Polaroids Collage Four: jamesfenimoreharper; gin-juice-tonic; rusted-blue; shadowofaghost5; cutebatart; possumbreath; fordtato; nour386
Polaroids Collage Five: fordtato; pinestwinssimp; tazmiillly; melodramaticwolf; eregyrn-falls-art
4K notes · View notes
barbieaemond · 1 year ago
Text
A curse for a curse
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)
Word count: 8.5K
Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.
Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver
Tumblr media
Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.
She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.
The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.
But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.
“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?
Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?
What is he doing with that bastard woman? 
“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.
“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”
He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.
“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”
His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.
He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.
She has utterly bewitched him.
Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.
He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.
Soon.
Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.
It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.
The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”
She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.
“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”
“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.
Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”
She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.
She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.
She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.
“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”
They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.
The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.
“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”
He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”
“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”
His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.
“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.
The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”
She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”
“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”
“Does he keep her in his chambers?”
“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”
“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”
Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”
The wound between her ribs cracks open.
There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?
“I want to see her.”
“Princess, it is not wise.”
“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”
 Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”
“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”
“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”
Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.  
“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”
A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”
Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”
Tumblr media
Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.
She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.
There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.
“Alas, you have come.”
The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.
“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.
The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”
“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”
“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”
“His mark?”
“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”
The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?
Lovers?
“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”
“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.
“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”
She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.
“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”
She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.
“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”
“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”
“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”
“To see what?”
“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”
The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”
Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?
“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”
“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”
The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”
“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”
“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”
It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.
“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”
The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.
“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."
“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”
“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”
The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"
“I told you, I don’t want—”
“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”
Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”
She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.
The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”
Tumblr media
Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.
Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.
“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”
There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.
“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”
“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”
They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.
“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”
He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.
“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
“S-she left, your Grace.”
The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.
“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.
“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.
He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.
“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”
They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.
The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.
“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”
She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.
“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.
“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.  
“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”
The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”
She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”
“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.
“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”
“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”
“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”
“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.
“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.
“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”
“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.
“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”
“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”
“The Blacks will not attack.”
“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”
“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”
“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”
“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”
The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.
“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”
Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.
“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”
She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.
Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.
“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”
Tumblr media
This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.
A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.
She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.
“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in a letter, in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death.
As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.
As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.
She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.
“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”
And yet.
She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?
She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.
She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.
“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.
She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”
She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.
“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”
She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.
Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”
“What?”
“That you’re with child.”
“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”
He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her.  “You will stay here with me.” Another order.
Another rejection. “I will not.”
“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”
“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”
Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”
He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.
His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.
He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."
“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”
“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”
“Did you want me to fuck her now?”
“I wanted you to need me, not her.”
His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.
Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.
He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.
The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.
No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.
She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?
“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”
His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.
He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.
Tumblr media
Aemond didn’t believe in curses.
He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.
He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.
For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.
Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.
In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.
He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge. 
He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.
And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.
But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.
He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.
She, of course, had sensed it immediately.
“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.
He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.
“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”
“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”
The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.
She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.
The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.
The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.
He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.
He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.
“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.
“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.” 
He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.
He doesn’t have a clue.
He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.
“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.
She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.
Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?
“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”
He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.
“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”
“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.
She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”
Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.
“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.
He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”
“As if you didn’t like that.”
A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.
They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.
In all truth, she doesn’t have to.
He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.
“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.
“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.
“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.
She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.
She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.
Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.
Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.
He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.
“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”
Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.
“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.
“Prove what?”
“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.
She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”
“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”
She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.
“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”
He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.
“Chain me.”
She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.
She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."
He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.
Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.
He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.
The chains metal clink as he winces.
She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.
“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”
“I need you to fucking do something.”
“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”
He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.
She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.
Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.
But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.
“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”
She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.
“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”
Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.
“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”
“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”
Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.
“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.
“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.
His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.
“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”
“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”
She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.
The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”
“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”
He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.
But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.
“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.
“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.
“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.
“Louder, my love.”
His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue. 
“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”
A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.
“I can’t take it…let me come…”
“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“You’re cursed, woman.”
“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”
She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.
“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”
In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.
She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.
“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”
She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”
Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.
“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”
“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”
The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.
He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.
The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.
That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”
If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.
“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.
Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.
Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.
“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.
“You are not in charge here, my love.”
“Then quit the act and fuck me.”
Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.
She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.
“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.
“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”
She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.  
They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.
He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.
“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.
“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”
“Who said I didn’t?”
She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.
“Besides, it’s your turn.”
She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”
“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”  
PART III
2K notes · View notes
dceasesd · 5 months ago
Text
why juni ba’s the boy wonder has my favorite jason characterization of any contemporary comic run: a needlessly in-depth analysis (pt.3)
go check out part 1 and part 2 if you'd like! this is a long one, sorry guys.
Tumblr media
if you haven't already i'd recommend you check out pt. 1 & pt. 2 (linked above), but if you haven't checked them out i've been going over some of the main things people have been criticizing ba's characterization for: 1. the typical boiling down of jason's character to "the angry one" 2. his lack of strategy going into the fight with the demon is out-of-character 3. the neighbor's kid interaction
alright, so this last point is purely based off of one page of the entire comic: the one where the child of one of jason's neighbors is dragged inside his home when his mother see's jason coming.
first off, i love this page. it might be my favorite page in the entire issue. everything about it is great. just thought i needed to say that.
anyway, there's some people who are seeing this page and reading it as "jason protects kids! that's one of his big things! why are they scared of him?"
Tumblr media
here's the thing, though: the kid isn't scared of jason, the mom is. the kid is literally playing dress up as the red hood-- he's not scared of jason, if anything he's trying to replicate him. little kids dress up as their heroes all the time; why is this kid any different? it doesn't really make sense for the kid to dress up of something he's scared of (not everyone is as weird bruce wayne), especially a real person that could be a real threat rather than a concept. i doubt you see many kids in gotham dressing up as the joker or something, because that's just asking for trouble.
the dress-up honestly seems like a ploy for attention to me. the kid clearly knows that red hood lives in his building (which is honestly so funny. take off the mask jason you're giving you're position away (actually this is a really good instance for analysis but i'm determined to not go on a tangent)). if the kid knows red hood lives in his building, what better way to get his attention that dressing up as him and playing pretend? if the kid was scared of him, he wouldn't want to draw that sort of attention to himself. if he had a sort of hero-worshippy thing going on like i suspect, then he would want to get jason's attention. to sum it up,
it's the mom who pulls him away when jason nears, because she either a) perceives him as a threat, b) doesn't want her kid to try and replicate him even more, or, the most likely option, both! the kid isn't scared of him, but the mother believes they should be.
once again, we come back to the whole perception vs. reality theme i talked about in part one! we've come full circle, everyone!
when looking at the neighborhood's perspective of the red hood, ba gives us a few contradictory examples. there's the kid and the mother, obviously, but there's also a slew of other citizens who interact with him at the beginning of the issue, both in fear and camaraderie.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
the unhoused man and the people outside of his building clearly have a familiarity and are comfortable with him, while the shopkeeper is terrified and literally has a banned poster on his wall featuring jason (i am so curious what he did to deserve that, if he even did anything at all). from this, it appears that jason's reputation teeters between fearful and familiar-- a sentiment that also colors jason's relationship with his family.
furthermore, this concept underscores just how lonely jason is-- one of the only good relationships he had in his current life was his fucking landlord, for gods sake, and he's dead.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
i think it's important to note that jason doesn't respond to the friendly greetings from the men-- he could attempt to build camaraderie, the roots are there, but he chooses not to. he could work to try and show the mother that her son is safe with him, but he chooses not to. why? jason is obviously lonely (as ba states in the panel below) and he caves pretty easily when damian asks him for help (both of them are so desperate for human interaction its tragic). so why does he distant himself from the community?
Tumblr media Tumblr media
obviously it is in part due to the vigilante lifestyle, but it is also jason's perception of himself and how he believes others perceive him, especially in regards to his family (ba is literally hitting readers in the head with that theme baseball bat).
he doesn't see that the kid with the mask looks up to him, all he sees is the mother pulling him away. he sees the banned poster in the store. and, as ba narrates, "he was sure he'd been forgotten about" by his family. utrh is jason's twisted way of attempting to reach out and connect with bruce, and obviously that doesn't work-- so he chooses loneliness over rejection.
Tumblr media
like in part one, though, damian refutes this idea by describing bruce's perspective, showing how what jason believes differs from actuality. bruce hasn't forgotten about him and doesn't hate him, as he suspected, but instead harbors guilt over the situation and desires to make it better, which jason must come to understand to be able to open the locked door and begin to move past his trauma.
so, that's what the little kid in the red hood outfit looks like to me. i actually have a lot more i'd like to say about the boy wonder, especially in regards to the whole "door to my past life" thing and what ba does with lighting and blocking in his artwork, so i may do a little post on that as well! i was gonna try and shove it into this one, but i've run out of room! i hope you guys liked my analysis, if you'd like to chat about the boy wonder or any other comics, my dms, asks, and reblogs are happily open! thanks for reading! :)) <3
pt. 1 / pt. 2
406 notes · View notes
yandereend · 5 months ago
Text
Yandere Househusband
The wedding
P. 2/?
TW : normal yandere stuff, dubcon, reader is into it?, Tyler talks about children, both are like 18 or 19
Btw English is not my first language so please keep that in mind
🩵Also thanks to everyone who wrote nice comments under the first post🩵
You sometimes watched those trashy shows about the bridezillas who were obsessed with their weddings and made everyones live hell. Like many people you hopped to never be in a situation like this. But here you were sitting besides your fiancé while he discusses flower arrangements, acting like a giant brat.
Is it so hard to put together bouquets with ALL pink flowers?!
Sir we dont have enough pink lillies for all your decorations. You should reconsider some of your choices-
I‘m surrounded by idiots!! My spouse wanted pink lillies so i don’t care if you don’t have them stocked!! Just buy them!
That would be even more expen-
Just do it !!!
And with that Tyler took your hand and you both exited the flower shop. It was almost comical how such a small thing could affect a grown man so much, but hey it’s his day. Tyler had a big pout on his face so that called for your attention and pampering.
Tyler don’t be upset.
But its our day my darling, everything should be perfect! We spend so much time picking out your (suit/dress/whatever you want its your wedding) and my suit. The flowers have to match or everything was for nothing my dear!
Not everything has to be perfect.
Oh yes it does! Have you never been on pinterest ?
That was the whole wedding planning in a nutshell , just an avid pinterest user placing together the wedding of their dreams( yandere style). Sometimes it was cute seeing Tyler being so invested in the wedding, other times it was more than annoying to cater to his perfectionism.
You also often thought about how quickly things progressed. I mean you just graduated high school and are already engaged and working for your fiancés father. Tylers father, Eric, was a great boss, you often wondered why people were scared of him. It’s just your nice father in law! Always explaining everything to you and hyping you up as the next in line of the family business. I mean you’re almost a part of it.
And Tylers mother, Ramona, was the same, always acting like she’s your real mother and caring for you. Not to mention Tyler himself. You were not suprised when he didn’t went out to look for a job or university, he always promoted the idea of a traditional family with you as the breadwinner in the center. And hey, his parents gifted you a house as an engagement gift, so its safe to say that you wont suffer in the presence of those saints.
At least that’s what you thought of them, little did you know that they were the reason why most of your friends cut contact and your family hardly called after you moved out. But hey who needs them anyways.
So while all these thoughts ran through your mind here you were, walking down the aisle with your father and finally seeing the man of your dreams in his perfectly tailored suit and styled hair, with tears in his eyes witnessing your beauty.
Your wedding vow was rather short but still packed with the love you felt for your husband. And after he put himself together, because of his happy tears, he read the most beautiful wedding vow you ever heard touching your heart and everyone else’s in the chapel. So when you finally get to put the rings on each other’s fingers you both stand up there with tears in your eyes.
And when you both finally unite in a grand kiss your fate was finally sealed. Tyler had you finally completely in his grasp, even if you didn’t realize it. And he,as well as his family, will never let you go. So enjoy your wedding party with your family and friends, you won’t get to see them any longer my dear.
Till death do you apart.
Tumblr media
🩵Thanks a lot I hope you enjoyed it, I am planning on making this a series so please comment ideas for your life with your new husband 🩵
712 notes · View notes
lunarnightt · 2 months ago
Text
𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 ⎯ Carl Grimes
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
WARNINGS! ⎯ there are none! Just pure fluff! SUMMARY ⎯ Your father, Daryl Dixon, always treated your mother like a queen before she died; now you want someone to do the same, and who better than your best friend, Carl Grimes. A/N ⎯ This is based on the song 'Like My Father' by Jax. I also want to thank everyone who LOVED my Carl Grimes x Gothic reader so much! I love you all!
For as long as you could remember; your father treated your mother like a goddess, like a queen.
Whatever she wanted, she got. whatever she asked for, she got. There were never any ifs or buts about it. Your dad worshipped the ground she walked and treasured her like any man should do a woman.
As you got older, you watched your father do everything he could for your mother. He would constantly have dinner dates with her, and take her on romantic walks in the middle of the night when they thought you were asleep. This never changed when your mom got cancer and started doing chemo.
Your father shaved his own head with her so she wouldn't be alone, held her hand during every treatment, and watched her throw up blood until her last dying breath.
Your mother died before the world went to shit so there you were, sitting at the query watching other kids play with their moms and dads, silently resenting them for having both. Your mother was dead and your dad was cold and couldn't care what you did anymore because he was still grieving the loss of his wife.
That was when that changed; a little boy walked up to you and practically forced you to play with him. You would learn that his name was Carl and he too lost his dad but of course, we all know how that went.
Eventually, you and Carl became best friends; going and growing through hell together. You both survived through so much and yet you helped him look on the brighter side of life.
Over time, as you two grew older, the two of you slowly fell in love with one another but never said a thing because one- you're either running from the dead, and two- neither one of you thought you liked each other back.
But one thing was for certain; you wanted a man who loves you like you're father loved your mom.
It was like any other day for you and Carl. You both sat in your bedroom reading comic books, the soft sound of Johnny Cash playing in the background filling your ears.
You looked over at the Grimes boy, looking over the handsome features you've grown to love over the last few years; to his long shaggy hair, his beat-up cowboy hat, and his missing eye something he was very insecure of but you thought was badass.
Before he could catch your gaze though, you looked down and the record stopped playing which made the both of you groan. "Great. Now one of us has to get up and flip it over." You whined, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at the record player in your room.
Carl sighed and pushed himself off the ground, walking over to the record playing and taking the record off. "What are you doing?" You asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Carl smiled and turned to you. "Putting on Abba. I thought Dancing Queen was your favorite and you want to listen to it?" He spoke and he wasn't entirely wrong.
"I do but I thought you wanted to listen to Johnny Cash?" You spoke softly and Carl just rolled his eye and turned to face you. "Does it matter what I want?" He spoke before turning to face the record player and placing the needle on the record, the song Dancing Queen filling the room as he made his way and sat back down next to you.
That day you knew that Carl was the type you wanted, the type you knew would love you like your father did to your mom.
So, you contemplated forever, debating on telling him how you felt but when you did; you wrote him a nice simple letter and left it on the inside of his hat. It took him a while but he finally found it, looking at it with confusion while the words "read me cowboy" jumped out at him in all capital letters.
He knew it was from you because only you called him cowboy and only you would do something like leaving a letter on the inside of his hat.
So, he read it as instructed and he became over the moon because not only did you tell him how you felt but you actually liked him back.
Carl rushed out of the house to look for you, going to all the places he knew you would be. He went to Rosita, to Maggie and Glenn's place because you loved playing with Herschal Jr before finally finding you training with Jesus.
"Looks like you're boyfriend is here" Jesus joked which made you roll your eyes and flip him off as you made your way over to Carl. "Hey cowboy" You spoke with a teasing smirk but your smirk was wiped clean off your face when he held up the letter.
"Are you telling the truth?" He asked, needing reassurance like he always did when he was unsure of something. You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. "Yes. Why would I lie to you of all people?" You asked and before you could say anything else, his lips were pressed against yours.
As the two of you kissed, your hand moved to the back of his neck while his hands moved to your waist. After a minute, the two of you pulled apart and he pressed his forehead against yours.
"You don't know how long I wanted to do that" He whispered against your lips and you giggled, moving to play with the soft locks of his hair. "It's about damn time, cowboy" You spoke back and he immediately pressed his lips against yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.
Ever since then, he truly loved you like your father did your mom and maybe even more than he ever did.
239 notes · View notes
girlgenius1111 · 10 months ago
Text
no one should be alone on christmas
Tumblr media
barca femeni x reader
changed from the request slightly because i've read a couple fics where r tries to hide that she's gonna be alone for the holidays, and thought i'd take a slightly different approach, so as not to copy anyone :) but pinky promise there is tons of angst and fluff!
cw; mention of bad relationship with parents... implied homophobia i guess? not really discussed much though. angst, fluff, :)
The look on your teammates face when you told them you didn't have any plans for the holiday were almost comical; every one of them looked completely horrified. Sure, they knew your relationship with your parents was rocky, but they hadn't realized you didn't speak, didn't see them at all. What was almost worse was that you didn't even seem to understand why they were so appalled by you spending Christmas alone.
You knew, as soon as you left the locker room after your declaration and the room erupted into loud conversations, that your teammates would begin scheming.
Your problem was that you didn't really want to celebrate Christmas. Obviously, it was a big deal back home in England, and you'd grown up celebrating it, but those weren't the happiest of memories. For the first years of your life, Christmas had been fun. As you aged, and your parents started fighting, it didn't stay fun. Your parents had gone off the rails when you were a teenager; they were incredibly religious people, and when they felt you slipping away from this, they tightened their grasp, until it was suffocating.
Maybe the holidays wouldn't be so awful if they weren't such a stark reminder of what you no longer had, of the rift between you and your parents. Christmas 2 years ago had been the worst of your life. You'd fought with your parents all day, until a screaming match left you packing your bags. They'd had too much to drink, said things about you it was clear they were always thinking, but never vocalized. When you confirmed their suspicions in a fit of anger, they became more aggravated than you'd ever seen them.
You lived with friends for a while, once being at home became unbearable, until finally you got your first contract. You lived with teammates, then, and managed to avoid all conversations about the holidays. Since the Christmas fight, you'd sworn off the day, preferring to hibernate in your house, and actively try not to think about your parents. You missed who they were, and hated who they'd become, which made for a very confusing breakdown every year.
This was your first year at Barcelona, though, and your new team was not content to let you sit alone as you normally did. Especially not when you were only 19, and especially not when a lot of them had taken to acting like concerned mothers with you.
You didn't want to celebrate though, you couldn't. In the days following your locker room chat, you noticed your teammates being slightly odd around you; they weren't very subtle, and they were clearly planning something. Whether it was a Christmas kidnapping or a team party, you weren't sure. All you knew was that you wanted no part of it.
Telling the entire team this, though, didn't seem like something you wanted to do. So instead, you went to the only people you knew had the power to stop whatever horrifying red and green themed atrocity was being planned.
You weren't used to this, really, needing to talk to your captains about anything serious. You'd decided to pull Alexia aside after practice, and tried to be as normal as possible so as not to worry anyone. It didn't seem to work.
