#silver stacking advice

[bookshelf-dust]

something’s gotta give

gif by @kwistowee

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5,988

warnings: swearing, crude jokes, sexual innuendos, general hatred for either party, one small mention of a judgmental christian lady, depictions of an accident involving a box cutter, talk of blood and the ensuing wound, banter, both reader and eddie trying to get under each others skin, enemies to lovers trope

synopsis: eddie munson is a prick. a prick who also happens to be your coworker. you hate his guts. he hates yours. and who would think there’d be reason for anything else?

a/n: well, hello!! i’ve been working on this idea for a little bit, and it was definitely a challenge because i’ve never taken on something with this dynamic before. it was so tricky to come up with all these snarky remarks, to build up a world where it made sense. speaking of, this is without a doubt a 90s!au. i am proud of myself for trying something new and i think it turned out pretty good. shoutout to @clovermunson for listening to me vent about my struggles and helping me mold eddie into the smartass he is. also thank you to @steph-speaks for making me a cutie rb banner!! peep it at the end of the fic. happy reading!!! <333

————

“Here’s your change and…there’s your receipt.” 

You bump the cash register drawer with your hip, slamming the thick metal shut. You give a big, warm smile to the woman in front of you. She has a face full of freckles and the most beautiful silver hair that makes her blue eyes look insanely vibrant. 

She grins back at you, setting her palm on the countertop, her nails painted a pale, shimmery shade of pink. “Thank you, sweet pea. And thank you for helping me find some goodies!” She shakes her paper bag. 

You hand her a complimentary bookmark with the store name on it. “You’re so welcome. You’ll have to stop by and let me know what you think about that one!”

“Of course! You have a good day, now.”

“You too!” You give her a small wave as she walks out the door, and move to put away the store’s copy of her receipt. Your smile drops immediately when you feel a looming presence behind you. The paper in your hand gets crushed when you shove it under the counter. 

“Damn, you flick the bean this morning?” Eddie’s voice drips with malice. You know he’s wearing that sinister ass smirk before you even turn to face him. 

“Why? Need some advice on how to find it, Munson?” You grab a stack of books off the counter and slide out of the way so he can clock in. 

The sound of his boots on the carpeted floors tell you he’s following you. He always is. 

“I think it’s a valid question, princess. You’re in such a good mood it makes a guy wonder…” 

You stop in the mystery section, looking for authors with the last name beginning with ‘F,’ and begin to restock. “Well, Eddie, if I got off and that’s why I’m so bubbly today, it’s pretty clear to me that somebody gave you blue balls last night.”

He laughs, snatching a book out of your hand to put it on the top shelf when he sees you rise up on your tippy toes. It pisses you off. “Harsh, princess.”

You turn around at the sound of the doorbell, but he stops you with an arm outstretched to rest on the wall. 

You grab his hand and shove it out of your way. “I guess you should’ve put that hand to good use then and given yourself a quick, and probably little, job before you came to your real one.”

When you escape his vicinity, you look around for the customer you heard come in. There’s a young boy wandering through the back section where you sell records, tapes, CD’s, whatever the fuck. It’s Eddie’s section, and therefore not your problem. 

You hold eye contact with the man in question, giving him your bitchiest look possible. “You have a customer, Munson. And…” you glance at your watch, “I’m going on lunch.”

Eddie watches as you cross your arms and march off to the break room. His gaze falls to your ass. You’re wearing this long skirt, one that falls just above your ankles so your boots poke out. The fabric is loose and flowy, but manages to cling to your skin and he can see every curve when you walk. Every bounce of soft flesh—

“Hey, excuse me?” The voice of a boy, no more than fourteen, snaps Eddie out of his dick-controlled reverie. 

He spins around to face the kid, putting on his customer service face. “What can I do for you, little dude?”

In the break room, you stand in front of the microwave, shifting back and forth on your feet while you wait for your leftover pasta to warm up. It’s rare now for your shifts to line up with Robin’s. She is a good coworker, and you’d built up this system, this rhythm, that Eddie has never even tried to build with you. 

God, you miss her. And you fucking hate Eddie Munson. 

You pull out a chair and sink down into it, too pissed to care that you’re essentially manspreading and certainly eating like a slob. 

What angers you the most is that you tried to be friendly with Eddie when he was hired. You have seniority over him, and you were happy to help him figure out how things worked. But he didn’t give a fuck. To you, it seemed like he was too good for your help. 

But the first time you saw him ask Robin for help, you realized that he just…didn’t like you. And you don’t know why. You have always been nice to your coworkers. You have no reason not to be. Except when you get to a point that you’re forced to match their energy. 

You down the rest of your drink. You need to go out and get some fresh air, despite the fact that it’s fucking scorching outside. 

Up front, Eddie gives the young boy his receipt and a little bag full of cassette tapes, buttons, and a patch that he helped him pick out. Another child saved from the masses of pop music, he thinks. 

He taps his ringed fingers against the counter, lowering himself so that his elbows rest against the cool vinyl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie catches a sticky note stuck to the edge of the computer monitor. 

The store’s goal total for today is written there, penciled messily in your handwriting. Eddie rolls his eyes. Why do you always have to be on top of everything like that? You’re so fucking uptight all the time Eddie’s surprised you don’t waddle because of the stick you permanently have up your ass. 

Ever since the day he got hired a few months ago, Eddie has despised you. He remembers taking a small tour of the shop and being introduced to you where you were organizing a new shipment of magazines. 

You stood, shyly fidgeting with the pin on your fitted denim vest. You were bubbly, with these sweet little doe eyes and an expression on your face like you were hoping to make a new friend. He remembers your palm feeling unsettlingly cold when he shook your hand, and now it all makes sense to him. 

What with the way you can change moods with the drop of a pin, how you manage to bring a storm cloud with you every time you walk in his direction but have everyone else wrapped around your finger. 

A cold-blooded bitch like you must surely feed on the souls of little children every morning. 

He hates how organized you are, how prepared. How you behave all patiently when you’re with a customer who’s been a prick, even though he knows it’s all an act because you’ll give him a death glare at any given chance. 

But most of all? He hates how fucking gorgeous you are. You’d think all that hatred would make you look like an old hag, but no. Instead you walk around in your skirts that show off that perfect ass and every once in a while you wear a shirt that shows the tiniest sliver of your stomach, or in some cases, your back, if you bend over. He hates when you wear those platform boots with the heels that allow you to level with him. 

And the fact that you’re walking toward him right now. 

Eddie watches as you strip off the cropped button-up you’d been wearing, exposing your bare arms. 

There’s a tattoo running up the length of your bicep that he’s never seen before. His gaze lingers on it for long enough that you catch it and raise a brow. 

“You cry when you got that, princess?” He points to the dark ink on your skin. 

You slide behind him and sit on the stool in front of the computer. 

“No, Eddie. I fell asleep. If you want to bond about how you wailed during each of your tattoo sessions, you’ll have to talk to Brian.”

He scoffs. “Guess you can handle a little prick then, huh?”

“I work with you everyday, don’t I?” You smile, but keep your eyes on the computer screen. There’s supposed to be a new shipment of books coming today, and your boss already asked you to set up the display when it gets here. That reminds you, and you speak before Eddie can give you a smartass remark. “Eddie, there’s a box of new vinyls in the back you’re supposed to sort and put out.”

“Yeah? I’ll get right on that, mom.”

You pinch your thumb and forefinger together so that you don’t snap. It’s such a shame that such a pretty man is such a fucking asshole.

The mouse starts to feel slick from your clammy hands as you click around, trying your best to track the package. Slam!

Eddie drops the box of records on the far end of the front desk, making you jump. He grabs a box cutter and pulls open the mess of cardboard and packing tape as aggressively as possible. 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Can’t you do that anywhere else, Munson?”

“Nah, babe. My only entertainment for the day is pissin’ you off, and I just clocked in.”

You facepalm. “Jesus fucking Christ, I miss Robin.”

Eddie cups his hand around the shell of his ear. “What’s that, princess? You need Buckley, huh? Bet she puts up with your shit.”

You stand up. “More like she puts up with me talking about the shit you put me through, because you masquerade as a sweet little angel when you work with her.” You’ve moved toward the other end of the counter before you can even realize, leveling with Eddie and getting in his face.

He places both of his hands on the table, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Maybe it’s because Robin isn’t a fucking priss, and actually has a personality.”

That hits a nerve, and Eddie catches the way your brows twitch. But your poker face doesn’t slip, not for a second. Your eyes flick to the front door. 

“You have a customer, Munson. I’ll go take care of the records. Oh, and they’re a chick. Maybe you can go see if she has a personality that’s up to your standards and get your dick wet so that there’s a slight chance you become less of a raging asshole.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at the young woman who’s just walked through the door. She has long, dark hair and more piercings than he can count. She’s his type, and he hates that you clocked that. When he turns back to you, you’re already taking the box off the counter. 

“Oh, and Eddie? Fuck you.”

You get the vinyls sorted and put away in record time. 

————

If it’s possible, the next day is hotter than the last. You’re sweating the second you walk out of your front door, your hairline quickly dampening and your thighs sticking together on the drive to work. 

You put on the one short dress you own today, grateful for the fact that your place of occupation doesn’t have a strict dress code. It’s too hot to wear anything, but the thin, mesh-like fabric and little spaghetti straps will do just fine. 

Luckily for you, Eddie’s shift doesn’t start until one, so you’ll be able to have a chill morning where you won’t feel like blowing your own brains out. Knock on wood, but you even feel a little giddy because Robin opened, which means she’ll be there to welcome you and greet you with a bit of peace. 

You pull open the front door, and pick up speed, knowing the cool air is just within your reach. The sounds of heavy metal reach your ears before you see him. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 

You consider yourself lucky that the floor is empty, because you did not consult your conscience for one second before expressing your pure annoyance that Eddie is here before he was meant to be. 

You push up your sunglasses so they’re level with your eyebrows, and take a look at the figure standing behind the counter. There is no Robin anywhere in sight. “Where is Robin? Why the fuck are you here?” You catch Eddie’s gaze drag up and down your bare legs and that good mood flies right outside the front door. 

“Why are you dressed like that?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “What’s the matter, Eddie baby? You not see a lot of shoulders in that fuck ass club of yours?”

You pull your sunglasses back down over your eyes and grin, because you’ve just seen Eddie Munson blush. That one really hit the mark, and you are immensely pleased with yourself. 

Even more so when you realize he’s following you. You start switching your hips, knowing where his gaze is. You’re not as stupid as he thinks. 

His wallet chain is jingling, his hair flying behind him as he jogs to meet you in the middle of the store. If a customer were to walk in right now, they’d see the both of you standing nose to nose, a murderous look in your eyes, and probably feel like they’d just walked in on a taping for a soap opera. 

“What do you know about my fuck ass—” He coughs, practically chokes. “W-what do you know about Hellfire?” Eddie asks. You can almost see his blood boiling. 

You put your hand on his chest. “I’m a rogue, bitch.”

The sound of your laugh reaches Eddie’s ears before he’s even registered your hand on him, your breath on his neck, and that you’ve turned around and disappeared. There’s no way you’re not a witch. Are you a witch? What does a hex feel like? 

Eddie starts walking to the stacks, suddenly encouraged to see if you carry any witchcraft-related texts. The doorbell chimes and he’s forced to spin around. 

The group of people that have just pushed through the doors is huge. At least six teenagers of varying heights, followed by four or five college-aged kids. And they all look like they’re on a mission. Two of them head straight for the records, one for the magazines, and he loses sight of the rest down the romance aisle. 

In the back, you lock up your bag and shake out your shoulders. 

Your fingers fly over the radio, quickly changing the station Eddie had chosen to one you know plays much better music. You turn the dial down a little too, having already started to feel blood leaking out of your ears. 

At the counter, Eddie watches in horror as the teenagers grab armfuls of records and CDs. What’s worse is that a family of four walk in next. An older woman walks straight up to him. “Excuse me, sir?” Sir? What is he, a fucking mummy? “Where are your bibles and Christian novels?” He catches her eyeing the ink littering his pale arms. 

“I can show you to them, ma’am. If you wanna come with me, we’ve got a whole section just for that!” Your bubbly voice meets Eddie’s ears. And so do the sounds of “There She Goes” by The La’s. 

The woman turns on you, her smile brightening, and she’s quick to follow your purposeful step. Over your shoulder, you wink at Eddie. 

He knows it’s evil. He knows he fucking hates your guts. He hates that you’ve just charmed that red flag of a woman. But he’ll be damned if he fails to admit that his zipper didn’t feel just a little tighter at that faux flirtation in your expression.

“Let me know if you need help finding anything, alright? And if we don’t have anything in stock, we can always order it for you!” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and you’re practically stomping on your way back to the counter. You use the walk to actually take in Eddie for the first time since you came in. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt that he obviously cut the sleeves off of at home, purely based on the way they’re fraying. His arms are…beefy, to say the least. His skin looks unnaturally soft, and his biceps are just so big and they look like they’re begging to be squeezed or bitten, even. 

