#it’s cloak sewing time baby

[bluetooththereptilethethird]

Black Rose

Yandere bat family x fem pregnant reader (vampire au)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

(This fic is one of the multiple choices of this post)

Note: Black rose may seem depressing and a sign of grief, but it also means rebirth and another chance!

Summary: For the first time in your relationship with your former Master, you decide to take a step first to change your relationship’s situation…

Tw: Mentions of pregnancy and death

Looking down at the bat-shaped toy you just had finished, you couldn't help but groan in frustration at the sight of its mismatched wings. It was hard to sew something without anyone helping you and you had tried to sew matched wings countless times, and it had not worked. You sighed and put the toy down in the toy basket as you shifted in your place, but you were stopped by the sudden movement of the cat that was taking a nap on your lap.

"Oh sorry, Alfred!" You said as you patted the demonic cat's head, making it purr as it stretched its little legs out. He was not mad at all, it looked up at you, its red big eyes gleaming as it let out a soft meow, carefully rubbing its head to your bulging belly. You smiled at its gentleness, for a cat that had a demonic side, was surprisingly well behaved around you. Perhaps it was because of its master's influence? Damian's pets were under his mind control so it was sensible to think the boy looked after you through his pets as well.

You pushed your window open to let some fresh air come into your room as you took in a deep breath, the babies'  weight was becoming a real problem now that they were growing heavier. Alfred yawned lazily enjoying its time on your lap, but suddenly its body jolted up and it jumped off your lap, hissing to the darkness out of your window as its tail puffed up. You gasped at the sudden action and were going to move away from the window, as much as your body's state let you, but hearing a familiar voice relieved you. "Hey stop you little beast! I'm no danger!" Jason's head popped in as he pulled his cloak's hood off, glaring at the hissing cat.

"Now I have to ask permission from you as well?" He said as he shoved the cat to the side so he could sit on the window's edge. Alfred hissed at him one more time before walking back to you, growling as it protectively laid on your lap. Jason snarled at the cat and showed off his long fangs, but the cat just growled in response, making Jason roll his eyes. "Just like its master, it's a brat!" You frowned and smacked his head gently "Shush! Don't talk about Damian like that!" "What? I'm telling the truth!" You wanted to smack him again but he stopped your hand by taking it in his much larger one. "Alright! Alright, momma!" Hearing the word from Jason made your cheeks flush in embarrassment, making him grin.

"How's the momma and the two cakes in the oven doing?" He said as he kissed the back of your hand, letting you pat him by putting your hand on his head. "We're good..." you paused, noticing the cut on his cheek "What have you been up to? I haven't heard from you for a week!" Jason nervously chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck "Well...." he trailed off with another chuckle making you narrow your eyes at him. "You know hunting down ghouls can be a dangerous task..." "But you had promised me to not hunt until the hunting season starts!" Jason looked down as he chuckled again, mumbling an apology.

You and Jason were close enough that he saw you as a motherly figure he could trust. You were like this to all of the Wayne family members, those people felt like a connection to you, like children to their mother, and no one knew why, even you were not aware of the familiarity potion Alfred, the head butler of the family, had used in the family members  daily dose of blood the very day you had stepped into the Manor. You could swear that old Dampier knew things that could shake the world, you had suspected he had some magical futuristic visions powers but you didn't have anything to prove that, no one but the ancestors of the Wayne family was aware of the fact that the old man was an assassin of the dark God's shrines way before the war of the heavens happened and was blessed by them. Alfred knew the family needed you, that was why in the first place he had let his master know about your existence, he was the one who had received the information about you after all. 

You were the only person besides Alfred that could connect to the family members of the Wayne household easily. That was why Jason had let you see his softer side and had trusted you in knowing his secret life as a vampire hunter. You sighed and fixed the white strand of hair on his head "You shouldn't be this reckless Jason...Master Wayne and others worry about you! I do get worried about you! You want to make your pregnant stepmother worry and distress her babies?" Jason narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to you, making you let a questioning hum "hmm?" "You're still angry with the old guy?" He asked, making you sigh as you pushed his face away. "Oh come on! We both know that thing because Bruce had to do it!" You gave him a bored look "I don't want to have this conversation right now Jay..." Jason rolled his eyes "You are both stubborn, neither he apologizes to you properly nor you forgive him for what he did!"

"You don't know how hard it's to even think about it, Jason! He cheated on me with the queen just on our wedlock night! How can I ever forgive him?" "I don't say you should forgive him fully Y/N, but you can overlook some issues in your relationship! I still can't forgive him because of not killing that ghoul master, joker, but I still come to his house, because I know I belong here! You shouldn't take it hard on yourself as I did! Your twins will be born in months and you surely don't want to raise them when you are this cold to their father!...plus he has been taking things too hard on himself lately..." he mumbled the last part with a sigh. "Think about it Y/N...if he didn't love you wouldn't be his wife now! If he wanted to play with you like other people he had in the past he wouldn't have freed you and then let you become the spouse of a noble like him!" You only nodded your head at his words, letting him know you'll think about what he had said.

Jason was right, Bruce loved you, but the process of loving you hadn't reached its peak easily. At first, Bruce was not a good master to you, only letting you out of your room when you were needed, and whenever he talked to you, you were addressed coldly, you couldn't even think about the possibility of having his children to free yourself from him, maybe he had set that condition because it was impossible? Bruce was a man that rarely trusted people. Your situation was so bad for you that you even considered running away from him, though that plan was exposed by the silent daughter of the family, Cassandra. It was not until the day you had saved Bruce from a ghoul's attack while he was sleeping in his coffin that he started to trust you. If you were loyal enough to save your master who had been harsh on you, you were surely a good person to trust.

Your relationship grew stronger little by little and soon after the first time he confessed his feelings for you, you found out about your pregnancy. The family was glad to know that their lonely father had found peace within your arms, and to prove to you that Bruce was genuine about his feelings for you, he proposed to you when you were still a human. It was the first time in his family, that someone had married a human who had not turned into a vampire yet, but he had put all of his family's values and traditions aside long ago when he had adopted dampiers as his children. You were given freedom and the surname Wayne had joined your name.

But the dream bubble was destroyed when your husband left your side in hurry on the very night of your marriage. You had thought that it was an urgent matter of politics or something like that, but when you had heard from the gossiping friends of Stephanie, Richard's Fiance, that he was summoned by the queen who was seduced by him in the past so they could...make love...your heart was broken. He had cheated on you with the unfaithful queen of vampires on the first night of your marriage? You were too devastated that you ran away from the Manor and if it was not because of Richard and Duke, the other sons of your husband, you'd have got away from them as much as you could. You were trapped in your shared room with Bruce since then, spending your months of pregnancy in captivity, though to be honest, it didn't feel too lonely since your family members were there for you all the time. Especially Damian, the boy who had his father's cold attitude but was genuinely in love with you, had his eyes on you to an extent that he didn't leave your side, and if he was not able to do that, his pets did that role for him.

With Jason's kiss on your cheek, you were brought back to reality. "Don't be that way Y/N, let me see you smile before I go!" He said as he pulled on your cheek, making you smile. He smiled back in return as he pulled the hood of his cloak on his head, and left your side after giving the cat on your lap a final snarl. You sighed as you became lonely again. You shifted in your place, feeling uneasy with the weight in your belly when someone knocked on the door. "Come in!" You said as you stood up, noticing Alfred’s gloved hand come into the room and put a boutique of black roses on the floor before closing the door without saying anything, the old man was sneaky sometimes.

You walked to the boutique and noticed a note on it. Picking it up you read it out loud "Give him another chance..." it was Alfred’s handwriting...how did...how did he know that you had considered forgiving Bruce? Was he listening to you and Jason right now? You looked down at the black roses and raised your eyebrows in surprise. Black roses meant another chance in flower language, and Alfred expected you to give them to Bruce? "Meow?" You heard little Alfred question the existence of the flowers, making you smile as it tried to smell them but sneezed because of the pollen. "I think I have to take the step this time..."

You left the room with the flowers as Alfred walked after you, its tail raised in amusement. You walked through the corridors of the Manor to get into Your husband's office, but he was not there, there was only one more place that he could be when he was not in a good mood, the cave under the Manor. Thankfully you knew how to get to your husband's lair and by pressing two different keys on the piano of your husband's office you found the passage to the cave.

....

"Mother!" Damian's surprised voice made Duke raise his head and his eyes widen in surprise, you'd finally come out of your room? Damian ran to you, taking your hand tightly, you were still not used to being called his mother and it made you feel a little uneasy, but you couldn't help but give him a smile when he looked at you with excitement, you were the only one that could bring the young vampire to show his emotions like that. Duke smiled at you, and if it was not because of his hands being greasy he would have come and hugged you.

You looked at your husband sitting on his large chair as he stared at the magical orb that supplied the Manor with energy, not turning back to meet you in the eye despite knowing you were there. You walked to Duke and whispered in his ear "Will you be kind enough to leave us two alone?" Duke gave you a nod before wiping his hands clean and taking Damian out with him as the boy shouted and resisted.

"You don't want to turn around?" You said as you put your hand on Bruce's shoulder, making his muscles jolt up. Oh how much he craved your touch! But he didn't respond to you, instead, he just took your hand in his and guided you to walk in front of him. You put the flowers down and picked one out of the bouquet as you walked in front of him. Bruce's piercing gaze met yours and the vampire let out a tired sigh, his eyes softening at seeing you again. Only dark gods knew how much he had suffered knowing he had hurt you because of keeping his place in the court.

He opened his mouth to talk but you stopped him by putting your fingers on his lips, letting him know you wanted to tell him something first. He kissed your fingers and looked up at you with questioning eyes as you gave him the black Rose in your hand. "Let's start over again..." you said, letting him know you were giving him another chance. Bruce's eyes widened in shock, not believing what he was seeing...you had forgiven him?

He gently pulled on your hand and let you sit on his thigh so he could feel your warmth again. "I...I don't know what to say!" He said, voice low and still shocked. "Just let's not acknowledge what had happened..." you said as you looked down at the rose, sighing happily as Bruce's strong arms pulled you closer to him. "I'm sorry..." he whispered in your ear before starting to kiss your neck, making you smile. His lips found your jaw and then your chin and just when he was going to kiss your ĺips, Alfred’s loud meowing made him freeze in his place.

"You are enjoying the show?" You said frustrated by the fact that you couldn't have the kiss you were missing a lot, "You want some snacks to eat while watching?" Alfred gave you another loud meow as it watched you two, making you let out a groan. But your groan was stifled by the passionate kiss Bruce planted on your lips, letting your melt in his arms as you both chuckled in the kiss.

Years later you'd find out that forgiving Bruce was the best decision of your life.

[incomingalbatross]

Below: my attempt at a retelling of Tam Lin, with a little more emphasis on the Baby as a central concern.

---

The first time Janet goes to Carterhaugh, in the early spring, she wears a green cloak on her shoulders and a gold ring on her finger. She's curious, not stupid. She knows the prices Tam Lin is said to demand for trespassing, and she is prepared with every option.

The second time Janet goes, in the later spring, she wears her cloak but does not bother with a ring. She is more confident now, since her first meeting with Tam Lin, and thinks the cloak is a price worth paying to meet the fairy man again.

