#i am ill for this bird <3

[sindrakart]

plays dress up with him :)

[skunkes]

(trying to be) happy to be here

[raptureshots]

Atlas n Frank...

theyre best buddies (TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!)

funky lil alt under the cut :-)

i hate these guys so much they're literally all i fucking think abt on a daily basis its horrible /silly

(i could go. on and on abt them in this. au honestly . the whole au IS technically abt them anyways sooo)

[distant-velleity]

Stay With Me

Summary: Santiago and Chrysos have a lot of feelings to work out. Spoiler alert: they still don't confess. Word count: 2.6k Warnings: major character not-actually death (this is my Boxing Day gift to you all) A/N: I wish I could've put Major Character Death as a real warning. Alas... such is life. Anyway :) I'm super done with writing this, I don't wanna keep going insane, I'm just gonna post it as is. It's actually pretty tame for angst on my part. Enjoy!! Tagging: @thehollowwriter (finn mention!!!) @kitwasnothere and @nahelenia as my top 3 murderers <3

-

When Santiago comes to, groggy and lightheaded, he’s greeted by the watered-down sun filtering through the seas of Octavinelle above him. Bird and sky separated only by the glass and several gallons of water, his limbs sure feeling as distant and heavy as the ocean.

Ah, he thinks, ever-intelligently. How did I end up here…?

He can’t quite remember. All of his recent memories are escaping like soap bubbles in the wind. 

While he racks his brain trying to figure it out, someone approaches and kneels next to him. A single glance at the person’s blonde hair and red eyes tells Santiago all he needs to know.

“Sorry about that,” Chrysos says, monotone as always. It’s hard to tell if the merman really is sorry or not. “I usually don’t get normal customers involved when 86’ing nuisances.” 

Santiago can’t help the smirk that comes to him all too easily. “Are you sure I wasn’t the nuisance?”

“Hard to say,” replies Chrysos with an amused huff. He stands back up and offers Santiago a hand, to help him stand up.

Something about it feels off—maybe because Chrysos’ gaze seems so benevolent, that he seems so unbothered about gently helping someone he’d normally be too embarrassed or proud to. Still, Santiago laughs and sits up. “Tight-lipped as always,” he comments, and reaches for Chrysos’ hand, pulling himself up to stand.

They hold hands for a moment longer than they need to. It feels, if he dares to admit it just to himself, nice—

“Hold it.”

As if he’s been burned, Santiago jumps away from Chrysos at the sound of Azul’s voice. Approaching them are the Octavinelle housewarden and his entourage of three. 

Santiago notices, with a distant sense of dread, that he’s never seen Chrysos look so furious and disappointed upon seeing his upperclassmen. 

“Get back, Parrotfish,” Floyd warns. “That’s not the right Lionfishie to be getting all buddy-buddy with.”

How odd. Why would Floyd, of all people, go out of his way to warn him?

Santiago glances at the Octaquartet, then at Chrysos, whose expression is steadily darkening.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chrysos says coldly.

“My, my.” Jade conceals his magic pen, clasped tightly in one hand, beneath the other. “There’s no need for that frigid tone. I’m sure we’re already on the same page.”

“No?” interjects Santiago. “No, we’re not. What’s going on?”

Finn looks him dead in the eye and then cocks his head towards Chrysos. 

Santiago turns back around, and everything changes. 

Where Chrysos was just standing as normal, there’s suddenly inky shadows surrounding the Octavinelle freshman. His eyes flare red-and-yellow as the ink (no, blot) viciously wraps around him in strands to form a cocoon of sorts. Santiago staggers back when the cocoon contracts, a dark purple haze spreading throughout the area and blocking out the sun. The whole dorm is plunged into a deep-sea darkness.

It’s Chrysos and a towering Phantom now, him hovering a little too close to the glowing pendant around its neck for anyone’s liking. 

“We’re running out of time,” Azul says grimly. “Our fight from earlier didn’t do anything—”

“I’ll help fight him if it cuts down on time,” Santiago immediately declares without missing a beat. “If it saves his life.”

“Of course you would. Well, stay sharp, then.”

And Santiago tries, of course—

—but it doesn’t stop him from misfiring at some point, trying to hit the Phantom, only for it to grab Chrysos with a sickening crunch of his ribs and hold him up in range of the destructive fire spell. Santiago can only watch as it strikes Chrysos indiscriminately. 

The resulting wail of agony is bloodcurdling and unbearable, but not nearly as much as when the Phantom moves a thrashing Chrysos closer and closer to its chest, a gaping hole like a beast’s maw forming there, the pendant dangling right before it.

“Wait—”

It’s what all the teachers warn about when they discuss the occurrences of Overblots. Defeat the Phantom, and the victim will come out unscathed. Take too long to destroy it, and the Phantom will… will…

Chrysos is brought to that gap, drawn in like an object near a black hole.

Santiago can’t breathe. 

He can’t bring himself to close his eyes either. Even when a sinking feeling blossoms in his stomach, gripping him with all the force of a predator’s claws.

The ‘hand’ of the Phantom squeezes, another crunch of body parts that shouldn’t be breaking—

“Don’t you dare take him—let him go—” Santiago begs, but it’s useless.

The Phantom simply. Tucks Chrysos away in itself like nothing. Ignorant to his furious, fearful screams. 

The hole in its chest closes over with viscous blot. 

Santiago can’t look away.

“Ah… Ahh…”

He 

can’t 

look 

away—

“AAAAAHHHHH—!!!”

A guttural scream tears its way out into the open from Santiago’s raw throat, burning and hoarse and painful. Still begging for a life not his own, his eyes fly open as he sits up in a grieving frenzy. “Chrysos, please, don’t leave—!”

“I’m right here,” calls a familiar voice from beside him, miraculously free of its terrifying Overblot overlay. It’s melodious and soothing, easy on the ears, just when he thought he’d never hear it again.

“You—” Santiago’s hand shoots out without thinking, clamping down on Chrysos’ where it was gripping the edge of his blanket.

…his… blanket…?

Only then does Santiago realize, half-delirious, that he’s on a bed in the school infirmary. He’s not in Octavinelle, he’s not surrounded by torrents and mists of pure blot. The air is clear here, and the sun is shining bright and pleasant through the windows like it does through the forest canopy back home. Although his lungs still burn a little, everything’s okay.

And, looking at the boy sitting right next to him—Chrysos is okay. He’s alive. 

In silent awe, Santiago squeezes the cold, ungloved hand in his a little more tightly.

He’s alive.

Chrysos bites his lower lip and pointedly avoids looking at their joined hands. “What a nightmare you were having,” he says, false indifference in his tone. “Screaming like that… You’re lucky the nurse isn’t in right now.”

Santiago blinks. “A nightmare?” 

“Yes. You were trembling and crying out in your sleep. If it weren’t the first time you’d shown any signs of movement in days…” Chrysos trails off, brows pressed tightly together.

Putting aside the fact that it was all little more than a bad dream, thank the Great Seven— “What do you mean, in days?” Santiago echoes disbelievingly. “I don’t even know how I ended up here, and you’re telling me I’ve been unconscious for days? Hello? Way to hit me with the double whammy.”

It was an attempt to lighten the mood for both their sakes, but when the corners of Chrysos’ mouth twitch downwards and his lips thin in a stressed frown, Santiago immediately realizes he’s said something either really wrong or really stupid. Or both.

“You don’t remember what happened at the SDC?” asks Chrysos. “Weren’t you there? You know, for Schoenheit’s Overblot, like Yu said…”

Santiago’s eyes widen. He only slightly loosens his grip on Chrysos’ hand a second later. “Oh, you mean—”

Toxic purple mist surrounded them, reeking of a sickly sweet concoction. 

More saccharine still was the smile on Vil’s face. Even as blot dripped down his snow-white face from beneath his elaborate crown, he still found it in himself to pursue being the fairest one of all. 

Showing simultaneously all and nothing of his burning jealousy and bitterness.

“—yeah, I remember,” he continues, letting out a laugh with no real humor in it. “I even remember getting a faceful of poisonous mist and then passing out right after the awards ceremony ‘cause I tried to act tough.”