Your eyes wander lower when he’s called over to help a child cart probably ten CDs to the counter. His jeans aren’t tight, not exactly. But they fit. He’s got more ass than most people would know what to do with. You can’t help but wonder what it looks like outside of that ratty denim. Or what else he might use that bandana for. 

You park yourself in front of the register, getting the system set up before the rush you can feel coming on. The cracks in the leather seat below you pinch your thighs, but you can’t be bothered to care. You deserve it for thinking of such a dickhead that way. Why are the gorgeous ones always assholes? 

A quick glance over your shoulder tells you that Eddie’s not helping kids anymore, but shamelessly flirting with a girl who can’t be more than twenty-one. She looks slightly intimidated by him, until he flashes his ring-covered fingers in front of her. You recognize that look, the one that tells you she might just eat him alive. 

You fear she’ll be immensely disappointed when she truly gets to meet his personality. 

In the time he’s been trying to woo this young lady, a line has formed, and now you’re stuck cashing people out. The Christian lady is first. 

“You find everything you needed today?”

She drops some change into the tip jar and takes a mint from the tray you just restocked. “Yes, I did, sweetheart, thank you for asking. You see that? Yes, that one—isn’t it gorgeous?”

She forces you to look at the fancy bible she’s picked out, and you do so despite the voice inside your head screaming for her to fucking pay already and get out because she’s been here long enough and the line is only getting longer. 

“It sure is!” You do your best to smile kindly. You hand her the receipt and a small card that not only thanks her for her purchase, but promises a ten percent discount if she comes back within the next month. 

The next customer is easy, a ten year old with a storybook that has colorable pages and a bookmark with rainbow tassels. You hand him a sticker and tell him you like his Gizmo shirt, and he beams his way out the door. 

When you are confronted with a set of parents who clearly have more kids than they seem to want, you feel a warm breath on the back of your neck. “You have a happy pill on you I can have?”

Eddie takes the stack of books out of your hands and places each one in a paper bag. The customers aren’t even looking at you, what with the husband fussing about inflation and How much for a paperback? and the toddler trying to eat the rug.

“No, sweetie,” you start, sliding the bag across the counter, hoping maybe the woman will notice and take her gaze off the street just outside the window. She takes it without looking at you, without a word, and the husband walks away mulling over the receipt, not bothering to do a headcount of kids. “I can’t keep up with your stash of boner pills.”

Eddie laughs. He tosses his head back, bearing his thick neck to you. It’s a slow sound. You can’t help but feel like it’s not something you should hear. It feels like the kind of laugh someone saves for a lover in privacy. And it’s so gravelly and deep. 

The line has slowed, and all that’s left for you to do is keep an eye out for the customers slowly making their way up front. 

You tilt your head a little in Eddie’s direction, signaling that you’re speaking to him. “You probably do need them though, based on the way you were eye-fucking that girl earlier. God knows you’re gonna need a little…happy to keep up with her.” 

Eddie bends a little at the knees, getting his head completely level with yours, his brown eyes twinkling with malice. “You think about my dick a lot, princess?”

You place your hand on the counter, less than an inch between yours and Eddie’s fingers. One move and they’d be touching. Hell, one step forward and your front would be pressed to his. “More like I worry about it,” you say. 

He quirks a brow, his lips ticking up at the corners. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Since I see you try and pick up a girl in the store at least three times a week and you know what? They never stick. So either it’s that you can’t get it up, or it’s that if you treated any woman as well as you treat that guitar of yours, maybe they’d be satisfied.”

Eddie takes a step forward. You’ve never been this close to him. “You know, Princess, they might not last, but based on your fucking attitude, it seems like you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?”

He pushes a strand of hair out of your face. Your blood pressure spikes. It feels like your veins are turning colors with how angry you are. Eddie has the nerve to laugh. 

“Yeah. I think all this bitchiness comes from the fact that no one will put their dick anywhere near you. They’re probably afraid you’ll make it shrivel up and die.” You don’t say anything, and he just keeps going. “Hell, I’m nice enough that I’d fuck you if that meant you’d get off my back.”

Your entire body goes rigid. And in that moment, you know that’s exactly what he wanted from you. But you refuse to give him the satisfaction. 

“Thanks for the offer, Munson. But I’d rather gouge my own fucking eyes out than let you touch me. If you wanna see me as a priss, that’s fine. But at least I’m not an insufferable prick who can’t give a damn about anyone who’s not shoved so far up my own ass and ready to fall at my feet at any given moment. Some people have to grow the fuck up.” You practically spit out the last few words, your voice laced with venom. 

Eddie blinks. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glazed over. For the first time since he met you, he doesn’t have shit to say.

————

You and Eddie are the only ones on schedule today. 

You haven’t spoken in days, just moving around one another and doing your jobs in silence. You can’t lie about the pride you feel in your chest from having finally gotten to him. Even if the dead quiet is unsettling, you feel a sick sense of satisfaction. 

You think Eddie might’ve even mastered the art of a fake, but amiable personality. 

You’re currently hiding away in the back room, unpacking new shipments of books, vinyls, display materials, along with all the shit you actually need like paper for the register and cleaning supplies. 

Not that it matters where you are because you’ve had a total of one customer today. But that’s how Wednesday’s go. 

It’s sort of mindless, this activity. You slide the box cutter over the packing tape, rip open each box, take everything out, stomp the box flat, repeat. It’s not very stimulating, but you don’t hate it. 

The last box though is covered in enough clear tape to catch every fly in the world, and it’s taking some serious sawing to get through. You set your hand on the worn and slightly damp cardboard, bracing yourself to get one end of it loose. 

You’re just getting there when the blade finds a raindrop on the silky tape and slips free. You’re not expecting that, of course, and the blade slices the skin of your forearm quickly and thoroughly. 

You yelp, dropping the box cutter. You’re never one to wail or scream, but you let out a whimper at the shock of pain. Your non-dominant hand starts to shake as you take in the wound.

You’re too panicked to realize that your frightened exclamation could be heard up front, considering there’s no music playing and you left the receiving room’s door open. 

It doesn’t look deep enough to need stitches, but it’s bleeding. Quite a bit, actually. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

There are thudding footsteps, and then Eddie appears in the doorway. “Fuck fuck fuck, what? Bein’ so damn loud.” He pauses, taking in the sight before him. 

Your eyes are glazed over, your hands shaking, and you’re cupping your forearm so as to not let blood drip all over the floors. 

“Oh fuck off, I do not need this right now!” you exclaim, knowing he’s going to berate you or say something demeaning and you are not going to cry in front of him. 

Eddie says your name. 

He never says your name. It makes you look up at him, and you almost feel nauseous at the sincere look on his face. 

“Do you need me to drive you somewhere?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Eddie. I’m not fucking helpless! And I’m not bleeding out either!”

He steps towards you, his hands outstretched like he’s a ringmaster, like he’s trying to tame an apex predator. “But you are bleeding.”

“No fuckin’ shit, Sherlock—”

“Let me help you—”

You decide to shove past him, whimpering your way towards the bathroom. Eddie is on your heels. You try to shut the door in his face, but he plants his boot firmly on the floor and prevents you from it. His glare is unwavering. 

He repeats your name once more. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Just—just fucking stop for a minute, okay? Let me help you. Let me do this one thing without any of this shit, you hear me?” 

You blink. Eddie kicks the door stopper down so it stays open. His eyes flick to the toilet seat. “Sit.”

You’re too winded to say no. So you sit down, cradling your arm, while Eddie rummages around for gauze and wipes and whatever the fuck he can find because he’s not a nurse but he has had to clean himself up on more than one occasion. 

You can’t process that Eddie is treating you this way. Like a human. That he’s insisting on helping you when he doesn’t get anything out of it. 

When he returns, he settles on his knees in front of you, looking into your eyes to make sure it’s okay for him to touch you. You hate the way your stomach flips. But the little shift in your arm tells him it’s alright. 

Eddie’s fingers are cold on yours as he turns your forearm outward so he can look at the wound. You can’t help but watch as he works on you. Takes care of you. 

He sets a paper towel underneath your arm, using another to press down on your skin and make sure the bleeding has stopped. The pressure hurts, but you don’t say a word. 

Eddie hooks his foot around the corner of the trash can, pulling it closer. He throws out the bloody towel and wets another, being as gentle as he can in an effort to clean all of the dried red splotches from your skin. 

The cut isn’t deep, but it definitely nicked a few capillaries along the way. It is a little longer though, and Eddie has to use two big pieces of gauze to cover it. This is after he’d swiped your arm with alcohol wipes, grinning to himself because of how hard you were trying not to show him any weakness. 

Eddie’s thumb lingers on your skin long after he’s taped you up. You’re both silent, sitting in your shitty workplace bathroom. You can feel that he wants to say something, but you don’t know what. It’s why you haven’t gotten up yet. 

You notice his eyes on your face before you meet his gaze. “Will you look at me?” he says. Your heart jolts in your chest. 

“What for?”

“So that I can tell you why I’ve been a giant dick since I met you and you’ll see I’m being real with you.”

Your head shoots up, mainly because you can’t really believe he’s just said those words. “Hold on,” you laugh, “You’re going to explain yourself now? After I spent all that time trying to be your friend and you—”

“Treated you like shit, yeah I know.” Eddie drags his hands down his face. You’re not sure why, but you feel compelled to listen to him. “I showed up and you were there in your cute fucking skirts and you were so nice to everyone and just so…good? I couldn’t stand it.”

You blink. 

“I’m not like that. I’m not good with people and empathetic like you are and it takes me a long fucking time to do anything right. And I chose to take that out on you, to hate you, because you were so perfect, and that was easier than falling for you.”

Your mouth drops open. He what? Eddie waves his hands in your direction. 

“Close your mouth, you’re gonna catch flies. I hated that I could’ve dropped to my knees for you the second I met you. You looked at me like I was precious, like you were happy to meet someone new, and I’m such a fuck up, such a nuisance to so many people, that there was no way I was going to let a pretty girl like you befriend me and have me ruin it all. Because the truth is, I’d kill to be as fucking good as you are.”

You start shaking your head. You feel your eyes glaze over, so you look down at your freshly bandaged arm. 

“And I realize that the only reason you’re a dick to me is because I started that shit.”

You let out the barest hint of a laugh. “It’s called matching your energy. There wasn’t any point in trying to befriend you when you…hated me.”

Eddie says your name again. “I don’t hate you. I do hate myself though, and that I was so—”

“Jealous?” you interrupt, finishing for him. 

He tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. God, this is the most ridiculous fucking thing. 

“Yeah. Jealous that I don’t have as much good in me as you do. I’d see you working, see you happy to help anyone, see you pull more weight than anyone else here. I hated that you’re everything I’m not.”

When you finally look back up at him, you’ve gone all teary, and something inside Eddie breaks. It snaps. 

“We’re not supposed to be the same. If we were, nothing would ever work. You act like you’re just—just this helpless piece of shit, Eddie. You aren’t. But I can’t make you realize that. All I can do is tell you that if you want to be more charismatic—or whatever the fuck—you gotta work at it.”

He’s looking at you with his stupid ass doe eyes, and you think you finally understand him. 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re everything I am, Munson. No one else is livin’ your life for you.” You start to trail off, but not quite yet. “I wish you hadn’t been so fucking sincere so I could yell at you.”

Eddie tosses his head back, bearing his neck to you, and laughs. He raises his hands, beckoning you. “C’mon. Let me have it. You deserve it for how many times I’ve called you a priss.”

You shake out your shoulders, and if you weren’t still drained from the box cutter incident you’d jump up and hop back and forth like you’re readying to get in the ring. 

“I get it, you know? But I also don’t think it’s fair, because, and I’m gonna be honest here, the day you got hired I thought you were so gorgeous. Trust me, I was fully weak in the knees. You were also dressed like, well, you, and I wanted to at least make friends with you because you seemed, to use your words, good.”

“I heard you crack a few jokes, saw you picking up on how things worked, and then with me it was like you had this alter ego. I just don’t think it was fair that I got the short end of the stick here, even if I did enjoy being a smartass to you. So I guess what I’m really saying is, why me? Why weren’t you a dick to Robin, or Brian or fuckin’ Keith? Why not take out your jealousy on someone else?”

Eddie stands up, shoves his hands in his back pockets. “You can hit me if you feel like it, because I know this is going to sound fucked.” He pauses, and then all the words spill out at once, leaving you completely breathless when he’s finished. 

“Not only was I jealous of how perfect your soul is, but you being so sweet made me want you. I wanted you all to myself. I wanted that personality, those kind remarks, that look you get in your eye when you’re listening so well, I wanted it all around me, all the time. It felt like you were this fucking angel, I wanted to lose myself in you.”