The third time Janet goes, it is summer. She wears no cloak, and wears no ring; and when she plucks the rose and Tam Lin appears, she sees him notice this even before he meets her eyes.

She smiles at him.

Later, when she wakes in the wood, she wakes alone. She finds her way home by moonlight, and wonders if she will ever go to Carterhaugh again.

There is no future there for her, she knows, no future with Tam Lin but these woodland meetings. He may never even appear to her again, now that she is no maiden... and she may never seek him out again, now that she has proven all the tale.

Time goes by, and Janet puts the memory of those hours in Carterhaugh away. There's much to be done about her father's court—sensible, daylight things, of the mortal world and not the fairy one.

She did not reckon with the fact that those hours might not be done with her...and so even after a week of sickness, when her father said, "I fear you are with child," it was Janet who was most taken by surprise.

That should have been one risk lessened, she had thought, by chancing herself in Carterhaugh and not with one of her father's knights.

Now she was struck with fear; for it had been one thing to take this affair upon herself, but what had she done to this babe inside her? Was it a mortal babe, sired as it had been by a fairy creature, and one she barely knew? Even at the best, what would the babe do in the life she had made for it, growing up fatherless and in dishonor?

Her own father, always kind and mild, did not press her when she said the father would not be found among his court. He frowned mournfully at that, but gave her time, to consider what the child's fate might be.

She was still considering, though, when the oldest, grayest, dourest of her father's men shook his head at her and said, "Ah, and now our lady is with child? It's us knights who'll bear the blame for it, Lady Janet, you will see."

"Hold your tongue!" she snapped back, thoughts broken by her scorn. "As if," she said, "I'd let any child of mine be claimed by you—or any of your company—or ever give any of you reason for such a claim."

Some of those within earshot laughed; but one, a younger knight, shot back, "And what manner of man is it, then, who is so preferred to us, but who has not claimed the child?"

Janet looked at him, and all those around, and thought of Tam Lin. Strange, uncanny Tam Lin, of airy form and shifting mood, remote and strange and dangerous—but Tam Lin, still, whom she had sought out once, and again, and a third time, for more than the mere adventure of it all. Tam Lin as she had come to think of him, fair and brave beneath his strangeness, with a hidden warmth and gravity in him—she thought—that had come out for her, more and more in the short times they had spent together.

Janet could, perhaps, be fairly dense in recognizing uncomfortable truths, but when she did recognize them she faced them squarely and without flinching.

"He is the one who holds my heart," she said to the younger knight, clear for all the world to hear, "as well as the naming of my babe—and if he were a mortal man, and not a fairy strange, he'd be a better knight than you could ever hope to face!"

In the silence, she swept away to her own rooms.

---

Once there, however, she fairly collapses into her seat, picking up her sewing automatically simply to occupy her hands. (It is the finishing work on a mantle, green as leaves and grass; a replacement for the one she left with Tam Lin, some months ago.)

Despite her words down below, she is keenly aware that Tam Lin is not a mortal man. A fairy cannot serve as father to a human child (and again, she thinks with a thrill of unease, is her child going to be human?), and yet Janet knows now that she will not—cannot—consign herself and her child into the keeping of any other man she knows. She will not give her child, or her heart, to any man but the one who has true claim to them...and he is no man at all.

Or...

Well, what is he?

As she sits and finishes her seam, Janet becomes uncomfortably aware of how little she knows of Tam Lin. Perhaps, if he knew, he might be able to propose something she could not—if, that is, he is human enough to care.

"Well," she says aloud, jumping up, letting needle and thimble fall to her feet. "There is only one way to learn.

So she braids up her hair and straightens her skirts and sweeps the new mantle around her: and again, for the fourth time, Janet goes to Carterhaugh, to the well where they met before.

This time, though, she does not pluck one of Tam Lin's roses. She looks around her, thoughtfully, and spies a patch of herbs she knows full well a pregnant woman should not let near her mouth. She bends, and gathers some in her hand...

And is stopped by a small, cold hand upon her wrist, the hand of a fairy knight.

"What are you doing, Janet?" Tam Lin demands, voice urgent, face pale and set. "What are you doing to our child, the child we got between us?"

And that answers half of her questions, right there.

Janet straightens to face him, a rush of warmth chasing out the chill that's been following her. "I would not harm our child," she said, hand resting on her belly, "and truly, Tam Lin, I would carry this child through day and night, summer and winter, for love of it and love of you."

Her face warms, but she sees his eyes soften in surprise, and it is worth it.

"But," she says then, and watches him stiffen in wariness, "but, Tam Lin, I must know whose child I bear."

She stops for a moment, watching him; but he only watches her back, his slim shoulders set back, unearthly face still as the hills. Only his eyes show feeling—a flicker of some intense feeling, far beneath the dark surface, like a caged hawk waiting for a door to open.

"Tam Lin, tell me," Janet says, with a breath taken in silent, desperate prayer. "Did you ever pass through the church-door, or feel the water on your forehead? Were you ever earthly knight, or any kind of man who rode beneath the Cross?"

At her questions, that feeling leaps out of his eyes, and Tam Lin's face comes alive with all the warmth and laughter she has ever seen in it.

"Yes, Janet, yes," he says, and Janet sits down hard on the curb of the well. "I was a man like any other," he continues, taking her hand, "a youth of this country trained for knighthood, until the day I fell from my horse into the Queen of the Fairies' hands."

Her love has a soul, like to her own—and a heart, what's more, for her and the babe. This, Janet thinks, is the most important thing. Everything else, they can manage.

Of course, this is before her love goes on to tell her of the fairies' tithe to Hell.

"Tonight?" she asks incredulously. "You ride to pay the tithe tonight?"

He smiled at her. "If you had decided to see me a little earlier, perhaps..."

"Perhaps if you had told me sooner," she said, "that the Fairy Queen meant your soul to go to Hell, I would have—" But then she stopped herself.

"I did not think," he said gently, "after your last coming, that any reason would arise for you to see me here, let alone to miss me."

And then, from something in his face, and from the sudden memory of his manner at that time, Janet guessed that, then, they had both been using one another. If she had sought adventure and pleasure that came free of the consequences of her father's court, Tam Lin had perhaps been seeking that same pleasure, and a respite, away from the knowledge of his doom. And then they had parted ways, affection mingled with their half-hidden guilt, never to meet again.

But then another life had entered the affair. Another life that neither of them would willingly see harmed, even by their own foolishness.

"You are not the Queen's," she said at last, meeting his eyes fiercely, "and you are not her court's, and you are not going to any devils while I breathe. So how do I take you from them all, Tam Lin?"

He smiled, like a man who had just seen his first sunrise in seven years, and he told her.

---

When Janet met the Fairy Court riding at the crossroads that night, she had no time for fear. She was repeating his instructions in her mind.

"First you'll let the black horse pass, and then you'll let the brown—"

—and then she leapt for the unfamiliar armored figure on the white steed, dragging him down into her arms while all the procession crashed to a halt.

The figure wavered in her arms, and writhed, and became something small and slithering—

"They'll turn me in your arms, to an adder or an asp."

The snaked seemed to rear and then strike, fangs bared, at her body. Janet stiffened, but kept her grasp tight, refusing to recoil.

You, she reminded herself and it, are the father of my child.

And as its head reached her belly the snake's mouth closed, merely tapping her with its snout—"Hold me fast and fear me not," she almost heard—

Before wavering again, and growing, encompassing her in fur and musk and muscle until it seemed as though her arms physically could not wrap around it.

"They'll turn me once again, to a grim and fearsome bear."

Janet set her teeth, and held fast. You are, she thought again, my earthly mate to be.

And its claws and strength were not turned against her; but just as her grasp began to feel more like a hug, the shape wavered again, to something hard and sharp and searing—

"They'll turn me to an iron brand, red-hot as blazing fire."

Janet hugged the iron tight to her breast, through a pain like none she had ever known before, and concentrated all her will on not letting go.

She could not think, but she could remember.

"But hold me fast and fear me not," her true love's voice had said, "and I'll do you no harm..."

And just like that, the pain was gone. The shape in her arms changed, in a way somehow unlike the other changes, into something real and warm and permanent, solid and familiar.

Quick as thinking, Janet swept her mantle over the naked man kneeling against her, covering him in her cloak and arms as he rested his head on her belly.

Above them both, atop a tall mount, the most beautiful woman Janet had ever seen glared down at them.

Janet stared back, triumphant and unafraid.

"So you are stolen, Tam Lin," the Queen of the Fairies said, her voice frozen with rage.

"Not stolen," Janet said at once. "If I had stolen him tonight, I know I could not have kept him. He already belonged to us."

Her love straightened to lift his head beside her, face clear in the moonlight—like and yet not like his fairy face, she thought, but not unlike in ways that she would miss. His breath was warm on her cheek, as he turned to face the Queen.

Whatever the Queen saw there, she hissed at, a long indrawn breath.

"If I had known," she said, "Tam Lin, what drew your eyes from me, I'd have taken them from your skull this night and changed them for eyes of wood.

"If I had known," she said again (with a poisonous look to Janet), "what pulled your heart from me, I'd have taken it from your chest this night and changed it for one of stone."

But with that, she cracked her reins, and—the court sweeping in disarray behind her—rode off and vanished into the morning mist.

Tam Lin turned his eyes to Janet, smiling wide and joyful.

"And I am father to your babe," he said, taking her hand, "and I will be your mate in life, and I will be your true love, Janet, as long as you will be my wife."

"As my love I claimed you," she said, smiling too, "and as my husband-bound-to-be, and as the father of my child: so, Tam Lin, these things are yours for good, and so too I will be."

Home then they went, and the banns were read, and in due course came the marriage and the child. And the story was often told by their hearth, as that child grew older, of the role it had first played in bringing its parents through peril.

[unexpectedstormy]

It's time to fantasize about having my own Skyloft-themed store of sewn things to sell. I'm thinking of naming it Skychild Sewing since I want it to have the word 'sky' in it and I tend to sew stuff for babies or kids because they're quick and don't use much fabric. Some items I could sell:

Buntings made of white fabric strips braided into a rope with brightly colored triangular flags

Flags or banners with birds on them

Bird or flower-themed mobiles

Baby/toddler clothes and bibs, especially capes and cloaks

Braided rag rugs

Quilts, especially ones with geometric patterns

Baskets and pots with geometric or bright color patterns on them

Children's dress up clothes like crown, fairy wings, animal mask, fairy wand

Children's toys like the memory game, fish purse, juggling chickens, maybe I could attempt to make a doll or stuffed animal

Quilted pillowcases

Watercolor paintings done of Skyloft-adjacent scenery

[thousand-winters]

Remember the idea of Darius sewing a pocket inside his cloak for Hunter to hide in?

Imagine little Hunter in the pocket. Peeking over the edge to try and get a look at who Darius is talking to. Ducking down as far in the pocket as he can when Darius is talking to someone he's scared of, like Belos. Swinging back and forth a little with each movement Darius makes.

Darius pulling the cloak shut when he thinks Hunter might be at risk.

