#i read with the light and i know the husband changes but the beginning goes hard on the whole mother with a child she doesnt understand

[guideaus]

how do i wipe nana from my mind

[dulcewrites]

Fool Me Once (part 3)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: With the birth of your child looming, you and Aemond finally lay your cards on the table. A growing problem reaches a boiling point.

Warnings: more lying/manipulation (y’all know the drill by now), Aemond once again gaslighting, mentions of s*icide

A/N: it’s been such a fun time writing this. It is definitely different from most things I’ve written, so it have been a nice change. I’ve gotten so much support from it and I hope to keep making stuff you guys like. Also slight disclaimer that the way I write Alys is not really way I read her in the book. Much like Aemond in this. They both kind of suck lmao. I wanted this to be the last part but then I thought of more things so… we shall see how this goes 👍🏽. I wanted this chapter to be a build up to events in ep 8-10 mainly 9 and 10 of the show.

Fmo masterlist

You can’t remember the last time Aemond and you have had dinner, just the two of you. So, when he insisted you that you two do, you had a feeling it was about the talk Queen Alicent said she wanted to have with him. A private dinner with your husband would have been a dream moons ago.

Alicent did not make you privy to what they discussed. It only made you more weary. You know she is hurt and upset. But you also know she is more hurt that the son she propped up so much turned out to be just as unreliable as the man she made him with.

That is the painful part about love; the only place to go is down.

Nevertheless, his suffering is what you want; it does not matter if the ire stems from a place on genuine care for you. The uncomfortable nature in which he moves the castle makes the pain you have suffered a little bearable. It sounds deranged, but if you are to be trapped, he should be as well. You want him to wake with the same lump in his throat you do.

The letters had stopped. A constantly stream of communication abruptly ended. Lord Strong gave you a funny smile when he told you.

Ser Quinton rarely leaves your side when Aemond is around. He gave you a reluctant glance when you tell him about the dinner. While Aegon, already deep in his cups midday, tells you to keep a grip on your fervor.

The corridor was empty except for the two of you.

“I know how him and mother are,” he point his fingers at you emphatically. “They probably already concocted something to keep you quiet or make you look like the problem. Keep you…. Idle.”

Despite the slurring of his words, and clear bitterness towards the relationship Alicent and Aemond have, he may not be wrong. Alicent had already taken it upon herself to write to your father, suggesting he visits soon. She is proactive to a fault; her behavior simultaneously holding the Seven Kingdom together and enabling her family’s indecencies.

Everything can be hidden under the right tactics and false goodwill. You want to say she got that trait from her father, but you know it comes from years of being a woman in the Red Keep. From being the Queen.

The dinner begins uneventful. You wrinkle your nose at the meat pie in front of you. A dish you normally like making your stomach churn. It is hard not to feel sick or uncomfortable these days. You’re huge; feet swollen and belly protruding to a remarkable degree. The sheer thought of how big the babe will be plagues your mind most days.

It is unbearable having to engage in meaningless small talk with Aemond. Like he is insulting your intelligence by tip toeing around everything.

“Are you going to tell me why you wanted this dinner,” you want nothing more to leave his chambers and go take a bath.

“I think we need to talk.”

You can’t help but scoff at him. Aemond looks even more haunting in the dark lighting of room. Like the brutal knights the septas used to make you read about. He has a nasty look in his eye, like he wants a fight. You wonder if his Alys gets this look or if it just reserved for you. One special thing for his wife.

Despite all the formal swordsman training, Aemond plays dirty in personal affairs. Much like a feral cat backed into a corner. You’ve seen it to many times with Aegon. The only thing he responds to is equally cruel jabs.

“Yes dear husband,” you sigh out of boredom, rolling your neck.

His next words take you by surprise.

“Daella told me she is not excited about her egg hatching,” he huffs out. You stop rolling your neck, and blink blankly at him. The two of your stare at each other before you bark out a laugh.

“That is what this is about? You are pouting because a child is no longer enraptured by an egg.”

“It is not only about the egg, and you know it,” a nasty tone to match the look he gives you. “You fill her head with assumptions. You debase something that is her birthright. Something that is the birthright of her father, and her ancestors.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, if I disparaged the great Targaryen legacy or dragons in front of her it must have been a… mistake.”

You swear you see Aemond’s eye twitch a little at the word.

“Have you ever thought maybe it is not the dragons themselves, but the person she most associates them with?”

Daella’s change in behavior was notable. She never wanted to go to the dragon pit with her father, the few times she does work up the nerve to go it is always with her aunt to see Dreamfyre. She is no longer enthused to learn High Valyrian despite how quickly she picks it up.

You did try to keep your child out things, but kids are perceptive. The way from a young age Alicent kids picked on her strife with their father, maybe she picked up on yours with Aemond.

Aemond’s anger radiates off him. Once the truth finally comes out, the words begin to spill from your lips.

“And do not pretend this is just about Daella. That is an insult to her, and a waste of my time,” you lean forward, and lower your voice. “This about you losing your favor around here, and this about her.”

There is an uncomfortable hush comes over the room. The only sound is the crackling coming from the fireplace.

“She was pregnant,” it comes out like whisper. The spite that was laced through his voice is gone. All is left is confusion.

Your vision blurred red. There’s a painful twinge in your stomach, and you wince.

“What do mean was.”

There was always the possibility this could happen. As naive as it sounds, it was not a thought till ironically Aegon of all people brought it up. If anyone would know about possibly fathering bastards it would be him. Then he promptly told you that the two of you could hop on Sunfyre and burn her to a crisp. The offer that you quickly refused in the moment has never sounded so tempting now.

“I-I do not know where she is,” Aemond admits curtly. “One day she is telling me she is with child, and the next she’s…gone.”

He looks so small; his eye has a faraway look in it. It’s utterly pathetic. You never considered that a greater pain to him would be not only to be seen differently by his family, but also have to reason why he did it leave.

“So what now Aemond? She left you, and you want to just erase everything you have done. Pretend you care or love me,” you say coldly.

“No. I do not lo-“

He stops mid sentence, and an empty smile appears on your face. Neither of you have said it out loud but it is the plain truth.

“Go ahead and say it,” there is a deep pressure in your stomach that won’t go away. The pain only makes you even more upset. “Love requires respect. It requires give and take. You surely do not respect me, and all you ever do is take.”

Another twinge hits the underside of your belly. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, eyeing the door.

“You are not completely innocent in this,” your eyes go wide at his remark. “Do not give me that look. I see the way Ser Quinton looks at you. And now Alys is…”

He trails off. It is the first time you have heard him say her name out loud. Another surge of jealously runs through you. She is gone, and you are once again stuck with the carcass. Expected to uphold your end of the bargain while he frets over a child and mother that never should have been around to begin with.

You refuse to sit and let him turn the tables around on you. It is a struggle, but you manage to get up from the table, but only to have him rise and block your way.

“For someone who has such clear distain for my house. You sure do not hide your fire well… just like a dragon.” His eye flutter down to the scar on your arm, then back to your eyes. You see the blame in his.

“If I was that rash, or temperamental, your head would have been on a spike. Along with your whore’s,” you narrow your eyes. “And I would have made Ser Quinton sully his white cloak, because he would for me. Hells, I would have had your brother while I was at it. It’s not like he has not tried before.”

You are not sure you even want Ser Quinton in that way, let alone Aegon. Ser Quinton devotion is not something you know if you are willing to take that level. And Aegon’s cock has been in half the maidservants in the castle and most of the whores in Flea Bottom. Him wanting you is not special, it’s just Aegon being Aegon. But the deep look of rage in Aemond’s eye makes the statement all the more worth it.

You skirt past him quickly towards the door. His heavy footsteps behind you. Ser Quinton leaning against the wall opposite of the door does not surprise you.

“Are you alright,” he rushes over, concerned when you pause to in the hall and lean over in pain. His hand coming to rub your back.

“Oh well is this not sweet,” Aemond’s bitter tone cuts through the empty hall. “I can handle it from here Ser Quinton.”

Blood rushes to your ears, and you can barely hear the hushed disagreement that begins between the two. Your painful groans becoming background fader to their pissing match.

A familiar snap happens in the lower part of your abdomen, and a pool of liquid flows out of you. Both cease arguing, and you and Aemond share a knowing look.

“The babe is coming.”

Alaric Targaryen came into the world fast, and with a haughty disposition. As if he could tell the family dynamic he was coming into. His cries were piercing and sharp, matching the tears of relief you cried when he finally came out.

You had insisted to only have your lady in waiting and some septas in room, especially after the clear tension between Aemond and Quinton. Helaena and Alicent come in and out of the room sporadically, giving you words of encouragement and knowing glances at the pain you were in. Alicent had been shocked to see her son and Ser Quinton trying to get you back to chambers.

Lord Larys followed casually behind her. He gave that funny smile of his again. The smile he gives Queen Alicent when he thinks no one is watching… or maybe he hopes someone is watching.

She’s gone

Even while giving birth to your son, that woman plagued your thoughts. Aemond could be right; you two have more in common than you like. Bewitched by the same woman.

It took everything in you to look up when Aemond finally came into the room. Acknowledging his presence met remembering how he is half of Alaric. How so much of you belongs to Aemond. You live in his home, dress in his colors, your children will be in the history books as Targaryen’s. He will have ownership over your boy after calling him a mistake. No matter how much you try, you will be remembered as his wife.

If that fact did not make you sick enough. Alicent’s next words did the trick.

“Oh, he looks like how Aemond did when he was a babe.”

You look down at him in your arms. While Daella was a combination of Aemond and you, her brother is every bit of his father. Small tuff of straight blonde hair, lips town turned in a scowl. You did not know a babe could look so refined especially after just being born. The only resembles to yourself you see in his in his big glassy eyes looking up at you.

There’s an energy that gets sucked out you when Alicent hands him to Aemond. She sees the weary look on your face.

Opposed to the elation you felt after having Daella. Dread creeps in; dread that comes from a place of sadness and protectiveness. All you have is your children. Even with the bonds and alliances you may have made, only they are extensions of you. Daella, your sweet girl, a reminder of what could of been. You have Alaric, the flesh and blood reflection of what you have been through.

“Have you two thought of a name,” Alicent asks. Before Aemond, who is still looking down can answer, you beat him to it.

“Alaric. Ser Quinton told the sweetest story about a knight he admired as a child. I thought it would be fitting.”

Alicent’s brows raise but she does nothing but nod. “Handsome name for a handsome boy.”

Aemomd does not say anything about the name. He just quietly hums a melody when Alaric starts to fuss. He turns his back to you as he bounces him in his arms.

All you have is your children

All you have is your children

When you think about a sword to the throat. You don’t know which situation would be more satisfying. One to his or one to yours.

“I am sure you were… relieved to hear about your problem being gone.”

You do not see Lord Larys again till weeks after Alaric is born. The day of a feast Alicent insisted you have to celebrate his birth. Your father and mother writing you that they can not wait to see their second grandchild.

While Daella was a fussy, energetic baby, all Aleric does is sleep and eat. He stares at you with curious eyes. Always taking in the scene around him. He lays sweetly crib next to your bed. After his birth, you were all but forced to move back into the one you shared with Aemond.

“Do you know what happened to her,” it’s been on your mind for since Aemond uttered those words.

Larys tilts his head to the side with a wry look. “You and I both know it is hard to place the whims of a difficult woman, especially a supposed magical one.”

You know he is not just talking about Alys.

She is out there, possibly with Targaryen blood in her and no one knows where is. It does not make any sense. Larys can read the skepticism all over your face.

“It is quite suspicious, witch or not. A bastard woman with no means or worth to her name, gone in an instant. And right after the truth comes out within the family. Right after the Queen and the Prince talk.”

He gives you no help, only more questions. Makes you more suspicious of those you have to call family. In this moment you hate the way he speaks in riddles. He never states things plainly till he is ready to. As if he expects you to do something before he can reveal anymore.

“But look on the bright side princess, your family will be back at court soon enough.”

Alaric begins to coo, as if he trying to tell you something.

“Well, thank you for your time, Lord Larys,” you give him a fake smile. “I should start getting ready.”

Your lady in waiting, Jayne, comes in once Larys finally leaves.

“I quite like this one princess,” she holds up a green and black dress. It is old dress of Alicent’s, one she gave you when you first married Aemond.

A flash of satiny purple in the back of you wardrobe catches your eye. A smile appears on your face. It may be a bit snug as you have two children since wearing it but it worth the try.

“I think I might want to try something a bit different Jayne.”

Your father used to tell you that the strongest flowers grow even when there is little sun. In conjunction, your mother told you that flowers are meant to be admired. Prettiest ones will often be picked and disregarded when a new bloom happens. Wilting was never an option for you in their mind.

You are their lower. Planted, watered, and urged to grow. Even in the deep darkness that is King’s Landing. The darkness they said was critical to helping your house.

The looks you get when you walk into the Godswood, head high in your deep violet dress only spurs you on when in other times it would make you want to hide. Daella and Alaric both in darling lavender outfits. You three stand out against the various muted greens, blues, and greys amongst you. Except for the few specs of purple that you see on the side wooded area.

“My dear girl,” your father’s hug makes you want to cry. Seeing your parents put into perspective how young you feel… how young you are.

Already married, mother of two, and all you want is your parents to hug you and tell you everything will be ok. When your father pulls you to the side and asks you about the letter Queen Alicent sent him, you are surprised to hear what she put in it.

“She said you are having a hard time,” he runs his hand over your arm. “That it is affecting your marriage.”

It should not surprise you she failed to mention her son’s cheating. But the onus being placed on you only proves what you already felt. They will protect their own, so you must protect yours.

Before you can muster up an answer, an anxious looking maidservant comes over with Jayne in tow.

“My Lady, I am sorry to interrupt. I went back to grab Alaric’s sweater. I saw something you may want to see; it was left it your chambers.”

Your eyes go to a box Jayne is carrying.

You must hold back a scream when you open the box and see Alaric’s favorite blanket, the one always in his crib, soaked in blood.

You frantically look over to the opposite side of the garden, your mother happily holding Alaric, Daella by her side. You look over to catch Aemond and Alicent giving you a questioning looks from across the Godswood.

As your vision blurs, you notice box had a tripartite of pale blue, red, and green on it.

“Jayne, please go fetch me Lord Larys and Ser Quinton.”

All you have is your children

Tag list: ok I’m sooo sorry to anyone who does not get a tag. I swear I am not ignoring you. I am only allowed to do 50 which is so annoying bc I want to tag everyone that was kind enough to support and ask. Also sometimes tumblr won’t let me tag certain people idk. If y’all know a better way please let me know, so I can try it ❤️❤️.

@simp-is-what-i-am @rey26 @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @crispmarshmallow @dc-marvel-girl96 @stargaryenx @b00kdiary @grey-water-colors @neenieweenie @iwanttohitmyself @helloitsshitzulover @lazypinkpig @shisuchiha @leoramage @viperixsworld @luvremlu @this-is-a-bad-idea @landlockedmermaid77 @inpraizeof @blacpiink @carriellie @s0urmarvel @blackravena @bregarc @hvx @let-love-bleeds-red @fangirls94 @v7nt7 @m1ndbrand @highexpectationsgurl @m1tzifa1ry @spaceslutty @elleclairez @kitkat-writes-stuff @paprikaquinn @widemiffyhappy @poisonedsultana @what-is-your-wish @lilliansstuff @rebelfleur22 @aloneatpeace @alastorhazbin @alexa4040 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ensolleildelune @clora95 @yu3kkii @mischiefmanaged2 @its-sam-allgood @papery-maniac

[himegureisu]

Father

Summary: Your period is late and that may mean one thing.

Author's Rambles: I have a job interview tomorrow morning and I'm procrastinating. This fic was supposed to be for June but I can't wait that long.

Pairing: Severus Snape x Female Reader

Warning: Pregnancy.

——————————— 🪄———————————

In the grand scheme of your life, there were three constants. Your husband, Severus, your job at the Ministry, and your period. Every month, on the second week, it arrives without fail until it didn’t.

In the beginning, you didn’t notice. Caught up in the routine of daily life, its’ absence is blissfully forgotten. Especially since every woman could do without the pain once in a while.

However, as days turned into weeks, your stash of products remained untouched in the bathroom cupboards, and the surplus reminds you of your monthly visitor missing in action. There could only be one reason but…

You could be wrong.

It could be stress from work or the constant time zone changes that affect your body. Yet, the overwhelming fatigue, the cramps, and the light spotting at what should be that time of the month were signs you couldn’t ignore.

In his Potions’ storage, you gather the necessary ingredients for the gravidity draught and head towards his vacant classroom. Your heart pounds beneath your chest as you walk through the halls mindlessly greeting the students that passed.

On his table, you lay the ingredients down following the steps in the tome, carefully measuring each one before adding them to the cauldron. Its’ color slowly changes as it brews. Your thoughts are overwhelmed by the possibility that you nearly jump at the sound of his voice.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes narrow in suspicion, as he approaches the table, “Hm?”

“I’m making a Potion,” you mumble, unable to look him in the eye as you stir, as he muttered, “Obviously,”

“That begs the question, what are you making?”

“I’m certain you can make an educated guess from the ingredients I retrieved from your stores,”

His eyes meticulously roam over the herbs and extracts of creatures spread out in order of the steps the potion would be brewn. His sharp intake of breath after a minute or so tells you he’s deduced it.

“Let me,” he steps in front of you, taking the ladle from your trembling hands, as you step back and watch, “You didn’t call for me,”

“Sev,” you whisper, he huffs, as you wind your arms around his torso, “I was going to after…”

His hands deftly transfer the amount of liquid you need in your vial, the remainder needed to determine your condition, as you step up beside him. His face was incomprehensible, the first since your marriage that you couldn’t get a read on him.

“Unacceptable,” he simply said, “In hardship and in triumph, in sickness and in health, in every step of the way, I will be with you. From this day until the end, come what may, I am yours. ”

Your breath hitched at his deep voice professing those vows you exchanged years before. His eyes meet yours when you look up and stand by his side.

“You will never be alone whatever the outcome,” he professes, placing a gentle kiss on your left hand where your rings rest, and holding it as he takes the vial from the rack to offer it to you, “I promised,”

“I love you, so much,” you try to hold back tears as you take the vial in one hand, and grip his on the other, “Here goes,”

In a gulp, you drink the liquid and grimace at the awful taste.

“It takes two minutes,” he murmurs, taking you in an embrace, as you both stare at the other vial in the rack, “The color should change to green if it’s positive and red if it’s negative. If it’s yellow, it is too early to tell,”

“Can we turn around?” you ask anxiously, he complies as you turn to face the wall, and from there you start to ramble, “I know you’re not fond of children and I know we said we’d think about this when we get here and…”

“I’m not fond of children,” he does say, and your heart nearly breaks into a million pieces there, “But, they’re not ours and I wouldn’t truly know if we didn’t have one, no?”