“But it didn’t feel like I’d be worthy of you either. I figured you’d get sick of me, real quick, when you realized I wasn’t as good of a person as you. When you figured out all the shit I need to work through. It seemed easier to hate you than to have you see me the way everyone else does. Nobody wants a work in progress.”

You laugh. You take in your surroundings, still in the work bathroom, and you laugh. Eddie’s brows shoot up, and his heart drops out of his ass and onto the tile floors below him. 

“Eddie, everyone is a work in progress. And I am an extremely patient person.”

He recovers himself fast enough to make one more smartass remark. “You’re sure you don’t wanna kick me in the balls or somethin’?” 

You take a step towards him, breathing deeply. Breathing him in. 

“Not right now, Eddie. What’s frustrating though, is how much I want to kiss your dumb ass. Your annoying, over-complicating, completely ridiculous, stupid hot fucking ass.”

Eddie blinks. You might as well have kicked him in the balls because he can’t even think a single coherent thought now. Not with the way you’re pushing up onto your toes and pulling him down towards you, shaking your head so he doesn’t make up something stupid about not deserving it. 

And then your mouth is on his. Your lips are so warm, and everything else disappears. All Eddie can feel is you. Your perfume engulfs him, the heat of your chest pressed against him, the soft fat of your hip under his hand. When you pull on his hair he almost whimpers. 

You kiss hard, harder than he’d have thought, but it’s so gentle at the same time. You’re kissing him stupid. There’s no other way to put it. The only thing that pops in his head is that his suspicions about you being a witch were totally fucking spot on. 

When you finally pull away, your lips have gone all puffy, and there’s this dazed but incredibly satisfied look in your eye. He’d take you home right now and get on his knees for you if you’d let him. 

Your lips tick up at the corners, and he has to shake his head so he can really hear what you’re about to say. 

“Aren’t we on the clock, Eddie?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[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.

.

.

.

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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

[sorcererofsolitude]

Yoko: Heyyy, there's my favorite micro menace. How's the air pressure down there, short stack?

Yoko waits with bated breath for Wednesday to attempt to attack her, or at least fire off a witty comeback.

Instead, Wednesday’s lips turn up into a wide smile.

Wednesday, maintaining her grin without blinking: I hope you have a wonderful day, dear friend.

Yoko: Wha... no! You're not... ta- take that back!

Wednesday smiles even wider, fixing the vampire with an eerie, unshakeable gaze. Suddenly, she turns on her heel and casually walks the other way.

Yoko, running after her: Get back here and try to kill me, dammit! Tell me I'm an idiot right now! I'll even let you chase me with your silver knife!

Wednesday let her smile drop. She exhaled in satisfaction. Enid’s advice to 'kill her with kindness' had thus far been successful. With any luck, her vampire frenemy would drop dead any minute now. How delightful.

[chiffaust]

𝗜 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗡𝗔 𝗕𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗 ! — Tsukinaga Leo x reader

xxx. PLAYLIST . I wanna be your boyfriend by Hot Freaks.

— he loves you, yet he is never able to voice out what he felt towards you... But all he needs is a little push from a friend whether it was intentional or not.

xx. c : use of gender neutral terms, gender is not mentioned/specified for reader. insane levels of yearning from leo tsukinaga and some level of doubts and insecurity with him. wrote at like 10 pm on a weekday so this might be shitty, not proofread — might be ooc !

note . this is completely different from the beta... but i think i like this version better. i wrote leo as 'cool' instead of his usual 'cuteness' in mind. he's still just as pathetic though :3 maybe pathetically cool

It's a mystery how his mind works, and much less was it a miracle for him to realize everything. From the start, his feelings weren't always as platonic as he'd thought towards you. The realization alone sends him into a frenzy of denial and childishly denying his ever-growing crush on you yet always throwing a childish tantrum and sulking around his friends whenever he sees someone getting a bit too cozy with you to his liking.

Nonetheless, Leo realizes — he can't just sulk behind a corner without doing anything while hoping you'll look at him the same way as he does if he doesn't do something about it. Oh, but was it hard to even look at you in the eyes; the thought alone sends his heart into frantically thumping against his chest; his face become hotter and redder while stutter he did pathetically over his words and waste his chances... It's really no good! He wants to seem cool in front of you, but he just can never muster up the courage at all, it's annoying!

His friends were to help and give him advices when it comes to love, but none of it were exactly trying to help him. “ Be cool ” — Leo simply could not. “ Try to strike up a conversation about something you two have a common interest with! ” — if that happens, he's afraid he'll go on rambling until he talks your ears off and you'll find him annoying because of it! “ Buy them whatever they want as a gift ” — now, he isn't exactly sure if he has the type of money to do that... “ Trick them into signing a marriage contract and cling onto them forever ” — that'll just drive you away!! Leo's even more concern now, and his friends' advice weren't making him any less confident in talking to you!

To you, Leo was just a friend you occasionally see and to him, you were his whole world — one he would be more than willing to serve his heart on a silver platter to as he yearns from the side. Truly were you his love — his muse; his everything and unbeknownst to you, he had written a song or two unpublished to the public with the thought of you in mind. He grows frustrated amidst his embarrassment much to his dislike of acknowledging it.

... The sweet melody and cheesy lyrics of “ love ” — he feels like a fool! Occasionally he would lose his cool and throw the stacks of paper everywhere across and in deafening silence, he dealt with his own thoughts; how embarrassing. He's seriously doing everything but telling you how he feels.

Even as the corner of his phone lights up the dimly lit room, on the screen shows across the room with your contact number messaging him. He suppose even if he could never confess his love for you romantically, you like him just the same “ platonically? ”

He would be fine (in his words, but he is ABSOLUTELY NOT) with only liking you from afar... That is if you aren't also dating anyone else — he would go insane if you're suddenly dating someone else, and that's the conclusion his mind thought of when suddenly you had gotten so close to that Izumi Sena.

Never once had Izumi ever showed romantic interest towards you; in five people (Knights)— he obviously loves and yearned for you the most and the longest. It wasn't like they weren't aware of it. They knew you were completely off limits ever since the first time he confessed to wanting to do the cheesiest things with you to them they got sick and tired of it.

And yet, his mind he thought you like him romantically — and so did Izumi. You two were laughing at each other's joke and you were beautiful like that; bright eyes and smiling... A sudden feeling of dreadful doubt dropped down his stomach and just as suddenly he felt so sick even if it was just his insecurities.

He thought so too; maybe he's overreacting. Maybe there's nothing going on in between you two, he's sure of it! That's what he tells himself, but slowly this banter went on for days and slowly turned into weeks of utter torture for him. He saw you exchanging contacts, plan on hanging out together — and he felt jealous.

He never liked this feeling of jealousy — especially towards a dear friend like him, but with confusing emotions mixed together came unassumed anger of jealousy. His patience doesn't last long until he gets sick and tired of it and came in between you two with a glare that might've sent chills down Sena's back a bit.

Leo took your hand and ran away with you from him; dragging you far away to somewhere outside the building until his leg gives out — alas, there was only you two all alone on the park as the sun slowly sets into dusk. There was nothing going in the way between you two now.

"I'm sorry for dragging you away like that all of the sudden." He muttered, unable to look at you not for the reason may he make a fool of himself if he stares too long; but instead out of guilt overwhelming his heart.

"... But, I really can't stand it anymore, you know? I see you laughing and being happy with Sena... I want to do that with you. I want to laugh along with you and be happy just as you were with him, so I got jealous...

... This might be selfish, but I really really liked you from the start! I know compared to Sena, I'm childish and all I'm good at is writing music — he's better fit as a "boyfriend" compared to I do, but I really... Like you, [Name]! And I really wanna be your boyfriend!" All these times, the words, the doubts — he was suddenly spilling them out loud to you and he was just as surprised as you. For the first time in a while, his heart feels light from burden despite the nervousness he felt, thus he continued to spoke;

"I might not be as good as Sena — or a pretty model, but I could treat you as half as decently — if not better than he ever could! I'll even compliment you frequently if that's what you want — no, I'll compliment you a lot! " Leo's eyes lit up with sincerity and for the first time, there was confidence and a look of seriousness in his eyes as he looked into yours while gently clasping your hands in his, but he feared he was being a bit overbearing and pushy and his confidence slowly fizzled away.

"Please... Think about it, alright? Because I really like you; I truly do." His tone were calmer, but there's also a melancholic hymn to his voice despite how he tries to force out a smile to you.

He's always the happy go-lucky guy — eccentric in ways, but he always had the purest intentions in his heart. It would be kind of embarrassing if he breaks down in front of you all of the sudden.

He can't stay any longer; if he stays, he's afraid he wouldn't be able to control his emotions any longer. Slowly, he lets go of your hand and exchanged one final glance before trying to walk away — but just as that, you held onto his wrist and pulled him back which surprised him.

"Leo, don't be like that... You didn't even give me the chance to reply." You muttered, your gaze softens looking at him and he simply couldn't look away... You're just so beautiful to him.

"I like you just the same. I'm sorry for making you feel bad all these times — I... Didn't realize."

Your look of sadness sends him into frenzy, he stutters from nervousness because of you.

"H-huh...? Why're you apologizing? It should be me who's apologizing — plus, it's my fault for keeping my emotions hidden all these time from you! You didn't knew at all!"

"... You know, Leo; I had a hunch you liked me... And it wasn't like you were being discrete about it anyway."

"Ah..." Leo stays still, completely surprised. Well, it is true he couldn't keep his emotions from spilling out sometimes, but he was so sure he was being discrete about his feelings for you. He wasn't sure how to react; was he supposed to be embarrassed? Sad? Angry? Even amidst his confusion, he finds amusement in his own embarrassment. He laughs aloud, and it was like he didn't had the saddest look of melancholy in his eyes just a moment ago.

With a big grin on his face, he soon falls onto you with all of his weight and hugged you tightly. The mature and cool Tsukinaga Leo is in touch with his emotions was no longer there; he was now the childish and impatient Leo you knew from the start — and yet, that never changed a thing of how you felt towards him.

"Leo...!" You groan out, stumbling back slightly at the sudden force of his weight against you. He was using his every weight on his body towards you.

"Aha, I just can't help it — I'm so happy, [Name]! I'm really so happy!" He giggles, but his fit of energy quickly dissipates as he gently leans in closer to you, wrapping an arm securely around your waist so you wouldn't escape his hug while his other hand gently intertwine with yours.

"... Let's be together forever, [Name]."

[lorddocmarten]

🦇Tips for Dressing Goth on Low-Spoons Days🦇

Note: I am low-support needs disabled, and what works for me might not work for you. I am not a doctor and cannot offer medical advice!

Black hair, baby. I dye my roots with $1.25 men's beard dye from the 'tree now, so that's pretty cost-effective, and you don't have to do anything for your hair to look 'goth'. I wouldn't recommend a mohawk because for it to look maximum cool, you have to style it, and that can take a while. My haircut now is shaved on the sides with short bangs and it looks goth even if I don't style it. It requires minimum maintenance, too.

Pre-layered accessories. Many necklaces- especially ones marketed for 80s costumes- are pre-layered and you only have to work with one clasp. Maximum style for minimum effort. You can find layered necklaces on Amazon, at Halloween stores, and I've even seen them in the costume section of thrift stores. There are also bangle stacks that function the same way.

Strega Fashion and Lagenlook- this might work for wheelchair users, depending on how long your flowy elements are. Lots of tunics and skirts and sweaters and fancy hooded tops, etc. Think of a dark, witchy vibe. Very comfortable and can be easy to style with clothes-you-find-at-Wal-Mart, and relatively cheap.

Nails. I LOVE having long dark red nails for maximum 'spoiled vampire prince' vibes, but sometimes having acrylics or press-ons can be too expensive, impractical, or maybe too femme for you. Whatever the case, I have more recommendations than your standard black nail polish- there's silver nail polish that makes your nails look mirror-like, red nail polish of all shades, purples, etc. For a more masculine, deathrock look you could experiment with dark, zombie-esque greens, or even neon shades to stand out against your darker clothing. Painting my nails can be hard for me due to my coordination issues, so I keep Q-tips nearby and soak them in acetone to clean up the edges.

Eyeliner- they sell jumbo eyeliner sticks and you can basically roll that about your eyes, smudge with your finger, and call it done in about one minute. I have yet to find a sharpener to go with mine, which is unfortunate, but these would seemingly be the way to go when you don't have the spoons to pull out the white base and all that.

Shave your eyebrows. Not necessarily for everybody, but it gives a more alien or 'more human than human' vibe to your look without makeup and makes me look infinitely more goth even in jeans and a t-shirt. YMMV.

Piercings, if you want them, can get them, won't affect your job, etc.- these always look pretty alternative especially when combined with each other. These combined with the black hair will do the job for you, in my opinion. I currently only have my ears double pierced but plan on getting my septum done soon.

