#silver coin stacking

[hardassetlife]

The PathFinder - 8/25/23

First, let us deal with this chart. On June 2, 2023, Mr. Market broke out of a broadening pattern which tend to be continuation patterns. (First white arrow on left). The problem is that Mr. Market broke out into a rising wedge. (orange lines) On the left you can see the gap left on 6/12/23. (white circle) On the right you can see the gap in volume (look for white arrows pointing to void in…

[nouearth]

dancing with wolves.

pairing. glen powell x male reader.

word count. 8.8k.

summary. journeying from town to town provided glen a solitude he’d always dreamed of. however, since meeting you, it was all he could complain about.

content warning. smut, western!au, top!glen, yearning!glen, loner!glen, bottom!reader, prostitute!reader, love confession, established relationship, passionate love-making, gagging, deep-throating, handjob (r!receiving), blowjob (r!giving), spanking, overstimulation, milking, anal penetration, breeding.

Cases of whiskey and cider were stacked in a column of two. Six units per beverage, twelve in total as Glen triple-checked the count and label. Though he’d never made a mistake in his deliveries before, it was his vigilance that maintained his good repute amongst the townsfolk. His attentiveness and efficiency in deliveries allowed for trust to be built between him and the towns he’d distribute to.

Months and more, the head of these establishments he’d work with didn’t seem to mind Glen’s uptight and reserved nature. Rather, they were used to it. Penned him as ‘Gunpowder’ because of their inability to see through him, as if the smoke from deflagrated gunpowder had impaired their vision.

As long as the goods were delivered in mint condition, who was to complain that the brooding man marched right on out after receiving his payment without uttering a single word?

Not to mention, his sturdy build was a warning itself to those who’d dared.

“Nearly doubled the shipment from last time.” It was an observation noted to himself. A low mutter that the owner of the saloon caught with a smile, because frankly, the mustached man was known to run the folk’s ears off.

There was a reason why he owned a saloon, and not Glen.

He dropped his payment into his drawstring bag and tucked it into the inside pocket of his shirt. Crime was growing rampant, even in a bustling town like New Vale where a dust storm couldn’t ward off its folks from drinking into the night. Glen wasn’t sure what to make of it. Whether to call them idiots for ignoring the highly alarming signs of bandits gradually killing their way to the west, or brave for living their lives without a single regret.

One would’ve had the same vacillation between labeling Glen as an idiot or a man, for traveling 40 miles and more in his saddle, while the threat of murders loomed over his head.  “God damn, I did! Business been growin’ ever since we’d expanded to include the whores. The fellas can’t keep their hands off of them!” Glen’s ears pricked up from the way the shorter man described the main attraction to his saloon. The man was practically ascending to heaven, tugging on the straps of his suspenders to ground him to the wooden flooring while he boasted about how much of a brilliant man he was for charging patrons by the hour, and taking a percentage of a prostitute’s pay. 

All Glen could do was watch in stoic disgust while the man relished in his own pride, in his own greed.

Though, only for a few seconds before a feeling of guilt and shame took over Glen’s conscious, calling him out on his hypocrisy, on this selfish desire that all the men in the saloon had collectively shared.

He wasn’t much of a better man than the drunkard swaying in his seat, completely shit-faced with a shot glass in his grasp.

Glen tucked his hands into his pockets, leaned to the man’s ear, and lowered his voice to a hush. “The boy in today?”

Coincidentally, he felt a spare coin in his left pocket. The silver ridges scorched his skin like it had come straight from the devil’s fountain, prodding his urges.

“Should be cleaning out back, but I’ll let ‘em know you’re here. You know his room.” The man collected the single coin with a smug grin and tipped his hat. “Nice doing business with ya, and… get y’self a drink. On the house. I’m beginning to treasure your presence.” The march of his steps out to the back were resonant, even with the ragged rhythm of the piano blaring in Glen’s ears as he walked for the stairs.

- - -

The room was left as Glen remembered it.

The thin walls closed in on the oil lamps mounted on the walls. It didn’t take much to light up the room. As bright as candles could be lit, it only emphasized how truly compact the space was. Glen couldn’t imagine that no more than two men could be comfortable standing in this lodging, let alone reside in it. Luckily, Glen was a simple man. He hung his coat on the wall and took his boots off, a much needed relief from the compression at his feet, and he felt satisfied sitting on the miserable mattress. Not from the space, no. Not when he could hear other patrons like him revel in their own pleasure, albeit muffled by the thin walls.

No. It was because he got to see his boy again. Twice a month, like how it had been for almost a year now, and Glen could feel the two weeks of labor thanking him as a huge weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders. 

Traveling from town to town and shipping out whiskey and cider didn’t take much of a toll on his body like herding cattle, but it was uninspiring. Sight-seeing was tranquil, but the sun was beating down on him harder this month. It was tiring. Always on his saddle, on his feet, and now with the threat of robberies ramping, on the defensive, all without so much of a break.

It was lonely. 

And though it was his own fault, it made the moment of seeing his boy all the more special.

Touching you was even more cathartic than he’d like to admit.

Two hard knocks, a beat, then three more, and the door opened.

“You sleepin’ already, Bighorn?” You teased, chuckling to yourself when you could see Glen rise from his position as you locked the door.

Bighorn. The endearment made Glen chuckle.

Glen watched you come into the light as his elbows supported his body, legs extended to stretch the tight muscles in his thighs and calves. A button-up and suspenders, your typical attire as a novice cook. It had to be illegal to look this striking in hand-me-downs covered in flour.

“A second longer, and I would’ve demanded for a refund.” Glen quipped with a simple grin. It was all natural, his body responding to your approach by gathering himself onto his feet. You worked him in mysterious ways. Every step you took, Glen met you half-way. 

Yearn weighted Glen’s heart to match the heaviness of your boots scraping against the floor until you stopped. He stopped in his tracks after, your wide smile reflecting off of his simpler grin, and Glen remained silent, taking you all in with the removal of his hat. 

It wasn’t the first time his eyes ever tracked a man, nor was it the first time his heart ever sped up, but you had this power, this presence, that made him feel anew with the way you looked at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his own. 

Surely, he knew he wasn’t going crazy feeling like his affection for you had shot up like a bull for the past month. And the month before that. 

And the month before that.

“And I would’ve made it up by makin’ sure you get the best sleep of your life. How’s that sound?” You met his eye level, unabashedly smiling wider than you had ever greeted him before. 

He felt flat, like he’d been hit by the train itself. A sharp jolt that sent goosebumps all over his skin, and it was like you read into his soul, because your hands roamed around his body, warding off the tiny prickles over his skin with a caress to his broad chest, over his forearms, against his neck.

It didn’t take long for Glen to realize you were the curator of the bumps on his skin.

“Sounds like an overpromise...” Glen chuckled along with you, his larger hands feeling up your waist, backside, then to your arse, where they felt perfectly at home in his palms. His gaze was just as curious, peeking at the collar of your shirt that revealed the smallest amount of your neck. To your lips, marveling over ruby flesh he’d often daydream about while riding across the plains.

It was becoming a routine. Where the weeks leading up to the end the month felt like the world had a vengeance against you, and this month was surely taking out its worst out on you.

“You got a haircut.” Glen noticed the shorter length of your hair, pushing it back with a swoop of his hand. He then took ahold of your jaw, maneuvering it cheek by cheek to stoically marvel over your cut.

“Was gettin’ hot. Boss man didn’t like how it collected sweat.” Your fingers worked around his collar, unfurling the fold, then folding it back into place.  “You like it?”

“I can see your face clearer. You look good.” Glen’s fingers raked through your hair once before messily ruffling it. You responded with a shove to his chest, knocking him back onto the bed with an unexpected laugh. “Guess I didn’t need to worry about whether you were eating or not. Christ, you gettin’ stronger too.”

A dull ache settled in his chest. He wanted to say something more than, “You look good.” 

No, it fit you. The trimmed hairs on the sides matched how blunt you could be. 

“You bring any gifts for me?”

“You’re sweaty, and that makes me aroused.”

“You pushing 40. That only makes me want you even more.”

“No one can fill my mouth like you do, Glen.”

On the contrary, it also framed your face like you were an angel who didn’t spout nonsense that would render him speechless. Though, he’d gotten used to that now. It made you all the more endearing, how someone could look as passive as you, have a mouth like that.

“Bastard’s been pushing more tasks onto me since business been growing. Same pay too. Man is too cheap to hire another employee. Don’t think I look any different though.” It took all the energy out of him to not sigh when you straddled his lap. He was swelling nicely beneath you, harder and thicker the more you rut your arse against him. “Or… maybe you’re just getting weaker?”

Glen rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so cocky, boy. Wouldn’t want me to beat it out of you, would you?” Your breath hitched when his palm struck down on your left ass cheek as a warning. It was effortlessly done, yet the subtle sting was more than enough to pull a groan out of you.

You brazened yourself, narrowing your eyes into his drawn gaze as you leaned closer, and pulled him halfway up by the collar. “Not if you call that a beatin’.” Your lips grazed against his, and just when Glen leaned closer, you pulled away and resumed your ruts, pushing your arse back onto his palms simultaneously.

“You gon’ regret that.” It was animalistic. The way you drove your hips into him, and the way Glen desperately responded back, groping your ass hard and pushing you flushed to his groin, to the weight of his bulge. He buried his groans into your neck, biting a patch of skin that would draw out whimpers in between your taunts. 

“I ain’t regret nothin’-“ A loud yelp slipped from your mouth. His palm suddenly came down on your ass again. Harder, like the snap of lighting had bit into your skin. It shuddered you to think that it had hurt as much as it did while you were clothed. Yet, that didn’t stop you from unbuckling and drawing out your belt, and then Glen’s. 

“That the best you got? Like a bee-sting. I ain’t impressed.” You muttered into his neck, kissing at the hot flush of skin after stripping you and Glen down to undergarments. Gradually, you worked his top off, licking and kissing every show of skin that would meet your lips, until he was deliciously bare-chested before you.

“I’ll break your damn ass if I have to.” Glen said through gritted teeth. His arms were folded behind his head, cushioning it while he watched your mouth worship every contour of his body like he was a king. Your mouth would latch onto one side of his ribs, suckling on a freckle, while the other admired his abdomen with several, drunken strokes. It took the trail of his stomach hair to pivot your mouth lower, to slip your hand into the opening of his drawers until it was inevitably full with Glen’s semi-hard cock, meaty and thick in your palm.

“You spendin’ the night?” Your ears perked up at the sound of his groans, your gaze followed the source. He was clearly desperate for more than the laze of your strokes as your grasp was loose and open, favoring to feel around his cock than against. 

“That’s what I paid for.” His hips bucked once you began massaging his cock, throbbing harder in the palm of your hand. 

“I’ll make sure it’s worthwhile, then.” With one hand continuing to knead at the tender muscle, you stripped the drawers off of his body, tossing it onto a pile of clothing in the corner.

“Look at me when you talkin’.” It came out more aggressive than he’d like it to, but your eyes lit up when he caught your gaze, a smoldering smile plastered across your face while you stroked him with your knees pressed to the mattress.

“You stressed or what? Don’t usually talk like this to me.” Stripping yourself bare, you resumed tending to his cock after, gulping at the unholy sight of the meaty tool drooling with a thick and ample amount of pre-cum that would surely stain the flooring if you hadn’t caught the sticky rope with your tongue.

You looked extra handsome tonight, Glen thought. Maybe it was the haircut working wonders on him. Making him act all crazy like he’d been bewitched. One strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead when you spat on his cock, and had your grasp around him not remind him, he would’ve forgotten to breathe.

“Just been thinking about my boy. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” You lapped up his cock while he struggled to pour out his words. It was like molasses, the way he’d pause himself to say the right thing so he wouldn’t scare you. Coincidentally, you seemed to be enjoying the taste of his pre-cum like it was molasses as well, sucking it out him with sunken cheeks.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about filling that filthy mouth of yours with even more filth.” He hissed as you began tonguing his slit.

“Y’know how much I love the taste of your seed.” You dragged your tongue over the head, polishing it with several needy sucks, while your gaze maintained on his. One hand was wrapped around the shaft to hold Glen steady, and the other was cupped around his heavy balls, stretching and fondling the loose stretch of skin.

“I know. You like how it’s warm in your mouth, don’t you?” The grasp around his thick cock tightened. Fingers pressed into his veins, stroking the aroused muscle while your mouth worked on his glans, plump and swollen against your lips.

“And how salty it is. Taste better than your whiskey.” Sweat and musk had built up in the thick hairs of his pubic, in the crevice of his glans as you inhaled his scent. The smell of his cock made your own swollen unbearably hard.

“You like my cock too. Like how heavy it is on your tongue.” He had his fingers running through your hair, keeping any strands from obscuring your eyes as you watched him, just as he had been watching you.

“Nothing better than feelin’ my dirty mouth stretch because of the size of it. Can barely wrap my hands around your tool. My asshole struggles too, if not more.”

You loved sucking on the head. It was tender in your mouth, leaking with salt that made your tongue dance into the slit for more. It was beautiful to look at too. Every now and then, you’d slip him out of your mouth to marvel over the glistening view of his cock, swollen in your own spit.

“Yet it don’t stop you, does it? You keep sucking with that hot mouth of yours. Fucking with that tight ass of yours.” He sat up to stretch his hand from your neck and then down to your spine, repeating the affectionate gesture when he’d reach the limit of his mobility.

“Your cock is my liquor.” You held his gaze with pride, proudly slapping his wet cock across your cheek, against your lips, onto your tongue, because you weren’t ashamed for desiring men. 

You weren’t ashamed for needing Glen.

No amount of prejudice can suppress your very existence. 

“You doin’ a whole lot of talking, and not a lot of sucking.” His hand was strong on the back of your neck, massaging as if it would warm your throat up.

You purred, finding the increasing pressure on your neck welcoming as it naturally opened your mouth back up. Your tongue teased Glen for a little longer. Patience had been wearing thin, you could see it in his eyes as they hardened over the lazy trail of your tongue, unbearably sliming at the underside of his heavy cock. His grasp on your neck was clutching, pulling at your tender skin to maneuver you north and wrap your mouth back around him. But you were resisting. You were going to suck his cock on your own terms, on your own accord, flaunting your tongue over his stiffened pole to warm him up because you had all night with him.

You were beautiful like this, working your spit over his cock with your hand, while you silently leaned up for a kiss. He granted those rubies of yours a chaste peck, then another to the dried drool at the corner of your mouth, then another, a fulfilling kiss to your mouth that had drawn out simultaneous groans from the both of you because it was unapologetically more than lust.

You stroked his cock harder, to the warmth of his tongue as it slipped inside of you, keen to explore the cavern that had made his cock feel so glorious, to explore the mouth that often sent Glen into a spiral simply from his own imagination after the very minute he would depart from you.

His heart was beating, accelerating like it had soles to run on, and all it took was the palm of your hand caressing his chest in soothing swoops to ground him back to reality, to the kiss that had been broken in favor of you returning back to your original position between his legs, mouth agape and taunting as ever. 

“Only because I want you to hear what it sounds like when I’m swallowing your cock.“ With those final words, you slid his cock into your mouth without letting your gags falter you.

His cock was heavy, maintaining the girth from base to tip as you took more of him after every cycle. Tears brimmed in your eyes when you’d choke on one attempt of slotting him down your throat. Then they dripped, rolled down your supple cheeks, when you’d work yourself through your gags until your throat closed in around his tool. You’d lie there with your throat stuffed to the brim, your lips clamped shut from the very base despite the fur of his pubic hairs tickling your lips to open back up.

Your ears rattled from your conscience begging you to end your torture, but watching Glen marvel at that mouth of yours made you endure the looming threat of fainting all the more worthwhile. 

“Christ.” Drool spilled from either side of your mouth as Glen helped you stabilize with a palm to your nape. He gently pushed at the sound of your gags, keeping you situated against his groin in case you’d pull away. “You know how to make a man happy, don’t you?”

“Mmfgh—“ It was pointless responding, but Glen expected it. You always had to get the last word. The last sound. 

He maneuvered you by the neck, pulling you back then forward again, your throat making ungodly sounds around his cock in midst of doing so. Occasionally, he’d meet you halfway and thrust himself into your gags, churning the arising saliva that foamed in your mouth back down your air duct, making you choke in the process.

“You miss my cock that much, boy?”

“Mmff-guh!”

He’d pull you back just in time, his cock releasing from the tight hold of your throat like a cork barricading liquor, and you didn’t waste a single second to fill your lungs again with the arousing air.

“You gon’ kill me with that thing, bastard.” Your spit resembled fizz that would spew out from opened cider. Glen kept it to himself, but he thought you looked dashing like this. Flushed in the face, cheeks stained by dried tears, nostrils stung with sniffles, you’d collect your composure quickly after, brazen yourself as if nothing had happened, but from the tremors in your hands, you were dismantled despite working your hand on him again.

“Too much for you?” He asked, reaching over with a hand to knead at the center of your throat. Glen didn’t show many moods, but you were well aware when he was either aroused, angry, or concerned, simply by the movement of his brows. 

You lifted your chin upon the warm of his hand greeting you, grinning at the raise of the man’s brows. “I jest. Too much? Yes. But that’s the fun in it. Not knowing when to stop because I’m so addicted to you.”

“Should be a poet. You’d know how to charm people with your words.” He sighed into your mouth when he pulled you over, kissing you delicately while one hand lowered to gather his cock and yours in one hold, stroking the throbbing masses.

Glen was never too fond of feeling like this. 

This warmth that was similar to downing liquor, yet not quite as strong or as scorching as to the sensation of aged spirit burning his insides.

It was foreign. The heat liked to spread around his body, the aftermath of hot rain he’d reckon. It was steaming inside of him. Pleasant and restful while his muscles eased. He felt like those biscuits he’d eaten for morning, noon, and evening. Buttery, warm, and pillowy. 

That feeling only happened when he was with you.

It was unnerving how much power you held over him without you even realizing. How he’d weaken under the light of your smile, or even the dazed stare of your eyes, where Glen often found himself concerned with for the remaining month as the shadows beneath your eyes would grow with every visit.

You shouldn’t have that effect on him, because no one has managed to ignite such feelings inside of him. Yet you have, effortlessly so, without missing a single beat, and it was alarming to realize that his solitude had become unbearable since you’d came into the picture. 

Frightening, where his solitude would feel like abandonment had something ever happened to you.

“Poets don’t make a home.” You whispered lightheartedly before breaking into soft, hushed moans, where Glen would happily devour as you resumed kissing him with tongue, running your hands over his muscles in meantime.

“And whoring yourself out does?” He sat up, pulling away to raise a questioning brow.

It was naive of you, but Glen knew better than to lecture you in the meantime. He hadn’t seen you in a month and he wasn’t letting a simple discourse interrupt that.

You shrugged, kissing at the underside of his jaw after he pulled you onto his lap. His hands were on your hips, his cock rubbing between your ass cheeks. “No, but at least I get fucked hollow out of it.”

“Forget what I said. If your mouth is this vulgar, I can’t imagine what you’d write on paper. You’d end a famine with folks dying from shock at your smut.” Without warning, one finger slipped inside of your hole. You clenched from surprise, but eventually welcomed him in with the languid kisses Glen would provide on your neck, on your shoulders, and on your chest.

“That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” You arched forward into his embrace, pushing your ass out as Glen twisted another finger inside of you, stretching your hole with two fingers. “I saved the world…” You moaned out in a manner that sent tremors down Glen’s spine. To his cock, when he stuffed another finger inside of you, and curled deep into your resistance. “Don’t do too much. Wanna feel you.”

“You silly.” The keening sound you give out rendered him speechless, along with the dew of your body and face, thinly layered with cold sweat of your own desires. Your hands braced on Glen’s shoulders as he pistoled his fingers inside of you for a little longer. Twisting, spreading, turning, curling, throttling, until you begged for him, in whispers, in hot kisses that muffled your sounds incoherent. 

But Glen was an attentive man; tasting your tongue to feed off of your words, urging you to repeat with a smack to your ass. You would, desperate and delirious as you pushed your ass into the sting of his palm.

“Can’t take it anymore. I need you inside of me. C’mon.” You reached behind to stroke his cock with your spit, simultaneously pressing his shaft between your rump.

“You actin’ like you don’t get hollowed out daily.” Glen’s touch was tender on your cheek, holding the left side delicate in his palm, while his hips moved against your hand and grind, taunting your patience.

“Not like this. Always thinkin’ about you when someone else fucking me. They don’t do it like you.” It came out as a whine, a needy sound as you angled his wet cockhead against your pucker, dangerously pressing when you lifted your hips.

“They don’t satisfy you like I do.” A statement, rather than a query.

“They don’t...” 

Glen was good at casting doubt on people. 

Lies were often evident through the eyes. Novice liars either looked away, or stared too intensely like they were trying to convince themselves.

Your gaze yearned, lingered in search for Glen’s blessing. He held your gaze for a moment, catching a glimpse of stars in your pupils like he wasn’t aware that it was the candles’ doing. Getting lost in your eyes wasn’t warding off the warm feeling in his body. Rather, it began manifesting a smolder, burning more despite kissing you once to fan it away, to make the light in your eyes—the way you looked at him disappear.

He pulled away quickly to look into your eyes again. Burning now, he was burning. 

Again, his lips sealed over yours, and then he pulled back to stare.

The stars winked.

Again.

A few morphed as one, seemingly emptying the space in your pupils.

Again. 

No, Glen was wrong. They weren’t emptying space.

And again.

They were creating space.

He began witnessing the birth of a few more stars after every turn, crystal-like as they glimmered in your pupils once you smiled at his behavior. 