"What's up, y/n?" Alexia asked, once you were alone in the hall.
"Could we talk once everyone's gone? I just... there's something I need to talk to you about." You internally winced at how poorly you'd phrased that. Alexia's previously relaxed face was now one of worry as she scrutinized you.
"Of course. Just me?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically warm. She'd clearly picked up on the anxiety oozing off your body.
"Um... maybe Mapi too?" you asked. Again, your teammates weren't subtle individuals, Mapi least of all. It had become obvious that she was the instigator of whatever plan was in motion.
"Si, I'll tell her." Alexia stated, before giving you a reassuring smile and leading you into the locker room.
-----
Alexia had directed you to an empty office, shuffling in with Mapi behind you. You sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, as they both perched on the edge of the desk. You felt ridiculously like a kid in trouble at school, as your leg tapped nervously, and the girls both looked down at you. They weren't angry, though, and you weren't in trouble.
"I know you guys are planning to do something with me for Christmas," you blurted, not really sure where to start. Mapi got a sky grin on her face, but Alexia's expression remained unchanged, the unease on your face making her heart clench.
"No, what would give you that idea, pequeña?" Mapi questioned teasingly.
"Please don't. I don't like Christmas, I don't want to celebrate. I know you guys feel bad, but I really, really just prefer doing my own thing." You responded, going with the sentences you'd practiced in your head on the way to practice this morning.
Mapi's face had fallen, and you felt guilty despite knowing that you were just doing what you needed to do.
"Why don't you like Christmas?" Alexia asked, brow furrowed.
"I just don't," you replied, biting tone making Alexia and Mapi exchange looks. You weren't normally so serious, or so defensive. You were staring hard at the ground, as though you wished it would swallow you up.
Mapi extended her foot, poking it against yours softly until you rolled your eyes and looked up at her.
"Why don't you like Christmas?" They weren't letting you out of this one easily. You took a big breath, fixing your gaze back down at your feet, before you spoke.
"My parents were really difficult. Not always, but for a while. I left home on Christmas 2 years ago. I haven't seen them since. It's not a very fun day for me," you explained, working hard to keep your voice from shaking.
Alexia and Mapi were silent, and you chanced a look up at them. Both were deep in thought, frowns etched across their faces.
"It's really not a big deal. I just don't do Christmas, I don't want to do Christmas. So whatever you're plotting, please don't," you said, desperate for them to understand.
"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude," you started, suddenly alarmed that you'd seem ungrateful, but you were interrupted.
"No, don't apologize. Never apologize for telling us when you don't like something we're doing," Alexia said firmly, seeming to know what to say for the first time in minutes. "If you don't want to do Christmas, we don't make you." Mapi nodded her head rapidly in agreement.
"You were supposed to spend Christmas Eve with Marta and Caro, Christmas with me, and then go to Mapi's for a couple days, but we don't have to do any of that," Alexia continued, and you felt a wave of an unknown emotion wash over you.
You'd expected they'd been planning something, but not that they'd had you delegated somewhere every day of the break. It wasn't an overall bad feeling, just one you weren't used to.
"Thank you," you stated quietly, not really sure what else to say.
"The offers stand, though, pequeña. If you change your mind," Mapi insisted. "Also, ... it's possible that I rigged the secret santa and multiple people have you, and there isn't really anything I can do about that. So you'll get your gifts but you can be alone," she continued, biting her lip. She looked worried, as if you would be mad. Alexia looked slightly annoyed that Mapi had rigged the gift exchange, but much too preoccupied with you to yell at her then.
"Mapi," you groaned, allowing a small smile to form on your face, assuring her that you weren't mad. The gifts, you didn't mind. You could pretend they weren't Christmas related, and they'd be a good distraction.
Mapi launched into an animated story of how she managed to rig the exchange, [she'd just ended up giving more people presents to make up for all the people getting you things,]. The tricky part was, apparently, doing it behind Ingrid's back; this, you didn't doubt.
They walked you to your car, sensing that you didn't really want to talk any more about it, but leaving you with unusually tight hugs. You appreciated them a lot, even if they were too overbearing sometimes.
-----
When Mapi told you she'd messed with the Secret Santa, you assumed she meant that 2 people had you. Maybe 3. You were wrong.
First up at your apartment the first day of break, before everyone departed for their respective homes, was Ona. She'd managed to get you your favorite sweets from England, an entire box full. She stayed and chatted with you for a while, insisting that she didn't have anywhere to be until later. She was quite successful at getting your mind off things, and had you laughing with her after a bit. When she left, you made sure to tell her to thank Lucy for helping her with the gift, and she stammered out an agreement, a deep blush coating her cheeks.
Aitana showed up next, her gift amusedly from both her and Keira, as the ginger had helped her pick it out. It was a new washbag, not unlike Alexia's. They must have noticed you eyeing it appreciatively. Aitana also brought a mass amount of Christmas cookies, making you eat three before she left.
Patri and Claudia showed up next, pushing past you into your apartment as soon as you opened the door. They'd gotten you approximately 8 new games for your switch, and insisted on trying all of them with you. It left you wondering who the gift was really for, considering they often came over to play on the switch with you. Regardless, they stayed late into the evening, despite both having to get up early to head home the next morning.
Mapi and Ingrid arrived, bringing chaos with them. More Mapi than Ingrid. The Norwegian had gotten you a set of light blue ceramic mugs that matched your kitchen perfectly. You'd barely had time to admire them before Mapi was taking them out of your hands, and dragging you over to her absurdly large present. It was perfectly wrapped, like Ingrid's had been, and her cheeky smile told you that she wasn't as innocent as she'd like you to believe. You opened the box, finding it weirdly light. The inside was completely empty, and you looked at the girls in confusion. The doorbell rang then, and your confusion only grew, as Mapi had said she'd be the last to stop by.
You opened the door to reveal Alexia, holding a squirming puppy in her arms, with a bow haphazardly placed on it's head. Your jaw dropped. You'd mentioned wanting a dog a few times, but you'd wanted to wait until you settled in more.
"Is that... mine?" you asked, and all 3 girls laughed at your astonishment.
"Si!!" Mapi shouted, so overcome with excitement that she was practically bouncing up and down next to you. Alexia handed you the dog, and you noted that she was smiling wider than you'd ever seen her. Alexia and dogs.
He was a little thing, a mini long haired dachshund, light brown in color. His tail was wagging furiously, and he snuggled up to you right away, licking your face eagerly. You were completely speechless, almost moved to tears.
"Thank you," you said looking around at your teammates. You really didn't know what else to say; they'd gone so above and beyond, so out of their way to make these days slightly easier for you, to make sure you weren't alone, even if you wouldn't let them be there with you.
You handed the dog to Ingrid, before all but tackling Mapi in a hug.
"Te gusta?" she asked triumphantly, already knowing the answer. You nodded into her embrace, taking a second to pull yourself together, before hugging Alexia and Ingrid in turn. You hoped the hugs would convey what words could not.
They stayed for a bit, helping you get the dog settled, and watching him when you ran to the store to get puppy supplies. When they left, you could tell they seemed slightly sad; everything they'd done, and they still didn't feel like it was enough.
As Alexia hugged you goodbye, she spoke softly into the top of your head. "I'm around, y/n, if you're having a rough time, or you need someone to talk to. Call me, text me. Anytime. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, I don't care."
You nodded in response, entirely sure that you wouldn't take her up on that; she'd done enough already.
-----
The days leading up were fine, fun even, especially with a puppy to take care of. You didn't think the day would hit you as hard this year, which maybe was naive. It hid you harder than it ever had. For the first time in a while, you were experiencing love and care in the way you used to from your parents. It made you miss the old versions of them. This, in turn, had you furious at them for becoming the people they'd become, so vile, so cruel. It was like there were two versions of them in your head; the smiling, blurry figures from your childhood. The angry, mean, much more vivid memories from your teenage years.
You wished that they hadn't hate a part of to the point that they might as well have just hated you as a whole. You were poisoned to them, for something you couldn't control.
You were in the midst of what was becoming your annual breakdown, this time trying to keep your sobs quiet as your puppy was passed out on the couch next to you, when your phone rang. It was Mapi calling. You picked up before you could stop yourself, desperate to hear a kind voice.
"Hola pequeña! Just wanted to check in," Mapi sang over the phone.
"Hola Mapi," you responded softly, not really sure how to disguise how upset you were, now that you'd picked up.
"Are you okay y/n?" she asked, her voice much quieter.
"Yeah. Today just isn't very much fun."
"I'm sorry, pequeña. Is there anything I can do?" she asked, and this was what broke you. She'd done so much, yet she was still so desperate to make it better. It didn't make sense to you, why this person cared more about you and your happiness than your parents had.
You tried to keep your sobs muffled, not wanting to alarm Mapi, but she could tell what was going on. She didn't seem to know what to say or what to do, and you felt embarrassment flood your body at the fact that you were openly sobbing on the phone to your older teammate. You bit your lip, hard, forcing yourself to steady your breaths so you could speak.
"Fuck, I'm sorry Mapi. I'm fine, don't worry. Enjoy your Christmas.
"No, y/n, wait,"
You hung up. You fell apart again, burying your face in the soft couch cushions. Your phone buzzed under you again and again, no doubt Mapi calling you back. Time was a blur as you cried, and you really couldn't have said how much time passed before there was a frantic knock at your door. Your puppy barked, launching himself across the room towards the door.
You knew who it was before you even got up, cursing yourself for not answering one of Mapi's calls to assure her you were really fine. You should have known she'd call Alexia panicking.
Sure enough, when you opened your door, you got a quick glimpse of her face, outfit, hair, all telling you she had left some celebration to come to you, before she was smashing into you, pulling you into her arms. You were crying again, or maybe you'd never stopped, and Alexia pulled back to look down at your face, frantically checking to see if you were physically okay. Mapi's call must have been really panicked, then, if she hadn't explained well enough what had happened on your own phone call.
"What happened?" Alexia asked. You shrugged through your tears, which seemed to be enough to convince Alexia that you hadn't broken any bones. She led you back to your couch, tucking you into her side as she called Mapi back. She spoke quietly to her teammate, letting you feel what you needed to feel, and assuring Mapi that she had you, and that you'd be alright. It was reassuring to you, too, really.
Alexia's presence was unwavering, arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, every so often wiping tears off your face. When you were done crying, finally, she handed you your water, instructing you to drink. You did, placing the water back down on the table, and scooping up your puppy back onto your lap.
"Sorry you had to come," You rasped eventually, running your fingers through the dogs fur, soothing him as well as yourself.
"Don't be. I'm glad Mapi called me. I'm glad she called you, you shouldn't have to be alone when you're upset."
"Your family-"
"-all understood that I needed to be here," she finished, gaze fixed steadily on you.
"Thank you for coming," you said, pausing. "I'm not really used to this. All these people caring."
"Well, you better get used to it, because we all care about you, a lot. And we're always going to make sure you're okay, even when you tell us you are. You're not always very believable when you say you're fine."
Her words hit hard, and you sat in silence for a bit, until your puppy got bored, and attempted to gnaw on Alexia's hand. You both laughed, watching as he got distracted again, this time by your foot sticking out of a blanket.
"Come on, get dressed. We'll take him to go meet my family. Get some of that energy out."
Alexia presented this as a statement, but her face held a question, and you knew she would stay here with you, if that's what you wanted. You were surprised to find that it wasn't. You took her outstretched hand, and she smiled triumphantly. You smiled too. When you'd moved here, you hadn't smiled much. You found yourself smiling a lot more now; because of your teammates mostly. They had changed your life, when you hadn't realized you'd needed it to be changed. It was really amazing, what a little love could do for someone who was hurting.
-----
that was so much longer than i intended!!!! got a tad carried away. also mapi didn't tear her meniscus in this because i said so.
773 notes · View notes
ohnoitstbskyen · 8 months ago
Note
So: for LoL, which storyline is your favorite? And if you were to decide, what direction would you take it?
I mean, my favourite story set in any League of Legends thing by far is Arcane, but I suspect that's not quite what you mean.
Second to that is Ashe and Sejuani, specifically as their relationship is told in the Ashe: Warmother comic. It's a comic about the ways in which their relationships with their mothers shape them into the people they become - both of them consciously rejecting their mothers' legacies, and yet both of them utterly reflective of them.
Tumblr media
Like, Ashe's mother Grena is this unflinching visionary, utterly possessed by a dream of ancient legacies, who is at once incredibly powerful and willing to sacrifice any number of lives for her vision, but also vulnerable, flawed and terrified of what her leadership will do both to her tribe and to her daughter.
Tumblr media
And you see those qualities emerge in Ashe as she determines to become the protector of the weak in the Freljord, the champion of the Hearthbound and the vulnerable. She inherits Grena's steel-edged will and dedication to a vision of the future, even as she tries over and over again to reject her mother's obsession with ancient glories and mystical names.
Tumblr media
Sejuani on the other hand is raised by... well, by a bitter, abusive drunk who sees her as nothing but a signifier of her own regrets and failures, and who projects all her own insecurities and weaknesses onto her child.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And Sejuani grows up both resentfully rejecting all the insecurity and pain her mother has been beating into her, but also inherits her mother's brutality and willingness to see the human beings under her command as disposable objects whose worth is measured in utility.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
They are two reflections, two shadows of their mothers, and of the relationship they had to them, sisters by mutual choice and love, who are brought into conflict because their traumas have shaped them in irreconcilably different ways.
It is ENORMOUSLY compelling as a narrative about siblings, and as a framing device for the conflict in the Freljord - especially with Lissandra spooking around in the background as a universal mother-figure for the region, who in turn has her own traumas about being alienated from her sisters in ways that are similar to how Ashe and Sejuani were split apart.
The Freljord sometimes runs the risk of devolving into pop culture viking stereotypes and high fantasy pagan god nonsense (/affectionate, I love Ornn so much), but Ashe and Sejuani and their estrangement, especially as presented in Warmother, brings the thematic core of the region back down to some extremely fundamental questions about how to survive in an abusive environment - whether it be a harsh winter, or a broken family.
Warmother is a fantastic comic, everyone should read it (the art by Nina Vakueva absolutely fucks, and the approach to character design is strong as hell), and it breaks my heart that Riot's management couldn't keep their shit together with Marvel for long enough for it to get any kind of a sequel.
325 notes · View notes
jujutsukgojo · 6 months ago
Text
My gifts to you
feitan portor x reader
Summary: You knew him for years for only moments at a time. Yet, you take it upon yourself to love and mourn him anyway, even when the world won't. tw: light smut, slight yandere feitan, spoilers, mentions of murder, light angst, fluff(?), injuries, cheating, time skips an: didn't mean for it to be this long. Feitan is a bit tricky for me but oh well :) kind of inspired by criminal minds 'no way out'. 10.8k
“If you tie it like this, it should stay, okay?” You tap the boy’s foot. Although he is smaller than you in height, his feet are bigger. It’s quite comical but you don’t dare laugh. In this blasted city, you’d be bound to die for such a thing. Especially if you laugh at someone with crazy hair and carries a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.  
  He says something in a foreign language that you can’t understand. If you are correct, it may be inverted Japanese. In the books that one kid collects, there is a country, Japan, where the common language originates. Since the common language isn’t his mother tongue, it makes you wonder where he’s from and why he’s here. 
  The boy stands up to his full, but short, height. You sit on random rubble and look up at him, waiting for what he’ll do next. Will he call over Phinks or even bring Uvogin? He hangs out with Phinks mainly but who knows these days. 
   Instead of swinging the bat at you or calling over his friends, he pats your head awkwardly. You don’t make any sudden movements or noises. The boy leaves right after. A sigh escapes your lips after he leaves you behind.  
   What's his name again? Feitain? 
__________
  In your hut, you slightly stir the food that sizzles in the pan you found. It’s rare to come across tomatoes and eggs but you managed this time. The smell is mouth watering. You hope no one else can smell it. 
As much as you want to live elsewhere, this is what you settle for at the moment. In another world, you’d be out of this city and somewhere clean and safe. Like the church or something. No, even better than the church. You’ve heard of the outside where there are bright flashing lights and diamonds and pearls on people’s necks. There are flowers of all colors out there. Different shapes, smells, and meanings, they’re all beautiful. You hear that food isn’t scavenged but bought or given to people without a price.  
   People said they’ve seen the safety of children your age that play without a care. There are parents for the lost kids and doctors for the injured. Clean clothes and showers on the regular. You can even see the sun clearly and the big, round moon that doesn't bring out the wolves in men. 
There are pastors and priests that don’t turn people away, either. Hell, you have even wondered if there were schools there that allow everyone to get in. You're sure that you are reading and doing math wrong. How embarrassing.  
Finally done, you place the food on a plastic plate you found. You made sure to wipe the grime off the plate and rinsed it with clean water before using it. Even though you can just eat out of the pan, you want to seem sophisticated like the outside. They don't eat out of pans or use dirty plates. 
  The food steams and is welcoming. Without a lot of utensils, you pick at it with your hands. It burns at first but you’re too hungry. The flavor bursts in your mouth. Even without the proper seasonings, it’s still heaven. You haven’t eaten in a while so you’ll take what you can get.  
   Suddenly, the boy, Feitan, enters your hut. You gasp and protectively cover your food. He brings his foot out. His shoe, which he stole, is untied again. You swallow the substance and point out, “I taught you how to tie them.” 
“Tie.” 
“I taught you.” You set your plate down.  
“Tie.” You roll your eyes and pat your thighs. He walks over to you and places his dirt caked shoe on your lap. Slowly, you tie them.  
“There, see? Come on now, you need to learn. A little boy can’t grow without tying his shoes.” 
“I’m not little boy.” You give a breathy chuckle. “Of course you are, honey.” 
  He leans in close to your face. “I’m older than you.”  
...He does hang out with Phinks, who is a couple years older than you. In fact, it is rare to see them apart. Is it possible that it’s true? Is Phinks the type to be friends with someone who is younger?
 Curious, you ask, “Then why are you so short?” His eyes widened in shock. Then, strangely, he laughs while patting your head harshly. Studying his face revealed what looks like the beginning of a sinister smile.
  He looks at your plate and sits down in front of you. You’re both on the dirt floor. 
 “Give me.” You scoff and snap at him. “No! Find your own!” 
The little beast decided that the two of you should ‘share’. He smacks on his food, making you want to punch him repeatedly. He’s gaunt and bony, but not really bad like last time. His face has a tiny bit of roundness to it. 
  “Stop staring.” He inhales a tomato. “You look better than last time.”
“Better?” He cocks his head to the side. The remnants of the tomato smeared a little on his cheek.
“Yeah, healthier.” He stares at you for a second. “Thanks.” His accent is thick, and you still can’t place it. Nevertheless, you understand. Afterwards, much to your surprise, he sleeps in your hut now that his belly is full. Satisfied and strangely not afraid, you follow suit. It’s nice to have a friend, however strange.
You are barely awake, sleep still heavy in your eyes, when you see him pop up. Drool is crusted on his cheek, and he rubs his eyes. He yawns and then spots you next to him. Feitan eyes the entry of the hut then back at you. He puts the only cover you have on you then pets your head. 
  Before he leaves, he places his bat in your hand. Feitan secures the entry as he exits the hut. 