[popjunkie42]

Painted Blind Chapter Three

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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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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Cooking by the Book

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Ruggie and Malleus) I Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

You’ve got to do the cooking by the book! ... But with Floyd and Sebek, that’s an impossible task. Between noodle sourcing squabbles and differences in their approach, how can GR ever rein these two loose cannons in?

dbjsbskdne I was so excited to write this because I love both Sebek and Floyd 😌 They make for a fun dynamic, especially when mixed in with GR~

I was busy around the initial release of this event months ago, so I’m releasing this SUPER late (but it all ends up working out, since a character cameoing in this fic is one of the new Master Chef units for May 2023). I’ll get the Idia and Ace with GR one out in a week or two 😭 Please bear with me!!

Imagine this…

If teaching the Master Chef course at NRC had taught Gordon Ramsay one thing, it was this: the kitchen was an active battle zone, and weapons of mass destruction laid in wait around every corner. It was all open flames and pointed tools... but the most dangerous thing of all to his health and his sanity?

The students.

He had dealt with his fair share of arrogant, ill-tempered chefs. Professionals who thought themselves too good to take advice, newbies who believed they were better than they actually were.

The NRC boys were a whole new ordeal altogether, Gordon realized.

“IEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

A bloodcurdling shriek resounded in Ignihyde’s halls. It bounced off the cold polished floors and the metal beams and wires that stitched everything together.

At once, Gordon snapped to attention, pushing himself away from the wall and rushing to the scream’s source. The door snagged, refusing to open--he cursed loudly, slamming his palms against it and roaring, “WHAT’S GOIN’ ON IN THERE?!”

Behind the door, the wailing escalated. There was crashing, screeching, sobbing, begging. His worries ramped up, his pounding, harder and more frantic.

“I THOUGHT I COULD LEAVE YOU TWO UNDERSUPERVISED FOR ONE BLOODY SECOND!!”

Gordon’s palms were raw now, crying out in protest--and, for a wild moment, he considered ramming his entire body against the door. Just as he was preparing to throw himself at it—

Click.

Like magic, the door suddenly swung open. Sebek’s proud face appeared, wearing a smug, triumphant expression. Not good, Gordon thought.

“Rejoice, human!!, Sebek thundered happily. “The merman and I have successfully liberated Ignihyde of its excess of flash fried noodles!! We shall have plenty to use for our cooking lessons!!”

“You did WHAT?!”

“Hmph! Witness our bountiful spoils for yourself!!”

Gordon lifted his head and stared past Sebek.

In the back of the room, Floyd was squatting by Idia’s closet, packet of instant ramen in hand. Boxes and boxes of noodles—rummaged from the deepest recesses of Idia’s mancave—laid in haphazard stacks beside him, teetering precariously atop one another.

Ignihyde’s dorm leader sprawled on the floor, humbly prostrating himself between tears.

“Oi, Firefly Squid-senpai,” Floyd said lazily, using the butt of his frying pan to poke Idia on the head. “This all you got? You’d better tell the truth or else Crocodile-chan and I will squeeze you senseless~”

“Y-Yes, yes, that’s everything!!” Idia squeaked as he cowered in terror. “Y-You’ve already cleaned me out of house and home...!! J-Just take the noodles and leave this nerd alone!!”

“Hmmm...” Floyd laid his frying pan on his shoulder and contemplated. “’Kay! I don’t feel like haulin’ more stuff back to the kitchen anyway.”

“The FUCK is happening here?!”

All eyes landed on Gordon as he stormed in looking none too pleased. Veins bulged on his forehead, and his entire face creased with rage.

A mistake made on his part; he should have known—the students of Night Raven College were the most dangerous aspect in all of cooking.

It had been a sly suggestion from Floyd that started this whole mess. “I heard from a little octopus that Ignihyde’s loaded with noodles. We should go there to pick some up.”

And so Sebek and Floyd had been allowed to go off to collect the ingredients. When they didn’t return in a timely manner, Gordon’s suspicions had set in and he went to Ignihyde himself to investigate—only to stumble upon that shocking scene.

He left fuming, dragging his problem children of the day with him (Floyd) flailing and (Sebek) protesting.

“I said you could get ingredients, I didn’t say you should rob the man blind!!” Gordon grunted, shoving them both through the kitchen doors. “Right, we’ll make noodles by scratch then. Hope you boys remember what you’ve been taught.”

“What? But I don’t feel like it.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you pissed on my mood. To your stations,” their instructor barked, “now!!”

“Maaan... This sucks.”

They reluctantly slunk off, fetching flour, salt, and eggs along the way. Just as Sebek popped open a jar of white granules, Gordon shouted, “Make sure it’s not sugar this time, Zigvolt!!”

Sebek’s cheeks flamed. He shot a fierce glare back, bellowing, “I KNOW THAT!! I don’t need to be told twice! I’ve been expanded my culinary repertoire considerably since the start of this semester!!”

Floyd’s eyes shifted to Sebek’s station. A nasty plot bubbled to the surface of his mind, encouraged by the volatility of his junior’s attitude.

“Ehhh, you sure got guts snapping back to the teach, freshie,” Floyd grinned crookedly as he leaned forward at his counter. “How about you talk big when you can actually own up to it? At least I can cook without a recipe. You’ve been making little mistakes even with a recipe.”

“WHAT!! The only reason we’re even IN this predicament is due to YOUR lapse in judgment!! You INSISTED it would be more cost effective and time efficient to procure noodles in bulk from Ignihyde!”

“You’re the one that went along with me. If you were really smart, you’d have stopped us.”

“Grk…!!”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough out of the both of you!!” Gordon interrupted. “Focus on your pastas instead of stirring the pot here.”

“Tch!! I’ll show him!!” Sebek gruffly tore into a bag of flour at his table. A cloud of fine white powder filled the air, sending him into a coughing fit.

Floyd snickered—he had already shifted his own flour and salt together, forming a well in which he had cracked an egg.

Gordon raised a brow. “… Well? Get on with it then.”

The merman’s lackadaisical smile turned sharp-toothed at the suggestion. “If you say so.”

Without hesitation, Floyd stuck his entire hand into his mound of ingredients, fingers clenching around egg and flower. The yolk burst, viscous yellow coating his hand and flour flying in all directions. A stray speck flew across the aisle and hit Sebek’s forehead.

A low grow came from his throat.

Gordon scowled at Floyd. “That’s not an acceptable mixing technique.”

“That’s right!” Sebek called haughtily. “You should know better!! You’re meant to break the yolk with a fork, then steadily incorporate it into the...”

A fistful of flour suddenly exploded across Sebek’s vision. He jerked back, now boasting a flour-covered face, appalled and mouth hanging agape.

Across the way, Floyd unabashedly smirked. He waggled his yolky fingers at his classmate, incriminating himself. “Oops, my hand slipped.”

“YOU VILE KNAVE!! THIS INJUSTICE WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED!!” Sebek shoved a hand into his own bag of flour for a counterattack. He raised his arm, and Floyd cackled, knowing his target had taken the bait.

Gordon instantly clued in on his intentions.

This was it: Floyd’s escape from the order to make noodles, to do something more fun.

“TIME OUT!!” The chef abruptly stepped between his students, forming a physical barrier between the two--but alas, too late.

The declaration of war had been made.

There was a battle cry, and then flour flying at him. Gordon fell back, grasping at his face. The world blurred into a white mess, filled with the clanging of pots and pans and erratic shouting. 

“Where are you?!” Sebek demanded between coughs (most likely preparing another projectile). “COME AND FACE ME, YOU FISHY COWARD!!”

Shuffling came from within the flour haze, metal and wooden implements rolled or tossed to the floor to attract Sebek’s attention. Wherever Floyd was in the kitchen, he was a master at avoiding detection.

All the while, Gordon swatted at the air and bellowed, “Stand down, get back to work. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, YOU FUCKING DONKEYS?!”

The startled cries of the cafeteria ghost chefs started filtering in.

“G-Goodness, what’s happened here?!”

Gordon lurched out of the kitchen, clinging to the doorframe to keep himself upright. He spat up a breath, then dragged a hand over his face to wipe it clean of flour. The man looked simultaneously infuriated and exhausted, the lines on his face seemingly more prominent than they had been before.

“Mr. Ramsay!! Are you alright?! What’s become of the kitchen and the students?!” one of the ghost chefs asked worriedly.

“The students,” Gordon said wearily. “That’s what happened.”

[itsuki-minamy]

"K – LETTER STORY"

SILVER: "ANSWER"

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Yatogami Kuro was sitting in front of the tea table, worried.

It all started with a postcard he received yesterday from his brother, Mishakuji Yukari.

On the back of the table, placed on a tea table, was a photograph of the brothers posing as if they were blending into a picturesque foreign landscape (Kuro only knew it was a European street corner), as if it were a painting, and above you can see the elegant strokes of the fountain pen added to it.

The content is simple, with a few lines of recent information and a postscript.

For those who have been keeping up to date, there are anecdotes about where he stayed, how his roommate has grown, and his interactions with the other person who appears from time to time. His short, witty one-liners always remind him of Mishakuji's versatility.

(This is good.)

What bothers Kuro is the P.S., just a word.

He said,

"Thanks for your answer."

"......"

The address of the place where he will be staying is also written on the front of the postcard. Regardless of the moral argument for hanging his head, that nerve is very fraternity-like. But anyway,

(Should I respond as requested?)

His head bowed at that difficult question.

The battle of the past had finally been resolved, and the dispute should have been resolved... Not all of his bad feelings have dissipated... but at least he is no longer the subject of blatant denial... but he can't even say that his relationship is good enough to casually exchange letters.

(However, it is rude to leave it unattended and something is wrong here...)

He suddenly realized this and instinctively hit his knee.

(Yes, from here too!)

Like his brother, he wrote about people close to him. That's perfect for a return sword that doesn't add unnecessary emotions. He's sure everyone will be intrigued, even his brother.

(Let us begin.)

He grabbed a notepad and pen from the desk next to him and started writing a draft.

[Adolf K. Weismann, also known as the ''Silver King'' Isana Yashiro, whom I once considered his master and who now stands by my side as a friend, earned a strange nickname like ''German-Sensei'' in honor of assuming his position as professor.]

(Mmm, that's strange.)

Just by writing the minimum of information, and even a few notes, he filled a space the size of a postcard.

(Well, Shiro is a special man... if that's the case.)

He carefully tore off one note and wrote on the second.

[Neko transferred to Ashinaka High School with his real name, Ameno Miyabi, and causes commotion around her regardless of whether she uses supernatural powers or not. To clean up after that, Shiro and I ran out...]

(Hmm, what do you mean?)

He filled out another page.

(I guess Neko often acts like a cat...)

In that case, he would like to broaden the scope a little more and write about Kukuri Yukizome... no, his brother doesn't know about her, nor about Toru Hieda... a person who was involved with the "Green King".

"No, why?!"

Unbeknownst to him, a cry of agony escaped him.

The advice came slightly from behind.

"I think it's best to let go of unnecessary pretensions and just write as you want."

"It's not an unnecessary pretense. It's the way you should behave..."

After answering normally, Kuro turned around.

Before he knew it, Shiro had returned home and was stacking the books he took out of his bag on his desk. Likewise, Neko, still in her human form, was curled up in bed and yawning.

Kuro avoids unnecessary interactions with these two people he knows well (although he thought that, if he didn't take off Neko's uniform quickly, it would take him longer to iron it).

"I found out why I was trying to talk back to my brother."

Shiro let out a sigh.

"Well, I've been thinking about that since you got the postcard yesterday. When I got home, I found you moaning in front of your notebook, so I can understand why you're worried about the wording."

"Umm, squishy, ​​squishy, ​​squishy, ​​all over again. Nyahahahaha."

Riding a horse, Neko lay down and adopted a series of poses that seemed to imitate another person.

Shiro hesitantly told his friend, who accepted his misfortune with a bitter face, an inference that could be another blow.

"I was also thinking about this all day... that person named Mishakuji Yukari."

"What?"

"Maybe he added that word to mock Kuro, in anticipation that you would worry like that?"

Kuro was about to say "Gah!" and he sat upright.

Intuitively, he was sure that Shiro was right.

That's what his brother might be able to do.

A few days later.

Kuro eventually recovered and, feeling depressed and confused, wrote only a poem of his own in response.

[There is no communication between us, but we have a supportive relationship.]

[starry-blue-echoes]

Star Swap: I might have mentioned this, but I love the idea of Jonathan semi-accidentally rallying the meeker prisoners like Guccio and Atroe, which means a lot given that the prison is largely led by a right-makes-right mentality. Because Jonathan is nice and caring and kind and (with some advice from Gwess and Ermes) not afraid to start punching people if need be. He may not have his old muscles but he still has his boxing skill and maybe his hamon? Can't remember when he was taken. Anyway, he manages to assemble a small following of prisoners, helping them so that they can eventually help themselves.