“At least your brain wasn’t permanently damaged. That’s good,” remarks Chrysos with a half-hearted smirk. “Maybe you’ll be out of here sooner than I thought.”

No, there was definitely a screw knocked loose if Santiago was imagining Chrysos Overblotting in place of Vil… much less sobbing desperately at the possibility of his death…

…Santiago swallows, mouth suddenly dry for no good reason. “Uh-huh? I don’t know, I still feel a little off.”

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Chrysos suddenly leans forward, hand subconsciously moving at lightning speed to place itself on Santiago’s wrist. “You still feel off? You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asks, voice demanding with a hint of… something else. “I swear, I will have the nurse over here faster than—”

“Whoa! Don’t get your boxers in a twist, jeez!” Santiago exclaims, and Chrysos halts immediately. “Am I still dreaming? Did you just gaslight me into thinking this is reality? I mean, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worried about me.”

“I’m not worried,” retorts Chrysos, although the watery look in his eyes as he tries to meet Santiago’s gaze says otherwise. And where there would normally be an underlying bite to his tone, it’s totally absent. “Isn’t it fair to ask questions when a certain someone has been unconscious for days?”

Nevermind, I’m definitely not still dreaming.

“So you’ve been worried about me. Got it.” Hopefully that isn’t giddiness bubbling up in his chest, despite—or because of—the way Chrysos sputters out another denial, because it sure as hell is conflicting with his sense of spite. “Why don’t you save any of it for yourself? You’ve been a resident here way more often than me.”

Chrysos stiffens, before puffing up a little; chin lifted indignantly and gaze judgmental. Santiago wouldn’t have it any other way.) “I was conscious all those times and did not actively inhale dangerous toxins made by a very powerful mage.”

Seriously, this guy… Santiago shakes his head. “Dude, I heard you nearly turned yourself into sand that one time, also because of ‘a very powerful mage.’ I saw for myself when you could’ve died fighting Jamil or Overblotted at the same time and had to stay in the infirmary for a very lengthy check-up. You know, you—” 

died in my dream because of me and I would never forgive you or myself for that matter if that actually happened,

“—are a grade-A idiot getting hung up on the wrong details,” he decides to say instead. “One of these days, you’re gonna end up back here and I’m gonna get to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Hmph.” Chrysos scoffs and turns his head away. To anyone else, it might look aristocratically prim and stuck-up in the way his hair tosses slightly. “You wouldn’t come running to my bedside crying out my name, then?”

It’s Santiago’s turn to stiffen, feeling called out in too many ways. “...fuck, I forgot you heard me talking in my sleep. Well…” He pauses, searching for an appropriate response. “I would if you wanted me to.” He doesn’t have time to appreciate how smooth that was on his part before his traitorous mouth moves faster than his brain, going right ahead and saying, “And I’d still do it even if you didn’t want me to, ‘cause if you die on me I’m absolutely going to—”

Crap! Backtrack, backtrack, backtrack!

He shuts up immediately before he can incriminate himself any more, pursing his lips and watching carefully for signs of a negative reaction.

Almost too neutrally, Chrysos glances back over at him from the corner of his eyes, the piercing look in his irises only partially hidden by his lashes. “...You really would be that concerned?”

“Maybe,” Santiago answers, pasting on a nervous smile.

“‘Maybe’ isn’t an acceptable response.” Chrysos looks him straight in the eyes. His hand feels warmer, for some reason. “Don’t be shy. What would you do?”

Santiago huffs defensively. “Fancy that, you telling me to not be shy—”

“Santiago. Stop messing with me already.”

That tone, desperate and curious and impatient all in one, is singlehandedly more commanding than any other order Santiago has ever gotten in his life. 

The beastman slumps back against the headrest, being sapped of his will to argue. He already knows it’s pointless. It’s kind of hard to beat around the bush when the bush has already slapped you in the face with a very thorny nightmare. “Miss you, probably. I mean, I dreamed about it, but…” 

He thinks about the way he screamed and forced himself to wake up because that scenario had seemed so real. Probably can only begin to describe whatever he was feeling.

“...Well. You’re the only person who’s ever gotten me, y’know, so don’t die because you couldn’t help yourself. I don’t wanna have to cope with my dream becoming reality. Please,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh.” Chrysos stares blankly at him for a moment, then at their hands. “...oh,” he repeats, in a much quieter ‘sudden realization’ sort of voice.

Santiago squints at him. “Dude. What kind of guy tells his buddy to open up about his feelings in such a pleading tone and then is surprised when he actually opens up about it?”

“The one right next to you who was expecting his buddy to dodge the question again.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Santiago replies, rolls his eyes. 

Chrysos worries his bottom lips, gaze shifting to the side suspiciously quickly. It looks like he’s considering something.

“...Are you taking that literally?” Santiago wants Chrysos to take what he said literally, to be honest, but that’s beside the point.

“Because you’re so dense, yes,” Chrysos snaps back. His free hand comes up to tug one of his curls closer to his face in that bashful way he always does. “If you died like you could’ve from Schoenheit’s poison, I would march right over to the afterlife and drag you back into the world of the living. Then I’d beat you into the ground for hurting me like that. Your ass is not leaving this life until I say it’s okay to. Does that make enough sense to you?” 

“I don’t remember the story of the musician and his muse being this violent,” mutters Santiago, feeling incredibly touched despite the brash nature of that admission. Or maybe because of it.

Chrysos’s cheeks flush as red as the ends of his hair. “You asked. I delivered. Look who’s being a hypocrite now.”

“Touché.” 

It feels like something between them has… changed, when they both fall silent for lack of things to say. Not in the terrifying way Santiago’s surroundings shifted during his nightmare, but a change for the better. Like a burden has been lifted off his shoulders, making the silence bearable.

“I… think I may need to go,” Chrysos says, a dusting of pink still on his face. Maybe because he’s spoken too much, or at least by his own standards. He stands up, letting go of Santiago’s hand. “Culture fair and. All that. You know how it is. I’ll see you—”

“Wait a minute.”

Santiago reaches out and, instead of just grabbing, intertwines their fingers. His longer ones settle perfectly between Chrysos’ knuckles as if they were meant to be there. 

The merman goes still. 

“Hypothetically,” Santiago begins, “if I asked you to stay a little longer—would you say yes?”

Chrysos’ mouth opens, freezes, and then closes. When he next speaks, it’s slow and cautious, like he’s testing out how the words actually feel. Testing the waters. “In this hypothetical scenario… I could be convinced to stay. Possibly.”

“Cool. So don’t run away just yet. Stay here with me.”

They make eye contact.

“...How persuasive. Well—” Chrysos sighs and sits back down, before offering Santiago a small smirk. Barely noticeable, but there. “It seems like I’ve actually got plenty of time to spare all of a sudden.”

Santiago can’t help but smile too.

[wraenata]

I have returned from camping. I'm going to try and make it through my dash but I'm not sure if I will be able too. If I missed any posts I'm sorry!

[lightbulb-warning]

this is getting ridiculous there's so much stuff i wanna draw i need to clone myself immediately

[finex09]

actually now that im still at it, here's another twitter circle post, now tumblr exclusive:

basically, two concerts are happening in December and I have no money but GOD i wanna go. G Jones w/ Imanu, Jon Casey, and Sayer on Dec. 7th in Alburqueque and then Dec. 9th Eptic w/ Eliminate & Ivory in Dallas. It's insanity, bc I have NO money, and I dont know how to drive so I cant even rent a car, AND i most likely wont have anyone to go with me bc the two people who would be down to clown (my boyf & older sister) both work jobs with little PTO and are also broke. So it'd just be me, ~$300 i have saved up, my impulsiveness and myself going between 2 states.

like its so unplausible that it can happen. BUT--

[lavenoon]

This flower is for you and all of your lovely thoughts and comments and just simply existing in general ♥ This is, ah, a touch late but Happy New Year! I hope this year brings you so many good things and you create all the art and writings and what-have-you you want and you get all the inspiration you need! Thanks for being such a positive and impactful force of nature :)

Naff I'm just over here alternating between happy giggling and melting into a teary puddle like idk how long it's been since I started answering because I just keep getting distracted by looking back up and melting again

(I am so normal about compliments I swear)

And it's still a very new year! Very happy so far too <3 Hope your transition into 2023 was smooth and kind to you, and that the rest of the year follows in kind - remember to take care of yourself, too! Been a while since I directed a self care check at you hehe, so have at it - food, water, rest, stretch! I'll hydrate in your honor as I've just has dinner, rest will come soon enough and I've stretched and iced my busy hands earlier <3

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my nuggets again. Explodes them.