“You’re okay if it’s positive?” your voice quivers, as he cups your cheeks and nudges you to look at him, “Or if it’s negative?”

“I wouldn’t mind a little girl that looks just like her mother,” he admits, and pulls you in, trying to resist the urge to sneak a glance, “Or a boy would be fortunate to inherit your nose. However, should it be negative we can stop contraception and leave it to fate,”

“Okay, is it time?” you nervously ask, he briefly glances at the clock at the end of the room and nods, and you compromise, “On the count of three, we turn around together,”

On one, you hold his hand tight. Two, has him squeeze back reassuringly. Three, has you both turning around to face the potion that would change the course of your lives forever.

Green. Positive.

“Oh my god,” your tears finally fall in a mixture of disbelief, joy, and fear. “Oh my god, Sev!”

There was a lone tear that glistened on Severus’ cheek.

His thoughts were a jumble ever since a student informed him that you were alone and making a potion in his classroom. His feelings were hurt because you didn’t confide in him of your suspicions. Especially considering the gravity of its implications, however, it seems he made the right choice by going to you.

“We’re going to be parents,” he whispers.

He never thought he would be. He never thought there would be anyone after Lily. He never thought he’d meet you. He never thought you’d return his love. But here you were together, years later after that fated day.

It was a whirlwind of emotions, but he couldn’t deny the joy and excitement at the thought that a manifestation of your love for each other would arrive in nine months.

“Severus?” you wipe the tear marks away, but he didn’t answer, “Sev —”

His arms hoist you up the free space on the edge of his table and he stands between your legs. His right hand rests on top of your lower abdomen lightly caressing the nonexistent bump.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, his heart near bursting, as you smiled, “I never thought I could be this happy.”

“I never thought I could be too,” you say, his eyes twinkling in happiness, but your stomach grumbled in hunger, “How about we go get a late lunch, Papa?”

Papa.

“Anything for you two,”

[killxio]

dinner and dessert | e. yaeger

word count: 1,150 [4 min 10 sec read] | ✪ content warning: porn w a plot, medium-slow burn (?), p in v sex, semi-self aware cringe writer, missionary, creaming, creampie

eren x black!latina!reader / afrolatina!reader

✭ eren appreciating his sweet lil’ wife

your girl ever put down a plate of food so good you just have to take her soul? eren knows what that’s like.

he had that happen today, when he walked in after a long day of work to a plate of hot honey tenders with a side of mac and cheese and hand squeezed lemonade.

his beautiful wife, y/n, having just wiped her hands on her apron smiled when she caught his gaze.

“welcome home papi. yo cocinado para ti.”

he’s learning spanish but didn’t bother to listen to the second part, completely zoned out with his focus on her lightly glossed brown lips moving, smiling at him.

“‘rennie? i have a hot meal infront of you and you’re just staring at me?”

“‘cause i can’t tell what’s sexier. you or that plate of food.”

she bursts into the most beautiful giggles he’s ever heard and he can’t help but return the smile she’s beaming. everyday he comes home and is reminded to just how good of a catch he made, how stunning and amazing his wife truly is.

and so, over some RnB, she and eren sit for dinner. she has her legs to her chest in the dining room chair, pedicured toes and anklet resting comfortably. she waits, satisfied at the sight of her husband filling his stomach, until he’s ready to eat her up too.

——

“the only thing i can feed you that’s better than that food is this dick, even then it still might not compare.” he compliments in between neck kisses, you playfully swat him away and cower away into the bed. eren has since taken his shirt off and changed into a pair of shorts, you two deciding on movie and a glass of wine for yourself.

a glass of wine that you're close to spilling if he doesn't lighten up on the smothering.

"eren jaeger! these are white sheets! compartas y sientate!" you scold, still giggling, swatting at his bicep.

eren scoffs at your tone and moves lower on your neck, from the spot that makes you giggle to the one that makes you moan. and you'll be damned if you break your favorite wine glass.

"eren. let me- ahh- let me put down the glass. or i'll have you buy me twelve." he takes the glass, sitting it down on the nightstand himself while his other hand pulls you down the bed a little bit. he's leaning over you, dragging his kisses from your lower neck to your shoulder blades while his hands travel under your satin pajama shirt. his kisses are sloppy and you can hear the smack of his lips everytime he comes up to go elsewhere.

"thank you, my love, for the food." he says, finally using his lips for things other than trying to suck your skin off. he pulls up your shirt to reveal your breasts, nipples hard and at attention for him.

"mmm," you purr out at the sensation of his tounge dragging over your nipples, licking and sucking passionately. your hand goes up to his sloppily done bun, gently scratching at the back of his neck in a silent praise. through his own light moans, his green eyes focus on yours. the eye contact drives you crazy, he keeps it no matter what he’s doing, switching from kisses to licks or sucking.

“reeeeenn. ren bebe please,” you plead, beginning to grind your hips onto his thigh.

“you want something, princess?”

“yeah. you.” you flash him a smile that makes his dick throb, clearly feeling the wine with that smooth response.

it triggered something in him, if he wasn’t on a mission to break your pussy in before he was now.

in an instant, he’s between your thighs and ravaging at you. you can’t tell if that’s his spit or your pre running down your slit— probably a mix of both, but he digs in like you didn’t just feed him one of the best meals of his life. his tongue switches between moving your bud in circles, and placing deep kisses up and down your pussy. if there was a way to give a pussy hickies, yours would be littered with them.

his shoulders are flexing under the dimmed lighting of the moon and the tv long forgotten, drowned out by your moans. years of eating you out has perfected his science to a t, so needless to say the sucking sounds he’s coerced from your dripping cunt are beyond sinful.

“i don’t think you’ll ever know how fucking hard your pretty sounds make me.”

“mmmmm.. s-show me instead?” you ask rhetorically, rolling your hips into his face.

he pulls away to sit up, tugging off his black boxers to reveal his cock, standing hard at your attention. you spread your legs to allow him space between, and eagerly stroke him after he’s lined himself up with your entrance. the precum coating his dick gathers around your manicured fingers and the web between your thumb and pointer with each pump. he stops your movements and while he pushes himself into your cunt, he licks it all straight off, circling his tongue around your wedding ring. both sensations make you cry out.

and while he starts off slow, his pace never gets too fast but it’s still rough, making sure he hits your g-spot with every thrust and dragging the apparent vein of his cock along your walls. the one that splits in two from the middle to the left of his shaft that you’ve dragged your tongue up and down so many times.

“papi.. oh s-shit please..”

the feeling leaves your hands scrambling to ground you, and eren can’t help but find it adorable how you loose it no matter how many times he fucks you.

“calm down princess. you’re too tight, don’t end this too quick now. relax.” he commands, his hips stuttering slightly.

“c-cannn’t ren, hhhhn,” you voice over the wet squelch of eren driving his cock in, knocking into your walls harshly, and slowwwwly back out.

plop, slap, plop, slap, as the squelching sound of him entering you and then the rough slam of his hips once he was almost all the way in interchange. soon, your eyes rolled back as you barely mentioned something about cumming at your husband.

“cmon baby, cum for me.”

your orgasm sent your back flying up off the mattress, arching you towards him. the sensation of you contracting around him while you creamed and cried out sent him over the edge,

eren’s letting the most desperate groans out right into your ear as he empties his cock in you. the load spurting quickly then oozing from his tip as he slows his thrusts to a shop, eyes screwed shut while he holds your hips down on his dick.

all is still as you catch your breaths until,

“now roll over and arch for me princess.”

[pinkykats-place]

Aemond Targaryen x Reader Insert Fics

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

The stories linked are NOT mine.

Some contain mature content.

Mostly female readers.

Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!

In the beginning

aemond x targaryen!reader, reader is rhaenyra and laenor second born child

Summary: in a final attempt to salvage the rift between your families, you suggest a marriage pact between you and and Alicent’s second son

starry eyes sparking up my darkest night

aemond x female!tyrell!reader

Summary: Aemond has only wanted two things in his life. a dragon and to marry the pretty tyrell girl, now he has both.

warnings: smut, literally almost all smut very little plot, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), creampie, breeding kink, light innocence kink, light size kink, use of pet names, blood is mentioned two (2) times, aemond has a huge cock i don’t make the rules, and breeder balls, eye patch gets taken OFF when aemond fucks his lady wife, implied jealousy, implied voyeurism

Touch Starved Aemond

Summary: touch starved aemond aka aemond slowly falling in love with his betrothed by her gentle touches he was deprived of all his life

In the Eye of the Beholder

Summary: Compared to his elder brother, who abused the offerings on the Street of Silk, Aemond’s tastes have always been…tame. 

Can't help falling in love

Summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

Secret Visits

aemond x female!targaryen!reader

Summary: you are aemond's little sister and he visits you in your room after dinner (smut)

To Have and to Hold

Aemond Targaryen x F!Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

Summary: Reader goes to Storm's End with her younger brother and instead of asking for Lucerys' eye, Aemond claims her as his wife.

Ties That Bind

Aemond Targaryen X cousin!Reader

SUMMARY: After spending most of your childhood in the Red Keep, it’s hard to let go of the bonds you’ve formed even with war on the horizon.

The Woes of Betrothals

Synopsis: Recently betrothed, Prince Aemond is unsure on the virtues befitting that of a good husband. Ser Criston offers some surprisingly useful insight. 

Of Flowers & Dragons

Aemond x wife!Reader

Summary: Your daughter wants a sibling and makes it everyone’s problem.

mad blood stirring

Aemond x betrothed!f!Reader

(inspired by the scene in s1e5 where harwin rescues rhaenyra during the wedding feast)

Urgency (smut)

Aemond x afab!Reader

Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures

Mother Knows No Bounds

Aemond x wife!Reader

prompt: you are Rhaenyra's daughter, married to Prince Aemond, and the subject of Alicent's hatred. one day, she takes it too far.

Servant

Aemond x fem!maid!Reader

“I want you to watch me”

HC: Touchy reader

Little Dragon

Aemond x wife!Tully!Reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest

Your beauty never scared me

Look after you

Summary: You were betrothed to Aemond Targaryen, and while the two of you got along well enough, you hardly behaved as man and wife. After you suffer a great loss, Aemond decides to change that. (Hurt/Comfort)

A Balm

Aemond x wife!Reader

Summary: You assist Aemond in something and it brings you closer.

Series: The Dragon and The Wolf

Aemond x fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: As the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell you knew your duty would arrive soon. When your father informs you of who you will wed you are most surprised and nervous.

holy/unholy

Summary: Aemond has become enamoured by a whore of the Street of Silk.

Series: Paramour

Aemond x fem!Targaryen!Reader

Summary: When the succession of the Driftmark throne is put into question, Rhaenyra returns to the RedKeep along with her children, her husband Daemon and his daughter by the late lady Rhea, Y/N Targaryen, who is once again reunited with her childhood friend Aemond who she had grown distant with over the years.

Not a child anymore

Prince Aemond Targaryen x older!fem!Reader

SUMMARY — You are Queen Alicent’s favourite young lady in waiting and Prince Aemond’s childhood friend. However, he is sick and tired of you viewing him as nothing but a child when he is a man now and he will not let anyone else have you.

Just A Touch

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: During a ball made to celebrate the name day of King Viserys, Aemond falls in love with Daemon's first daughter, and he is eager to dance with her.

Gold Rush

Aemond x Lannister!Reader

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x newlywed!reader

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Dear Husband

Summary: It’s been a month since you’ve been wedded to Prince Aemond and he has yet to consummate your marriage. Fed up with waiting, you seek him out and prepare to seduce your own husband.

Citrus

Aemond x fem!Dornish!Reader

Chamber Maid

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Series: When Pride Married Prejudice

Aemond Taargaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

summary: she is the (only) trueborn daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lord Laenor Velaryon. after her younger brother, Lucerys, slices out the eye of their uncle, Aemond Targaryen, her hand is offered as payment to keep the peace. though unexpected, she finds herself in a loving marriage, until devastating news forces her to make an impossible choice.

AU

Pomegranate Seeds

Hades!Aemond x Persephone!Reader

Summary: a retelling of the abduction of Persephone

Into my arms

Modern!Aemond x fem!Reader

Summary: You're dating Aegon, the womanizer and party boy, when his brother Aemond, the more reserved and shy one, falls in love with you.

[desidarling123]

Summary: Toph and Sokka become unexpected partners for a top-secret undercover mission. Their cover is that of a newlywed couple -- but as the mission drags on, the line between fact and fantasy start to blur for these longtime friends...

A/N: The premise just tickled me, so I wrote a small scene from the larger story I imagine. Could I write the full thing out? Yes, probably. Will I actually, given how busy I am recently? Not sure.

READ NOW ON AO3 or below the cut :)

They've been at this shitty little hole-in-the-wall bar for what feels like hours, now, hashing out all the details they need for their joint cover story: where this couple met, how they got together. Their dreams, their ambitions, and their plans: past, present, and future.

They keep the details similar enough to their own to remember, but with just enough changed that they won’t reveal their true identities on accident.

And it's just as they're close to winding up that Sokka finally works up the nerve to spring it on her.

“We should kiss,” he says, trying for casual and unaffected, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Toph smiles and finishes off the last of her drink, like he's just told her a joke. 

“Heh. Good one, Sokka.”

“No, I'm being serious,” he insists, and although he knows she can't see him, he fixes her with a serious stare, anyways, as if he can somehow convey the gravity of the matter to her that way. 

She must sense the genuine shift in his tone, because she looks flustered, then. Well, as flustered as he’s ever seen her, and she’s hard to rattle to begin with.

“Why ?” she says, voice pitched low.

“Well,” he explains, “I don't want to look surprised the first time it happens in public.”

“Who’s to say it ever will?” she counters, and there’s an unusual hardness in her voice, one he’s never heard from her before.

“Really, Toph?” he says. “You know far better than I do how unpredictable these things get.”

She sits back in her seat from across him, slumping ever-so-slightly as she mulls it over. In the low, warm light, which glints against her metal armor, he’s struck by how authoritative she looks, despite it.

“Fine,” she says at last. “But it should be you kissing me, not the other way around.”

Now it’s his turn to be confused.

“Why ?”

“Because,” she says tightly, “my assumed cover is a blind woman who doesn’t have seismic sense. If I initiate a kiss, it could tip someone off. I don’t have the benefit of a low profile, these days.”

“Besides,” she finishes, “I don’t want to have to pretend to feel for your face before I kiss you. That would look objectively ridiculous.”

Sokka finds he can’t argue with that. Though he’d kind of been hoping she’d be the one to take the lead, here.

But it’s fine. It’s not weird. It won’t be weird.

“Go ahead,” Toph says, and despite the brusque tone, he knows this is the best he could expect.

So he goes for it. Sokka stands up and leans over the table. Lets one feather-light hand push the dark hair out of her face before he puts his hand on her cheek and guides her mouth to his.

It’s somehow both unnatural and yet also the most natural thing in the world, to kiss his best friend of over a decade. 

She doesn’t kiss him back, per se, but that’s not really a surprise. He pushes past that and kisses her the way her ‘husband’ would: gently but firmly, a hint of familiarity beneath it all. Takes note of the little things, in the moment: the way her lips are slightly chapped against his, the fact that she tastes faintly of the lychee beer she’d just finished off.

He pulls away a beat later.

The moment is over just as it started -- abruptly. He sits back down in his chair.

She nods once, leans back again. He notices, absently, that her arms are still crossed on the table. 

“Okay, got it,” is all she says. He’s passed this little test of hers.

Sokka exhales, then. Takes a swig of his own bottle, briefly abandoned on the table’s far corner.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “do you think you can pretend to like that?”

Her tongue darts out, tracing out her lower lip briefly, and if he watches her a beat too long, well, she’s none the wiser.

“Yeah,” she says simply. “I think I can.”

[mochalate]

[3] precipice ; porco galliard (2/2)

pairing: porco galliard/f!reader  chapter word count: 24.6 k  chapter content/warnings: secret meetings in the dark, crushing on your bf/gf, porco's scandalous sexual history, some angsting about marcel, girls' night out  chapter summary: The most precious secrets are the ones that are the hardest to keep. a/n: this is overdue, isn't it? 🤭🤭posting as two parts because I learned tumblr has a post length limit!! As always, please let me know what you think, I love hearing from my fellow galliard girlies. <3 Read on AO3? || See Series Masterlist? [<-Chapter 3 (1/2)][Chapter 4->]

The old woman gives Porco his change. The coins are cold against his palm, from sitting near her ice chest. He doesn’t like how they jingle in his pockets with every step; and he plans to give them to the children, once he gets back to them.

“Just the one, dearie?” she asks, in her quakey voice.

Porco nods.

Her husband hands him the ice cream cone wrapped in tissue. He says something too, but the man doesn’t have enough teeth left for Porco to make out the words.

“Thank you,” he replies, hoping it’s appropriate. “It’s good to see you two as well.”

It’s a pleasantly warm afternoon, but they’re both bundled up in matching brown coats. Pigeons flock at their feet, pecking at the breadcrumbs they’ve scattered around. They’re sitting on one of the wooden benches under the elms that line the path through the park. Mottled light filters through the drying, thinning leaves in large patches— Liberio is entering autumn. It's fairly crowded, with people wanting to enjoy the cooler weather.

(It’s a nice day, for once.)

The old woman— Porco doesn’t know her name, but she’s been here for as long as he can remember— gives him a wry smile. “He asked if you wanted spoons, to share with your lady friend.”

Porco swallows. “It’s not like that. We’re— we’re colleagues.” He can feel the chill emanating from the ice cream against the sudden, anxious warmth on his skin.

“That’s what I told him!” She smacks the man across his upper arm. “No armband on her! She’s one of us, you old lout. Don’t you go getting this poor boy in trouble.”

Her husband chuckles.

Porco thanks them again, and begins walking back; but the exchange has his nerves on edge. Was he being careless? Was this too dangerous? This was a mistake. It was selfish of him to ask you to come here, out in the daylight.

The carpet of red and yellow leaves crunches under his boots. He sees you alone on the bench. Your uniform is stark white against the muted, earthy colours around you. Just a nurse; spending her lunch break out in the only green patch for miles around.

You’re watching the children play. They’ve somehow roped Colt into their game while Porco was gone, and he’s chasing them across the grass.

“Po— Galliard,” you greet him pleasantly as he comes up.

Right. You’re a nurse from the hospital nearby, and he’s Galliard. It couldn’t be any other way, not out here; no matter how much he felt otherwise when he looked at you. He’s stupid to have forgotten that. He’s stupid to have forced you into it.

Porco hands you the cone, and pulls his hand back even though he wants to let his fingers linger against yours for a little longer.

“For me?” you ask, pleased. “I was wondering what was taking you so long. Thank you!”

The delight on your face makes him guilty, somehow. “You didn’t get any for yourself earlier.”