YESSSSSSSSS

while Jolyne's body may not have the pure muscle and intimidation factor that Jonathan's original one had he's far from helpless. As you mentioned there's the aforementioned Hamon and boxing, plus how Hamon would work really well with The Passion when he gets pricked

and it's definitely an accident at first. Jonathan couldn't help it! He wants to help people, no matter whether or not they can give him anything in return. And while he may not teach them Hamon (he realises pretty early on just how dangerous that could get if he taught others), he can teach them how to defend themselves and get away from danger

For a bit of fun chaos, I like to image there was an instance where two people he taught used the things he learned to pick on others and he marched his way over and started scolding the shit out of them. He gave them a flawless "I'm not mad just disappointed" look and speech like he was their parent or something and he looked to genuine and upset and oh god I feel so bad what the fuck was I thinking-

and just to add a but of extra fun spice to it, maybe one of the two ends up attacking him because You Can't Tell Us What To Do Short Stack only to promptly get their ass handed to them on a silver platter. Maybe even a broken bone or two........ but then when it's over Jonathan completely heals the opponent but leaves himself injured so when the guard shows up it looks like the fight was completely one-sided

was that a bit tricky of him to fool the guard like that? Yes, he feels terrible about it for days afterward and can't get the mental image of Dio out of his head, but he isn't going to just let this person use what he taught them to hurt people that just wouldn't be nice >:(

he doesn't even realise how many people he's befriended until Hermes makes a comment about it and he almost starts crying because he hasn't had this many friends EVER, he's still honestly trying to come to terms with the fact he has friends period

once again, I'm loving the mental image of Hermes and Gwess trying their absolute damnedest to just Keep Jojo Alive. They know he's powerful and that he should theoretically be able to handle himself, and most of the time he's honestly really reliable! He's surprisingly emotionally intelligent and knows just what to say....... but then right after he'll do the stupidest (/aff) shit imaginable and they'll remember "right, this is the same guy who thought the tv was trapping people inside and that blood letting was an acceptable medical treatment"

also, speaking of Atroe, I had a silly idea for how Foo slides into things: I think it would if they're just Body Buddies. That's it. Foo expressed interest in helping out Jonathan for the respect he showed them and Atroe was like "welcome to the club! Jojo's really cool and nice so I can't blame you, why don't you come with :D" and just lets Foo vibe in their body

would this work biologically? I don't think so, but also consider It Would Be Funny For The Sake Of The AU

[hollowmaison]

you are surrounded by so many cool and beautiful things. do you actively go out and explore a lot? what advice would you give to someone who struggles to find beauty + make their life beautiful?

you still gotta be a child at heart who is eager to play and explore! getting on a bike, driving a car and getting tf out and seeing nature unfold, life unfold. you find the coolest things, like today i saw a hummingbird with orange wings. orange wings, WILD.

you can find beauty anywhere. i think the autoshops around the san fernando valley are gorgeous. an auntie wearing stacked silver bangles at the donut shop in the a.m. is stunning. just explore, keep that child in u alive.

[vore-scientist]

The Lost Prince of the Silver Valley

[sfw fantasy comedy GT vore story!]

A Tale of the Mystic Woods staring The Giant Wizard Yonah Ha'Esh, Princess Sophia, and an unlucky prince.

Contains: safe/soft/unwilling non-sexual GT vore. Male giant pred, male human prey.

Plot: back to basics here. A prince comes to rescue Sophia. shenanigans ensue.s

Warnings: other than the vore being unwilling and some strong language, nope. This story is pretty tame but loads of fun.

All characters depicted are ADULTS.

----

Owen was not a very good prince and not a very good adventurer. He knew this. His parents, all 5 of them (3 queens, 1 king, and 1 prince who had no chances of inheriting a throne), knew this. ANd yet he was sent adventuring. He had many many siblings more suited to this. And YET he was sent adventuring. He was clumsy, he wasn't well read, he wasn't very strong or good at fighting. AND YET he was sent adventuring. 

And he was so far from home. He had crossed an ocean, and then many months traveling over land and he was still traveling. That’s what happens when you have to follow whatever vague prophecy your polycule of parents decide to place on you because everyone else has a special talent just like all other royals in their kingdom and the ones surrounding, while you for some reason didn't get one. It didn't even have to be an impressive talent. Owen’s directly younger sibling could stack grapes end to end. That was all it took.  It hadn't been all bad. At least he was far from home! 

It was very bad that he was lost in a magical forest. This was not the same as being lost on that magical grassy plain. That sucked for sure, but at least one could see for several miles around and get some idea of where to go. Here the forest was so dense there was no telling what was even 50ft on either side. Owen had entered the forest on the advice of some kind shopkeepers in a nearby town. They told him if he was looking for fairytales, the Mystical Woodlands was his best bet. 

So far he’d had no luck, and he had been in the forest a week! Hadn’t he been patient enough! What did it take to find a dang fairy-

A scream. That was a scream! And by the second scream Owen was convinced this was A Damsel in Distress. Without a second thought Owen ran in the direction of the scream until he found its source. Why did he run? A screaming damsel usually meant something, or someone, was causing her distress and he would have to fight that something! That something for this damsel?

Was a giant, in very bright wizard robes. He could not fight that! He wouldn't fight that! No way no how. But he had to try… something. So he followed. 

The giant had the princess over his shoulder and she pounded that shoulder as hard as she could and screamed as loudly as she could but it was no use. The giant did not drop her and no rescue came. Or so she thought.

Owen followed them to their destination, a large clearing filled with an expansive garden and orchard, to the back of which was a tower, with a single window at the top. Giant shuffled his feet a moment before LEAPING to the window and snagging the windowsill with one hand, tossing the princess in with the other, and scrambling through. 

No way was Owen following the wizard into his tower! Not without a plan. That was the wizard’s home turf. So he stayed outside and helped himself to some fresh fruit. It had been many days of rationing bread and dried meats from the shops, after an unpleasant encounter with what he thought were raspberries. They were not raspberries, they were rashberries, and even after a few days he still had a painful rash in an embarrassing spot in a more embarrassing shape. 

This was a garden, the plants were not random and wild. Even if they belonged to an evil giant wizard.  It was a little easier to spot the obvious magical plants and ingredients, since they were similar to the ones in the garden back home which were shared by the castle chefs and castle mages. At Owen’s 13th All Royals Birthday Bash (too many siblings for individual birthday celebrations), a few ingredients got mixed up and guests had to be peeled from the ceiling and several didn't stop quacking for a week. 

The apple that Owen picked was delicious and crisp despite being out of season. Again, mage’s garden. He chose an apple because he felt it would help him think better. Formulate a plan. The problem was… Owen wasnt a planner. He wasnt much of anything! But dammit it he was going to try. 

---

“PUT ME DOWN YOU BIG JERK! LET ME GO!” sophia wailed and wailed but her friend did not give in to her childish demands.

“I HAVE TO FIX THIS! I MADE A MISTAKE! I NEED TO GO BACK NOOOOOOOOW” she shrieked, pounding and clawing at yonah’s back to no avail. She did not let up until Yonah had made it all the way back to the castle and tossed her through the window. 

Her hard impact on the floor of the workshop stopped her tirade. She got to her feet and tried to climb out the window as Yonah scrambled in. A giant hand pushed her back. 

“Princess, you must calm down.” Yonah said in an even voice. 

“NO! I HURT THEM! I NEED TO FIX IT!”

“You can’t princess, you’re too tired” Yonah said as she tried to climb over his hand, up his shoulder, and out the window. He caught her as she readied the jump to the windowsill. 

“I have to take responsibility for my actions! You’ve said that! My father says that! All the time!”

Yonah sighed and ran his free hand through his black curls, picking out some debris as he did. And he absentmindedly pet sophia has he took her downstairs and she continued to protest. 

“You will, but if you do anything in this state you’ll just make things worse” he said as he cradled the small human in his arms, said small human finally accepting her fate. “You… We… lost track of time, you’ve not slept for almost two days. Once you have gotten some rest, you can come help clean up.”

The princess sobbed into his elbow, he was unsure if she was listening to what he said or just subdued by her own exhaustion. Either way he took her to the bedroom and placed her into her cage, letting her climb into her bed as he made her a cup of tea.

“Please drink something, i added that special honey”

“I dont deserve that!” 

Yonah worried sophia would start screaming again, and his sensitive giant ears couldnt take much more punishment.

“Drink it for me then, I want to know you had something to drink, and I already made it.” 

She took the cup. And the magic sedative he added took effect in under a minute. 

Part of the reason shit went to crap back in the forest was Yonah had decided to take a nap. He wasnt monitoring things. Not that sophia needed constant supervision, but there were a lot of moving parts and some of those parts were elves who like to… improvise. And being more rested than sophia thanks to that unfortunate nap, Yonah wasn’t exhausted. He could go back and assist with some repairs and clean up. 

He knew this meant just lifting heavy things and holding heavy things and carrying supplies. Thats what giants were good for after all. Wizardry cant be useful in every situation but it still stung knowing that it wasn't his skill that were useful here, but his biology. The fact that he was born a half-giant. Maybe there would be something where his magic would come in handy. He could only hope. 

---

BOOM

The ground shook and Owen woke up from his spot under a tree. The giant had exited the tower and must have jumped from the window. Owen watched as the giant sped off into the forest, disappearing near instantly once into past the first trees. 

No need for planning! The tower was evil wizard free! 

And still had no easy entrance. 

Owen circled it several times. He tapped on the individual stones. Tried yelling “open sesame!” and other typical magic words but nothing worked. So he took a break in the bathing pool behind the tower. It was very nice, if rather chilly thanks to being fed by a stream that Owen correctly inferred was fed from the mountain range that the woodlands boarded. 

But he hadnt bathed in several days. By some luck he had found a bathhouse in the middle of a woods but that was, as just stated, several days ago. It felt so good. And the shock of the cold water did sharpen his mind a bit. What else could he do to get into the tower. He had already pressed on every stone within his reach and not obscured by giant thorny-

THE VINES. 

He leapt from the water and nearly forgot to put on his armor before climbing the vines and making his way up the tower with frustrating ease. 

The workshop before him made him momentarily forget his frustration, it was more impressive than the ones back home in his parent’s castle! And those mages had royal funding! 

The fall into the workshop from the window brought all his frustration back. It had looked like a normal workshop from where he had knelt on the windowsill and he had just slid down but fell almost 15 feet! He cursed at himself for forgetting that this was a giant wizard! Of course the workshop would be for a giant! 

Getting out the window could be a problem. There should be a ladder or something nearby to make it easy for medi-folk like himself. It would only be proper if such a villain had friends and regular guests. There was no reason to assume he didn’t, many villains were very social creatures. Many had come to his collective sibling birthdays with intent to curse them but usually just got drunk and had a good time. Owen’s current hair clip was from an evil gnome who had so much fun that he gifted each kid a magical amulet. Owen’s kept his hair clean and tidy at all times. This was a good gift for a prince who was expected to have luxurious hair all the time. 

Clearly the princess wasnt in this room, that would be stupid. So Owen explored, and quickly found the trap door that lead to the rest of the tower. 

I’d love to go on about his explorations but that would be boring and I don't want to spend hours writing descriptions that might contradict what i've written before. Actually now that i think about it, if every description i made of yonah’s tower conflicted in minor ways it would be very on brand for the chaotic nature and ambience im going for with this magic tower.

So the prince eventually finds the bedroom and Sophia in the cage. 

Before the prince, on top of an exquisite night stand, was an even more exquisite cage. It was large enough for a collection of princesses, featured two levels with amenities, and the most luxurious hanging bed that swung gently from golden chains that attached at the top center of the structure. 

Classic. The princess was in a cage and Owen had to figure out how to get her out. His first idea was to look for a lock to pick, but there was no lock… Once again he tried magic words to open the door, which also did not work. Finally he thought “maybe there is a loose bar!” and tried to tug at the individual bars. 

And nearly ended up falling off the nightstand when the cage door swung open with the force of his pull. He only briefly wondered why it wasnt locked before celebrating his luck. 

It hadnt even been locked! What luck! He made his way to the princess. She looked disheveled, had bags under her eyes and dirt on her face, but was sleeping soundly. And was fully clothed? Weird. 

“Um… princess” Owen whispered and when she didnt wake he asked louder and louder. He shook the bed and the chains creeked a bit but didnt rattle. 

“Oh shit, of course!” duh how could he overlook the most obvious answer. 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to her forehead. A second after her eyes opened, her fist pressed itself forcefully into his nose. He stumbled back but thankfully just into the cage bars and not out and over the nightstand. 

“Who the fuck are you!?” she asked and Owen tried to answer but it came out “rrem” as he tried to check if his nose was broken. It was. Great. 

The princess rubbed her eyes. “You’re a prince!” it was a harsh accusation. 

“Ah right!” he said and bowed “Prince owen of the silver valley! At your service”

“Then do me a service and fuck off!” spat the princess.

“What?” the confusion dulled the pain. 

“I don’t want to be rescued!”