Glen was in silent hysteria, finding himself spiral from one look you’d given him. It was different. Completely unlike anything you’d ever spared him. It felt true. Pure. Honest.

Loved.

There was no way out. He couldn’t find a way to escape if he’d tried. Burying his face into your neck didn’t work. You smelled like bread dough, ones you’d been kneading in the back of the kitchen. Ones he had eaten and marveled over before even meeting you.

Simply closing his eyes had no effect either, as your hand was on his cock, chasing after the throbbing with patient strokes.

“They don’t.” Glen repeated after you, a confirmation into the underside of your jaw.

Glen was never a man who lost. At least, he never lost without putting up a fight. When he spared you one more glance at the sound of your groan, he felt himself crumble and completely melt. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Feel himself melting until all that was left was for bone to be rattled with as you sank yourself back onto his lap, hands braced on his shoulders while you welcomed his cock inside of your cavity, inch by inch

“You’re an angel, y’know that? Every time I see you, I feel like my sins been washed away.” Glen ran a finger along your taut rim, marveling over the way you looked right now, bouncing on his cock, over his lap, your cock swinging in for the ride. He harbored his moans into the crook of your neck, fogging your skin with the warmth of his breath, until you’d break into cold sweats.

“Ironic, ain’t it? What loving a man can do?” You groaned and grunted with exertion as you worked your way lower in tiny thrusts. “They don’t make love to me like you do, just as I don’t make love to them like I do for you. ” You confessed with conviction, and let gravity weigh you down onto Glen’s cock, taking him into your sturdy body. “Only you.”

Glen didn’t hear that right, did he? Loving someone? It was difficult to concentrate with the way you were working his cock. It was a glorious feeling being back inside of you, compact and warm like how he’d remember breaching you. 

You felt so stretched, uncomfortably yet pleasantly filled when you’d lift your hips until only the cockhead remained, and rammed his cock back in with a strong drop of your ass. Your forehead rested on Glen’s, and you could feel every puff of breath he’d exhale. Hear the restraints in his panting as you tied your arms around his neck, and let your weight push him flat onto his back, properly straddling him. 

“You love me? What you talking ‘bout?” He didn’t have the will to stop you. You were so eager, absolutely high on your arousal as you rode his cock with desperate rhythms, but he needed to address the revelation, for his sanity. 

First off, you beat him to the punch. Had it originally played out in his mind, Glen was the one to confess about his feelings, not you.

“What? I-I ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.” It must’ve slipped. You didn’t know when, or how, or maybe Glen was a mind reader because you definitely didn’t say that, did you? You rocked your lower body in quicker ruts, hoping it would distill any remaining questions, and looked off to the corner, silently cursing at yourself.

“You’re lying.” His grip on your hips was sudden, making you come to a pause.

“I ain’t lyin’—“ Your brows furrowed, exasperated at the interruption. Luckily, Glen’s cock was still hard inside you, somehow throbbing even more as you witnessed something clicked within him.

Glen took ahold of your body, arms secured around your waist, before stepping off the bed and carrying you to the lone rocking chair in the corner of the room. “So, you hate me?” 

“What? No, I don’t hate you. You—I—Glen, put me down.” You groaned when Glen sat down on the chair, the position driving his cock impossibly deeper into your body.

He refused despite your attempt in wriggling yourself free. You were strong, but Glen was stronger, tightening his arms around you. “Then what is it? I want to know how you feel before I feel like a fool for loving you too.”

Though, not like he had to hold you with much strength considering your bewilderment stunned you in place. “What? You love me?”

“You tellin’ me you don’t know? What was all that “makin’ love” speech about?” He was just as perplexed as you were. His chest felt heavy with disappointment. He’d been overthinking it, hadn’t he? Glen was a liar, someone who tried to convince himself of the impossible. 

“It felt like you were making love to me. Don’t mean that I thought you actually did.“ 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

A deafening silence as you two stared at each other. You were about to leave his lap, only for him to bound you back to him at the last second.

“Well, I do. I love you.” Glen stated matter-of-factly, a peculiar tone to his official confession, you couldn’t help but chuckle at it.

“Bighorn…” You sighed, surrendering into his arms with the slouch of your body, your chest colliding onto his. Frankly, the thought of being with Glen made you happy, yet nervous at the same time. “You know it don’t matter whether I love you or not. Nothing is gonna happen beyond this. Nothing can happen, unless you wanna risk your life. Mine too.”

“That’s something I’m willin’ to do. I’ve risked my life traveling plains, through towns, carrying expensive liquor. Nothing I won’t do for you.” Your heart felt like a pond with thrown rocks skipping across the surface of water.

“Absolutely not, and that ain’t the same. How you gon’ love me when you’re ten feet underground because of the fact that you love me?” You crossed your arms, frowning at his persistence because… well, it was working. More rocks began breaking the solitude of the pond.

“From the heavens, hopefully. Can leave you with my horse. Got a ranch back at home too. Can leave you with that. You’d have a house like you’d always wanted. Carry on with my business.” Pure dreams. That was all they were. Dreams.

“That’s only if I ain’t buried with you, Bighorn.” As much as you seemed resistant to Glen’s imaginations, you found yourself picturing a better life for you as you buried your head into his neck, listening to his tales. Living on a ranch like he’d described. Cattle and sheep would run free while you struggled to keep up with Glen as you joined him on this new lifestyle. It would be hard work, but by dawn, you’d slip into bed with Glen after dinner, and deem that it was all worth it in the end.

“At least we’ll be together, one way or ‘nother.” He kissed you at your neck, laving your skin in the weakest kisses, almost like he was beginning to surrender to your defiance. “So, you love me? You love me too?”

“I—Bighorn—Glen…” 

He’d come a long way since you’d met him. Describing him as quiet was an understatement. He refused to make small talk when you led him into this room for the first time. It was a quick exchange, a shameful one as Glen power walked out of the saloon without sparing you a single glance. Now, he often spent nights with you, refusing to let go of you even in the deep of his slumber. In retrospect, you could’ve left when you had the chance. You had many opportunities even, to find a better life in the next town, and the next.

The thought of having Glen disappear from your life felt like death itself, so you didn’t, knowing that he would eventually down the line. 

A year later, and he hasn’t. 

Love makes you do crazy things. 

“You know I love you, Glen.” You rubbed his chest sweetly, forewarning him of the disappointment you’d never relieve him from. Tears formed at your waterline, threatening to leak, so you pressed your face deep into his neck, wiping them against his skin. Your heart felt heavy, like it wanted to burst out of your chest to stop you from pushing him away. It would’ve killed you, but at least it would’ve saved Glen the disappointment. “I love you too. I’m glad we sorted that out, but we—”

“No, stop. No more. I love you.” He cut you off with a sudden kiss, whispering into your mouth after. “I love you, and I need you, you understand me?” His palm was back on your rump, kneading at the tender, yet toned flesh, while the other hand pressed his growing erection back to your pucker again, prodding. “No more buts.”

“But—“ Your breath hitched when he slid himself in again, stretching you out like before, yet it felt like an endless slide, digging all the way into the deepest part of your body, like Glen was going to cradle your heart, until he was rooted deep inside of you, balls flushed to the cleft of your ass.

“(M/N), I’ll take care of ya. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it, you hear me?” Glen cradled your head, kissing at your cheek while you returned to burying it in between his shoulder and neck. “Let me see you.”

“H-hmm, m-mhm—“ His cheeks burned as you made those wanton noises in midst of revealing yourself before him. Flushed in the face, cheeks stricken with tears; one would’ve mistaken you to be ill. Though, in a way you were. You’d been struck by incurable illness that was love.

Glen clicked his tongue, frowning in wonder. “So, so, so pretty. You look so pretty.” He began thrusting into you, resuming where you two had left off. “You look even prettier now that I’m making love to you, you know that?”

“You love me.” You bit your lip, holding back moans because you needed to hear it from Glen again, hear of his devotion for you.

“I love you.” He whispered through grunts, spreading your ass cheeks wide, and you pressed your body forward, arching your ass out as his thrusts ramped up. His cock slammed up into you with raw passion, devoting his remaining strength to holding your ass up, and making himself work for you, all in the name of love.

“I love you.” You repeated between needy whimpers. You soon began to bounce up and down, hands braced on Glen’s shoulders, while you joined his thrusts with your own movements, meeting him halfway. His large cock reared you from behind like a hammer to a nail, pummeling you without break, without the chance to let you breathe. 

It was rather the opposite, to knock the breath out of you. 

You watched close, mouthing at Glen’s neck, then jaw, until you reached his lips, where you’d let hungry moans delicately fall into place. Glen found you breathtaking as you lost your mind with primitive lust. 

“You belong to me, you hear me?” Glen said simply, his features calm. “No one else fucks you like I do.”

Your arms tightened around his neck for a hug. Glen seemed absolutely serene in his love, with you on his lap, fucking yourself into his cock. On the other hand, you were absolutely wrecked. Glen was fucking you harder, knocking guttural moans out of you on each thrust. Your own hole clenched when Glen lifted your ass up, pulling his cock completely out of you until you were squeezing nothing but warm air. He’d expertly dip a finger inside of you, to feel how stretched you were, play with your rim because of how swollen it had gotten, before stretching you back to capacity as he brought you back down on his cock, and onto his upward thrust.

“No one makes love to me like you do.” You panted through his batter, each syllable of word rattling in volume as you had absolutely no sense of it. Glen hummed in agreement while he fucked your ass and jerked your cock all at once. He was taking care of you.

You knew what he meant in the long run; tending to your injuries if you’d happen to fall off his saddle, hosing you down with water when you’d take a dive in the lake, feeding you the last bit of his biscuit because he never liked seeing you hungry. A life far from neglect as Glen had made you realize that you and him shared the dream.

But for now, he was taking care of you. Meticulously so as Glen remembered all the spots that made his tongue taste sugary when you’d moan in his mouth. Glen’s thumb caressed your frenulum, using the pre-cum your cockhead had been spitting to slip his touch in the tightest crevices. The pad of his thumb sailed smooth over the neck of your glans, flicking, pressing, rubbing at the swollen flesh of skin. You sounded so sweet and looked so serene under Glen’s touch, a complete antithesis to how you’d normally present yourself.

Glen was familiar with the roll of your eyes; from the way you’d interact with displeased customers at the bar, or from his demand to hold you throughout the night. But would you hold it against him if Glen revealed that he preferred seeing the whites of your eyes from being fucked impeccably in the ass? With his thick cock, battering your insides until you’d remember the shape of his cock? The motion of it all, digging deep into your ass, into your guts, pummeling through your need to clench hard around him, failing to pause him from hitting that sweet spot, or else you’d spill. Your hands curled into his chest as they were braced on the sweaty surface, and you’d never felt so desired, especially with your reflection in the vanity staring right back at you, providing you a simple glimpse of how beautiful you looked to Glen.

You’re a dirty bastard, Glen reckoned you’d confront him with, only before bending over the mattress and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You lucky that I’m as well, Bighorn.

No. No, you wouldn’t hold it against him. 

You were perfect.

“Close.” You warned, then dropped your head lower to kiss him on the lips, spilling your moans into his mouth in midst. 

Your hips bucked into his fist while simultaneously rocking back into Glen’s cock. His hold on you was secure, clutching to keep you as close to him as possible. You toyed with your nipples, pinching and tugging on them, and Glen accepted those gestures as a silent invitation for him to wrap his lips around one nub at at a time, suckling on the perky bud until you’d gone swollen. You’d join his lips for another kiss in gratitude, thanking him with your tongue as it explored his warm mouth, licking into his panting, his grunts, his devotion for you. You swallowed his spit after, and your fate with Glen was sealed and optimistically beyond your control.

“You look like an angel right now, but your hole’s the devil. Squeezing around my cock like this, holding me so tight like you’re afraid I’m ‘bout to pull out of ya. Christ, you’re so tight. You my dirty angel. My sweet devil.” His hand had abandoned your cock in favor of taking your ass into both palms and spreading them like before, fucking his cock up into you.

Your eyes shared pleasure with his, only your pupils had seem blown since he’d started angling his hips in a way that sent tremors to your body. With your cock in your hand, you gazed down at Glen with dazed passion, lips parted to warn, yet only little sounds had come out instead. “Glen. Christ—“ His cockhead tickled your sweet spot at first, a brief brushing that you didn’t think much of other than the fact that it made your body tremble. But Glen persisted, shifting his body against your gorgeous, helpless, and needy body, and fucked your tight body with force, teeth-bared, sweat beading on his forehead. Your mouth fell open, and your face slackened with unadulterated pleasure. “Damn you, I’m gonna come—“

Glen shuddered, witnessing your gaze blur in and out in an attempt to focus on him as he was on the brink of his control himself. “Do it,” he urged you. “I want you to. Come from my cock. Gonna come too, inside of your hole.”

You wailed when Glen’s strong thighs slammed into your sweaty ass. A thunder of delicious sounds: your wails and his growls, the bruising smacks of flesh to flesh, the hard rocking of the chair, scraping against the floor; they created a symphony that was nearing a crescendo. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Glen pounded up into you, and your ears blared with sounds of Glen’s pleasure. Your fist pumped your cock until your forearms began to burn, veins pulsing through to power you to your high.

He was gutting you, hollowing your hole out until it would recover just in time for his next visit. You’d remember him for the remaining weeks, his cock pummeling you until your melodic cries had shifted from want to euphoric need.

“Glen..!” You yelled.

Glen kissed you deeply and bit your lower lip, one hand steeling you by the nape to hold your forehead to his. He doesn’t plan on letting go. Watching you like this, submerged in unconditional pleasure, was just as gratifying as hammering into your prostate. “You feel so good, angel. Look at you. Look at that pretty smile, you’re so happy to be filled with my cock. 

You were so full of cock, of Glen’s cock, and you cried from it. Cried from how Glen was taking care of you so well, back to fisting your cock, kissing your neck, pounding your insides out.

Love has never felt so good.

Finally, you came with an arch of your back. Glen’s fist released just in time for thick and heavy ropes to splatter on his chest. Glen stiffened, his eyes daring back and forth between the exhilarating expression on your face and the obscene visual of your cum flooding Glen’s fists as he wrapped his hand back around you, and worked you through your orgasm.

“M-mmfgh, come inside— Need it. I need you.” With your eyes on his, you leaned down to kiss him and take his hands into yours for balance, raising them over his head. They were sticky shut from layers of your cum, but that only made it more thrilling as you rode him. You lifted your hips and brought it down without a single pause, burying his cock inside of you to the hilt.

“Angel, fuck— I’m coming.“

You swallowed his growls, warnings of the inevitable, yet you accelerated like you didn’t hear, slamming your ass down repeatedly, chasing after his high. His hands suddenly grasped hard onto yours, sponging cum out from the locked hands and letting it trail down your arms, and his hips bucked. You could feel his thighs flex, see rapture possess his very being as his gritted teeth no longer could contain the trumpeting sound of his moans, his muscles pulsing. With one more press of your ass, you buried Glen’s cock and felt him come inside of you. Heavy and thick as his hot seed stained your walls. Creamy like butter, when you slowly milked him inside of you with gentle rhythms of your hips. It felt sublime, having your insides contain Glen’s devotion for you.

“You the devil himself…” Glen groaned and his body twitched as you emptied him of seed, stopping once you were satisfied. He then released your hands to embrace your waist, letting you slump into him with relief. Your head rested on his shoulder, and your eyes closed shut.

“You really mean it? You’d wanna live on a ranch together, or something?” You asked, feeling his heart come to a calm with your palm providing soothing strokes to his chest.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He turned, pressing his nose to yours. One hand caressed the small of your back, and occasionally would fondle your rump. Warm and plump in his grasp, he couldn’t help that he was in love with every aspect of you.

You thought about his question for a moment, pursing your lips before shaking your head. “No.”

“Then that’s your answer.” He assured with a kiss to your lips. “We ain’t gotta do it now, or the next month, or the month after that. When you’re ready. Just wanted to know I want a future with you.”

“Me too...” You muttered, playing with his chest hair to distract the sudden conflict you’d been harboring from him. 

Silence filled the room for a moment as he watched you intently. You picked up his hat from the floor and fit it on yourself. 

“There’s that ‘but’ again. What’s the problem?” Glen chuckled, his heart racing again despite maintaining his composure. He playfully flicked the rim of his hat down, making it tilt on your head, and cover your sight line.

“Hey—You ain’t gon’ like it.” You adjusted the hat, sighing in defeat when Glen watched you with vigilance.

“What?” He sat up, making you straighten your posture in turn.

“Think the sheriff’s not gonna like the sound of me quitting.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope.” You pursed your lips again, then sighed. “He’s boss’s most loyal customer. Pays well too. I mean, I don’t know. I may be wrong, but… think he likes me beyond what I do for him. Buys me gift from the city and all.“

“Well, he’s gonna have to prove it. I ain’t leaving without a fight. Not until I’m dead, and even then, I’ll be watchin’ over ya.”

“You a mad man.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[riordanness]

lover — [w.wonka]

wordcount: 1K

warnings: none

requested: yes!! anon <3

You’d think that working for the greatest chocolate maker in the world would be awesome, right?

You’d be correct. However… some parts were not quite so awesome. Especially when you’re head over heels in love with said chocolate maker.

“Noodle!” I scold, laughing as she tosses yet another chocolate in her mouth, rather than stacking them as we’re supposed to be doing.

She shrugs, and gives me a wicked grin. “Sorry, not sorry.”

I roll my eyes, taking a bite out of my own selected piece of chocolate. Willy always says that we should eat whatever and whenever we like. He just cares that much for us.

“What do you want to do when you’re older, y/n?” Noodle asks me suddenly.

I frown at the question. “I am older.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re like eighteen. I mean older, older.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m pretty content just working at this shop right now. But I’d like to fall in love, get married, and have a family. That would be nice, I guess. It’s not likely, though.”

“Why not? That’s totally likely.”

I smile a little. “Because, Noodle-dee, I’m not that kind of girl. Guys don’t just go and fall in love with me.”

She smirks a little, and pops another chocolate in her mouth. “You never know, y/n-doo.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” There’s a smile in my voice.

Noodle doesn’t reply, so I let it go, going back to stacking Willy’s gorgeous chocolates in their pretty display cases for the shop. This is honestly probably my favourite job in the entire store. Making it look pretty.

It’s the end of the day, all the customers are gone, and just Noodle, Willy, and I are left, all doing our individual closing duties.

Noodle cleans the floors, I count the till money, and Willy, well, I’m still not exactly sure what he does, but he walks through every single room in the entire building, checking something.

Probably some big important, owner-of-the-chocolate-factory job I don’t know about.

Noodle and her bucket of soapy water makes it way over to me. “Hey y/n,” she sing-songs.

“Mm?” I glance up from counting silver sovereigns.

“You know how you were saying you wanted to fall in love?”

“Someday, yeah.”

Noodle looks amused about something. “Are you already in love? Do you at least have someone in mind?”

My brain immediately, unhelpfully, offers up an image of Willy, with his smiling face and unruly dark curls. I suddenly get very flustered. “Uh—no. Of course not, Noodle.”

“Really.” She raises an eyebrow, deadpanning at me.

I shake my head. “I don’t have anyone, uh, in mind, no. I’m not in love. That’s ridiculous.”

At that moment, without either me or Noodle noticing, Willy reenters the main shop room where we both are. But I’m so engrossed in trying to convince Noodle to drop this topic that I don’t even see him.

“What about Willy?” Noodle suddenly asks.

I drop my stack of sovereigns. “What do you mean?”

Noodle has her hands on her hips. “You like him. It’s so obvious.”

I fumble with the coins, trying desperately to keep my hands from shaking. “No—? I don’t—um. No. I don’t like him. I mean I do, like him. But not, uh, like, like him.”

“Are you sure? You don’t seem sure.”

I groan, slamming the sovereigns onto the counter. “Fine. You win, Noodle-dee. I like Willy. A lot. In fact, I’m desperately in love with him and I think about him almost constantly. Now can you please drop it?” I don’t even realise I have tears in my eyes, but my emotions suddenly come to a swirling head, and I hiccup, and brush a tear away.

“I’m sorry,” Noodle whispers, but she sounds more triumphant than sorry. “I won’t ask you about it again.”

She grabs up her bucket and leaves abruptly.

I blink a few times, let out a sigh, and finish up with the till money. Then I flick off all the lights, lock up the inner doors, and get ready to leave for the day.

Noodle has already signed out, so I guess it’s only Willy left in the shop somewhere. “Willy?” I call, “I’m heading off now!”

Willy appears, hurrying over to me. “Thanks, y/n.” He has a weird look on his face, and he won’t look at me.

“Everything okay?” I ask uncertainly. “You look strange.”

He shakes his head. “Fine, fine. I’m okay.”

“Alright.” I shrug. “I’m heading home now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I say this every day. It’s like clockwork.

Willy usually echoes it back, tells me to get home safely, and gives me a smile. But today, it’s different.

“Y/n, wait,” he says, just as my fingers are on the doorknob.

I glance at him. “Yeah?”

He licks his lips, glancing everywhere but me. “I heard you and Noodle earlier.”

I freeze, unsure of what to say or do. “You did?”

He nods. “Is it true? You’re in love with me?”

I don’t answer right away. I look at him for a moment, breathe, and then nod my head once. “Ever since I met you,” I say, and try to laugh. But it’s not really that funny. It’s kind of pathetic, actually. Because I am just y/n, and he is Willy Wonka.

“Me too, you know.”

It takes me way too many heartbeats to understand what he means. “What?”

“I’m in love with you, too, silly.” He chuckles, playing with his fingers.