Yeah, I remember!!! 💜

I can imagine Darius would help him out a bit when he's talking with someone trustworthy, like Raine (not Eber because in that case he doesn't even have to look up 😭), propping him up with his arm or even half carrying him, kinda like one would with a baby, though if Hunter wants to be a little theatrical about it, he just waits until his little face pops up from beneath the cloak and surprises people. It's always a good little spectacle because no one expects him to be there.

For people like Belos or others that Darius definitely doesn't trust around Hunter, he definitely would make sure to adjust his cloak subtly so they can't even take a peek of Hunter, though he does hurry if he thinks it necessary; he can pass it off as a dramatic moment of his. Unfortunately he can't always give Hunter a heads up for someone unpleasant approaching, but he does make a point to start the conversation saying something that gives it away, like saying "emperor" as a greeting and such. It squeezes at his heart because he can feel Hunter's little hands clinging to his shirt and he just has to pretend like nothing's out of the ordinary.

At least he's a good actor.

As for the times in which there's nothing to worry about, Darius can hear his little giggles whenever he starts swinging back and forth, sometimes he makes a point to walk in whatever pace it makes it happen the most, just to hear him happy. He's a little whipped.

[starfyhero2]

So while I was wrapping up the chapter side of my Rocking Harmony AU, I made a few more AUs for trolls, including CRK and a big and special underground outcasts au (still ironing out a few things for both of those). A smaller AU that I'm ready to show in the meanwhile is called the Youngest Runaways AU. Basically, instead of Branch's brothers leaving him after their fight, Floyd just snaps and runs off with Bitty B before the other three can have a chance to leave themselves. (More info and some drawings under the cut!)

Basic info I thought up for it so far:

-Floyd built a small bunker/hideout on the ground next to the troll tree when the arguments began to get more frequent. After the escape, he and Branch worked together to build the bunker that they originally drew up for themselves and their other brothers (minus the water slide smh)

-Branch for the first few years living with Floyd kept his blue and white glasses until he upgraded to blue and white goggles

-at some point between the pair leaving the pod and the great escape, King Peppy trusted them enough to oversee the finishing touches on the tunnels

-Floyd turned gray due to the stress and second-guessing of him leaving the pod and taking baby Branch, while Branch turned gray shortly after because he couldn't bear to see his brother be so sad

-they were in charge of escorting baby Poppy out of the tunnels and were the first ones to escape because of it. They were trusted to be her bodyguards ever since

-while over time trolls recognize Branch as Poppy's bodyguard, Floyd prefers to remain out of sight and as a result, next to no one knew he existed prior to the events of the first movie

-Floyd yearns for the day to see Creek obliterated (or to be given permission to do it himself)

-Branch's current cloak was made from Floyd's old vest that he sewn together

-Branch is much more stealthy and nimble on his feet, though that doesn't mean that Floyd isn't fast either. This is the reason that Branch was given a retractable pole for close-ranged attacks. Floyd prefers long-ranged attacks but carries knuckle dusters just in case

-Because he had to take care of two younger children for most of his life, Floyd practiced how to sew and even prides himself in having better sewing skills than even Satin and Chenille

-random fact time: this was actually originally just gonna have bitty b running away and finding and living with an abandoned baby rhonda!

[bluetooththereptile]

The black Rose

Yandere bat family x fem pregnant reader (vampire au)

(Gif by unknown)

( English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in the following text.)

(This fic is one of the multiple choices of this post)

Note: Black rose may seem depressing and a sign of grief, but it also means rebirth and another chance!

Summary: For the first time in your relationship with your former Master, you decide to take a step first to change your relationship's situation...

Tw: Mentions of pregnancy and death

Looking down at the bat-shaped toy you just had finished, you couldn't help but groan in frustration at the sight of its mismatched wings. It was hard to sew something without anyone helping you and you had tried to sew matched wings countless times, and it had not worked. You sighed and put the toy down in the toy basket as you shifted in your place, but you were stopped by the sudden movement of the cat that was taking a nap on your lap.

"Oh sorry, Alfred!" You said as you patted the demonic cat's head, making it purr as it stretched its little legs out. He was not mad at all, it looked up at you, its red big eyes gleaming as it let out a soft meow, carefully rubbing its head to your bulging belly. You smiled at its gentleness, for a cat that had a demonic side, was surprisingly well behaved around you. Perhaps it was because of its master's influence? Damian's pets were under his mind control so it was sensible to think the boy looked after you through his pets as well.

You pushed your window open to let some fresh air come into your room as you took in a deep breath, the babies'  weight was becoming a real problem now that they were growing heavier. Alfred yawned lazily enjoying its time on your lap, but suddenly its body jolted up and it jumped off your lap, hissing to the darkness out of your window as its tail puffed up. You gasped at the sudden action and were going to move away from the window, as much as your body's state let you, but hearing a familiar voice relieved you. "Hey stop you little beast! I'm no danger!" Jason's head popped in as he pulled his cloak's hood off, glaring at the hissing cat.

"Now I have to ask permission from you as well?" He said as he shoved the cat to the side so he could sit on the window's edge. Alfred hissed at him one more time before walking back to you, growling as it protectively laid on your lap. Jason snarled at the cat and showed off his long fangs, but the cat just growled in response, making Jason roll his eyes. "Just like its master, it's a brat!" You frowned and smacked his head gently "Shush! Don't talk about Damian like that!" "What? I'm telling the truth!" You wanted to smack him again but he stopped your hand by taking it in his much larger one. "Alright! Alright, momma!" Hearing the word from Jason made your cheeks flush in embarrassment, making him grin.

"How's the momma and the two cakes in the oven doing?" He said as he kissed the back of your hand, letting you pat him by putting your hand on his head. "We're good..." you paused, noticing the cut on his cheek "What have you been up to? I haven't heard from you for a week!" Jason nervously chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck "Well...." he trailed off with another chuckle making you narrow your eyes at him. "You know hunting down ghouls can be a dangerous task..." "But you had promised me to not hunt until the hunting season starts!" Jason looked down as he chuckled again, mumbling an apology.

You and Jason were close enough that he saw you as a motherly figure he could trust. You were like this to all of the Wayne family members, those people felt like a connection to you, like children to their mother, and no one knew why, even you were not aware of the familiarity potion Alfred, the head butler of the family, had used in the family members  daily dose of blood the very day you had stepped into the Manor. You could swear that old Dampier knew things that could shake the world, you had suspected he had some magical futuristic visions powers but you didn't have anything to prove that, no one but the ancestors of the Wayne family was aware of the fact that the old man was an assassin of the dark God's shrines way before the war of the heavens happened and was blessed by them. Alfred knew the family needed you, that was why in the first place he had let his master know about your existence, he was the one who had received the information about you after all. 

You were the only person besides Alfred that could connect to the family members of the Wayne household easily. That was why Jason had let you see his softer side and had trusted you in knowing his secret life as a vampire hunter. You sighed and fixed the white strand of hair on his head "You shouldn't be this reckless Jason...Master Wayne and others worry about you! I do get worried about you! You want to make your pregnant stepmother worry and distress her babies?" Jason narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to you, making you let a questioning hum "hmm?" "You're still angry with the old guy?" He asked, making you sigh as you pushed his face away. "Oh come on! We both know that thing because Bruce had to do it!" You gave him a bored look "I don't want to have this conversation right now Jay..." Jason rolled his eyes "You are both stubborn, neither he apologizes to you properly nor you forgive him for what he did!"

"You don't know how hard it's to even think about it, Jason! He cheated on me with the queen just on our wedlock night! How can I ever forgive him?" "I don't say you should forgive him fully Y/N, but you can overlook some issues in your relationship! I still can't forgive him because of not killing that ghoul master, joker, but I still come to his house, because I know I belong here! You shouldn't take it hard on yourself as I did! Your twins will be born in months and you surely don't want to raise them when you are this cold to their father!...plus he has been taking things too hard on himself lately..." he mumbled the last part with a sigh. "Think about it Y/N...if he didn't love you wouldn't be his wife now! If he wanted to play with you like other people he had in the past he wouldn't have freed you and then let you become the spouse of a noble like him!" You only nodded your head at his words, letting him know you'll think about what he had said.

Jason was right, Bruce loved you, but the process of loving you hadn't reached its peak easily. At first, Bruce was not a good master to you, only letting you out of your room when you were needed, and whenever he talked to you, you were addressed coldly, you couldn't even think about the possibility of having his children to free yourself from him, maybe he had set that condition because it was impossible? Bruce was a man that rarely trusted people. Your situation was so bad for you that you even considered running away from him, though that plan was exposed by the silent daughter of the family, Cassandra. It was not until the day you had saved Bruce from a ghoul's attack while he was sleeping in his coffin that he started to trust you. If you were loyal enough to save your master who had been harsh on you, you were surely a good person to trust.

Your relationship grew stronger little by little and soon after the first time he confessed his feelings for you, you found out about your pregnancy. The family was glad to know that their lonely father had found peace within your arms, and to prove to you that Bruce was genuine about his feelings for you, he proposed to you when you were still a human. It was the first time in his family, that someone had married a human who had not turned into a vampire yet, but he had put all of his family's values and traditions aside long ago when he had adopted dampiers as his children. You were given freedom and the surname Wayne had joined your name.

But the dream bubble was destroyed when your husband left your side in hurry on the very night of your marriage. You had thought that it was an urgent matter of politics or something like that, but when you had heard from the gossiping friends of Stephanie, Richard's Fiance, that he was summoned by the queen who was seduced by him in the past so they could...make love...your heart was broken. He had cheated on you with the unfaithful queen of vampires on the first night of your marriage? You were too devastated that you ran away from the Manor and if it was not because of Richard and Duke, the other sons of your husband, you'd have got away from them as much as you could. You were trapped in your shared room with Bruce since then, spending your months of pregnancy in captivity, though to be honest, it didn't feel too lonely since your family members were there for you all the time. Especially Damian, the boy who had his father's cold attitude but was genuinely in love with you, had his eyes on you to an extent that he didn't leave your side, and if he was not able to do that, his pets did that role for him.

With Jason's kiss on your cheek, you were brought back to reality. "Don't be that way Y/N, let me see you smile before I go!" He said as he pulled on your cheek, making you smile. He smiled back in return as he pulled the hood of his cloak on his head, and left your side after giving the cat on your lap a final snarl. You sighed as you became lonely again. You shifted in your place, feeling uneasy with the weight in your belly when someone knocked on the door. "Come in!" You said as you stood up, noticing Alfred’s gloved hand come into the room and put a boutique of black roses on the floor before closing the door without saying anything, the old man was sneaky sometimes.

You walked to the boutique and noticed a note on it. Picking it up you read it out loud "Give him another chance..." it was Alfred’s handwriting...how did...how did he know that you had considered forgiving Bruce? Was he listening to you and Jason right now? You looked down at the black roses and raised your eyebrows in surprise. Black roses meant another chance in flower language, and Alfred expected you to give them to Bruce? "Meow?" You heard little Alfred question the existence of the flowers, making you smile as it tried to smell them but sneezed because of the pollen. "I think I have to take the step this time..."