You lick the ice cream. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to. All their customers were…”

“Eldian,” he completes. He swallows back a sigh, and goes to lean against the tree behind the bench. Stupid.

You turn to look at him with a sad smile. “You can’t sit with me, can you?”

“It’s not a good idea,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault.” You tell him, turning back.

This is a public park, and it’s one of the handful of areas outside the internment zone that’s open to Liberio’s Eldian population— upon obtaining permission from the relevant authorities, of course. And still, the two peoples separate like oil and water. The path that runs through the middle of the park is a boundary. You’re allowed to be here, but on this side— the Eldian side— you’re an oddity.

(Of course, no one on this side dares say anything about it. But they do stay away; and none of the other children join in with the candidates’ game.)

“You and Colt seemed friendly with that old couple,” you comment, still looking ahead. “Who are they? They weren’t wearing armbands.”

The old Marleyan couple has been here since before he was born, and he's sure they'll be here long after he's gone. “Their son was in the military,” he explains. “An Eldian saved his ass thirty years ago, and carried him back behind the lines after he lost his legs to a landmine.”

“That's terrible.”

“Well, he survived. And now he runs an ice cream shop, so mom and dad express their gratitude by bringing some over every weekend for the Eldian kids.”

You sound impressed. “They've been doing it for thirty years?”

“Give or take. We don’t buy anything from the regular shops because…” He trails off. Because, there’s a good chance they would add rat poison to the sprinkles— but he doesn’t want to tell you that.

He doesn’t have to continue though, since Colt chooses this moment to trip and fall teeth first into the grass.

(Again, Porco thinks in disbelief. Good luck for everyone but himself.)

Colt picks himself up but stays on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. You gasp out a soft ‘oh no’. The children worriedly look at each other, suddenly silent, and cautiously approach him.

You're trying to hurriedly hand Porco your cone to go check on him when Colt explodes upwards, and tackles Falco to the ground with a triumphant cry. The other three shriek and scatter.

Porco watches you laugh, sitting back down with your arm resting across the back of the bench. He watches the ice cream melt, beginning to run down your fingers. Something squeezes his heart. He really does want to hold your hand.

“Hey,” he says. “My throat’s been kind of sore.”

You scrunch your eyebrows as you look up at him. The dappled sunlight shines across your face. “Warm water will—”

“I think I'm going to go get it checked at the hospital before I head home.”

Your frown deepens in confusion before understanding dawns. “Oh! Oh, you could do that. Yes.”

“I'm going to tell Colt I'm leaving. You're uh, you're probably heading to your shift after you finish eating, right?”

You nod, incredibly seriously.

And so Porco finds himself, about twenty minutes later, at the reception counter in Liberio General’s marbled foyer. The nurse on duty is a small woman, with her black hair in a wavy— almost curly— bob. She’s standing; but she’s short enough that her shoulders barely clear the tall counter. The way she’s staring at him is unnerving.

It’s because she’s staring at him, Porco realises. Not at the armband.

“Uhm…” he says, because the silence has stretched on for a fair bit now. “Like I said, I wanted to see our regular nurse but she wasn’t at—”

She blinks at him. Her eyes are large and round. “You look fine. Really fine. Wow.”

Porco blinks back. “... thank you? But I—”

“Were you really going to die, or would you have been fine anyway if they just let you steam in the corner for a bit?”

Porco thinks he should probably be offended by this, but there isn’t even a hint of malice in her words— which is impressive, because those were hard words to say without malice. And honestly, with that uniform, she reminds him of you; just a little. So he decides to engage with her.

“…Are you talking about back in the Mid-East? Were you there?”

“I wasn’t with you, but I was there.” She leans closer. “So, were you? Going to die.”

“I was bleeding pretty bad. Probably would have.”

“Wow. I wish I could heal like you.” She pulls back her sleeve, and shows him a long, thin burn on her forearm. “Got this from a pot. It’s so ugly.”

“It’s not that bad,” Porco assures her. It really isn’t. “Can I see my usual nurse? Her name is—”

“I know who your nurse is. She’s not here yet, though. What seems to be the problem?”

He doesn’t think he can get away with a sore throat. “My, uh, eye hurts. And sometimes I see spots. Big ones.”

She frowns. “And it won't heal itself? It sounds like you need a doctor, not a nurse. I can make you an appointment—”

“No! She… she needs to get me a referral. I’m uh, military property, after all. Can’t go around making my own appointments.”

“Oh, is that how it works? That’s inconvenient.” She sounds genuinely sympathetic.

Porco almost feels bad for the blatant lie. “It is.”

“Hmm. But she’s not here yet.” The nurse thoughtfully taps her chin. “If it hurts real bad, I can get a surgeon to smash your skull in and then we can wait for the whole thing to reset. That should fix it.” She looks pleased with this idea. “I don’t think we need a surgeon for it at all! You wouldn’t even have to wait.”

Porco’s mouth falls open. “Helos, lady. You know I can still feel the pain, right?”

“You can?” She looks shocked. “Oh my. That’s inconvenient.”

“…It is.”

Porco’s almost ready to go and take his chances back at the park; when you pop into his vision, a little breathless.

“Hi, Hannah.” you say to the nurse at the counter.

She chirps back a greeting. “You’re breathing hard. Did you run here or something?”

“Thought I’d be late.” Then you turn to Porco, biting your lip. He thinks he can hear a barely-suppressed giggle in your voice. “What are you doing here, Galliard?”

The nurse at the counter— Hannah, she seems to be your friend, so he tells himself to remember her name— tells you about his eye.

“Ah, it is an immune privileged site,” you tell her. “It makes sense.”

“Oh, it does! Why didn’t I think of that?” Hannah gasps. “Will we really have to smash in his skull to fix it after all?”

You look stunned, and more than a little concerned. “Why are we— ? Hannah, did you tell him we’d do that?”

“It was just a suggestion,” she says sheepishly. “Look, lunch is almost over, but why don’t you go have a look at him in exam room three? That’s Dr. Klein’s today, and he’s always late. There’s time.”

“Dr. Klein…” you mutter. “Thanks, Hannah. I’ll do that before clocking in then, okay?”

You barely wait for her to answer, before giving his sleeve a tug— his heart skips a beat— and leading him out of the foyer. The examination room is only a short distance down the corridor. You hold the door open for him to follow you inside.

This room is far more spacious than number sixteen. It’s about half the size of the clinic. The walls are made of panelled wood, and the shelving doesn't seem to overflow. Sunlight shines through the tall windows.

(Porco doesn’t know when he started finding the smell of antiseptic and the sight of sterilised steel to be this comforting.)

He leans comfortably against the examination table. He's never been here before, yet it feels strangely familiar, as he watches you moving around. You’re drawing the curtains. The room dims, but the curtains are light; and the day outside is sunny, so it’s still fairly well-lit.

“Can you sit on the table, please?” you ask him, as you rummage through the drawers. “In case anyone comes in without knocking.”

He obliges.

You pull out a small penlight from one of the drawers. “So, something is wrong with your eyes, is it?” It flashes on and off, as you make sure it works.

Porco can see you relax too. The practised, formal expression melts off your face. You come to stand between his legs; and when you look at him again, your eyes are full of affection.

(He puts his hands around your waist, just like last time. But this time, he doesn’t need to let you go.)

Fuck, he thinks. Beautiful. He isn’t capable of making longer sentences at the moment.

And he can’t hold himself back anymore. He grabs your face between his palms, and kisses you. You make a muffled noise, but you don’t resist.

“Would it be cheesy to say,” he says after, with his hands still on your cheeks, and his forehead resting against yours, “that something’s wrong with them, because I can’t stop looking at you?”

“Incredibly cheesy. But I don’t mind.”

Porco hums, and tugs your hands into his lap. His back is to the door. Like this, no one coming in can see how your fingers are intertwined with his. Finally.

It feels quiet.

He realises his mind has been noisy all day; anxiously trying to keep this secret. Trying to live in two worlds at once— one where he's supposed to be, and one here with you.

Maybe he should be saying something, and making the most of this brief time he has alone with you. But somehow, he’s content just like this; holding your hand, feeling its warmth without words.

“Porco,” you say, looking down and gently squeezing his fingers, “thank you for coming to see me again.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” He squeezes back. “Hey, look at me. I’ll always come back to you, alright? Don’t ever doubt that.”

You open your mouth to say something else; but there’s a knock on the door. You jolt backwards and wrench one of your hands out of his, to grab the penlight. It clicks on just as the door swings open.

It’s Hannah from earlier, here to tell you Dr. Klein would arrive in five minutes.

You look calm, and your voice is level when you tell her you’re almost done. But Porco can feel your hand trembling in his.

It's noisy again. And too bright.

It wasn’t always like this.

No, that’s not entirely true. It used to be like this. Then it wasn’t for a little while. And now it is again.

For a little while, you weren’t scared of doing things. You thought you finally knew what those right answers were, and figured that the ones that didn’t really make sense to you didn’t make sense to anyone— especially not the people here in the hospital. You thought you didn’t have to make those choices you didn’t agree with.

That’s why you told Dr. Klein he had to try and save Julie.

That’s how you learned you were wrong.

And now here you are again, terrified of taking a step outside the lines.

It’s certainly easier this way.

(It is, it is.)

Did you get it right the first time? Or were you just making old mistakes?

(You admire Porco; and how casually he’d asked you to join him at the park, and then at the hospital. You feel terrible that you haven’t been able to bring yourself to do the same for him.)

“Sorry, I'd invite you, but…”

When Eileen gives you that apologetic look, uncomfortably fiddling with the end of one of her long, red braids; the easiest thing to do is to say you understand, that it’s alright. And then you watch her scurry away down the corridor to join the other nurses about to take their break out on the grounds.

Eileen had graduated with you.

She was from a small town too, but not as good as yours, so maybe that was why she knew the answers so very well. You’re sure she must have sworn up and down to the disciplinary board that you’d made a mistake.

You can’t find it in yourself to blame her.

One of the nurses glances back over her shoulder as she’s leaving, and accidentally catches your eye. You desperately try to stop yourself, but you can’t help the flash of hope. Maybe they changed their minds, maybe Eileen convinced them that—

Then she whips her face forward, and leans towards Eileen to whisper something. They erupt into giggles.

It's pathetic, you think as they disappear around the corner, that it still upsets you this much.

You’d thought it would be different, after being away for months in the Mid-East; hoped that was enough time for them to forget. But nothing has changed. You’re still the one who made a mistake— the one who wouldn’t even admit to it.

The one who it was better not to talk to, just in case.

You’re standing in the corridor outside one of the general wards. It’s a quiet night. In the ward, there’s just an assortment of allergies, and a few broken bones. Only a handful of the rickety cots with their starched white sheets and thin pillows are occupied.

It’s not nearly busy enough to keep you distracted from how terribly your shift is going; and there’s still hours left before you can go home. You sigh, and lean your back against the wall.

The hospital has had lightbulbs installed recently. They burn yellow under their flower-shaped lamp shades, all along the corridor. You tilt your head to peek underneath; fascinated by the loops of glowing filament.

Would it have made a difference, you wonder, if it had been this bright back then?

The memory makes your stomach churn. You turn your gaze down towards the dull red carpet, trying to blink away the ghostly afterimage of the bulb’s guts.

The night of the accident had been a new moon, dark and cloudless. There hadn’t been any bulbs then. Just a thousand candles lining the corridors; the windows shut to keep them from going out. The stuffy heat of the flames and what felt like a hundred bodies packed into the narrow space, a writhing mass of white bandages and the red and brown of blood, too enveloped in strange shadows to make out where each person started and ended; only the noise of children wailing for their mothers, people calling out other’s names. So many names.

Stephen, Stephen, are you here? Please, is my son Stephen here?

Have you seen Sarah?

Maria…? No, no, NO!

And then there was Julie.

Silent.

(No, not silent. Not entirely, not yet.)

You’re so lost in reminiscing, you don’t notice the muted thumping of the wooden cane on the thin carpet, until its owner is right beside you.

“I was hoping you would be here,” a man’s voice says.

You’re jolted out of the memory. Exhaling, you look to the side.

(You remember that voice, how could you forget?)

“Director Klein. Good evening, sir.”

The old man adjusts his cane. “And a good evening to you too, my dear. Would you join me in my office?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer. It wasn’t really a question, after all. The Director rarely asks questions. You push yourself off the wall to follow him further up the corridor.

White. That’s always your first impression of him. Snow white hair and beard— both neatly clipped and combed— and a white shirt under a pristine, long, white coat. You’re sure he carries that cane purely for the effect the carved golden handle has on people; because his back is straight and his steps are strong and confident, as he makes his way up to his office. He's missing at least fifteen of his seventy years.

You remember the last time you walked behind him, down this exact path, with blood crusted under your fingernails, and stained into that skirt you would eventually go home and throw away.

My son was alive, ALIVE!

Ma’am, it was a mistake in the paperwork—

Yes, a mistake! Yours!

Director Klein’s office hasn’t changed, either— tall bookcases, stuffed with leather bound volumes; and the walls so covered with photographs and certificates you would be hard pressed to find a square inch of the flowery wallpaper underneath. He takes his seat behind the heavy cherrywood desk.

You’re left standing in the middle of a room that feels cramped enough to make you claustrophobic; and yet big enough to have you feeling small and awkward at the same time.

“How are you?” he asks. There’s sincerity in his voice.

“Fine. I… fit in better than I thought I would, there.”

“You can still come back.”

You swallow, and look away. “I still don’t want to.”

“I’m only trying to help you, child. Don't be stubborn.”

He sounds concerned. He sounded concerned that night too, when you really thought you could have made a difference by pleading your case.

Dr. Klein, you agreed with me. Why are you—

I didn't have time to check for myself! You really must have made a mistake!

“I appreciate you offering, sir. But I think it would just cause a lot of trouble if I came back here full time. I’m— it's not worth it.”

Dad, she's a new nurse. It's understandable. But our reputation is on the line. You need to clear it up with the committee so they don't think a doctor—

The Director scrutinises you for a few moments. Then he sighs. For a second, he looks much more like the old man he is. “Very well. It's not what I wanted to discuss. Please, sit.”

You sit.

He reaches down to open his desk drawer, and pulls out a red folder that he slides across towards you. It’s emblazoned with the military coat of arms.

You look curiously at him. He gestures for you to open it. You do, and find a single sheet of paper.

“A confidentiality agreement?” Your heart beats a little faster; but a quick skim reveals no details, except for a vague description of titan research. “What for?”

The Director raises an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be much of an agreement if I could just tell you.”

You read the document again, slower this time. Project Merlot, proclaims the bold type on top of the page.

“You can’t tell me anything?”

“Not unless you sign.”

The idea is exciting. I wish I had something interesting to tell you, is what you’d said to Porco. Well, here it is. Something outside the routine of the clinic, and something other than being treated like you have a contagious disease.

What gives you pause, however, is the fact that it has something to do with titans. ‘Research on titans’, especially where the military is concerned, was just a polite way to say ‘experimenting on Eldians’.

(The memory of Falco, trying to hide his nervousness flashes through your mind. One of the most insidious rumours about Eldians is that they don’t feel pain. You know how much of a lie that is.)

“Why would you want me on this?” you ask the director, frowning. “Considering… my reputation.”

He peers at you over his glasses. “Zeke Yeager requested you specifically.”

You’re surprised. Why would an Eldian want to take the lead on a project like this? “He’s involved?”

There’s a hint of a smile on the Director’s face. “Again, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve signed one of these myself.” He takes off his glasses, and produces a soft-looking cleaning cloth from his breast pocket. “I admit this probably won’t be the most pleasant of projects,” he says, wiping the lenses, “but if I may venture to say so, it is precisely because of your reputation that I think it would be better with you on it.”

You stay silent, unsure.

“You can take a day to think it through, if you prefer.”

The thought of asking Porco what he thinks half-forms in your mind; but suddenly, you’re annoyed— annoyed that you’re so scared all the time, that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do things without some kind of permission, even when the opportunity seems to fall into your lap.

Things have to change.

“May I borrow a pen?”

The Director smiles— it’s a rare sight— and gives you the one from his breast pocket. You take a deep breath, and hover over the dotted line for just a second, before signing your name in glossy black ink.

In the back of your mind, you know this is objectively going to be a terrible job— one which will more likely than not end with you having to throw more bloodstained skirts away. That’s why you’re the one signing your name, and not the children of one of the higher ranking officials. It’s how these things usually work.

But as you close the door to the Director’s office behind you, you find yourself feeling more and more like you won’t regret it. Not if you can help make sure even one person suffers a little less. It’s what you’re good at.

“Ah— I was hoping you’d still be here.”

It feels like déjà vu, when you turn to the side. He looks so much like his father.

“Doctor,” you say. You don’t greet him any further.

Benjamin Klein awkwardly shuffles his feet. The last time you saw him, he had all the charm that came with being the son of a rich, important man— it had dazzled you too. Right now though, he looks a little small.

“How are you? Is the new appointment treating you—”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been away from my post for too long. Please excuse me.” You walk past him, back towards the general ward.

It feels awful, being even slightly rude to him. You think you may throw up right there from the nerves; all over his shiny leather shoes. But if you’re going to stop being scared, biting your tongue and being nice to this man simply doesn’t fit. No matter how powerful he is.

He doesn’t take the hint. That probably also had to do with being the son of a rich, important man.

“I feel terrible about what happened. It’s been a while now, and—” he starts saying, following along beside you.

And you think it’s okay to be seen talking to me again.

“— we never got to have that cup of coffee together. Will you let me make it up to you?”

There had been a time, when those meaningless flirtations he would offer you had actually made you happy. But now you’re at the ward doors, about to step back into that cold place; and all you can think is that he’s incredibly selfish.

“I don’t think I’m free, doctor.”

You catch only a glimpse of his disappointed face, as the doors swing closed.

For the longest time, you’d tried to force yourself to believe that no one had had any choice in that whole affair. But then Porco had shown you that there was always a choice.

Doctor Klein hadn’t been alone in the choices he’d made that night. You know you’re not the only one who saw that the little Marleyan boy was beyond help. You know that there were several eyes who couldn’t meet yours as you pleaded with his mother in the middle of the corridor, while your fingers were still sticky with Julie’s blood.

You shake your head to clear it. Being at the hospital always brought the memories back, but there’s no point remembering any of the details now.

(Even if no one will let you forget it.)

Eileen and the others are back. It doesn’t even cross your mind to try and approach any of them. The distance feels too big to cross by yourself.

You’re neither here nor there now, you realise— rejected by Marleyans, yet still distrusted by Eldians.

That was the strange thing about the military base, you think. It’s the strictest place— by far— when it came to marking out that boundary. But it’s also where it blurred the most; in a way it never could outside the battlefield. Fighting beside someone, bleeding beside them was a camaraderie that turned it into a line in the sand, right up at the edge of the waves.

You know that kind of connection, forged in blood, is dangerously addictive.

It’s still the best place for you to be.