I stare at him. “You… you, what?”

He laughs again, more forcefully this time. “Y/n, just come here.” He reaches for me, hands cupping my face, and when he pulls me into him, and kisses me, I can’t even breathe. It’s surreal, like a dream, but it’s real, and it’s happening, and it’s him, and it’s everything.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 9 Pure as The Driven Snow

Chapter 9 of Moonlight

A/N- We’re back with new chapters! I hope you guys like it. I got real nervous writing this. I don't know why! Also is it a sign that your dragon likes your lover more than your husband?

Warning- some swearing, talks of pregnancy, Angst!, fluff, hunting SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- After 1x10 & before 2x01

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW MONTHS AGO*

“Dragon fruit for the dragon Princess?”

“Pearl necklace for the Siren of Driftmark?”

“Oranges? They are good for a growing babe.”

You touch your 6-month-old swollen belly and come to another stop in front of a stand to study the big round oranges stacked so neatly on the crates.

“How much?” You ask the vendor.

The man puts his hands on his hips and studies his fruit for a moment before facing you. “Discount for you Princess. 5 Silver dragons.”

You glance at Aemond, and he makes his hesitation known before handing you your pouch of money. He doesn’t find this trip necessary, he says that whatever you want can be brought to you right away, especially because you’re with child, but, being stuck in the same rooms all day is torture! You told him the baby and you would go mad while batting your eyelashes really sweetly and he hesitantly accepted without a fight.

“I’ll give you 10 golden dragons instead of silver,” you tell the vendor as you get out the golden coins that make the man’s eyes almost pop out of eyes. “Find good use for it.”

The man shares a nervous laugh and takes the money, but holds your hand before he steps away and bows his head. “Thank you, Princess. Thank you, may the gods bless you and yours.”

You offer him a kind smile, and then gently pull away to pick the oranges, but he suddenly blocks the oranges with his hands. “No, these are no good. I have perfect ones. Juicy and sweet.”

He crouches and pulls out a box from under the table and hands it to you. Albeit before you can even reach for it, Ser Criston takes the box for you.

“Have a nice day, sir,” you direct at the man before you continue down the street lively with people.

“<He ripped you off you know,>” Aemond grumbles in High Valyrian so the people around you wouldn’t understand him.

You scoff softly and hook your arm around his. “In Winterfell, Lady Arra, and Lord Stark treated their people like they were friends and they got respect.” You sigh and shrug gently. “Of course, I know not everyone has good intentions, but Lord Stark taught me how to read people. I try to use his advice when talking to people here, it is why I know this guy was no trickster.”

Aemond hums in comprehension but doesn’t actually agree or take in what you said. You may be down amongst the people, but he’s in the clouds where he’s untouchable. The only thing that matters is your mention of Lord Stark.

“You and Lord Stark are close friends?”

You don’t remove your hand from his arm even if you’re tempted to, you don’t let your eyes flicker even if you have the burning need to look away to hide the truth. You keep the faint smile that decorates your features and keep looking around. “Well considering I lived in Winterfell for five years, yes, we are good friends. Or were.”

“You don’t write?” He probes and keeps his focus on you to try and watch for anything that might give you away. “You often get letters from Winterfell.”

There’s no excuse for a lingering silence, you can’t breathe a certain way because he’s paying close attention, so you turn your head to meet his gaze and share your rehearsed lie. “Sometimes, but I talk to someone else. A lady friend that lives in the castle. One of late Lady Arra’s friends.”

Aemond holds your gaze and tries to pick up on something just a hair out of place, but you keep composed well and he goes unaware once again, letting you let out a small breath and smile with relief.

“I won’t go poor by giving these people something extra. Bless them and the gods bless you. Lady Stark would say that.” You return the subject to what you were previously talking about. “Besides I actually got a craving for oranges. Or the babe did.” You grin and touch your belly again, feeling a small movement now that makes you giddy.

“Feel,” you beckon Aemond and snatch his hand from his side to press it against your small belly. “He’s moving.”

Aemond comes to a stop in the middle of the street and caresses your belly very gently, letting you watch his blue eye soften, and those thin lips show a faint smile.

And since it took him no time to show his affection or his bliss you can’t help but grin in awe before you slide his hand to the other side. “See?” You interject softly. “He wants oranges.”

A wider smile tugs on Aemond’s face before he takes your hand again and continues to walk with you down the street.

“You do not know that it is a boy,” he likes to remind you.

You giggle. “I do. It’s an instinct. When I imagine the babe I see a boy. Always. We will have a boy. I’ll even bet you.”

Aemond scoffs and smirks. “You can place your bets with Aegon. He never turns down the chance to gamble. I believe you.”

“Good,” you grin. “Now I wonder how many kids we will have, six? I want a big family. But if I can’t have so many I will be content with two, but we need to have a baby girl.”

“So you can name her Daenys?” Aemond finishes for you, making you look at him with awe.

“You remember?” You probe.

A small smirk spreads on his lips and he nods. “I do. You’d only bore me with stories about her.”

You roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t bore you. You’d bring me the books!”

“Because it was your favorite,” he counters softly.

You laugh softly and nod. “It still is. Maybe our Daenys will be an amazing dreamer just like the great legend that saved our house.”

“Yes,” he agrees with an obvious glee in his voice. “Maybe.”

You let out a content sigh and rest your head on his shoulder while you take in the stands you pass.

“Spare some food? Money?” A child with his face covered in dirt asks. “Something small?”

“<He just wants to steal from you, they always have money.>” Aemond points out.

Even if he did, you don’t care, you stop and turn to pick out an orange off the box.

The kids' eyes grow curious, and they follow your hand as you move it towards him. You pretend you’re going to give him a single orange, but you then hand it to Aemond and instead grab the box from Ser Criston’s hold.

“Take it,” you tell the kid. “It’s for you.”

You put the box down in front of him and offer him a smile before you move on. This time Aemond doesn’t remark on your actions—you wouldn't care either way, so he just lets it pass and takes your hand in his again so you wouldn’t wander off just as you approach the outer castle gates.

However, before you can cross the courtyard, a woman with a bright red dress walks out of her house and announces something that steals your immediate attention. “Wish to know your future, my Princess?”

“Princess,” Ser Criston immediately interjects. “She’s only trying to take your money. It’s a scam. Leave it.”

You flick your wrist down and take the money pouch from Aemond’s side.

“Your worry is misplaced, Ser,” the pretty lady with beautiful and remarkable colored eyes cuts in. “But I understand. Patience is a fickle thing is it not, Ser Criston Cole? If only you had known it, you would be happy now.” Her eyes dart to you and then go back to him quickly as if trying to point something out.

You don’t read into it, or demand an explanation, you let her continue as she looks between all three of you. “I am a humble servant of the Lord of Light,” she rebuttals, “I only mean to give the Princess insight for her eyes are covered and her soul is basked by darkness.”

You smile at her eagerly and let Aemond go to step towards her. “What is your name?” You ask first.

The woman's bright eyes meet yours and her lips tug upward just slightly. “I am Kinvara, Priestess of the Lord of Light.”

Your name passes Aemond’s lips, but you disregard his warning and the priestess tries to ease Aemond’s worry in your mother tongue. “<I am no one to fear, fear resides in the whispers that are heard in the shadows, and from the lips of pretenders,” she pauses and narrows her eyes on him. “You see clearly with her at your side, venture too far and you're left blind. Don’t let the shadows consume you, My Prince, or darkness is all you’ll know.>”

You glance at him and grin brightly before facing her again. “Now can you tell me what I seek?” You press impatiently.

Kinvara turns and walks inside, speechlessly motioning you to follow, but before you can you face Aemond first. “Wait for me out here,” you tell him.

Aemond shoots you a pointed glare and grabs your arm. “Let’s go. This is all fake. She will take your money.”

You pat his cheek and give him one last piece of reassurance. “She can try but she’ll never steal my riches,” you quip. “I’ll be fine, it’s just for fun.”

You shoot him a small smile and then lean in to kiss his cheek before you follow after the Red Priestess, finding a single fire lit on a golden bowl in the middle of the elegant parlor room.

“How much will it cost?” You ask her as you slowly wander to the stand holding the bowl.

“Nothing but your attention,” she shares in a soothing voice. “And a drop of your blood.”

You stop before the bowl and don’t question offering her your hand even if you should, and Kinvara doesn't make it any harder. She’s quick and doesn’t hesitate picking out a single thin needle before gently cupping your hand and poking the sharp end on the pad of your thumb.

When a scarlet drop of blood crawls out of the small wound she pulls your hand over the flames and turns it to face the flames. After the single drop of blood falls in the flames she lets your hand go and throws the needle in the flames to let the fire eat away at it.

“You have fire-made flesh, a gift from the Lord of Light,” she begins to say bluntly.

You would’ve liked to be eased into it, but you’re no expert so you clasp your hands over your belly and watch her eyes read the dancing flames with curiosity.

“You have salt-littered blood and a dragon-made soul that burns fiercely and passionately; she flies high within the clouds in search of something…” she lets the words slip out as if she was chanting a spell, and then meets your gaze across the flames.

You should be intimidated, but you’re just eager to know more.

“…three hearts,” Kinvara adds. “One made of ice, two of fire. Three soul made dragons…”

Three, huh?

“…and loyalty.”

It’s hard to piece anything together but you still can’t help but feel joy, and an overwhelming curiosity that pushes you to pick at one thing that caught your attention. “Three soul-made dragons? Does it mean I’ll have three kids?”

Kinvara smiles sweetly. “Smart girl, but you’ll have seven. The three I see will grow, they’ll know happiness and long lives.” She hums and blinks whilst her smile fades to a smirk. “But sins will burden them and cast over them like shadows.”

Right away your smile fades and for the first time since you saw her, fear begins to crawl across your mind. “What…does that mean?” You ask quietly.

The red priestess lifts her chin and sighs. “You’ll know.”

How insightful.

“One more thing,” she interjects and moves away from her spot to reach you and grab your hands “Fire kills the girl and awakens the dragon. Follow the flames for they are sweet to you since the moment your right was taken.”

You let out a deep breath and nod stiffly. You don’t understand completely, or at all actually, but you nod in comprehension before you just feed one more piece of curiosity. “Could I read the flames as well?”

Kinvara moves back across the flames and points her chin to the fire, encouraging you to try and read what the flames could tell you.

“You might not see your own future, remember that. If you see anything it will only be glimpses,” she lets you know while you step forward and focus your eyes on the bright flames seeming to lure you in; but not like every other time before, this calling is different now, you don’t have the urge to touch the flames or bathe yourself in their fierce beauty.

What calls you now are whispers; unclear, but trying to make sense in their own way.

“Listen,” Kinvara says as if can read your mind. “And open your eyes.”

She can’t mean your actual eyes because those are already open, she must mean it metaphorically or whatever, and as difficult as it seems you draw out a deep breath and focus on nothing else but the dancing flames; you don’t let Aemond come to mind, nor do you think about what was told to you, you narrow your gaze slightly and watch in silence.

After a few moments, you start to grow irritated, but suddenly before that frustration breaks your focus you freeze and catch your breath when you see snow falling. It’s clear as day as if you’re living through what you see.

Something falls with the snow though, something thicker and different in color. It’s slightly intoxicating and brings a stench of fire and smoke with it.

You have the urge to dive deeper to figure out what you see, but the scene changes to more white plains covered in snow, ashes, and bones, and above it stands a woman with silver hair. She stands above it all while a winter storm descends upon her. You see her start to turn her head but before you can make out her face, fire is all you see.

“<A long winter.> Kinvara breaks the silence and pulls your attention back to her.

“<Yes,>” you respond in High Valyrian as it actually makes sense.

The priestess offers you a smile and walks to the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you. I’ll see you again.”

You’re left in so much disbelief that you don’t question what she means by “I’ll see you again.”, you bid her a farewell and return to Aemond.

“I was about to barge in there,” Aemond says in a rush.

You blink repeatedly and meet his gaze with your disbelief still clinging to your features. Aemond notices and grabs your shoulders.

“What is it? What did she do?” He hisses.

You draw out a deep breath and with that push away all your disbelief to not worry him over something that’s not clear.

“Nothing, she simply told me we’ll have seven kids,” you share the only thing that was clear.

Aemond scoffs in disbelief but he leaves it at that. Just as you do.

——

*NOW. WINTERFELL*

When you think of home, Aerion, your mother, and your brothers are what you picture in your mind. They are your home, it doesn’t matter the place, as long as they’re with you that’s what you call home.

But oftentimes, when the word home comes up, when you think about home sometimes you picture these tall grey walls, you see these snow-covered hills, the white skies that stretch for miles and bring icy winds and delicate and beautiful snow. You see grey eyes and a timid smile. You remember the warmth from all the fires lit all day and the warmth his body provides. You think of home and someone who isn’t your husband is all you see. You try to fight it, but your longing is stronger than your will.

Now as you stand in these snowy planes and feel this instant comfort fill your heart all you can think about is how dangerous it is.

You were too hasty to make your suggestion and climb your dragon. You’re only steps away and as heart racing as it is, you also can’t help but strain your heart with anxiety as well.

Letters are completely different than seeing face to face again than feeling his hand grab yours and feeling his lips brush your knuckles. Jacaerys is here but will that stop your deep desires? Will that stop him from being mad at you for being distant and not writing to him anymore? Will that stop that tension?

But why is it that a problem?! You’re married! And you love Aemond, he’s your home too; him and Aerion are your family. A family you built after being apart from your own, and even if you have this new strain, you still want to fix it, you still want to fight for Aemond and your family. You have to be strong for them. You can’t give in to what feels comfortable and what your heart might cry for. You have to be strong. You have to be friends and nothing more.

“It’s snowing,” Jacerys muses as he reaches for a snowflake. “I honestly thought there would be more.”

You glance at the open gates and already imagine him waiting in that courtyard in front of his staff, family, and friends. It’s impossible to ignore two dragons descending in front of your home after hearing about an impending war and a call for a declaration from the Greens.

“It’s a lot colder than I thought it would be down here,” Jacaerys adds to his rambling. “How did you ever do it?”

“Well we are in the North,” you mutter unaware of your tone.

“Oh, no need to get snippy, I know where we are,” your brother remarks.

You sigh and turn to him. “Sorry,” you admit. “It's just what if he says no? It’s almost winter, his people need him here. And what would he gain from supporting one or the other, he could just decide to remain neutral.”

Jacaerys leans forward and tries to be assertive. “He’ll gain the Queen's lifelong gratitude, and a chance to prove his loyalty…he’s a Stark, you know that, they take pride in their loyalty. I don’t see why he’ll turn us away. Do you?”

No, but that’s not really why you’re worried, in one form or the other you just needed to be assured.

“I see your point,” you tell him.

Jacaerys gaze lingers on you to be an assuring brother for a moment longer before it’s time to break away from your running thoughts and growing panic and face Cregan with your head held up high, and a fierce determination on your face.

Yet when you walk past those main gates, that fierce determination is met with inklings of worry. Your head is high, but it’s practiced, it’s years of practice, there's a tension on your shoulders, and your breathing is slightly hitched because of your racing heart making your lungs work overtime.

You try to show your confidence in your stride, you are the Queen's daughter after all, but the closer you get to that courtyard the more you hide behind Jacaerys, as if that will help you avoid anything you’re about to face.

If someone were to guess, they’d say it’s your first time here with the way you’re cowering behind your brother and letting him carry all the confidence and pride for you both, but it’s not. As you trail behind your brother, some people you pass by actually recognize you.

You are Winterfell's luminous sun after all, the warmth and light in the darkest winter storm and lightest snow days, capable of melting the most stubborn ice. To their Lord though you are much more and it’s been easy to notice since the moment your purple dragon was seen. You are the reason he smiles, and the sun that gleams in his grey eyes.

But like the sun you hide. You finally make it to the main courtyard but Jacaerys is the first one seen and almost the only one they can see. You don’t want to come out of hiding because you don’t want to see him.

Your heart is pumping so fast, and your hands are trembling. You can almost feel a tightness grab ahold of your chest.

“Jacaerys,” you call out in a quiet panic.

Said man turns and when he does he uses his whole body to move away from you, in that moment leaving a clear and open view of none other than Cregan Stark. There he stands, tall, proud, and mighty. Grey eyes bright and soft even against his hardened gaze. His pink lips form into the faintest smile that you notice right away because you can’t help it, everyone and everything disappears, leaving only him and you in the snow-covered courtyard.

Not even your initial panic exists anymore, it melts away, and your body eases with a simple look into his familiar eyes. Your once-racing heart slows down, but now flutters and skips a beat, and you can’t stop it. Just like he can’t help himself because here you are again, across from him with light snow perfectly raining over you, eyes so deep and captivating that he loses himself within with ease. Your face is basked by a gleam of light that makes you so much more divine, and a heartwarming smile decorates your perfectly sculpted lips.

Now he knows composure, he knows his place, but in this small escape where only you and him exist, it’s costing everything within him not to break away and capture your lips with his. He just wants to grab and kiss you, but your trance is broken by the sound of your name being announced followed by your house.

“…of House Velaryon, wife of Aemond Targaryen.” And then there's that ridiculous reminder that you are not his anymore.

Luckily that cruel reminder is not with you, instead, there’s another, smaller in stature, but still standing tall and mighty with gold dragon emblems on his belt and on his cloaks broach. He proudly wears the colors black and red which shows who he is without the need of an introduction.

“Prince Jacaerys, of house Velaryon,” the guard still announces the man you’re accompanied with.

“My Prince, my Princess,” Cregan speaks in that thick northern accent that makes your heart swoon. “Welcome to Winterfell.” He bows his head, and the crowd behind him mirrors him.

When he raises his head again and stands tall the first thing he does is meet your gaze. You should glance away and share why you’re here, but you part your lips and only a soft breath comes out as you hold his gaze.

“It’s a pleasure to have you back, Princess,” Cregan addresses you formally, hiding away the history you share. “The North has missed you.”

Your cheeks grow warm, and your lips form a flattered smile before you announce it. “You flatter me, My Lord. I have missed the North, and the snow as well.”

He huffs in amusement and spares a glance at the falling snow. “Well you’re lucky then, it just started to snow. It seems you brought a late summer snow with you.”

You share a breathless giggle, and his eyes share his awe.

“My Lord,” Jacaerys cuts in and reminds you he’s here too.

“Oh right,” you cut in and look at your brother, seeing his eyebrows furrow as he looks at you and then glances at Cregan. You ignore him and grab his arm to go on proudly. “Lord Stark, my brother, and my mother's heir, Jacaerys Velaryon.” You share what he was already told, but it feels right to introduce him yourself again. “Jacaerys, this is Lord Cregan Stark.”

“It's a pleasure, my prince, welcome to the North,” Cregan addresses him kindly, making you smile. “Your sister has told me many tales about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Your brother bows his head. “Likewise, my sister speaks fondly of her stay here too.”

Cregan glances at you and the corner of his lips twitch ever so slightly.

“I do wish I was here under better circumstances to have some of that fun my sister always goes on about,” Jacaerys starts to get to the point, leaving no time to wander. But that’s good, you are here on business, you can’t forget that.

“But unfortunately we are here under orders of the Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Jacaerys proclaims, making the crowd murmur as the whispers they’ve heard are finally confirmed.

Cregan nods stiffly and glances back at his great hall just behind him. “I assumed so,” he says and looks back at Jacaerys and you. “Let’s go talk inside. I’m sure this change of weather is not so agreeable for southerners used to warm summers.”

Jacaerys scoffs softly and nods before he follows Cregan’s lead unaware of the fact that he’s leaving you behind as you’re stopped by some people in the crowd.

“Princess,” a thin middle-aged man who works inside the castle greets you and steals your attention.

“Good sir, John,” you greet him with a smile. “How is your daughter?” You ask as you remember how she had been when you left.

The man nods eagerly and smiles in return. “Very well, my princess. Healthy and strong. The gods let her survive her fever,” he shares and points behind you. You follow his line of gaze and see his daughter in a tall tower watching what you can only assume are the dragons in the distance.

“I told you she’s strong,” you tell him with genuine relief.

“Princess,” one of the cooks addresses you, making you turn to her and smile.

“Ms Maribell,” you turn your attention to her. “I’m glad to see you.”

“And you,” she returns sweetly. “I hear you have a son, where is he now? Why didn’t you bring him?”

You nod. “Yes,” you share excitedly and touch your chest. “Aerion. He’s four months old, but sadly I had to leave him behind with my mother, what I’m out here doing is no place for children I’m afraid. But I do want to bring him after these affairs are in order.”

“When you do, stop by here,” she suggests. “I’m sure he’ll love Winterfell as much as you did.”

You grin and nod, but before you can add more to your friendly conversation, your name cuts through the icy breeze. You look over and see your brother with a pressing look.

“My brother beckons me, I’ll see you all later,” you excuse yourself and offer them a small head bow before you stride to your brother and take his arm.

“<We are not here for a friendly visit,” he whispers sharply in High Valyrian. “I know your history here, but please stay focused.>”

You sigh and look ahead, catching Cregan’s vigilant gaze focused on you after he, unbeknownst to you, watched you interact with his people and treated them like they were your long-lost friends. It honestly fills his heart with a warmth that makes his grey eyes gleam with a joy that you easily notice against his nonchalant expression while he waits for you and your brother.

Since he so often wears a hardened expression on his face it’s hard to know what he feels, but after five years you learned how to read him like a soulmate reads its other half without a need for words. Yet you don't know the exact reason why he was so touched.

“Forgive our delay,” Jacaerys instantly brings up like a proper Prince. “My sister is easily distracted.”