You left the room with the flowers as Alfred walked after you, its tail raised in amusement. You walked through the corridors of the Manor to get into Your husband's office, but he was not there, there was only one more place that he could be when he was not in a good mood, the cave under the Manor. Thankfully you knew how to get to your husband's lair and by pressing two different keys on the piano of your husband's office you found the passage to the cave.

....

"Mother!" Damian's surprised voice made Duke raise his head and his eyes widen in surprise, you'd finally come out of your room? Damian ran to you, taking your hand tightly, you were still not used to being called his mother and it made you feel a little uneasy, but you couldn't help but give him a smile when he looked at you with excitement, you were the only one that could bring the young vampire to show his emotions like that. Duke smiled at you, and if it was not because of his hands being greasy he would have come and hugged you.

You looked at your husband sitting on his large chair as he stared at the magical orb that supplied the Manor with energy, not turning back to meet you in the eye despite knowing you were there. You walked to Duke and whispered in his ear "Will you be kind enough to leave us two alone?" Duke gave you a nod before wiping his hands clean and taking Damian out with him as the boy shouted and resisted.

"You don't want to turn around?" You said as you put your hand on Bruce's shoulder, making his muscles jolt up. Oh how much he craved your touch! But he didn't respond to you, instead, he just took your hand in his and guided you to walk in front of him. You put the flowers down and picked one out of the bouquet as you walked in front of him. Bruce's piercing gaze met yours and the vampire let out a tired sigh, his eyes softening at seeing you again. Only dark gods knew how much he had suffered knowing he had hurt you because of keeping his place in the court.

He opened his mouth to talk but you stopped him by putting your fingers on his lips, letting him know you wanted to tell him something first. He kissed your fingers and looked up at you with questioning eyes as you gave him the black Rose in your hand. "Let's start over again..." you said, letting him know you were giving him another chance. Bruce's eyes widened in shock, not believing what he was seeing...you had forgiven him?

He gently pulled on your hand and let you sit on his thigh so he could feel your warmth again. "I...I don't know what to say!" He said, voice low and still shocked. "Just let's not acknowledge what had happened..." you said as you looked down at the rose, sighing happily as Bruce's strong arms pulled you closer to him. "I'm sorry..." he whispered in your ear before starting to kiss your neck, making you smile. His lips found your jaw and then your chin and just when he was going to kiss your ĺips, Alfred’s loud meowing made him freeze in his place.

"You are enjoying the show?" You said frustrated by the fact that you couldn't have the kiss you were missing a lot, "You want some snacks to eat while watching?" Alfred gave you another loud meow as it watched you two, making you let out a groan. But your groan was stifled by the passionate kiss Bruce planted on your lips, letting your melt in his arms as you both chuckled in the kiss.

Years later you'd find out that forgiving Bruce was the best decision of your life.

[new-poets-society]

The Lion is a Doctor

I’m up way past my bedtime

pacing the halls, 

rushing like good blood pressure. 

The house is empty, yet the sound of me echoes in the ears of loved ones

no matter where they lay their heads. 

I understand. It’s hard to tell if blood is spilling or boiling, or pumping, 

But not to worry--

I can trust myself tonight.

Therefore, I have the authority to flamboyantly waltz around my home, 

A place so alive it feels like a friend,

And spend an evening living without wondering who or what I’m killing. 

  I’m headed to the heart of the Lion 

Specifically, his wardrobe. 

The lion is a doctor, 

and the doctor is not in. 

I rummage with delicacy and delight,

Admiring every textile.

I shall wear whichever torn up tee-shirt I desire,

 It is an honor to don the fluffy robes of a king. 

cloaked in soft armor, 

I dance flamboyantly 

in well-worn slippers

I will never fit. 

I feel small in the best way, 

Like a child 

excited to see how much they’ll grow in one year. 

  My mother let me wear her clogs back when I had the smallest of feet. 

They, too, did not fit. 

The space between my toes and the wood only stood to remind me that at any moment those shoes could come off, 

if they didn’t, they’d threaten to for the duration. 

Every step required grip,

 I kept those clogs on my feet with all the bones and toes I had.

It felt free and wicked 

to kick off that hollowness. 

Let the clogs fall where they may.

  Heavy is the head who wears the crown of Tie inspector,

and I take my job seriously.

 I meticulously examine each one,

naturally fragrant with childhood, 

Memories of young, chaotic mornings woven into silk. 

Silky threads made of a fond routine I always found beautiful and complicated. 

The Lion looped the silk swiftly and seamlessly and frequently

he didn't have time to notice the miracle in the minutia.

30 years on I count their silky crests like a four star General.

I need to make sure everyone is still here,

still intact.

  I spend the remainder of the ritual picking through the Lion’s wardrobe, 

mining for colorful cashmere sweaters.

I tried them on in a cautious frenzy,

with zero intent to return them. 

The layer cake of trial and error reminded me of rainy middle school days. 

When it rained the Lion roared and ordered his cubs to put on a sweater, 

a jacket, boots, gloves, and a cowboy hat.

But what about our hair, Dad?

He braided our manes flawlessly under those cowboy hats 

with tact and finesse we could’ve sworn we were Cleopatra, or Joan of Arc.

We were too small for our armor, sure,

But we knew we’d grow into it. 

In those moments, I didn’t drown in the emptiness of the clogs,

(Not unless I put them on).

The Doctor’s armor is heavy,

The heaviness inspired me 

to grow strong enough 

to carry the weight of battle 

with poise

To wield weapons to protect,

to never forget 

all swords are double edged,

and enemy fire and friendly fire are distinguished

only by which side of the frontline you’re on,

and what you’re fighting for.

  The heart of the Lion was big enough for 10 men..

How did he become so vast? 

The lion’s daughter was almost too busy growing herself

to contemplate the Lion as a man. 

What did the Lion have to do in order to become? 

Who did he have to fight to evolve? 

Which kingdom did he defeat 

to claim such vast internal territory? 

What did he have to survive to keep it? 

Vastness of the soul comes at a cost.

 Is he aware? 

Does he feel that way, too? 

Heavy is the head that wears the scrub cap, 

The cowboy hat, 

The tuxedo,

The tie, 

The torn-up tee-shirt, 

The big slippers, 

The robe. 

 Powerful are the hands

that slice and sew strangers just as beautifully as they braid their baby girls’ hair,

that tie ties,

and bows,

and pack lunchboxes, 

and lay out multivitamins like loose diamonds.

Whatever it took to get here was worth it. 

  The unwitnessed waltz of the wild child is sacred when performed correctly. 

It must poignantly convey the whimsy of childhood 

and punctuate one’s distance from it.

 It should be so comforting that you make room to be confounded---

 this is a delicacy in my culture. 

The discomfort is just as delicious as its saccharine counterpart. 

Tonight, I revisit the inkling I intuited while wrapped in rain gear— 

There is so much more to the Lion than I will ever know. 

The slippers are still too big! 

Will I ever know what it feels like to fit?

 Let alone, fit into these slippers? 

To know exactly how they feel? 

  The answer is of course not, And the Lion wouldn’t have it any other way.

 If I am to become a Lion, I have to survive like one. 

I have to fight for my life especially when I don’t want to.

I have to make room for blissful moments only found in the minutia 

or else, let my soul starve.

 If I don’t learn to hunt and gather my dreams

I won’t know what it takes to keep them,

I won’t know how to make the room necessary

to become, 

to begin,

to be a person I’m proud of,

to remain a person I can trust with my life.

  Tonight, I do not have the answers.  

Wouldn’t I like to know, Dad! 

It would be ungodly of me to ask you.

But I will anyways, 

Just so we can talk a little longer. 

God Bless the Lion man and the parts of his journey I will never know. 

Author: Alexandra Wolf

March 2023

www.alliewolf.com 

[the-final-sif]

How good is Dream at sewing? What is he best at, and does he like it?

c!Dream in the convict childcare's sewing skills vary widely depending on where he's at.

For the most part in the cell, they're functional. He can make a plush for Michael (and later, very rough shoes for both of them out of leather taken from book covers), and he can do a bit of mending on their clothing, but it's sloppy. His hands are still wrecked, and sewing does hurt him. But he'll do it when he needs to.

Post-breakout, there's awhile where he doesn't sew at all since his hands are recovering and the good periods he has need to go towards writing the book for c!Ranboo.

After that period, when his hands start to recover, he uses sewing as a way to exercise his hands again. It's also a way that he can still feel at least a little helpful.

The first Dream sews again is when Chicken gets accidentally broken once more. Michael's been taking very good care of Chicken, but he's also started interacting with c!Techno's dogs. And listen, Techno's dogs are good puppers. But even good puppers get confused, particularly when they see what looks like a chew toy...

The damage wasn't horrible, some puncture wounds and tearing, but Michael was devastated. While c!Phil offered to fix up the toy, Michael wouldn't let anyone but Dream touch it.

Dream uses this as a chance to patch Chicken up, but also make the toy stronger. He's had time to do some reading and learn better sewing techniques, and he's got better fabric to work with. After several days of very slow work, the toy is remade and not only Actually Looks Like A Chicken, but can also take a hit without breaking instantly.

After that, Dream ends up sewing more often since he finds it relaxing. Mostly fixing up Michael's clothing or his own, but also sometimes doing the same for other syndicate members. As time goes on, he gets good enough that he works on creating new projects. Properly sized winter attire for Michael, a few new plushies, a cloak for himself, and eventually little gifts for other members of the syndicate. Once he feels more confident in his skills.

Michael learns how to sew from Dream, and there's a danger period where Michael figures out speed sewing and uses his newfound power to just. Attach things. Cloaks. Clothing. Dish Cloths. Once he sews Tubbo's sleeve onto Ranboo's shirt when the two of them are passed out next to each other. Another time he stitched half of c!Punz's cloak to the couch while Punz was focused on Dream since he didn't want Punz to leave. Dream 100% noticed but didn't rat Michael out since he wanted to see how far the baby could get before he got caught.

Eventually, Michael learns when it is Appropriate to Attach Things, and that behavior mostly tapers off. Dream teaches him how to make quilts instead, and the two of them work on that together as an outlet for the Desire To Attach Fabrics. Their first one is a gift for Tubbo and is half quilt half snuggy since Tubbo gets cold up in the arctic.

[foxlow]

Fallen Au Jay

Follow for more art :D

Kai • Zane • Cole • Nya • Lloyd

Backstory

Jay was always different from most people, he had red hair, heterochromia, a brown eye and a blue one, and feathers. He was also creative, with a passion for art and creation. When he was about 3 he made his first creation, a small train made out of a broken scooter. When he was 5 he discovered his passion for music after finding a guitar that had been scrapped. That was also around the time his wings finished developing and he gained the ability to cloak, which meant he could finally go to school and express himself with others. Or so he thought. It wasn’t that way. Kids were cruel. They constantly mocked him for living in a dumpster, they said he was adopted and that his parents abandoned him because they thought he was trash. It was decided. He hated school. He told his parents about what happened. It was a mistake. His parents went to complain at the school and the bullying only worsened. Jay loved his parents, he really did, they were caring and supportive of him, when he came out, they told him a lot of name suggestions for him to choose. The issue was that they were too supportive, and that wasn’t good for his reputation.