_____________
  It’s been years since you and Feitan have talked. You've gotten familiar with him but when Sarasa had died in such a disrespectful and gruesome way, he withdrew. In the meantime, you waited for him and studied a power you discovered. No matter the eyes that were always on you, you didn’t care about the mysterious and hidden audience. 
  You don’t know what it’s called but it started when you witnessed some kid about to get her ass handed to her by some thugs. The man had moved a pair of scissors without using his hands. They aimed right towards her and in a moment of instinct, you rushed to push her out of the way. Unfortunately, the scissors stabbed you in the shoulder.  
  It was then did you feel the rush of a force so strong, that it knocked everyone away from you. A faint white light that glowed from your skin that only your eyes could see. As you looked around in shock, you saw that same glow coming from that man and his friends. 
  You were gasping when you fell to your knees. “I-I’m sorry. I can’t be here!” The girl your age ran for her life and left you behind. In a moment of fear, you call out to her to help you. You were so afraid; you couldn't tell if the screams were hers or yours. Given the situation, you were too rattled, terrified and hurt, to focus.
The men shook for a second then got up to face you. The blood from your shoulder wasn’t stopping its flow. Crimson red stained your clothes and the ground. It was all so strange, such an unusual feeling of adrenaline that you couldn’t help but memorize. Almost as if the world had finally made sense. Every single thing became so much clearer to your dismay.  
  The men came towards you with malicious intent. While putting pressure on your injury, you managed to kick one of their legs, causing them to buckle and hurt his knee. He screamed in agony. 
  “G-get away!” You try to stand. The press of your hand on the wound isn’t helping. Is it supposed to bleed this much? It hit your shoulder, but did it nick something?  
  You need to stop it, to heal and get away from them. In this city, people like you are in danger from men like them. If you don’t get away, you’ll end up like Sarasa. She was never really close to you. She was a nice girl who always looked for video tapes, so you'd help her from time to time. Yet, her death scarred everyone since it was so close to home. And now, you no doubt are facing the exact same situation. Wrong place, wrong time.  
   Same fate.  
You fell back on the ground and looked at the sky. It has always been so dirty, just like the city due to pollution. Still so young, you know you won’t see what it really looks like. In the corner of your eye, you spot something green. A small clover with four leaves. 
  One time, an old man told a story of how four-leaf clovers are a sign of good luck. By the intense feeling and pressure of your eyes, you know it’s not true. Pain in all ways makes tears fall from your eyes. Lips wobbling at how unfair everything is and that you will never see the sun. The outside must really be heaven, and for someone so young who hasn’t committed a sin, you are wondering if you can go.
  Suddenly, flowers that you never knew blossomed around you. The soft petals touched your filthy skin and got rid of the aches. The blood on your shoulder faded from view as well as the pain. A soft and beautiful hum whispered in your ear. You truly believed it to be in your head, an imagination of paradise as you leave. Heaven, they call it. You must be close to the outside world then. 
  This must be it, you thought. There was no pain from a strike or fear. Just closed eyes and peace. Something you know you couldn’t get in the atrocious city.  
It ends. You were shocked as the beautiful flowers disappeared. Heaven, would you reject someone? 
  The men didn’t hurt you. The one whose knee was broken was able to move his leg. His red hair kind of glowed in the sun, and brown eyes were wide. He muttered a soft ‘thank you’ and walked away without a limp. His friends followed.  
   After that, you had realized that your ability wasn’t anything like scissors or something scary. It was to heal and be healed.
Although after immediately learning this, you didn't go out of your way to find the source of the screams in the direction the people went. First was the girl, then the group of men. After what you went through, it didn't seem like a good idea. 
 Feitan, somehow, got wind of it. Now in his later teen years you both estimate, he sits still and points to his arm. There’s a gnarly gash oozing blood. You wonder how he’s not feeling this and if he is, how he isn’t even fazed.  
  You gently pick up his arm and inspect it. He's thin but has clear definition in his arms. You haven’t seen him in so long that you are surprised by his growth. Hell, he’s taller now. Still short, but at least he grew.  
  In a jar, you take a premade petal. This is a way for you to save energy and reach people when you physically can’t tend to. Acting as a pill, you make sure that people can get infections out. For some reason, illnesses and infections are particularly tricky and tiring for you.  
  “Eat this, Feitan.” He frowns. “No.” You sigh. “It’s infected. You need to eat this so I can heal it right.” 
  “It’s not.”   
Rolling your eyes you bring his wound to his face. “This, this is infected. It's literally oozing pus.” How long did this go on? Was he really that hesitant to just come and see you?
  He growls and takes the delicate petal and places it in his mouth. “Stop pouting.”  
“Not pouting. It’s nasty.” He’s not wrong. It has a bitter taste and when chewed, a slimy texture. The color of the disintegrating petal leaves a stain in the mouth as well. If not for the benefits, no one would even bother. They'd be just as offended as Feitan.  
  The pus stops and clears up. “Alright, this’ll leave a scar.”  
You blow on your hand so that flowing blossoms surround him. Beautiful shades of pink and white go through his hair. With a gentle caress, you see the flurries touch his wound. It starts to encourage his own healing.  
  As much as you want to do the full thing, you’re tired. All day you’ve been working and collecting payments. Not to mention facing the disappointment of them being useless. You want to kick yourself for not getting paid first. But the sight of those grateful people and healed kids softens your heart.  
  Soon, it stops once the injury becomes manageable. You’re about to wrap it when a hand stops you. “What’s this?”  
  “Feitan, I'm tired. You caught me at a bad time.” You try to move your hand but he stops you. He's a lot stronger than you remember. “Heal.” 
His fluency isn’t the greatest still.  
“I’m tired! Just let it heal the rest of the way.” No matter how much you try to yank your hand away, his grip is too strong. “Please, Feitan...”  
  Surprisingly, he lets go and from what you can see, the subtle white glow appears and heals him the rest of the way, leaving small flames. “Feitan...what was that?” 
  He rolls his eyes and plops down on a chair. He says nothing and just relaxes, or at least that’s what he’s trying to make it seem like. It has been a while since you’ve seen him, but that doesn’t make you blind to his behaviors…sometimes. 
   “As a transmuter, I can heal a little by using enhancer,” He looks at you suspiciously. “You know nothing about nen?”
“Nen?” You put the gauze and other items in a black bag. It was found in the safe zone by the church. Apparently, it belonged to a doctor from the outside. The bag had all kinds of necessities. Gauze, medicine, some syringes, disinfectant, a thermometer, all kinds of stuff that you’ve had to use sparingly. What you save in the bag, you make up for with your ability. 
  He smacks his lips and calls you a ‘dumb brat’. “You use nen but don’t know it?”
Sighing, you ask, “What is nen, Feitan?” 
“What you do. Use your aura and stuff.” His arms are crossed, and he looks at you expectantly. You gather that he likes knowing things you don’t. It’s like a weak power trip. 
  But it is nice to finally have a name and explanation for it. And that’s what he did this time. Visiting you for a moment just to pick with you while teaching you something you should have known. 
“Wait, if you could do that, why’d you come here?” He just shrugs.
------
When you see him again, he brings his friends along. You immediately recognize some of them. Phinks, who ran with Feitan, the boy who always collected books, and Uvogin, the giant who was always claiming territory and beating people up. 
  Feitan should be twenty now. It’s hard to tell since he looks youthful. He points to his friend, the boy with the books, and orders, “Heal.”
“You can do it, Feitan, remember?” You were in the middle of cleaning when he and the rest of his posse pop up. They look flustered and a little worse for wear. 
  “Heal.” He always does crap like this. You roll your eyes at first. The body they carry tugs on your strings a bit. 
“Fine. Put him on the table.” Thankfully, it’s cleaned, and a new wrapping has been placed on it. Gently, the man is put on it. You spot the cross tattoo on his forehead. Ah, that’s where Feitan has been. Lately, there’s been whispers of the Phantom Troupe. Merciless killers and thieves from Meteor City that have been gaining respect over the years. Your opinion of them isn’t the greatest but it also isn’t the worst. You appreciate them for standing up for Meteor City, but their methods are questionable.
   You sigh and begin to undress the boy with the cross. “Is that necessary?” 
You continue to pull off his clothes, not bothering to answer the question the girl asked. If she can’t understand why you need to remove his clothes, then that’s on her. She scoffs after another female voice answers her question. 
  You finally see his wound. Feitan can heal himself to a degree, but you don’t think this guy can. The gash is deep and sewed with makeshift stitches. There’s no nen involved, surprisingly. Given that Feitan is an avid user, you thought his friends would be keen on it too. 
“He’s a specialist. Enhancer techniques are harder for him.” Phinks spoke. He must've understood your confusion. 
“And the stitches?” You gently investigate the area. It’s an angry red around it and, like you suspected, infected. It wasn’t properly taken care of. You begin to remove the stitches. You wonder what the thread is made of and how long this has been going on. 
“He,” Phinks points to Uvogin. “And him,” He then points to another large man with long ears. “Thought they could do it. Normally, Machi heals us but they were away from her. Her stitches would have helped him but not any infections.”
  “Ah, well this requires more than I thought.” You touch the ground and out comes a beautiful swirl of flowers. Underneath the moving petals is a blooming sunflower. It picks the guy up so he rests on it. The bed of the flower glows softly and becomes warm. His once wincing face is now peaceful. His injury is slowly closing and the red is beginning to turn pink. 
“The downside of this is that it takes a while. It’ll be all healed up in about an hour or so.”
“ An hour?” Uvogin, who has abandoned his afro and traded it for long standing hair. “Feitan, I thought you said she was good? We could’ve gone to that one guy and got it done right then and there.”
“She’s the best. Wait.” His hands are in his pockets and he moves. Feitan looks around and touches whatever he pleases. You try not to focus on his compliment. You wonder if the reason he moved from your line of sight is because he got embarrassed. If so, you won’t tease him. The Troupe are killers, afterall. 
   You start to feel the weight of your nen. This technique requires more effort than the others. Feitan explained it to you but you never did get the hang of it. You just know what to do instinctively. You were proud that you could do any of this without a teacher.
 What you’re sure of is that this man, whatever his name is, is giving you a crap ton of money after this or there’ll be hell to pay. 
   You feel something tickling the side of your face. The wrapper is red and unopened. You take the energy bard gratefully. “Thank you, Feitan.”
A couple of the Troupe members complain about the time. Machi or Mochi or whatever, the pink haired one, especially complains and criticizes for some reason. You have never seen this person before in your life yet here she is pouting. 
  “You okay?” You see the blond boy with big blue eyes study you closely. He moves closer to your face. A smile never leaves his face. Before you can answer, Feitan, who hasn’t left your side since you ate the bar, answers for you. 
“She’s fine. I’m watching her.”
You hear a couple of snickers. Feitan glares daggers at the offenders. You take a deep breath and ignore the friends who decided to crowd inside your hut. The boy with the forehead tattoo lies peacefully. Although you are running out of steam, his wound is healing nicely. One of the women, you believe it’s Pakunoda, comes to you and bends down. 
“Can I get you anything?” You discover that your throat is absolutely parched. “Some water, please.”
  If you remember correctly, the last you saw of her was when her head was shaved and some outsider kid did it. She had always kept it short. And now, it’s on her shoulders and very sleek. Over the years she’s drastically changed.
  You drink the water, which to your surprise, is clean. “Hey, how did this happen anyway?”
  “Don’t ask questions.” Feitan quickly shuts you down. Before you can ask anything more, you notice the entire group of friends are quiet. 
  “It’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?” You nod at the blonde boy with blue eyes and a permanent smile. Completing the hour, the tattoo guy is up. He’s immediately impressed. “My name’s Chrollo Lucilfer. Yours?” He puts out his hand for you to shake. 
  “Yeah, the book collector-theater nerd-kid, right? My name’s-” Before you can even answer, Feitan does it for you. 
  He gives your name and how your Nen works. He’s quick with it, too. You side eye Feitan for a second. “Thanks, Feitan. I, uh, really needed a spokesperson.”
“Ah, I guess it can’t be helped then, Feitan?” There’s tension in the air. It’s thick and heavy. By the looks of it, neither one is backing down. “Um, it’s not a big deal that he answered for me, you do know that, right?”
  Seconds pass through this. You look around for anyone to intervene with this. Whatever the hell is going on, it’s deep. “Since Fei explained it, why not have her join?”
“Positions are filled.” Chrollo still stares directly into Feitan’s eyes. Phinks nervously chuckles, once again trying to defuse the situation. “Fei, come on. No fighting. Right boss?”
  Suddenly, it’s lifted. Chrollo has what looks like a practiced smile on his face. “That’s true. That’s a rule.”
  Chrollo takes a glance at you. “She obviously means a lot to you. Clearly, she’s an asset, too.”
  “I’m right here, jackass.” Feitan smacks you on the head. “I’ll handle her.” 
  The others sigh in relief. Momentarily, you’re a little offended. “It was nice meeting you.”
They exit your hut right after, leaving Feitan behind. “So. those were your friends, huh?”
“Watch tongue.” You smack your lips and roll your eyes. There is blood on the floor and on the table. The furniture is in disarray due to all of his friends having no home training.  “I haven’t seen you in forever and this is how you greet me?”
 He frowns. “I say hello all the time.” You turn to him. “When? I didn’t see you.”
Feitan huffs and kicks the ground lightly. You get up to move the furniture back to place. Your movements are slow and everything seems so much heavier. Everything is swirling right before your eyes. Your head hurts and yet feels so light. Before you meet the ground, Feitan takes you to the couch and lays you down. 
  “I haven’t seen you in so long, little boy…” Those were the last words you say before you drift to sleep. 
Hours later, you wake up at the sound of birds. There is a beautiful blue blanket on you with golden yellow designs. It’s thick and so warm you could stay forever. You’ve never owned anything like this. 
  Slowly you get up and search for Feitan. He’s nowhere to be found much to your dismay. Last night’s conversation still stays with you. He insisted that he says hello all the time. That he sees you regularly, yet, you haven’t seen him at all. 
  The blanket, the wind chime, the medical supplies, the various decorations with stones, paint and if you weren’t smart, you’d say gold. Could Feitan have been the one to give you gifts? Silently watching over you and in his own way, saying hello? You have felt like you were being watched for years. 
____________
  “Do you understand why I didn’t welcome you?”
“No, and I never will. Now please, leave me alone.” You feel convicted by turning a man of God away, but can he truly be one when he left a child to suffer? You were in the cold, wind, and rain, alone in one of the worst parts of the city. All you had was Feitan, and he was there once in a blue moon. After the rejection from the church, you took it upon yourself to care for others as no one had ever cared for you. Although hurt and afraid, you chose not to spread that toxicity. You decided that no matter the size of change, it still works. 
 However, you will not fall prey to the same people. For instance, that girl you saved and this priest. How can he expect your services with no repentance or atonement? You forgive, but like hell will you forget. 
Damn…you were so sure you were over the pain of your past. That the change you made within yourself and how you treat people so no one else suffers like you, would stick. Alas, all it takes is one person to bring it down. You want to kick yourself because of the regression. Then again, the hostility isn’t your fault.
You walk into the hallway with small statues, stone walls, and large windows. The sun shines brightly through them, making the church seem prettier than it is.
“Please-”
“She said no.” Feitan stands with his hands in his pockets, the sun shining on his pale skin. It has been a few months since the incident with Chrollo. You haven’t seen any of them but have felt eyes on you, which you have deduced was Feitan. However, you learned the truth of the blanket. The name stitched on it belonged to an old clan, the Kurta, that was mutilated, tortured, and murdered by the Phantom Troupe. It disgusts you. The blanket is comfortable but still. 
Feitan, the boy who you taught to tie his shoes, gave you a trophy of his crime. You wanted to burn it, or bury it in the memory of the Kurta, yet you couldn’t. It’s a gift from the one consistent person in your life. Your protector and giver. So, you folded it and put it in a box. 
   Now, here he is like he’s done nothing wrong. Defending you and putting the man that’s been with the city for ages in his place. You’re shocked at his behavior. 
  “Feitan, surely you must understand!” 
“Shut up.” Father Rizole took a step back in surprise. Feitan was one of his regulars, if you remember correctly. This must be a surprise for the aging priest. 
You hum at the scene. Even though the rumors of what the Troupe has done bothers you, it doesn’t mean you aren’t opposed to the benefits. The priest backs up and sighs. 
“If you ever reconsider, please, let me know. We could use your help.”
“I could’ve used it too.” You end the conversation there and leave. Feitan soon follows you. He’s silent on his feet and very fast. Feitan was behind you but his quick feet caught up in less than a second. Now, he walks right at your side. 
“So, you just decide when you want to see me?” 
Feitan shrugs. “I don’t know.” 
Sighing, you turn to him and ask, “What do you need this time?” The lower half of his face is hiding under a plain cowl now. His eyes show all of the emotion needed. “I just hang out.”
  The sun is too hot for this nonsense. Sweat trickles down your face and back, becoming sticky. “So that’s why you’re here, right? I’m shocked.”
Before he can say your name, you continue. “Oh! And let's not forget the little massacre that took place, huh? Yeah, being used to heal your friend from that was really fun.”
“I didn’t.”
 You roll your eyes. “No, just that one guy. That’s who to you, again?”
“Boss.” You scoff at his short answer. Then, you think about the possibility. “Your boss? Then…doing that to the Kurta, wasn’t your idea, was it?”
“No, not mine.” His hands remain in his pockets. His hair blows in the wind slightly. You realize he hasn’t gotten a haircut in a while. 
“If you could, you know, go back in time…would you still do it?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no thought put into the answer. Just a plain as day answer and a tone that leaves no room for an explanation. 
“So whatever he wants he just gets? As long as it aligns with your twisted mind, right?”
  His eyes grow darker. “I save you.”
You point to the church. “No, no you didn’t. That guy wasn’t going to do anything to me. I had it handled.”
Shaking your head, you go to leave until a hand wraps around your wrist. “Boss takes nen. I didn’t let him.”
  Was that what that was? That tension that day that was suffocating? Remembering that day, you start to form pieces. “Would he hurt you if you didn’t go along with his schemes?”
“No.” 
Well there goes that idea. “Nevermind.”
You try to yank your wrist from his grip, but it’s iron tight. “Let me go!”
“I protect you, always. Bad people here, everywhere. I get dirty for you.” His face is indifferent but his words give it away. The plea for you to understand and realize, dare you say, his devotion to his friends. Does this include you?
Is that what it is? What friendship, this connection is? You are aware of the deeds the Troupe do. You understand why they thought it would be a good idea (somewhat anyway). 
“Thank you, then.” He lets go of your wrist which was grabbed painfully tight. He trades that in for holding your hand instead. You are shocked at first, but if you make it a big deal, he’ll stop. You don’t want him to right now. 
  Not when you feel safe. You still want to kick yourself… and maybe throw in a punch.
_____
Apparently, the Troupe have gone their separate ways for now. They don’t cling onto each other for a long period of time after a job. It’s better that way since it has a lesser chance of them getting caught. They still hang out from time to time, though. 
For you, you managed to get out of Meteor City after the argument with the priest. Feitan had gone to do another heist with Phinks, if you remember right. You took that moment to skip town. You never wanted to stay in the trash, anyway. 