[jimingyue]

Cat Tumblr Dashboard Simulator

🖋️ meowful-musings Follow

🕊️ birdwatching Follow

what's wrong with dry food??? my humans feed me it all the time and i think it's fine

💀 elusivehider-deactivated948204

op wheres the natural feeding option

🌲 outdoorsy Follow

you guys are getting fed?

#im a barn cat so maybe im missing something here #meowtthew don't look

7,192 notes

☀️ pawsitive-affurmations Follow

ITS OKAY TO BE A MOGGIE

ITS OKAY TO BE A MOGGIE

YOU ARE NOT LESS VALID IF YOU ARE NOT A SPECIFIC PEDIGREE!!!!!

☀️ pawsitive-affurmations Follow

extra special shout out to cats who have "common" coat colors. grey tabbies and black cats i am rubbing against your head affectionately <3

🪤 m0usetrap01 Follow

as a grey tabby i really needed to hear this :"3

#i feel like i never see positivity posts for moggies even tho we're the most common type of cat....

154,688 notes

🎵 rage-against-the-meowchine Follow

i cant believe there are cats ACTUALLY advocating for kittens to be separated from their mothers before 12 weeks??? kittens still need to learn how to interact with other cats before being placed into their furever home omg you guys know you're advocating for undersocialized and aggressive cats right

❤️ loving-paws284 Follow

um op some of us??? matured early??????? i was separated from my mother at 7 weeks and i turned out fine... interesting how you assume that kittens being separated from their mothers at a younger age will lead to the degeneracy of the next generation...hmm i wonder where i've heard that before...

🐈 fluffy-the-cat Follow

OP got bit too hard during a play-fight as a kitten and it shows XD

🐟 tunafeesh Follow

also op have you ever considered that just because somecat is kind of scared and unable to deal with strange cats or humans, it doesn't mean they don't deserve to be adopted?? you sound like a vet psyop honestly

🎵 rage-against-the-meowchine Follow

oh meow god saying that kittens should be fully weaned before leaving their mother is NOT veterinarian rhetoric and i never said that they deserve to be euthanized!!! my mother literally died when i was 3 weeks old and it seriously messed up my development so stop putting words in my mouth, thanks

anyway friendly reminder that underweaned kittens are prone to illness and often struggle with basic cat behaviors like litterbox usage, and in some nyavinces it's even considered kitten abuse

#discourse #cant believe "kitten abuse is bad" is controversial now

32,456 notes

🍃 naturalliving Follow

BORN TO DIE

WORLD IS A FUCK

猫神 Kill Em All 1989

I am trash cat

410,757,864,530 DEAD BIRDS

#outdoorliving #outdoorcats please interact #outdoorcat friendly

48,971 notes

🎣 salmonpurina Follow

can't believe cats are uncritically reblogging that born to die world is a fuck post. i know it's funny but op is literally an outdoor cat truther

#like cmon now you just have to go to their blog #lulu speaks

34 notes

💀 tabbystripes-deactivated098712

gentle reminder that pushing cups off the table is not cute and can cause a lot of distress in your human!!!! gentle reminder that our teeth and claws can easily hurt them more than they can hurt us!!!!

🐰 evil-tabbystripes Follow

evil reminder that the cup should always be pushed off the table. evil reminder that you should always bite and claw at your human no matter what. you can do whatever you want forever

💀 tabbystripes-deactivated098712

make your own pawst

💀 laser-point-deactivated8574721

umm i know a tomcat who did that and his human ended up putting him down so...

👬🏻 nyasunaruenjoyer Follow

Nyaverage shelter cat behavior

#not nyaruto #re-nyab #pickles shut up

545,460 notes

🌈 nyaoi-warrior Follow

saw two male cats sleeping together on the porch today. homeow behavior imo

💡 discourse-meows Follow

hey um what the fuck??? it's really not okay of you to go assuming other cat's sexualities, especially cats you don't even know???? as a queer cat i'm VERYY uncomfortable. real-ass cats didn't consent to your nyaoi fetish, thanks

🌈 nyaoi-warrior Follow

1. i was making. a joak

2. i'm literally gay???

#literally what's your pawblem

7 notes

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

reblog if you've ever caught the laser pointer

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

i know you fuckers are lying

🍭 gaykittens Follow

this tom hasn't caught the laser pointer

🎩 amazingcatshow12 Follow

shut the heull up

988,653 notes

🐾 b-e-a-n-t-o-e-s Follow

grey toebeans >>>>>>>>> pink toebeans and don't let the haters make you believe otherwise

🐁 ladymouser Follow

op shut the fuck up ALL toebeans are beautiful!!! just bc you're miserable and insecure doesn't mean you can bring others down based on things they can't control

🐾 b-e-a-n-t-o-e-s Follow

oh so the cat-human separationist wants to preach to us

[doomed-to-gloom]

So a friend of mine gave me their Tumblr and I've started to terrorize them already

Like I'm not even going to give them my Tumblr, I'm not following or liking their post

I'm just existing and haunting their anon asks

[ssspork]

Sorry I haven’t been posting much, I’ve been working on a fic I’m writing which drains me of creating any other actual big projects (or any art that isn’t just a one off thing) I’ll try and post more but I can’t make any promises. If I’m being honest I’m only posting this as an explanation for my sudden fall off the globe and to show off my fic bc although it’s prob poorly written, it’s fun to write TW: blood, minor horror (for the artwork)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52262242/chapters/132203071

[ratmistressrat]

JUST FINISHED THEPOCKET GOD COMICS I AM A DIFFERENT MAN I AM A DIFFERENT WOMAN IM GOING TO THROW YP

[asumofwords]

Watercress

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Smallfolk OC, mentions of death and war, descriptions of injury and blood, slowburn. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello there my sweet angels! Thank you so much for your patience in me writing this. It has been such a long time since I have written anything and I am so excited to finally have a burst of energy (and the inspiration) to do it! As I'm writing this I'm like, is this similar to Lighthouse? And you know what, potentially? Lmaoooo. I'm not sure how many chapters this bad boy is going to be, but it will be a miniseries hehe. If you want to be tagged in the taglist, let me know, otherwise I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Broken

Still and brittle air. A body of water that had rippled with anger, now calm and without falsely made tides. In the woods beside the ever stretching lake, there was food to be found, herbs to be foraged, and animals to be hunted. What she hadn’t accounted for was the discovery of a man.

As she moved through the nearby woodlands, her eyes diligently scanned the forest floor for edible plants to gather and bring home. She followed a slender stream that wound its way like a vein through the lush greenery. Below her, she spotted some watercress and knelt down to collect it.

The plant was easy to identify, its round, dark green leaves gleaming with a healthy shine, growing in plump clusters that resembled clover. A common enough find, watercress was versatile—its peppery flavour could be enjoyed raw or cooked, adding a subtle kick to various dishes.

With gentle precision, she cut the stems at their base using her blade, then placed the watercress into the small basket she held at her hip. The air filled with a faint peppery scent as her fingers began to feel the familiar tackiness from the leaves. She took care not to harvest too much, arranging the watercress atop the rest of her foraged goods before continuing along the well-worn path toward the lake. Beneath the cloth in her basket lay a worn net, neatly folded, its ends weighted by sinkers like the delicate strands of a spider's web.