Cregan lets you walk in the great hall first and once the doors close behind him he huffs and responds. “Yes, I remember, so do not worry, my Prince.”

You glance at your brother and pass him a teasing look. He meets your gaze and shoots you a warning glare before he brings you both to a stop just under Lord Stark’s throne.

“I hope the northern winds weren’t too harsh,” Cregan addresses while he walks to his chair.

“Well they were colder the closer we got to Winterfell, but they helped our dragons pick up speed to deliver this message from Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Jacaerys makes a quick workaround to why you’re here.

“Just last night I received an envoy from your uncle who calls himself King as well,” Cregan says as he takes the sealed scroll from Jacaerys.

“No, you got an envoy from a Usurper,” you immediately correct him. “The true ruler is the one the late King Viserys appointed as his heir, Queen Rhaenyra. That never changed nor was it his will for it to change after his death.”

Cregan glances at you and stares at you in silence for a moment as he processes your words before he finally opens the scroll and reads what was written.

“Your father bent the knee to Queen Rhaenyra when she was named heir, and swore that House Stark and the North will follow the line of succession,” Jacaerys adds to the point to try and further convince Cregan. “Now Queen Rhaenyra’s throne was stolen and demands you follow your father's path and stand proudly in support of her rule and war if it arises.”

You have seen so little of your brother's political side since you were reunited, so now that you see it you can’t help but be in awe of the man standing tall beside you, proving himself a worthy heir.

“Your words move me,” Cregan finally interjects as he lowers the scroll to look at Jacaerys and you. “And your presence honors me. Winterfell is almost at the edge of the world, but you still came to deliver this in your mother's regard,” he says and makes some of that tension release from Jacaerys shoulders. “I know of my father's oath to your Queen. I also know how deep disloyalty cuts when it’s made by one’s own kin, your sister was here to witness my uncle usurping my rightful place as Lord…which is why I do not intend to break oath today. The North will not break oath today,” Cregan proclaims confidently and with no falter, relieving your brother of his worry, but not yours.

“But,” Cregan proves your worry worthwhile. “Winter is coming my Prince, my Princess. And these seem almost like family affairs. The Queen has my loyalty, but why should we support this war? My priorities are with my people and providing for them before Winter arrives.”

You and Jacaerys share a conflicted look, but neither of you are stuck on what to say, you're just debating who should speak in your defense. You with an advantage, or Jacaerys with a blunt but respectful tongue?

Honestly, you both probably have great points, but in your speechless exchange, Jacaerys trusts you.

“I understand,” you argue and step forward, gaining all of Cregan’s attention. “I have not lived a true winter, but I understand your hesitance, My Lord. I understand your people need you now more than ever, but the Greens have an advantage, that’s something we can admit, and they will not be afraid to use it against you, and your Queen. They already steal from her, will you stand to see them take more? Will you stand and see your people and lands burnt? Will you sit and do nothing as injustice is acted upon your Queen? Or will you and your people fight for what’s right, and for the greater or good of the North?”

Cregan shifts in his seat and keeps his hardened gaze on you for a long and tense silence. You could read what he might be thinking, but you look at your brother and fall back by his side to wait for a response.

“Your words move me,” Cregan interjects with a small huff. “And leave me a lot to think about. I hope you understand my choice will not be taken lightly, I must speak with my own people on these matters, just be assured that the North supports the rightful Queen.”

Cregan stands from his seat and Jacaerys steps forward to cut in. “How long will we have to wait?”

Cregan raises his chin. “Soon, I swear,” he promises. “As for now, you must be tired from your travel. Baths will be drawn in your quarters, and supper will be served shortly in this hall.”

You draw in a deep breath and much to your surprise you’re the one who grows impatient instead of Jacaerys. “Thank you, My Lord Stark,” you deadpan and bow your head.

Said man catches your tone before the change on your face, but says nothing on the matter. Instead, he walks down and points to the door that leads to your apartments.

Yet before you can make any attempt to walk out, the doors open and a servant carrying a dark-haired child walks in, and without as much as insight to clue you in, you know who the child is right away, you can see it in his familiar dark eyes, and that kind resting face.

“Oh gods,” you muse excitedly and lose all your annoyance in the blink of an eye. “Is this baby Rickon?” You direct at Cregan.

“Yes, this is my boy,” he assures you and you don’t wait for the wet nurse to come to you, you meet her halfway.

“Jacaerys,” you exclaim as you grab the child’s hand with a bright grin. “I helped deliver this child!” You squeal and turn back to the baby.

“I believe it,” your brother mutters.

“Hello little Lord,” you greet the baby a bit too excited. “Look at you, you look like your mother…May I?” You direct at the wet nurse, and she doesn’t hesitate to hand you the child who is a mirror of Arra.

“Hello,” you greet him again a lot softer this time since he looks at you puzzled. “I know you don’t remember me, but I remember you. How old are you now? 1?”

You don’t expect an answer, but the baby does. “Hello.”

You beam at him and caress his head while you share a happy look at Cregan. “I can’t believe it. Words truly aren’t enough, Rickon is so big. I’m so proud.”

“He would’ve been out to greet you but you caught him in his naptime,” he says and steps towards you but keeps his distance.

“He looks like his mother,” you tell him and look back at Rickon, catching him taking the pearls around your neck. “Ah, yes, nice huh?”

“Hello,” he says again, making you laugh and turn to start heading to your quarters with the others trailing behind you. “My Aerion likes my jewelry too,” you tell him. “But he likes to suck on it. You just like to look at it, hm?”

“I reckon this little lord is a lot kinder than your Aerion,” Jacaerys teases as he falls by your side.

You roll your eyes at your brother and reassure Rickon. “Don't listen to him. He’s just mad because Aerion can sense his impatience. He’s very sweet, and I’m sure when he’s older you’ll be great friends. I’ll make sure of it.”

The baby is unbothered by what you say, but you couldn’t be more happier than to see Cregan and your friend's child. He reminds you of Arra, and when you think of Arra you think of where you are, and when you think of where you are all you feel is that comfort embracing you harder, consuming you little by little.

Which is dangerous, you know. The longer you stay here the more you let yourself get consumed by what’s familiar and kind that the reality in the distance becomes easy to forget.

But you can’t. You can’t let yourself feel complete comfort or you’ll run the risk of falling into the temptation you long for the most. Thus when you finish your bath you don’t linger in your borrowed quarters, nor do you explore what you left behind out of curiosity to see what’s new, you act as if you’ll be leaving any minute and visit where Arra was put to rest.

Yet that temptation finds you there and puts it all at risk. You don’t know about his looming presence until you turn away from Arra’s tomb.

“Lord Stark,” you gasp.

Cregan bows his head. “Forgive me I did not mean to startle you, I did not want to interrupt your moment that's all.”

You laugh nervously and glance back at Arra’s tomb. “If I did not visit her while I was here she would haunt me.”

Cregan hums and you stop avoiding his gaze to look into his grey eyes.

You had hoped to contain yourself, but in the silence that falls as you just look at one another, you can’t contain your joy, it takes over you and before you know it you’re beaming like a shining sun and striding over to him.

Cregan gives in the moment you break and meets you halfway with a tight and warm embrace.

“I had come to terms with not seeing you again,” Cregan breaks the silence first as he holds onto you.

“Me too. I really did not think I would see you again,” you murmur excitedly and hold on for longer than either of you wanted to. You just can’t seem to let go even if there's a shared silence in which you keep in words that you both are aching to say and just add tension.

“I…I’m happy to see you again,” he says instead and pulls back to face you

“You grew out your hair,” you point out to change the subject. “You said long hair was for barbarians.”

Cregan chuckles, and you smirk. “Well, I thought I could try it out,” he says. “And it keeps my neck warm.”

You study his brown hair that falls just above his shoulders and let yourself have this one thing. “I like it. It suits you well.”

Cregan offers you a thankful nod and takes this time to study you closely again. “You seem happier this time around,” he points out.

You scoff. “What are you saying? Did I look miserable when I got here six years ago?” You tease lightheartedly.

Cregan nods. “Yes. You did. This time you look happy though.”

You sigh and glance at the exit as if you’d see your brother. “Yes, well my brother is here. As annoying as he can be, I am happy he came with me.”

“Mhm.”

You smile softly in response and to avoid staring too long into his eyes you start to walk out. But for a few seconds as you walk aimlessly there’s a silence that lingers until he finds what to say. “Arra’s friend came to see me a few days after you left.”

You glance at him with a curious gaze and probe. “Why?”

He exhales deeply and confides in you what he hasn't had the heart to share in letters. “She came to blame me for her death. She said I was the reason she died.”

You come to an immediate halt, and he follows suit and slowly turns to face your sorrowful face.

“She was hurt, Cregan. It was not your fault. She was just grieving,” you try to comfort him even if he didn’t ask for it because you know how much guilt he already carries for Arra’s death and because you can't stand hearing him blame himself.

“Well, there is some truth to it is there not?” He says breathily and averts his gaze.

You draw in a deep breath and reach out, but before you can touch his arm you clasp your hands and fiddle with your ring. “No. There is not,” you say firmly. “Childbirth is not easy. I hate to admit it but her loss is common. It cannot be helped, so no it is not your fault. Arra’s friend was just grieving the woman she loved.”

Cregan blinks and meets your gaze with gratitude behind his perked lips but hesitation in his grey eyes. You don’t think he’s going to say anything and leave it as him just processing what you said, but as you continue walking side by side he finally interjects hesitantly.

“Your son…how is he?” He asks as if it pains him to actually ask.

You smile proudly. “Good. Spoiled endlessly by all the love my mother is giving him, but he’s good,” you muse. “I wish you could have met him.”

Cregan swallows thickly and finds it in himself to speak. “I wish I could have seen him too, I am sure he looks like you.”

You meet his gaze briefly and nod with glee.

There's so much you can say at this moment, but there’s also so much you can’t say that you end up in this battle of not knowing what you should do. Should you touch into this past that you need to keep closed? Or leave it all unspoken and just filled with tension that threatens to overflow and break you both?

No one would have to know. You could speak about this unspoken past you both cherish…But! Then you think of Aerion, and when you think of your son, you think of his father and once again, you still want to fight for this relationship even if you stand on opposite sides now.

Thus you leave it untouched and just lean towards something else.

However, when you speak Cregan’s name to address something else he also speaks your name, leaving you at a crossroads he luckily lets you cross first. “About why I came—”

“Did you come to sweet talk me, princess?” He cuts in and does assume right, but that’s not what you’re going to say.

“Maybe,” you laugh breathlessly and exhale deeply to get at what you want to say. “But look, I understand you’re needed here, your people are your priority. Winter is dangerous, which is why we won’t ask for a lot. We’re proud and honored to get your loyalty, but anything you can spare will help. We may have more dragons, but they lack experience in war, unlike Vhagar.”

Cregan nods in comprehension and does assure you honestly. “I meant when I said I’ll try. I want to help the Queen, I swear. Let me just see what I can spare, winter is not friendly, winter is cruel, you know that.”

More than most…and more than he knows…

“I know.” You agree softly. “How long will that take?”

He sighs and shrugs. “A couple of days. Not long. Why are you in a hurry?”

You drag your gaze over to pass him a knowing glance because he knows that your presence means much more than anyone knows, and it brings risks.

Still, he smirks faintly at you.

“I will say,” you admit and smile at him. “I am glad to be back in the North. I missed it. It’s so loud in Kings Landing compared to here. And the view from my chambers?!” You exclaim without a care in the world. “Over there it’s busy streets, and here it’s serene hills.”

Cregan chuckles softly. “I told you there’s no place for you so far South anymore. You bring your son here and it is over for you.”

You laugh and nod. “I do love the sun though, and a sea in which I can swim in!” You nudge his arm, and he leans to the side with a smile.

“I will bring the warm sea here, I told you.”

You snort and shake your head. “While I'm here we need to show Jacaerys some of the fun we would have. I want him to see some part of Winterfell before we leave.”

Of course, Cregan doesn’t argue, he gives in but when he meets your gaze from the corner of his eyes he grows sweet and smug. “Not all the fun though?”

You hold his gaze and shake your head. “No. Not all the fun.”

He hums and looks at you with a dangerous longing look that you quickly look away from.

“Ice fishing?” You suggest.

“You have an entire day to waste?” He brings up and clears his throat.

You hum in agreement and stroke your chin, unaware of the fact that you’re being walked into the great hall.

“Owl hunting?” Cregan teases in that stern nonchalance, and you can’t help but burst out laughing as you remember what he means by that.

“You think you’re funny huh?”

“You just laughed.”

You shake your head and grab his arm to laugh more and much harder.

“I can’t believe you fell for it the first time.” He keeps taunting you.

You stand tall and throw out an excuse. “I was young.”

Cregan looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed and you look at him and laugh again, unaware of how lost you were until you hear your brother.

“Sister. Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”

You blink repeatedly and catch your breath before you point back at where you came from. “I visited a friend, Arra, remember? I needed to go visit her resting place before we left.”

Your whereabouts don’t really matter anymore, he was worried when he knocked on your door and you didn’t answer, but now what he finds more interesting is who you walk in with. He looks between the both of you full of curiosity and takes note of the way you walked in laughing, as well as the smile you wear, and the faint one that decorates the Lord's lips.

“I hope you are both hungry,” Cregan interjects while you come to a stop in front of the grand table. “We had something prepared for your welcome.”

“That’s nice—”

“We’re starving,” you cut your brother off bluntly and make your way around the table. “Flying for so long isn’t only draining for our dragons, but for us too.”

You approach Jacaerys and he surprises you by pulling a chair out for you. “Oh,” you praise his gesture. “Thank you, Jace.”

When you sit though he doesn’t walk around Cregan's seat like he should have, he makes sure to sit at your other side, leaving you in between both men.

“<What are you doing?>” You demand to know in High Valyrian.

Jacaerys pulls in his chair close to the table and looks at you to whisper back. “<Sitting.>”

You blink and lean your head back with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “<Are you nervous?>”

He squints and rebuttals immediately. “<What? Why should I be?>”

You’re choosing to be too naive and pat his shoulder. “<Your big sister is here do not worry.>”

He swats your hand away, and you steal a glance over at Cregan taking his seat beside you

“How many days do you have to be here before your husband sends you a raven?” Jacaerys fills the silence.

At first, you don’t want to entertain his question, he’s only going to make fun of Aemond, but you give him an assumption to be nice. “Three days. The last thing he wrote was, ‘come home now. Your place is here.’ And that was before we left the Eyrie.”

Jacaerys leans in and continues. “Has he actually written that he misses you?”

You hold his gaze and part your lips to argue in your husband's defense, but those words have not been written on paper so you don't rebuttal Jacaerys, you deflect. “Have you tried to make a move on Baela?”

Jacaerys clenches his jaw and speaks through gritted teeth. “What are you on about?”

You grab the cup in front of you and shrug. “What? She is your betrothed, it's okay to sneak off and you know, have a little fun.”

“Stop it.”

You take a sip of your drink and lean towards him. “When we get home I will play a game and lock you both in a room—oh! No! I’m brilliant!” You exclaim and push yourself back, making him grimace.

“Shut up.”

“Nothing boosts romance more than a fun little adventure, just you and her alone,” you share excitedly without shame that you’re talking to your brother about romance as if he were a lady. The gods didn’t give you sisters, just five brothers, so you have to make the best of what you have. “I will throw you out of the castle to go fetch dragon eggs, or you know, something fun.”

“You’re childish,” he snaps at you under his breath.

You exhale deeply and sit back proudly. “And when your wedding comes I will be paralyzed with joy. Unless she marries one of our Velaryon cousins,” you finish in a whisper to just light a small fire under his ass.

“What?” Jacaerys asks in a shocked whisper, which you ignore to share an amused smile with Cregan.

“Princess,” you hear someone call before you see Lady Maribell approaching with servants carrying supper. “We made your favorite to welcome you and the Prince.”

You watch your plate get put down with a big appetite and then look at Lady Maribell and touch your chest. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll make sure to savor it well.”

The lady bows her head and leaves the hall, letting you appreciate your supper and the fact that these people took the time to prepare your favorite meal by their own will, or for the wishes of someone else, you don’t know, but it’s a huge difference with the way you get treated in the Red Keep.

“I would like to make a toast,” Cregan’s voice booms throughout the hall as he stands up, pulling the attention of those gathered in the hall. “To the Prince and Princess. Welcome to Winterfell, you honor not only me but the entire North for coming in person in the Queen's regard…”

You smile up at Cregan before you share your joy with Jacaerys.

“Your stay will not be long, but we will do our best to make you feel at home,” Cregan continues before he looks over Jacaerys. “The North may be a drastic change, but it is beautiful. I hope you learn to grow fond of it just as much as your sister has.”

You don’t check Jacaerys reaction, you meet Cregan's gaze and follow him all the way down to his seat with a soft appreciative smile, while his own gaze softens…for a moment, because his gaze then drifts over your shoulder and it loses that gentle touch.

You follow his line of gaze and meet your brother's thankful but slightly narrowed look that he holds with a smile. And as to not make suspect something you raise your cup to him.

He returns the gesture before looking past you again, making you now look at your steaming food and let out a slow deep breath as you try to remind yourself to keep yourself contained. In doing so, albeit you remember the tragic dinner you had at King's Landing not many nights ago and you now start to feel amused by the memory.

You happen to let your gaze wander over to your brother in the midst, and he slowly locks eyes with you. Silence follows for a moment, but then as if mentally tangled with your thoughts you both start to giggle before you chuckle together.

“Man,” he says between laughs. “I wish I would have seen your right hook. I missed it!”

You cover your mouth and stifle the laugh you want to let out and respond. “He was so shocked! I was holding that in for so long!”

You snort and lean towards each other. “It was such a mess from the start, but I applaud your toast. That was smooth.”

“Really? Thank you, I think I landed it too.” He takes your compliment and you both laugh together again before he grabs your shoulder and turns you towards the man at your other side.

“Lord Stark,” he happily drags Cregan into the conversation. “Considering you are friends with my sister, I will tell you a great feat she completed a few nights ago on our last night at Kings Landing.”

You shake your head lightheartedly and lick your lips as you catch your breath.

“To make this story short, one thing led to another and my sister landed a right hook on the usurper,” Jacaerys shares, making the corner of Cregan's lips twitch.

“He slammed our brother's face into the table,” you try to give reason to your actions. “I acted. My rings helped too.”

Jacaerys laughs softly and you meet his gaze and smile wide.

“It seems like an impressive feat indeed,” Cregan says and lets his gaze linger on you. “But I cannot say it surprises me, your sister has never been one to recoil from such things. I’d say she's fond of it.”

“Too much,” Jacaerys remarks. “It is why she would always get in trouble.”

Cregan huffs softly and meets your gaze. “I only wish I could have seen it,” he says directly at you while also letting your brother hear.

You can’t help your deep breath, or stop your face from burning under his impressed gaze. You don't say anything but luckily that conversation leads to a lighthearted dinner where Jacaerys and Cregan start to talk more instead of just passing glances.

Unfortunately, you do the one thing you told yourself you didn’t want to do, and that’s losing yourself in the bliss that comes with interacting with your brother and Cregan, the man you…have a secret past with.

You thought you could do better, you wanted not to get lost at all, but it pulled you down rather quickly and you couldn’t fight it. Especially because there’s something about seeing Cregan interact with your brother without tension or disdain, that makes your heart swoon.

“Jacaerys,” you blurt and turn to him. “Let’s dance.”

His eyebrows pinch together and he shakes his head before he answers. “What? No!”

You ignore him and jump from your seat to grab his arm and pull him with you to the center without as much as a protest. He likes to act all tough and nonchalant in front of others but he’s a big sweetheart when it comes to you and your brothers.

And he proves that further when he doesn’t fail to make you smile when you’re dancing slowly at first to follow the beat of the music that plays in the corner. When the music picks up he becomes faster but disregards the actual beat to start spinning you around the room.

“That’s not how you dance this!” You remark without much meaning behind your words. “You’re going to get me drunk!”

“You can handle it. You love it!” He assumes right and goes faster around the room without that initial worry of being judged or carrying this tough and proper image.

Neither of you actually find a worry in the world, it’s just him and you in that moment, laughing, and unaware of the pair of grey eyes that follow you all around the room. People talk to him, and a commotion surrounds him but Cregan finds a way to keep watching you laugh with your brother as he takes you around the room.

He should feel somewhat upset that your brother is bringing this different kind of joy out of you that he never saw when it was just you and him, but his heart only fills with bliss as he sees you so overjoyed. He knew how much you missed your family when you were living in Winterfell, so how can he be upset and petty that you’re so drunk with bliss by your brother's company?

Only a fool would refuse you this joy.

“Princess!”

You come to a quick halt and give your attention to the one who seeks it; catching Ser Rolf, one of your greatest friends just past the door.

“Ser Rolf!” You greet once you know who has beckoned you, and let your brother go to rush to your friend.

“I heard you were here and I came as fast as I could,” he says and answers your curiosity as to where he’s been before you had the chance to ask. “I almost feared I missed you.”

You shake your head. “No, you got lucky. Come!” You pull him with you to return to your brother. “Ser Rolf, this is my brother, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.” You immediately introduce them.

“My Prince,” Ser Rolf greets him properly.

“Jace, this is one of my greatest friends from here, Ser Rolf,” you explain. “He went to my engagement tourney and played in my honor.”

Ser Rolf scoffs. “Well, I needed to show off my skills, and not let you Southerners forget how talented we can be.”

You smile at him and you both purposely leave out the other reason why he had gone.

“It's nice to finally meet you,” Ser Rolf directs at your brother. “Your sister often spoke fondly of you and the rest of your family.”