  And you were right to! Everything you thought of as a child about the world outside was true! Sure, people can be rude and things can be corrupt, but you’re fed and resting. There are bright lights and kind people. It can be clean and the soap smells so good. Just the other day you got to experience a nail salon. Rather than stealing from you, the lady next to you, Jade, talked about her family. Her daughter is Ruby and her wife is Scarlet. Jade and Scarlet want another child. You offered the name Emerald. 
  In Meteor City, you would’ve had to fight. Now, you are making friends and offering beautiful names. It’s a stark contrast that is fully welcomed. 
  The sun is bright and the moon is sometimes round. It doesn’t always attract evil and can sometimes sing such a beautiful melody. There are pearls and diamonds. There are seasonings that make the food taste unbelievably good. It’s all expensive, but infinitely better than Meteor. 
And Nen is a secret here. In the city, many knew about it and used it without discretion. Here it’s different. Like a secret identity for a hero. Your nen in particular isn’t used as much as it was before. Your ability was so tiring. Pretty and incredibly useful, but exhausting nonetheless. 
  It has been a few years since you saw him, but he’s seen you. He found you quickly, too. When you came home from your office job (which you are still ecstatic about, by the way) you noticed a new painting in your house. It was dull and in black and white. The painting is of a few plants that take the center stage. Actually, they’re your nen plants. In the background is what looks like your old city. Piles of rubbish and polluted air in black swirls. There are clouds above and a dark sun barely poking out. 
  It’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. You have wondered what he meant by it. You open the door to your apartment. It’s not much and one day you want to get a house. 
  The keys make a jingle when you set them on the countertop. The apartment is still dark, so you scramble to flip the switch. “Why you leave?”
You scream at the top of your lungs. Standing there nonchalantly is Feitan, who you haven’t had contact with in a hot minute. His hair is even longer than before. He wears a new cowl that has a skull on it over his face. His trench coat looks a little too big for him but he wears it well anyway. 
  “Uh, because I live here? What are you doing here?” You set your bag down and take off your short heels. Although he’s a murderer, you still feel safe with him. 
 He takes slow strides towards you. “ Why? I looked for you and you weren’t there.”
“You knew where I was. I got your presents,” You point to the painting. He hides his face a little in the fabric. “I like it by the way. Did you do it?”
“Shut up.” You sigh and walk into your kitchen. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
 You begin to wash the rice. Your eyes switch from looking down to taking obvious glances at him. Right about now, he should be in his mid twenties. It’s amazing how long you’ve known each other. You remember him as that kid who didn’t know how to tie his shoes and him teaching you about Nen. Time flies so fast when you least expect it. 
  You crack the eggs and whisk them. The sound of the utensil against the bowl and the sizzle of the tomatoes in the pan is all that is heard. Feitan doesn’t make one sound. He opts to stare at you working and even has a glint in his eye which you think could be satisfaction. 
  “Do you still like this, by the way? I remember you snatching it.” You try not to smile at the memory. 
 “I do.” He hovers in your kitchen, just waiting, watching you do all of the work. Stingy bastard. After adding the seasonings, you could have never gotten in Meteor City, you fix him a plate. He happily accepts it and sits down on the floor. 
“I have a tab-” Oh, the memory. Allowing yourself to smile, you sit with him and eat off of his plate. “We’re sharing. ”
 He gives a slight growl but doesn’t do anything. “So, what brings you by?”
“I say hello.” You hum with a mouth full of food. “Well, hello to you too, little boy.”
He gives you a light kick. The two of you finish the plate. Both full, you just lay back and talk. 
“How long are you staying?” 
“Not long.” You’ll miss him. “Running from the cops again?”
“Need to hide out for a bit.” You nod, accepting his answer and that your connection will probably always be sweet moments. “It’s nice to have you here, even only for a moment.”
  Feitan taps you again with his foot. “I’m always here. I say hello all the time.” You know and are fully aware of what he means. His odd little gifts decorate your house. To bones, to rugs, even a china set he stole. It’s routine for him to give you something, even when you don’t see him. 
“Even though you run.” He kicks you again. The more you watch him, the more your chest tightens. He’s the only consistent thing in your life. Everything is fleeting. Your job is new as well as your relationship with your coworkers. But there is a line with them. Feitan is different.
  “How long are we going to do this dance?”
“I don’t dance.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “I mean you coming by once in a blue moon.” 
  He shrugs. “I don’t know.” You nod. “Figures.”
He frowns. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, that this whole thing is tiring. You come and go like some kind of feral cat.”
  “So?”
You sputter, “ So I don’t appreciate it.” He takes off his long coat and reveals his chest, next goes his shoes. “I sleep here.”
“You can’t use me!” He gets up and goes in the direction of your room. “Feitan!” You pick up his clothes and set them aside. “Do you hear me? I wasn’t done talking!”
  On your bed is a sprawled out Feitan. He looks at you with squinted eyes. “Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.”
  Like always, he makes himself at home. You sigh, giving up on trying to talk to him. “Move over.” 
  He scoffs and reluctantly moves out of your way. You feel him tense up as you lay down. “This is my bed. I can sleep here.”
  You face each other as you lay down. Neither of you say anything about how close you are. This is probably the closest you’ve ever been since you helped him tie his shoes the second time. You feel his eyes on you, making you nervous. “Stop staring at me.”
  “Never sleep with someone in a while.” You know. The last time was with you, no doubt. At the time, you didn't think about it, if you remember correctly. It's hard to tell since it's been so long. 
“The couch is that way.” He smacks his lips. “No, you go.” You open your eyes. 
“Like I said, this is my bed.” Feitan doesn’t say anything about your ownership. Instead, he’s honest with you. “I’m tired.”
  Instantly, you start to feel a little bad. In the city, no child was ever able to fully sleep. It was too dangerous, especially in the more dangerous districts. Him being honest about his state, you take it as a step. 
  “If you want to, I’ll be on the lookout.” His hands are next to yours. You grab them, just like he did those few years ago. “You can sleep now, Feitan.” 
  You don’t know when, don’t know how either, but you two do end up sleeping. His eyes are closed and his breath even. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s got slight dark under eyes and his mouth leaking drool. Feitan looks peaceful, sleepy, like he hasn’t done this in a while. 
  The next morning, he’s gone with no evidence he was even there.
_________________
  You watch on the tv screen above the bank about the attack on York New, a city not too far from you. The attack happened a few days ago but it’s still in the headlines. You don’t blame them, to be honest. It was an insane event that over two thousand people died! 
  You cling onto your boyfriend’s arm. He touches your hand reassuringly. His watch gleams in the moonlight and his suit is perfectly pressed. He's the entire package, he’s perfect. A good job, good manners, an honest man, and treats you well, too. He always holds the chair out for you and gets up when you leave the room. Just like a true gentleman. 
  When you first met, it was a classic coffee shop romance. Then it blossomed into a romantic and expensive dinner, the movies, a nighttime walk in the park, all of the classic dates. In every single one of them he was the perfect gentleman, the perfect man. You like him and how he treats you. How consistent he is. He's the type of man you can rely on. 
  Nevertheless, there is a bothersome voice in the back of your head that reminds you of someone he just isn’t. He’s not Feitan Portor. You don’t feel the contentment Feitan gives when the two of you sleep. You don’t study your boyfriend’s features like you did Feitan.
Dammit, why are you thinking of him? He’s not around and you haven’t seen him in what? Two or three years? So why think of him now. Plus, you haven’t received a gift or a ‘hello’ from him. For all you know, he could be dead.
  “Are you alright?” You wake from your thoughts and look at your boyfriend. His hair is dark, blending in with the night. Eyes kind and green, a Grecian nose, and average sized lips revealing a dazzling smile. Not only is the very essence of him suave, but his looks are also perfect. Tall and handsome, well dressed and a smooth voice. 
It's just that one five foot one pest that won’t get out of your head. 
  “Y-yeah just…it’s all so shocking. York New is literally over there.” You point past the river where more tall buildings reside in the distance.
“I know, I know.” He brings you in close to him. He places a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you.” 
Suddenly, the newscaster stops mid sentence and gasps. Before you know it, the Phantom Troupe have been named the offenders that caused all of this. Two thousand people. Feitan, did you really kill that many people?
“I would like to go home. I don’t feel the greatest.” He rubs your arm, you still being tucked into his side. Your excuse was a lie to cover the gnawing feeling towards Feitan and his deeds. Although the Phantom Troupe’s original intentions were from a decent stand point, it seems they’ve lost their way. Feitan has lost his way. 
  The gifts have stopped coming, him no longer saying hello. After the last time, when you made him familiar food and sat in a comfortable silence, he disappeared. This time, there was something about it that hurt. Like he didn’t want to come around. He didn’t want to say hello anymore. Or perhaps, he died which if confirmed, you would ache beyond help. 
  “The Phantom Troupe is dead.” The newscaster said. The crowd gasped, shocked that the most feared criminals in the world are gone. Did you jinx it? Curse the little boy who needed you to tie his shoes. The boy who liked your cooking and made sure you rested. Had strong faith in you, never doubting. Protected you from the shadows and held your hand. 
  Is he really gone? 
You hide your face in your boyfriend’s jacket. Tears stream from your eyes at the thought of his grave. With the Troupe, his friends dead, you’d be the only one to truly mourn him. To remember his name beyond his violence. 
You clutch your chest. “Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?” He grabs you by your shoulders, making you face him. He’s such a kind, decent man. But he’s not Feitan Portor. 
  “I just need to rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.” You give him a chaste kiss goodbye. Once he leaves, your chest hurts even more. You slide down as you look around at all the menace’s little gifts. The painting, the skull, the windchimes, everything he’s given you. Why, oh why, couldn’t you stay here long enough for your gift, Feitan?
Wait, what could you have given him anyway? He’s a thief that takes what he pleases and has nothing to wish for. 
You lay on your couch and put your arm over your face. The tears refuse to stop for even just a second. You don’t know what you’re crying harder for. Feitan or the confusing feelings for him. Now that he’s gone, you can’t properly tell him. How can you explain it? 
  It’s heavy on your chest and tightens it. You want to feel his body heat no matter how hot the day is. There are no small flutters in your stomach at the thought of him. No, it's something in your heart. You want to stare at him, to memorize every feature he has. To hear his soft voice that is just a centimeter away from a whisper. Just melt in his touch, his presence. Wait, why is this happening? You barely knew him! Does that fact even matter though?
 You slip your hand in your underwear, still staring at the ceiling, sniffling at the news of his death. You imagine the future. Seeing him walk into your house and setting his belongings on the table. Wrapping his arms around you and kissing your back. No matter how long you’ve known him, his stature never fails to amuse you. He’d paw at your body, tearing off your clothes. Feitan wouldn’t hesitate to use his hands for your pleasure. 
  You trace your fingers in the direction you think he’d go. Curling your fingers inside, thrusting them in harshly, knowing that he can only be gentle in his own way. Your back arches from the couch. You swear you can smell him and the faint metallic scent that he holds. The feeling of his ragged breath on your cheek you could swear is real. 
  You moan as you take that jump you’ve searched for. Thinking of how good Feitan would make you feel. You're relentless on yourself, still going as strong as he’d be. Adding another finger, going faster and faster on your clit. Your moaning gets louder as the indiscernible amount of time goes on. 
‘ The Phantom Troupe is dead.’
You crash on the couch with one last gasp. The dream of the two of you ends in flames. The house, the passion, the years that go by in that home. Maybe even a child or two. Seeing him in the morning with a groggy voice is gone. Rubbing his eyes and saying he wants more eggs and tomatoes is no longer there.
  What would your gift be to Feitan? Memories? Sex? Food? Nothing fits. He can have those with anyone. 
  You slip yourself out from your underwear. It didn’t distract you. Perhaps if you thought of your boyfriend, it would have. But the feelings you have towards Feitan went beyond physical. What is this? What do you call this?
  Love? Time stops at the realization. It has to be that. That would have been your gift to him. Love. You cover your mouth as you admit it to yourself. 
'I love you Feitan Portor. I won’t forget you. I love your messed up hair and soft voice. For how you didn’t reject me when the world did. I will do the same for you. I’ll look past your torturous ways and miss you anyway. Maybe the world will curse you, but I’ll mourn you. Bury you so no one can spit on you anymore. I love you Feitan. 
   I’m in love with you Feitan Portor. This is my gift to you. For you to know that you will not be forgotten even though I never got to tell you, to thank you for everything. For leaving the baseball bat with me to protect myself. For painting that picture for me. All of the little gifts you thought I’d like, too. Thank you for protecting me from the priest and the wolves that hunted me every day when we were young.'
You stare at the ceiling till the earliest of mornings. It’s still dark, still heavy with the night sky. There’s some rumbling in the distance, a flash of light in the sky. You don’t bother to confirm anything. 
Just as you close your eyes, the window opens with a creak. You move your eyes to see the figure before you. The darkness covers it, only leaving the silhouette. “Why cry?”
You squint, trying to make out the features.  “Are you real?”
“Very.” It must be a lie. A cruel humor the world has. “Stop crying.” 
“I can’t. Not when you sound like him.” The figure cocks his head, that much you can see with the flash of lightning behind him. “Him?”
“Someone who can’t tie his shoes.” Your lip wobbles again. “I can tie them now.” The moon glows enough to show his face now as he steps up to you. Feitan’s delicate features peek out from his cowl. 
 You shake your head in denial. “It’s not real. It can’t be. You’re dead, Fei.” Your voice is hoarse from your sobs. 
  He looks shocked at your words. The man who looks like Feitan smacks your feet off the end of the couch so he can sit. 
“I’ll miss you Feitan Portor.” The longer you stare at the imaginary man, the more you hurt. “Well, stop.”
  He roughly wipes away the tears. “Ugly when you cry.” His face is close to yours. Since he’ll be gone by the time you come to your senses, you grab his face and kiss him. He sharply inhales, not expecting your sudden decision. 
  He growls against your lips, “Stupid brat.” 
  He feels real. He smells real, familiar too. You tell him such and with furrowed brows and a strong grip of his hand, he grabs your jaw and makes you look at him. “I’m real, you idiot.”
“They said you died…” You comb his hair through your fingers. It’s real, he's real . So, what’s going on? Before you can ask him, he cradles you. “Stop crying or I’ll go.”
  Your lips wobble at his threat. Rather than listening to it, you hug him. He nestles on top of you, hips placed between yours. He’s light, lighter than you thought so it isn’t a bother.
  “You’re so ugly when you cry. Don’t cry.” He holds you closer and kisses your head. Against your ear, you feel his lips move. You can’t tell what he’s mouthing. When the two of you comfortably slept those years ago, that was the closest you’ve been. Now, this beats that record. Face to face, body to body, and sharing breaths. 
  After a few moments of thunder and lightning, he kisses you gently. Not at all like the desperate one like before. Realistically, you know these feelings you have for him seem fake. You’ve only had a few moments with him. So, why are they so significant? Are they with him too? Is it possible that love can blossom quickly?
  Gentle kisses turn passionate, never wanting to separate. Little nibbles on the right places and sucks on all of the best ones. Clothes leave, not wanting to get between the two friends, those who dance around each other. For the first time, they meet. 
His hands reach your throat as he kisses you, making sure to give it a light squeeze. His weight is still on you, not hurting in the slightest. Feitan makes sure his hand reaches below and swirls his thumb on your bud. You gasp, surprised you were right about how he’d do it. Every ministration he does is exactly how it was pictured. Your hands don’t compare to it. Not by a long shot. 
  Despite his size, his hands are still bigger than yours. They reach deeper than you and are thicker too. In no time, you come, the bliss lasting a good minute before he sheathes himself inside. His thickness is more than you thought. It’s a bit of a stretch, but in a good way. 
  His gasps quicken with every thrust. You can tell that you're being loud, way louder than when you touched yourself. Feeling the rush and strength of his movements has you claw his back in ecstasy. He groans at the sensation. Finally, after this time of passion and intimacy, you both hold each other as you fall off of that cliff.
  Feitan looks into your eyes. With a softness that no one in the world could’ve predicted the torturer of the Phantom Troupe to have, kisses you. “Don’t cry anymore. Don’t cry.”
 “It’s hard not to when I know you’ll leave.” Silently, Feitan removes himself from inside you. It’s become routine, so you expect him to walk out. He lays back down, his head on your stomach. You run your fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut. 
--
 You wake up, not realizing that you went asleep in the first place. Before you can get up, you feel pressure on your stomach. Feitan rests on you still, eyes completely closed and his face peaceful. The two of you are naked and the only source of heat is each other. As much as you want to wrap your arms around him, you know he’ll react negatively or at least flinch. 
  Soon after, he stretches and rubs his face against your stomach. Like before, he drooled in his sleep. “Good morning.” 
He grunts in response and sits up on his heels. It takes him a moment to remember the night before. His eyes widen as he looks you up and down, making you highly aware of your current state. You cover yourself with a blanket draped over the couch. 
  “I have to go.” Ah, right. He’s a cat. 
He gets dressed. Once he has his boots on, you see him tie them the way you taught him. “Proud of you. You finally learned huh?”
 “Brat.” You laugh a little at him. Once he’s done you ask, “Will I ever see you again?"
He cradles your face. “I come back.” You nod, holding back tears. He studies your face and settles on your eyes. He must have realized that you were trying not to cry. His hands still remain on your face as he kisses you. He lingers there for a minute. A parting kiss, a meaningful one. 
  Something tells you that this feral cat isn’t going away anytime soon. That he’ll always be constant and you won’t be totally alone. A companion you won’t see everyday and only for a night. 
 This is the gift you’ll give him. You’ll be home for him. 
___________________
Months later, news about the Chimera Ants came out. You had already broken up with your boyfriend and heard he had left town to avoid them. Of course, you followed suit and got the hell out of there. 
  Without any plan, you moved back to Meteor City, where you thought that they wouldn’t be. Alas, that was stupid. You made a home base in the residential area. Not knowing that Meteor City was plagued by the wretched beasts. 
  By God’s grace, you managed to avoid them due to you being in the residential district. News that the Phantom Troupe were home to fight them ran rampant. The thought of Feitan made you nervous and you don’t know why. 
  Suddenly, right as you put away your dishes, the door opened. You grabbed a knife and faced the intruder. Standing there was the Phantom Troupe, who once again, barged into your home like they owned the place. 
  “What the hell?” You shout. The first one is Phinks with a wide smile. “There she is! Fei, I found her!”
  You put your hand on your hip. “Seriously, what are you doing her-you’re dragging in mud, take off your shoes!”
 “It’s only a little.” Phinks pouts. “I don’t care! You don’t live here.” 
Phinks and his friends grumble as they do as they’re told. The last one to enter the house is Feitan, who is notably holding his left arm. Without being told, he removes his shoes. 
  “Feitan…” He hasn’t faced you yet. “What happened to your arm?” 
“I’m injured too, (Y/n)!” The smiling boy with round eyes whines. You have no idea what his name is. Only that he and the rest are in Feitan’s gang. 
  “Alright, let me see.” He lays down on your clean table and says, “It’s all over. I need the full treatment!” 
  “Ugh, fine.” You grumble under your breath about the disrespect and your poor table. Finally, Feitan sits on one of the pushed aside chairs. He says, “I need it too.”