“Oh”

----

“OHhhhhh” even in the dim moonlight from the magical window Sophia saw the prince flush with embarrassment.  “Oh fuck. Oh by the twice dead gods” Sophia spent about half a braincell thinking that this prince couldn't be local with such a blatant polytheistic turn of phrase. That half brain cell did conclude that it was familiar, probably mentioned in one of her Religious Studies For Future Public Servants lessons. 

Most of her braincells were processing the prince’s reaction. 

“I’m sorry!” he finally squeaked out. And all her braincells stopped to focus on that. 

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes, very sorry, I should just go” he turned and then tripped over the open cage door. 

Sophia lunged forward and caught him by the wrist. “Yes by all means you should go, but not by breaking your neck!” 

Owen laughed and steadied himself and sophia let go, glanced at the “window” and saw again the moonlight. 

“By all means you should go” she said again “but it’s late, you look almost as worn as me. Maybe stay and rest. I would offer to cook you something but i can’t cook.”

“I can cook” the prince said without thinking. 

“You can?”

---

“When was the last time this was used?” Owen asked as they worked together to push the human-sized stove-top to onto the kitchen counter and out from under cabinets so smoke wouldnt accumulate. 

“Uhhhh” sophia didnt answer right away but her mind flashed with smoke and fire and yonah yelling water producing spells through painful coughing. “I cant remember. What supplies do you need?” 

That got the princes off the topic. And she helped him get to and open the giant cupboards and drawers to find the human-sized utensils, as well as open the giant jars of ingredients. The prince picked out a lot of dried fruits and preserved nuts. 

“Wow, you climb around like this all day? No wonder youre so strong” he breathed hard after they had climbed down the counter to the pantry and after climbing around in there, climbed back!

“What do you mean?”

“Your punch!” he laughed. 

---

“You can cook!” Sophia laughed when the prince set out two bowls of sweet boiled buckwheat with the fruit, nuts, and spices. She didnt realize how hungry she was as she tucked in. When was the last time she had eaten?

“It's just breakfast kasha.” said the prince taking his own bite, “but thank you

“Yeah i tried to make this once” sophia mused “nearly blew up that stove you used”

“I dont believe that” he said then saw her face “oh, ok.”

“Whoever you do end of rescuing, you will make very happy” Sophia says trying to save the mood and failing miserably. 

“I doubt I’ll be allowed to continue cooking if i become a king.”

“That’s nonsense!” sophia exclaimed a little too loudly as Owen dropped his spoon. She let him clean himself up before explaining. 

“You’ll be KING, you will be making the rules!”

“Kings cant just make up rules” Owen pointed out “this isnt some fucked up world where kings and queens rule with iron fists.”

“No but when it comes to arbitrary and unofficial rules of society a king can say fuck that!” sophia countered. 

“Hm, i guess you’re right. Thanks for this pep talk!” he said.

“Thanks for the porridge” sophia returned, “I can clean up, how about you head out, but if you see anything dangerous in the forest and can run back here, please do, i dont want a kind hearted prince like you getting hurt.” 

---

Sophia did have the prince help her put away the stove, that was a two human job, but had the prince run off while she put away everything else and cleaned the dishes. The prince was amused, a princess cleaning dishes! Sophia almost punched him again for that, princesses should learn basic chores just like anyone else. So should princes! Anyone who goes adventuring needs to know how to clean their mess kit and do their own laundry. She should have had the prince help clear the dishes, now she had to climb back and forth to get them all to the sink. 

She was about halfway through washing the dishes when she heard it. 

FEE FI FO FUM

Yonah was back

I SMELL THE BLOOD OF THE HUMAN KIND

Oh fuck the prince! He hadnt even made it out of the workshop before yonah got back! She dropped whatever she was holding and rushed upstairs. First she had to climb out of the sink, then climb down the counter, then run across the kitchen to the stairwell. Then she could run up the stairs. Or mostly, there were a LOT of stairs. And the prince hadn’t even known about the secret human sized ones and had likely made his slow way climbing each giant step and was too tired to outrun a hungry half giant! 

Wait yonah had already said the rest of the line while sophia was thinking all that, we need to get to the top of the stairs to see what’s happening. 

Sophia climbed into the workshop just in time to see the prince’s flailing feet disappear into yonah’s mouth as the half-giant swallowed to get the lump in his throat down.

“YONAH!” Sophia yelped with the most accusatory tone she could manage which was pretty accusatory, she was royalty after all. 

The next moment sophia was dodging out of the way as Yonah fell off his chair, choking and sputtering. It took a full minute for Yonah to finish swallowing and breathe normally. His face was red and shining with sweat as he continued to lay on the floor, coughing and wheezing. 

This was not the reaction she was expecting and to her surprise she found herself worried more about how the prince was doing. Sophia knew from experience that being stuck inside yonah’s throat while he choked on you was a terrible experience, however she had always been under her glass curse and it had been mostly uncomfortable, the prince could be really hurt! 

“Is he ok?” Sophia ran up to his stomach and pressed her ear, there was no screaming and she thought maybe she heard some panicked breathing but that could have been yonah’s racing pulse. 

“What?” Yonah wheezed

“The prince! Is he ok?”

“I- don't know. Why do you care?” he gave her a dirty look as he couldn't muster the strength to sound hurt and jealous because sophia wasn't asking if he was ok! He almost choked to death on a stupid prince! Yet, Sophia’s concern was compelling and he sat up, leaning against the wall and poked at his stomach. 

There was a flurry of movement which he felt against his sore abdomen. Ohhhh spitting up this prince was going to suck. The movement was visible, as light tremors and jerks from the outside and Sophia relaxed a bit. 

“Why the fuck do you care?” yonah asked again, his voice stronger “That was a prince! I stopped him from rescuing you.”

“He was leaving” sophia said, the muffled voice from yonah’s stomach providing an echo, “He was very nice and accepted my word that i didn't want to be rescued”

Yonah growled under his breath “oh”. It was unlikely that knowing that before encountering the prince would have changed his actions. And he was pissed. Time to be a bit evil. He grabbed sophia for comfort and she didn’t protest. 

“Well,” he coughed, “I suppose if he wasn’t going to rescue you i should let him live…”

Sophia rolled her eyes but didn't interrupt 

“But you’re little stunt has my chest in agony, I dont know if i can spit the prince back up,” he coughed again and didnt have to pretend to be in pain but he did exaggerate it. “And i haven't eaten all day, im not sure i want to give up this free meal”

The hurt was worth the satisfaction of the prince finally protesting in earnest fear, screaming to be let out and making the futile attempt to escape as if his stomach was a burlap sack. Sophia wanted to tell the prince Yonah was lying but she knew she’d get extra chores for spoiling his act. Or he’d eat her and while that was better than chores yonah could hurt himself in this state trying to eat more people. He was an idiot like that. 

“If you need more time to recover maybe cast that little spell?” sophia nudged him right where she thought he’d be most bruised and from Yonah’s wince she was spot on. 

“Dammit you're right” he hissed in the practiced way that kept his victims from hearing him.  It was a simple spell that would keep the prince safe for a very short amount of time, but longer than he would without the spell. But it didnt help with the lack of air. 

So by the time Yonah spat up the prince,  20 minutes later, he was thoroughly unconscious. Sophia worked on getting Owen out of his disgusting armor and most of his equally soiled clothing. It took a little demanding on her part but she got yonah to take them to the washroom so at least Owen wouldn't wake up in a stinky sticky state. 

Well she tried her best. Owen woke up as the washroom sink was filling with warm soapy water. 

Owen sat up picked up where he left off screaming. 

“Quiet you” Yonah growled, leering over the prince and Owen froze. But did not remain quiet.

“I'm alive!?” he sounded unconvinced “I’m alive!” he sounded elated. 

“Not the brightest one are you?” Yonah sneered. “My princess convinced me to show you mercy, as you were not going to try and rescue her against her will.”

Owen looked around and spotted Sophia “thank you.” He looked back to Yonah for the nod of approval which he was given. 

It was a little awkward washing up under the hungry gaze of the giant that had successfully eaten him but Sophia didn't seem worried so Owen tried not to think about it. It was very awkward having the half giant carry him and the princess back upstairs into the workshop to see him off. But he was not put on the window but on the workbench. 

“Don’t touch anything” Yonah ordered 

“You dont have to tell me twice” Owen said, but  Sophia also said “ughhhhh fine” before she gave him a smile and a wink that only made Owen shudder with worry. 

“AH! There we are” Yonah said after a minute of rummaging around. He put down a box, not a treasure chest just a nice wooden box that made a jangling sound. He opened it to reveal a collection of weapons and armor. Owen did not ask where these things came from but he had a very vivid and correct imagination. 

Yonah picked out a very nice looking sword decorated with pearls and held it out to Owen who took it without thinking. It was a bit off balance. 

“Uhhhhh” Owen didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully the giant spoke. 

“For your bravery in the face of certain death, for being a decent person, and for being a delicious snack, I bequeath you this magic sword!” The words sounded very rehearsed but also sincere. Especially the delicious snack part which Owen wasn't thrilled about. 

“What does it do?” Owen asked “or wait is that rude to ask?”

Yonah grinned “no, it’s very smart to ask. But it’s easier to demonstrate. Give it a swing”

The prince swung the sword and the pearl under his hand became warm, then the entire sword became pearlescent until the shine gathered at the tip and came off as a large bubble. The bubble didnt do anything so the prince popped it with the sword. And a large dire wolf appeared, it was shiny like there was a film of soap but it seemed otherwise solid. It stood at the ready and growled at yonah but Yonah ignored it and it did not attack. 

“It summons beasts? From bubbles?” Owen asked. 

“That’s it’s main trick” Sophia said, nearly bouncing with excitement, “if you practice and summon big enough bubbles you can use them for shelter! And if you figure out how to swing it properly it can shoot bubbles at your enemies!”

“Magic bubbles?”

“No normal ones that are made of soap and hurt your eyeballs if they pop in your face!”

“We have reason to believe it does more but we were unable to figure it out” the giant added “let us know if you discover more powers”

Owen agreed. And was far into the forest again before realizing he had no idea how he would do that. 

[FIN]

[IF YOU LIKED THIS STORY PLEASE LET ME KNOW. REBLOG TO SPREAD IT TO OTHERS! SEND ME ASKS. ANYTHING TO LET ME KNOW THIS STORY WAS READ AND ENJOYED]

[tiny-chubby-bird]

In response to your Forgotten Hall post for HSR, first lay out some teams. My teams for example are Kafka & Sampo as team 1, Jingliu & Blade as team 2, and then I swap in supports and healers as needed.

Since you like Sampo you could pair him with Luka or Serval to stack up DoTs, March or Gepard as support with the Trend of Universal Market light cone, and then your pick of a healer, and you have a super solid team on your hands. Team 2 could be Argenti with 2 supports and have him hyper carry, slot in Luocha or Gepard/March to help with survival. Silver Wolf is a fantastic pick for Forgotten Hall too, since she can make way for weaknesses you might not be able to cover.

Supports like Hanya and Yukong are excellent to start with. They don't scale off stats really, they only need SPD Boots and Energy Regen ropes. Relic set bonuses go a long way for supports too, so do try to get 4pc Messenger and 2pc Fleet of the Ageless. The substats are really up to you, but anything that will keep them alive stat wise are safe bets.

Once you know what teams you want, say you pick out 10 characters total, just focus on them. Get their traces to 8-10, level 80, max out light cones. Your relics don't need to be amazing (I've been in the process of upgrading mine for months) just try to get the main stats you want with 2 substats that fit the character. That should be enough to consistently 3 star MoC 8 every cycle at least.

Sorry for the wall of text, but I hope it helps! You got this!!

Hey thank you!! 

One of my main problems is that I can never decide what characters to focus on because I always hear how great/helpful some of them are so I think “I should probably build them” but then never do and build someone else instead because I just like the character weuzfgweuz Picking maybe 10 and focusing on maxing out those would be a good start, so I’ll do that, thanks for the advice!! I think another big problem is that instead of having balanced teams that have one DPS and three support people or something strategic like that, I just,,, put three DPS and a healer on a team, but the DPS aren’t even that strong so they all just deal mediocre dmg lmao. I’ll heed your advice and do my best! 

Thank you very much for taking the time <3 

[amaiguri]

Saegenfolk Reworks -- How I'm thinking about my pastel-goth Chinese-Viking fusion culture

Okay, so, as some of you may know, I am working on updating my Saegen culture to have more elements of my birth culture -- cuz, I legit don't know enough about it so this is a great way to learn and then like... mind-palace it into my worldbuilding (yes, I just verbed "mind-palace"). And guess what? I just finished my first sketches of a rework of the whole culture!!! <3 <3 <3 I'm REALLY pleased, it's really reasonating with me now in a way Saegen culture NEVER was <3

So, let's go over what some of the different stuff is -- Top to bottom, left to right... And I AM open to feedback and thoughts and, in fact, I encourage it <3 I consent to advice!