You’re distracted by a tap on your shoulder, and someone calling your name, for the third time tonight. You turn, half-expecting the ghost of the deceased, previous Director Klein.

But it’s only Hannah.

(It’s still unexpected, since this ward is the farthest from the administrative wing, but not as much.)

“Took you long enough!” She brandishes a folder at you. “I didn’t trust those bitches to give this to you if I left it with them. Here, it’s a temporary schedule for next week…”

For someone with less than two years to live, Porco thinks as he leans into the plush meeting room chair and tips his head back to stare at the ceiling, Zeke really is taking his sweet time.

Just like the walls, there’s not much to look at up there— there aren’t even any windows in the room. Porco figures it’s more paranoia than any actual need for security, here on the third floor.

(After all, there was plenty of time to dream up imaginary assassins, when the last time you faced a real enemy was twenty years ago.)

It’s his first time being deemed important enough to be here. This is the fancy meeting room— the one where the asses usually occupying these chairs are highly paid, and have great retirement benefits. Where you walk in, and are immediately faced with a row of larger-than-life, grandiose portraits of former Generals; decorated with medals and standing in front of red velvet curtain backgrounds.

Like he said, not much to look at.

Porco gets up, and walks towards the only things worth anyone’s attention in the room— the row of copper plaques right below the paintings. He runs his hand over the engraving. Names. Dozens of names, his among them. Marley’s titan holders.

Their names, and their years of service.

(Only the years of service. The military didn’t care when you were born, or how long you’d gotten to grow up.)

He follows the lists down to the very end, running his fingers over each line, letting the syllables of each name rest in his mind for a second before moving on to the next. He’d like it if someone would do that for him, he figures.

And then he arrives at his own.

Porco Galliard: 850 —

It's like an open grave. He tries to imagine what it would look like in ten years, picturing the curves of the eight and the six and the three that would one day be carved into the plate.

For a moment, he’s surprised by how naturally the number comes to him. And then he steels himself. No, there’s nothing surprising about it. He will make sure he gets his full term. He won’t leave you behind any sooner than he has to.

Porco’s eyes flick to the name above.

Marcel Galliard. 845-846.

One year. The twelve years before; with all the meals they’d shared, the times they’d walked home together, the countless memories of birthdays, of fights, and just plain talking in the middle of the night— none of that was worthy of being recorded. No, just the one year.

(A rare courtesy from the military, really. Marcel hadn’t actually made it past the winter.)

Maybe it was for the higher ups too, Porco muses. To help them rationalise how they treated people like tools, simply discarded once they were too blunt to use.

But they aren’t just tools, they’re people; and they stubbornly persist.

The memories of a direct predecessor came like remembered dreams— the details always vague, but sometimes the emotions were remarkably clear. But going back any further was difficult. There was no telling what could trigger it. Porco had spent hours in their old room after he inherited the Jaw, rummaging through Marcel’s things— increasingly desperately— to no avail.

But that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Pieck tells him of an inexplicable happiness, a sense of security when she smells apple pies now. In the brief time they’d had before Marcel was sent to Paradis, he’d suddenly been able to cut and shuffle a deck of cards like a seasoned magician. Porco now gets uneasy on snowy days, when he used to love them.

(He can’t help but feel he got the short end of the stick there, somehow.)

He wonders what will be left of you, in the memories he has to pass down. Will his successors love sweet vanilla, like he tasted on your lips? Will they be comforted by the sight of the elms lining the streets in the old part of the city? Maybe they would feel strangely compelled to turn their eyes to the ground, and watch the swaying shadows of the leaves on the cobblestone.

Porco misses you.

He hasn’t been able to talk to you— really talk to you— for two days now; not since you anxiously approached him on the training grounds under the guise of having to reschedule his regular checkup, and told him about the temporary schedule that would have you working the evening shifts at the hospital all week.

(Porco can only think God had decided to fuck it up for him again.)

(One time, when he’d made a similar comment, Colt had said with some surprise that he didn’t think Porco was the religious type. Porco doesn’t really think of himself as a religious type either, he just likes having something to be angry with.)

He glances at the clock on the wall. You should be locking up the clinic right about now, busily wiping down the counters and locking the cabinets.

“What are you smiling about, Pock?” Pieck asks him.

He’s shocked that he didn’t hear her coming up to him, and that he hadn’t remembered to keep his face straight while he was thinking about you. “Nothing. Just in a good mood.”

She looks at him wryly. “I won’t say you’re never in a good mood, but it’s rare, and you’ve been grumpy all day so far.” I’m not buying it, her eyes say.

Drop it, he says, rolling his own. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”

She sighs dramatically. “You’ve been so distant lately.”

It’s a lighthearted comment, but Porco immediately feels guilty. There’s never been a lot he doesn’t share with her, not since they became the two left behind. “Pieck, I—”

Pieck smiles and pats his shoulder. “It’s just a joke. I’m not going anywhere yet, don’t worry.”

(Her name is, after all, right above Marcel’s.)

He thinks this is the part where he should be a good friend, and reassure her that he’s not shutting her out. Tell her he’ll tell her later, at a better time. But he knows there will never be a time where he wouldn’t be burdening her with his secret. So he just swallows, and nods.

“I haven’t been in here in a long time,” she comments. “The plaques are a little creepy, right?”

More than a little, if he’s being honest. “It’s like they can’t wait to get rid of us.”

“Good luck to them.” Pieck runs her finger up the list; going back thirty, forty years. It stops, on one Francis Zimmer. “Him. He’s the one who liked apple pie, I think. I looked through the newspaper archives in the public library.” She looks a little sad as she continues. “He asked for it as his last meal.”

Porco bumps her with his elbow. “Don’t go getting all mopey on me until after the meeting, please.”

“I won’t, that’s your job,” she teases back. “How about we go sit down again? I think Reiner must be getting lonely.”

Porco glances back over his shoulder, to where Reiner is still sitting at the long meeting table. He’s poured himself some water, but it sits untouched in front of him; as he forlornly contemplates it.

“I think he’s about to start crying into his glass,” Porco says incredulously. “I don’t want to be there for that.”

Pieck sighs. “He’s been through a lot, Pock. Cut him some slack.”

“I cut him plenty of slack,” Porco scoffs.

He’s about to continue, but there’s voices in the corridor, and the door opens. Commander Magath walks in, followed by another army official, and then Zeke.

Once everyone has taken their seats, Zeke starts to distribute the stack of red folders he has with him.

“Everyone comfortable?” he asks, jovially. “This has been in the works for a while now, but I can finally introduce to you all, Project Merlot.”

The army official— he’s got an absurd amount of medals pinned to his chest— scowls at him. “Before Yaeger continues, I am reminding everyone that anything which is discussed in this room cannot be repeated outside of it.”

“Of course, Major,” Zeke says. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “It would be disastrous if the public were to hear that there will be pure titans inside Liberio quite soon, after all.”

It’s remarkable, you think, how boldly the mess hall on base puts up a menu every day; when everyone knows they’ll run out of almost everything by three, and that whatever’s left will be indistinguishable by taste, sight, or smell.

“I think this one’s yours,” you tell Claire, frowning at the ambiguous brown lumps floating in the gravy in front of you. “These are potatoes, right?”

Claire pokes at them with a fork. “I don’t know. They feel kind of chicken-y to me.”

“I think they’re both potatoes.”

Claire picks up a piece with her fork, and cautiously takes a bite. She chews thoughtfully. “...at least there’s pudding today,” she says after a moment of consideration, nose scrunched.

Someone shouts near the outside entrance to the hall. You and Claire turn to look down the rows of long wooden tables. A group of soldiers has just come in, shoving open both doors, and everyone sitting nearby is yelling at them to stop letting the cold in. Outside, the autumn afternoon is grey and overcast.

The sun has only shown hints of itself since this morning; when you woke up to a day so cold, you could have sworn you’d slept through the months to winter. The brown cardigan you’re wearing over your uniform is barely enough to keep you comfortable.

The hall is warm enough though, with so many people in it; but the noise of a dozen conversations from several very loud, very boisterous young soldiers blends together into a cloud of sound where you can’t pick out any one thing. It buzzes in the background of what Claire is saying, drowning her words in its mush.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” you ask, squinting your eyes, as if it will help your ears.

She repeats herself, a little louder. “I said, is that the lipstick I gave you? It looks nice. I told you it would suit you.”

“Oh, thank you.”

When you’d reached for your usual shade this morning, you’d remember Porco’s story about Braun. It had just been a silly thought, that you should change the colour just in case— you doubt Braun even knew you were wearing makeup at all— but you’d tried on a different one just for fun. The brownish-pink looked unexpectedly nice.

It had made the ache in your chest even worse.

You want to be able to show it to Porco. It’s been four days since you’ve been able to see him, and each passing sunset makes you miss the golden evenings in the clinic more and more.

(You miss him so much.)

“Are you sick?” Claire asks. “You look a little pale.”

“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit.

Claire scowls. “Are those idiots still giving you trouble during your shifts? You have to report them, it’s harassment—”

“I’m fine,” you insist. Their behaviour honestly hasn’t been bothering you all that much recently. “It’s just a few of them, and I don’t like them anyway.”

Claire looks at you suspiciously, but then sighs and pulls out a small notebook from her pocket. “If that’s what you want to do. Do you mind if I work on some of the wedding planning? I’m running behind.”

“Go ahead,” you say. “What are you working on?”

“The guest list,” she replies. “We decided to keep it small, so I’m deciding who gets the cut.”

She looks concerningly gleeful when she says that.

“You’ll be invited, of course.” Claire says, misinterpreting your expression. “But I won’t have the invitations printed for a while. Do you need a plus one?”

There’s the smallest lump in your throat when you say you don’t.

Claire hums, focused on her list. “Cassandra’s out, that’s obvious.” You don’t know who Cassandra is, or why Claire is sneering at her name. “Michael stays,” she continues absently.

“Michael?” you ask. “The soldier from the hospital? I didn’t think you liked him.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t like him, but I can’t not invite him. After all that business with his family…”

Claire vaguely explains, but you never do find out what happened to Michael Sells and his family; because at that moment, another gust of cold wind washes through the hall, and you instinctively turn your attention to the door.

You see the red armbands first, and your heartbeat quickens.

Zeke Yeager walks through the door, followed by Pieck. You’re disappointed, but you keep waiting, watching the door that’s slowly swinging closed. Just when you bite the inside of your cheek, and prepare to turn your attention back to Claire, it’s pushed open again.

Porco.

You don’t know how he immediately knows to look in your direction, but he does; and you have to clasp your own wrist in your lap to stop yourself from waving at him. He doesn’t acknowledge you— he doesn’t even smile— but his gaze keeps coming back to linger on you as he makes his way across the room. He sits with the other two Warriors. The bench faces you; but it’s on the opposite side of the room— the unofficial Eldian side.

(You wonder if you had sat closer to that invisible wall, if you could have found some cracks to whisper to him through.)

“Do you think I should ask the caterers for crab cakes after all?” Claire asks.

“I like them,” you reply.

Porco’s resting his face on his palm, elbow on the table. He’s turned towards the other two, but you think you can see him stealing sideways glances at you, over his fingers. You swallow and shift your eyes away. You can’t stare. Not this openly, not here.

“I’m getting the blue dresses for the bridesmaids, I think. It’ll be great for a summer wedding.”

“Blue is lovely,” you say, a hand over your face to cover your smile.

You fake interest in Claire's notebook, and slowly raise your eyes to look over her shoulder. Porco is talking to Pieck now, attention away from you. You take the opportunity to really look at him. You feel like you could do that for hours; brushing your fingers through his longer blonde strands, running your thumbs over his face, memorising every detail.

(How cruel that you have to wait, when he’s right there in front of you, and you already know you’re condemned to spend more time apart than together.)

“Do you want to come clothes shopping with me on Thursday?”

“I’d love to.”

Porco makes eye contact with you again. You think you must be going insane; because even that little quirk of his mouth, the biggest reaction he can afford, envelopes with you a warmth that blossoms from your heart and goes to the very tips of your fingers. You’ve never felt this kind of happiness before. So pure, and so unreasonable.

(For now, it’s enough to endure the sorrow of having to pretend you don’t adore him— of having even the breadth of this room between you.)

Claire is putting away her notebook. “You haven’t touched your food! Are you sure you aren’t sick?”

You scoop up the maybe-potatoes. “I’m just a little distracted.”

Lunch passes much too quickly after that, as you finish your meal; stealing glances across the room the whole time. All too soon, you’re getting up and following Claire towards the door. It takes an immense effort to not look towards Porco’s table as you cross it.

The chilly breeze is still blowing, but the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds now. It’s one of those early autumn days that just can’t decide if it wants to be warm or cold.

“Do you mind hanging back for five minutes while I go to the bathroom?” Claire asks.

You agree to wait, and go to stand behind a pillar to protect yourself from the wind blowing through the open corridor; while she hurries down to the bathrooms. You notice a poster crudely pasted on the concrete, its edges lumpy and shrivelled from the paste. It’s a notice for a new weekly charity clinic in the internment zone, sponsored by the military hospital; asking Eldian soldiers to let their families know.

Interesting, you think. I wonder if Director Klein is behind it.

You’re perusing the poster, trying to figure out how you can volunteer, when you suddenly feel the weight of an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You tense up, about to shout in surprise— and then Porco’s voice is whispering in your ear.

“You look nice today.”

The cry catches in your throat. His warm breath— the ghost of that whisper— lingers against your ear. His body brushes against yours, familiar enough to make you blush. Something is slipped into your hand.

And then, in the same second, the weight disappears— and you see him casually continuing down the corridor.

(Did he just…?)

Your heart is pounding. You clutch your cardigan around your body, and whip your head all around to check if anyone saw.

There’s not a soul.

(He didn’t even let me see his face, you think, giddy.)

You look down at the thing he’d pressed into your hand. A small sheet of paper, messily torn and folded in half. A note.

‘I want to see you,’ it reads, in a hasty print. ‘Meet me in the usual place whenever you come back. Even if it’s late. I’ll be waiting for you.’

You hold the note against your chest, willing your heart rate to go down before Claire comes back.

It doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

The night before Marcel left for Paradis, he’d shaken Porco awake, and they’d slipped out of the house.

They’d squeezed themselves through the gap in the wired fence— there was no need to, not with the red sashes that now encircled their arms, but it had made the whole thing a lot more exciting— and made their way past the edge of the city and into the first of the rolling fields on its outskirts.

The grass had been damp, and the crickets had been loud. The stars had stretched out above them, twinkling in a sky so filled and endless that for once, Porco hadn’t felt caged.

That’s the kind of sky he sees right now, through the branches of the elm.

It’s almost midnight. The moon is high and full.

He’s worried— not because he thinks you won’t come (the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind), but because it’s late, and because it’s cold. He’s leaning against the tree, making sure to stay in the shadows; as he tries to picture the route back from the hospital.

The road is well lit, he tells himself. She’ll be safe.

He sighs, wishing he could come pick you up from your work.

(Did you wish that too? He wonders if you ever felt envious of the other nurse, who he’s seen meeting the PSA agent at the gates more than once.)

The crack of a dried leaf pierces through the night. It's the sound of something trying to be quiet. Porco flattens himself against the tree and cautiously turns his head to look around, heart rate kicking up.

It's just a cat, padding into the moonlight.

It spends a few moments sniffing around, before suddenly darting away across the grounds and into the darkness, chasing something only it can see.

Porco relaxes again, and turns his eyes back towards the stars.

On nights like this, when the wind carries the scent of damp earth from somewhere far away, it pulls him back through the years and right into that field.

Marcel had done most of the talking. It hadn’t been because Porco didn’t have anything to tell him. No, he’d had too much. So much that it all got tangled up and stuck in his throat, a big ball of questions and hopes and anxieties that he’d been too young and too embarrassed to whittle down to the one thing he really needed to say.

I’ll miss you, come home soon.

Marcel had filled the silence by pointing out constellations, and telling Porco the stories he'd read about them. It wasn't the kind of thing either of them ever talked about— there hadn't been much time for fairytales after they entered the Warrior program— but they'd made Marcel learn how to navigate by the stars to prepare for his mission; and he claimed it helped him remember everything.

“The way I see it,” he'd said, suddenly roughly pulling Porco into a headlock and mussing up his hair, “we're going to be looking at the same sky. So I won't be that far away, not really.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Porco had scoffed, scrabbling at his brother's arm, “That's so sappy. I'm gonna throw up.”

Nearly ten years on, he remembers the waver in his brother's voice, and now figures Marcel had been saying that for his own benefit as much as for Porco’s. He thinks Marcel may just have been a boy who liked stories.

Ten years on, that field has a factory on it, belching smoke into the sky and vomiting muddied water into the grass.

(He can't ever go back, but Porco always did think those old stories were pretty depressing anyway. The wisdom of the ancestors seemed to amount to ‘if you step out of line, you will die horribly, and all of it will be your fault’.)

Porco takes a deep breath. It’s cold enough to sting.

And then, he hears your voice calling for him; so soft it’s almost a whisper.

“Porco? Are you here?”

He steps out from under the shadow of the elm, heart pounding with anticipation, and sees you under the moonlight. You’re searching for him, clinging to the strap of your bag; and turning all around, taking faltering, circling steps.

Then you see him, and stop.

Porco thinks that joyous smile on your face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He’s so enamoured by it, he forgets to move his feet, and you reach him first.

“I’m late,” you say, still whispering. You’re standing barely an inch away.

It’s still too far. “That’s okay, I just got here,” Porco lies. You’re worth waiting for.

He pulls you by the arm, into the shadows with him; and gently pushes you back against the tree, one hand cradling the back of your head. He can barely see your face, but it's enough.

(For now, it’s enough.)

There's no words; only the sound of slow breaths as you gaze up at him. You let your bag slide down to the ground. It lands with a muffled thump. Time slows down as your eyes wander across his face, finally settling on his lips. Your hands come to his shoulders. Porco’s free arm snakes around your waist.

This is where you’re supposed to be, he thinks as he leans down. Right here, with me.

It’s been too damn long.

He missed how warm your lips are. He missed how your hands clutch at his jacket, how they trail up the sides of his jaw; and further up into his hair. It's a little different today, though— your fingers are surprisingly open and free, without inhibition, when they’re tugging at it. They’re telling him that you like this, you like this.

He knows, because he feels you kissing him back just as fervently, pressing your chest up against him; heat radiating from—

Ah, fuck. Porco reluctantly straightens up.

(He needs to control himself. He can’t let himself go too far, too quickly.)

“We should— we should go inside,” he manages to say, blood still rushing in his ears. His breath mists in the cold air.

(He has to do this right.)

“I— yes. We should. Inside.” You sound dazed. It’s almost enough to make him lose his resolve.

Porco leads you by the hand, making sure your path hugs the shadows around the building as much as possible. At the door, he waits as you fish the keyring out of your coat pocket, and fumble with the small padlock.