A lot of trouble the lake had seen in the few days past. Troubles from highborn nobles who cared naught about the smallfolk who outnumber them. But now that it was still, it was almost eerie from how so much chaos can suddenly halt in its tracks from the actions of just two; how much destruction just even one could make. 

The soft chirping of birds echoed through the gaps between the trees, mingling with the gentle creaking of branches swaying in the breeze. As she neared the shore, the bushes and trees grew sparser, revealing the familiar lake’s edge. Stones of varying sizes scattered the bank, and the water lay calm, a deep shade of blue.

Her cottage was tucked behind her, deeper within the woods from where she had come. It was close enough to the village—a few hours walk—but far enough that few ventured to this secluded corner of the lake. There was an unspoken respect for the boundaries each had claimed, and everyone faithfully followed their familiar, ancestral paths.

Though autumn rapidly approached, and the nipping of the cold chilled her through her skirts, the woman still stripped her feet of her shoes and stockings, pulling up her skirts and apron to knot at the side, leaving her legs bare to the open air. 

With a swift flourish, she pulled the net from the basket and waded into the lake until the water reached her knees, disregarding the cold that bit at her skin. In the frigid depths, her feet slid over and between the rocks beneath, occasionally unsettling her balance and sending small ripples across the surface.

She stood motionless for a time, waiting for the disturbed fish to be lulled back into a false sense of safety. Once the water had settled, she cast her net, its pointed corners spreading like the limbs of an octopus before sinking below the surface. She gripped the long rope attached to the center and began to drag the net back toward her.

At first, the net yielded only a few stray leaves and a couple of twigs. Undeterred, she carefully ensured that the net was untangled before tossing it back into the water. Again, she pulled it in quickly, only to find the same meager catch. She repeated the process until her toes had grown numb and a dull ache crept up her shins from the cold.

Moving to a new spot, she threw the net once more, watching the weights sink swiftly as she pulled it in. This time, there was resistance.

The water rippled and splashed as she hauled the net up, revealing three small fish trapped inside. Their silvery bodies thrashed side to side, desperately trying to escape. With swift, steady steps, she walked back to the shore and dropped the net onto the dirt bank, watching the fish flop and struggle. Taking out her hunting knife, she carefully avoided cutting the rope as she held each fish down, driving the blade into their heads. The frantic thrashing slowed to a dull twitch, and then ceased altogether. She slit their bellies open, removed the guts, and flung them into the water, hoping to attract more fish—or perhaps even larger ones.

She placed them in the basket, but their sizes were nothing extraordinary. She thought that she could dry some for later, store them to eat dried or to soak in a stew with a thick bread. And though the coldness was beginning to get to her, she continued, walking straight back into the water to throw her net back in. 

Casting the net out far and pulling it back in, she managed to get four more fish which she killed, gutted and placed in the basket beside the other. Though not greedy, she knew that the winter months would soon be upon her and it was best to be prepared with an ample store of dried fish and foods, even more-so now after the war had ravaged so much of the Seven Kingdoms. She decided that if she was to have ten, she would be able to eat well that evening as well as have a fair stash to have ready whenever needed. 

Once more she stepped out into the water, though this time daring to wade deeper, the water coming to her mid thigh, the bottoms of her skirts and apron slowly became saturated, the weight pulling her body down. 

Another cast of the net, she watched as the weights sunk into the dark depths, the sun bleached rope disappearing into the lake before she began to pull at the rope, only this time the tension of the rope pulled taught and the net became stuck. 

With a huff, she blew a stray strand of hair from her face and yanked on the net, trying to dislodge it from whatever it had snagged on—a branch or perhaps a rock. But the net wouldn’t budge, and her frustration grew. She pulled harder, and the net finally came free, but the force sent her stumbling backward, her foot slipping into a small dip in the lakebed. Her hips plunged into the cold water.

"Fuck." she hissed as the icy water soaked her gown up to her waist.

In a surge of anger, she wrenched the net toward her, only to find her frustration deepening when she saw a rip in the netting. The frayed rope left a gaping hole, one that would take considerable time to mend—or perhaps force her to start anew.

“Fucking cunt.” She flung the net back to shore, the weights making a wet thud on the soil, as she looked to where the her net had got caught. 

With her dress already soaked, she made no quarrels with walking deeper, the icy lake now coming up to her chest as she tried to peer down into the dark depths to see what her net had gotten snagged on. Why she looked, she did not know. Perhaps to curse out whatever rock or object had ruined her perfectly fine net. At the very least she had caught enough fish to last her until she could mend the torn net, or start anew. Gods forbid she had to walk to a nearby town to buy one.

With careful feet she waded in the water, reaching her toes out first in search of the sunken object. Hands balancing her atop the waters surface, she reached further forward in search. Her toes touched small rocks, their broken edges skating against the sides or sole of her foot-- but still it was not what had ruined her net. There were many rocks in the lake, she knew this, the fishermen who had boats on the lake and drew trade knew this, but she frequented this spot enough to know that there was something new there that shouldn’t be.

Rough and smooth all at once she felt it, something before her nestled between boulders. As her toe searched the foreign object, a sharp sting radiated up from them. She hissed, pulling her foot backwards, wondering if there was something new within the lake that could swallow her whole. Her curiosity took over. Tentatively, she pushed her foot out again, finding the smooth yet bumpy object that seemed to be colder than the water itself. The more she touched it, the more she realised that it was not what she had thought at all. In fact, she was surprised to come to the conclusion that it was manmade. 

With her dress already soaked, she dipped her arm into the water, shoulder and breast dipping beneath the surface halting her breath as her fingers sought out what her toes had found. Cool metal met her hand, her digits wrapping around a cylinder shape, the feeling of spirals beneath. With all her might she pulled it, the weight of what she held making her strain, but as she lifted it she was able to see the glinting of steel beneath the water as it got closer to the surface. 

The sword hilt was black and gold, a sort of spiral shape at the top, its cross guards gold and in the shape of a head, a bird perhaps? Or a dragon? It was long and heavy, and just when she thought the rest of it would come to the surface, she was wrong. It was far too large and too heavy for her to pull it up out of the water. Stepping back carefully with the new found object in hand, she dragged it behind her, the point dragging over rocks and sediment alike until finally she was back on the shore. 

The make of the sword told her that it was worth its weight in gold, and even had gold upon it to prove her observations further. It would have belonged to a nobleman, or perhaps even a knight, though the closer the looked at it, the more features she could see that resembled symbolism of House Targaryen. 

So it was one of theirs, then. 

She let the sword drop to the sand, hands on her hips as she looked at both her basket full of food and fish, the broken net, and finally to the sword. The sword would be worth much, but she would have to travel far to sell it to anyone with the coin to buy it. But then comes the trouble of travelling with such a large, and if she was correct in what she thought it was, recognisable item. It would risk raiders, or worse, some overzealous loyalist who deigned her a thief and cut off her hands. 

Eyes drifting behind her towards the lake, she wondered what had happened those days past. 

She remembered the sound, the ear piercing shrieks from the sky, heat of fire, the smell of smoke and crashing of water. But she had run as fast as she would once she saw the great green beast fly overhead.

Nothing good ever came to the Riverlands when She was near.

Eventually though, having nowhere else to go, the woman had returned in the night, hidden amongst the forest and trees, listening for the sounds of roaring and flame which had ceased quickly as it echoed around the lake. And when she arrived back to the lake, it was quiet once more.

The dance of the two dragons above Gods Eye was no more, and she could finally go back to living her life; uninterrupted. 

She scanned the shoreline surrounding, eyes narrowing in the distance to see if she saw any signs of the dragons. Perhaps they had crawled out from the lake on the other side and had made their way towards her end? But the lake was so large and so deep, that none could even see to the other side.

Turning to pick up her basket and the sword again she was halted by the flickering of something shiny in the distance, the setting sun reflecting off of metal amongst tree root and rock. She wondered briefly if it was going to be another sword, or perhaps a helm. That would be easier to sell at the nearby town; a smith would certainly pay handsomely to melt down the steel and turn it into whatever wares he desired. She kicked soil over the blade and placed the basket full of greens and fish atop the hilt, covering the gold and reflective surface entirely before making her way towards the flickering light. 