“Did she?” Jacaerys presses and flashes you a smug smirk. “When we return to our brothers I’m proudly going to use that over her head.”

Ser Rolf laughs and nudges you, and you roll your eyes.

“Do you mind if I steal your sister from you, My Prince?” Ser Rolf asks.

Said man shakes his head. “Not at all, go ahead, I need to step out anyway. I will be back.”

You offer him a comprehensive smile and watch him leave the hall before you face your friend. “Are you going to dance with me?”

Ser Rolf scoffs. “No. Unless it’s a command.”

You smile in amusement and shake your head. “Never to you.”

“Good, I may be swift with a sword, but I'm afraid I'm not a gifted dancer. My wife can attest to that,” he breathes out and points his hand away from the crowd of people dancing to walk away together.

“How is your family?” You ask.

Your friend looks at you and smiles sweetly for the first time tonight. “Good. My girl is a year old and a delight. You have a son, I heard.”

You clasp your hands together and nod. “Yes, Aerion. He’s four months old, and his father's pride.” You share now that you can share it with someone since so many details about your son felt wrong being shared with Cregan.

“About…the father,” Ser Rolf picks on that matter as he sits around the first table you see. “I hope my actions in that tournament did not get you in trouble. I saw him later that night at a feast after the tournament was over.”

You sit down first and sigh before you shake your head. “No. Do not worry…was he…” you trail off and glance at the ring Aemond gave you to fiddle with it. “…with anyone?”

You can feel Ser Rolf press his gaze on you, but you avoid it and wait, even if you shouldn’t considering who’s occupying your mind now too.

“No,” Ser Rolf answers hesitantly, making your heart skip a beat. “He was lurking in the corner watching over the other silver-haired Prince.”

You swallow back nervously and meet your friend's gaze to press him since he didn’t sound convincing. “Tell me, Rolf. I can take the truth. I mean look at me, I’m on opposite sides of this war.”

Ser Rolf quickly shakes his head and looks at you with a pitiful look. “I swear it, Princess. He was lurking the entire night. When his brother brought in women and tried to gift him one as an engagement present, he finally left.”

You let out a relieved sigh and nod in comprehension, feeling a lot more assured now than before. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Of course.”

You feel it now…how much you’re starting to miss Aemond. Which is all so conflicting, but you admit it, you miss your husband, especially when it’s just you and him. That’s when he lets his guard down and lets out this person he keeps within; this sweet, affectionate, and amusing person that knows how to love you in the way you want to be loved, and knows the deepest parts of you, while he lets you know his.

He doesn’t hide his love for you in public, he's not overly affectionate but he makes it known that you’re all his and he’s all yours. And perhaps that makes you a little too attached to one another, but you take pride in it and never feel alone.

But…

Yes, there’s a but when you’re in Winterfell, when Cregan is close, and when he comes to mind. You can’t let Cregan go. The love you shared was so consuming, it was full of passion, it was exciting, and it had so much to give that no matter what, you could never get enough of one another.

But that's it isn't it? Was. You need to let go.

“How are you…holding up?” Ser Rolf breaks you from your troubled mind and only makes you confused. “With…you know…” he trails off and points to the side.

You follow his line of gaze and realize that he’s referring to Cregan.

“Rolf,” you warn him, making him laugh.

“He’s finally smiling,” he makes matters worse and makes you smile down at the table while your stupid heart skips a beat.

“He hasn’t been with anyone,” Ser Rolf clarifies and you snap your eyes at him and kick his shin.

“Stop.”

Rolf smirks and rubs his wounded area, while your eyes wander to the man you’re talking about, and you see him leaving the hall.

You almost find it in you to follow him out, but what will that bring? Nothing but temptation. You did good before when it was just him and you, but the stars are out, and the snow blankets the ground, it will feel like one of those nights when you would admire the sky in each other's embrace, and you’ll probably lose it, so you stay put and keep talking to your friend while also watching for your brother.

Eventually, more of Cregan's friends join Ser Rolf and you, but as much as you enjoy their company you can’t rest easy without knowing about your brother. He left a while ago and hasn’t returned. He would’ve told you if he went to bed, but he hasn’t. He said he needed to step out and hasn’t returned.

Maybe he froze out there since all he’s used to is a chill—but more seriously you should go check on him.

You stand up and just as you’re going to excuse yourself you catch your brother walking inside in front of Cregan.

They approach the table and you want to ask about your brother's whereabouts, but Cregan interjects. “I've decided we could take him hunting tomorrow morning and have lunch there, so he can know some of the North’s wilderness.”

You look at your brother and he gives you an assuring nod. And considering Cregan hasn’t given you an answer you have no choice but to accept. “Very well then.”

“I might’ve overshared with your brother just now,” Cregan continues to direct at you as you step back and sit back down.

“No, no,” Jacaerys shakes his head. “He glorified.”

You cross your leg over the other and press them. “What?”

Cregan glances at your brother and then looks back at you. “I might have praised your archery skills on dragonback.”

You smile at Cregan and pass your brother a cocky look. “It’s true. I am an excellent shot on Dragonback, but I cannot take all the credit, Astraea helps me when she flies. I think Lord Stark is just too in awe of the dragon itself.”

Cregan huffs and points his chin at you. “You are being too humble. You deserve the praise, not anyone can hit the target while moving, especially while flying. And you like to stand, which, that alone deserves its own praise.”

You shake your head. “You flatter me too much.”

“But I do suppose the same cannot be said about your traps. She almost caught her own leg once,” he shares a bit too amused. “Arra caught her in time.”

You shake your head. “It was not my fault,” you rebuttal. “You were distracting me. Hunting is done in silence and you distracted me.”

Cregan scoffs. “Are we talking about the same day?” He teases. “You are remembering wrong. I did not do such a thing.”

You touch your chest and slowly get up. “Lord Stark, are you calling me a liar?”

He shakes his head. “Admit it, you could have used help.”

You inhale deeply and nod. “Only if you admit you spoiled our bait for that fishing evening on your name day.”

Cregan parts his lips but he can’t deny you so he presses his lips together and nods slowly, causing you to nod in return, and share a mutual agreement to your questions through shared glances that you don’t break. There in the middle of your friends and brother, you look at each other as if it’s only you and him in that hall, in this world entirely. You exist only for each other.

Until the reminder tears it all down and pulls you back into reality. “Sister why don’t you sing us a song,” Jacaerys exposes you.

“What?” You gasp and ignore all the looks you get.

Jacaerys nods. “It seems fitting. It’s still early, I think it would be nice for you to fill the hall with your song.”

You blink repeatedly and shake your head quickly hoping he’ll get the hint, but he does the opposite as if purposely torturing you. “Wait…you have not sung here?”

You stay quiet and spare a glance at Cregan who is too amused by what’s going on.

“Wow…” Jacaerys trails off to chuckle before he faces the crowd of your friends and Cregan. “That is why she is called the Siren of Driftmark.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and groan.

“I thought you said it was because you were a good swimmer,” Ser Rolf points out.

You shake your head. “No,” you grumble.

Jacaerys moves over to you to grab your shoulder and shake you gently. “She’s really good. She sings all the time,” he praises you. “She just sang the other day when we got to Dragonstone.”

You shake your head and feign a smile. “No, no, my brother is being too nice. He’s exaggerating.” You laugh and then turn to your brother to shoot him a burning glare. “You’re exaggerating,” you sneer at him through gritted teeth.

Jacaerys chuckles and pushes you forward. “Sing us a song. Come on!”

You share a breathless chuckle and turn on your heels to point back at your brother. “I would not want you to cry,” you reveal and glance at the crowd. “When he was a boy he would hide at the back of the crowd so no one would see him cry when I sang.”

Jacaerys doesn’t give you the satisfaction of being flustered, he just smiles, and Cregan steps in.

“Come on, prove your name, princess.”

You pass him a glare and sigh deeply.

“Just one,” Cregan insists with a sweet and intrigued look that really makes it hard to say no to.

“Fine…” you give him brugrudgly. “But…I’ll sing a Sea Shanty. One father liked to sing with us, Jacaerys, so you can sing with me.” You smirk.

Your brother is quick though and shakes his head. “No, no, anyone happy enough can sing a Sea Shanty. Sing a different song.”

“You’ll be surprised not everyone can,” you murmur and stare at your brother with a piercing glare but don’t argue now. You’ll get nowhere, so you begin to step away from the crowd. “Only if you do it,” you protest and turn back to your brother.

“No,” he snaps.

“Do what?” Ser Rolf probes.

You grab your brother's arm and he gives your friend the answer. “Our father would present her to the crowd as if she was a famous singer before she sang.”

You nod eagerly and shake him, but he shakes his head to deny you of such a pleasure.

“I’ll do it,” Ser Rolf volunteers and takes you with him, but leaves you at the side as he runs to the center and steals everyone’s attention.

“Can I get everyone’s attention please! Tonight we have a special guest blessing this hall with her song! May I present the Siren of Driftmark!” He shouts and you don’t shy away or protest now, you run to the center, and bow to the crowd while you spread your arms out like a dragon spreads its wings.

“Hello, Winterfell!” You address the crowd and stand tall without a hint of smugness or your nose in the air to show your royal status, you show off a charm that hasn’t been seen in this hall and gains all the wavering attention to you, as if you were born to lead the masses. “Now, now I know what you may be wondering! Can she really sing, she’s never proved that to us! But,” you laugh softly. “I promise that I at least will not make your ears bleed.”

The crowd laughs and a warm look grows on the serious Lord’s face.

“This song goes to my brother who accompanies me this time around,” you let it be known so you don’t share all the attention. “And of course to your Lord Stark. Thank you for hosting us tonight, my friend.”

You flash him a smile and he nods gently in return, unable to keep his eyes off as you whisper to the band in the corner. He follows your every step with a curiosity that grows only as you clear your throat, take in the crowd that’s gathered in the hall, and draw out a deep breath, because after you part your lips and start to sing softly for all the crowd to hear, all he knows is complete awe as you grow louder and more enchanting with your song.

You become one with yourself and it makes it impossible for anyone to turn away, all the attention is on you as if you were a real-life siren. Yet no matter how many eyes watch you, how surprised and amazed everyone is, and how that prides you, all your attention falls on one man who only watches you with awe, because in this hall it’s just you and him once again.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Fishing has never been your strength, you enjoy the quality time when you go with someone, but besides that, you aren’t patient enough to wait for a fish to take the bait.

It’s why as you watch the blue fish in murky waters you make sure to stay out of the water as you slowly pick up your bow, and align your arrow, hoping it won’t hear you and swim off somehow.

Albeit the fish with blue scales moves, making you hold your breath and wait…

Good thing it just moves under the sunbeam that casts in the water. Now though, you do feel guilty for trying to kill it, it’s so beautiful, its scales glimmer a deep blue against the sun like the prettiest gems are stuck to it.

Yet a fish is all it is.

Before you can shoot though, the fish swims away quickly. “Damn, damn,” you hiss and move your aim along with its hasty movements to not let it get out of sight. And just before it can escape into the shallow river, you let the arrow go and luckily shoot the fish right through its eye.

“Haha,” you celebrate to yourself and throw your bow aside to pull your fur cloak off and leave it on the giant rock so it doesn't get wet when you step into the water.

“Oh,” you gasp at the icy touch and rush to grab the fish on the tips of your feet whilst letting out quick ‘oh’s at the cold touch of the water.

However, before you can attempt to turn and run out of the water you catch a branch snap behind you and stiffen.

There's only two people it can be, but you’re still so nervous that the Greens are going to find you that your mind panics and quickly makes you reach for your dagger around your belt.

When you hold the handle you slowly peer back and gasp when you just see Cregan. “Gods,” you breathe out and let the dagger go. “You startled me.”

Cregan finally walks out of the tree line and puts his hands up. “Forgive me, I didn’t want to interrupt your moment. Forgive me.”

You laugh nervously and walk out of the water with relief, and your trophy in hand.

“You’ve been on edge lately,” he points out as he watches you trade your trophy for your cloak.

You sigh. “With this impending war, my husband and his family have been insistent on getting me and Aerion back to King's Landing, that I fear they’ll be in every corner I turn,” you share as you hang your cloak around your shoulders.

Cregan drops his head and nods gently. “Well, no Greens will reach you here. You have my word.”

He looks up and you meet his gaze and offer him a gentle and thankful smile before you grab your arrow from the rock and show off your prize. “I promised my little brother Joffrey we would go fishing, but I think this way is more effective, do you not think?”

Cregan gets closer and tilts his head to the side to shrug. “Can’t say it’ll be called fishing if that’s the way you go.”

You scoff and flick your wrist to brush him off. “Sure it is, we will just use a bow and arrow to catch our fish. I don’t want to wait hours to get one on a hook.”

Cregan huffs and you take that as a challenge. “But I know fishing in the extreme is not for everyone.”

A faint smile breaks on his face and he remarks. “Who do you think you are talking to exactly?”

You shrug and pick up your bow to offer it to him. “Prove your skill, Lord Stark.”

Without further argument, Cregan takes the bow and narrows his gaze. “You know how much I hate it when you’re so formal with me,” he remarks.

You shoot him a simple teasing smile and let the bow go to fall by his side instead. “Alright there’s one right across from us,” you whisper as you hand him an arrow. “Quietly.”

Cregan aligns his arrow and tilts his head down toward you. “Who taught you to hunt?” He picks on your comment.

You lift your gaze, catching the gleam in his eyes, and giggle. His gaze lingers, threatening to drive your heart mad so you look down first and he follows your gaze to follow his prey. When he thinks he has the right angle to catch the fish he lets the arrow go, but the wooden weapon whizzes to the fish's side and only works to startle it away.

“Aha!” You blurt and grab his arm. “I told you. Skill!”

“Oh, hush you,” he brushes you off with a grin before he walks over to collect your arrow. “Oh, by the way, singing?! How come you never told me?”

You sit back on the giant rock and shrug. “One, because I was quite timid to sing to you,” you admit and make him smile at the ground. “And two…after my father died…I just lost my heart to sing. It did not feel right.”

Cregan steps out of the water and his smile fades to show his comprehension. “I understand,” he says quietly and puts your arrow bag in the leather holster.

“I would sing for my grandfather Viserys when I returned to the Red Keep, but I didn’t have a heart to sing until I had Aerion,” you muse as you miss your boy. “He made me find my voice again. And now he falls asleep to my song.”

“What a lucky lad,” Cregan says and steps toward. “You have a beautiful voice. I understand why you got your name.”

A warmth creeps on your cheeks and you smile at the rock beneath you. “Thank you,” you whisper. “And don’t take it as something I hid from you, you are just learning something new from me.”

He hums softly and adds. “It’s just a way to keep me on my toes, I respect that.”

You return his hum and blink to look over at him, catching his watchful gaze, and feeling at that moment a need to entrust him with something that’s been troubling you, something that didn’t satisfy you when you spoke about it to your grandmother.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask hesitantly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, tell me, all right?”

Cregan shifts in his stance and nods without hesitation. “It’s all right, go on,” he assures you to keep going.

You avert your gaze and fiddle with the ring that Aemond gifted you. “It’s just,” you breathe out and make sure Jacaerys isn’t approaching before you continue. “You’re the most loyal man I know. Your oaths are everything to you,” you tell him, making him slowly sit down beside you. “So can you tell me where my loyalties should lie? Should I return to my husband? Especially now that we have a child should I follow him blindly? Growing up, the Septa’s would plague me with how to be a good wife, Alicent makes indirect comments all the time, it's my job as a woman to be a loyal wife, but…” you trail off and look up at the sky and exhale shakily.

“I love my mother, I love my family, and I know she’s the one who belongs on the throne,” you continue to confide in him. “It was stolen from her, nothing will ever make me look at that differently. I will follow her rule, but…Aemond is my husband. He stands loyally on the other side, shouldn’t I stand by his side? Follow him blindly?” You ask from the depths of your torn heart and drop your gaze to look at Cregan with an aching look that wounds his heart.

“He might be your husband, and you may have a responsibility to him now that should come over your mother, but you still have your beliefs,” Cregan says with sincerity since he knows that all you need now is a friend, not a jealous ex-lover. “What you want still matters. And you know what you want to do, I hear it now, I see it with my own eyes. Don't betray yourself just because you don’t want to disappoint one or the other,” he reassures you softly and leans closer to you without actually touching your hand that’s pressed on the rock next to his, he doesn’t let his breath unfurl over your skin, or let his lips brush against your cheek. He just gets his face closer so you can feel his comfort.

“Would you do it?” You can’t help but ask. “Would you go against your wife if she was on opposite sides of a war?”

Cregan sighs deeply and doesn’t debate his answer, he nods, and you add something that pains him to hear because he knows what it really means. “Even if you loved her?”

Cregan swallows thickly but he doesn’t let his eyes fall, he nods stiffly. “If it was the right thing to do, yes. Even if it pained me.”

You drift your gaze away and nod, hoping you can beat the stinging in your throat, but tears fall from your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It will be okay.”

You sniffle and meet his gaze to probe speechlessly.

Cregan understands your gesture and nods, making you offer him a gentle smile and lean towards him. “Thank you, Cregan. It really means a lot.”

“Of course,” he says with a caring look that works to assure the doubt and lift the weight you’ve been carrying on your shoulders since you found out what happened.

“Thank you,” you add much to his surprise and yours while letting yourself grab his hand. “For loving me.”

Cregan stares at you for a lingering moment with his eyebrows furrowing and unknotting with every emotion that runs through his mind and makes his heart race. “I would do it again, it was my honor,” he speaks softly.

Your bottom lip trembles but you don't cry, you let your head fall on his shoulder for a brief second to express the deep unspoken love that you’ll never actually be able to let go. It’ll forever be scarred in your soul.

And that’s all you could ask for in this world full of horrors. Even if there's no proper goodbye, and there’s so much left untouched, this moment is all you could ever want, it welcomes a comforting silence that brings a smile to your face as you both watch the serene environment.

“We should find your brother,” Cregan breaks the silence after a long moment of being selfish.

You hesitate for a moment but you slide off the rock and collect your stuff before you lead the way back into the forest.

“Do you…” Cregan starts to say while he helps you by carrying the fish you caught. “Still dream of flying to faraway places?”

You keep your eyes out for your brother and purse your lips together as you sigh. “Would you be disappointed if I said I did? Only sometimes though.”

Cregan chuckles. “No, of course not. I’m glad you still do. Where to?”

You suck in air and twirl around to face him as you walk back. “Maybe,” you breathe out and happily share what he wants to know. “Yi Ti. I was given this beautiful gem necklace from there and I’ve been completely enamored by the place ever since. It’s said princes live in solid gold houses.” You nod eagerly, making him scoff.

“My most favorite gowns are made of silks from Yi Ti,” you muse and turn back around on your heels. “Some I have yet to wear because I have been saving them. Hopefully, I get to wear one soon! Don’t worry though my feet are still on the ground,” you make sure to assure Cregan. “I have not forgotten what I learned here.”

You hear him hum before he mutters. “I’m quite curious about these expensive gowns.”

Your breath catches in surprise and you peer over to shoot him a pointed look. He responds by flashing you a charming smile that makes you roll your eyes and hold back your smile.

Thankfully in that next moment, you spot your brother in the distance and force all your focus on him.

Jacaerys doesn’t seem to spot you right away though, so after a quick and brilliant idea hits you you leave Cregan behind to sneak around Jacaerys. Once you get close and he’s made some distance from the tree you’re hiding behind, you slip out and avoid stepping on all the branches and dry leaves. When you’re close enough you bite back your smile and raise your hands to jump on his back, but much to your misfortune he’s too perceptive and ruins your plan. “I saw your foot behind the tree.”

You blow out air and drop your arms with a pout. Jacaerys turns and spots Cregan walking out of the shadows first before he faces you and shows off the rabbits he caught. “What did you catch?”

You frown deeper and point at the single fish, making him chuckle. “That’s all?! I thought you were some great hunter!”

You roll your eyes and sputter out an excuse. “Well, I did see some rabbits but I didn’t want to kill them, they were adorable.”

And you can’t say Cregan distracted you either, for the most part, you were just walking and taking in the sights you left behind last year.

“Uh-huh.” Jacaerys nods with a smug smile on his face. “Sure,” he quips. “You are such a girl.”

You roll your eyes and wave him off before you get ahead of the group and lead the way to a distant clearing where you’ll have lunch. “A few months back,” you share to fill the silence and avoid your previous topic. “I was at the market street and on our way back I ran into this Red priestess.”

“A witch,” Jacaerys corrects you, causing you to turn around and counter.

“No, a red priestess. Calling them witches is kind of mean.”

Jacaerys scoffs and turns to Cregan for support. “I say witches, what do you call them here, Lord Stark?”

Said man grabs his blade hooked on his belt and meets your brother's gaze with a hidden smugness behind his eyes. “Witches, but sometimes we call them pretenders, depending on the price.”

Jacaerys chuckles and you know they’re obviously just working against you so you choose to ignore the negativity and go on. “Anyway!” You exclaim and twirl back around. “She told me my future. She said…” you leave them with anticipation for a few seconds before you share what you were told. “I would have seven kids.”

“Gods,” Jacaerys murmurs.

“Mhmm.”

“Now,” Jacaerys cuts in and rushes over to fall by your side, leading Cregan to fall on your other side—“Who will give you all these children if your husband dies in this war?”

Without as much as thinking you turn to your brother and nudge his chest to make him think it’s something you planned when really you’re just teasing him. Kind of. “You. We could get married.”

Your brother's face falls and he immediately shakes his head and turns you down bluntly. “No. I would not marry you.”