First thing to notice is the Saegen now have a color scheme that isn't jewel-toned red and gold… because the SVANHIK people are red and gold. I experimented with Green and Teal for the Northern lights -- but Green felt really weird. It made them too elfy. And Teal is already Telethens' color. Nouveau Thuille is purple/navy blue/black… So instead of making the red more jewel-toned, I took it towards Cyberpunk Neon/Barbie pink. Why? This is Asarlai's color in their culture now. Asarlai is the father of humanity and god of magic (up North) So wearing pink is super fatherly, magical, and clever. We still have black because black plants just work good in these near-underground settings -- absorbing waaay more light. So now the Saegen aesthetic is now like… pastel-goth Chinese-Vikings.

Next, we have the FASHION! The fashion is very very specifically stolen from the silhouette of Hanfu, just with more fur and different materials. I imagine it being Rumateur wool, but also leather and dyed animal skins and maybe bamboo silks and so forth. We still have elaborate braids and wavy hair, but in my mind, their eyes are all like the Sakha people or something. They still use their hands to paint their faces -- typically for sunscreening/snow-glare/sea-glare reduction reasons as well as receiving Asarlai's blessing. And while Thuilleans prefer silver metals, they prefer gold. This is just a contrast thing.

Next next: Houses! They mostly build out of these silvery bamboo stalks that grow under the Upper Continent. I really like these tent-like silhouettes to their houses -- with littler tents stacked atop each other. They also have igloo-like, bulb-shaped homes for temp shelters! Their ships are like dragons with their wings and blade-armored fronts (mostly for ice, but also fighting). And some even ride small whale-landsharks with sealskin saddles ❤️

Weapons and tools wise: They're really well known for their Ysse lanterns (I mean, EVERYONE IS but for different reasons). Theirs are all a really pretty pink -- the "purest form of Ysse light" (Not really.) -- and have the teardrop bulb shape. But they look like these warm, nutrient restoring fungi that naturally grow (or probably a god put them there) in Saegenheim. They also have guns (which have magic bulbs that, when struck, blast out fire. So really, they're flamethrowers but I don't like the way that sounds lol). They also use these Tang-dynasty-inspired swords and poleaxes pretty commonly.

Animal and creature wise: Their rumateurs are much bigger and bulkier -- more cattle-like thanks to the flatter plains around Saegenheim -- than the more lithe, leapy rumateurs of the Nouveau Thuillean valley. They also keep artic bunnies (even though the're considered mild pests in Nouveau Thuille) as easy food and sometimes even hunt seals. However, they have to be super careful not to murder their selkie brethren -- it is generally wiser not-to hunt seals because they might be a selkie -- and instead just ask seals for their molted skins (which they molt in one, thick slough once a year) or milk to make cheese or kumis. Not-shown: They also heavily rely on Butterflies of the Heart for Honey, Wax, and Mead --because despite their name, they're actually bees.

Above the Saegenheim cave are these enclosed plains of black bamboo forests. A currently unnamed but critically important fungus grows in tandem with the bamboo and is part of the bamboo's natural life cycle. I'm not entirely sure, but maybe something like the bamboo grows up and starts putting out leaves to photosynthesize, to pump back into the ground. The fungus feeds on the bamboo but then helps it spread further and also, gives the bamboo nutrients back in the winter. And eventually, the fungus eats the dead stalks WHILE fixing the soil for the new growth?

Regardless, the Saegen people eat this fungus as one of their staple foods.

They also eat a ground-fungus that the rumateurs and bunnies eat up here that grows small and under the frost but VERY PERSISTENTLY, much to everyone's surprise (it's the 5" one). It also works with the bamboo and tree fungus to make this really weirdly balanced flow of nutrients in and out of the soil with the seasons.

The ground fungus is usually dried, ground up, and then used for soups or baked goods (like flat breads or meat loafs.) Meanwhile, the tree fungus is usually eaten without grining but still boiled/fried/baked OR dried and ground up and brewed to make coffee. ((This is where the Northerners get their coffee -- the coffee is a lie, they are perpetually drinking an American Civil War Confederate coffee substitute XDDDDD But at least their coffee usually has good protein, micronutrients, and caffeine-like substances, unlike real Civil War coffee substitute LOL))

So Saegenheim is now in the Womb of the World, (the environment sketch) taller and this tree-like fungus grows that is also edible and can act as a meat-substitute nutrient-wise BUT it grows much slower, so it is carefully monitored by the Sages so they don't fuck it up.

Speaking of the Womb of the World -- this warm, damp refuge in the otherwise hostile, VERY NORTHERN part of the tundra is a cave warmed by the specific way the permanent Ysse Springs interact with the stones here -- warming the cave to very liveable temperatures year round. The Sages of Saegenheim have built their home here to honor the Gods who brought forth all of humanity. However, most Saegenfolk do not live here year round -- they are semi-nomadic, in that they go to the same few places and settle for the season. Different royal families will lead their people to different places, but those who can afford it will return to winter in the safe, reliable Saegenheim to catch up on news and celebrate Godsweek. They hang new pink lanterns in the streets at the beginning of every new year.

And lastly, when they aren't in Saegenheim, the Saegenfolk are often sailing. And this means they are hunting whale-landsharks, sea serpents, shrimp, and artic carp (articarp, if you will XD).

Now this closeness of location and similarity of lifestyle and respect of the Sages and Gods may lead you to believe that the Saegens are cooperative, extended-family-oriented folks.

No.

Due to the harshness of the environment, a great deal of emphasis is placed on survivability and military. And when everyone is seeking to be better, then you cannot rest for even a moment or you will fall behind. If you are not young enough to be trying to get stronger/cleverer/better/more useful, then you better be teaching others to get there or you're useless. And useless things are to be cast off…

Every family has its own sort of military hazing rituals that involve ridiculously long, cruel, and unnecessary training hours. Admittedly, it's a well-rounded education but there are all these weirdly specific judgements about you, depending on what kind of instruments, weapons, poetry, and cooking recipes you know. And even though your extended family will provide you food and teach you and find your more private tutors as you grow up… you will be constantly compared to your cousins. If you are worse than even one, you are pressed like you are worthless. If you are better than all your cousins and siblings by 200%… why is it not 250%? 300%? You cannot ever be Enough in Saegen culture.

Unless you're a Sage. Sages are judged by entirely different standard. But the number of people who try to become Sages and fail is also… quite large.

Anyway, this might've been poorly organized AND I'm still thinking about all this so if you have thoughts or feedback, let me know ❤️

[sagemonsters]

@atlasthefallen has a blind date with...

Imara the Gnoll

Imara is a happy gnoll (a bipedal and intelligent spotted hyena) who loves the African metal scene. She dresses from head to toe in black leather and lace adorned with silver spikes and chains. She wears a lot of silver jewelry and has dyed some of her fur black as well.

Imara is dedicated to metal, and is always excited to go to concerts and music festivals. She can talk about her favorite bands for hours on end, and loves discovering new music. She’s always down to talk about music with you, and is starting to build a vinyl collection while hunting down the perfect turntable.

Imara is an incredibly cheerful person, and isn’t nearly as angry as her music taste would lead anyone to believe. She always has a hug and a few words of encouragement at the ready. She tends to look on the bright side of things and expects the best out of people, which some folks mistake for childishness—to their downfall!

She’s a carnivore first and foremost, and her powerful jaws can crunch through bone when need be. She won’t hesitate to defend you from any threat, and doesn’t allow bigotry of any kind to pass unchallenged. 

Thanks to her thorough immersion in the metal scene, Imara is a bit of an outlier in her pack, but her large extended family supports her interests and is always ready to back her up if things go south. Once you’re introduced, the family is eager to welcome you into the fold for however long you’re a friend or partner of Imara’s, and is always happy to dispense advice or aid if you need such things.

Imara is very feminine and loves makeup and jewelry. Her tastes tend toward the macabre, although she identifies more as a metalhead than a goth. Her wardrobe is 99% black, and she watches a lot of makeup tutorial videos on YouTube. She’s always happy to loan you articles of clothing and help you with buying and/or putting on makeup.

“Okay, so you don’t have Desecrated Deeds to Decease,” the gnoll said, leaning her leather-clad elbow on the glass countertop. “What about Intellectual Metamorphosis by Wrust?”

“Rust like iron?” the salesclerk asked.

The gnoll huffed and reached over to grab a pad of sticky notes from next to the ancient-looking computer monitor in front of the cashier. She scribbled something on it and showed it to him.

“Oh, I see,” the cashier said as he looked. “That’s a Botswana-based group, right? I don’t think we carry anything from Africa.”

“And you call this place a record shop,” the gnoll grumbled. Her black, pierced lips peeled away from her fangs in a grimace of frustration. “Can you order the vinyl from your supplier so that I can pick it up?”

“Uh, let me talk to my manager…” the cashier said, and fled through a door in the back of the shop. The gnoll looked over her shoulder at you, her kohl-lined eyes softening and her grimace turning more embarrassed than frustrated. “I’m sorry this is taking so long,” she said. “I know you’ve got your own stuff to buy; I wasn’t expecting this much hassle.”

You smiled back at her. “No worries. I’ve been here a lot; their catalog system is from the Triassic and takes forever to look anything up. I’ve been in your position plenty of times, and with longer lines behind me! It’s cool.”

The gnoll let out a burst of cackling laughter. “It’s a relief to hear that,” she admitted. “I hate making people wait when they’re in a hurry. Who’re you?”

You told her your name, and the gnoll nodded as she looked at the stack of records in your arms. “Nice picks there,” she said appreciatively, and grinned. “Say, is African music really that exotic to people around here? I want to get my vinyl from local indie record stores, but so far nobody in this city has carried the stuff I want.”

You shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what you’re looking for? Tell me what in particular you like, and I’ll see if I can help you find it.”

The gnoll’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s real sweet of you. I’m a big metal fan, if you couldn’t tell, and my name’s Imara. I try to find music that’s kinda, you know, off the beaten track. I think you’ve got pretty good taste, so let’s swap phone numbers, yeah?” 

“Awesome!” you said, and shifted the stack of records into the crook of your arm so that you could pull out your phone.

see here if you'd like your own blind date with a monster!

[ask-sebastian]

*You can’t seem to keep your eyes off one girl in the Three Broomsticks and notice that several others have the same problem too. You go back to cleaning glasses but again, you look back at the girl. Then you realise…she’s a Veela. She winks at you.*

Sebastian wiped another glass and set it in the stack on the bar top. It was a mundane task he would have finished long ago had Sirona not banned him from using magic whilst on shift tonight.  

It had been one errant spell and he’d already mended the hole in the roof (an absolutely flawless execution of Reparo, if he did say so himself), yet he was still relegated to magicless, menial labour. 

He shoved his shirt cuffs to his elbows and sighed irritably. The shame of it all.

Of course, the one silver lining was the view. Sat across the room from his station behind the bar was an absolutely stunning witch engrossed in animated conversation with those gathered around her. Everyone seemed drawn to her, and his glances in her direction had been innumerable and less than obvious. He suspected that she was keenly aware of them and the suspicion was confirmed when she winked in his direction.

He smiled smugly. Though he had had a mind to refrain from flirting tonight (if only to get back on Sirona’s good side and subsequently get permission to use his magic again) there was something hypnotically magnetic about the enchanting witch and he found the temptation entirely impossible to resist. 

Sebastian slung the drying rag over his shoulder and leaned forward to rest his forearms on the bar. With a sly, come-hither look, he crook his finger and beckoned her over, but before the witch could so much as rise from her seat, Sebastian felt a sharp smack at the back of his head. 

“Ow!” He started and quickly turned to find Sirona eyeing him sternly. Sebastian immediately straightened, more out of duty than sense of shame for being caught, and rubbed at the sore spot under his hair. “What was that for?”

“Consider it a favour,” Sirona answered as she plucked two glasses off the freshly cleaned stack.

Sebastian’s expression flattened and he grumbled, “We must have very different definitions for favour…”

Sirona deftly filled the glasses with butterbeer–a perfect foamy top and nary a drop wasted. She made an obvious glance between the witch across the room and Sebastian, then said matter-of-factly, “She is a Veela." 

Sebastian twisted around and peered over the crowd. He caught the barest glimpse of moon-bright hair and sagged with a sappy sigh. “She’s beautiful, is what she is.”

“One pretty face and you lose all sense,” Sirona muttered disbelievingly. She handed the two glasses to the patrons waiting by the bar, and then continued with a distinct air of warning. “If you won’t let me do you a favour, then do yourself one. Do not pursue her.”

“Why not?” Sebastian asked curiously as he pried his attention back towards Sirona. “What have you got against Veelas?”

“Not a thing generally,” she answered easily, “but in this particular case, it will be inconvenient for me.”

Sebastian’s brow rose curiously. “How so?”