  “Big babies.” 
You heal the biggest cry baby completely. The blond, whose name you now know as Shalnark, stretches. “If it weren’t for you, I would’ve been hurting all day!”
  Rolling your eyes, you turn to Feitan who has been silent. He holds out his arm for you. You take the limb and inspect it. 
 “Completely shattered.” He grunts in agreement. He stares into your eyes and gives you a familiar slight smile. You notice that his friends are quiet, not a sound or word among them. 
“You guys alright?” You ask. The girl shakes her head yes and ‘whispers’ to the rest. “Should we leave them alone?”
  “Probably.” A mummy with boxing gloves answers. You’ve never seen him before in your life. 
“Uh, we’ll check the place out. Y’know, make sure it’s safe.” Shalnark shoos the little kid out and into a separate room, your bedroom. “We’ll clear this out in case you guys need it!”
  You huff and roll your eyes. Feitan’s cheeks are red and he’s glaring daggers at his friends. The girl goes outside with the remaining three to check the area. You and your feral cat are alone. 
“What are they checking for? I’m in a residential area.” 
“Ants.” 
  “They’re here? In the safe zone?” You begin to panic until he grabs your hand. “You’re safe now. They’re not in the city anymore.”
“Wha-how? What’s going on?”
  He pinches you lightly, encouraging you to heal his wounds. “Oh, right, right.” Flowers of all colors circle around. They begin to smooth over Feitan’s wounds. You take a second to wipe the blood off of his lip, letting there be some room for the petals to go. 
“How’s the other guy look?”
“She's toasted.” You smile. “Atta boy.”
  He’s healed, the petals and flowers disappear. You lick your lips at the sight of his bare chest. You didn’t notice before due to the audacity of these heathens barging in. 
  His heart rate quickens. “You leave again.”
You nod. “Yeah, yeah I did. I had to, Fei. the Chimera Ants invaded. I had to run.”
“With your boyfriend?”
You let out a small gasp. “ No. How do you know that?” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair. “You lie.”
“I didn’t lie to you. I just never said anything.”
  “Words of a liar.” You scoff at him. “I did not lie to you. I lied to him. You don’t have any business with our relationship.”
At first, he was looking at his lap. Those grey eyes of his immediately found a new target to glare at. “You’re not with him anymore. ”
“No. Why does that matter?” He begins to tap his foot lightly. “Why did you break up?” 
  “You hungry?” You start to get up until you’re tugged down. “Why?”
When you don’t answer, he whispers in your ear. “Because I fucked you?” Your face is so warm. 
“If we run, we can still make it out.”
“Why are we running?” A small voice asks.
“Because I think they need the room.” 
“Will you two shut up?!” You are two seconds away from running out of your own damn house. You stand and his hands hold you by your hips. “Tell me why you leave him?”
  “Because of you.” It’s embarrassing to tell him your feelings. Hopefully, he can read your mind or something and shut up. He sighs and stands, walking over to you without a hitch. He kisses you. 
  “That’s what you get for lying.” He’s not remorseful or even boastful. Feitan takes your answer in stride. “No more leaving. Stay so I can find you.”
“You’ll always find me, remember?”
______________
Time after that, you were stuck in charge of Chrollo’s lover or something. She’s not too bad but clearly traumatized. Anytime you’d tell her to go with you, she’d look shocked. Like she was surprised she could leave. You were suspicious of her relationship with Chrollo. Something didn’t sit right with you whenever he or Feitan came up. She’d tense up. She never talked about it either. From what you understand with the little information you have, is that she was a former member that raised an orphan and that Chrollo loved her immensely. Perhaps too much.
  From what you know, there was a big showdown on the Dark Continent and the boat that was taking a voyage to the fake one. The Phantom Troupe were on that one at first, fighting Hisoka Marrow. He was a sore loser that got humbled and decided to attack again. 
  Amazingly, only a few died. You didn’t want to know the details or anything. You can’t go through that again. So, after that news, you and Chrollo’s lover parted ways. She went on to find a kid she raised. You, on the other hand, decided to settle out of Meteor City. This was almost a year ago.
  You have an apartment now in the town where you and your boyfriend lived, right next to York New. It’s basic, not fitting any aesthetic or anything. The good thing about it is that it’s bigger than your first one. It’s two bedroom and has a good price. 
   Feitan hasn’t reappeared. It tore you to shreds. You’ve managed to piece yourself together bit by bit, but you are a hollow version of yourself. Surviving and not enjoying the little things you used to. You even saw Jade, Scarlet, Ruby, and the new child, Emerald. Even that heartwarming moment didn’t fulfill you. However, it was the first time you smiled in a while. 
  You stir the food in the pot. Since it’s a little chilly, you made soup. You put the lid over the pot, letting it cook. There’s a knock on the door. You open it and see the man you’ve waited for. 
  Feitan is in dark clothing and has a large scar on his face. There’s no cowl over him, or a large trench coat. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks at you expectantly. You realize that you’ve just been standing there, you move to let him in. Once again, he makes himself at home. 
  “How’ve you been?” 
“You leave again.” He states bluntly. His eyebrows are furrowed and has a frown on his face. 
“Bold of you, very bold.” You move around him. “Why did you go?”
“Because I’d never stay in that city forever. The Ants were gone, the world settled. So why couldn’t I? That place is gross anyway.”
  He sits on the barstool and cracks his neck. You ask a question right after he sits. “How long you here for?”
You don’t know why you asked that. He’ll only be here for a moment. A while ago, you had made the decision to accept it as your gift to him. To love and mourn him when the world won’t. When news about the Phantom Troupe hit, you couldn’t bear to hear it. Their trip to the fake Dark Continent, then their corrected course to the right one, ended in a battle with them facing Hisoka and Illumi and everything else over there. 
  It was too hard for you to think about. That doesn’t mean you didn’t mourn and that you’ve snapped out of it.
   “For good.” 
You look up into his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he’s smiling with soft eyes. You see that he has a dimple on his left cheek. “W-what about-”
“Done for a while. Maybe forever. I know I’m staying.”
   “But your friends, where are they?” He shrugs even though you see the tension. “Separate. We split for a bit.” 
  He rubs his shoulders nervously. “Can I stay with you?” 
“Wow, you’re asking? Shocked.” You tap on the counter. The weight you’ve been carrying is lightened. “Feitan?”
“Yes?” He gets off of the stool and makes his way around the counter. “You know how you give me all those gifts?”
  He nods his head. “Well, this is my gift to you, Feitan Portor. You can stay as long as you like.” 
  He wraps his arms around you. He’s hugging you. This time, you aren’t afraid to hold him back and squeeze. Maybe, just maybe, this is what home is? 
  If the Phantom Troupe resurrects, at least you know he’ll always come home. That you two will be a constant force for each other. No matter if it does or doesn't, you two aren't dancing but admitting things you couldn't. This is home, a gift for each other.  
268 notes · View notes
leonstoenailunderhisbed · 3 months ago
Text
You’ve bewitched me, I wish to never be parted from you
Summary: A war lasting three years became heavy on the front lines. Many people died and lost their homes from the actions of one kingdom. But to end the war, both kingdoms agreed to seal an alliance through an arranged marriage. Caught in a loveless marriage with the crown prince, a whirlwind of emotions blasts through foreign land as you try to make your life in the enemy kingdom bearable.
Warnings: slow-burn. Leon is a piece of dick in the beginning. angst. smut. cunnilingus. mentions of pregnancy. arranged marriage. reader is a princess and Leon is the crown prince. enemies to lovers (i think?). inaccurate historical information. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.
Word Count: 12,900
A/N: final chapter😖 I hope everyone likes the ending, pls don’t hate me if you haven’t reached the ending🙏🏼
[pt.1][pt.2]
“As our hands are held, if only you could stay beside me forever” — Snow Flower, Mika Nakashima
Tumblr media
Leon slept deeply, holding you close to him, his body instinctively seeking warmth and comfort. It was the most peaceful sleep he had in a long time.
As dawn approached, the sun peeking through the windows, Leon’s eyes slowly opened. He looked down at you, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped across him. He took a moment to just be, enjoying the feeling of your body against his, the soft sound of your breathing. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel lonely.
The sound of birds chirping could be heard from outside, the sunbeams shining through the windows, illuminating your skin. You had yet to wake up, feeling a bit exhausted from last night. Maybe you should sleep in today and leave today’s work for tomorrow.
So much happened, he went from hating you to having sex with you and admitting things to you that made your heart swell in a way you never thought it would.
His mind was racing with thoughts about what had happened between you two. He couldn’t believe the change that had occurred in his feelings for you. He had gone from hating you to loving you, from being cold and distant to opening up and being vulnerable.
As he watched the steady rise and fall of your breathing, he reached out and gently pushed a strand of hair out of your face. You shifted slightly on his chest, your cheek pressed against him when you felt him push your hair away from your face. Your lips were slightly parted as you breathed calmly.
The door opened of your shared chambers and a servant came in along with your maids but then they halted at the sight of you two. Their eyes, once again, wide with shock. They’ve never seen Leon be so affectionate, all they saw was Leon be mean and rude to you.
Leon's head snapped up to glare at the servants and your maids as they entered the room, their faces a picture of shock and surprise at the sight of him holding you.
They all quickly, and almost comically, hurried out the room. They’d have a gossip day about this later on for sure. Even though you were married, no one would’ve thought that you’d be together like this. He watched as they quickly scurried out of the room, no doubt already spreading rumors and gossip about what they had seen. It annoyed him, the fact that everyone was so surprised that he could show affection towards you. He let out a huff of annoyance before looking back down at you, his expression softening. He gently caressed your cheek, his touch light and tender.
He wasn’t a soft person, not publicly. Everyone saw him as the prince who was ambitious and wouldn’t be afraid to use whatever means to ensure he remained the heir of the throne. But with you, he seemed like a different person. He went from a cold and distant husband to affectionate and caring with you.
Leon's mind went back to the past, to the pain and loss he had experienced. He had blamed you and your kingdom for the death of his mother, blaming you for the pain he felt. But now, as he held you in his arms, he realized that he had been wrong. He had hated you to protect himself, to shield his heart from the hurt that he had gone through. But somehow, someway, you had broken through his walls and now, he was left with the realization that he had fallen in love with you.
The covers were over your naked bodies but the warmth coming from his body was more than enough to keep you warm even if the sun shined through the window. Leon continued to hold you close, relishing in the feeling of your body against his. But as the realization of his responsibilities for the day crept into his mind, he knew he couldn’t just stay in bed with you all day. He slowly extricated himself from your embrace, careful not to wake you. He sat up on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to just look at you, peaceful and tranquil in sleep.
As much as he wanted to stay, he knew he had to go. Duty called. A servant came through the door quietly to help Leon get dressed for the day, all while the servant kept his eyes on Leon and not on your still sleeping form.
“Your Highness,” the servant said in a quiet voice as to not wake me up, “The king wants to see you in his study,” he said with his head dipped down in respect. Leon’s father wanted to meet with him? That’s odd, they just had a meeting yesterday with your father. But, like always, he had to obey the king’s orders just like everyone else.
Leon nodded silently to the servant. He knew he had no choice but to heed his father's summons, no matter how much he didn't want to leave your side. He rose from the bed, the covers falling away and revealing his naked figure. Leon was unashamed, not even bothering to cover himself as he stood and let the servant help him get dressed.
He shot one last glance at you, still sleeping peacefully, before he left the room. The servant helped Leon get dressed before they both left the room, walking towards the king’s study room.
“Your Royal Highness, the crown prince is here,” said the servant as he held the door open for Leon. The king sat on his desk with papers roaming around.
“Ah, yes, yes, come,” the king said as he waved his hand for Leon to step in.
Leon stepped into the room, his heart heavy with a sense of dread. He had no idea what his father wanted to discuss, but something in his gut told him it wasn't good news. He approached the king's desk, his eyes locked with his father's, who looked up at him with a mixture of concern and authority.
"You summoned me, Father?" Leon inquired, his voice steady and controlled despite the unease he felt inside.
“Yes, I did, son,” he said as he looked up from the stack of papers to look at Leon, “Please, sit down,” he then glanced at a servant on the right, “bring some tea.”
The servant nodded and left the room to get what the king asked while the king looked over at Leon once more, “How are you this morning?” He asked, even though it seemed like just small talk. The king was an okay type of father. He was always busy with work to spend time with his family, hence why Leon was so close to his late mother. But now the king seemed to make an effort.
Leon nodded and made his way towards the chair across from the king's desk. He sat down, his back straight, his demeanor serious, but inside, he couldn't shake off the feeling of unease.
"I'm well," Leon answered, his voice steady, "And yourself, Father?"
The king hummed and nodded as he tidied around his desk, but not too much as the papers remained on his desk, “I’m well, thank you,” he replied. He leaned his elbows forward against the table, “The reason I called you here was because I need you to do something,” he finally revealed.
The king took the contract your father gave him and waved it around, “You see, after giving it much thought last night, I decided to do something. I did not appreciate the Coast Kingdom telling me about their daughter potentially being infertile.”
Leon's shoulders tensed at his father's words. He knew what was coming, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach.
"What is it you want me to do, Father?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled, betraying none of the anger he felt growing inside him.
The king put the contract back down on his desk as he continued, “I’ll send some men down there under the pretense of aid. There’s currently some pirates stealing from the coastal towns and the king has asked me for help. I want you to go down there not just to help but also to investigate this matter more.”
He leaned closer to whisper but only loud enough for Leon to hear, “I need you to find out if what he said was true. I can’t have a daughter in law who can’t give heirs,” he said quietly.
“I want you to report back to me after you’re done dealing with the pirates. It might take weeks or months, however long it takes, just get to the bottom of this,” the king said before he looked back down at his papers on his desk, the servant coming back with the tea.
“You’re dismissed,” he said to Leon as he picked up a tea cup and started to drink. Leon's jaw tightened even further as the king whispered his instructions. The thought of having to go down to the Coast Kingdom and investigate your fertility, all to appease his father's desire for heirs, made him feel nauseous.
"Yes, Father," Leon replied through gritted teeth, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He stood up, giving his father a nod. He turned and headed out of the study, his mind racing. How was he going to tell you about all this?
“By the way,” the king said right before Leon could leave the study, “you are to leave by the end of the week.”
“And it would be best if you kept this information to yourself,” the king added, “let your wife know that you’ll just be going for the sake of the pirate problem.”
Leon stopped in his tracks, his hand on the door handle. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself before turning back to face his father.
"Understood, Father," he said through gritted teeth.
He was tempted to protest, to argue that he should be honest with you about what he was really going down to do, but Leon knew it would be pointless. His father's words were orders, not suggestions. As Leon continued on with his day, you woke up a bit later than you usually would but it was a rest you deserved after last night.
You were sitting in the library, reading, when your maid suddenly came and approached you, “My lady, you have a visitor,” she said softly as she bowed her head. You turned your attention to her and furrowed your brows. You had a visitor? That was weird. You didn’t call for anyone today. You nodded at her and put your book back on the table and stood up, “Alright, let’s go then,” you muttered and followed your maid to the guest waiting room.
As you entered the guest waiting room, you saw a woman sitting on the couch. You’ve never seen her before, you curtsied to her and sat down on the couch across from her, “How may I help you?” you asked politely. The woman had a hint of judgment in her eyes and there was something about her that made you uneasy about her presence.
The woman, who sat ramrod straight on the couch, lifted her gaze to meet your eyes. Her eyes flicked over you, taking in your appearance with a judgmental gaze. She didn't speak for a moment, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably long. When she finally spoke, her voice was cold and calculating.
"My name is Lady Beatrice," she said, her tone laced with a hint of disdain, "And I've come to give you... some advice."
You furrowed your brow and stared at her confused, “Advice?” you repeated quietly. What could she possibly advise you with? You already had a court of ladies in waiting that helped you.
“Whatever do you mean, Lady Beatrice,” you continued politely, sitting straight and poised on the couch. Lady Beatrice's eyes narrowed as she looked at you, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Oh, it's nothing major, my dear," she said, her tone a little too sweet and saccharine, "I simply wanted to... offer some guidance to a young, inexperienced princess like yourself."
She leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs. Her eyes scanned your appearance again, her gaze critical and unashamed. Inexperienced? You were raised your whole life to be the future queen! Who does this woman think she is?
“With all due respect, Lady Beatrice,” you started, still in a polite tone, “I don’t need guidance. I have enough here in the palace.”
Part of you couldn’t help but feel like this is more than just guidance. Lady Beatrice chuckled softly, a smirk playing on her lips. Your denial didn't seem to faze her in the slightest.
"Nonsense," she said, waving her hand and brushing off your words, "I'm sure the palace teaches you the basics, but there are always... things left unsaid."
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her gaze unwavering, "You're going to be queen one day, princess," she said, her tone dripping with condescension, "but you don't even know your place yet."
“Pardon me?” you said under your breath at her words. Who was this woman to tell you that you don’t know your place? You inhaled softly and stared at her with a more serious expression, “Lady Beatrice may I remind you that if you insult me I will have the guards escort you.”
Lady Beatrice's smirk widened into a sly grin as you warned her. She leaned back in her seat again, her eyes gleaming with mockery.
"Oh, how intimidating," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "The princess of the Coast Kingdom, threatening to have me escorted out by the guards. How terrifying."
She let out a laugh, a cold, heartless sound that sent a chill down your spine.
"You don't scare me, princess," she said, her tone almost patronizing. "And neither does your threat."
“What is it that you want, Lady Beatrice?” you asked politely with a serious face. You’d rather have her go straight to the point instead of getting under your skin. Lady Beatrice paused, her expression turning serious as she stared at you, sizing you up. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of cunning in them.
"What I want," she said slowly, her voice dropping to a low murmur, "Is simple."
She leaned forward, her gaze unwavering.
"I want you away from Leon."
“Excuse me?” you abruptly said as you narrowed your eyes at her. Your tone firm and slightly angry. Who was she to call him without his title? And why did she want you away from your husband.
“That is an absurd request, Lady Beatrice,” you said firmly, “His Highness,” you purposefully corrected her, “is my husband. I can’t stay away from him.”
Lady Beatrice's smirk widened into a cruel sneer as you corrected her, her eyes narrowing at your words.
"Oh, princess," she said, her tone dripping with mockery, "Don't be so naive. You really believe that he loves you? That your precious Leon cares about you?"
She leaned closer, her eyes glittering with malice. "You're nothing but a pretty face he's been forced to marry for the sake of politics. He tolerates you, but that's all."
You furrowed your brow and parted your lips. No, she’s wrong. Leon made love to you last night. And the day before that you kissed and held hands. He’s turned a new leaf, right? But a part of you couldn’t help but lean into her words. It was a bit strange how he suddenly started to treat you nicely with no explanation. And maybe you were naive to believe he changed for the better.
“You’re wrong,” you muttered weakly, a turmoil of thoughts and emotions swinging in your head. Lady Beatrice smirked at the uncertainty on your face, sensing your turmoil. She leaned back in her seat, her gaze locked on you.
"Am I, princess?" she asked, her tone sweet yet malicious, "Take a closer look at your dear husband. Really look at him, and tell me I'm wrong."