Once you’re both inside— the door locked behind you— he has an idea.

“How about we go upstairs?”

You pause, then nod. So he takes your hand again— so addictively soft, and smaller than his— and leads you past the clinic, and through the narrower door that opens into a cramped stairwell. It’s windowless, and completely dark.

Porco wraps an arm around your waist, and firmly grips the bannister with the other. He tells you to be careful. The polished wooden stairs creak as he climbs up one flight, and then another with you; moving his feet cautiously into the darkness, more sweeps than steps.

(He feels every breath you take, and wishes he could always keep you this close.)

After a while, the bannister stops abruptly. He feels around blindly in the dark, keeping you pulled snug against him. There’s a door handle. He gives it a turn. Locked.

He uses his fingertips to trace along it, and finds the indent at its base.

“Get your keys.” He instinctively keeps his voice low.

He hears the keys on the ring jingling in the dark. “I think I have the right one,” you say; quiet but excited.

Porco guides your hand to the lock. He hears you taking three tries to push the key in, and then the bolts sliding back.

The door opens, into a room that’s almost big enough to be a hall. Moonlight washes it with a faint glow, incredibly bright after the pitch dark of the stairwell; bright enough to see the dust motes in the air. The wallpaper is peeling. Cardboard boxes are piled waist-high all around, some of their bottoms torn and the files inside them spilling out. What look like old, rusted bed frames are pushed against the farthest wall.

It resembles the older wards at the hospital, with nice, tall windows all along the outside walls. Framed inside the tallest, widest window at the end of the room— behind a simple iron grill— are the elm branches. The moon peeks through the leaves.

The place is old, abandoned, and dusty.

Porco finally feels at peace.

“Oh, it’s so much prettier at night,” you breathe. “Where can we sit?”

Porco hums, and picks his way through the maze of boxes with you, finally finding a relatively clear spot on the floor right in front of the large window. It’s a little chilly to be sitting on the bare wood, but when you hug his arm and curl into his side, it doesn’t feel all that bad anymore.

“I… brought us something,” you tell him, a little hesitantly. You’ve let your coat open, and the white of your blouse glows in the moonlight.

“Actual chocolate?” he asks with a chuckle.

You laugh. He’s missed the sound. “No. I wanted to get us something sweet, but all the shops were closed because it’s so late.” You pull your bag into your lap; and after digging around for a moment, take out a bottle. “This was all I could find.”

“Is that wine?” Porco asks, an eyebrow raised.

“You’re always doing things for me,” you say, sounding like you really want him to understand something, but he’s not sure what. “And I just let you. I— ” You stop, and bite your lip. “Do you like it?”

Porco grins at you. He’s more of a hard liquor kind of guy, but somehow, whiskey doesn’t seem half as appealing right now. “Of course I do. Pour me some?”

You look pleased with yourself . “I can go get glasses from the clinic.”

Porco doesn’t like the idea of you stumbling around in that dark stairwell. “No. We’re drinking straight from the bottle.”

“Exciting!”

(That surprises him. He thought you'd be a little more flustered about it. He'd been hoping for it, in fact. He thinks it’s adorable.)

The key ring jingles again as you twist one of the keys into the cork, and struggle with it for a few seconds. Porco’s about to offer to help, when it comes out with a pop. A few drops spill on your coat. The small stains look like ink under the moon.

(Where did you learn how to do that?)

“Oh, I hope that comes out okay,” you say worriedly. You tilt your head back and swallow a mouthful of wine, then hold it out towards him. “Here. It’s good.”

Porco accepts the bottle but doesn't drink. He leans back a little, resting on his palm. “You seem a little… different.”

In the dark, he can just make out the anxious look in your eyes. “...Good different?” you ask.

He considers it. What was it really, that felt different? The way you’d kissed him. How you matched him step for step in the stairwell earlier, when he thought you’d be scared, and now this wine…

You seemed surer of yourself, Porco realises.

“Yeah, good different,” he tells you with a grin. He takes a swig of wine. It’s plenty sweet. “What changed?”

A little of that shyness he likes so much comes back; and you can't meet his eyes, even in the moonlight, for your next words. “Maybe you're good for me.”

(He may be good for you, he thinks; but you’re still the best thing that’s ever happened to him.)

Porco kisses you, once, twice, and then once more because he can’t help himself; tasting the wine on your lips each time. “Can I ask you something? Why did they send you here?” How did I get so lucky?

It’s a lighthearted question, but something shifts. You tense a little, enough for him to notice.

“You don’t have to talk about—” he starts.

You sigh. “No, I want to tell you. I have, for a while.”

And then you tell him, all about a little Eldian girl named Julie, who had been in a terrible accident— a train derailment— with over a hundred others. You tell him how she’d had a piece of iron impaled straight through her stomach, and how she had been crying without making a sound, waiting all alone— abandoned in a hallway like a discarded doll— for someone to help her, while her blood continued to stain the carpet. That you’d finally convinced a doctor to attend to her, and how he’d floundered in the middle of it; after they brought in a Marleyan boy.

“He left me—” you swallow thickly, and take a few deep breaths. “He left me and Eileen with Julie, and I had— I had my hand inside her, to put pressure on it, to stop the bleeding—”

(He thinks you drink a little more of the wine than you should while you’re talking; but even though your lip wobbles and you choke more than once— a knife twists in his heart each time— the tears stay glistening in your eyes and don’t drop.)

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “You don’t have to finish.”

You shake your head. “The boy was dead already. I don’t know if they messed up at intake, or if he died on the way to the ward, but he was dead. Crush injuries. But Dr. Klein didn’t want the paperwork to look like he gave up on him to work on an Eldian girl.”

Porco doesn’t comment, though he has lots of choice words for this Dr. Klein lining up on his tongue. He just comfortingly rubs your arm.

“I yelled at him to stop being ridiculous, trying to revive a dead body. And it wasn’t— I didn’t make a mistake, I know it. He was right next to me, I could see—” You stop abruptly, and then continue after a moment. “I eventually got him to come back. But the little boy’s mother wanted someone to blame, and she got it in her head that he didn’t get the help he needed because of me. Dr. Klein, Eileen… none of them backed me up.”

“Do you regret doing it?” Porco asks, gently.

“No!” you cry, snapping your face up to look at him. “I just— I don’t know if I made a difference.”

“It must have made a difference to her.”

You shake your head again. “Julie died anyway. She was too far gone. And I don’t know if Dr. Klein was right to stop trying.”

Porco pulls you into his lap without warning. You squeak in surprise, but he doesn’t let you move, holding you tight against him.

“It made a difference to her,” he repeats. “Don’t you dare think otherwise.” He feels your hand braced against his chest, how the shaky breaths against his collarbone begin to slow.

“Thank you, Porco,” you say after a minute, and he thinks you may be crying now; but he knows you’ll be alright. He hears it in your voice.

Porco kisses the top of your head. “It’s the truth.”

For a minute, it’s silent.

Then you speak again. “I think you were loved a lot.”

He raises his eyebrows. Several faces flash through his head. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but—”

“Not like that!” you say with a laugh. “I mean growing up. Your family must have loved you so much, because…” Your voice grows softer “...because you’re so good at showing affection. You must have learned from them.”

Porco feels his face heating up. “It’s not anything special—”

“It is,” you insist, as you curl into him a little more comfortably. “You’re good at it.”

Porco holds you tighter, feeling the warmth of your body, and the calming way your chest rises and falls with each breath. Your comment stays in his head as the conversation continues, even when your breathing slows and you start slurring your words.

(He can tell you’re falling asleep. He wonders if he should walk you back down so you can get to your room, and a real bed; but then you reach for his hand, and he decides an hour or two like this wouldn’t hurt.)

Was he loved? He thinks he was. He thinks of his mother, who made sure he never felt alone or insecure, after his father was gone. Who was always there to hug and kiss him, and tuck him into bed; no matter how tired she was. Who pretended she had already eaten, when there wasn’t enough food left in the pantry for three portions. Who now pretends she isn’t worried to death about him every time they send him to the edges of the empire.

He thinks of Marcel. Porco knows he was reckless— is reckless— and that Marcel had often been the only thing standing between him and his teeth getting knocked out. How the only thing he ever wanted in return was to ruffle his hair up a little bit. He knows he only learned how to get along with children, because Marcel had figured out how to get along with him first.

Porco wishes he could introduce you to Marcel. He thinks you would have liked him.

He thinks Marcel would have liked you too.

You wonder if the salesclerk— was that even what you were supposed to call her? It didn’t feel right— has sore cheeks from smiling so much. The slope of her lips hasn’t shifted even a little from when you walked into the boutique about an hour ago. It’s still perfect— formal, yet welcoming.

The older woman instructs the girl modelling a red dress to spin and show off the flare. She’s on a little round platform. It’s disturbingly reminiscent of a music box with a ballerina.

On the opposite sofa, Claire frowns. “I don’t know… do you have one that’s more coquelicot than rose?”

“Don’t force yourself to like it, Claire,” Sophie says, sipping on her champagne. “I know the embroidery is pretty, but it’s not worth it. The rolled hem won’t hold up with that fabric.” She addresses the woman. “Do you have something similar with a blind hem?”

Hannah pinches your blouse and pulls you closer to her, a little clumsily. Her drink tips dangerously as she leans over the cushion to whisper in your ear.

“What’s the difference?” she hisses. “And what in the world is coquelicot?”

“I don’t know,” you hiss back. “Isn’t that your fourth glass already?”

“Is it? They’re free though, it’s okay.”

Hannah has certainly adapted to this place better than you have.

You knew Claire was rich, but you didn’t know she was this rich. When she’d invited you to come clothes shopping with her, you hadn’t exactly expected her to patronise the night markets; but this was one of the most expensive boutiques in Liberio. The kind of place where you didn’t have to do anything for yourself, not even trying the clothes on.

It must look even more beautiful in the daytime, you think.

Everything is detailed. There’s luxurious gold trimming (real gold) on the creamy white walls. An ornate crystal chandelier lights up the cosy space, along with half a dozen lamps that have lacey shades. The legs on every table and side table are made of a delicately twisted iron, meant to resemble vines. Rolls of the most beautifully printed and embroidered fabrics you’ve ever seen are draped over them.

It should have felt cluttered, but somehow it’s all so tasteful it just looks intimidatingly expensive.

Even the sofa you’re sitting on— the cushions are a muted mint, incredibly soft, and its blue-green throw pillows are embroidered with red roses and pink peonies. The threads are so thin and delicate, you’re afraid to rest your weight against them.

Hannah doesn’t seem to mind though. She sits comfortably, with her ankles crossed, smiling pleasantly (and a touch too widely, unlike the salesclerk— or perhaps the ‘manager’ would be a better word?) as she looks around the room.

“Claire!” she says suddenly. “Look at that green silk. I think that would look so nice on you.”

Claire looks where she’s pointing and nods. “Show me what you have in that fabric, please.”

“Gladly, Madame.” The salesclerk— manager, proprietress?— claps her hands, and the ballerina hops off her platform. They both glide to the back of the shop. You see Ballerina undoing her buttons on the way.

Hannah stands up abruptly, and sways in place.

Claire raises an eyebrow at you. You mouth a four, pointing at your own champagne flute, and she stifles a laugh.

“Maybe you should sit down, Han.” Sophie suggests, eyebrow raised. “Or at least put the glass away. You’re going to spill it.”

You’ve known Hannah since your time at the hospital, and you spend most of your time with Claire. One is the opposite of secretive, and the other is far too poised to ever need to hide anything. Sophie is still a mystery to you.

Sophie has only ever spoken to you once— on the train back from the Mid-East— and you’ve seen her a handful of times while you were there. She’s always looked more like a strict school teacher to you than a nurse, with her half rimmed glasses and her black hair usually pulled into a tight bun.

Hannah looks at the glass in her hands, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she raises it to her lips, and drinks the whole thing in a single breath.

“No spills,” she says, holding the glass upside-down with a flourish.

Claire laughs out loud, while Sophie sighs. Hannah does a little bow.

You can’t help laughing too. Even aside from Hannah never failing to raise everyone’s spirits, you’re already in a good mood.

(You feel well rested for the first time in days.)

Hannah plops back down next to you. “Claire, didn’t you say you wanted to tell us something earlier?”

Claire suddenly looks very serious. “I did.” She runs a finger around the edge of her glass, and then takes a deep breath. “I’m resigning.”

“You are? When?” you ask, dismayed.

“You’re leaving?” Hannah cries.

Sophie just looks annoyed. “You’re quitting your job? Claire, no matter how nice he is—”

Claire waves her hands to shush everyone. “I’m not quitting being a nurse. And I’m not leaving Liberio. I applied to the new private hospital.” She takes a sip of her drink. “It only makes sense. It’s closer to where the apartment is, and the pay is better.”

(You’re surprised to see Claire looking a little sad, about something that made sense.)

“And,” she says, looking at you. “They’re still doing the interiors, so I won’t be gone for a while. I just wanted to give everyone a heads up.”

Sophie leans back, satisfied. “The private sector pay is great. I’m much happier out of the military. Don’t have goddamn sergeants thinking they can yell at me.”

“Oh, no one yells at Claire,” you say without thinking; your tongue loosened by the alcohol, and by how touched you are at her reassuring you. “They’re all too scared.”

Sophie peers at you over her lenses. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… how are you so pleasant?”

You feel your face warming. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so nice. Everyone gets a little jaded after seeing the frontlines, but look at you.”

“It's because she didn't see much of it,” Claire says. “She was only there for the last couple of months.”

The Warrior Unit was supposed to be a temporary assignment. Just somewhere the board decided to stash you, out of the public eye; until the whole business with Julie had been sorted. You weren’t really part of the unit, not back then.

And so you’d been left behind while the rest of them were sent to the Mid East. But you never did apologise— Director Klein ended up having no choice but to sign off on your formal transfer.

(It had happened almost overnight. It led to Claire finding you standing awkwardly at the entrance of the tent; wearing boots that had been issued last-minute, and at least one size too big. They’d made you feel even more like a child, far out of your depth.)

Sophie adjusts her glasses. “You haven’t even seen titans?”

“No.”

“Hope it stays that way.”

“This wasn't like Helena, Soph,” Claire adds, “The Warriors steamroll over everything. And it all happens so far away, relatively speaking.”

Hannah claps her hands. “This isn’t a fun topic! Claire, congratulations on the new job.”

Sophie shakes her head, as if to clear it, and nods. “Congratulations. Maybe I’ll apply too.”

“Oh!” Hannah suddenly sits bolt upright. “And maybe I’ll apply to the Warrior Unit!”

Sophie smiles wryly. “I thought your plan was having a rich patient fall in love with you. Not a lot of eligible bachelors over there.”

“No, but she’s over there.” Hannah gives you a one armed hug. From her, it’s as warm and comforting as a bear hug from most others. (Even if her drunkenness has her clumsily punching your arm on the first try.) “What’s so great about guys anyway? I don’t have half as much fun as I do with you three. Claire, is Eric fun?”

“Not as much as you,” she replies, with a barely straight face.

Porco's pretty fun, you think. He always makes me laugh.

But there's a tinge of melancholy to the thought.

Claire was leaving. She would leave, and one day she’d go so far— Odiha, or maybe even further— and you wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. They all would. And then Porco would too.

And then no one would know.

No one would know that he’s more than fun. They wouldn’t know how he’s been kinder to you than anyone else in your entire life. They wouldn't know that he makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

No one would know how he made you feel wanted.

They wouldn’t know, because even though it’s safest when it feels like you’re the only two people in the world, it meant that world would disappear with him.

“You look like you finally got a good night of sleep,” Claire comments.

Your heart starts to race, though you’re not sure exactly why. “Oh, yes. I slept well last night.”

(No one knows.)

The first thing that makes Colt think something is up, is when Porco spends the whole night chewing with his mouth closed.

The second, is his reaction to Olivia telling him— very suggestively— as she pours him yet another glass of whiskey, that her shift would be over in another hour.

“Yeah? It’s still pretty early, but be careful on your way home,” Porco says.

Colt chokes on his drink.

Zeke snorts.

Pieck’s eyes go wide.

A stream of beer dribbles out the corner of Reiner’s mouth.

The bar is busy, and loud. There’s a table celebrating a birthday, and the residents of the internment zone were never ones to let an excuse to celebrate pass them by. You had to take the happy times when you could, even if they were borrowed from someone else. Cheers periodically erupt from near the dartboard. It’s difficult to see through the crowd surrounding it, but Colt’s fairly sure the birthday boy has taken it off the wall, and added an extra challenge to the whole thing by moving it wildly around.

He’d been meaning to go join in, when Porco Galliard turned down a hookup. Colt has only just started getting buzzed, but the shock of it almost sobers him.

Olivia, with her attractive red lip, and long dark hair that could only be described as tresses, was reminiscent of the princesses from Falco’s old books; if those princesses knew how to make the best drinks in Liberio, and seemed to have an aversion to buttoning the top half of their blouses.

In short, it was not the response of a rational man; especially one with Porco’s habits.

Pieck claps him on the shoulders. “Porco! You shouldn’t have come out if you were feeling ill! Here, drink my water.”

Porco looks bewildered. “Feeling ill—”

Reiner wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and sighs. “I hope you don’t throw up in our room. Pace yourself, for god’s sake.”

“Why would I—”

Colt gently takes the still full glass of whiskey out of his hand. “You know there’s no need to try and keep up with me, right? I would never think less of—”

Porco snatches it back. “What the fuck are all of you talking about?”

Olivia, to her credit, seemed to be taking it in stride. She leans forward, elbows on the counter. Colt idly wonders if the buttons had actually popped off at some point. Or maybe it was more comfortable for her like that. It did seem too small. He doesn’t think he should ask.

“It sounds like they’re concerned about you not coming home with me, champ,” she says with a playful grin. “Is it something I said or did… the last couple dozen times?”

“Helos,” Porco mutters. “I’m fucking fine. I don’t mean to insult you, Liv. I just want to drink and go to bed today.”

Zeke conspicuously sets down his glass, and takes a puff of his cigarette; which usually meant he would be spouting some sage wisdom. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later, Galliard.”

Porco rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t interrupt. It never works. Colt would know.

"You're still in the sweet spot right now," Zeke continues, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the already hazy air of the bar. "Where they don't see a dead man, only some fun with a guarantee of no strings attached. No offense, Miss Olivia.”

“None taken. He’s very fun.”

“That makes him sound selfish,” Pieck comments. “Pock here’s quite sensitive, actually.” The way she says it, it’s somehow genuine and teasing at the same time.

Zeke waves the lit cigarette around as he speaks. It flits through the smoke like a boozey firefly. (Colt’s aware the metaphor is absurd, but the alcohol is starting to hit him. People said he never knew when it did, but look. He did.)

Porco slams back his drink. Colt winces. That was most definitely a sipping whisky.