When he turned 12, he finally managed to change schools and form a new life. He stopped telling his parents a lot of things and of course, he avoided being himself in public. He went from being bullied to being invisible, however, his passion for music and creation only grew. He continued to practice, he learned how to sing, how to do makeup, how to sew, and when he turned 15, he became an underground idol. During the day he was Jay, a quiet kid with anxiety no one cared about but during the night he was a star. He could spread his wings and sing and play without anyone being in his way. People loved him, he even managed to collaborate with other underground artists like a semi-famous DJ, a duet of professional dancers, and many others. He was so happy and best of all no one judged him; he could be himself. Everything was great. Until it wasn’t.

It had been another great night, when he finished his presentation he bowed and a bullet passed just beside him. This was his end. He was being hunted. He should have been careful, he didn’t know much about his kind, he knew they had the name of “fallen”, winged beings that fell from the sky and were considered a legend for most ninjageans. His parents told him he was a miracle, a baby with blue feathers. Apparently, people believed they were a threat, so they were hunted, that was why they had to cloak and hide from people. But Jay was an idiot. An idiot about to die. No. He couldn’t die there. His instincts kicked in and he ran. He found himself on a rooftop. The first thought that crossed his mind was “Wow, these hunters are bad at their job” second was “AAAAAAAAHHHHH” There was no escape. He had two options; die being killed or die from a fall. In his adrenaline, he jumped. Die from fall it was. He spread his wings and somehow glided to the other side. He did it, he survived, he was safe. He hid there until he was safe alongside that old man. Wait… old man. What? Why was there an old man? “For someone who doesn’t know how to fly you did a good job” “Wh-Whe- Who are you !?” “Someone like you who hasn’t been allowed to be free by this world” “What do you mean by that?” “If you wish to be free come with me” Jay didn’t know what to do. His parents taught him to never follow a stranger but, what else was there to lose?

---

I love prime empire's Jay design, the yellow/blue palette is really nice. The performing side of Jay is underrated, dude knows how to act and I really wanted to have this aspect in this AU.

[esther-dot]

"Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak."- Jon(AGOT I).

"He wore wool and leather, and his only garment of note was his ragged black wool cloak, its long tears patched with faded red silk."- Jon(ASOS I).

Both Jaime and Mance wearing black and red Targ colors when Jon first saw them. Jon think that Jaime should be king while he didn't recognize Mance, king beyond the Wall as he didn't look like one.

Sorry for the wait on this ask, @please-dot . I promise, I will never be better! 🫣

We talked about the Targ colored clothing popping up in pivotal Sansa scenes here, and I offered a Lyanna parallel interpretation of them, so I’m kinda primed to see Rhaegar and/or R+L=J stuff here, but the Jaime description doesn't particularly smack me as a Targ reference? So, I think yours is the fair reading. Jon thinks Jaime looks like a king, and we know he shouldn't be one (poor Bran), Jon ignores Mance at first but he in fact might as well be a king and makes some points, so it fits with the discussion of who has the appearance of a thing, who has the virtue, and how those do not necessarily align.

Let's see...in the backstories of both Jaime and Mance (just as we go on to find in Jon's story), there's a lot of criticism aimed at their vows, one that had Jaime stand by as Aerys abused his wife, and one that would have had Mance forbidden from freedom, love, a child. The main thing that strikes me in that Mance interaction is how very Rhaegar-esque it feels in hindsight. I believe there’s a theory that he is Rhaegar because it's so pointed!

If the Targ colors pop up in Sansa's story (in some part) to tell Lyanna's story, it would make sense that when they appear in Jon's they're telling us about Rhaegar's. We could say they both abandoned their duty (Mance to the Watch, Rhaegar to his wife & children, the Kingdom), for love? That’s sketchy, as I tend to think Rhaegar wanted the prophecy baby, but part of Jaime's motivation for breaking his oath was love so...idk. Before I read it as foreshadowing for Jon, who goes on to a little choosing one identity (or cloak) over the other himself, but I don't dismiss the dual purposes in certain passages.

Now that Rhaegar is on my mind, it’s hard for me to read these lyrics without think elements of Rhaegar and Lyanna’s story are popping up here:

Since it’s presented in conjunction with the Targ colors and Rhaegar vibes, and that "Jon knew the song, though it was strange to hear it here, leagues from the red mountains and warm winds of Dorne" which is certainly a reference to Jon's birthplace and presence here, beyond the Wall, I find it hard to believe Martin wasn’t telling us about R+L=J. The reference to the lady as he’s dying even matches with Rhaegar’s last word being Lyanna:

We even have that comment about Mance not being a guy who sleeps around a ton which is a little like Ned's somewhat incomprehensible thought about Rhaegar:

Mance took her by the hand and pulled her close. "My lady is blameless. I met her on my return from your father's castle. The Halfhand was carved of old oak, but I am made of flesh, and I have a great fondness for the charms of women . . . which makes me no different from three-quarters of the Watch. There are men still wearing black who have had ten times as many women as this poor king. You must guess again, Jon Snow."

Jon considered a moment. "The Halfhand said you had a passion for wildling music."

"I did. I do. That's closer to the mark, yes. But not a hit." Mance Rayder rose, unfastened the clasp that held his cloak, and swept it over the bench. "It was for this."

"A cloak?"

[deleted half a paragraph]

And she sewed up the rents in my cloak as well, with some scarlet silk from Asshai that her grandmother had pulled from the wreck of a cog washed up on the Frozen Shore. It was the greatest treasure she had, and her gift to me." He swept the cloak back over his shoulders. "But at the Shadow Tower, I was given a new wool cloak from stores, black and black, and trimmed with black, to go with my black breeches and black boots, my black doublet and black mail. The new cloak had no frays nor rips nor tears . . . and most of all, no red. The men of the Night's Watch dressed in black, Ser Denys Mallister reminded me sternly, as if I had forgotten. My old cloak was fit for burning now, he said.

"I left the next morning . . . for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose." He closed the clasp and sat back down again. "And you, Jon Snow?" (ASOS, Jon)

I don't know, feels like a lot of layers here, not sure I want to dig. 😐

Going back to Jaime though, is he connected to this? The idea of love/family being more powerful than all these other ideas society holds up, the vows you make…that’s interesting, and it does tie in with Jaime not wearing his white kingsguard armor when he kills Aerys/when Ned finds him,

"Aerys was dead on the floor, drowned in his own blood. His dragon skulls stared down from the walls. Lannister's men were everywhere. Jaime wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard over his golden armor. I can see him still. Even his sword was gilded. He was seated on the Iron Throne, high above his knights, wearing a helm fashioned in the shape of a lion's head. (AGOT, Ned II)

 The wench stalked off without saying a word. Jaime curled up beneath his cloak, hoping to dream of Cersei.

But when he closed his eyes, it was Aerys Targaryen he saw, pacing alone in his throne room, picking at his scabbed and bleeding hands. The fool was always cutting himself on the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. Jaime had slipped in through the king's door, clad in his golden armor, sword in hand. The golden armor, not the white, but no one ever remembers that. Would that I had taken off that damned cloak as well. (ASOS, Jaime II

So, actually, the clothing is important, it pops up for both Mance and Jaime, in moments when they choose to break their oaths, as part of humanizing themselves/reclaiming their identities, but the most I can say about that initial scene is that Jaime is connected not merely by theme to Jon, but because he did know Jon's father, he killed Jon's grandaddy, so their stories intersect in interesting ways. And of course, Jon regrets not killing Mance, a king he believes is a threat to his loved ones, and just like Jaime, Jon has his romanticized notion of a celibate order crushed.

The main takeaway is certainly what you pointed out, as it is the end of the chapter that Tyrion's shadow stretches out and we get the foreshadowing for his impact on the fate of Westeros, although Jon was blinded by Jaime's appearance initially.

I feel like I wrote a lot and said very little? I’m gonna have to ask you to follow-up with all the parallels I totally missed! 😂

[squadxx4392]

HARRY POTTER RANDOMNESS EPISODE 3!!

Severus: Yeah Lucius is dumb enough to let his son burn himself

Minnie : Oh dear Merlin, I am this close to hanging myself. if they get arrested, I am not taking the fall. get out of my office

Severus: Yes ma'am

Sirius : bye Minnie!!!

Draco: I'm feeling Ron is telling the truth

Pansy : about what?

Draco: Yk

Hermione : Ron says a lot of stupid shit constantly, be more specific, bitch

Ron: Oh you mean Harry not liking you, yeah that's true he tells me all the time how much he hates you

Harry : RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY ISTG I WILL MURDER YOU IN COLD BLOOD AND CONFESS TO THE MURDER STOP THAT

Ron: You complain about him a lot

Harry : BECAUSE HE'S A GIT BUT HE'S MY GIT! I don't hate him!

Ron: You hate him

Harry : NO I FUCKING DON'T!

Ron and Draco: *trying not to laugh*

Draco: I mean if you want to break up just say it

Harry : N- wait a fucking second. You two plotted this, didn't you? I'm not talking to you for a week

Draco: ... *actually crying 😢*

Harry : No- No baby! I didn't mean it, I'm sorry! *hugging Draco*

Draco: 😢 I'm very hurt

Luna : Aw, come here Harry! I'll give you a hug!

Harry : *goes to hug Luna instead*

Draco: *unties self and sits in the trunk 😢*

Seamus : *appearing out of thin air* BOO! *disappearing into thin air*

Draco: *sniffles* *cry cry*

Harry : DEAN AND SEAMUS COME OUT YOU'RE UNDER MY INVISIBILITY CLOAK, I KNOW NOW

Draco: *still crying*

Ron: Uh- Harry I think you should be more worried about your ferret-

Hermione : here stuff your face with these and hush *handing him a big ass tin of her homemade chocolate chip cookies*

Ron: Okay-

Harry : See? Herm's got it! I'm tryna get Seamus and Dean to show their asses right this second so I can hex them.

Draco: 😢

Luna : *passing the joint around* here Draco!

Draco: *shakes head*

Ginny : Pass me that, yeah?

Luna : Here ya go, Gin!

Draco: *grabs matches and lights them placing it on his skin trying to be sneaky*

Pansy: DRACO JESUS

Draco: Fire 🤩

Hermione : Aguamenti! *snatches the matches* we're driving across the ocean, knock it off!

Draco: Ugh no fun

Ginny : *taking a long drag from the joint* you can light the whomping willow on fire when we get back

Draco: I want to light skin on fire

Ginny : Okay then, light Filch on fire when we get back!

Ron: Who's volunteering first then... to be Draco's victim...

Ginny : Did I not JUST say to light FILCH on fire???

Draco: *pours gasoline on hand and sets it on fire 🤩*

Hermione : AGUAMENTI! DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY! I BAKE WITH YOUR DAD, I'LL TELL HIM ABOUT THIS

Draco : *gasps* you wouldn't dare!

Hermione : I. fucking. would.

Blaise: His dad doesn't give a shit

Hermione : But his mum does

Draco: *smirks and grabs matches*

Blaise: Were there little children back at Hogwarts?

Luna : *turns matches into needles*

Pansy: That won't help- He sews patterns into his skin 😭

Luna : OH SHIT MY BAD *turns needles into cotton balls*

Draco: NOOOOOO ITS FUN DOING THIS STUFFF

Pansy : I'll take you to the tattoo parlor after this! we can get piercings and tattoos there!