She paused, watching your reaction, “He's not as kind and caring as you think. He's cold, calculated, and manipulative. He uses people to get what he wants. And you, princess? You're just another tool for him to use."
She was getting to me but you didn’t know, all you could think about were her words. It was true that Leon was ambitious but he was also calculated and strategic when it came to getting the things that he wants. And you knew that he wanted to be the heir of the throne. Was he using you, pretending to appease the king and everyone else around? Was he just playing with your feelings? You didn’t know. What’s to say that he’ll go back to treating you coldly once he gets the crown.
“You don’t know him,” you replied, trying to keep faith in Leon even though her words were like poison. Lady Beatrice chuckled coldly, her smirk growing wider.
"Oh, princess," she said, her tone patronizing, "I know him better than you could ever imagine. We grew up together, spent years in each other's company. I know his true nature, and how cunning he can be."
She leaned forward, her gaze intense, "And I'll let you in on a little secret, princess. He doesn't love you. He's never loved anyone in his life, except himself. You're just a tool to him, a pawn to be used in his grand game for the throne."
You were silent for a while, slowly letting her words settle in your mind. You needed some air to clear your head. You abruptly stood up from the couch as your gaze fell down on her.
“I don’t know who you think you are to come in here and say those mundane lies about my husband,” you said firmly, “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
You left no room for debate, you clearly wanted her out and away. Lady Beatrice's smirk faded at your firmness, replaced with a cold expression. She slowly stood up, her eyes narrowed at you.
"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, "I'll leave. But mark my words, princess," she spat out the word princess like it was an insult, "You'll regret putting your trust in Leon. He'll crush you like a toy once he gets what he wants."
She turned and walked towards the door, throwing one last smirk over her shoulder before disappearing from the room. Your heart was hammering inside your chest once she left and you sat back down on the couch, puffing out some air as you thought about her words. All of this just made you more confused about Leon.
You sighed and got up after you gathered my thoughts. Then, you walked out of the room and continued with your duties; practice your dance in the ballroom, go to the library to learn from your teacher, deal with minor problems in the kitchens, and more miscellaneous tasks. But as you did your duties, her words lingered in your mind and you couldn’t help but hear her words every time you saw Leon in the halls by coincidence. Each time you saw him, Lady Beatrice's words echoed in your head; he doesn't love you. He's never loved anyone. The seed of doubt she had planted deep in your mind began to sprout, and no matter how hard you tried to push it away, it refused to leave.
It didn't help that his expression was cold and aloof each time you saw him. He didn't even bother to smile or greet you. What if she was right and you were just naive?
-
It was evening and Leon was training in the training grounds with his good friend Andrews. As they sparred, Andrews couldn’t help but spark a conversation, “So, Your Highness, I heard you’ll be joining us down at the docks in the Coast Kingdom.”
Andrews wasn’t aware that Leon also had another assignment aside from helping with the pirate issue. Leon effortlessly parried Andrews' attack, his blade meeting Andrews' sword with a clash of steel. He smiled faintly at his friend's words, his eyes never leaving the other man's stance.
"It's been too long since I've been in the heat of battle," Leon said, circling around Andrews, his feet moving nimbly, "I missed the adrenaline, the rush, the *thrill*."
He lunged, his sword aiming for Andrews' side, "Besides, I have another assignment while down there... a very important mission given by my father."
Andrews raised his brow but he knew that Leon wouldn’t say anything since it was probably secret, “How are things with the princess?” He suddenly asked as he dodged one of Leon’s attacks.
“I heard from some of the servants that you two woke up together in bed,” he said as he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at Leon.
“I see my advice worked,” he said with a smug tone, “They don’t call me Cupid Andrews for nothing.”
Leon rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips, "Careful, Andrews. Your ego's about to explode."
He ducked, narrowly avoiding a swing from Andrews' sword, "And you might want to keep your voice down. You never know who's listening."
He feinted to the left, before making a quick jab to the right, "But to answer your question, things with the princess are... fine."
Andrews knew things were more than just fine, Leon looked like a man in love. Totally smitten. Like a teenage boy.
“Hm,” Andrews said with a grin, “Yes, I’ve heard things were fine last night,” he wiggled his brows again. Not letting Leon know that some people heard the lovemaking that happened last night between you two.
“So, I take it you two are now on good terms?” He asked a bit more seriously. Leon scowled as Andrews winked and wiggled his eyebrows, knowing exactly what he was implying, "Keep it up, and I'll knock you on your ass this time."
But his expression softened slightly at Andrew's next question. He considered it for a moment, lowering his sword for a second.
"We... we've come to an understanding," he replied, his tone not fully believing his own words, "Our relationship is... better than before. She's not as annoying as she once was."
Andrews raised a brow and looked at Leon intrigued, “Ah, so the prince has followed my advice. I assume you don’t hate her now?” He asked. It was true. Leon didn’t hate you, the words he whispered to you, the confession of being each other’s, of your bodies becoming one under the passion you both enjoyed.
“So,” Andrews said as he stopped sparring and leaned against his sword as he stared at Leon, “How is she?”
Leon paused, his expression unreadable as he considered how to answer Andrews' question. He too lowered his sword, leaning against it as he thought. He sighed, his eyes flicking to the side before settling back on Andrews, "She... she's not what I expected."
He ran his free hand through his hair, "She's not like the other ladies at the palace. She's... fierce, stubborn, witty."
He paused again, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "And she's not afraid to speak her mind. I... I sort of like that about her."
“Sort of?” Andrews repeated with a small smirk on his face. Then he hummed, taking Leon’s words and analyzing his behavior.
“What else do you like about her?” He asked Leon. Andrews, being the wise man and loyal friend he is, knew that Leon’s emotions ran deeper than what he led on. He knew Leon had trouble opening up to new people but to hear that he was able to even be intimate with you, the wife he used to hate from his political marriage, was like being woken up with cold water. Leon was silent for a moment, his gaze focused on the ground as he mulled over Andrews' question. He fidgeted with his sword, his fingers tracing the handle as he tried to find a suitable answer.
"She's... kind," he finally said, his voice quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself, "She cares about the people, the kingdom. She's smart, smarter than I gave her credit for."
He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "She's beautiful. Her smile, her eyes, her laugh..."
“What about her laugh?” Andrews asked, his expression softening as he stared at his friend, watching Leon’s nervous behavior. Leon chuckled faintly, his eyes still fixed on the ground as he spoke, "Her laugh... it's contagious. It's like a melody."
He glanced up at Andrews for a moment, a small smile on his lips, "Whenever she laughs, it brightens up the whole room. No matter how bad my day's been, just hearing her laugh makes it better."
He paused, running a hand through his hair again, "And it's like... like I can't help but smile too, whenever her laughter fills the room."
Andrews couldn’t help but smile softly at Leon, he really was in love with you while not knowing it.
“You like her,” Andrews said quietly, not a question but rather a statement. Leon was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ground as he wrestled with his thoughts. Andrews' words hung heavy in the air, and Leon knew there was no point in denying it. He took a deep breath, his expression resigned, "I... yes. I like her."
He looked up at Andrews, his expression conflicted, as if he was struggling to come to terms with his own feelings, "But... it's complicated. She's my wife, yes, but it was never supposed to be about feelings. We were only married to end the war."
Andrews sighed and stood up straight, sheathing his sword back on his waist as he stood in front of Leon.
“Your Highness,” he said a bit seriously, “just because it’s a political marriage doesn’t mean you can’t make it into a loving one. You are joined together now by forces beyond your control.”
Andrews looked down at Leon’s sword before he took it from his hands and examined it as he spoke, “You two ended the war, but there shouldn’t be an end to your feelings. If you like her, if you grow to love her, you know she’ll be yours because one day she’ll be your queen just as you’ll be her king,” he said as he gave Leon his sword back. Leon took his sword back, his grip on the handle firm. Andrews' words echoed in his mind, and he knew there was truth in them. He stared at the blade of his sword, his expression contemplative, "You make it sound so easy, Andrews," he said quietly, "But it's not. We come from different worlds. Her life as a princess is so different from mine. She's gentle and kind, while I'm cold and aloof."
He lifted his gaze to meet Andrews', "How could I ever hope to be the husband she deserves?"
He sighed and felt his face soften at Leon’s words, “There’s no point in hoping if you’re not trying,” he whispered to Leon.
“Get to know her better,” he encouraged, “take her out on a stroll, drink tea with her, make love to her, hold her close to you. Treat her as if she was the only woman in the world.”
“You two may have duties to produce an heir, but you know deep down that she’s much more than what her duties make her out to be,” he muttered. Leon was quiet for a moment, mulling over Andrews' words. He knew there was truth in them. He knew he couldn't continue to pretend that his feelings for you were non-existent.
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair again, "You make it sound so simple," he repeated quietly, "But what if she doesn't feel the same way? What if all she sees me as is a duty, an obligation to sire an heir?"
Andrews chuckled softly and put his hand on Leon’s shoulder, “Mate,” he suddenly started to speak informally, “if she didn’t feel the same way, she wouldn’t have tried to win you over since the first day of your marriage.”
He let go of Leon’s shoulder and took a step back, “You gotta trust her. You told her some terrible things in the past and yet here she is, staying loyal to you.”
Leon's expression softened as Andrews reminded him of your loyalty. He knew you hadn't done anything to betray him, and your continued efforts to try to win him over, even when you had no reason to, showed that you were trying. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, "I suppose you're right," he mumbled, "But I just... I don't know how to proceed."
He ran his fingers through his hair again, "I'm not good at this, Andrews. I've never had to... woo a woman before. Not like this."
Andrews chuckled quietly and shook his head, “My lord, you’re already married. All there is to do is be there for her in every part of your life.”
“You don’t have to be good, you just have to be yourself,” he continued in a soft tone, “that’s what women like. Women…they like a guy who doesn’t pretend to be someone they’re not. Women are smart and very observant, don’t underestimate them.”
Andrews simply wanted to help his friend, title or not. But he may or may not be speaking from experience. Leon let out a soft scoff, "Be myself," he repeated, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "As if that's something to be proud of."
He leaned against his sword, a frown on his face, "I've never given any woman a reason to fall for me, Andrews. I'm cold, callous, aloof – everything a princess like her shouldn't want."
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair again, "I fear I am too damaged to be anyone's knight in shining armor now."
Andrews could see the frown on Leon’s face and he couldn’t help but feel bad for him, Leon’s character was a complicated one but even Andrew understood him better than he understood himself.
“You may be damaged now but what are you doing to be the person she needs in the future?” He suddenly asked after a few seconds of silence.
“You can’t keep telling yourself you aren’t good enough for her if you haven’t tried,” he muttered seriously, “You must try with all you are. You can’t expect her to fall in love with you if you don’t put in the effort.”
Andrews' words hit Leon like daggers. He knew he had a point. He couldn't keep wallowing in self-pity and expect you to fall mindlessly in love with him if he didn't try to give you a reason to. He looked down at the ground, his expression contemplative, "You're right," he mumbled, "I have to try. I can't expect her to want to be with me if I don't give her a reason to."
He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Andrews' again, "But where do I even start?"
“You’re already married, that’s a start,” Andrews muttered as he looked at Leon with a pensive expression.
“Start going up there. How you are in bed isn’t just enough. You need to be consistent and dependably good. You can’t just kiss her one day and ignore her the next, you need to show her how much you love her everyday,” he said, “even if it scares you. No one talks about how terrifying it is to serve your heart on a plate for the other to take.“
“Be the man she not only deserves but also needs. Protect her. Love her. Cherish her. Guide her. Just be there,” he continued, “time will do its thing and when the time comes, you’ll find yourself rewarded.”
Leon listened intently to Andrews' advice, his expression contemplative as he absorbed every word. He knew Andrews was right. He couldn't just expect you to fall in love with him if he only showed you affection when it suited him. He nodded slowly, a look of determination in his eyes, "I understand," he said quietly, "I have to be there for her, always. I have to prove that I'm worthy of her love."
He took a deep breath, the reality of the situation sinking in, "It won't be easy, but I'll do it. For her."
Andrews smiled at Leon’s determination, he brought his hand to his back and patted it, “There’s the crown prince I know,” he smirked playfully. Leon chuckled faintly at Andrews' playful remark, "Watch it," he muttered, a small smile on his lips, "I am still your prince."
“The crown prince I know wouldn’t give up, do it for her,” he muttered before he let go of him and started to walk away. He watched as Andrews walked away, his words echoing in his mind. "Right," he said quietly to himself, "For her."
“Don’t forget, we leave by the end of the week, who knows how long we’ll be away from this place,” he called out to him before he entered the knight’s quarters. Leon remained standing there for a few moments, his thoughts turning to the upcoming trip. How long would he be away from you? He wouldn't allow himself to admit it, but he already missed your presence.
-
Since it was nighttime, you were in your shared quarters contemplating Lady Beatrice’s words. What if Leon didn’t feel the same way you did? He did ignore you earlier today when you passed by him in the hall but what if he was busy thinking too much? Maybe you were judging him and not giving him enough credit. You sighed and laid down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling as the same turmoil remained in your thoughts. A war between opposites ideas: is he using you or does he love you?
As Leon stood there, contemplating Andrews' words, he couldn't help but wonder what you were doing at that moment. Were you also thinking of him, just as he was thinking of you, wondering if his feelings were mutual? He knew he had to do something, say something, before he left for the trip. With a newfound determination, he turned and started walking towards your shared quarters.
Maybe Lady Beatrice was right and Leon didn’t feel the same way you felt about him, maybe he didn’t change and is only pretending so the king can be satisfied with him. You sat up and blew out the candle from your side of the bed before you laid back down and pulled the covers over your body as you closed your eyes. Leon stepped into the bedroom quietly, his heart pounding in his chest. He could see your sleeping form in the dim moonlight, and a sense of protectiveness washed over him.
He walked over to the bed and sat down gently on the edge of the mattress, his eyes fixed on your face. He took a few moments to just watch you, the steady rise and fall of your chest as you slept, the soft expression on your peaceful face. He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers barely touching your skin, as if he was scared to wake you.
Leon let out a soft sight, feeling a pang of sadness in his chest. Here he was, ready to confess his feelings and make amends, and yet you were asleep, blissfully unaware of his turmoil. He watched you for a few more moments, his heart heavy. He wanted to shake you awake, to tell you how he felt, but he didn't want to disturb your sleep either. With another sigh, he leaned down and placed a light kiss on your forehead, whispering so quietly that it was almost inaudible, "Sweet dreams, my love."
-
The next day it was as if the roles were reversed, instead of him ignoring you, it was you ignoring him. Lady Beatrice got to you and you started to believe her words. So for the sake of your heart, you ignored him throughout the day. As Leon noticed you deliberately avoiding him throughout the day, he felt a growing sense of dismay in his chest. He didn't understand what he had done wrong, and your avoidance was making him even more confused and frustrated. He tried to approach you several times, but you always found an excuse to slip away from him, and he didn't want to force himself upon you.
Even if you kept avoiding him, you may or may not have done something for him. One day, you overheard the knights talk about their journey to your kingdom and how they needed to help fight off some pirates with the help of Leon. You felt guilty for ignoring him so you went to your shared room and started to sneak through his things.
When he returned to their shared quarters that evening, he found you sneaking through his things. He walked into the room quietly, seeing you going through his belongings, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when he cleared his throat, you quickly turned around to look at him with wide eyes.
“My lord,” you whispered and curtsied to him. Leon's expression was unreadable as he looked at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could see the guilt on your face and the way you avoided looking at him. It was clear that you'd been avoiding him all day. He took a few steps closer to you, his gaze flicking down to the bags behind you. He knew you'd been going through his things, and he had a pretty good idea what you were doing.
"And what, pray tell, are you doing going through my belongings?" he asked, his voice cold. You heard his cold voice and it only added to your belief that he didn’t love you back. Which broke your heart a bit but you hid it deep beneath your feelings.
“I was just making sure you got everything for your trip,” you muttered and glanced up at him. It wasn’t a complete lie, you did want to make sure he was all set and ready for his trip to your kingdom. Leon's expression softened slightly at your words. He knew that you were doing this because you cared about him, even if you had been avoiding him. He could see the concern in your eyes, even if you were trying to hide it.
But the fact that you had been avoiding him still gnawed at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bed, his gaze fixed on you.
"Is that all?" he asked gruffly, "You've been avoiding me all day, and now you're suddenly concerned about my packing?"
You bit the inside of your lip, it wasn’t his fault that you were avoiding him. You were naive and manipulated by Lady Beatrice.
“They said you were going to be away for a long time,” you whispered, noticing his annoyance and gruff tone. His journey could last weeks, maybe even months. Then, a servant came through the door, “We are ready for departure, my lord.”
Leon's expression remained gruff as he heard the servant's words. His gaze wandered over you, studying your face intently. It was clear that he was still hurt and confused by your behavior. But duty called, and he couldn't put it off any longer. He was hurt by your avoidance and you were hurt by the lies of a woman who claimed to know Leon better than you do. He knew it was time to start their journey, but he couldn't shake the feeling of irritation towards you. He glanced down at his bags and then back up at you, "I see," he said slowly, "You only care because I'll be gone for a while."
You were speechless, your mouth agape as you furrowed your brow and looked at him, “No, that’s not—“
But you quickly stopped yourself, remembering the words of the woman. He doesn’t love you. You’re only a pawn in his game for the throne. Instead you opted for something else, you glanced down at the floor as you spoke, “Have a safe trip.”
Leon heard the change in your tone as you avoided directly responding to him. It only served to deepen his confusion and hurt. He nodded, his jaw clenched, "I will," he said shortly, his voice cold. He picked up his bags and started moving towards the door, but he stopped and looked back at you, his eyes locking with yours. He wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to tell you that he loved you, that he didn't understand why you were acting this way. But instead, he just said nothing. As the servants came to carry his bags out the door and outside, you went over to the window to watch him get inside the carriage.
Your heart ached, you still loved him very much and you felt guilty for avoiding him. But what if Lady Beatrice was right? What if you were a fool?
Leon climbed into the carriage, his eyes fixed on the ground, his thoughts filled with confusion and hurt. He could feel your gaze on him as he got into the carriage, and it made his heart pang. As the carriage started moving, he looked up and saw you watching him from the window. He held your gaze for a few moments, his expression conflicted and his heart heavy. He then looked away and sat back in his seat, the carriage rolling down the cobbled street, taking him away from you.
-
After a few day’s travel, Leon and the other knights had arrived at the Coast Kingdom’s docks where the ships were. Leon had two missions. One: help fight against the pirates. Two: get to the bottom of the alleged claims of my infertility as per requested by his father. A servant showed him to his bedchamber, where he slept near the docks in a less expensive room. Leon unpacked his things, neatly folding his clothes and laying them out on the bed. As he reached the bottom of the bag, he found something that caught his eye—a hair ribbon. It was one of your hair ribbons meant to be tied to his sword.
He picked it up and held it in his hands, recognizing the fabric. It was yours. He ran his fingers over the ribbon, a pang of sadness hitting him. He wondered why you had put it in his bag. Was it a gesture of love, or just a token to remember you by? He couldn’t be sure, but the sight of it only made him miss you more.