“Fuck you guys,” Porco says, voice hoarse. “I need to take a leak.” He shoves himself backwards, the bar stool screeching, and then stalks off in the direction of the bathrooms.

Colt trades a look with Pieck.

(Really, he wanted to exchange a look with everyone to see what they thought of that, but she was the only one who looked back.)

“I don’t know what’s up with him,” she says. “He’s starting to worry me though, to be honest.”

Colt finishes his drink in another two gulps. He was the only one who could help Porco now. Pieck couldn’t go into the men’s bathrooms.

And so he goes after him.

He finds Porco not inside the bathroom, but in the hallway outside of it, where the noise of the bar is contained behind a stout wooden door.

(So he didn’t have to piss, Colt thinks. Maybe that’s important.)

“Galliard.”

Porco, who was moodily staring at his own boots, snaps his head up in disbelief. “Leave me alone. I’m not horny all the time, fucking sue me.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Colt asks.

“Lots of things. Want a list?”

Before he can chide him for the sarcasm, Colt trips on his own feet, and stumbles rather than walks the last few steps. He ends up leaning heavily on Porco’s shoulders, trying to regain his balance.

For all his flaws, Porco doesn’t try to push him away. “Are you drunk already? We haven’t even been here for an hour.”

Colt raises his head. He can find his balance later. “Galliard,” he says, looking him straight in the eyes, so he knows Colt is serious, “you know you can trust me, right?”

Porco’s throat bobs. “Yeah, man,” he says, voice thick. “I trust you.”

There’s no easy way to ask this. Turning down Olivia, the hurrying away after showers— it could only mean one thing, from him.

Colt takes a deep breath. “Galliard, after your injury. I know the nurses treated you—” He feels Porco tense under his hands. “— and it’s difficult to even think about, but—”

Porco isn’t breathing. He stares at Colt, eyes wide.

“—but did your dick grow back wrong?”

There’s silence, punctuated by uproarious laughter from the bar.

And then, Colt’s on the floor.

Porco pushed him.

“Motherfucking hell, piece of fucking shit—”

He’s swearing up a storm, but really, Colt doesn’t mind. It’s not directed at him. It’s just how Porco deals with his emotions, sometimes. It stopped bothering him after the first five years. (As long as Falco's not around.)

“Well something’s bothering you,” he insists from the floor. It's disturbingly sticky as he pushes himself up. “You’ve been acting weird ever since we came back from the Mid East.”

“Give it a rest—”

“You’re even broodier than usual. Is Mrs. Galliard okay?”

Porco drags a hand over his face. “Ma’s fine, Grice. Thank you for the concern.”

And then, Colt remembers something that’s been bothering him for a while now. “And then you asked that nurse to come with us to the park—” Suddenly, it all clicks into place.

The dawning realisation must be obvious on his face, because Porco’s has gone white. He can tell, even in the dim lighting. “Grice—”

“You’ve got a crush on her.”

Porco’s making a really weird expression now. If Colt didn’t know better, if he didn’t know how the alcohol made him overly dramatic, he’d think Porco was about to cry.

“... and what would you say if I did?” His voice is hoarse again.

Colt thinks about it. “That it’s understandable. She saved your life.”

Relief blooms across Porco’s face. The pinch between his eyebrows disappears. “Then—”

“But that you’re—” Colt pauses to hiccup. “— being really stupid by indulging in it like that. Quit it before—” Another hiccup. “— she figures it out.”

Porco pushes him aside, and starts to head back to the bar. Colt can’t see his face, so it’s difficult to decipher his tone, but the words are oddly clipped back. Like he’s forcing each one out. “Wow, Grice. I thought you’d be the blindly supportive type.”

Colt’s confused. “I thought you didn't like fairy tales.”

Sylvie’s cooking smells heavenly.

(It always has, right from when Theo was a kid, and she was making magic out of a can of peas.)

Theo cautiously peeks in through the kitchen window. He can see the table set for two places. One’s for her, of course. But that other one…

Was Porco home?

“I can hear you crunching through the leaves from here, Theo,” she calls, not looking up from the pot she’s stirring. “Come in. The plate’s for you.”

And so Theo meekly makes his way to the front door, and slinks in like a particularly dirty stray cat that the family has taken upon itself to feed. Confident, but ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. He makes sure to wipe his shoes on the mat— he’s pretty sure Sylvie’s hospitality would reach its limit if he got mud on her nice carpet.

He takes a seat at the table. It wasn’t too long ago, he thinks with some sadness, how he had to drag in a chair from the living room to sit at this table. Back when all four dining chairs had been spoken for.

“Porco came by already tonight. Said they were going out to the bar, if you want to avoid it.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I know his liver will be fine, but as a mother…” She takes a deep breath, and keeps stirring her pot.

“Oh,” Theo says.

Sylvie had given him more second chances than he could count. It’s why he believes Evie every time she calls him selfish.

(It’s why Wolfe fell in love with her, he thinks. That endless forgiveness, when he knew better than anyone how much Theo didn’t deserve it. He would have given Theo those chances too, though; if he’d survived that first one.)

Sylvie turns off her stove, and carefully walks the pot over to the table. Theo tears himself a chunk off bread off the loaf on the table. She ladles stew onto his plate, humming all the while.

“You’re in a good mood,” Theo comments. It’s nice to see Sylvie like this. She’s usually so worried about her son.

Sylvie waves off the comment as she sits down. “Oh, it’s just that Porco seemed so happy today.”

“Yeah? Something good happen?”

“I wouldn’t know, he didn’t tell me a thing. He said he was just here to make sure you had cleared out.”

Theo blanches. “And what did you tell him?”

“That it wasn’t his business who stayed in my house,” Sylvia scoffs. “Well really, I told him I’d take care of it. He took it how he liked.” She leans toward him. “But he seemed too happy to care either way,” she says conspiratorially.

“The kid does wear his heart on his sleeve,” Theo agrees.

(Porco always had. Right from when he was in diapers, wrinkling his nose at Theo’s off-key singing. In Porco’s defence, there were actual stray cats who could caterwaul more melodiously.)

“Oh, I love him too much for him to be able to hide it anyway.” She smiles to herself as she reaches for the bread. “That’s the thing about love. Everything shows.”

Theo rolls his eyes. “That’s so sappy, I’m going to throw up.”

Eric clears the side of his desk for Claire as she sets her shopping bags down and rests her hip on its edge. He allows himself a moment to admire the ring glinting on his finger. That had been a good choice.

The office is on the night shift. Claire’s not strictly supposed to be here right now, but most people are sleeping at their desks and weren’t awake to report it. It’s one of the few public buildings that got electric bulbs put in this year, and Eric is slightly displeased that they generate enough heat that he needs to take off his sweater vest. It’s one of his favourite parts of autumn, and now it’s been delayed.

“... and then when we went to look at perfumes, she picked out this honeysuckle one. It was too sweet for me, but she’s cute enough to pull it off.”

“I think you’re sweet,” he attempts.

Claire swats him on the shoulder, but he can see she’s smiling. “That’s not the point! The point is, you should have seen her face. She was definitely thinking about someone. I’m not about to pry though.”

Eric hums. It’s not in disinterest. He’s just trying to make sure he’s filing everything away correctly. He’s still got a headache from Chief Gerard yelling at that poor secretary this afternoon for misplacing documents. The poor girl had been swearing someone had messed with them, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Are you still working on that missing persons case?” Claire asks.

Eric frowns. “Technically, I am. But it isn’t going anywhere, so the Chief assigned me to something else.”

“Oh?”

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. “I’m temporarily partnering with Detective Rolland.” He discreetly rolls his eyes towards the man sitting on the other side of the room.

Rolland is a psychopath. Eric knows this. Chief Gerard knows this. Everyone knows this. But the man had a knack for closing cases. Criminals all but lined up to confess. The Chief didn’t let him investigate alone anymore, though. There needed to be someone making sure his methods would hold up in court.

Eric thinks it just warps the younger detectives’ idea of what’s acceptable.

In fact, Eric wouldn’t put it past him to not care about the protocol around properly signing out files.

I should look into that, he thinks to himself, as he watches Thomas Rolland pull back his sleeve, to check the time on his large, gold-plated watch.

Hannah's getting a suspicious amount of character development, isn't she? 🤭 Please leave a like/reblog/reply if you enjoyed!

[ti-girl1226]

Chapter 2 - new beginnings

Prev - Next

x Your pov x

You stand in a smoky graveyard the smell of the mud and wet earth fills your nostrils, it seems that it just rained. The moonlight shines on three tombstones. They sit in the dark grass in front of you. 

The first is a dark stone, withered flowers sit in front of them. Engraved on it is “Damian Wayne XXXX-XXXX age 34 beloved brother, son, father, and husband” it matches him. The darkness of his stone contrasts the second is a lighter almost white stone, it too has withered flowers. Engraved on this in a nice almost cursive font reads “—— Wayne XXXX-XXXX age 48 beloved daughter, mother, and wife.” It matches the relationship that the two have. Damian was darker than the moon, and your mother’s was the sun.

The third sits off to the side almost detached. You approach it and see the stone is different. It has an more eerie almost distorted look. You have to crouch in front of it to move the ivy that has grown on it out of the way. Engraved on it is, your name. Your breath hitches and then, the ground opens under you. You see nothing but darkness and you see two figures. As they approached, they walk crooked and twisted. Then they speak “why did you leave us?” There two voices mix and you hear the voice of your father, and your mother. You try to move but can’t, they continue to approach as they do it they become more clear that they aren’t alive. They look like corpses and you feel sick. Then you wake up and you sit in your bed sweat dripping down your face. You quickly lean over the side of your bed, a trash can sits near it, you grab it and throw up emptying your stomach. You feel tears rock through your body as you shake. Eventually after who knows how long, you look at the clock wiping the tears. The light of it reads out 3:45 great only one ish hour of sleep. You definitely weren’t going to sleep for the rest of the night. You get up and change your shirt, the stickiness of the sweat makes you feel uncomfortable. You rub your eyes and walk more shuffles into your kitchen. You had bought a new apartment, after spending a bit of time with no place. When you originally got brought back in time, you were lucky enough to not have anyone in your apartment. You didn’t own it because sadly no matter how easy it would be money and property doesn’t move back in time, not unless it’s on you. So a black mold infested apartment was your new home. You poor yourself some hot cocoa, you gladly remembered Alfred’s version of hot cocoa. You drink it and sit trying to calm your shaky hands. Then you hear it, in a time where it would usually be a quiet time you hear cars driving. You hear it louder than normal, you put down your cup, and then move to the living room. Did you leave the window open? While you enter you and move towards the open window, you hear something behind you. You move quickly dodging the attacker. your head turns fast and arms ready to fight. There stands nightwing in all his glory, ‘shit how the fuck did he get here’ you thought. ‘How did they dodge that’ Dick thought, he then was able to see you fully, Jason was right you were just a kid. You looked at him in a panic and quickly move back before turning around and making a break for your door, ‘shit’ you think as you feel a item making contact with your head. You turn slightly and see orphan, ‘I forgot to check the corner.’ Is the last thought that goes across your mind before you lose consciousness. 

“Cass got them there out” Dick said over his com looking at the kid as they lay on the floor. They definitely looked like they weren’t eating enough, he thought. 

“Roger jays coming to pick them up you look for hints.” Says Babs over coms. Dick moves around the apartment searching for anything, he notices and takes notes of a few things while doing so. Three things of note in the kitchen. One, there was little to no food, he had more food than this when he first moved to Bludhaven, and that wasn’t much. Two there was a day marked on the physical calendar in the kitchen, one marked a few days ago, ‘moms d-day.’ The handwriting was clean and seemed to have been erased more than once as if the kid wasn’t sure they should put it down. Dick felt sorry for the kid, he and well everyone in the family had lost a parent but it never did make it any more normal. The third thing he noticed was the hot cocoa on the counter. More specifically the smell, he recognized it, at first he thought the worst, a poison or something. But then it hit him with a sense of nostalgia, it was Alfred’s hot cocoa or something very similar. ‘How did the kid know about Alfred’s hot cocoa recipe?’ He thinks. He makes sure to note that as he moves into the kid’s bedroom, first his nose is filled with a terrible smell. He knows it’s vomit immediately, his experience with both being a vigilante and also parting a bit makes him know it. He moves past the smell and notices a notebook, probably a diary, he grabbed it and move on looking through the room. He noticed how there was basically nothing in there closet. He realized that the kid’s apartment is basically empty, there was nothing really big. 

“Golden boy come on let’s get going!” He hears Jason call out, Dick snaps out of the Dase he was he leaves with Jason and Cass. Dick couldn’t stop thinking about the kid as they took them back to the cave. 

“I’ll watch them,” Dick speaks up as they all sit there watching the kid in the cell they have them in. The others give him a question glance but don’t say anything. So dick waits, watching the kid as they sleep, many questions run though his mind. Then one thing pops up. “Tim maybe do a blood test? To you know see the similarities to anyone?” 

“No I didn’t. Give me some time, let me see.” Said Tim before he came over and grabbed a prick of blood and went back to his computer and started running the test. Dick turns his attention back to the kid on the metal bed, it’s probably not comfortable. 

You on the other hand are back in your dream again. You stand in the foggy graveyard once more, your heart raises and you know what is going to happen again. You turn around away from the 3 stones and start running. You don’t know why but you do, you keep running and then trip forward. You look up and see by your gravestone, then this time it changes. The ground doesn't open up and swallow you whole, a hand digs up from the ground and grabs your wrist, you try to move your wrist and get out. Panic fills you and bubbles over, you breath in and out at a rapid pace. You can’t get out you feel so trapped, and then, it pulls you under. Darkness fills your eyes again. And yet again you hear the words of raspy from the corpse of your parents. “Why did you leave us?” Over and over and over. It gets so loud then… it stops, you wake up yet again. Sweat falling down your brow as you sit up from laying down. 

“Wo wo wo, kid you okay?” Says a voice that you don’t recognize. Your head wipes to the person. It’s dick, aka nightwing. Shit shit shit shit, they know they know. You try to suck in a breath and you feel the vomit fill your throat. You cover your mouth and try taking deep breaths to calm yourself down, trying to get the vomit to disappear. Dick sees this and quickly opens your cell rushing over to you and bringing you to the toilet. He moves your hair out of the way and rubs your back. You can’t hold it back and throw up, “hey hey, it’s okay.” Dick says as he rubs your back. His voice is so soft and warm, you feel tears run down your face, as you wipe your face. Dick wraps you in one of the hugs you had read about in the many diaries and letters written about. You never thought you’d get one ever, you remember how they were described and it couldn’t ever imagine it would be it’s… warm? Comforting? Motherly? You didn’t know how to describe it to you, but it lets out a river of tears, it reminds you of your mother. It’s strange you haven’t had a hug in forever, you don’t remember the last time you got hugged. 

Dick holds you and wonders how this happened. He looks away from you holding you and sees Jason leaning on the hallway door. Jason gives him an inquisitive look, Dick gives an shrug and rubs your back as you continue to cry. One question goes through both of the men’s head ‘what happened to this kid?”

- Notes -

chapter 2 baby I’m sorry felt like this took forever but here it is also gong. To be a bit before the next, trying to write it but I got school coming fast and the next two weeks are going to be a lot of me. So sorry if it takes a bit. Also if y’all want to be added to the tag list just ask in the comments

tag list

@rosecentury

[cinamun]

Long Post Alert I sit as a proud reader of Things Fall Apart. So before I begin my story. Judge if you must and say to yourself ‘you better than me because ain’t no way’! And if you are I love that for you. I am married to a man like Mercy that is older than me. It was a whirlwind romance. The kind that reminds you of a romcom or your favorite r&b songs. Days turn into weeks, and you find yourself head over heels in love with a man who you believes feels the same for you.  He comes with baggage but nothing you can’t handle or at least you tell yourself that at first. Times goes on your relationship becomes a light switch it’s on/off when he says so. Don’t dare try and date anyone else because it’s was like he could sense my happiness and pop up out of the blue. Where he has and what he has been doing in the time apart doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is he missed me in this moment. So I would give in and for a while things are good, the light is back on and it is shining brighter each. Which would make when he cut it off hurt that much more. So I do it again move on. (Get engaged even)! As luck would have it he misses me, but I am engaged and happy please leave me alone. He smiles that smile you know you miss me and one last time won’t hurt and who’s gonna know unless you tell them? So someone would tell the growing baby in my belly. So now he’s overjoyed no more fiancé and I am having his baby just like we had talked about in the past. So I marry my Jackson and for a while things are good. Until they weren’t. I learned of my husband’s transgressions on the night that I was using his phone to call the ambulance because he was having a heart attack!! Imagine how I felt in that moment. Our kids need their father and I didn’t want my life as I know it to change. Oh but I’d be lying if I said I thought about not calling for help. At this point we in a valley but I am always waiting for the next peak. And he has always called me ‘My love’ or Kid. So whatever Mercy did maybe she shouldn’t have done it, but some can understand why she did it. #hehaditcoming

First of all, I love you. Secondly, my eyes just got so big reading this. Third, WE GOTTA TELL OUR STORIES! So I hope you writing this ask and this god-forsaken chapter can somehow bring a little bit of light your way. While I do hope he trips and falls up the stairs tomorrow, I hope even more that you are able to do what's best for you and your child(ren) when you feel the time is ripe for you to do that. You never, EVER have to live within an unhappy valley. Life is so short friend, I want you to get your pixie cut too boo.

[humongouscatfan]

could i get some yandere alicent x lady-in-waiting hcs?  👀 

Who am I to ever deny any asks for our lesbian queen?

You come into her Majesty's service shortly after Alicent wed Viserys.

The royal life is harder than she ever expected. Rhaenyra stills refuses to as much as hold a conversation with her and while she cares for her husband, she does not love him as a wife should love a husband.

That's when you come in.

In the darkness, you are her sole light and she clings to you. Your warmth, your kindness soothe her fears. You are the only person that gets to see her true, blinding smile anymore.

You two spend almost every moment of every day together. You have picnics beneath the heart tree, read together and go on walks through the gardens.

During the birth of Aegon, Alicent demands that you be in the room with her. You hold her hand through the whole thing and you are the second person that gets to hold the newborn prince.

After that the two of you only grow closer. Aegon begins calling you both mom. At first, you are worried Alicent might take offence, but her response is one of absolute delightment.

Sadly, not everyone in court shares that opinion.

Soon you are very aware of the other ladies in waiting gazing upon you with envy. They are jealous that you are the one who gets the Queen's favor and attention.

Alicent urges you to pay no mind to them. They don't matter. You are her only real friend.

Friend. She uses that word very often to describe your relationship. She speaks it with near reverence.

You know how devout to the Seven your Queen is. She often invites you to pray with her. So you keep your true feelings locked down to perserve your friendship.