“Oh right, there’s Baela,” you point out and grab your chin as you think deeply. “Well…I could take her. She’s quite terrifying, but yes,” you nod and look back at your brother. “I can take her in both a dragon fight and hand-to-hand combat…I think.”

Jacaerys' nose scrunches and he shakes his head again. “No, I would not marry you! You are…you.”

You look around confused and pick on that considering your house is known to marry within the family to keep the bloodlines pure. Aegon and Helaena are married.

“So?”

Jacaerys parts his lips but he can’t think of a strong argument that will beat the truth. Yet you do take a good look at Jacaerys and find an excuse. “You are right,” you mutter. “We could not, I do favor taller men, thus maybe...” you trail off to think, leaving Jacaerys offended by your bold comment.

“A Prince from Yi Ti with a house made of gold,” Cregan finishes for you, making you snap your eyes at him and smile slowly in amusement.

“Funny,” you hold back your laugh. “Very funny.”

He rolls his head down and hides his smile.

Gods laughing with him is so much better in person. He can be very funny in a serious way that only makes what he says or does that much funnier.

“She also let me see in the fire,” you continue to share more excitedly now. “And what I saw was a girl—”

“Wait, wait,” Jacaerys cuts you off and wipes away his smile. “Now when this priestess of yours talked to you, was she on the other side of this fire?”

You look away and bite your cheek before you lie by shaking your head as a response.

Albeit Cregan knows you well and points you out. “Liar.”

“Yes, fine!” You exclaim and gently nudge him away. “She was at the other side, but it was not her that I saw, it was a girl with silver hair,” you catch your brother's serious attention now. “She…stood on top of a mountain covered in snow, ashes, and death.”

Cregan’s own amusement falls and your brother doesn’t dare to tease you now, so you go on.

“All brought by…<A long winter,>,” you finish in High Valyrian to mirror the way the Red Priestess told you before you repeat in the common tongue. “A long winter.”

Both men look at you but one doesn’t look at you with disbelief, nor fear, he’s serious and deep in thought, while your brother lets out a dry laugh and shakes his head to try and deny what you shared.

“I believe it,” you defend yourself and what you saw in that fire because it was clear as day as if you were seeing a memory that hasn’t happened.

“I also believe what this old man said about Ice dragons living past the wall,” you tell your brother, and Cregan interjects right away.

“Old man Thomas is known for tall tales. There are things that are true, but what he says is not.”

You shrug. “He’s well-traveled, why wouldn’t it be true?” You rebuttal and lean towards him.

“Because,” Cregan argues and leans towards you. “He likes attention. And he’s drunk all the time.”

“A drunk man is less likely to lie, you know that because you don’t lie when you’re drunk.”

His lips twitch and before he can respond with something in his defense his eyes turn to your brother at your other side. You discreetly follow his line of gaze and catch your brother's attention so you play it off quickly.

“All I’m saying is I believe what I saw, it may not happen in our lifetime, but it’s in our future,”

A short silence follows that only works to make you grow nervous over what your brother might’ve just thought. But he thankfully brushes you off.

“Maybe but you probably got ripped off by a fake witch.”

Once again you choose to ignore this negativity spouted by your brother and instead drift your attention to lunch, and since Cregan was more in charge of guiding Jacaerys, he didn’t catch anything. All you have is the single fish you caught and the rabbits Jacaerys caught, but neither one of you wants to skin them, so you eat a small lunch and share the fish over a quite fun moment where you, unfortunately, don't receive an answer from Cregan, regarding what he’s willing to offer your mother.

You hoped he’d finally say it during supper, but supper came and passed, and nothing. That lack of response followed until the next two days too, leaving your brother quite impatient now.

“What have you told him?” Jacaerys greets you ever so warmly.

“What have I told who?” You pretend to act clueless while you pick a square cake from the tray and study it before you plop it into your mouth.

“Lord Stark,” he snaps.

You knew he was getting to that since you spotted him stomping over to you and Astraea, but you had hoped he wouldn’t get to it yet.

“It's been days and you said you would talk to him! We don’t have days to waste,” he remarks and spats out your name before going on to give you a mean reminder. “We need to leave and we have nothing.”

You don’t intend to sit up or fix your gaze on your brother, you keep yourself against your dragon's large arm and respond calmly. “He promised he would give us an answer—”

“When?” Jacaerys cuts you off and crouches down to take the tray of cake from you. “When?”

You drag your eyes up and nonchalantly answer. “He cannot pull the army out of his ass, Jacaerys. We have to wait, if he promised he would do something he is going to do it.”

Your brother rolls his eyes and turns away to let out a frustrated breath. “There's a difference between saying a promise and actually committing to it. I do not know how close you are or if you have actually talked to him, but you need to figure something out, that is why you are here.” He mutters.

You watch him knowing that he has a right to be annoyed, Lady Arryn gave you her answer quite quickly, and you’ve been in Winterfell for days but still haven’t received a word on what Cregan will give to support his Queen, but you also trust Cregan, you know he’s going to do what he says, you just need to wait.

“I’ll talk to him again,” you assure him. “If he doesn’t give anything then we’ll return home with his simple loyalty.”

Jacaerys rests his hand on his hip and lets out a deep breath. “All right, that sounds good.”

You sigh and nod, letting a silence linger for a moment before you lean forward. “Can I get those back?”

“What?” He breathes out and turns all dramatically with his cloak twirling with him.

“My cake pieces,” you point at the tray in his hand with your eyes.

Jacaerys passes you a judgmental look before he leans over and lets you take the tray he took.

“Aemond found me,” you let him know of the raven that came to you this morning. “He said ‘come home at once’. Shorter than the last one but still persistent.” You giggle.

Jacaerys walks over to sit next to you against a sleeping Astraea. “Will you?” He asks with genuine curiosity.

You take a cake piece and shake your head. “No…our mother belongs on that throne and I am going to stand by that,” you say confidently now that you know where you want to stand. “He can try to take me by force if he wants, but I am going to fight for her.”

Jacaerys looks over at you with a faint smile and nods in comprehension. “I’m glad to hear it.”

You mirror his smile and offer him a piece of cake. As he takes one a memory creeps in and your smile widens before you can tell it to him. “Do you remember a few years ago, when Lucerys disowned me because he thought I ate the last piece of lemon cake?”

Midchew Jacaerys loses himself in thought before he snorts, spitting out pieces of cake, and causing you to scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Ew,” you grumble and he interjects abruptly.

“Yes! I remember he’s like you cannot be my sister anymore because you are selfish and you ate it all!” He mocks your younger brother.

You giggle and nod, but before you can add to that shared memory Astraea suddenly raises her head, bringing Jacaerys and you to a pause to look over; noticing none other than Cregan approaching.

When he’s near he bows his head and greets the both of you on the ground. “Good day, my princess, my prince.”

You smile at him and greet him for both Jacaerys and you. “Good day. It is nice to see your face today, we ate lunch and breakfast alone.”

Cregan bows his head again. “I am terribly sorry, I have been busy all day, I only barely got out.”

You remember his long days, on some terribly long ones, he wouldn't be let out until it was time to go to bed. You would usually meet him in his chambers on those days and just lay down enjoying each other's company. Today all you can do is look at each other as nothing but old friends.

“I hope your day has not been dull,” Cregan worries.

You shake your head. “No, we were just reminiscing about a day of our childhood when,” you snicker and go on. “Our little brother Lucerys disowned me because he thought I ate the last piece of lemon cake.”

Jacaerys nods and continues the story for you. “We both knew there was more so she pretended to leave. Our mother came in a few moments later with more and Lucerys completely freaked,” Jacaerys laughs and stands up as if that would change the way he was telling it. “He started bawling and ran out to look for our sister.”

“When he found me,” you finish the story. “He’s like I am so sorry, I never meant what I said. Come back, do not leave us. You can have as much cake as you want!” You finish with a laugh and Jacaerys joins you.

“That sounds like quite a memory,” Cregan says and reaches out to pat your dragon's snout since she leans towards him with dilated eyes. “Did your mother say anything?”

You and Jacaerys stare at one another in search of the answer, but you can’t recall.

“Not that I remember,” you mention and look back at Cregan. “But it was quite a memory. Lucerys is a sweetheart.”

Cregan hums and Astraea groans softly in response to his touch.

“Oh, maybe you needed something, my Lord?” Jacaerys only asks now.

“Well,” Cregan sighs. “I only wanted to invite the both of you to Castle Black on the morrow so you could see the wall, My Prince. Just before you leave, that is.”

You and your brother share a hopeful look and even if Jacaerys was quite impatient to leave, now he accepts Cregan's invitation. “I have always wanted to see the wall. It would be a pleasure.”

“Good, we will leave at first light then.” Cregan lets you both know and leaves you hoping for a good response that will hopefully make your mother proud.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Who’s the 2nd heart of fire? A new character we’re getting soon, or someone else

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me

[yurinaa-world]

Hellooo :D hope ur having a great day :))) btw di u mind if you do an aventurine with a s/o like shenhe? Like shes known for being canonically beautiful and people are wondering how aven pulled a baddie hehehehe thanks so much and keep yourself healthy <333

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Aventurine x Gender-neutral Reader

𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a s/o that's like Shenhe

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: fluff, spelling mistakes

𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒

Just like how everyone wonders how he even got with you, so does he think that as well? Under his cocky attitude and confidence is he feels himself getting cold feet when he’s with you. What is it? He doesn’t know either.

He just absolutely loves showing you off to everyone not as his trophy but as his lover that can’t be bought or taken from him, and incomparable to another mistress that others bring with them to show off.

He’s romantic whenever you're in public. Kissing your hand, or making you choose what to bet on—don’t be nervous about messing up, you always end up winning—because you're his dear lucky charm.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Why don’t you place a bet for me.”

“Huh? Me?”

He wanted you to place a bet instead…if you mess he’ll end up just losing his high bet! Other people at the gambling table just laugh at his decision while looking disgusted along with their mistress giving the dirtiest look with the attention you were taking off from them. 

“I’m fine I’ll just mess it up.” “No no, come on, play. You’re my pretty lucky charm, aren’t you? Pick a number to bet on.”

Looking at the stack of chips he was going to lose so easily, it all just makes you so nervous. He takes your hand and places a chip in it before closing it up for you with a confident look on his face—just give you some confidence. 

In your eyes, the safest option would be to bet black, at least it gives you a 50/50 chance to at least win. All the other men and their mistresses at the table just laugh, deciding to increase the money they are betting. 

“Your loss, gentlemen.”

You felt your heart drop a little when the silver coin spun around the various black and red numbers.

“I told you, you’re the prettiest lucky charm here.” You just stare wide-eyed at your winnings. While Aventurine was smiling up at you, taking your hand that had the chip in it and kissed your knuckles.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[hopelessromantic5]

The tavern scene where Merlin is playing the King at dice and using his magic and it’s really fucking hot.

As Merlin looked around at their accumulating audience, he saw more than a few red cloaks.

So the knights had come to see their king brought to his knees, Merlin thought, chuckling to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur questioned boisterously.

“Nothing, sire.” Merlin singsonged with a smirk that he knew would only frustrate Arthur further. Merlin threw only a momentary glance to The Once and Future King who is soon to lose all of his silver challenging the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth at dice.

Merlin acted as if he were considering his bet, then stacked two piles of silver coins into the bowl.

Of course, Arthur just slung his about like he had no intention of losing it.

Think again, your royal pratship.

Arthur stepped back, next to Percival and Lancelot, to watch Merlin roll.

“Watch out. Here we go.” Though Merlin thought he saw something akin to doubt behind his King’s startlingly blue eyes.

This made Merlin smile like a fool.

The King is nervous to lose, he thought, at least he isn’t a complete moron.

Merlin schooled his face, and began to tumble the dice around in the cup. The sound almost like hooves on compact earth, or dangling talismans hung by Druids, tinkling together in the wind.

Merlin brought his hand holding the cup, up to his lips blowing air into it and letting just a little of his magic slip out.

“Ten.”

And as he knew they would, they dice rolled a perfect ten.

He laughed as irritation settled onto Arthur’s devilishly handsome face.

The king rounded the table, leaning over so his voice was heard only by Merlin’s ears.

“Enjoy this moment, Merlin. While it lasts.”

Merlin didn’t really hear it, though.

The instant that Arthur moved into his personal space, his servant was lost to the world. Distracted by soft lips twisted into a frown, a jawline chiseled from stone, and eyes too beautiful and kind for their own good.

There must be some magic there, Merlin thought. You can’t have eyes like that by the natural grace of the gods.

But if anyone were to be gifted with such a knee buckling appearance, King Arthur of Camelot was the one to deserve it.

Merlin had never seen him being untoward with any female prospects. Never saw him getting handsy with kitchen staff or lady’s maids. Merlin had never seen Arthur approach anyone in that way.

And, though sometimes he stupidly inappropriately wished it, Merlin had never seen Arthur take anyone back to his chambers.

Never once in the three years Merlin had been working for the spoiled prat of a king. Two of those years, Arthur was still a prince. Yet, he held none of the urges that people often berated when they spoke of the young. None that he gave into, anyway.

Merlin never claimed to know the inner workings on his kings mind, especially not in that area. With each passing season Merlin became more confused and less likely to broach the subject.

Not that he minded.

In fact he didn’t mind, at all.

Because there was the rather unfortunate fact that Merlin had been in love with Arthur Pendragon from the moment he laid eyes on him.

Arthur wasn’t drunk. But he had been drinking. Enough to let lingering doubts disappear into the back of his mind.

He thought about this, as he led the way to his chambers, Merlin following dutifully a few steps behind.

Merlin was completely sober.

Arthur knew because he watched Merlin all night, and the man never touched his cup, not once.

Arthur was determined. He was a King. He was supposed to look fear in the face and laugh.

He didn’t know how to handle fear in the form of the beautiful face of his magical manservant.

Merlin thought everything was normal.

Until the door closed behind him.

Arthur walked to the table, dropped his gloves on the surface, then turned to face Merlin with his arms crossed.

Gods, he was fit.

“Did you enjoy stealing all my money?”

Merlin tutted,

“Come now, sire. We both know that wasn’t anywhere near all your money.”

A chuckle left the Kings lips.

“That is not the point, Merlin.”

“And what is the point, sire?” Merlin was goading him and poking his buttons, unassuming of the bombshell that was about to be dropped in his lap.

Arthur was still smiling, but he narrowed his eyes, which put Merlin on alert. Merlin didn’t know this look. And he knew all of them. Well, almost all of them. He’d never seen this look before.

The King began to approach Merlin, slowly.

It didn’t take very long for him to reach his goal.

“The point, Merlin…” Arthur was very close now. His hopeless manservant was losing his breath, unable to look away from his gorgeous, awe-inspiring face. Merlin was boxed in by Arthur’s muscular arms, inches away from him face.

“…is that you cheated.”

Just like that, all the air was sucked out of the room.

Merlin couldn’t move, or speak, or get oxygen to his brain to make it function.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

Merlin watched as Arthur’s smile spread across his face.

He was…smiling?

Oh thank all the gods in all the heavens, he doesn’t hate me!

This is what Merlin’s inner voice was screaming to imaginary skies, until Arthur spoke again.

Merlin zeroed back in on the King’s eyes, and realized that the blue had been swallowed by black.

“You want to know something?” His voice is low and rough, and he was so close. Incredibly, impossibly close.

Merlin was not computing coherent words at the moment so he nodded, eager to know something. Anything. As long as it came from those lips.

Arthur moved in to hover his mouth just above Merlin’s skin. Right below his ear.

Merlin shivered involuntarily at the proximity, and the tease that The King of Camelot turned out to be.

“I’ve known for years, Merlin.”

Merlin might’ve been shocked, if his shock hasn’t been overrun by the way Arthur whispered his name. Like a siren song, begging him to come closer.

“But the way you looked in that tavern,”

Arthur’s breath kept caressing his skin in lapping waves and it was intoxicating. Merlin’s whole body was filled with want. He could feel it tingle in his fingertips and at the very top of his spine. Deep in his gut, where everything pooled to drag him under.

“I knew I had to have you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Arthur drew back, half lidded, smirking all-knowing.

Merlin didn’t know what he looked like but it must be a sight.

“That is, if you’ll have me.”

Merlin swallowed the past the lump in his throat before speaking, or whispering. Even if every part of him thrummed with this feeling, there was always a chance of everything crumbling. Nothing was certain, until it was.

“I am yours.” He hoped his eyes conveyed everything he ever held in, Arthur could always read his eyes.

[libraryofgage]

Mermaid/Pirate Steddie Part Three

Part One | Part Two

I got side-lined by the Modern Steve in 80s Hawkins fic for a hot minute (that big boi is at, like, 73k; he hefty), but here's the next part!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

In the port city of Socotra, past the first big plaza and down a few side streets, is a small two-story shop with a sign that reads "C. C. Elixirs and Solutions." The shop is owned by a very nice young witch named Chrissy Cunningham who, currently, is doing her absolute best to not laugh in Eddie's face as he spins his tale of accidentally entering into courtship with a merman.

"Anyway," Eddie says, pacing in front of the counter with his hands splayed and his hair a mess, "I was wondering if you'd have anything that could help me."

Chrissy covers her mouth, swallowing down the bursts of laughter threatening to bubble up her throat. After a moment, she asks, "With what, exactly?"

Eddie turns to look at her, gesturing to the shop as a whole. "C’mon, Chrissy, you gotta have something here for me, right? Like, I don't know, a fucking manual or whatever."

"Of course I don't have a...," Chrissy trails off, frowning slightly as she looks at the storeroom door behind her. She's getting a very familiar feeling. It settles at the top of her spine like a shiver that's just waiting and waiting to happen but never does. Usually, this means something.

"Give me a second," she says, barely hearing Eddie's agreement before she heads into the back.

Her storeroom is a chaotic mess that only makes sense to Chrissy. Precarious stacks of books are randomly scattered across the floor, some of them holding plants or knickknacks on top. A few tables are filled with potion ingredients, magical artifacts that still need cataloging, half-filled notebooks, and dozens of pens. A few bookcases line the walls, and Chrissy wanders over to one of them.

She scans the spines, passing over books about fae marriage customs, common selkie family traditions, and in-depth essays analyzing Phoenix mating dances. Finally, her gaze lands on a thin, unassuming book. Its cover is made of sea-foam green leather, with waves etched into the spine instead of words. When Chrissy pulls it off the shelf, the front cover is blank. She doesn't remember getting this book, but this can happen in magic shops. Sometimes items just appear where they know they'll be needed.

Chrissy flips the book open, landing on the front page and grinning at the dedication that reads, "To all the hapless fools in love with a sea dragon's descendant. Here's to hoping you don't royally fuck it up."

Yeah, that's perfect.

She heads back to the front of the shop, immediately noticing that Eddie has placed trinkets and rocks on the counter. She recognizes a few of her protection charms (made of genuine silver, she'd like to add), some quartz of varying colors, and a ring set with a prismatic shard. Chrissy stares at the items before looking up at Eddie with a raised eyebrow.

"Stevie would love all of these," Eddie says, shrugging with absolutely no remorse or shame as he drops a coin purse onto the counter.

Chrissy sighs and digs a few coins out, ensuring they're all gold and all real by biting them before nodding. "You know, land-based magical items don't actually work on merfolk," she says, pushing the purse back to Eddie as she places the book on the counter as well. "So those protection charms and that prismatic ring won't do anything for him."

"Yeah, but they're pretty. He'll like them," Eddie insists. He then notices the book, and his eyes light up hopefully. "Did you find something?"

"Yep, seems to be exactly what you need," she says, sliding it closer to him and watching as he opens it to a random page.

"A common practice among merfolk is to collect trinkets during their pod's travels. Some trinkets won't be personally interesting to the merperson, but can be later used as courting gifts if they're relevant to the intended mate's interests or likes," Eddie reads, tilting his head slightly with a genuine interest that Chrissy usually only sees when he discusses new songs he's learned during his travels.

"Consider that one on the house. But I expect to meet this merman once you've finished your honeymoon phase," Chrissy says, pulling out a small velvet bag and placing the other items inside.

She gives it to Eddie, smiling once more when he nods, digs into his pockets, and drops another small pouch onto the counter. "Almost forgot. Here's some of that 500 year old ginseng you mentioned before," he says.

Chrissy blinks, staring at the pouch. Before she can say anything (like, for example, demanding to know how Eddie got his hands on so much of such a rare ingredient that only the most qualified of practitioners can even dream about seeing), Eddie has gathered his things and practically run out of the shop with a hurried goodbye thrown over his shoulder.

Excerpt from "The Lovelorn Fool's Guide to Merfolk Courtship"

The most important thing to know about courting merfolk is the levels of courtship, of which there are three. In order, they are:

Gift-giving: merfolk collect various trinkets throughout their life, including items they personally do not find interesting. Upon finding a potential mate, they will go through their collection and gift items they think the potential mate will like. To learn more about trinket collection, refer to Part II.

Harmonizing: unsurprisingly, singing is important to merfolk. In addition to being an enjoyable pastime, singing is another mode of communication. The ability to harmonize with a potential mate is vital, as it proves the two are well-matched. To learn more about song types, refer to Part III.

Pod Introduction: the final stage of merfolk courtship, pod introduction is the most important. Pods are sacred, and introducing a potential mate to the pod is an incredible show of trust and commitment. To learn more about pods and their structure, refer to Part IV.

Of these levels, gift-giving often takes the longest. Some merfolk give hundreds of gifts before moving to harmonizing, and others give one. Be patient and try to return each gift you receive.