Her dress pulled down on her shoulders heavily, water dripping from the hem with each step as a chill rose upon her flesh. But something compelled her further, despite all other instincts within, she pushed on, making her way towards the glinting metal which snaked along the rocky shore. The closer she got, the more she recognised that it was chains, draped and shining in the sun, some covered in dirt the rest leading towards the water. 

She thought of the many things she could do with the chains, what their worth could be, and whether or not it was worth going further to collect them, and yet still she persisted, feet muddy and wet, a slight sting from where the blade of the sword had cut at her toes.

She bent down to gaze upon them, strong, good quality steel it seemed. They had not tarnished, nor were their many marks upon them. The chain links were half the length of her arm and triple the width, its weight likely more than her own. They were far too large for her to carry alone.

A breeze rolled through the forest and across the water, sending goosebumps to rise over her body with a shiver. It was getting dark, she was drenched, and the best option was to leave the larger find behind and come back for it on the morrow, perhaps with a plan on how she would move the chain from water, to shore, to forest, to door. 

She turned to face the forest and was greeted with evidence of the destruction dragons could inflict. Trees older than her grandmother had ever been, their trunks as wide as horses, split down the centre and broken from the impact of a large body. Further within she could see the singed tree tops, where ash that had settled down atop the canopy. The eeriness of a broken forest and a broken realm, far too close to home.

And yet she was drawn to it, this destruction. It was unlike anything she had witnessed before; she was pulled forward. Feet crunching on the pine floor, the crunch of her steps deafening in comparison to how quiet it was amongst the carnage. The animals had not yet returned, the ones that had once been there dead, silent. 

Even with the trees that had somehow managed to survive, to stand tall despite the terror that had reigned above them, their trunks and leaves were covered in the evidence of what was. Ash, streaked each surface, and with a curious hand she place it atop the bark of a tree, brushing her finger along the ridges of the wood, watching as they turned grey. A quick rub of forefinger and pointer together made the ash smear, and as she stood by that tree, taking in the scene before her, her eyes focused upon a darkness behind the tree that should not have been there. 

Something that was not born of ash nor bark nor fur. 

Something human. 

Uncertainly she took a step around the tree to see the beginning of a boot, a leathered boot at that. And attached to it a leg, and then hips, and finally;

A man. 

Dressed head to toe in dark leather, now grey with ash, the man lay on his side. Her heart raced in her chest, though she had seen the dead before, this time was different. This time it was not a sick merchant, nor a child who had gotten the winter fever. It was not her father dying at the hands of a drunken fight, blood trickling from his mouth. 

This was one of them. 

Long silver hair lay knotted across the mans face, ash streaking the pearlescent tresses grey. His skin much the same, though the parlour was similar to a corpse; so pale, so almost blue that she could have mistaken him for one of Harrenhal’s ghosts.

Was he the man who had slaughtered the Strong family at Harrenhal?

Or was he the one who commanded the brutal rape and murders of those who opposed the Blackwoods? 

Did it matter? She thought to herself, They were all the same.

The leg she had discovered was bent at an unnatural angle, the shin snapped in two, broken in a way that if he had lived he would have been crippled for the rest of his days. The rest of his body did not fair well either, tears in his leather tunic and breeches given way to an attack, or a fall, or Gods knew what else. The famed silver hair which obscured his face from view was red at his skull, slowly seeping into a rust colour where blood had dried from a wound. 

Bare toes stood beside the pale mans head as she dipped to her knees, her wet dress sticking to the ash and pine coated floor. She observed him for a time, admiring the stitchwork of the tunic he wore, noting that it would likely be-- despite its conditions-- the nicest thing she could own. But she was no grave robber, and she had no desire to be haunted by his spirit after desecrating his corpse. 

Her curiosity however won out, and with an unsteady hand, unsure whether it be from the cold or the man, she reached forth to brush the blood crusted hair away from his face.

Despite its appearance, ash, blood and leaves tangled in the locks, his hair was as soft as silk as she brushed it with her hands. The skin of his ear was cold to the touch. She swept the tangled heap away from his brow and cheek, revealing a bruised and cut cheek, though that was not what had made her breath skip in her chest. 

The space where his eye should have been was empty, though not from this battle, but from one many years ago she supposed, the skin of the brow and cheek scarred deeply down his face. She could see to the back of where his eye would have once sat, the flesh darkened and scarred.

Aemond One-Eye.

Following the scar on his cheek, she looked to his lips, where dried blood had crusted at its opening and down his other cheek to the forest floor. His nose, aquiline and strong had bled too, as did his ears from what she would see, and through the centre of his face a cut sliced through the bridge where bruising and bone were visible. 

It was weird, to sit so close to a corpse of royalty, and she were sure that if he were alive he would have stuck her for daring to even touch him. For daring to even touch his pure blood, and his pure hair, and his purer skin. And this thought alone made her touch him all the more, tracing curious fingers across his cheek, his nose, the scar running through his cheek, and down to his neck, where his tunic had been torn and the pale expanse of his neck was visible. 

Her finger trailed down past his jaw, underneath it, wondering what in the world separated the two of them. They died just like everyone else. Whether that be in the birthing bed, in cups of ale, or fighting one another. What made the Targaryens so far removed from her? Besides their silver hair, their lilac eyes and their dragons, they were merely men, and all men died.

The King was proof of this.

A faint fluttering beneath her fingers made her lift her hand in shock, her digits hovering over the mans face as she looked at him in disbelief. 

He couldn’t…

She leant down, dipping her ear beside his lip as she rested a hand against his ribs. 

And there it was, a rattling breath so weak, so quiet, that had his lips not been pressed against her ear she would not have heard it. 

He was alive.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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@thewriterthatghostedyou @sepherinaspoppies @insufferablelust @osferthswifey @persephonerinyes @ihadlife @aemondsfavouritebastard @thaisthedreamer

[just-some-random-blogger]

Break Bones?

There has been nothing but tension between you and your ward, and Breakbones has only added to it.

bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader x Harwin Strong | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has golden lannister hair, enemies to lovers, forced proximity ig, im just a girl!reader, angst?, jealousy, typos, etc.

A/N: this the '3rd part' to Seeing Red (1) and Seeing Green (2) but you dont have to read either to understand what's happening <3. Also, I think a lot of facts are skewed here in this fic but... Roll with it pls thx. I hope someone enjoys this because I do nawt 🥲

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings @targs-on-zorses @barbieaemond @arabellasleopardcoat @dreamsandconstellations

@uniquecroissant @holdingforgeneralhugs @b00kw0rmsworld

Lunch was my favorite meal. This time of day was most pleasant, with the sun high in the sky and the birds singing. Normally at this time, whatever grogginess the morning gave me would long be gone. But today, it was not so.

Gwayne turns to me as I pointedly smack on my meal to annoy him. If my day is grim, then so should his.

He chews harder than he needs to then swallows, "I see frolicking with Breakbones has made you forget your pedigree."

I raise my brows, "nay," I set my spoon down, "my meal is simply so scrumptious that I cannot contain myself."

Gwayne releases a breath. I watch him as he reaches for his teacup. He looks as though he's using all the muscles in his body to withhold an eye roll. He takes a sip; the heat of the tea leaves his lips ruddy.

I watch him set his floral cup down. I watch him as he leans back on his chair. When did his get that long? The locks by his temples go past his cheeks now. A line forms on his face when I stare too long. I avert my gaze to my own teacup. The milkiness of his face is reflected in my drink. My stomach churns.

"So-" "How-"

We look at each other after speaking at the same time. I open my mouth, meaning to tell him to go first, but he cuts me off and simply speaks, "how is Breakbones?"

Offence latches on my being. How ill-mannered of him not to even feign the courtesy of allowing me to speak first. Irritation springs forth, so I quip, "what?"

Gwayne scoops some honey and stirs it into his tea. He licks what remained on the silverware.

I avoid his eyes as he does so.