Still, sometimes it is difficult. Especially at night, when Alicent summons you in her chambers to keep her company. You watch her in her dark red robes as she sips on her wine. Her eyes meet yours and there is a spark of something in them. You want nothing more than to press your mouth against the lushness of her lips.

But then there is a knock on the door as Viserys summons her, reminding you the impossibility of your situation.

Everything changes when one of the other ladies of the court accuses you of performing witch craft to bewitch her Majesty. Those accusations are vile and foolish, but the repercussions could be great at even the implication.

You try and hide it from Alicent. She already has enough troubles with Rhaenyra still avoiding her and her father pushing for Aegon's claim.

Regardless, she finds out somehow. That morning, when you come for tea, you do not expect to see such fire in her eyes.

She asks you why you hid this from her. You have never heard her so cold and harsh. Your voice trembles as you explain.

Her gaze softens at your nervousness. Before you can react, her hand cups your cheek and she pulls you closer, sealing your lips with a kiss.

Your mind goes blank. Nothing exists except for her taste, her scent, the feeling of her body against yours. She tastes like honey and smells of roses and mint. You wonder for a moment if you are dreaming but then she sucks onto your bottom lip ever so softly and you feel a tinge of pain, reassuring you this is real.

"You will never leave me," she whispers against your lips "Promise me."

At this moment, she could ask you to burn the entirety of Westeros for her and you would.

"I won't," you promise.

"No one will take you from me," her voice is a little harsher now and when she pulls you back in, the kiss is much more demanding, hungry.

The next day, the lady who accused you is gone. You ask around but can't find anything about her. When you bring it up to Alicent, she does not seem bothered at all.

"One less person to distract you, my love. Come to me. I want to braid your hair," she responds sweetly.

If you two were close before, now the proximity is suffocating. Alicent requests you stay in her chamber every night. She feels lonely without you. You pray together, eat together, sleep together. After her fall out with Rhaenyra, she is always gifting you green dresses and jewelry, often matching her outfits with yours.

When you suggest that you want to visit your family, Alicent says she will begin preparations instantly for both of you to go.

But when you actually get there, her mood seems to dull. When you ask her what is wrong, she sighs.

"I don't think these people are good for you," she says "They are taking advantage of your kindness. They don't deserve you."

"They are my family," you argue.

"Would I ever lie to you?"

At the very suggestion that you may be betrothed, Alicent shatters. She grasps your hand and refuses to let go.

"You promised me. I need you. Our children need you," she pleads while you soothe her, insisting you will keep your promise.

As time goes on, you find yourself more and more isolated. Alicent is always around and when she is not, one of the kids is running around, keeping you on your feet.

On the tragic night when Aemond loses his eye, you stand by Alicent. This is the woman you love and the child you have raised after all. Despite her heartbreak, her tears, you catch the adoration in her eyes as she turns towards you.

That night, she comes to your chambers. Her lips meet yours and it is every bit as addicting and maddening and overwhelming as it was all those years ago. She is pressed up against you and you feel her pounding heart.

"I love you," she confesses "I love you as a wife loves her husband. I love you in every way that has ever existed. No one has ever loved as much as I love you. Marry me."

You wipe the tears falling down her cheeks. It is impossible you explain. She is already wed and even if she were not, you are both women-.

"I don't need the court to know of our oaths. I only need you and the Seven to be present,"

You never could say no to Alicent. And that very same night, the two of you stand all alone at the Sept and speak your vows as she wraps her green cloak over your shoulders.

You are hers and she is yours.

[myechoecho]

Rewatching W: Two Worlds

ep 5

It was absolutely heartbreaking to see Cheol find the comic books and realize his entire life is there. He sits there and reads his life story from the beginning (this was also a neat way to give us some more background on Cheol's life and some details on the prosecutor). He has to relive everything. After he is just defeated. When the bookstore employee tells him that the series has been a best seller for 5 years, all he can do is laugh. The pain of his existence is nothing more than entertainment to millions.

He goes to Yeon Joo, and even through his turmoil is able to smile and flirt with her. I like that he’s able to say that he regrets pushing her for the answers. He never expected anything like his. He’s grateful to her – her consideration and her protection. He genuinely thanks her.

Their roles are reversed - she wants him to stay with her because he has no money, house or id. He’s incredibly touched. He kisses her, and this the first real kiss they share. She is still his key, and now his only light.

Cheol, of course, cannot stay put. He goes to see Sung Moo. Going through his house incredibly only causes more trauma for him. He sees the planning boards, the character models, the sketches. He finds out that Yeon Joo is Sung Moo’s daughter and while he is hurt by this, he is not angry with her all.

In betweeen this we get the fight in the operating room between Yeon Joo and the Professor, which makes me laugh. It’s a bit of lightness in a heavy episode. Yeon Joo, the shipper vis the Professor, the anti. As someone who has shipped multiple couples since childhood, and has had some anti ships, this highly amused me as it felt very familiar.

The confrontation between Cheol and Sung Moo amazing. I forgot that Cheol had actually dragged Sung Moo in first. Even though Cheol is a living breathing person in that world, he stabs chooses to stab Cheol. Cheol manages to stab him but is not injured. It makes even more sense why how Cheol knew he could shoot Yoon Joo without her getting hurt.

The flashback shows a young Yeon Joo, drawing to escape her parents argument and we see what looks like an early version of Cheol

Cheol lays it all out for Sung Moo – he’s rightfully furious. Sung Moo is a miserable man, terrible husband, father and an alcoholic (I think his drinking only got worse through years).

Now Cheol says Sung Moo made Cheol the opposite of himself, but that's only really true post the attempted suicide. Up to that point his life was even more miserable than Sung Moo's. As for the suicide plot, Cheol points out the misery porn comic was the only thing Sung Moo felt he had control over. Sung Moo may not be able to commit suicide but he could make Choel do it. It’s interestingthat Cheol didn’t realize that it was not Sung Moo who saved him; Cheol saved hinmself.

I have some sympathy for Sung Moo here. Drawings changing on their own making him think he as crazy, his friends laughing at him and dismissing him, he’s an alcoholic. He does want to endure for Yeon Joo. The money he makes he wants for Yeon Joo (though he stole her character).

Cheol has the gun pointed on Sung Moo but he is unconcerned. He's deliberately cruel to Cheol. He taunts Cheol to shoot him because he, confident that his character set up is absolute and Cheol won’t deviate. It is not in his character to shoot an old man. Yeon Joo, who has been listening this entire time, KNOWS that Cheol would shoot if provoked enough.

Cheol is willing to go back to the original planned ending but it Sung Moo says it won’t work because Cheol has to understand to accept it (part of his character set up). Again, Cheol is perfectly happy going back as long as he knows who murdered his family.

The final blow is when Sung Moo reveals that there was not culprit - it was just a setup. He didn’t ever plan to let Cheol find out who it was so he didn’t need to know the identity of the killer nor did he care. I do call BS on his explanation. The hero is made when the crime isn’t solved? Ummm what?? If you are a good enough writer, the story doesn’t have to end with finding the culprit. Even disregarding that – most stories DO come to an end and finding the culprit would be a natural ending. God, how unsatisfying as a reader to have a beloved main character just get killed off for no good reason, ending the story without resolving any of the ongoing plot lines.

For Cheol, his family was real. His trauma was real. His pain and endless suffering was real because he lived it. It was not just something that Sung Moo drew.

Cheol is able to show mercy and simply asks Sung Moo to find another way. But Sung Moo can’t leave it alone. He taunts Cheol again. Cheol is HIS creation and his character set up means he won't shoot. This is what finally breaks Cheol and he shoots Sung Moo.

Sung Moo was so arrogant that he forgot the reason they became entangled is because Cheol refused to die. He’s been deviating from his determination for years.

Still have zero issues with Cheol shooting him here. He's in a highly traumatized stated and Sung Moo has tried to kill him multiple times. If I'm remembering right, even Yeon Joo didn't have much of problem with it.

[little-peril-stories]

Intro: The Queen of Lies

AU for The Prince of Thieves / WC: keeps changing, will let you know someday

Masterlist | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

I sold myself to a loveless thing / And I walk'd to the altar and there I lied

C.W.S., Harper's Weekly, 7 July 1866

At a Glance

Genres: romance, historical, whump

POV/tense: 3rd-person, past tense

Small main cast; single narrator two narrators lol

You can enjoy the story without reading TPOT - the side characters just won't feel nearly as fleshed out here (I think so, anyway.)

tbh it's a romance with added bonus of torture, captivity, dread, angst, intimidation, and fun whumpy happenings

Description

THE QUEEN OF LIES is a tale of quiet courage, inner strength, and forbidden love—and the ways we can change our lives for the better if only we dare to take a leap of faith.

Four years ago, Breanna Cooper made a choice that altered the course of her life forever.

She stayed.

Instead of running away from a man she knew did not and could not love her, she remained—and became Mrs. Breanna Hatchett. Now she exists quietly in a life half-lived, striving to be the perfect wife and always falling short.

One day, a chance encounter in Constable Baden Hatchett’s prison brings her face to face with a captured thief from the notorious thieving gang Iustitia aecum. Though she swears she will forget the boy to whose brutal punishment she bears witness, it soon becomes clear that forgetting him is something she simply cannot do.

On a whim, for the first time in years, Breanna takes a chance and seeks out the thief—and yet again, her life is changed forever.

Vibes & Tropes

Forbidden love

Tragic backstory

“Who did this to you?”

Gazing through cell bars

"I'll fight for you"

“Why are you helping me?”

Gloomy skies, autumn leaves, rain & thunder

Against all logic and reason…

"I will always find you"

Alternatively, if you are a music-minded person, I collected some song lyrics that make me think of this story.

Cast of Characters

Main & Major Characters

BREANNA HATCHETT: Our heroine. Four years ago, she married into an abusive relationship, and since then she has been going through her life like a ghost, doing as her husband says and trying to be the perfect wife. When fate sends her careening into the story of an imprisoned thief, her entire world is rocked to its core.

FOX/THE THIEF: Our hero. If you’re new here, enjoy spending 50% of the story not knowing his name. Sharp-tongued and defiant, impulsive and reckless, the thief is determined to take his secrets to his grave to protect his family, if that’s what it takes. He is slowly losing hope…that is, until he is granted unexpected kindness by the least likely person imaginable. Suddenly, there’s more hope and light in his life than he ever expected to see again.

CONSTABLE BADEN HATCHETT: Our bad guy. Breanna’s husband. Vindictive, controlling, and manipulative, he wields his power and influence inside and outside the prison where he works as a constable. Above all things, he despises disobedience and disorder the most. When Breanna begins to take her life into her own hands, he will stop at nothing to gain control over her once again. Whatever it takes.

JUNIOR CONSTABLE CURTIS LENTON: A constable who is not-so-secretly pining for Breanna. He is a friend to her in the only way he knows how, but this means he is sometimes overprotective of her—to a fault.

DR. ALLAN ARMSTRONG DALE: A newly employed doctor who has a habit of getting in over his head no matter what universe he's in.

SPIDER: An elusive woman who helps to run the thieving gang Iustitia aecum.

HARE: The fourth and final member of IA’s inner circle.

WOLF/THE THIEF’S BROTHER: A mysterious character whose identity the thief goes to great lengths to protect.

ALICE: Breanna’s friend who encourages her to take more risks in her life.

Other Characters

MRS. BRISTOW: A nurse working at the prison. Better at the job than the medic.

MRS. DENNISON: The Hatchetts' housekeeper.

MR. GYSBORNE: The prison medic.

JUNIOR CONSTABLE MICHAELSON: A vicious officer who works under Baden Hatchett. Notable for his leering gaze and sadistic tendencies.

MARGUERITE: Breanna’s other friend.

DR. RICHARDS: The other, not-so-nice doctor.

INSPECTOR BULWELL: The head of the prison where Baden works.

MISS DUGFORD: A cruel bully of a nurse

FAQ

What will I like about TQOL?

Well, if you liked the thief’s snark in TPOT, then it’s, like, tripled, especially in the early chapters here. But this is a different story—far more romantic—and you might like getting to see a much softer side of him, too.

You might like Breanna’s character development from a very frightened and sheltered wife to a courageous young woman who is willing to take risks and face her fears.

If you like romantic tension, forced proximity, pining, and lots of caretaking/comfort, then I hope you’ll like this story!

How do I know if this story is for me?

You can check out the Contents/Warnings here. There are spoilers in that post, so click at your own risk.

For TPOT readers:

>>>>>

stop here if you don't want any vague spoilers for The Prince of Thieves!

>>>>>

What are the biggest differences between TPOT and TQOL?

Shorter. Fewer but often longer chapters. 3rd-person past tense.

There's the whole name thing. The name "Cooper" only shows up 3 times in the whole thing. "Mrs. Hatchett," on the other hand...

In TPOT, we know the thief’s name right away because he and two other inner circle members are POV characters. Breanna is the only POV character in TQOL........uh....listen. We just have to wait until she learns his name. For stylistic reasons.

Since Breanna didn't run away and never joined IA, all her serendipitous meetings with the thief in her past never happened. Her first encounter with him is in Chapter 1.

Obviously, since they're married, the relationship between Baden and Breanna—while strained and 100% toxic, problematic, and unhealthy—is not as antagonistic as it is in TPOT.

In the beginning, we get a little less existential dread because the thief isn’t expecting execution but rather long-term imprisonment, labour, or exile to a penal colony (no actual plot reason for this, I just wanted to play with the stakes and see how it changed the dynamics. because I can). This means that Ezra Johnston (the captured runner from TPOT) was never hanged and so we catch up with the thief in a slightly better mental state than the same point in TPOT.

Wolf and Jr. Constable Michaelson have reduced roles (compared to TPOT), while Jr. Constable Lenton (who literally only appears in two TPOT chapters) has an elevated role and gets a first name.

The time period is slightly different (because of reasons), but I doubt this is actually noticeable in the writing, only in my brain. I had to do a decent amount of research for this one particular plot thread, so now I know what decade we’re in lol.

What’s the same between TPOT and TQOL?

Well, Hatchett is still an asshole, and actually, so is the thief (affectionate)...he's still a snarky, potty-mouthed rascal. The IA setup is pretty much the same, the tattoo hasn’t changed, and the thief’s determination to keep the inner circle safe and out of Hatchett’s clutches is as strong as ever. On the IA end, everything up to the flogging has played out pretty much the same (see above q for a few lil differences). It's Breanna's life that has been wildly different.

In terms of tropes/plots….yes, I repeated a few. I don’t want to say them here bc spoilers but if you really want to know, send me a DM and I’ll spill which TPOT parts get their own AU twist.

Thanks for reading! &lt;3 Hope you like it!

If you've made it this far, here's your reward:

Image ID: a square image of the external wall of a brick building with barred windows. White text reads: “No, not a hanging. It’s not for ladies to see or think of. No need to trouble yourself with such things.” End ID.

[lola-andheruniverse]

For your Caryl FanFiction. Best WIP - A Better Man by 27dayz on FanFiction. Daryl loses Carol to a Walker Bite at the Prison and is transported back to the Quarry. He gets to fall in love with Carol and save Sophia and more. It is so good. Out in The Cold by Haitus80 on FanFiction. Daryl helps a stranded motorist whose husband left her on the side of the road in the cold . They become friends and then more. Check Engine Lights by Mizdiz on Ao3 and on 9 Lives with the same name. High School friends and sweethearts and life goes on ( sequels too). Love these works and others might too.

Hi, @southerncountrygirl! Thanks again for taking your time to recommend great AU fanfics through my little project. A Better Man by 27days has already been recommended here. If you missed my review, go check it out, it's an amazing fic! Out in the Cold, written by Haitus 80, is posted on FF.net. Summary: On one of the coldest nights on record Daryl Dixon stops for a stranded motorist. She's leery, of course, but finally agrees to let him give her a lift home. That one kind gesture on his part, and one act of rebellion on hers, starts the domino affect that changes them both. (Caryl AU no ZA) Unapologetic fluff ensues. You have been warned. Rated for sexual situations.

Rating: M / Mature Word count: 111.129 (43 chapters) Published: March 7, 2016 - COMPLETE

This is a very sweet and precious story where Daryl helps Carol to get a new life, away from Ed's abuse, by providing her shelter, friendship and emotional support. Things progress quite quickly but it doesn't feel rushed because it's clear from the beginning that they are the best thing that has ever happened in each other's lives. As pointed out in the summary, very fluff indeed. Shout out to Glenn and Tara being that type of best friends who love to gossip (I smiled every time I read a scene with them) and Merle being...well, Merle.

Check Engine Lights, written by carol_is_daryls_favorite_meal / mizdiz aka @waynedunlaptheorgandonor is posted both on 9Lives and AO3. Summary: Daryl and Carol have graduated high school, are living together, and are deeply in love. Everything is perfect and there is no conflict or drama and they are living the ideal fairy tale life. Lmao, just kidding. Life's a roller coaster and they're flying on the tracks with no safety bar. Turns out you can't control the future; all you can do is live it. Rating: M / Mature Word count: 272.529 (33 chapters) Published: February 24, 2019 - COMPLETE Very important warning: this fic is the third part of a five-part series called Scrap Metal. So if you're new to this work, please read 'Jumper Cables' and then 'Team Groupchat: An Interlude' first.

I don't know what I love the most about Diz's works: her dry humour, her talent on managing to maintain our characters' exact traits in completely different scenarios or the way she surprises us with that kind of fluffy that gives a reader cavities. Check Engine Lights is no exception. Be ready to laugh your head off but also cry with the sweetness of not only Carol and Daryl growing up and building a life together but also with TF being the best friends someone can possibly want.

Great fics for loving carylers' hearts. I hope you guys enjoy today's recs by southerncountrygirl. Please don't forget to give feedback to these authors who have given so much of their time and love to our little fandom. Caryl on, babes, caryl on!

[geometricalien]

Between Akashi & Furihata, if one of them died, who do you think is more likely to heal from the pain of loss sooner & moves on with his life?

When has Akashi Seijuurou gotten over anything in his fucking life? This rhetorical jest is an oversimplification of one of Akashi's character flaws which is his need for control. This is all to say, simply based on that, Furihata is the more emotionally intelligent of the two, the one more open and accepting to change. I think they both would require years to fully heal but I think Furihata would be the one to move on sooner.

I've tried to keep it short and direct above for those without brainrot but I AM going to go apeshit below the cut

Oh my god oh my god oh my GOD I'm so glad someone wants to hear me talk about THIS, THIS EXACT CONCEPT- ACCEPTING THE LOVE OF THEIR LIVES DEATH FASCINATES ME ENDLESSLY FUCK

Okay for reference there has been 2 fanfics involving this concept that I read when I first got into akafuri and they have HEAVILY influenced my perception of this question:

- The Truth About Reality; which is literally about Furihata not accepting Akashi's death and through mysticism goes to 4/5 different parallel realities to get him back. It's a favorite of mine and I read it once a year. It has themes of sacrifice and second chances which make it so crucial to the thematic elements of akafuri. Read it please

- Through the Air by Maiokoe; I love the first chapter, literally Kuroko Kagami Takao and Midorima come to Akashi while he is at work and inform him that Furihata's flight just crashed. It is so so so good. The way it plays out, Akashi's mounting fear, his resistance, the way his fear turns to anger then to despair- sometimes I cry when I reread it. And the last lines of the chapter---

What was a world without his lover? What was this life without his easy nature and smiles? What was this life without his affection? What was this world without Furihata Kouki? What did this world mean to him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. What was Akashi Seijuuro without him? He didn’t want to find out.