Back at the castle you remained alone and melancholy, missing him terribly as you sat by the window and hoped everyday for his return. That was until you thought about sending him letters. And so, every day you’d write him a letter and have it delivered to him. But you noticed after the third day since his departure that he hasn’t replied.
Unbeknownst to you that the letters would get lost in the mail due to the storm near the seas of the docks where Leon was. They were currently on a ship fighting pirates in the middle of a rainstorm. Rain poured down harshly, soaking everything in its wake and blurring everyone’s vision every few seconds as the ship swayed. Leon, soaked to the bone, was fighting off pirates on the ship. The storm had made the seas choppy, and the ship heaved and groaned under the strain.
"Keep your guard up!" he shouted above the howling wind and rain, his sword cutting through the air. But his mind was elsewhere. He found himself thinking of you, wondering if you were alright back home. He silently longed for a letter from you, a sign that you missed him just as much as he missed you. Days turned into weeks as he fought the pirates and figured out the fertility issues. Turns out it really was just based on a woman’s health and since I was a relatively healthy woman, a doctor told Leon that everything should be fine should I bear his child.
When a few weeks started to pass, you started to feel more tired than ever. You’d wake up later than usual and feel yourself longing for him. You felt bad for treating him coldly and avoiding him. Guess distance does make the heart grow fonder.
“My lord,” a knight said as Leon and the knights were in the cabin where they were staying. It was nighttime and the storm was long gone. Everyone was tired after a long day of fighting the pirates away in success, “when can we go home? I miss my bed.”
“Don’t you miss your family?” Another one spoke as he looked at the knight with a raised brow while the other shrugged his shoulders, “Hey, when you have kids, you take every chance you get to take a break.”
"Ha! True that," chimed in another knight, "My little ones run me ragged all day long, especially the younger ones".
Another knight spoke up, "And the women too, huh? They keep nagging day and night."
Leon had been mostly silent, listening to the knights talk amongst themselves, lost in thought about you. The conversation steered towards returning home, and a pang of longing hit him. He missed you too, more than he cared to admit. Andrews was part of the knight squad that got sent to help with the pirate issue, so in his nature, he saw Leon all silent. He moved over to sit next to Leon. He then looked down at Leon’s sword, noticing a ribbon tied to it which resulted in Andrews letting out a soft chuckle, “She gave that to you?” Andrews asked as he pointed to the ribbon.
The ribbon, wet from the storm, was tied tightly to his sword to ensure it wouldn’t fall off during battle. Leon glanced down at the ribbon tied to his sword, his thoughts immediately turning to you. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling its dampness from the storm.
"Yeah, she did," he responded, his voice soft, "She snuck it into my bags before I left."
He paused for a moment, his gaze fixated on the ribbon. Seeing it reminded him of you and made him yearn for your touch. Andrews chuckled, “Sneaky princess, that one,” he muttered softly, only lightly teasing Leon.
“I knew she had a bit of rebellion in her,” he said, “I didn’t always buy the whole proper princess, I guess you really rubbed off on her,” he chuckled again. But upon seeing Leon’s fixation on the ribbon, he knew what he was feeling, “You miss her, don’t you,” Andrews muttered quietly so only Leon could hear. Leon's gaze remained fixed on the ribbon, his fingers gently touching the fabric. Andrew's subtle tease made him smile faintly.
"Yeah, I do," he admitted quietly, his voice just above a whisper, "More than I care to admit."
He looked up at Andrews, his expression a mix of longing and guilt. "I didn't appreciate her as much as I should have before I left," he continued, his voice growing somber, "I just hope she doesn't think I don't care."
“Why do you say that?” He asked, Andrews didn’t know how we left things before Leon left. "Before I left," Leon began, his voice low and heavy, "We weren't on the best terms. There was a misunderstanding and I think I hurt her, even if she didn't show it."
He looked down at the ribbon again, tracing his fingers over the damp fabric. His brow furrowed in thought, and he sighed quietly.
"She was avoiding me before I left, and I don't know why. It's been eating at me this whole time," he admitted, his tone tinged with sadness and frustration. Andrews sighed and looked at the ribbon as Leon’s finger started to trace over it, “You really think she’d be heartless enough to think you don’t care about her after a small argument?”
“She gave you that ribbon, she clearly loves you,” Andrews said. He was a bit frustrated that everything between you and Leon seemed to be troublesome when love was supposed to be comforting.
“When a lady gives her ribbon to a man, it’s a declaration of love,” he muttered to Leon, “she knew you were going to be far away and she gave you her favor.”
Andrews chuckled quietly, “Gods, you really are bad at wooing a woman,” he teased Leon. Leon's cheeks burned at Andrews' words. He knew his friend was right, that the ribbon was a symbol of love and affection. But he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt and insecurity that gnawed at him.
"I know," he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment, "I just... I'm not good at expressing my feelings. And now that I'm so far away, I feel helpless. I can't fix things, I can't show her that I care."
He let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping heavily. Andrews’ eyes widened just a bit at Leon’s helplessness, “Woah—woah—woah,” he said as he watched Leon’s shoulders slump.
“You think it’s over?” He muttered to Leon, “You think that just by being away from her ruins your chances of making her feel loved and happy? Are you insane?!”
He took Leon by shoulders and shook him as if to put some sense into him, “When we go back home, you are going to take that woman out on an outing—I don’t care if you take a stroll with her in the gardens or drink tea—you will make time for her. Clear your schedule and give her your undivided attention. And then, you’re going to make sweet love to her that night, don’t matter if you’re tired after the first round—don’t stop until she’s satisfied,” He said firmly, almost authoritatively. Leon's eyes widened at Andrews' impassioned speech, his surprise quickly turning into a mix of embarrassment and determination. His cheeks flushed and his mind raced at the thought of taking you out, spending time with you, making love to you. But there was one thing he couldn't shake off.
"But what if she's still avoiding me?" he asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "What if she doesn't want to see me?"
He internally groaned at Leon’s insecurity and shook him firmly one more time, “Your Highness, with all due respect, it doesn’t matter.”
“You really think she will still avoid you after weeks of not seeing you? Poor princess is probably sleeping alone in your bed for Christ’s sake!” He shook him again, “And if she doesn’t want to see you then too bad for her because that won’t fly with you.”
“Dress nicely, wear her favorite fragrance on you, bring her flowers—prove to her you are worthy of being seen by her,” he said before he let go of Leon. Leon nodded silently, absorbing the words of his friend. He knew Andrews was right, of course he was. He just needed a push in the right direction.
"You're right," he muttered, determination slowly filling his voice, "When I get back, I'll do just that. I'll court her like she deserves, and show her how much I care. I won't let anything get in the way."
He looked up at Andrews with a small smile, his shoulders pulled back again, his usual confidence returning. Andrews nodded and patted Leon’s shoulder before he leaned back against his chair, resting his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes.
“And fuck her real good,” Andrews muttered with a sly grin, “Or how I like to call it,” he said as he opened his eyes and turned to face Leon, “Love her until she can’t walk, Andrews style.”
Leon's blush deepened at Andrews' advice, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He let out a quiet chuckle.
"I think I can handle that," he responded, a hint of cocky confidence back in his tone. He looked back down at the ribbon tied to his sword, running his fingers over the silken fabric one more time.
"Thanks, Andrews," he murmured, "For the kick in the ass I needed."
Andrews softened and shrugged nonchalantly, “No problem,” he muttered and looked at Leon as he ran his fingers over the ribbon. There were a few seconds of silence that took over the two, “I could’ve definitely said more about the Andrews style though,” he said cheekily. He was only trying to cheer Leon up. They were good friends, Andrews being older and wiser by a few years but it didn’t matter as they got along pretty well. Leon rolled his eyes at Andrews' comment, his smile growing wider, "Oh, gods forbid you talk about your "style" for too long."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. The easy banter with his friend was a welcome distraction from his constant worry about you, his wife, back home.
"Just focus on your own love life," he teased back, "Or lack thereof, I should say."
Andrews scoffed in feigned offense, “Excuse me, Your Highness, but I’ve got plenty of love to give.”
“Have you seen the cuties in this kingdom?” He muttered, forgetting for a hot minute about Leon’s married life, “I saw a babe down the street when I was out patrolling the docks. She was so into me,” he spoke with a smug tone.
“Her eyes said everything, she looked at me as if I was the only man ever,” he continued. Leon shook his head with humor, "You're incorrigible, Andrews," he said, his tone fond. "Always chasing after the next fair maiden."
He chuckled again but couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. He couldn't remember the last time a woman looked at him with such interest, except for you of course.
"You should settle," he advised, "Find a nice girl, someone who can keep up with your... energetic spirit."
Andrew sighed and shrugged his shoulders, “Who wants an old man like me, eh?”
He smiled, though it was a bitter one, “No girl wants to settle with a man like me,” he continued, “and being a knight makes me too busy.”
Andrews was a bit old but society deemed him too old for settling and forming a family. He may be joking on the outside but deep down, Andrews also wanted to get married and have kids. Leon's expression softened, seeing the bittersweet look on Andrews' face.
"Hey, don't talk like that," he chided gently, "You're not too old for love. And being a knight might keep you busy sometimes, but that's not a bad thing."
He paused for a moment, an idea forming in his mind.
"In fact," he said slowly, "I might know someone who could use a knight in shining armor."
Andrews raised a brow and looked at Leon, “Are you trying to take my title as Cupid Andrews?” He quipped. But he was intrigued by Leon’s suggestion. He knew someone that might be for him? Who knew the future king could play matchmaker.
“You do?” He muttered, “and who is this someone?”
Leon chuckled at Andrews' joke, but his expression quickly turned more serious. He knew this person would be a good match for his friend.
"There's a lady-in-waiting in the palace," he began, "A young woman named Victoria."
He held up a hand to stop Andrews from interrupting, "Hear me out. She's sweet, she's smart, and she has a sharp wit. She might just be the perfect match for you."
“A lady-in-waiting named Victoria? Doesn’t she work for the princess?” He asked Leon with a bit of skepticism. But Andrews couldn’t help but feel intrigued. Victoria was one of your ladies-in-waiting. Leon’s seen her a few times whenever she’d come help you get ready in the morning.
“I don’t think I’ve seen her in the castle before,” he muttered as he tried to think hard. Andrews barely even steps foot inside the castle so he barely knows the staff that works inside. Andrews sighed before he nodded, “Alright then, I’d like to meet her.”
Leon nodded, satisfied that Andrews was at least receptive to the idea.
"Good," he replied with a small smile. "I'll arrange for you two to meet when we return."
He looked out the window, the dark sky signaling it was late and he should get some rest.
"For now, we should both get some sleep," he said, standing up from his chair, "We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow."
Leon chuckled softly at Andrews' teasing use of “Your Highness.”
"You'd do well to remember that title in the future," he replied with a smirk, "Now go get some rest."
He watched as Andrews walked away, then made his way to his own bed for the night. As he settled down, his thoughts once again turned to you. He yearned to see you, to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loved you. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
-
The next morning everyone was set to go back home. Leon rode the carriage as they trekked through the Coast Kingdom, nearing the West Kingdom that was their rightful home. You sat by the window until you saw a familiar carriage near the palace. Your eyes widened slightly and you ran out of your shared chambers in your night dress that reached your ankles. You didn’t care about putting on your slippers, you only wanted to see Leon.
So, you ran down the halls and stairs barefooted until you made it to the entrance of the palace where you impatiently waited for Leon’s carriage. Leon had been dozing off in the carriage, still tired from the journey, when a sudden commotion outside jolted him awake. He looked out the window just in time to see you running up to the entrance of the palace. He quickly told the driver to stop the carriage, and as soon as the door was opened, Leon jumped out and rushed over to you.
You ran as fast as you could, not caring if it’s unladylike to basically be out in your nightwear without shoes. When Leon was close enough, you basically jumped and threw your body at him. Leon caught you in his arms effortlessly, crushing your body against him. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close, almost possessively. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you stuffed your face on the crook of his neck, your body pressed tightly against his, “I’m sorry,” you whispered against his skin and you cried on his skin, “I’m sorry, please forgive me,” you practically begged. He could feel your tears against his skin, and your whispered plea for forgiveness broke his heart.
"Shhh..." he whispered in your ear, his voice gentle and soothing, "There's nothing to apologize for, my love."
He pulled back slightly, just far enough to look down at you, his hands coming up to cup your face and wipe away your tears with his thumbs.
“I wrote to you,” you said in between sobs as your hands gently wrapped around his wrists, “Everyday I sent you a letter but you never sent one back.”
“I thought you hated me, that you were mad at me and that you were ignoring me,” you continued crying and speaking, your breathing hard as you tried to breathe but you were crying so much.
“I didn’t mean to avoid you. I was scared. I thought that you didn’t love me and that you were just using me and–and I’m so incredibly sorry for doubting you. I should’ve trusted you over Lady Beatrice’s words, I should’ve been better, I didn’t mean to make you angry,” you sobbed uncontrollably and gasped heavily, “I should’ve been better and told you how I felt. I hid my feelings from you and I’m so sorry, I don't want you to be away from me again.”
Leon's heart ached as he watched you sobbing and trying to catch your breath, your words tumbling out between your tears.
"No, no, my love," he whispered, his thumbs still gently wiping away your tears, "Never think I could hate you, or not love you. You are the very beat of my heart."
He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms tightly around you once again, holding you close against his chest.
"Don't apologize," he murmured, his voice tender, "You have nothing to be sorry for. I was worried, yes, but never mad at you."
You rested your hands flat on his chest as you pushed him back just a little to look up at him, “I think I love you,” you whispered. Your heart beating fast, your tears rolling down your face, your emotions were all over the place but you knew you loved Leon.
That’s what it was all along. Love. You love Leon. Always have.
“I love you,” you repeated once again in a whisper, your voice was quiet as you cried, “I have loved you since the first day of this marriage. I loved you even when you hated me,” the words spilled out of you as you cried, the raw emotion laced in your voice was genuine, “I wish to never be away from you. I want to be by your side more than just king and queen, more than husband and wife. I wish to be truly yours, to touch your soul.”
Leon listened, his expression growing more and more tender as you spoke. Your heartfelt words touched his soul, and he felt his own emotions swelling in his chest.
"My sweet love," he said softly, his hands coming up to gently cup your face again, "You have always been mine. From the moment our hands were tied together by fate, you became the other half of my soul."
His thumbs brushed over your wet cheeks, wiping away your tears, "And tonight, I pledge to you that I will never leave your side again. We are one now, truly and completely."
You cried once more but out of relief and joy, your hands pulled him back to you and you stuffed your face in his chest. His clothes got wet from your tears but it didn’t matter right now. Right now what mattered was that after months of confusing emotions, you finally found out the truth. That you loved him and he loved you. You felt silly for ever doubting him.
Leon held you tightly in his arms again, letting you cry against his chest as he stroked your hair soothingly. All that mattered was you, the woman he loves, with him again. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. The past few months had been hell for him, thinking you hated him, that you didn't trust him. But now, with your confession, all his doubts faded away.
"Oh, my love, my sweet love," he whispered against your hair, "I love you, I love you so much."
You cried some more as you stood outside the entrance of the castle in each other’s embrace. After a while, you had calmed down and heard a servant walk over you two.
“You Highnesses,” the servant said addressing both of you, “Your bags have been carried to your chambers,” she said as she dipped her head towards Leon before she turned to you, “My lady, let’s get you inside. Your feet might get injured,” you looked down at your feet and chuckled quietly, still coming down from crying. You sniffled and nodded, wiping your face with your hands, “Yes,” you muttered. The servant then began to walk back inside.
Leon looked down at your bare feet, feeling a protective instinct, he picked you up in his arms, holding you against his chest as if you weighed nothing, and began to follow the servant inside. Your eyes widened a bit and you quickly wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he picked you up princess style, but it made your heart skip a beat. He gently pressed a kiss to your temple, his eyes filled with a mix of love and possessiveness.
"I should've never let you run out here barefooted," he murmured in your ear. Your cheeks flushed a bit red, “I was excited to see you,” you mumbled a real excuse. You truly did want to see him, hence why you were in your nightgown.
As he started to walk inside the castle, the servant stopped right outside your room and opened the door for Leon to bring you inside. Then, the servant closed the door and left, giving you some privacy. Leon carried you into the room and set you down on the bed, his hands sliding down to your hips to keep you steadied against him. He looked down at you, his eyes roaming over your form, taking in the sight of you in your nightgown, your hair loose and messy, your cheeks flushed. He crouched down in front of you, his hands still holding your hips, his thumbs tracing small circles on your skin through the thin fabric.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me," he said, his voice low and gravelly.
“No,” you whispered, “I don’t.”
You looked ethereal, like a vision from a dream as you laid on the bed with your nightgown slowly riding up from his thumbs tracing small circles, your hair was messy and your eyes were red from crying. Leon chuckled at your clueless response, his eyes darkening as his gaze roamed over your form, taking in every small detail, every small movement.
"You are an innocent incarnate," he said, his voice low and husky, his thumbs still tracing small circles on your skin, going slightly further up your hips, pushing the nightgown further up.
"And you have no idea of the effect you have on me," he continued, "The things you make me want to do to you."
The nightgown slid up your thighs, exposing your bare legs to him. His words were like magic because you felt myself wanting him like that one night you shared. To feel him inside again and show you he loves you. You wanted him to ravish you, to feast on you, to make love to you. Like how Andrews said, to make love to you until you can’t walk. It didn’t matter if Leon got tired, you’d go all night until it was engraved in your head that Leon loved you.
You were naked under your nightgown so you felt flustered. You parted your legs just enough for him as he was crouched between them. When Leon noticed you parting your legs for him, his eyes darkened even further, his fingers slowly tracing the inside of your thighs, caressing your soft skin.
"Naughty little princess," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "Did you forget to wear something underneath that nightgown?"
He moved closer between your legs, his breath fanning against your already wet cunt, his hands moving up further, pushing the nightgown up to your waist.
“No,” you answered in a whisper, “I always go to bed like this.”
Your nightgown scrunched around your waist, revealing your bare lower half to him. His hands remained on your thighs as his face was between your legs. Leon swallowed at your confession, feeling a sense of possessiveness wash over him, knowing nobody else had ever seen you like this except for him. He leaned in closer, his hands tightening their grip on your thighs.
"Then you really are a naughty princess," he murmured, "Wearing something so revealing, just for me to see."
His head dipped down, his lips brushing along the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out to taste your delicious exposed folds. You closed your eyes tightly shut and let out a shuddered gasp, your hands gripped the bedsheets as his tongue darted out to lick your slit.
“Leon,” you whispered quietly in a breathy tone, feeling good with his tongue. Leon inhaled deeply, drinking in the sweet, addictive taste of you on his tongue. He could feel your body tense beneath his touch, your gasp like music to his ears.
"You are the sweetest thing I've ever tasted," he murmured against your inner thigh, his words husky and low, "I could devour you."
His hands moved up, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he pushed your legs further apart, giving himself more access to your core. Gasps and breathless moans escaped your lips as he kept tasting you. He devoured you like a starved man and you were his full course meal. Your grip on the bed sheets was tight, your knuckles were turning white and you felt yourself become breathless.