"Your whereabouts have not gone unnoticed by me," he says dryly, "I am aware that you have since been accompanied by Breakbones to the market more than once."

A horrid scowl finds my features, "and just who is this foul creature?"

Gwayne's expression falls until my scowl is reflected on him. His jaw sets, "I can assure you; you have already wholly vexed me this morn; you needn't feign ignorance to add to it."

"But I am not acquainted to this brute who breaks bones," I hiss, "and I need not feign something which comes easy for me."

He realizes then that I was sincere in my own vexation when I heatedly continue.

"Your delusions of my character will not bleed into reality, Ser." I pointedly raise a brow, "whichever part of my body you think would associate with such people who garner such names would surely rather strike your cheek."

He furrows his brows as he tilts his head, "yet it seems you are ignorant to the fact Breakbones is your beloved City Watch commander."

My brows furrow. I am silent for a moment before speaking, "Ser Harwin?"

He scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, yes," he takes a sip of his tea, "the brute with such a name is the one you have extended such warm amity to as of late."

A moment of concern and even alarm floods me. But it is fleeting the next moment, and my expression falls. I huff. A pit grows in my stomach, "how acrid and crude."

Gwayne's brows quirk as he gulps his tea. The manner in which his lips curl pierce through my belly in the most unpleasant of ways.

"I am well aware that you and I have never met eye to eye, that you disagree with my interest in beautiful things-"

His expression slips.

"-but your want to deter me of my only companion here is repellent, even for one as you."

Companion? Gwayne's blood rises just as I from my seat across him, "such as I?"

"Such as you!" I maintain, chucking my table napkin onto my half-finished plate.

"I see your unfeigned ignorance has made you callous to my efforts to please you," he words harshly, slowly rising from his seat.

"But it is not your work to please me!" I snap, "your work is to keep me safe!"

"From library books?!" he raises his voice, "from cakes and dresses? What is your danger in King's Landing when not only do a thousand guards reside within these walls, but your own lord brother is seated upon the council of the king?"

My nostrils flare at his words. I decide to maintain my dignity by forfeiting my response. I gather my skirts and flee him.

He releases an irritated laugh, "oh, how very like of you!"

"Do not wait. I have errands to accomplish."

"Ha! Do accomplish them well with your beloved Breakbones."

I storm away from him. I storm and storm until my face rains. It annoys me how my breath shortens and how my throat constricts. I run off to my chambers and dismiss any ready servants there. I crumble to my bed and wring out my melancholy.

The letter I received late last night calls to me from my vanity. I sigh and reach out to it. I slide down my bed and will the contents of the letter to change.

It does not work. The words are as clear as they were last night underneath my lamp, if not clearer now in afternoon shine.

Highgarden would be honored to receive Lady Lannister. House Tyrell presently prepares its home in hopes it will be hers in the apparent future.

I rip the parchment to shreds, as if its riddance would destroy the reality it held.

It does not.

It comforts me, nonetheless.

I wash my face and reapply rogue before exiting my chambers. I begin to walk off but freeze when I see Gwayne at the end of the hallway. He does nothing. He says nothing.

I turn the other way.

I find myself heading to the guard's quarters, where I soon learned Ser Harwin was not. A guard informs me that he was in the training grounds, and so I promptly make my way there.

The moment Harwin catches the golden glint upon my head, he is distracted. He pays less attention to his pupils, offering me a smile and nod in regard. Soon, when I am close enough, he says a quick word before abandoning his post altogether.

Harwin struts up to me with another smile and nod, "my lady Lannister."

My heart swells at his kind regard, a stark contrast of Gwyane, "lord Strong."

"You must forgive my state," he wipes the sweat dripping from his temple, "an hour remains of our session, then I will be free to accompany you to the baker's today," he assures. He smiles but it quickly disappears as he adds, "after I wash and change, of course."

I press my lips tightly together, yet it does not contain my giggle.

Harwin crosses his arms at the sound, his own lips unable to contain his own giggle.

"I am in no hurry, commander," I clasp my hands together, "feel free to ignore me until you are ready."

He walks backward, "I pray you do not require me to do something impossible."

I chuckle at the sentiment, but I roll my eyes. I sit myself on a crate nearby and watch as the man instructs his pupils. He demonstrates the proper handling of a sword and strikes the dummy. For a moment, I think of Gwayne training.

Then suddenly, I remember our argument and find myself calling out, "break bones."

I watch as Harwin turns to me.

I flatten my skirts on my lap but do speak any further.

"You call, my lady?"

I straighten my back, slightly taken aback that he responded, and shake my head, "never mind."

Harwin does not think twice on it. He continues with his lesson.

Watching him teach was... titillating. His voice was rich and sure, his actions more so, and his demeanor was truly that of a commander. More and more, I thought of 'break bones' and continued to convince myself that this was not him. Soon, I was not enslaved to my thoughts and became thoroughly entertained by Harwin's instruction. It was almost a shame that the hour passed as quickly as it did.

Harwin quickly comes to me, announcing he will not take long to tidy up, then leaves just as quickly. Unable to help myself, I decide to ask a guard about this break bones fellow. Before I can even ask if that man was truly his commander, he's already droning about See Harwin Strong. Before he could finish, the said man was beside me, face and locks slightly damp.

Harwin and I make our way to the stables after and I immediately start, "I did not realize you had quite a reputation."

I watch my feet peak out from beneath my dress as we leisurely make our way to his steed. Harwin, with his hands behind him, turns to me with a quirked brow, "and what reputation might that be?"

"Breakbones," I look up.

He simply stares.

"I thought Gwayne thought it up to deter me from your companionship."

He purses his lip, "...does it?"

I give him an incredulous look, "perhaps if I had known it before I knew you. I was testing the name on you. I did not expect you to respond."

"Is it very ill-fitting?"

"Yes," I speak immediately. I tilt my head, "you are very gentle."

He laughs. It is quiet but hard enough that he must clutch his gut and take a moment to gather himself.

Though it was not like him to mock me, I could not help but feel perhaps that in this moment he was. A frown finds me.

I think of Gwayne and his condescending laughter. My chest tightens.

He breathes in deeply before finally calming. Harwin notices my dejected demeanor and it wipes the grin off his face, "forgive me. I laugh only because I have not yet been called gentle in earnest."

It does not rid my frown.

"It pleases me," he mutters.

I stop in my tracks when he reaches for my hand. My pulse quickens when he takes and lifts it.

"I am glad to appear as such to you," he speaks carefully, blue eyes locked on mine. He presses a chaste kiss at the back of my hand. He maintains his hold until we are in front of his horse.

Harwin helps me up the brown stallion. He maintains a respectable hold and even fixes my dress as I seat myself. I look down at him and his smile. I nod, indicating that he can now climb up.

He shakes his head, lips still curled upright, "I do not think it wise for me to ride with you today."

I furrow my brows, "why ever not?"

Harwin takes the reins of his horse, "well, I fear my hasty washing was not enough."

I roll my eyes, "I-"

"And I desire to uphold the gentle nature you recognize in me." Harwin begins to walk.

"I do not understand."

He snorts lightly, "I fear my softness will not remain if I ride behind you."

My brows only furrow deeper.

Harwin catches this and chuckles. He mumbles under his breath, "the lioness is but a kitten."

"I heard that."

He raises a hand, "a jest. An innocent jest."

I spent a good part of the afternoon scrutinizing cakes and frosting, meticulously ordering the perfect assortment to be delivered to me tomorrow.

By the time Harwin and I were back in the Keep, I could tell that he was worn, not only from being made a taste tester against his will, but also from walking back and forth.

Another image of Gwayne flashes in my mind. Guilt and dread threaten to spill from my lips.

Harwin helps me down his steed and softly smiles once I am stood before him. My heart stings at his drowsy expression. My forehead curls as I reach for his cheek, "you have been most patient and kind."

His face perks at my touch.

"I am most grateful," I brush his curls away from his face, "I would not have been able to accomplish what I have today without you."

Harwin straightens when I pull away, seemingly reinvigorated.