Those lines have colored my opinion of what Akashi would be like if his husband died so fucking much that it really was eventual that I started my Greek fic where Akashi is Achilles and Furihata is Patroclus. So if you know the Iliad then you know how my fic will play out and exactly where I take a stance on Akashi’s terrible all consuming love.

To talk about the dissolution of happily in love akafuri by the cruel hands of death is to examine how their relationship evolved them and what being torn from their other half would do to them. To be haunted by their after image, to look at their favorite mug, to wear their favorite sweater- who would wear grief better. Who would welcome it, accept its presence. Who would repress it.

Please do not mistake what I'm saying to mean Furihata would move on quickly. Where Furihata is Akashi's light, Akashi is his gravity. He would be adrift and untethered without Akashi. The world would turn upside down. He would feel the expanse of their house, the emptiness of their bed. Furihata would be lost. It would take years to come down back to earth by himself.

Furihata would eventually move out of that house/apartment too full of memories, at the prodding of well meaning friends he would download dating apps, eventually he would go on dates and try his best to not compare them to his late husband because how could a man compare to a god. And then years and years down the line, when his heart only half aches when he sees a hair of red, when he only wears that old ratty sweater on the occasion bad day, he can look up into the sky and smile, thankful for the memories. I think he could even fall in love again, begin a new chapter.

A large chunk of Furihata is lost the day Akashi dies but he grows around the pain and walks on. Accepting the scars, accepting the love and pain, accepting it all.

As I said though, Furihata is Akashi's light. His metric on good and bad. The saving grace that redeemed him and inspired him to become worthy of such love.

Imagine if the sun was stolen from the sky and we were pitched into utter darkness. Until our eyes adjust and we can make out some shapes, you are surrounded in black black. Complete emptiness. Alone more than ever before and for a moment you think it will consume you. That is how Akashi feels for the first year until his eyes adjust to the darkness. He would continue in this shadow life indefinitely, watching everyone else patch themselves together and move on, while he.is.stuck. And he won't admit it and only those brave enough would say it to his face, but he is absolutely wallowing, sulking, in this darkness as self-punishment. that in some twisted sense, this is what he deserves. he digs his feet in, refusing to move. And if out of the corner of his eye a flicker of light dances, he would refuse to follow it. The dark is where he belongs.

He would bury himself in work. He would refuse to move out of their house. Refusing to touch any of the things that Kouki last left them, his toothbrush bone dry in the holder, the book he was reading on his bedside table.

And when his friends compare him to his father- he becomes furious, alight with indignation. He is not cold and cruel like his father had been. "No... you're empty."

It would take him so so long to accept that Furihata would want him to be happy even if its not with him. That he deserves to be happy. Only then would he take tiny half steps out of the cave he buried himself in, the cave that he would have made his grave.

As a side note, I mentioned Furihata falling in love with someone else afterwards... my personal interpretation is that Akashi could not. He would try if only just because he knows Furihata wants him to be happy and knew that Akashi is the most happy when he is in love- but The Akashi heart is a fearsome terrible all consuming thing.

Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who celebrated the anniversary of each milestone of their relationship. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who is head over heels in love and worships the ground his beloved walks on. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who calls their partner love- because they are the manifestation of their love. Akashi Seijuurou, is a man who would go to the far corners of the world to see if there was some way to still communicate with their partner if said partner was turned into a worm and would build a terrarium of utmost luxury for said partner and talk to the worm as if it was them, take the worm to see the sun meet the ocean, because they have to hope that their partner still has some consciousness. And if not, then he needs to do that for himself. To fool himself. And once that worm passes, he would be extra compassionate to earthworms because they remind him of them.

The Akashi heart is a blessing to the receiver for there is nothing stronger or purer. The Akashi heart is a curse to the creator if only because they have that one single heart and they are physically unable to take it back.

[neo-contemporaryfailure]

A chest cold tests Olive and Jack's relationship; Jack thinks about his time with Mary.

JACK is half awake, laying face down, in bed. Olive, across the room, is pulling on a wrap dress over a leotard. 

JACK

Why are you here?

OLIVE

I've been thinking of taking a ballet class. I'm getting a bit rusty. But I enjoy our mornings in the studio much more. So imagine my surprise when I get there this morning and you aren't there-

JACK

But why are you here?

OLIVE

God forbid I see my husband in the morning. Just wanted to make sure you're alive.

JACK 

I'd never kill myself without telling you.

OLIVE

Gentleman. I wanted this dress and I wanted my shoes that match. I have a bag that goes with it at my place, I'm not sure why this dress never made it over.

JACK

Why are they here?

OLIVE

I spend too much time with you. 

JACK 

A woman's place is in her apartment. 

OLIVE 

Yet another thing we agree on. 

She looks at him with genuine affection. Disgusting (and she knows it.)  She sits next to him and messes with his hair. He half rolls over and swats her away. 

OLIVE 

(Thoroughly entertained)

Do you want me to pick you up a bottle of NyQuil? You look like shit.

JACK

No. That garbage isn't good for you.

OLIVE picks up a bottle of pills off the nightstand, she reads the label.

OLIVE

You're right. Secobarbital is all you ever need. 

She opens the drawer and puts the pill bottle in it. Among others.

OLIVE

Okay, my lord. Whose kneecaps do I have to break for getting you sick? Was it Maurice? 

JACK

I think it was the kid’s brat. Children are disgusting. 

OLIVE 

Well that's unfortunate. I have a “no killing children” rule. Guess avenging you will have to wait 12 more years.  See you at the studio tomorrow morning?

JACK gives a thumbs up. OLIVE leaves.

JACK'S MIND. Or maybe the past.

A huge stage. People around him.  Jack is 18 years old. 

Bright  lights. The ensemble is singing.

He is dancing, and has been for at this point, 7 minutes straight. 

The number changes into a waltz. He waltzes with Mary. Her eyes are serious. 

She is whisked off stage. 

The number changes again, into the culmination of the show, something big and serious that makes the audience want to stay. JACK keeps dancing, now doing tap. 

It's so aggressive. 

He continues, and continues, and continues, then, in one final moment, sticks the landing to thunderous applause. Lights go down, the curtain falls. He cannot breathe. One of the ensemble members helps him off stage.

MARY

(quiet)

I need you not to look like you're trying so hard. It's distracting.

JACK nods. He loosens his collar.

JACK

I'm trying.

MARY furrows her brow.

MARY 

Get some fresh air. You're turning purple.

Back to now.

JACK is taking a cold shower because he's a freak. His eyes are closed.

The living room. JACK enters.

OLIVE is on the sofa. She's reading a book. Her ankle is wrapped in an bandage and resting up on the arm of the sofa.

JACK

What happened?

OLIVE looks up.

OLIVE

I fucked the landing right before intermission. Greg dropped me a half moment too early and my ankle rolled and I fell flat on my face.

JACK

Why didn't you call? I would've gone down there and yelled at you.

OLIVE 

I did. You didn't answer. But I managed the second act. I'll probably be fine tomorrow, if I rest it tonight, which I'm doing and that's why I'm here instead of going all the way out to my place. Sorry if you had a flu-orgy planned tonight.

JACK shrugs and goes into the other room.

BACK in Jack's mind.

Another day from the same show as before. Something has changed, a costume or an orchestration, it's been a few days.

We are at the beginning of the tap segment. Jack is working so hard and everyone can tell it. He looks younger than he is. 

Suddenly, he stumbles, he stops dancing. He steps back.

The ensemble doesn't know what's going on, but they keep working. 

JACK gets back to it, but he's all messed up. He keeps trying. 

MARY, watching him from off stage, is confused.

He can't do it. 

He can't do any of it. He stops dancing again, he stumbles back. He falls over. The audience laughs.

MARY gestures for someone to grab him, then zips out and finishes the number herself, so casually.

A few moments later. JACK sits. Behind him is one of the ensemble members, who is sorta propping him up. So nice.

MARY enters. Everyone speaks in whispers.

MARY

Extra long intermission, I got us 10 more minutes. 

She kneels in front of Jack. She barely looks real. She looks like she's going to say something. Mary is not the type of person who can obscure frustration on her face.

MARY

We need to give him something to– does anyone have some- shoot what's it- dexedrine? Get him some of those, he'll be good to go.

Everyone looks at her like she's insane.

Back to now!

Olive is way too close to Jack. She is sitting  on his chest, staring into his soul. Jack shoves her away as he snaps back into the real world. They're in the bedroom.

OLIVE

You weren't breathing.

JACK

Yes I was.

OLIVE

I came in here and you weren't breathing. What'd you take?

JACK

Liv, I have a chest cold. I'm not shooting up heroin.

OLIVE

Heroin no. Mixing barbiturates with whatever the fuck your dealer is calling coke–

JACK

Jesus Christ. Fuck off.

OLIVE

You're freaking me out, Jack. 

JACK sits up, he's disoriented for a moment. He looks for a pack of cigarettes.

JACK

 Fucking hysterical.

Jack finds his cigarettes. Yippee. He lights one. 

OLIVE

I'm calling them and telling them to send the understudy– Don't smoke. Don't smoke, Jack, come on. 

JACK

Make me.

She grabs the cigarette. She puts it out. 

OLIVE

Let's go sit outside.

They sit on the balcony. It's mid morning. Jack has his hands over his eyes. Olive is stretching.

JACK 

How's your ankle?

OLIVE

I didn't know you had the capability to remember something from two whole days ago. Impressive. It's fine, thank you. You're so kind and considerate.

JACK

City air is making me feel worse.

OLIVE

Do I need to bring you to the seaside for your delicate constitution? Are you wasting away from consumption?

Jack doesn't get it.

JACK

I don't think so.

OLIVE

You look like a corpse.

JACK

When you were sitting on my chest, my first thought was, “I can't breathe.” My second thought was, “this bitch needs to lose 10 pounds.” No wonder Greg dropped you.

OLIVE

I cannot wait to take everything from you in the divorce.

Jack stands up. Woozy, a bit, he goes back inside. Olive follows.

JACK

Go do the show, Liv. I'll be mad if you don't…

Jack's mind again. Somewhere, Jack isn't focused on where, he is sitting. Mary is sitting up close to him. She's all he notices.

MARY

Jack. Look at me. I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'm not mad at you. I want you to understand that this show needs to go forward.

JACK 

I can do it.

MARY

Buddy, kiddo, you can't. You've made it clear that you can't pull it off. Not for 8 shows a week. I can't have you nearly dying every intermission. 

JACK

I can do it. I have the skills–

MARY

And you have the talent and you have the chutzpah, I know. But Jack, I built that number around how you can move, just because you can move that way doesn't mean you should.

JACK 

(As hurt as humanly possible)

You don't think I can do it.

MARY

You can't. You tried and you couldn't pull it off. You're not meant to do it. 

JACK

But I'm ruining your show.

MARY

Bert and I already found someone to replace you. Nothing is ruined. You just can't do it. There are all sorts of things in life that you just have to fail at. And you failed at it, Jack. Okay? Everyone fails all the time. It's a part of life.

JACK

Mary, let me try again. Please. Mary.

MARY

It's been 4 days, Jack. The- the show has to go on. Okay? You know that.

JACK 

You asked me to do this show and I have to do it for you, Mary.

Mary looks so overwhelmed by this pathetic loser.

MARY

You're gonna break my heart, Jack. You're going to make me cry. Don't do that. Just tell me it's okay. I know you know that it's for the best if I fire you.

JACK

I don't want you to fire me because I can do it. This show is important, Mary, I can't ruin it.

MARY

Jack, you're going to ruin it if you keep trying to play this role. You can't do it. You don't have the tenacity, you don't have the endurance, you have asthma. You need to be the one who decides that this is not the best option for you as a person.

JACK

I don't care if it is. I can do it and I'm going to do it, until I can't.

MARY

Jack. You are at the can't. Now, you can either let me fire you or force me to. And you force me to, it's going to hurt me a lot. I don't want to send you back to New York upset with you. I need you to tell me you'll be okay if I replace you.

Ouch. Mary touches his face and looks him in the eyes. Maybe there's love, or maybe it's just frustration. 

MARY

Say it, please.

JACK

Okay.

Mary hugs him.

MARY

You're fired.

She pulls away. She looks at him. She's very serious but she's not honest.

MARY

This show means less to me than your life, Jack. You understand that?

Jack nods.

MARY

Okay. So you're going to go back to New York, you're going to my place, you're going to recover, and then when we're in New York, you're going to come back and help me finish up the choreography, you understand that? There's always room for you, Jack. There's always going to be a place. It's just not opposite me.

Back to now.

Jack and Olive sit in the living room. It's a few hours later. Olive is reading a book, half resting on him. How embarrassing, enjoying being with a person. Cringe.

Olive adjusts and looks at him. He is a bit startled to see her.

OLIVE

What?

JACK

I forgot you were still here.

OLIVE 

You were mumbling in your sleep.

JACK

I was thinking about Mary.

OLIVE 

You know I saw her at the the ballet once. As a little girl. I thought she was so beautiful.

JACK

She was. Did I tell you that she fired me?

OLIVE

You have. And to that, I say that, when you and I did the Sunshine number the first time you kept adjusting my legs so I'd stop overextending even though it looked better. 

JACK

Mary didn't believe in limitations. She wanted more of everything. 

OLIVE

Viability, Jack. The perfect dancer only exists in science fiction. The viable dancer is in the room.

Olive adjusts again, this time sitting closer to him. He puts his arms around her and closes his eyes.

[chai-hat-tea]

2022 Evaluation of my Fics

I was tagged by the nicest people @beardyboyzx and @thinlinez to answer a bunch of fic questions. Here goes nothing:

1. Number of stories posted to AO3 this year: 9

2. Word count posted for the year: 55,469

3. Fandoms I wrote for: One Direction

4. Pairings: Larry and Ziam

5. Story with the most:

Kudos: Stranger Coffees

Bookmarks: Stranger Coffees

Comments: Up until now it was Stranger Coffees, but @thinlinez swooped in and changed it to I'm Weaker Without You

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): 

I like to think it's the latest fic I wrote (I'm Weaker Without You), but I genuinely can't choose. Maybe each story of mine has different reasons attached for my being proud of them. But yeah, even if they suck, I'm proud of all of my fics <3 but I admit I have a very soft spot for My Light and Fix You. They were the most thought-provoking or had the most character development of sorts and I love that.

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why):

Hahaha on a normal day, I can't bring myself to read any of my works because I hate what I've written and can see it could've been so much better than what I've done, so again, I can't choose (yes I'm a terrible decision maker).

8. Share or describe a favourite review you received:

@thinlinez literally made my year by commenting on every chapter of I'm Weaker Without You and letting me know what they think! I was so nervous about this fic because I wrote just over 30k words in a little over 3 weeks and my brain was so fried, I was worried people would find my story pretentious or "trying too hard". Each comment from them was a godsend. :')

And I received comments from @beardyboyzx and @cigsandchampagnethat helped me get better and have faith in my writing, especially when I was at my lowest.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I think writing in general has been really hard for me, especially fanfiction writing because 1) I've never done any story writing before this, and 2) I didn't think I could write any romance. But this month has been the hardest for me. To write 2 stories at the same time with life happening was just wild. I feel so drained out physically and mentally.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I think it would be the first smut scene I ever wrote. I didn't think I had it in me, but I managed to, even if it was really lame.

11. A favourite excerpt of your writing:

It's not a favourite per se, but I love the tenderness of it:

“Where are you lost,  jaan?” Hands wrap around Liam’s frame as he’s gently brought back to the present. He feels a soft kiss on his temple as he takes a deep breath in.

He turns back around to see Zayn smiling at him. He smilingly lifts his head up, Zayn leaning down to kiss him on the mouth.

“Nowhere, mon amour. Was thinking back to the times when I should’ve realised I’m not into girls.” Liam laughs.

Zayn makes a sound. “It’s okay, you were so young. You couldn’t have known, especially because you were around such homophobic people.”

Liam sighs. “I know it was bad, but honestly? I wouldn’t change anything about it. Because all of that led me to you, my dear husband. I would go through all of that and more, if it means I’m with you.” Zayn just kisses him.

Every first with Zayn has been one blissful moment after another. They’ve been through so much together, and he knows it only made them stronger, and more certain in their love for each other.

Zayn opened his studio and handed Liam his heart when he showed Liam his art for the first time. Liam hasn’t dropped it since.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I just grew haha!! I began writing, and that for me is the biggest growth. I know I have soooo much to learn in the world of writing, but I got over my fear to begin, and that in itself is a major growth for me :)

13. How do you hope to grow next year:

I just want to keep writing and have faith that I'm doing well. I just want to improve and get better in any way I can, because writing has been my best outlet and escape.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Comments from @thinlinez, and my friends @beardyboyzxand @cigsandchampagne. Every author in this fandom is a godsend, and I aspire to be half as amazing as all of you.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

A bunch actually. The Mane Man was based on me going to a salon (minus all the romance of it) and Fix You is very very very personal.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

I'm a baby writer, I'm the last person to be able to give any advice!! But one thing I would say is - WRITE. Write everything you can think of, and read even more than that. Read every genre, every book that you can get your hands on, and talk to fellow writers. You'll learn SO MUCH.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: 

I have a few ideas in mind, but nothing really concrete. I am considering taking part in more fic fests, so that it motivates me to write plot driven fics instead of just one-shots.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read.

I would tag...@twopoppies, @indiaalphawhiskey, @greenfeelings...gosh so many authors I can think of (God these people know I exist now...yikes!! I'm a big big big fan by the way <3)

EDIT - I’m going to be courageous because today seems to be a good day, and tag EVERY author I can remember. @taggiecb @lululawrence @justalarryblog @wabadabadaba @allwaswell16 @jaerie @sadaveniren @beelou @fallinglikethis @panye @phd-mama @hearyouhowling @neondiamond @kingsofeverything @cherrystreet @disgruntledkittenface @crinkle-eyed-boo @marchessa @jacaranda-bloom @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @jishlerfics @tommokat @zanniscaramouche @thedevilinmybrain @isthatyoularry @mizzwilde @londonfoginacup @mercurial-madhouse @wicked-archer @alivingfire @mediawhorefics and members of @writerscornercafe that I’m clearly forgetting and I’m forgetting many or I don’t know their tumblr urls so yeah