Your eyes were closed tightly shut as you rolled my head back against the pillows of your big canopy bed.Leon couldn't get enough of you. Feeling your sweet taste on his tongue, hearing your soft noises, your gasps and moans all made him want to lose all his control.
He wanted you, all of you. He wanted to mark you, to possess you, to make you his completely.
His lips and tongue continue to work their magic, exploring every inch of your core, tasting and devouring you with a hunger that only grew stronger with every passing second. His tongue flicked at your clit before it entered you and started to taste you from the inside, making his cock throb in his trousers.
One of your hands suddenly moved to grip the top of his head, his hair tangled in between your fingers as you pulled him closer to you. Leon let out a guttural moan against your core as you pulled his head closer, his tongue delving deeper, tasting you, devouring you with a fervor.
Your moans were starting to become short and breathless and a familiar coil in your abdomen started to grow tight as you neared your orgasm. He could feel your body tense and he knew you were close. He continued his assault on your core, his lips and tongue working in perfect unison, pushing you over to taste your sweet cum on his lips.
But when you opened your eyes and saw Leon in between your legs, it was like an explosion, your thighs closed tightly around his face as you writhed against him. The band snapped and you came on his face. He licked his lips, savoring the taste of you, his tongue still darting out to lap up every drop.
You were left panting and your grip on his hair loosened as you closed your eyes and tried to catch your breath.
"You taste so good," he murmured, lifting his head to look up at you, his chin glistening with your juices. He moved up, his body resting between your legs, his chest hovering over yours. He leaned down, his lips gently trailing along your jaw, up to your ear.
“Want more,” you whispered as you felt his lips on you, “I want to try and conceive again.”
It wasn’t out of duty, not anymore. It was a request from the bottom of your heart. You wanted him and you wanted him to know that shamelessly. Leon let out a low growl, the sound filled with desire and possessiveness, as he heard your whispered words.
"You want me," he said, his lips moving back down to your neck, gently nipping at your skin, "You want me to give you children, to make you a mother."
His hands rested on either side of your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, "Are you sure you can handle it, my love? Can you handle me, night after night after night?"
You nodded and tilted your head to the side to give him more space for his lips, “Yes,” you confidently replied in a breathless whisper, “Let me be the mother of your children as well as the queen of your kingdom.”
Your hands wrapped around his head, gently tugging at his blonde hair, “I’ll take that and more. Every night and every day until we’ve made our family.”
You pulled him back and made eye contact with him, your eyes full of not just lust but also love. Real love, “I beg nothing more but to be happy with you,” you whispered tenderly as your hands cupped his face. Leon paused, his eyes locking with yours, his heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of love and desire for you at your words.
"You are my love, my wife, my queen," he said, his hands coming up to cup your face, "And by the gods, I will make you the mother of my children, and I will make you the happiest woman who's ever walked this earth."
He leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a deep, passionate kiss, his arms wrapping around your body and hauling you up against his chest, as if to pull you even closer. For the rest of the night it was full of lovemaking. Maybe he did follow Andrews’ advice as he didn’t stop until both of you were tired. He took his time, making sure you were loved and taken care of despite him filling you up with his seed multiple times.
By the time morning came up, you were once again wrapped in each other’s arms naked under the covers. You clung close to him like a koala, not wanting to let him go as you slept in the morning.
-
Preparations were being made months ahead of the coronation, in which Leon asked you to help him with. There were days where he cleared his schedule just to be with you. He devoted himself to you; listening to you talk when you’d walk along the garden, he took you out to picnics with your favorite foods, he would even be as sneaky as pulling you to a room and makeout with you in the middle of the day. That man was attached and so madly in love with you that he refused to not be by you.
“Good news, Your Highness,” a doctor said as he turned to look at Leon who had been waiting on the foot of the bed. Recently, you’ve been experiencing sickness and nausea so, Leon being the protective husband he is, called in for a doctor to check on you.
“She is not sick but rather…” he said as he looked at both you and Leon, “it would seem that she is with child.”
Leon’s eyes widened and he was rigid still for a moment before he looked at you and hugged you tightly, not caring that the doctor saw him be so affectionate to you, “Thank you,” he whispered in your ear. You hugged him back just as tightly, feeling so happy that you were finally going to start a family with him.
On the day of the coronation, you and Leon knelt before the king who held the crown for Leon, “It is within my power to bestow to you, my son, the responsibility and duties of your rightful kingdom. I declare you king,” he said as he put the crown on Leon’s head, the crown fitting him and matching his extravagant outfit fitting for a king.
“And to you,” he said as he turned to you with a crown on his hands, a smaller one but it was the queen’s crown, “I am honored to bestow to you the powers of a dutiful queen, whom is to stand next to the king and aid him endlessly,” he then laid the crown on your head, the piece of jewelry proving to be heavy but you carried it with pride.
You and Leon stood up, staring at your now loyal subjects. He turned to glance at you, his hand finding yours and intertwining his fingers as he held your hand in a tight but tender grip.
That evening was the celebratory dinner, where everyone was invited, including Andrews accompanied by Victoria. He followed Leon’s advice and settled down, proving that even despite finding love at a later age, one could still find someone they were meant to be with.
It was the era of peace as marked down in the history books, what began as a rivalry between a married couple turned into a loving marriage where you and Leon were inseparable. He never once stopped loving you, even after having your first child, he wanted more and more. He just couldn’t get enough of you. Leon also changed some rules, he demanded that you join important meetings as you were now queen, reminding the lords and counts that you were more than just a wife. You were his equal.
The people of the West Kingdom called it the New Era of Peace. In which your legacy wouldn’t be forgotten for the sacrifices made for not just the war but also to the love of your life.
The End.
147 notes · View notes
relaxxattack · 1 year ago
Note
Piggybacking off the last anon, what is it you like about Jane so much? I find my feelings on her kind of mixed but I lean towards positive.
okay i haven’t read act six in probably like 5 years so bear with me here. *cracks knuckles*
jane is sooo so interesting and it’s really a shame people miss like everything fun about her.
pre-scratch she used her detective work to literally succeed at tearing down the crocker cooperation, to the point that HIC has to fucking abandon ship and head into another universe to have another shot at her evil empire. pre-scratch jane is also fucking hilarious! if you didnt enjoy her antics with john as nannasprite you must just have no heart
meanwhile HIC breaches a new universe, and her FIRST fucking order of business is to NEUTRALIZE JANE CROCKER because of how goddamn detrimental she was to HIC’s plans the first time around.
not ONLY does HIC pump subliminal messaging and brainwashing into nearly every aspect of jane’s life, she also tries to straight up mind control her basically whenever possible! she ALSO sends assassination attempts after jane 24/7! (people will seriously try to say that jane lived a safe normal life… as if she wasn’t almost killed by walking into her backyard.) this is because HIC is fucking scared of jane, as she very well should be!
jane is also NOT a boring weepy annoying crybaby like everyone and their mother complains about. jane is literally the most fucking supportive friend and emotion-repressing dumbass you could ever hope to meet. jane combines john’s emotional repression and jade’s intentional cheerfulness together into one of the most fucked up cases of emotional repression in the whole comic
act 6 suffers from a LOT of shitty writing choices, but it’s not jane’s fault the whole act turns into a soap opera— and she’s ALSO not the only one who acts all soap-opera-y either! literally all of the alpha kids suffer from this, people just like jane the least so they project it all onto her. despite the fact that she did her very fucking best to NEVER talk about her feelings, to the point where she ONLY started telling people about shit when she was mind-controlled or took mind altering substances to make her do so! and you can say “ohhh that’s stupid she shouldn’t repress things in the first place how dumb” but, one she’s sixteen, and two, everyone eats that shit up when it comes from like. literally any other character.
people (cough hs2 writers) act like she would actually be “pushy” with a relationship on jake— as if she wasn’t literally the one who helped him make the decision to explore dating dirk?? because she thought it was the right thing to do???
jane is incredibly thoughtful and mature and people really throw all of those traits out of the window with preference for a version of the story where she Comes Inbetween Their Fave Gay Pairing as if she wasn’t, again, the one who got them together. jane is also extremely interesting in terms of queerness; she’s got the makings of a really interesting arc, not to mention she’s the only human girl that dresses mainly masc! there’s a lot there that people just don’t care to explore.
people just have less patience for the prospit kids in general. not to mention homestuck fans love to be misogynistic and berate jane for stuff they love the men doing, or claim she’s coming between them when she’s not, etc etc. and then because no one was writing fun meta posts about her, nobody ever rereads the comic to grab little scenes or lines to expand the online discussion about her! and then because there’s no discussion about her, people assume she’s boring and don’t go looking for bits to start discussing, which cycles on and on forever until we have the ripple effects we see of that misogyny today. which mostly consists of, “oh i hate jane because she was a villain is hs2”, or, “i know hs2 isn’t canon but i still don’t care for jane because she doesn’t do anything that interests me.” (and she’s only not interesting because of the cycle i mentioned before causing NO ONE to have meta discussion about her).
idk, it’s been a while since ive read so i could be talking out my ass but that’s what i’ve got.
TL;DR: jane is fucking COOL, she just suffers from intentional fandom ignorance. and she’s also a canonically hot, fat, masc woman, so i don’t know what else you could possibly want.
547 notes · View notes
xxtha-blog · 3 months ago
Text
Why Horrortale Sans is Definitely Evil
Horrortale Sans is evil. This is the opposite of a defence post, I am calling out this character and his many misdeeds! I do not know how people legitimately defend his actions or claim he’s just a normal guy who tries really hard not to eat people. I do not think we read the same comic. This is a comprehensive deep dive into why Horror is evil.
First a chronological look at Horror’s dubious actions. Not all of theses are evil and some have good justification as standalone events, but provide wider context for things:
1. He has to be convinced into helping repair the Core which he knows is broken, and has inside info he knows could help get it fixed, only when Grillby begs him to because as revealed on another page, the loss of the Core means “the fire eats at [Grillby’s] very soul like acid, perpetually burning him alive”
2. He spends a total of 12 months trying to figure out how to repair the Core but based on Undyne’s statements about how he rarely works, either means he’s a. Not actually putting enough effort into it (if we believe her and not Sans) or b. Not telling Undyne and Alphys how his work is going which is probably pertinent information for them to have (If we believe Sans, but want a reason as to why Undyne has that impression)
3. He finally brings her a solution to the Core after knowing he’s going to die (but if you want to be generous, maybe it was just really bad timing and he really did only needed a few more days to bring her a solution) and claims it’s a “long shot” meaning he doesn’t even know if it will work.
4. Undyne, thinking that is an insane plan, tells him she has a different plan. Sacrificing him to save everyone. Sans makes it clear he would never let himself die to save everyone.
5. When a guard begs him to sacrifice himself to save his wife and children, Sans launches him into the stratosphere saying: “fuck off.”
6. Even though Undyne attacks him first, it’s actually Sans that takes out her head and eye first.
7. Sans brutally murders the guards who helped Undyne.
8. When Alphys, showing Sans that her plan has objectively work and he is not dead (bonus!!), Sans destroys the Core.
He destroys the thing that will keep him, his brother, and literally every person in the underground alive. Grillby now suffers eternally, and everyone will die a slow and painful death. This does not help him in any way, does not change the fact his head is broken, he does it purely out of malice. The equivalent of getting shot, surviving, and then nuking the town you were shot in. He does not take his eye back if you thought it was to take his eye back. It’s still in the broken Core.
9. He lobotomizes Alphys
10. He gets Aliza to become a cannibal
11. He tortures and maims Aliza (let’s her get cut in half by a bear trap, pulls her hair so hard it bleeds, let’s her freeze to death in a puzzle, sends her to Grillbys where she gets partially cooked alive, cuts her arm off)
Really great guy here.
Secondly let’s get some of the common defences out of the way:
1. Sans had a plan that would save everyone! Undyne was therefore making a bad decision by trying to killing him
a. Sans says his plan IS A LONG SHOT
b. Alphys explains Sans’s plan would have taken a lot of time and magic ie. time that would get a lot of other people killed
c. Undyne’s plan actually goes better that expected! What was assumed would kill Sans doesn’t end up killing him at all. Literally a win-win for everyone involved.
d. Undyne/Alphys’s plan works, and therefore objectively saved more people. 0 net casualties if Sans had a single ounce of humanity.
2. Sans worked really hard and Undyne betrayed him. Undyne should have told him first
Undyne doesn’t tell him because she doesn’t want to consider hurting Sans despite monsters dying. Moments before Sans shows up, a child dies in a mother’s arm. Then Sans explains his plan is to dismantle the Core, which ‘might’ work, and will take a lot of effort and magic to do so, which is time they do not have (it’s been 12 months. He has had 12 months.). He also blames Undyne for getting them into this mess and mocks her for letting people die. She then attacks him. They end up both losing half their head and eye in the fight, making them perfectly even. The core’s power is restored.
But, whether or not Sans feels betrayed or not is irrelevant to the fact that Undyne makes the most reasonable and moral decision in this moment and also Sans has kind of done everything in his power to not sell his idea and piss off the person he knows is considering killing him so big L on his part for that one.
It also does not in any way shape or form justify destroying the Core, which is probably the most evil thing you could possibly do in that scenario.
3. They both are at fault for the Core/Both Evil then
There is literally a world of difference between:
“Sacrifices 1 person who ends up not dying, to save everyone. Which succeeds.”
And
“Destroys the thing that will successfully keep everyone alive, thus dooming everyone including yourself to die a slow and agonizing death, because you are angry your friend tried to kill you in an effort to save everyone”
That’s not even including the 10 other things on my list that are definitely also evil, but I cannot take people seriously if they put these two things on some sort of a moral equivalence. Undyne is in the right. 1 person for everyone is a worthy sacrifice. If anything Undyne’s only flaw is waiting so long to do it.
4. (Unrelated to the Core incident) Sans is actually morally grey, he doesn’t eat humans like everyone else which is a complex character motivation
You’re right, Sans doesn’t eat humans. Instead he finds enjoyment in torturing them brutally, a much worse thing than eating to stay alive.
His fight with hunger is also entirely self-made. Both because it’s not morally wrong to eat another living being to survive (and it’s not cannibalism to eat a human as a monster) and because he is the reason this is still happening 7 years later. It is literally his fault he is hungry. There is no interesting moral conundrum here, he does not care about hurting people. He is just out of his mind.
In conclusion, Horrortale Sans is a deeply selfish and uncaring person. Whatever minor good deeds he does throughout the comic are so immensely overshadowed by his absolute depravity that they might as well not exist. He is the reason every single monster in that underground continues to suffer, including himself, and while in his mind maybe there’s some weird justification, no outsider observer should look at these actions and think, yeah, that was reasonable. Much less think Undyne or Alphys are somehow WORSE. He destroys the Core because he didn’t die after everyone is saved, solely to be vindictive. He does not gain anything by doing this. He doesn't even take back the eye he lost which is still in the broken core! He lobotomizes Alphys because he’s mad he looks like a freak. He murders people who wants him to help everyone stay alive. He maims and tortures children and no amount of not eating them afterwards makes that any less morally apprehensible.
None of this is meant to say you can’t like him as a character. It is just to explain why characterizing him as a poor lil guy who did nothing wrong, is a little… wrong.
i believe this is an extensive look into why Horrortale Sans is evil.
Thank you for reading :)
133 notes · View notes
eregyrn-falls-art · 1 year ago
Text
youtube
And here it is, the video version of the "Trouble" Multi-Artist Lyric Comic! All the kudos in the world to @stariousfalls for editing this whole thing together!!!
Go here for the post with all of the lyric page art viewable separately. Go to the Trouble Lyric Comic tag on my main blog to see links to people's posts of their art.
Below the read-more, please find the credits, with tags/links to everyone's blogs!
And once again, huge thank you to everyone who participated in this project -- it was so much fun to work on! And special thanks to @mercury-falls for helping me to organize all of this! I'm still so jazzed to see this final product -- the "amv" to this song that I've been wanting to see since 2016, and here it is, and it's wonderful! And it's even MORE wonderful because this represents a LOT of people coming together to express and share their love for this show.
(Go here for some more extended thank-yous!)
CREDITS
Photo Collage One: Elishevart, Pinkplatiploo, Zephrunsimperium, Creativepup, Batman-gif, Fordtato (all newspaper clippings), Shadeartstuff, Skysdrawings
I’ve been a beggar: lemonfodrizzleart
And I’ve been a king: kingsofjersey
I’ve been a loner: muria-art
And I’ve worn the ring: everlight_283 (instagram)
Losing myself: batman-gif
Just to find me again: tazmiilly & gin-juice-tonic
I’m a million miles smarter: eregyrn-falls-art & stephreynaart
But I ain’t learned a thing: annakitsun3
I’ve been a teacher: gobblewanker
And a student of hurt: skysdrawings
I kept my word: orangephoenix6
For whatever that’s worth: mother-ofthe-universedraws
Never been last: jackyjackdraws
But I’ve never been first: jasmine-sketchbook
Oh I may not be the best: stephreynaart
But I’m far from the worst: spectralreplica
Oh I may not be the best: elishevart
But I’m far from the worst: zkyeline
Oh, I’ve seen trouble: fexiled
More than any man should bear: mischieflily
But I’ve seen enough joy: ginandshattereddreams
I’ve had more than my share: gin-juice-tonic
And I’m still not done: morcian-draws
I’m only halfway there: jamesfenimoreharper
I’m a million miles ahead of where I’m from: fordtato
But there’s still another million miles to come: deerpines, orangephoenix6 & fordtato
Photo Collage Two: Creativepup, Cbmagus49, Inkdrawndreamer, Bluefrostyy, Fordtato, Mother-ofthe-Universedraws, Fordtato & Jamesfenimoreharper, Shadeartstuff, AlphaZeD, Bewildred-grimsley
Oh I keep on searching for the City of Gold: vililae
So I’m gonna follow this yellow brick road: cbmagus49
Thinking that maybe it might lead me on: cutebatart
I’m a million miles farther: hellmandraws
And a long way from home: eregyrn-falls-art
I know that there’s a plan that goes way beyond mine: possumbreath
Got to step back just to see the design: pottersfieldcustodian
The mind fears the heart: rechoclo
But the heart doesn’t mind: novantinuum
Oh I may not be perfect: tazmiilly
But I’m loving this life: hubbabubbagumpop
Oh I may not be perfect: athgalla-arts
But I’m loving this life: thisiswhereidraw
Oh I’ve seen trouble: purblzart
More than any man should bear: shadowofaghost5
But I’ve seen enough joy: alextwdgf01 & fordtato
I’ve had more than my share: dragonsheepstudios
And I’m still not done: acetyzias & stephreynaart
I’m only halfway there: cryptidjeepers
I’m a million miles ahead of where I’m from: chiiroptereh
But there’s still another million miles to come: stephreynaart
Photo Collage Three: Cbmagus49, Fordsy, Puppylove, Lemonfodrizzleart, Jamesfenimoreharper, Gin-juice-tonic, Fordtato & Vililae, Rusted-blue, Sciencevillain, Mother-ofthe-Universedraws, Possumbreath, Shadowofaghost5, Pinestwinssimp, Nour386, Cutebatart, Possumbreath, Melodramaticwolf, Tazmiilly, Eregyrn-falls-art
1K notes · View notes