"Forgive me if my meticulousness cost us a longer trip than expected."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "you award me more credit than I am due. It is an honor to witness the care you put into your gifts."

I watch him as he leads the horse into the stable. Harwin continues once he's walking back towards me, "I am sure Gwayne's nameday will be heartfelt, knowing his lady took great measures to prepare her gifts for him."

The thought makes me want to pull my hair out. I sigh and simply walk off.

Harwin's expression falls. He follows after me, "is something wrong?"

I watch my shoes peak from beneath my skirt with my steps. I turn to him when he calls me by my name. Harwin has a look of concern upon him. I comb the tips of my golden hair in agitation, "I... do not wish his nameday to come."

A line forms between his brows.

I sigh, "surely you are aware that my move to King's Landing was to secure myself a husband."

Harwin did, in fact, not know this, but does not have the chance to say so.

"My brother says the only house interested in me is that of the Tyrells."

His brows quirk. A doubtful thought.

"I did not..." I turn to the ground, "think my demeanor so odious that I am able to attract but one marriage proposal. Surely my family name weighs more than that."

The thought makes Harwin's forehead curl.

"I am not due to leave for Highgarden until the next moon, but I figured if it pleases Gwayne, I would set him free on his nameday. Another gift for him."

Harwin frowns, "do you not think your decision rash?"

"Rational, perhaps."

He does not seem to like my resolve on the matter, and yet he does not press any further. The rest of our walk is silent, and soon we are in the hall to my chambers.

Both Harwin and I slow at the sight of Gwyane standing attention at my door. He shifts in his spot, turning to us. When we reach him, I notice the way his jaw feathers.

The auburn haired man lifts his nose slightly, "Breakbones."

Harwin nods, "ser Hightower."

"How kind of you to return the lioness to her den," he turns to me, pale blue eyes ripping into my flesh, "I do hope she did not bare her teeth and claws too much."

Harwin raises a brow, "her company is most welcome, teeth and claw included."

I turn to Harwin. He smiles at me. Gwayne watches. His blood curdles.

"She tells me tomorrow is your nameday," Harwin looks to Gwayne, "what plans have you made to celebrate?"

"Whatever my lady has planned for me," he chuckles dryly. His begins to turn red in the face.

My brows furrow, "worry not, Gwayne. There shall be no errands to attend to on the morrow."

"How magnanimous," he smiles, or rather sneers, "your commander seems to need the day off. See how worn you've made him."

"Enough," I quip.

"Agreed," he blurts, "you should retire," he motions with his head, "I will treat the man to some wine," he turns to Harwin, "and perhaps he will the same, as a nameday treat."

Harwin nods, "perhaps on your nameday itself. I have an evening patrol I must cover."

Gwayne's nostrils flare, "unfortunate."

With that, I thank Harwin for accompanying me and head inside my chambers.

Gwayne places a hand on Harwin's shoulder, leading him down the hall, "I must express my appreciation for lightening my load as of late."

"My duty is to serve, but it is a pleasure to do so for the lady Lannister."

Gwayne pulls his hand away then brings both behind him, "I'm sure for one who is daily surrounded by sweaty men, it truly is."

Harwin does not respond. They continue walking down the hall.

"I am glad to know she did not forget my nameday and neither of us will need to be worked by her tomorrow."

Harwin gives a lopsided smile, "if it comes down to it, ser, I will do any work she may require of you in your stead."

Gwayne's face twitches but he expertly covers it up with a low chuckle, "oh, how good. Do not deny me then if it happens."

The two men part ways at the end of the hallway. Gwayne heads for his chambers, feeling irritated and suffocated. He bathes but it does not soothe him as much as he hoped. The next morning, he wakes up groggy and attempts to bathe it away, but the water was as ineffective as the night before.

He gets dressed and makes his way to the solar. He stops in his tracks when he hears the ruckus from inside. It doesn't take him long to recognize the voices, which is why he decides to enter and interrupt the argument taking place inside.

I gasp softly at the sound of the door opening. The sight of Gwayne's concerned expression only makes the tears from my eyes spill further.

Tyland turns to him. He does not mask his ire, which is why he does not greet him. My brother simply quips, "you will not leave her today."

Gwayne turns from my brother to me. It takes a moment before he realizes it was an order, "of course, my Lord."

The master of coin sighs and heads for the door. Before leaving, he raises a hand, "a servant will come to deliver your nameday gift tonight or tomorrow. Lannisport has been overflowing as of late, but I was assured your delivery will be swift."

Gwayne nods, "you have my thanks."

Tyland leaves after this, and Gwayne walks over to me.

I pull away before he can touch me. I lean towards the table and push the assortment of cakes towards him, "you will not need to steal my sweeties today, ser."

I walk towards the window, turning my back on him, uncomfortable with the idea of the man seeing me in disarray. He is insensitive to this and follows after me. I move away, but he does not relent.

"You need not tend to me!" I snap, strands of gold sticking to wet cheeks. I brush my hair away and helplessly point to the table, "there is a box on your chair. Tend to it! I have no use of you."

Gwayne pulls his head back. The sentiment stung, but he decides not to take offence. He cannot, not with the red eyes staring back at him. He decides to walk off and head for his usual chair.

Sure enough, a smallish wooden box tied in a red velvet bow rests on the cushion. He sets it down on the table before seating himself. He turns to me then back at the box. He undoes the bow and opens it. He stares at it. His silence reads to me as disinterest.

"Gloves. Practical but stylish," I walk towards him. He turns to me as I pull the chair beside him. I sit down, taking one glove and the hand it belonged to.

Gwyane spares a moment to watch the red leather be slipped on him hand, the rest of his moments are spent observing the tear laced lashes before him.

After buttoning the glove in his wrist, he stretches his fingers, opening his closing his hand to test the fit. His eyes do not leave me as he does so, "it fits me perfectly."

"As it should," I say, reaching for the other, "I paid the artisan well for this."

He grabs my hand just before I can do that with his. I stare at the veins that run past his sleeves, "I am exhilarated by the knowledge the shape of my hands are known by you."

My lips part.

Had it been any other day, had the circumstances been different, I would have received that statement with offence, for it was one of clear mockery. Yet, with how his dimples vaguely made an appearance and how his lips pressed softly into a smile, it seemed... genuine.

And it seemed to make my heart skip.

I mutter, "I stole a pair of your gloves and had it fitted."

Gwayne chuckles.

My heart skips again.

"Clever girl," he releases my hand and removes the glove I put on him. He takes the ribbon on the table then turns to my hair, "red goes well with gold, wouldn't you agree?"

"... my hair is already made."

"You would be glad to know that I am skilled in unmaking it," he pulls my chair closer to him.

My body burns as he reaches for my curls. My hair was braided by the sides in a fashion I quite enjoyed; I did not enjoy the idea of him unmaking it.

"-just as I am skilled in braiding," Gwayne adds.

I knit my brows at the idea.

"Do not look so shocked," he chuckles, "my sister has as much hair as you, and I did not enjoy how it flew to my face when we were children."

Before I can speak, he grabs my shoulders and turns me away. He gathers my hair and my skin pricks at the feel of his fingers against my nape.

He is silent when he begins. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of his light touch.

"I would braid Alicent's hair when she wept as well."

My eyes open. Oh.

"Thankfully, it was not a frequent occurrence."

I turn to my skirt.

"I do not tell you this to press you for answers," he softly clarifies, "merely to express how I think it comforted my sister... and how I wish to do the same for you."

I do not reply. My lips wobble.

"I was instructed not to leave your side today and I do not wish to add to whatever offense that could bring a lioness to tears."

I silently wipe my face.

Gwayne says nothing more after this, not until he finished braiding my hair.

He rests the braid on my shoulder. I inspect it, seeing he incorporated the ribbon into the pleats and even managed to make a small bow at the bottom. I look up at him. He frowns and reaches for my cheek, wiping my tears.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, "my brother received an offer for my hand."

Gwayne stills.

"Well," I turn to the box on the table, "he received multiple."

He leans on his elbow. He smiles, though against himself, "we came to King's Landing to find you a match, did we not?"