Draco: Really..

Pansy : Yes! I've been wanting a tattoo, a nose and a belly button piercing, myself!

Draco: I want a whole sleeve.

Pansy : Okay! that we can do!

Ron: And I think Draco has gone crazy

Blaise : Why don't we all go? We can all get a matching tattoo or piercing together! I vote belly button rings!

Ron: Anyone else find it weird that Harry kisses Draco's dark mark?

Everybody else : No

Hermione : He literally got his own one tattooed at a parlor a while back so Draco wouldn't be lonely with his

Ron: *looks at Blaise* Now I feel bad

Blaise : all in favor of getting matching belly button piercings then waltzing around Hogwarts in crop tops?

Draco: Can I have a skirt 😨

Blaise : Duh

Draco: FUCK YEAH

Pansy : Y'ALL WE'RE BACK LET'S FUCKING GO!! LET'S GO TO THAT TATTOO PARLOR RIGHT NOW

Draco: I want my makeup done also

Pansy : Gin and I will do it when we're getting ready to waltz around Hogwarts!

Ron: Draco in a skirt SMASH

Harry : That's my boyfriend Ron-

Blaise : Everybody shut up and get out! We're here at the tattoo parlor! We've got our piercings and then we've got our tattoos! let's roll, people!

Ron: He would be hot in a skirt

Harry : I know but that's not the fucking point! He's MY boyfriend! You've got Blaise!

Ron: I could never pass him up if he was in a skirt or a suit THAT SHITS HOT AS HELL 🛐🛐🛐🛐

Ginny : COME ON! I WANNA GET MY PIERCING FIRST!

Draco: *already at the Parlor*

Tattoo Artist : So a full sleeve?

Draco : yes please

Tattoo Artist : alright, just sign this and take a seat and we'll be right on it

Ron: Where did Dray go?

Pansy : He ran inside already. I see him sitting down with the person having the needle on his skin, so yeah

Harry:... WHAT DID YOU CALL HIM

Piercing Person : So you want a nose, a septum and a belly button?

Ginny : Yes please

Piercing Person : Alright, take a seat and we'll get started!

Draco: I want a tongue piercing

Tattoo Person : We can get you to that when we're done with the sleeve!

Draco: Okayyy

Pansy : Hey, all of us are getting belly button piercings!

Ron: DAYUM DRACO'S HOT

Piercing Person 2 : alright, well, you'll have to wait a bit, alright?

Pansy : alrighty!

Harry : SHUT UP RON!

Ron: HES HOT AS HELLLL

Blaise : You never call me that!

Ron: But... like Draco..

Harry : But... you have a boyfriend and he's right here!

Ron: I would smash your boyfriend tho

Harry : I'd smash yours as well, now c'mon, you're up next for the piercing!

Ron: Okay

Draco: Is my sleeve done I need to talk to my bf for a second

Tattoo Person : this is gonna take me hours, have your boyfriend come over here

*narrators voice* what will become of them?? will their tattoos and piercings look good?? tune in next time on HARRY POTTER RANDOMNESS

[waitingforwinterwinds]

A Clash of Kings - 18 SANSA II (pages 254-262)

Sansa risks a potential trap for potential freedom, and has an uncomfortable chat with a drunken Sandor on her return trip.

-

The angry purple bruise Ser Meryn had given her had faded to an ugly yellow, but still hurt. His fist had been mailed when he hit her. It was her own fault. She must learn to hide her emotions better so as not to anger Joffrey. When she heard that the Imp had sent Lord Slynt to the Wall, she had forgotten herself and said, "I hope the Others get him." The king had not been pleased.

The people who think Sansa was having a jolly old time in KL after her father's beheading confuse me. How can you read the text and not hurt for her? How can you read it and not understand she's a victim of long term abuse she can't escape, but she's trying, she is doing her best and holding on to hope and she is so filled with anger that sometimes it slips out because no one can be as perfect as she needs to be because there is no perfect enough for abusers like Joffrey. Her survival might not look as "girlboss" as some of the other female characters in this series, but my gosh Sansa is doing amazing and deserved so much better.

If only she had someone to tell her what to do. She missed Septa Mordane, and even more Jeyne Poole, her truest friend. The septa had lost her head with the rest, for the crime of serving House Stark. Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon, even riding through the winter town if she liked.

I wonder if it would be better or worse for her to know, the fact that she's deliberately not thinking of them says worse. I wonder if part of her suspects Jeyne is not okay, or that Arya hasn't really made it back to Winterfell, if she's convincing herself that Arya's fine because it means one less horror to contend with in her darker headspace moments.

If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak.

Desperate courage, but courage all the same. She did such a good job sneaking all that way.

She makes the sept sound so pretty.

Lady would have liked this place, she thought. ... And what will they do to me? Sansa found herself thinking of Lady again. She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, father had killed her, on account of Arya.

Sad though it is, I do like that Sansa isn't just forgetting about Lady, that even know the bond and the wolf still mean something to her. Still being angry at Arya because it's easier than being afraid for her, I see. But babe, Arya might have been in the wrong place, but it was Joffrey who chose to escalate, and Cersei who chose to demand a death, come on Sansa, you're too far past knowing what they are to pin all the blame on Arya. (Times you get to say "Yay, team effort" but the outcome was literally The Worst.)

"Think I'm so drunk I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burned face. "You look almost a woman... face, teats, and you're taller too, almost... ah, you're still a stupid little bird aren't you? -"

Bad dog *smacks Sandor round the head with a steel chair*

"Fuck your ser, Boros. You're the knight, not me. I'm the king's dog, remember?"

"Fuck" = 🥛

"- The three dogs on our banner are the three that died, in the yellow autumn grass. -"

Ohhh, Clegane sigil lore

"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I'll have a song from you, whether you will it or no."

"Cunt" = 🥛 *smacks Sandor with the steel chair again*

[aroworlds]

Hallo, Aro: Pillar

For the second day of @aggressivelyarospec​​‘s #aggressivelyarospectacular 2022 event, I have another Hallo, Aro story: a series of (mostly) flash fiction stories about allosexual aromantic characters navigating friendship, sexual attraction, aromanticism and the weight of amatonormative expectation.

Contains: A allo-aro woman who doesn't choose marriage and children ... and a society that expects she use her time in service to those who did.

Length: 1, 320 words.

Content advisory: This story focuses on the intersection between capitalism, misogyny, amatonormativity, classism and singleism in terms of how they impact non-partnering and non-parenting working-class adults (especially women and people forcibly categorised as "woman" by Western society) under capitalism. Please expect depictions of and/or references to these as well as general aro erasure, aro antagonism, heteronormativity and cisnormativity.

Animal bones, medical tools and cemeteries are casually mentioned in the setting.

The woman lingers at the alley entrance, peering left and right and left again, before pulling at her cloak's cowl. Only then does she make the turn, her steps swift and furtive. Most gods’ altars line crossways, thoroughfares and squares, their divinity owed public homage; some, lost amidst the city’s sprawl, lurk behind privies and warehouses. Such sacred spaces never moulder unvisited, but their worshippers seldom attend beneath the sun’s revealing light.

When fog creeps and moon fades, the desperate seek out gods few dare name.

She hurries, her full skirts swishing, around a pile of crates. Behind lies an alcove, mossy and damp, set into the wall dividing alley from boneyard. Ivy smothers both ancient stonework and looming sepulchre, veiling the god's image such that one sees little more than outstretched wings. Only yellowed papers and fallen leaves cushion the ground before the granite altar, but a soft glow illuminates worshippers' offerings and the god’s business: rusting hand bells, wire-bound bird bones, curved needles, empty glass phials.

A crow-black feather, carefully stitched onto a red ribbon, emerges from her pocket. She kneels and sets it by the smallest bell. “Please, I beg you listen…”

She scowls, shaking her head. A brown braid escapes her hood.

“No, I’m no priest! I’m Quick. I reckon the name suits. My cousin … none of you gods was listening when my aunt named her. Or you all split your sides laughing! Anyway, I’m a seamstress. The kind doing piece work in a tailor’s workhouse. The kind sewing seams so folk sing the tailor for his cuts and finishings.”

Quick hesitates, crooking her head. Nothing disturbs the alleyway behind her: only a tabby cat sits atop the crates, his yellow eyes examining the wall opposite.

“It’s tiring work, but I’ve guild-set hours, fifth days and holidays. And sewing suits me.” With gloved hands, she raises an unwieldy vine from the altar. Her breath mists the night air. “I mind the tailor and how he manages the other women. They’re married. Mothers with toddling babes, mostly. Their mothers, sisters, or partners tend their children while they work. This must be hard for them, but…”

She bends the vine back upon itself, weaving it into the mess of leaves shrouding the alcove’s left wall.

“When we’ve trousers to remake or shirts still to baste for the morrow’s fitting … they plead their babies and their partners. The tailor says he’s a proud family man, so he won’t hold family against his workers. Meaning when the eve-bell rings and work wants continuing, he begs me to stay. ‘Cause I’ve no partner or children, aren’t I best to?”

A withered twig cracks as Quick breaks it clean from the vine, stowing it inside her cloak's pocket.

“The tailor pays no guild’s cut on after-bell hours. So he won’t hire more seamstresses, the others go home, and I stay late. Again. He suggests he can’t keep me elsewise, which makes mockery of his singing about my good work.” Her voice roughens. “Mama … Mama chides my minding so much I daren’t speak of it, ‘cause she says I’m helping the tailor and the other women both. Aren’t I better to be kind and turn extra coin for the family, than sit idle at home?”

Her lips trembling, she turns to the altar. Never does she permit her fingers to touch older offerings, irrespective of rust and tarnish; instead, uncaring of her skirts and cloak, she brushes leaves, twigs, bird droppings and dirt from the granite slab.

“But I don’t! I scarce bang my boots before a sister hands off her latest babe or begs me feed her boys. I haven’t been home in weeks while the oldest nurses—and when the youngest sister takes ill and her children also need tending, there I go.” Quick utters a low laugh, shaking her head. “Until bed, I’m changing napkins or saving the cat from being poked. Sometimes just so they can be alone with their husbands! My sisters say a village should raise a child, and since Mama helps my brother’s wife when not doing for Papa, and my sisters’ husbands earn their rent, there's me. I’m to be kind to them, too--to be the village.”

“But I mind it. I mind.”

She bows her head, resting fisted hands in her lap.

“I want no husband. I want no children. I want … a house with a big bed for me and a lover—but they never pass the whole night in it. More like a regular guest than a partner, and I know how that’s awful!” Quick inhales, her cheeks flushed and eyes glistening. “I want time for reading, stitching, tatting, drawing—and coin enough for a score of lamps! Space to guest in a friend’s bed, some evenings, and have them guest in mine. No wifehood, no motherhood. They’d strangle me!”

She sits in wordlessness, breathing heavily.

The cat leaps from the topmost crate, lands and pads down the alleyway.