While these are the levels of courtship, the actual establishment of mateship (consider this the merfolk equivalent of marriage, only it's far more permanent), involves the gifting of scales.

You can find more on this in Part V.

----

Steve stares longingly at the small window in Eddie's cabin, tracking the clouds and lingering on birds that soar by. He knows he can't be on the deck when they've docked, but scales, he's bored.

Are his guppies bored, too? Do they still play games, or are they too worried about Steve to sweep through the waters? Has Robin lost a few scales from exhaustion and stress? How quickly after hugging him is she going to kill him for being away for so long?

With a sigh, Steve drags his eyes away from the window and looks at his tail. Kelp is still wrapped around the wound, but he knows it's almost healed. He can flick his fins without hurting, and the wound has mostly scabbed over, fresh scales beginning to creep over the cut. Maybe a few more nights, and Steve will be ready to jump back into the ocean and find his pod and guppies again.

But that would mean leaving Eddie behind, and...Steve really doesn't want to do that. Because Eddie is the closest Steve has ever actually come to finding a potential mate.

He starts to sink into the water to submerge his head beneath the surface so his disgruntled and stressed air bubbles can rise from his gills. Before he can fully slide under the surface, though, Steve hears the familiar sound of Eddie's excited, hurried footsteps.

Steve perks up, gripping the edge of the tub as Eddie slams into the door, cursing at the pain as he opens it and stumbles inside. He looks at Steve immediately, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide and a grin tugging at his lips to reveal dimples. He's carrying a small pouch in one hand and a book with a sea-foam green cover in the other.

"Stevie!" he says, kicking the door closed and walking over to the tub, "I got you stuff."

With that, Eddie crouches in front of the tub and holds the pouch out to Steve. He doesn't seem to notice how Steve's gills flutter, air pushing out in an excited, flustered pattern that would have made Robin tease him. Eddie doesn't know that, though, so Steve tries to ignore his gills and takes the pouch.

He opens it carefully, his gaze immediately caught on a ring set with a rainbow-colored stone. Steve's eyes widen, his mind swirling around the pretty color and how well it matches his tail and how it looks to be the perfect size and how it would still glitter even when Steve is deeper than the sun can reach.

He pulls the ring out, turning it over a few times before sliding it onto his left ring finger. He was right; it fits perfectly. It has a strange but ultimately harmless magic attached to it. Steve grins brightly, a small, barely noticeable hum bubbling from his throat as he looks back into the bag.

He pulls out each rock, studies them intently, and approves of their color and shimmer. With a nod, Steve places them carefully in the tub, clustering them on the left side of his tail, the side further from the door, for protection.

Finally, Steve pulls out a few of the protection charms. They're small and made of a material Steve immediately recognizes as something that tarnishes in water. He really likes them, though, and it would be a shame to not use them for something.

"Eddie," he says, looking up to see Eddie staring at him, his excited smile turning dopey.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" he asks, leaning forward and resting his arms on the tub.

Steve leans forward, taking a lock of Eddie's hair and studying it carefully. After a few seconds, he decides it's good enough. "Turn around?" he asks, his gills fluttering again when Eddie does so without question. After taking a second to calm himself, Steve asks, "Can I do your hair?"

Eddie hums, leaning his neck on the rim of the tub, giving Steve full access to his hair, the ends of which are dipping into the water. "Of course, Stevie. Whatcha wanna do?" he asks.

"It's a surprise," Steve tells him, moving some until he's partially sitting on his tail so he can properly face Eddie's hair. He places the pouch on the edge of the tub, letting it precariously balance, before running his fingers through Eddie's hair.

He's done this enough times for Max to know how to fix tangles without pulling. As he works, Steve relaxes, falling into a familiar rhythm, and starts to hum softly. It's a lullaby, one that he doesn't get to sing the guppies to sleep with anymore, but they tolerate it when he's caring for wounds or helping them scrub their tails or braiding their hair.

Steve divides Eddie's hair into sections and starts braiding. Every other inch, Steve takes one of the charms from the pouch and braids it into Eddie's hair. By the time he's done, the braid is decorated with silver charms, standing out nicely against Eddie's brown hair.

"Okay," he says, using a thin piece of kelp to tie off the braid, "It looks good."

Eddie hums, reaching back and carefully running his fingers over the braid. Steve watches, suppressing the urge to grab Eddie's hand. "Did you not like them?" Eddie asks, dropping his hand and turning around. The charms clink against each other, creating a quiet song that makes Steve's heart light and happy.

"I liked them," Steve says, pushing the pouch on the edge of the tub into Eddie's lap. "They tarnish in water, though. And their magic felt too strange. They look better on you."

"So, you gave me a gift?" Eddie asks, his smile hopeful and his eyes bright. Steve can't help returning the smile with a nod. In response, Eddie leans forward even further, like he's acting on impulse more than anything else, and presses his lips to Steve's cheek.

Steve's eyes widen, his gills burst, and his ear fins flare in response. To the untrained (human) eye, his reaction is similar to a cat puffing and bristling when faced with a threat. To the trained eye (Robin. And other merfolk, but mostly Robin), Steve's reaction is entirely common for especially flustered merfolk.

It's never happened to Steve before, and that just makes him feel more flustered. He doesn't want Eddie to see his flared fins, so he does the first thing he thinks of; Steve pushes forward and wraps his arms around Eddie's shoulders, hugging him tightly so he can't pull away. "Thanks," he mumbles, "for the gifts, I mean."

He hears Eddie laugh and feels Eddie's hands slide across his side and to his back to return the hug. "Of course, Stevie," Eddie replies, his breath warm against Steve's gills and sending a subtle shiver down Steve's spine. "I'm glad you like them."

Steve is gone. He can't imagine being away from Eddie. He can already see Eddie and the guppies meeting, and he can see Robin fucking with Eddie just to see how he reacts. Steve can see Eddie in the water with him, grinning as his hair floats around them. Steve can see Eddie and him lying together on a beach, warm on the sand and basking in the sun.

Most of all, Steve can imagine giving Eddie a necklace or bracelet of his scales. Maybe that should scare or worry him, but all Steve can feel is excited and warm, and he's more than happy to bask in that feeling for a while.

----

Tag List (the tag list is full! I wasn't able to fit everyone, so if you aren't on here, I'd suggest following #high seas steddie. I think you should still get updates on your dash if you do)

@mugloversonly, @raisedbylibrarians, @thegirlwiththelibrarybag, @savory-babby, @vankaar, @beckkthewreck, @itcanbepalped, @imfinereallyy, @finntheehumaneater, @mightbeasleep, @weekend-dreamer7

@whenindoubtb72, @troublemaker2azz, @just-a-tiny-void, @upallnightogetloki, @mxmakessense, @ellietheasexylibrarian, @haelreadsshit, @y4r3luv, @starman-jpg, @littlewildflowerkitten, @estrellami-1, @stevieschrodinger, @gaelicblue, @they-reap-what-we-sow

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[cliozaur]

Regarding Money in Les Misérables or the Weight of Valjean's Capital

Valjean’s capital, kept in banknotes and hidden in a chest in the forest, was actually the most practical way for him to store it. He could have withdrawn it in coins—more secure and enduring silver or gold—but 630,000 francs in silver would have weighed over three tons, and around 211 kg in gold. Even a man as strong as Valjean couldn’t carry that from Paris to Montfermeil! Instead, he had 630 1,000-franc banknotes: a stack about the size of a large novel, which fit neatly into the chest.

However, keeping wealth in paper money was a risky endeavour. The French were deeply suspicious of banknotes, having suffered from hyperinflation during the Revolutionary period. (Revolutionary assignats were only good as souvenirs: Fauchelevent pinned a counter-revolutionary note to his hut wall, and Grantaire kept a revolutionary one in his desk drawer.) When Valjean withdrew a 1,000-franc banknote from the lining of his yellow coat, his portress grew highly suspicious—not least because he didn’t look like a lawful millionaire. She gossiped about it, and this rumour reached the police, drawing Javert’s attention to Valjean.

It was miraculous that no inflation occurred over the 10 years Valjean’s money was stashed in the forest, allowing Hugo to jest that it was, in fact, the safest way to keep your money.

[dullgecko]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

Gooooood fucking damnit i wasnt planning on writing more but im like a dog doing backflips for bacon bits. Cant help myself. Comments are my kryptonite.

------------------------

His friends didn't end up going back to school that day, Sklonda leaving the door to Riz's room cracked so they could watch him as they sat quietly in the living room. Gorgug, Adaine and Fig left at one point to go to the store, returning over an hour later with some snacks, a new lightbulb for the ceiling light which Gorgug replaced without comment, and an entire new locking mechanism for the door (once Gorgug gave up trying to fix the current one) including spare keys for all of them. All of which was paid for with a large handful of silver coins from Fabians wallet, though the fighter had refused to go with them as he stayed watching vigil with Kristen over their sick friend in case he got worse.

Kristen had tried using greater restoration on the sleeping goblin and it seemed to help, his breathing getting a little easier though his temperature still remained rather high as he continued to try and sleep off the virus. She seemed somewhat satisfied with being able to at least do that much, eventually leaving with Adaine and Fig when Jawbone came to pick them up once it got dark. Adaine sneaking into Riz's room to place Boggy in his arms before leaving. The rogue sleeping lightly enough that he was able to mutter a quiet thanks to his wizard friend as he curled around the familiar and pressed his burning forehead against the cold presense.

Fabian and Gorgug had stayed longer still, Riz himself being the one to tell them to go home when he dragged himself out of bed to go use the bathroom and noticed them still hanging out in his apartment. He was still swaying a little on his feet as he walked, face pale and skin hot to the touch as he ineffectivly shoved them both towards the door. Even if he wasn't sick he'd never be strong enough to push them but they got the hint. Relenting only after watching him take another dose of the powdered medicine before he shuffled back to his room to sleep some more.

The half-elf was still frowning and worried when he finally got home, the Hangman seeming to pick up on his pensive nature and not making any comment as Fabian dismounted. Simply nudging against his hand before turning to go put itself away in the garage. He tried to school his features into a more neautral mask as he entered his house but his discomfort must have been fairly obvious. Cathilda stopping in her tracks as she scurried past him carrying an armfull of perfectly folded towels.

"What's wrong dearie you look upset?" She had to turn sideways to look at him, the pile of towels in her arms easily reaching over her head and swaying slightly when she stopped walking.

"Oh it's nothing~" Fabian waved a hand, trying to look flippant before reaching out to still the dangerously teetering pile before it fell over. "The Ball is quite ill at the moment and I was mearly thinking about something. He's got quite a fever but I'm sure he'll be fine by tomorrow."

The halfling pursed her lips, drawing them into a thin line as she looked up at Fabian from behind the pile. "Oh dear. Isn't often that you'll see a goblin actually sick. They're quite hearty folk y'know, up until they aren't. I've seen more than a few go down that way."

"Pardon?" Fabian blinked, reaching down to take the top three-quarters of the stack off Cathilda when she started walking again. Mostly so he had an excuse to follow her and get more information on that rather concerning little tidbit she'd just dropped.

"Oh yes, poor dears are built tough. They have to be to live up in those dreadful mountains. Headaches and exhaustion are run of the mill but if they get proper ill they're not able to keep much of anything down. They get so weak from lack of food that their wee hearts just give out trying to fight off the sickness." She sighed, directing Fabian where to deposit the clean towels as she lead him from guest bathroom to guest bathroom as they talked.

"And how long does that usually take?" The half-elf hoped his voice was managing to stay even, maybe with more of a curious tone, but it was starting to rise a little bit with restrained panic.

"Ohhh I saw one lad, Grilbak I think his name was, went down in one night. Spiked a nasty fever and was gone before he woke up again. Though he hadn't eaten for a few days at that point, you know what goblins are like, and we had no medicine on board for him when he first took ill." She pat Fabians leg, finally clocking that he was probably not doing well with talk like this. "BUT I'm sure your wee rogue will be fine. Perhaps we can send him over some weak soup, they're usually okay keeping that down."

Fabian swallowed around a lump in his throat, mouth feeling a little dry as he nodded and put down the last of the towels where he was directed. "That sounds like an excellent idea. He certainly didn't eat anything while we were there so he must be ravenous by now."

---------------------------

Fabian felt a little bit stupid, standing outside The Balls house at 11pm, holding a bag with several tupperware containers inside and texting his crystal. Riz didn't answer, but given he'd probably muted his crystal after the last flurry of group texts Fabian wasnt surprised. He didn't want to just barge in... for the second time in one day... so he instead texted the number he'd procured earlier from Sklonda (in case of The-Ball-Isnt-Answering emergencies).

She was apparently out of the house and attending her night classes, Riz having gotten up at some point and assuring her he'd be fine by himself for a couple hours and that her classes were important. Sklonda giving Fabian permission to go check on their rogue since she'd be out for a few more hours yet.

At least this time he didn't have to kick in the door to get in, simply unlocking it with the spare key Gorgug had gotten cut for each of them when he replaced the lock and slipping inside.

He was surprised that it wasn't completely dark inside when he entered, the living room lit by the old television set against one wall. There wasnt any sound though, it seemed that whoever was watching had muted it before lying down on the couch.

The half-elf tried to sneakily hide one of the larger containers of soup in the fridge, blinking in surprise when he noticed that there were several other still-slightly-warm mismatched containers already inside. He shoved them around on the shelf to make room, depositing all but the thermos he'd brought with him onto the shelf and shutting the door.

"Fabian? Didn' you go home?" A slightly croaky and sleepy voice drifted over from the couch, Fabian only able to see where Riz was from the light reflecting off his eyes like a cat in torchlight. "Ah yes... but Cathilda thought I should bring you some soup. She was quite worried so I obliged." Fabian held up the thermos, heading over to the couch and sitting down on the end oposite of where Riz was curled up. The goblin still clutching Boggy in his lap as he sighed and dropped his head back against the arm of the couch.

"Gods there is so much soup. We'll be eating soup for a week." Riz closed his eyes, tail flicking backwards and forwards at the tip where he had it draped over the edge of the seat. "Jawbone came back and dropped off a bunch from the girls. 'm not sure how safe Kristens is but she says her corn-soup is usually pretty... non-murdery."

"Ah, well, if you don't wish to battle another corn monster we have stocked your provisions with some chicken noodle as well." Fabian leaned forwards to put the thermos down on the low coffee table but stopped when Riz held his hand out towards him and made a 'gimme' gesture. The fighter instead handing off the thermos to the goblin who took it with one hand, the other putting Boggy down on the ground so he could sit up and open the lid.

Fabian tried his level best to look like he was interested in what was going on on the television, eye flicking over to watch as Riz made a valiant effort to drink some of the soup before giving up and screwing the lid back on when the thermos was half-empty. He certainly wasn't consuming it with his usualy gusto but it made the half-elf feel a little better knowing he had something in his stomach now.

"Thanks that was... nice." Riz rubbed a hand over his face, leaving the thermos on the couch where he'd been sitting as he skootched over to where Fabian was instead. The rogue fully clambering over his leg to curl up on his lap with his head pillowed against the arm-rest of the couch.

Fabian had frozen when Riz started climbing over him, a protest at the action dying the back of his throat when his smaller teammate tucked himself into a tight circle and closed his eyes. The fighters arm hovering in the air above him for a long moment before he brought it back down to rest against his side where he could feel his chest rising and falling with every breath.

The goblin was still very warm to the touch, nowhere near as bad as he'd been when he tried to shove them out the door earlier but it was still concerning. The cuddling was also rather out of character, sure Riz would climb all over them whenever he was awake but when sleeping he tended not to want anything to do with anyone. Even during sleepovers he would post himself up nearby but not quite touching any of his teammates as he dozed. Fabian decided to chalk it up to Riz probably being still a little delerious and weird from the fever and didn't try to shove him away.

There was only one small problem he found himself confronting now though. He had been planing on leaving once he dropped off the soup but he couldnt very well wake Riz if he had fallen back asleep. The fighter ended up trapped there until morning when Riz's fever finally broke and the goblin had slunk away from him in mortified embarasment. Fabian complaining bitterly of the cramp in his neck from sleeping in a seated position for days afterwards.

[hannahssimblr]

A sliver of light hovers above the horizon. A glow, hardly even there, rests atop the sea as waves drag rounded pebbles along the shore with a soft shh. I can’t sleep. I crawled out of bed after three and walked straight to the water's edge without shoes, to find the sand cool and white beneath the glow of the quarter moon. I sit watching the sun graze the bottom of the sky like paint bleeding onto tissue. 

Sleep evades me sometimes for reasons I cannot explain. Insomnia arrives like this. It's like all those intense feelings and urges in my body. I can't verbalise them. I sit in boxer shorts and a hoodie on this final spit of beach before the coast turns to a cliff, and try to think of some poignant reason for my lack of sleep, only to come up with everything. There are a million reasons why. All the time, all at once, but then why only sometimes? And why tonight in particular?

Sometime around four, I change into a pair of shorts and run the length of the beach as the sun rises, pushing myself until sweat rolls from my body and there is fire in my lungs. I return to my end of the beach on shaky legs and take my clothes off, all of them, because the beach house is quiet and nobody is watching. Then I wade into the sea and float there with the waves lapping under my chin until the early birds sing and my hands and feet go numb. 

After a shower I collapse on my bed and sleep until close to midday, when I wake up to an empty house, starving, and with no food in the fridge. There is a message on my phone from Jen. 

Good morning lazy bones  Gone to the tennis court and then we’ll be on the beach, probably  See you around later? 

I forage the cupboards for something, but by the looks of it, the last of the food has been ravaged by the others, leaving nothing behind but crumbs and dirty plates, stacked up in the sink as usual. Someone should clean that eventually. 

When I locate my wallet among the random books and electronics heaped on the kitchen table, I zip open the coin pocket to find just a twenty-cent piece and a few useless coppers. I used the last of the money on my debit card at the petrol station yesterday. I know because I tried to buy some snacks and the only thing I could afford was cherry cola Tic Tacs which were rationed out between the three of us. I swear under my breath and call my dad. 

He’s already pissed off when he picks up. 

“Jude, what is it? I’m in the middle of something.”

“I need more money.”

“Already? What are you doing down there? I bet you’re putting it all into those stupid arcade machines, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m eighteen years old. I’m not doing that.” I’m also banned from the arcade, which he should know after the interminable speech he gave me about decorum and respect in the aftermath. 

“I put five hundred euros on that card.”

“Yeah, I dunno, I used it.”

“It was supposed to last the entire summer.”

I sigh, “It didn’t.” As he’s ranting in my right ear, I begin to wonder what I really did do with all the money. I suppose there was all of the alcohol, the takeaways, the junk food, that PlayStation game I bought, and the earphones for my iPod since I was careless with my old ones on the beach. Oh yeah, and I bought those running shoes too. I suppose that wasn’t a necessary purchase, I just wanted them.

Yesterday I bought everything for Jen and Evie, all of their tickets, food and drinks… I have a vague, passing thought that I might not be very good at managing money and that maybe I should have done accounting or something at school like my mom suggested instead of randomly choosing geography. I’m also aware that it’s completely fine. Once Christopher has finished going on about it he’ll simply send more. We just have to go through this charade first.

I wait for a gap in his mad diatribe and say casually, “So can you send me some?”

There’s a clatter in the background and I imagine him tossing his little weighty engraved silver pen across his desk. He grits his teeth, “What do you need?”

“I dunno, another few hundred. I want to book tickets to this festival in August, too, I think they’re, like, two-fifty, so.”

“A festival?” He really doesn't need to act like we’re discussing satanic rituals, but I continue as though I'm talking to a normal man. 

“Yeah, I want to enjoy my last summer in Ireland and all that.”

He makes some flabbergasted sound in response, which is obviously stupid because he has all the money in the world, and this whole thing is an exercise in control and power.

“So, a thousand?” I venture, resting my phone on my shoulder so I can pick some dirt out from under my nails. 

“Yes. Later.”

“No, I need it now, there’s no food in the house and I’m hungry.”

He taps furiously on the keyboard of his computer, “Fine.”

“Hm?”

“Fine. I said fine. I’m transferring it.”

“Thanks.”

The line goes dead. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[worksmarter4yourfuture]

undefined

Benjamin Franklin 9 Coin Set Grand Opening Special

Very rare limited edition Silver Coin Set - less than 776 sets in existence!  This falls into our Legacy Collection as one that you could pass down to future generations.

[hardassetlife]

The PathFinder 8/23/23

Some days with an analog system can test your mettle. Today is one of those days. Adding on a base count, twice, while the market drifts up the stairs requires some tostones. It also courts danger. Nevertheless, BOT 2 20OCT23 $SPY $439 PUTS @ $9.40 BOT 2 20OCT23 $SPY $441 PUTS @ $8.95

[itsravenbitch]

I'm done. I'm done with the struggle, I'm done being afraid of my own power. I'm getting in the void today and living the life of my dreams.

I scripted it already. I just want to slide right into my new life with ease. Investments have paid off. I have millions. My financial paperwork will be tucked in the safe in my closet along with some 10k stacks of USD, EUR, GBP, and CNY...30 gold bars and stacks of nicely stored Silver Coins. Throw in some Copper Couns and Titanium Bars for diversity. Self storage cause I'm a Dragon.

In this safe the paperwork will be for my equity portfolios in Blackrock and Fidelity as well as my automatic Treasury Bill portfolios which churn about $10million of liquid USD in interest generated income (currently 600k a year). I'll also have the check books for my 10 liquid cash bank accounts/money market accounts, which always have 250k in them each...my independent financial advisor in NYC makes sure of it...also my tax guy. I visit with them once a month and take a long weekend to enjoy NYC and New England.