"It seems my brother has other plans," I mutter, "apparently Tyland means to use me as leverage for the crown. He wishes to wed me to the Tyrells so that he can have a firmer hold on Highgarden. Jason does not know this. He was led to believe I was simply going to King's Landing to purchase new dresses."

A line forms between his brows, "I presume Jason found out about Tyland's plot."

"Yes. Jason writes that I should put my dresses to good use and entertain any suitors that come to me whilst I am in King's Landing."

He nods curtly. He sighs and shrugs, "why the tears then? Does the idea of entertaining men upset you so?"

"..."

"..."

"... Tyland reminded me of what happened last time when I had many suitors at my beck and call."

Gwayne clenches his teeth. He rests his hand in front of me, "I swear on my life that no one will come close enough to take advantage of you again."

His hand itches to reach out, but he instead goes for the cakes, dragging it in front of him. He shoves a chocolate cake into his mouth and chews.

I watch him lick his lips. He notices how I lick mine. He speaks through a mouth half-full, "do not think I will share simply because you are sad."

I snort and roll my eyes. Gwayne is relieved this was the reaction he garnered.

"I had enough cake from tasting them with Harwin yesterday."

He stops chewing.

I notice the frosting on the corner of his lips and wipe it with my thumb, "enjoy your cakes."

Gwayne is perfectly still.

"Happy nameday."

[chipsinsalsa]

Super excited for your next peeta/josh hutcherson fic! Hoping you can make more for his role of Josh Futturman!! Keep up the amazing work!! 💗

Missing You

Josh Futturman x Fem! Reader

Plot: What happens when you catch your boyfriend doing something he's not supposed to.

A/N: Changed it up a bit last minute and decided to write a Josh Fic based upon those steamy Gifs on here from Futureman! Thank you everyone for the support and interactions once again! I love it! I do apologize if fics come in late I am super busy with work but once summer roles around ill be free as a bird! Let me know if you want more like this :) <3 (sry for any typos)

contains: smut, switch Josh, catching in act,masturbation

It had been 5 long days since you had last been inside you and your boyfriend's apartment. 

You had gone to visit your mother who had gotten sick and had no one to take care of her. He couldn't come along as he was too busy working at his job as a Janitor. Which may not have been the best job but ultimately the building he worked for had a greater cause. 

But after your aunt flew in to take over, you managed to come back home in one peace.

 You knew Josh didn't get home from work until much much later so as soon as you came in you made yourself comfortable, throwing the luggage to the side and plopping yourself on the couch. 

As you sat there, you took a deep breath and looked around the apartment. Not much had changed except a few dirty dishes in the sink which you made a mental note to clean up before Josh came home.

So you decided to take a quick shower to freshen up after your long trip. 

Once you came out you wrapped a towel around your body making your way to your bedroom to change. But that's when you heard it, the sound of your name being called. 

You froze for a moment, unsure if you had really just imagined it or if it was actually real. You listened carefully, but there was no sound. That was until you took another step closer and heard your name again, clear and coming from a voice that sounded almost desperate to call you. 

Your heart rate began to increase as you realized it was indeed someone calling your name from the other side. 

You wrapped the towel tighter around your body and cautiously made your way toward the source of the sound. Both afraid and curious you slowly opened the door to your bedroom. 

That’s when you saw him, your boyfriend sitting on his gaming chair. His eyes closed, face lost in pleasure. You looked down and realized his hand was slowly stroking his cock as he called out for you. 

You gasped in shock and quickly backed away from the door, crossing your legs, feeling warmth in your core.

You were shocked he was home and maybe even a little offended that out of everything he could be doing he was pleasuring himself without considering waiting for you. But on the other hand, the sight of him had turned you on, and you couldn’t deny it.

You decided to open the door again.

Josh’s eyes flew open as he saw you, he quickly tried to cover himself up. He looked embarrassed, and you could see the flush in his cheeks.

“I-I I’m sorry,” he said, barely managing the words while looking at you with apologetic eyes. “I didn’t know you were home. I-I thought you were still at your mom’s.” He spoke panting.

“You must have not heard me shower then-” You said as you took in the sight.

“I couldn’t help myself, I-I missed you,” his face now blushing uncontrollably.

You took a step closer to him, letting the towel fall from your body. “You know” you whispered, as you walked over to him climbing onto his lap.

“Now that im here,” You spoke slowly pulling off the blanket he had covered himself with, exposing his throbbing cock.

He whined at the feeling of your hands grasping it. “What did you imagine me doing to you,”

He began to whimper uncontrollably as he bucked his hips into your hand desperate for friction. “I-I fuck,” He gasped unable to speak.

You smirked as you continued to stroke him, enjoying the control you had over him. “Tell me, Josh,” you whispered in his ear. “What do you want me to do to you?”

He moaned loudly, his hands grabbing your hips tightly. “Anything,” he said breathlessly. “Anything you want, just please don’t stop.”

You leaned in closer to him, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke.

“Anything?” you asked, your voice low and sultry. “You missed me that much?”

He nodded eagerly, his eyes filled with desire. “Yes,” he gasped. “P-Please, dont stop.”

You smiled wickedly as you continued to stroke him, enjoying the way he writhed beneath you. “Then promise me,” you said, still whispering in his ear.. “You won't ever touch yourself again without me.”

Josh’s eyes widened at your demand, but he didn’t hesitate in his response. “I promise, I’ll do anything, just keep going please,” He begged.

You chuckled softly at his desperation, enjoying the control you had over him.

Slowly, you leaned down and captured his lips in a heated kiss, your tongue tangling with his as you continued to stroke him. He moaned into your mouth, his body shaking with pleasure.

As you continued to kiss him, you could feel his hands beginning to roam. His hand moved up to your breast as his thumb rubbed your nipple. 

You broke the kiss looking at him with a stern look. "I didn't say you could touch me yet," you spoke firmly, your hand still wrapped around his cock. "You said we could do anything I wanted?" 

He looked you up and down his hands hovering over your body. “And you dont want me to touch you?” 

As much as you wanted to be dominant you gave so easily into his touch. He brushed his fingers down your stomach making his way to your warmth. You shivered grinding into him. “But your already so wet-” he said teasingly before stopping abruptly. "But I won't keep touching you until you let me-”

“You can-” You spoke now craving him more than ever.

Before you could finish your sentence, Josh's lips crashed onto yours, his hands finally finding their way to your body gripping at your thighs. You couldn't help but moan into his kiss as he explored every inch of you with his hands, driving you crazy with desire.

He picked you up off the chair and onto the bed laying you down.

As he broke the kiss, he looked at you running his hands through your curves. “Now I think it's my turn to get what I want-”

Josh grinned down at you, 

"And what is it that you want?" you asked, his hands still roaming your body.

"I want to be inside you," He spoke without hesitating, and he quickly positioned himself between your legs, and slowly began to insert himself into you. 

As he slid inside you, you moaned loudly, feeling his hardness filling you up completely. Josh began to thrust in and out of you, his movements becoming more frantic as he got closer to the edge. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him on as he picked up the pace, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Your hands roamed over his back, scratching at his skin as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building inside you, the sensations becoming almost too much to bear.

Josh's hands moved up to your breasts, squeezing and massaging them as he continued to thrust into you with increasing urgency “You dont know how much-” He spoke between thrusts. “I fucking wanted you-” 

You couldn't speak your mind lost in ecstasy. 

You moaned in response, the pleasure consuming you as Josh's movements became even more frantic.  

The sounds of your moans mixed with Josh's groans and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, creating an intense atmosphere of passion and desire. 

As Josh's thrusts became faster and more powerful, you felt yourself approaching the peak of pleasure. Your body shook with ecstasy as you reached the brink of orgasm, and with a final thrust, Josh pushed you over the edge.

You cried out in pleasure as the orgasm washed over you, your body convulsing with waves of pleasure. Josh continued to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm before finally reaching his own release. 

With a final moan, he collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat.  

He turned to you caressing your face as he covered your naked body. 

“As long as you dont leave me I promise to keep my hands away-”