“I know that for truth, ‘cause I’m strangled now. I work late ‘cause the tailor chooses wives and mothers' leaving over me.” Quick shudders, her hands tightening. “I tend my sisters’ children ‘cause I’m no wife or mother, so I own nothing more important. I won’t be a partner or parent, so those who are expect I use my hours to help. And to escape their expecting? Marry and bear my own children! Only then are my refusals accepted!”

Her harsh, raucous cackle sends a startled cat skittering into the street.

“I’m why the tailor won’t hire another seamstress but sing himself for being a family man. I’m why my sisters have all their sons. I’m the pillar holding them up—making doable their homes, marriage, children, pride. I'm obliged to bear their weight … and why shouldn’t I, after refusing what we’re supposed to have? What good am I to anyone, elsewise? How am I naught but selfish, denying Papa the chance of granddaughters?”

A tear��hot, salty and grief-leaden—patters the alcove's pitted stone.

“I want to live for me, but not by leaving my family. I still want my sisters, Mama--just less of them! But even had I wage enough to leave, what next? Won’t another employer think the same? Won’t I be holding the neighbour’s crying babe? When nobody can live the way they’re obliged to want without spinster aunts shoring them up, where can I be?”

Quick sucks in another gulping breath, her voice wavering.

“If you’re a good and just god, even you won’t change this. Nothing right lies in making everyone be and think different for my wants, even if you could. Nothing right lies in upending everything, and that’s the worst thing, the very worst thing … that there’s no escape. None. Just a horrid knot binding us all, a knot in a world with no scissors. One I best ought to learn to not mind.”

Her shoulders slumping, she sags in upon herself. The fog thickens, gifting the statuette a halo of blue light, but Quick sits as if too worn and grief-struck to move. Only when her shivers threaten convulsions does she catch herself, blinking.

“Least you listen without chiding," she murmurs, and you never demanded a girl marry for your favour or called her selfish for choosing her own way. Other … other gods aren’t so kind. Even if they're reckoned good.” She grimaces, shaking her head. “Thank you. It’s easier to forget how I mind if I talk, sometimes. Least for a while.”

She stands, bows, tugs her hood as far over her cheeks as the fabric will allow, and retreats down the alleyway.

In the shadows of a corner unseen by mortal eyes, a weeping god cups his face in taloned hands.

For how long can he pay witness to the harms wrought upon his own before inaction may no longer be deemed “just”?

[never-enough-whump]

On Rumor of Treason

Whumptember Day 6: Behind Bars

Summary: News from the front reaches the village guard first. Or, the consequence of Rumple's actions.

Read on AO3

Footsteps crunch on the snow outside. Milah ceases her soft humming and looks up from her sewing. But no knocking or friendly voices follow the steps. Instead, a trio of guards burst through her door.

“Come with us,” the first guard orders. “Now.”

Milah presses back against the back of her chair. “Why?” she asks.

The guard yanks her roughly to her feet, her sewing dropping to the floor. He backhands her across the face, and she yelps and stumbles. “Because I say so,” he snaps and before she can reach for the tender spot, he’s twisting her arm painfully behind her back. The second guard smirks, as if amused by his companion’s cruelty, but the third scowls and spits into the hearth.

“Hurry it up,” he grumbles. “She’s not worth the time.” The second guard springs into action at that, grabbing her other arm and wrenching it behind her as well. Pinned on both sides by both guards, her struggling is useless and she stills. Satisfied by this compliance, the third guard dumps her water pail over the fire, plunging the house into darkness.

The guards march her outside without her cloak. Two torches wait for them, stuck into the snowbank by the door. The third guard picks up both and leads the way through the frosty night to the guards’ fort.

Milah isn’t dressed for this weather. The cold worms its way under her dress, making her shiver.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks again, with new desperation. She wants to go home. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“When you give me answers.”

There’s a shifting behind her and one of her arms is passed from one hand to another. She’s spun forcefully around to face the first guard.

“I should have known better than to expect respect from the likes of you,” he says, and slaps her again. The crack of his hand against her cheek is loud in the quiet night and so is her cry of pain. Milah looks to the ground, not wanting to know if anyone in the nearby houses has come to see the commotion. Her face burns with shame as well as pain. “You will be quiet,” the guard warns, “or we will beat you when we get there.”

Normally, Milah might have pushed the issue. She might have found knowing the reason for this mistreatment (and what the guard meant by “the likes of you”) worth the risk of a beating. But now she shudders to think what a beating would do to the baby inside her, the fragile life that can only withstand so much damage to her body, and she obeys.

In the dungeon of the fort, she is shoved into a cell. Not hard enough to fall, but nearly, and she stumbles to the back of the cell before catching herself with a hand on the wall. She turns to face the guards, looking back at them through the bars of her cage.

“Please,” she whispers, exhausted and drained of nearly all her dignity. “Let me go.”

The guards only laugh at her obvious terror.

“A coward, just like that bastard she took up with,” the third guard accuses, and spits again. The second guard clicks the lock shut. With the sound echoing the finality that she is trapped, the guards turn as one and leave her there.

Milah leans back against the wall, all but collapsing into it. The baby kicks and she rubs at the spot, trying to soothe them both. It’ll be all right, she thinks to the baby. We’ll be out of here soon. But she isn’t so sure. She doesn’t even know why this is happening. How can she predict how well and how soon it’ll end?

She eases herself to the floor of the cell, shifting futilely for a comfortable position that doesn’t exist before giving up and settling for the best she can do. She needs to focus on tonight, not worry about the distant future. She’s still shaking from fear and, more concerningly, cold. She tries to curl tighter around herself, to preserve the warmth she desperately needs for both her and her baby, but the very bump she’s trying to protect makes it difficult to tuck her knees in tightly enough. Tears rush to her eyes and though she doesn’t want to cry, she’s just as powerless to stop her sobs as she is to do anything else.

Shouting and rattling of the door wake her the next morning. She’s surprised, not having expected herself to fall asleep. She blinks, the dungeon only coming into bleary focus with one of her eyes swollen.

Two guards stand outside the cell, and Milah flinches when she recognizes the one who enters as the cruel guard from the night before. To her relief, he doesn’t hit her again, but he does hurt her, fingers probing for the spot on her arm that makes her wince the most and digging in before he pulls her from the ground. Stiff and sore from cold and uncomfortable sleep, she drags behind him for several paces before getting her balance.

The guards take her to a chamber where the duke and the captain of the guard are waiting. She’s shoved roughly to her knees in front of them and the guards take their own places, standing silently behind their seated superiors.

“You are Milah, yes?” the captain asks. “Wife of the spinner Rumplestiltskin?”

“Yes,” she nods, “that is correct.” Turning imploringly to the duke, she says, “my husband has answered your conscription. We’ve paid our tithes at harvest-tide and committed no crimes. Your Grace, if I may ask, what is this about?” It is a risk to speak so plainly to the duke, but she hopes that she might get out of this by reminding him of her innocence. Anger flashes in the duke’s eyes and Milah quickly ducks her head, seeing that the risk has not paid off.

“You most certainly may not!” the duke thunders. “Remember your place, peasant. It is only I who gets to decide if and how you have displeased me.”

She tenses, expecting pain in retribution for her mistake. When no blow lands, she relaxes slightly and gives a small nod that doesn’t raise her head. “I understand, Your Grace,” she says meekly. The duke owns this village, and it shows in the way he rules. He can decide to take more than his usual share in tithes, order harsh floggings and lengthy imprisonments for the smallest slights and pettiest crimes, even steal people away to be his personal servants. It isn’t cowardice or defeat to defer to him like this, merely sense. Everyone fears the duke.

“Your husband has been injured. Oddly enough, in the war camp just before his first battle.” Milah’s mind skips right past the implication in the captain’s words and focuses on the fact that Rumple is hurt. 

“Oh gods,” Milah breathes, raising from her bowed posture. “Will he be all right? Is he well enough to travel? He should be here, so I can tend to him.” So he can tend to me, she adds silently, for having to endure this ordeal. As much as she wants out of this damned fort, she hates that she’ll return to an empty home without her husband there to hold her.

The captain ignores her concern and asks more directly, “Rumplestiltskin is known for being a coward, is he not?”

Milah shakes her head. “His father was,” she corrects. “But some people don’t give him the credit for being his own person.”

“Perhaps because no credit is due!” the duke cuts in impatiently. “I will say this in a way that your stupid peasant brain can comprehend. If your husband maimed himself that is not only cowardice but the very worst sort of it – treason against me!”

Treason.

The word settles heavily into Milah’s blood. It seems she’s finally been given her explanation, but instead of relief she feels only dread.

“I - ” she starts, voice cracking under the weight of her scattered thoughts.

“If you attempt to obscure the truth, that would be aiding in treason and your punishment would be nearly as severe as a traitor’s,” the captain reminds her. “I’d consider carefully what you are about to say.”

“I don’t need to consider.” Her voice is assertive and confident, though she feels anything but. She does need time to consider – not over whether Rumple is guilty, but to process the enormity of it all. But there could never be enough time for that. Treason. They could kill Rumple if she says the wrong thing. “My husband has lived his entire life under the shadow of his father’s cowardice. He’s never wanted anything more than for people to see him for more, to see him for him. He wanted to go to war, to finally have a chance to prove he wasn’t that man. He hated the label of coward so much, why would he run to it now?”

The duke makes an unimpressed hmph sound. But the captain gives her a terse smile. It’s not warm or encouraging by any means except that it isn’t a look of outright anger. That’s enough for her to take it as a good sign, though she tries to tamp down her small glimmer of hope. It’s the duke that needs to be convinced, and he clearly doesn’t want to be.

“I grow sick of this,” the duke says, proving her thoughts.

“Of course, Your Grace.” The captain nods in his direction. “We have heard what we need. Guards, she may leave.”

Milah staggers to her feet, wincing as her knees unbend. Luckily, the guards don’t grab and drag her this time, nor do they follow her out the front door of the fort. They spare her the indignity of being seen as a prisoner, but they needn’t have, for rumors have already reached the village, leaving everyone to see her as something much worse – a traitor’s wife.

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Deification of a Manda’lor

Din Djarin x f!reader

Part 3

Pt 1, Pt2

18+ Series NO MINORS

Warnings: religion is a huge part of the story, God worshipping,

Notes: Age Gap (26 and 36),

A/n:y’all I did not intend for this to take so long. So here it is.

I use Mandalorian dictionary and color wiki/ basic knowledge for color in media for this fanfic

Masterlist

Before we start, this is a rough idea if the house. I couldn’t figure out how to rotate furniture so the dining table, alter and refreshers are not placed right

-

You got sick after the gala and everyone decided for you that you weren’t in any shape to meet The Manda’lor. You did try and argue but there was no use. Your buirs won the argument. Yes, even though you were an adult they still wanted to baby you and show you that they know best. Which lead you straight to your bed, covered in lots of blankets, and your buirs trading off on being would give you broths and bread and that ended with bickering from each of them on how one of them wasn’t doing something right. But everything was fine. The food tasted good and you started to feel better after a week.

-

“The Manda’lor would like to visit you today and discuss everything in the case so far. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Your heart was racing. Shit! Shit shit shit! Why today?

“What time?” You look around then back at the holo-pad. You need to clean the whole house, luckily your room would be the easiest. You only had a few flight suits and some socks on the ground.