I haven't bought any houses yet. Still shopping. Still wondering where I want my routines to be set. But I will be in the process of buying my Mother and Sister properties...also setting up some cash transfers for my friends...anonymously ofc. They'll know I'm good, but I'm keeping all my shit private.

I'm gonna be a dragon. One unified by light and dark. A witch. A curator. An explorer of the multiverse. I will spoil TF outta my family and friends. Live by example and inspire others. Explore all studies of this reality concept and make my life a masterful piece of art. I'm not a gaudy rich person, I'm intentional and tasteful. Luxury that is feng shui.

I've been here all along. And I'm now getting in the vehicle that will ground me into this reality.

ain’t gon lie you kinda lost me.. but i love to see ppl finally be done w the bullshit of the same cycle

[llamamamarisen92]

The writing prompt:

Here we go with a little God Gale fanfic:

Shinurah was in the kitchen washing dishes. Despite being the consort of a god she still treasured mundane tasks that reminded her of a life that was much simpler. Gale was often gone to attend to his realm. His time in the Heavens stretching longer each time he disappeared.

"He still loves you." She reminded herself as she took time to dry off a plate before stacking it with the others. He promised to make her a goddess and she kept faith he wouldn't break that promise. But he insisted it would take time. Her life consisted of serving as high priestess in his tower in Waterdeep. It had been converted to a temple and the center of his worship. Three years had passed since they conquered the Netherbrain, Gale claiming the Crown of Karsus for himself. She placed the last fork back into its place and dried her hands off. It was almost noon.

She made her way down the hall way to the ceremonial room. In the center was a large statue of Gale as he is now. When she looked at it sadness filled her. It didn't resemble the kind, gentle wizard who she fell in love with. Warm brown eyes replaced by glowing stones of silver. His salt infused dark hair that she loved to run her fingers through were now strands of untouchable light that never fell out of place. He strove for an image of power and perfection.

A supplicant walked through the temple door and she quickly wiped her tears away. She smiled as she welcomed the stranger in.

"How may I be of service to you?" She held out her hand for the elf to kiss in supplication. He remained bowed as he spoke his desires. She hardly paid attention as he proclaimed his desire to curate the worlds grandest collection of gems. She took his offering of coin and rare scrolls and placed them on the altar below Gale's statue. Her chants came out half hearted as the elf grinned. When she was done her chanting and lit a candle to confirm that his prayers were heard he thanked her profusely and left.

Vapid desires. All of his followers only seemed to desire such surface level things. Rich household or the ability to rule some island she couldn't bother to remember the name of. After her days work in the temple she walked up the tower steps to her bedroom. She would be the only one to occupy the bed tonight. As it was for many nights. Her only desire. Her ambition. It was just to spend the rest of her life falling asleep in Gale's arms. She stood at the window and looked up at the constellation that hovered above in the night sky. A collection of stars that stamped his symbol into the heavens.

The sound of electricity filled the air. It turned out she wouldn't be spending the night alone. Turning around she saw him standing there, his arms outstretched to her. He smiled down at her. Not the smile of a man in love desperately seeking her company. It was the same look one would give a favored pet. She tried to hold herself together as she walked towards him. The last time she brought up her concerns he had vanished for six months. But when he kissed her all of her composure dissolved.

She fell to her knees and tried her best to stifle her cries with her hand. He placed his hand upon her head, stroking her hair in an effort to comfort her. But he never got on his knees. Dekarios the Divine never got on his knees for anyone. Not even for her.

"What's wrong my love?" His voice sounded like thunder across the sky. He no longer bothered to hide the annoyance in his tone. She should be happy and grateful for the life they had. She should be thanking him every day that she was able to share the bed of a god. The chosen whom he would elevate to goddess at the right time.

"I just.. I know we have been over this.." She whispered in low tones, not trusting her voice. "I just miss how things used to be."

He scoffed at her. "You mean the days where we were dirty and desperate? The days we were barely able to survive? The days that I was weak and pathetic. Basking in the shadow of a goddess who crushed me under her thumb." He began to walk away from her. Not willing to hear her.

"No! I miss sitting around the campfire and listening to your stories. Curled up under the stars, brushing my fingers along your chest as you whispered sweetly in my ear. I miss stupid little mundane things like cleaning up after everyone at the end of the day or reading a book in our tent." She got up and reached out to him. But when she touched his shoulder she quickly removed her hand as an electric shock hit her finger tips. He didn't stay to listen, dissapearing again.

She collapsed on the bed, trying to form images in her mind of the life she would never have with him as she cried herself to sleep.

[popjunkie42]

Painted Blind Chapter Three

Read on AO3

Summary: What Feyre Archeron wants is simple: enough food, gold and safety to take care of her family. But when a terrifying fae beast crosses the wall and enters the human lands, she finds that simple, safe life slipping out of reach.

Part one of an ACOTAR re-telling inspired by the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros.

Chapter Three: Feyre learns the unintended consequences of becoming Feyre fae-killer. The Archeron family receives an invitation.

Thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta read, hand holding and advice!

I also have a beautiful commission art piece by June Page I’ve posted.

I’m really excited for the next few chapters as we get to delve into some more sister stuff along with exploring the human territory a bit more…

Chapter under the cut or Read on AO3.

The next morning, there were offerings at the door from the village.

It wasn’t until I had stepped outside in the morning to grab firewood that I saw our front stoop had been visited. There were…offerings. Lovely stacks of small gifts: an iron ring on a plain wooden dish, a pile of dried figs wrapped in a canvas bag, winter apples, a small carving of a wolf’s head, and a sprig of dried flowers.

No one from the village had ever given me anything before.

Coming here, my father, sisters and I had learned quickly that poverty hit this place too hard for begging to be of any use. The most well-off in our village still had lean times without bread and the refined folk down the road that deigned to come to market day would do nothing but sneer and kick at us. There was a line even for the burned and stale bread at the bakery. And tempting as it was, I refused to accept the occasional offers of ale at the tavern from the men whose eyes sparked after too many glasses themselves.

Richard Dannon had been good to his word, and had come to our ramshackle cabin just a few hours later with a purse of gold and breathless thanks. He eyed me the whole time as if I were some sort of dangerous beast that might turn and snap at him at any moment, just like the head I had brought him that morning. I didn’t ask what he planned to do with it.

The man in his fine suit and wan face had offered to keep some of the funds in the bank in Innisville - our old village, when we had been in society and not known the pains of hunger.

I said I’d consider it.

But I hadn’t thought about much at all, really, after scrubbing my skin raw and sleeping most of the day.

If my mind wandered anywhere it was to what Isaac and the gaggle of boys around our age would think; at how the other hunters in the village might greet me at the next market day. How I could walk past those who sometimes laughed at me or threatened me with a reason to hold my head high.

On the second day, the gifts were even more lavish.

Nesta and Elain’s eyes had gone wide as we all shuffled out in our blankets that morning. There was a bouquet of vibrant hothouse flowers that made Elain gasp. Dried meats and a small bag of flour and candies - a bag of peppermints.

For once, we hadn’t fought. Nesta’s eyes had glittered as she offered the bag to Elain, who deeply inhaled the sugary scent and selected one with delicate fingers, as if it were a sparkling diamond. Then she passed the bag to me, smiling wide, reveling in being able to share now instead of fighting over meager morsels.

I couldn’t remember, exactly, the last time I had tasted candy like this. But some recollection was buried deep within me, as the first taste of sugar flooded my memories, filling my mouth as I sucked.

A moment later we were all smiling at each other, laughing at the heady rush, at the crunch under our teeth and the tiny sweet memories of another life.

On the third day, the gifts were even more. Coins of all kinds. Bread rolls and pastries, and a small wheel of cheese. More flowers and dried up bits of the forest. And on the windowsill, a silver chain with a small stamped charm.

On the third day, as well, there were people waiting. Just a few - staring nervously as I cracked the door open and emerged, my sisters behind me.

A woman in fine black clothes approached me.

“I would ask your name, but everyone on the western shore knows it now.” Her voice was a hoarse croak, as if she had been screaming. Weary, bloodshot eyes seemed to confirm my suspicion.

“Um, I - sorry, I don’t know your name.” I remembered that once I had had lessons, etiquette, learning to curtsy and address all manner of people. My mother would be rolling over in her grave, now.

Gloved hands grasped my own tightly, and she shoved a folded letter into my hands, her eyes turning to shimmering pools. It had looked like she wanted to say more, but she had left a moment later - a weary trudge back towards the main road.

I made Elain read me the letter later that evening, when Nesta had gone to bed and father was snoring quietly by the fire.

Her son had fallen to the beast’s hunger. I didn’t let myself think as to whether I had seen his bones littered in front of the cave. She had written of her sorrow, and the hope that with his death avenged, her son would finally be at peace.

I didn’t know if I believed in that, if there was peace or anything at all to be had after we finally closed our eyes for good, if any old gods existed to guide us there. But I hoped for her sake it was true, or at least that the belief would let her sleep more soundly at night. Maybe we all would, knowing one such monster was gone from our lands.

I had hoped for the stability that came with gold, to avoid hunger and the cold, to maybe earn a little respect from the village.

I hadn’t expected anything like this.

An anxious part of me remembered the beast’s words, still so strong it was as if they rumbled through my chest. I am only what comes before.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It was also on the third day that my father started acting strange, an unsettled gleam in his eyes as he stared into the fire.

His eyes had taken on a sharpness that had been absent for so long. And his attentions drifted back to me, to all of us. I would glance up from sharpening my knife at the table to find him looking at me, a crease in his brow, a small frown on his face.

As wary as I was, it almost felt good to see him like this - sharp, animated, and directing his attention towards me more than he ever had before. It reminded me of our life so long ago, when he had presided over a mighty wood-carved desk oiled to a shine and sat shoulder-deep amidst the richest treasures of the world.

When he had been…powerful.

That afternoon, we made our way to the marketplace for the first time since my hunt. We had walked together, even my father joining us with his cane, standing closer together than I could remember us ever doing. Nesta scowled, and Elain gripped my arm tight enough to pinch as we wandered through the square, meeting face after face filled with awe and wonder.

Some of them murmured my name, a strange, unsettling echo throughout the road. Feyre. Feyre Archeron. Fae-killer. A few even put their hands upon their hearts, and bowed in respect.

Bathed in blood, I heard someone whisper.

I didn’t know how to feel. My face was burning under all the attention, all the scrutiny. The village elders met us in the town square to shake my hand, the same ones that had turned us away again and again when we were at our most desperate.

Nesta had seethed beside me, only the smile of our father staying our words.

I didn’t have time for this. For any of it, least of all the nervous, unsettled feeling curdling in my gut.

I had things to do: I had to make change the best I could, for few in the village could exchange an entire gold piece. We had agreed upon some small initial purchases. Mostly I hoped that getting my sisters a few coveted items would douse those ravenous looks they gave every time the bag of coins sat upon the table. I needed to find a safer place to keep it than under the floorboards.

And I needed, desperately, to see the healer again. When I had first seen him a few days ago, he had done little more than give me a salve and poked around the bones in my hand as I tried not to scream. At least he had given me a tonic for the pain.

But I hadn’t been able to sleep last night, a burning numbness sometimes creeping past the pain of the shattered bone and torn ligaments. It was somehow worse. I had formed a new habit of pricking my fingertips with my nails, trying to coax some feeling back into them.

Fifty gold coins was fine. But it wouldn’t last my whole life. And I needed my hand to hunt.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The day after, father had mysteriously been gone in the morning by the time we all woke. He had returned hours later, his cheeks flush and three new dresses clutched in his arms.

He had hung them on the wall in display as I bit my tongue. They were simple, but made of fine fabric that draped well. Robin’s egg blue for me, slate grey for Nesta, and pale pink for Elain. We were to go to the market again, but as properly dressed ladies.

They had to cost at least a gold piece, perhaps even two.

I wondered how many gold pieces my hand was worth.

Still, something inside quieted me just for now. This was the first interest our father had taken in us in years. I felt it in the tension as Elain fingered the fabric reverently, as Nesta eyed hers with grudging approval.

So the next market day, I let him dress us as ladies. I didn’t say anything as we covered the new fine garments with our threadbare coats, paired them with our scuffed and worn shoes. He himself had brushed off one of his old suits as much as he could, shining a pair of impractical shoes from another time.

I had held out hope that things would return to normal over time, and we could slip through the market like any other unremarkable family with a few coin to spend. But no such luck.

The town square was full this morning, with more strangers in fine clothes than I had ever seen here.

All eyes looked to us as we shuffled through the stalls. Nesta kept her chin high and her jaw set, as I ducked into stores and stalls to escape.

Father was in fine form, smiling and shaking hands as we shopped. He made sure to seek out those in finer suits first.

“Feyre, come here!”

My father beckoned me with a warm, hopeful smile.

I sighed. I was negotiating hard for some dried beans, some rice. It had been a new irony to discover these market days: even with so many coins in my pocket, the merchants insisted on filling my arms with food and supplies, refusing to take even half of their worth. I had to fight: not to haggle, but to pay. I knew everyone here was as hungry as we had been, couldn’t afford such charity even as they insisted.

It was all right though, because it helped me ignore the shooting pains in my hand.

Father was entertaining in the square as we shopped: a rotund man about his age, in a fine dark wool suit and a tall hat, shining in the morning light.

“Feyre, this is Mr. Robinson, the Mayor of Innisville. You remember him?” he asked me.

I didn’t.

“His wife, Lady Sasha used to show horses with your mother. And he’s come to see you, dear daughter.” He spoke with a theatric flair, with a barely contained smile on his face. Unsettling and strange. “He has an invitation for us all.”

The man beamed at me, his chubby cheeks glowing red, looking warm and jovial even on this dour winter day.

“Just look at you. Who would have imagined you bringing down that monster!” I prickled at his tone. “I got a look at its head. You must have been very frightened, dear child.”

Something burned in my stomach. I remembered, strangely, the taunting, bored voice of the beast.

“I’ve hunted for my family for many years,” I told him. “Hunger drives us to do many things in spite of fear.”

My father made a sharp inhale. But the mayor simply smiled, moving closer at my tone, and grasped my good arm at the elbow. “Of course, dear. I just meant you must be very brave. Especially for one so young. And lovely.”

My father held me by my other arm. I had the distinct feeling of a pack gathering, penning me in.

“The Mayor came with an invitation, Feyre,” he said gently, like I was a wild animal needing coaxing. I could see the regret in his eyes, probably thinking about how he had taken so little care to teach his youngest proper manners. Or anything at all. “He’s extended an invitation to the whole family, to join them as honored guests next week for the town’s solstice celebration.”

“Everything is so bleak these days - with the wheat blight and the threat of the wall always looming over us. People need something inspiring, to show them the way. Or maybe someone.” He seemed to be a kind man, and his eyes sparkled as he smiled at me.

My heart skipped a beat at that. My birthday. I suspected my father had forgotten the significance.

I knew my sisters would want to go desperately, would beg and plead. And that spark in father, even if I resented where it came from…it was like he was back again, like when I was a child in his office, his youngest girl to entertain with treasures from across the world.

Except now, I was feeling more and more like the prize on display.

My hand began to hammer in time with my thundering heart.

“I suppose I can take a one day break from hunting.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

That night, the three of us lay in bed, not sleeping.

Nesta was the one who spoke first, her voice barely a whisper.

“Father means to use this to marry us all off,” she said, a simple statement of fact.

“Do you think we’ll get many more invitations, maybe to a ball?” Elain asked.

I snorted.

“This all depends on you, you know,” Nesta said, fixing her eyes on me in the dark. They glowed unnervingly in the silver moonlight. “You can’t behave like a feral beast anymore. If you can summon manners and keep your temper in check for once, you might actually be rid of us soon. Isn’t that what you want?”

I frowned. “Is that what you want, then Nesta? Who knew butchering a monster in the woods would lead to husbands all around. I didn’t think you would be so eager to partner with father in his schemes.”

“Last month I was considering marrying Tomas Mandray,” she said, almost bored, ignoring my words because she knew how much it angered me. Her eyes were locked on the ceiling as she lay next to me. “Now, if we can get a few more decent dresses and invitations to the town, we might be able to marry someone with money. An actual home to keep, with servants and filled pantries.” Nesta’s voice wasn’t hopeful. It was cold and practical, evaluating the lifeline set before us.

“I talked to the other girls at the dress shop,” Elain ventured, trying to smooth over whatever it was between us, her eyes wandering to me in the dark. “They said people think you’re…blessed, Feyre.” She sounded a bit nervous. “That you defeated a fae unscathed, and bathed in its blood to take its power.”

I laughed bitterly. “Unscathed? I can hardly move my fingers. And the cut on my cheek won’t heal at all. It still bleeds half the day.”

Indeed, the slice from the creature’s claws had remained a sharp red mark on my cheek, sometimes burning in the cold, despite the cleanings and bandages Elain had attempted on it.

I hadn’t told them yet what the healer had said to me about my hand.

He had cleaned my cuts and scrapes, clucking his tongue at the deep purple bruises that were turning a sickly green, and finally gave it a closer examination. He bent my fingers and rubbed my bones with his thumb, drawing muffled cries and fiery bolts of pain that shot all the way up my arm into my shoulder.

He had made a decisive noise and set it down again, finally. “There’s no way to set all these tiny bones without cutting into your skin. And I won’t know what I’ll find in there. It's too risky to cut through the muscle and make permanent damage. I’ll wrap it the best I can and I recommend keeping it still for a few weeks to see how it heals.”

“A few weeks?” I had asked, horrified.

“Five weeks is best. Afterwards we can see how it sets, and start practicing movement again.”

I had sat in stunned silence.

Five weeks. I had never been idle even half that long since we came here. We had money now, yes, but how long would it last if I couldn’t hunt? I knew I was the only one who could keep us afloat, and I couldn’t afford to lose that time.

Even setting the snares one-handed this morning had been a challenge. And this far into winter, the rabbits weren’t as plentiful on the forest outskirts. I had to go deeper, and I had to be prepared.

“After five weeks, I’ll be able to hunt again? To use it?”

His lips pursed. “We won’t know until then. It’s likely you’ll always miss some movement. It’s all up to your body now, and if it can put you back together. The more you move it, the more it will keep re-breaking and interrupt the healing process.”

Laying in bed, my hand wrapped tightly, it pulsed with the memory.

Maybe I would have to marry. If I could never use my hand again, never hunt, never fire a bow…snares and traps and a pocket of quickly dwindling gold could only get us so far.

My stomach turned at the thought. I had wanted marriage for my sisters, mostly to get them out of my care. Of course I always hoped they could move forward, leave this sad place, start their own lives away from our poverty and bitterness. I hoped they found someone hardworking – someone gentle for Elain, someone strong for Nesta – to eke out a life away from the sad pallor of our cabin.

I had never thought of it for myself.

All I saw in my mind was freedom. Father dozing on a warm bed, while I rested, and painted, well-fed and warm.

What man could possibly match that freedom?

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[itsbenedict]

From the beginning | Previously | Coin standings | 4/18 | 3/3

You enter the CURVE HOUSE, which turns out to not actually be there. Instead, you realize you can USE VOUCHER to get food- and you're in dire need of sustenance. The hallucinations are starting to get dire- the lower your hunger, the more wildly inadvisable options like EMOTIONAL PETER or A HOTTEST VADER will occur to you, like annoying television ads. Beware THIS UNRIGHTEOUS TV!

Problem is, you're pretty sure this Siren's Arraignment place is one of the two ghost ships out at sea, which is a ways (3 ways, specifically) away. If you tried going on foot and swimming, you'd starve to death the instant you got there.

Luckily- and Adea has a number of questions about DIGITAL ANTHROPOMORPHISM that Walter is not equipped to answer- you are both bird people, somehow. And since you're all the way up in the steampunk spires, you have some height you can use to glide to your destination without exerting yourselves too much.

You find, conveniently, a big sign at the back of one of the two ghost ships reading STACK OVÉRFLOW CAFÉ VOLTWORKS, which saves you a lot of perilous searching around while surrounded by ghosts.

Problem is: the café is infested with ghosts.

That, and... to use a voucher, you need to kind of, hand it to café staff? And order stuff? But you're trapped in a deserted otherworld where no one except the two of you and miscellaneous incomprehensible glitch-monsters appears to exist. This voucher might be of some use in the real world, but... uh. You're not sure how to spend it, here.

...There are shelves behind the bar covered in bottles of various drinks, though. And... a few golden butterflies, drifting throughout the room. What should you do? Apart from the FILIAL TWINS and NETTLE SPECIMEN, many mirages present themselves to your hunger-addled minds (many of them unhelpful or unsafe):

The cheeriest goth whose sox you once tried to steal is holding a celebration of the things those socks go up to: a GOTH THIGHS FEST, appreciated by the truly cultured.

There's a bunch of silverware you could steal and use to eat something, but it's SHEATHED SILVER, which could be hard to remove and use.

You just flew in from the steampunk spires, and boy are your arms tired! Not a joke. Because you're birds. You're tired and there's some FORMAL PERCHES set aside for you to rest on. Fancy!

There was a lightningbolt on the Café Voltworks sign outside, but ELECTRIC BOLT LEFT US, and it seems to have disappeared. Where'd it go?

Adea, Walter's partner and friend and overall pal, seems to be on one knee to recuperate from the flight. Since HAWK PAL KNELT, why not the dove pal?

Some of the ghosts are swordfish who're swinging their noses at each other, like martial arts weapons. Should you join in on their NOSE KARATE GAMES?

Hey, there's some food! It's just one single nacho, but it's prepackaged and unopened, so the SEALED NACHO is probably still good. You could split it, maybe?

Continued