“In about an hour. He’s finishing up personal stuff… Is that okay?” Bo-Katan raises a brow.

You nod quickly. “Yes.. Yes that’s great!”

She nods back. “He will see you then.”

You turn off the pad and run into the common area of the house. “The Manda’lor is coming in an hour! We need this house CLEAN!” You shout, your modulator goes fuzzy for a second, the oldest of your younger siblings Deandre gets the memo and starts poking after all of the younger ones to get them to start their daily chores. Those usually aren’t done until an hour before your buira comes home from her tailoring job.

You go back into your room and pick up clothes, throwing them through the laundry shoot. You move a table and some chairs incase Din wants to talk more privately, then move to the altar in your room. Everyone in the house of Jerikko was required to have an altar in their room after the age of 5. Only the two youngest vods didn’t have altars, but they often used the dining room one or the one in your buira and buirie’s room. You weren’t required to put anything but candles and pictures or figurines of the Manda’lor on the bedroom altars, any other altars had to have an offering of some sort, the candles must be lit if it’s an important event, holiday, or the Manda’lor was coming to visit. So you did just that, you adjusted the porcelain figures of Din and Grogu and lit the tan and black candles.

You make your way into the dining room altar. It had been embarrassingly empty, but you didn’t quite know what to put on it. So while you decided, you lit each of the candles, it look you a few minutes more but you decided on a small weapon, credits and fruits. You learned that Grogu loved fruits from Din the night of the gala. He loved talking about the rambunctious kid, in fact it was all he really did talk about at the dinner. You didn’t question him though, you assumed he just didn’t like to make everything about himself. He’d rather show off other people and what amazing things they do. Din was amazing for that reason, well and many other reasons obviously.

You finish by helping Anikai, one of the youngest vods in the family pick up her toys, she had them scattered everywhere and had a hard time looking for them. None of you needed Din tripping over something in the house though.

You make your way into your buira’s sewing room and pick up the fur cloak you requested her to make him. She had finished it last night after dinner. Your buira picked expensive fabrics and dyed Nexu fur to make the cloak out of and it turned out so beautiful and soft. You almost want to keep the cloak for yourself… almost.

The door to your house slides open. Your buirie is from the market. She drops the basket of foods down and you come up to her. “Buire, the Manda’lor will be here soon, I didn’t think he’d be coming over to discuss issues with me, I actually thought I’d get to go to the meeting today but I guess not. So I was wondering if you could keep the vods busy while I had this meeting? If not it’s okay, we can just do the meeting in my room.”

Your buirie nods her head. “Yes I’ll take them out sparring for a bit and I’ll tell your buira on our way over to the sparring grounds so she doesn’t come home so surprised. You have everything ready for him right?” She asks, putting away the vegetables and meats she brought home. You nod.

“Oh of course! I would never leave the house a mess for our Manda’lor!”

She laughs.

“Jate dala.” (Good girl)

You thank her for everything and go and sit in the dining room watching her collect your siblings and rush them out the door.

-

The Manda’lor comes not long after that, giving a swift knock on the door. You quickly get up so you don’t leave him waiting and put in your thumbprint to open the door.

“Welcome Manda’lor!” You gesture him to come inside, the door slides closed behind him when he enters.

“Thank you for, allowing me to come on a short notice. I see your feeling better. I actually brought you a gift.”

His gloved hands hold something in front of you. It’s a sketch pad and pen. “Thank you Manda’lor Din-“

“You can just call me Din.” He chuckles out, your stomach jumps as you watch his shoulder bounce. You take the pen and sketch pad.

“Of course! Why don’t we sit down, the dining room is in this room right here. Do you need a drink? Something to eat?” You fold your hands over the sketchpad the black pen in between your middle and index finger. He pulls out a chair and sits casually, his arm on the arm rest, other arm on the table, fingers already tapping as he looks around.

“No, but thank you.”

“Okay well, I’ll be right back. Thank you again, for the gifts.” You walk off.

Din looks around, the altar is the one thing that sticks out the most to him. He swivels his chair around and gets up, looking at the artwork of him.

Did you draw that?

Then there were the porcelain figurines, one of him, one of Grogu. He was standing, the darksaber ignited. Grogu was holding his hand out with his eyes closed. Then there were the candles, they were the colors of his armor and Grogu’s clothes.

Looking at all of this felt wrong in some way. Like he was sneaking around trying to find secrets. There weren’t any secrets though, Jerikko has always been open about their treatment of him as Manda’lor.

Din picks the figurine of himself up and turns it gently.

“Do you like it?”

He jumps, accidentally letting go of the doll. It falls to the ground and breaks into bitty pieces. “Dank Ferrik!” Din mumbles. You stomach drops.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you and break that Din!”

Your modulator crackles and you quickly scramble to the ground, Din crouches next to you.

“It’s fine, I’m sorry for not being more gentle with it. It’s my fault. I can… get a new one made for you?” Where did these even come from?

“I couldn’t have you do that Din. I really don’t deserve it. I’m so sorry..”

“Stop apologizing this won’t hurt me. You’re okay adi’ka.” The shards get swept into your gloves, you carefully throw them away. Your heart stops beating so fast. “I do find it…interesting. Does everyone in Jerikko have one?” Din asks, sitting back in his chair.

“I’d say yes, at least we’re supposed to. Everyone has to have one in their bedrooms and one is required in a common area. We chose the dining room.” You explain, sitting one chair parallel to him, he nods, looking back at the alter before looking at you. “So, you came over because of the case right? I have the list of houses that are close to ours.”

You look around for your data pad and see it on the kitchen counter. You grab it and pull up the house data. “So we have Vizsla, Shif, Nullu, Agows, Kast, and Kryze. From most to least close with us.” You turn the data pad so Din can look at it. “This is based on what my family and a few other clans have said, and based on who talked to me during the gala. I’d personally look into the top three houses and even though you ruled out my house, Jerikko should be investigated again too, just in case we missed something.” You explain, Din nods his head.

“Okay, I’ll gather any spies from the other three houses and send them to the houses you listed. We are at a dead end until a spy comes back with information though, all of the spokespeople I’ve talked to have no idea who could’ve been doing this.”

“That’s okay, as long as we get some information I’ll be happy. Anything else you needed to talk about today?”

You set the data pad on the table.

“Yes, we have a Mandalorian festival coming up in a month. I guess people from all over the galaxy come to this and celebrate. If you don’t mind going to different clans and asking what they can bring or what they can participate in. It’ll be held at the palace and as far as I’m concerned there won’t be cameras flashing in faces.” Din shakes his head a bit I’m disappointment, wanting to never go through that again. You didn’t really wanna go through that either. Though as long as he was in charge of Mandalore and you were a spokesperson for Jerikko, those flashing cameras would probably never end.

“Yes I can ask around. I’m sure everyone will be happy to help. Anything else you need from me?”

“No.”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

That next sentence comes out of your mouth and shocks you, then embarrasses you, then you’re put in a position to accept your fate.

“Sure.”

Wait what?

“Perfect!”

No it wasn’t…

“I’m going to call my buirs and tell them that you’re staying then.” You rush out of the dining room and bolt into your room, the door slides closed.

You type in your buira’s number, she answers and is seeing pant legs together, her creamy orange helmet faces towards you. “Adi’ka, buirie already told me Manda’lor Din was going to be there. Did you finish the meeting? Everything go well?”

“Yes, everything is great!” It sounded forced, but you felt like you made a huge mistake. “Actually Di- uh Manda’lor Din wanted to stay for dinner. I just wanted to tell you and buirie. I think he wants to meet everyone.”

She nods her head. “I will be home to help then. Go ahead and call buirie, let her know.”

-

Din sits at one end of the table and your buira at the other end. You sit next to Din, and from oldest to youngest the table goes down the line. Your buirie next to your buira and your youngest sibling on her left.

“We would like to thank Manda’lor Din for making his way over here to talk to our daughter. We would like to thank him for joining us for dinner and thinking us worthy enough to be in his presence. Thank you Manda’lor. Nayc am!”

“Nayc am!” Everyone says in unison. Your family lifts helmets slightly and begins drinking their broths, your little siblings chat lightly while trying to not make it obvious they’re talking about their Manda’lor while your Buira starts to converse with the Manda’lor himself.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay for dinner. Your ads are very mature. Especially the oldest. You’ve raised them well and have chosen a great spokesperson.”

You tilt your head down beginning to get flustered. Your buira chuckles. “Yes she’s grown to be quite mature. We work hard on that. But we also like to focus on them being children, especially so young.” She admits. It was true. You personally didn’t feel like you were mature until you became the spokesperson of Jerikko. But you’d witnessed how mature each of your siblings has become.

“I try to focus on that with Grogu. He’s still a toddler so I don’t think I have much to worry about in the mature factor yet.” Din shakes his head, the adults at the table all chuckle a bit before the conversation moves to you growing up. How you were the only foundling for the longest time.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your seat. You hate talking about yourself, it’s embarrassing. Everyone else found it cute, except your siblings who would poke fun at you, as if you couldn’t get them back years from now.

“Yes, she had a hard time when training, we couldn’t nor would we go hard on her. But anyone in their age range could everyone had siblings that could help train each other, she didn’t. She couldn’t train outside of school much but she still pushed herself.”

“I was in a similar situation. Except I was still weak. I was a foundling of Clan Viszla. Paz and I always had to one up each other but I was still weaker than him in some ways. The armorer of our covenant would have to get him off me when he took it too far. I had pushed myself hard.”

You look at him, and get even more flustered. He’s so broad and the way he sits relaxed as he tells a story. You can’t help it. Everything around you feels quiet as you focus on just him. He’s shown you nothing but kindness since you’ve met him. He’s everything you want, he relates to you, he’s kind to you, listens… you need to get out of your head.

You shake your head slightly.

Stupid thinking. He’s a god. He is God. Your God. God’s show kindness to their worshippers. You’re nothing more than that to him. A little worshipper, a pebble among the hundreds of other worshipers in your house. You mean nothing to him.

You never will.

[thegreymoon]

Love Like the Galaxy

Meh. She deserves it.

***

LMAO, he seriously threw bread at him 🤣🤣

Yes, Zisheng, no more battles for you! You have to get married and start making babies now! 

***

OMG, he really made him stand in a corner like an unruly child!! 🤣🤣

I can’t stop laughing 🤣🤣 I love the Emperor sfm!

***

Cackling 🤣🤣

This episode is pure comedy 🤣🤣 The Emperor has one braincell and one braincell alone, and it is devoted completely to seeing Zisheng marry. How dare they make him think about a war in times like these, when he’s so close to the wedding? How dare?? 🤣🤣

***

LMAOOO, she’s ridiculous 🤣🤣

If she goes on like this, she will have no hands left by the time she’s done sewing the cloak 🤣🤣

***

LMAO, I love that the entire military camp is acting as his wingmen 🤣🤣

***

LMAO, you’re an idiot 🤣🤣

Getting married to one-up the girl you like, that will definitely end well! 

***

He’s ridiculous 🤣🤣

***

Well, fuck. 

***

I’m not liking this new arc 😭😭

***

His personality is terrible but this actor is very beautiful.

I hope to watch him in more prominent roles. 

***

Ooof.