Her lips flattened with a suppressed smile. “Do you think I'm unaware of your reputation?”

Sebastian coughed and shifted awkwardly as a rare flush crept up his neck. Sirona was as much a motherly presence as she was an employer. Not only did she give him work when he needed extra coin, but she also gave him a safe place to stay when he could neither remain at the castle nor bear returning to Feldcroft. She consoled him with butterbeer and a warm meal when the weight of everything felt like too much, and regularly offered advice as he journeyed towards independent adulthood.

And, in some cases—smacked some sense into him. 

When Sebastian left her question hanging in the air, Sirona took pity on him and explained, “You are a good lad, but you’ve left a trail of heartbreak from here to Hogwarts. For all that cleverness,” Sirona knocked him on the head with her knuckle, “you make poor decisions when it comes to love. If you cross that Veela, it will not end well for you, and then I will have to find someone else to polish my glasses.” She rested a fist on her hip and gave him a cheeky smile. “Though perhaps I would have fewer holes in my roof.”

“I mended the hole, and that roof is in a better state than it was before!”

“Aye, that you did." Sirona chuckled and nudged him in the side. "Like I said, a good lad.”

Sebastian leaned into the nudge and couldn’t help but smile at the gentle ribbing. His gaze wandered back toward the witch and he made a pathetic, longing noise. “Would it really be that bad?” 

Sirona curved her hand into a claw. “Talons.”

Sebastian’s face went ashen and he swallowed thickly. “T-talons?” 

She nodded. “There is a steak pie waiting for you in the kitchen, dear,” she patted him gently on the shoulder. “Go and eat before it gets cold.”

Sebastian turned his back to the direction of the Veela witch. He rubbed his hand over his throat and shuddered, thinking he had never been so grateful for a smack upside the head.

“Pie sounds perfect. Thanks, Sirona.”

[shakespearefreak]

A Christmas Carol Aftermath: Work to Be Done

NOTE: I had a lot of trouble balancing the Victorian language with modern understanding of disability and cultural/religious differences. I wanted to use wording that fit with the Dickensian storytelling, without carrying into it Dickens' period-typical prejudices (which he most definitely had) or using words that had different connotations in the 19th century. If you belong to any of the groups mentioned and find my wording offensive, please let me know so I can try to fix it!

Also, I understand there are potential underlying issues with inserting Muslim and Jewish characters into a Christmas-themed story, especially as background characters. I want to be clear that the message isn't that Christianity is all-encompassing of other belief systems, but instead that all the belief systems of the world are parts of a greater whole. I hope I managed to convey that.

...

Ebenezer Scrooge looked around, wide-eyed, as they entered the massive room. Jacob had called it “The Counting-House,” but it looked more like a library, only many times larger than any library he had ever seen. St. Paul’s and ’Change would have both fit many times beneath the soaring vaulted ceiling, which reached so high that looking up at it was dizzying. He expected if he’d still had a mortal body, he might have passed out merely trying to comprehend the immensity of the space. Uncountable high shelves divided this area into corridors, and tall rolling ladders and a system of winding bronze stairs and walkways allowed workers to access the higher levels. The shelves were filled with books, which Scrooge immediately recognized as ledgers, each one bound in leather and embossed with a different name on the spine. Some of the names were common enough, and he even thought he spotted one or two names of people he’d known personally, but others seemed strange and unpronounceable to him, and others still were printed in complex, swooping calligraphy that was utterly foreign. Ebenezer, who had an eye for such things, quickly realized that while neatly organized, the ledgers were not alphabetical; he couldn’t find any rhyme or reason to the filing system as Jacob led him past the shelves, but at the same time, it was clear there was a precise order. But to Ebenezer, the most interesting part of all was the workers. After living in London, where so many kinds of people lived shoulder-to-shoulder — rich and poor, young and old, healthy bodies and those twisted by nature or accident — he’d thought he was familiar with the variety of mankind, but now he saw how limited that view had been. They passed a woman whose entire form was covered by a long veil, only her dark eyes visible, chatting animatedly with a young woman whose dress would have been in fashion perhaps five hundred years ago. A man in a costume he associated with the ancient Orient stood beside a dark-haired woman on a ladder as she handed books down to him. Ebenezer saw a silver six-pointed star glinting on a chain around the woman’s neck. A little boy, surely no older than seven, ran barefoot past him carrying a stack of ledgers. The boy reminded Eb of Tim, back when he’d first met him, though this child had the brown skin and fantastic garb of far India. As they walked along, many they passed greeted Jacob with familiarity and obvious pleasure. A young man called out cheerfully from several rows over, and Jacob returned his greeting with a wave and a grin. Several times, they stopped for Jacob to converse: he asked how so-and-so was getting on with such-and-such, laughed at some shared joke, offered advice or a sympathetic ear. It reminded Scrooge of his walks to and from the countinghouse. Once, he had hurried along, warding off any attempt at conversation with a growl; but in the final stretch of his mortal life, he had stopped every few steps to enquire after someone’s health, drop a few coins in a blindman’s tin, pet a dog or cat, or have a snowball fight with some neighborhood children. He had found his life infinitely enriched by these small interactions, and was gladdened to see that on the other side of the veil, Jacob had also discovered this joy. At the very heart of the hustle and bustle sat an old man, shaped rather like an overstuffed armchair, with a face like a bulldog. A flurry of papers was spread haphazardly over his desk, and he hunched over to read them so that his nose nearly touched the worn wooden surface. Every so often, someone would approach him and he’d listen thoughtfully, sometimes nodding, other times furrowing his brow and frowning, occasionally scribbling a signature on this form or that. He had an ink stain on one cheek, and his hair was untidy and frazzled, but when he looked up to greet them, the eyes behind his spectacles were bright and sharp. “Jacob!” he boomed in a voice that reminded Scrooge of Fezziwig, his genial old employer back in his ’prentice days. Jacob offered his hand, and the old man shook it warmly. “Returned from your holiday, I see! Well, we’re very glad to have you back; always so much to do, as you well know, and your talent was much missed!” Those sharp eyes turned to Scrooge, and he had the peculiar sensation that the bulldoggish old man was looking through him, taking in his whole history in a glance. It made him feel naked and vulnerable, the way he had felt that long-ago night with the Spirits. Then the old man smiled, seeming to approve, and turned his gaze back to Jacob. “Have you brought us a new recruit?” “I hope so,” Jacob said, with a wide grin. “This is Ebenezer Scrooge.” Scrooge stepped forward, politely but nervously. “Mr Scrooge! I’ve heard so much about you, and I’m delighted to finally make your acquaintance! I am — well, you may call me the Record Keeper. Has Jacob told you a little about what we do here?” Ebenezer nodded, feeling unsure. He hadn’t interviewed for a position for a very long time indeed, and whatever else this was, it was a job of sorts, that much seemed clear. “Yes. As I understand from Jacob — Mr Marley — you are in the business of, well, keeping records of mortal lives; balancing the cosmic books, in a manner of speaking.” The little old man gave him another piercing glance, and Eb thought his eyes seemed cooler now. This made him even more anxious. “Yes,” the little man said, “but that’s not all there is to it, as I’m sure Jacob has explained —” “Yes, he did,” Eb hurried to agree, worried now that perhaps whatever misstep he seemed to have made could have consequences for his husband. “He was very clear on that. You also, well… you help people settle their debts. As you did for me.” This last was very quiet. “Yes.” The old man nodded. “Though mortals aren’t often as… aware of our agents as you were. Most times, we simply influence, planting small suggestions, pointing the right direction. They don’t even know we’re there. There are many different departments, but this specific department is, not to put too fine a point on it, for people like you two were.” “Hardheaded fools hellbent on digging their own graves, in other words,” Jacob put in, amused. Ebenezer shot him a slightly annoyed glance, feeling he was taking this whole thing too lightly. “So… redemption,” Scrooge said thoughtfully. “In essence, my dear sir,” said the Record Keeper. “Now, I suppose I’ll turn the floor over to you.” He sat back expectantly, waiting for Scrooge to say something. This took Ebenezer rather by surprise. He cleared his throat nervously. He knew he couldn’t actually be thirsty — the dead don’t need to eat or drink — but his mouth felt dry somehow anyway. “Well, er…” He was already off to a bad start. He gathered his thoughts and tried again. “I think I would be useful to your organization because I understand how the people you work with think. I understand the logic, flawed though it is. I also have experience working in a mortal establishment which bears some similarities to your business structure, and. Well. I mean…” His words trailed off. The Record Keeper was looking at him with a politely blank stare, not cold, but certainly not warm either. He seemed ready to get back to his papers. Ebenezer didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but he was suddenly quite sure that the interview was over. He moistened his lips. “Well, thank you for your consideration —” he began, but Jacob stopped him. “Would you please give us a moment?” Jacob asked the Record Keeper, and the old man nodded and returned to the forms on his desk. Jacob drew Eb aside. “Ebenezer… I understand what you’re thinking, but this… it isn’t like any form of employment you would be familiar with.” “So what should I say? What does he want me to say?” “I can’t tell you that,” Jacob said mildly. “But if I could make a suggestion, I’d try telling him what you told me about being useful. He knows your background, the best and the worst of it; he knows your talents and how they could prove useful. Your motives are what’s important here.” “Wouldn’t he know my motives already, too?” Jacob smiled. “Yes, probably. But what I think matters is that you tell him, and how you tell him.” Ebenezer took a deep breath — he no longer needed to breathe any more than he needed food or drink, but it helped steady him — and once again approached the desk. Jacob hung back slightly, but Eb felt his husband’s gaze on him, and that gave him courage. “Excuse me, sir?” The Record Keeper looked up, his face still blank and noncommittal. Eb closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then opened them and spoke slowly. His voice was unsure and lacked the formality he’d used earlier. “I want, desperately actually, to help. Much of my life, I would have said that there was nothing I could truly do for anyone else, even if I’d wanted to. That I could toss coins to beggars and feed the poor all day long, but there would still be a hundred more needy ready to take their place. But Jacob helped me realize that there is so much that I — that anyone — can do to make the mortal world better.” He paused. “Maybe our world too, actually. There’s so much I don’t know, but I would like to learn, if you would have me.” He gave a small, uncomfortable chuckle. “I’m afraid I’m not very good with words — that was always more Jacob’s talent — but please believe me when I say, I want this more than I can express.” The Record Keeper was looking at him with increased interest and attention now. “Why?” “Why?” Eb echoed, honestly confused. “Yes, why do you want it so much? Are you hoping to earn your own redemption by helping others to theirs? Balance the scales more in your favour? Because as you already know, the chains were only part of it.” With dawning comprehension, Ebenezer said thoughtfully, “The evils I did, I can never undo. Doing good works won’t change that, not for those I hurt.” The Record Keeper listened, seemingly waiting for more. Ebenezer searched for the words and found them: “Simply put, I want to help because it feels good to help.” The Record Keeper’s crinkled face burst into a wide smile. “Ebenezer! There you are!” Eb found his hand engulphed by both the old man’s own and pumped enthusiastically. “You had me worried for a moment, my dear sir, but you found your answer.” Scrooge, shocked at this sudden turn of events, gaped. He could barely believe it. “Are you saying…?” “The position is yours, dear boy! Jacob, you’ll show him the ropes, I trust?” Before Jacob could answer, Ebenezer had all but tackled him in an embrace. After a moment, he released him, looking sheepish. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he told the Record Keeper. “It won’t be repeated —” and then Jacob’s lips were on his own, kissing him deeply. “Jacob!” he said breathlessly, scandalized, when his mouth was free again, but he saw the Record Keeper was beaming. “My dear Ebenezer, your Jacob knows our business is, at bottom, the business of love. Expressions of it will never be inappropriate or out of place here… up to a point, Mr Marley!” he added with feigned sternness in response to Jacob’s slightly wicked smile. Jacob laughed heartily. Ebenezer looked between them for a moment, uncomprehending, and then a hot flush spread over his cheeks. Jacob saw it and kissed him again, more gently this time, caressing his face briefly, tenderly. “All right, all right, back to work!” The Record Keeper clapped his hands briskly. “That means everyone!” he added, and Scrooge noticed that they had attracted a small and amiable audience. As the Record Keeper turned back to his piles of papers, Eb’s hand was shaken over and over as he was introduced to his new coworkers. There was, as Jacob had told him, as the Record Keeper had echoed, and as he himself knew, so much work to be done, and he was eager to begin, with his partner and these new friends at his side.

...

SPECIAL NOTE: This is the first installment since @wolfenm's passing this past February. Their "Conspiracy of Spirits" was what first got me into this ship, which is now my ultimate OTP. Wolfie was a talented writer, a wonderful person, and a very dear friend, and they are very much missed. Hail the traveler!

Also in this series: “A Joyful Reunion” “Fan” Marley’s Grave Tim

DISCLAIMER: A Christmas Carol is a public domain work. However, these vignettes were also inspired by several other works, including “A Conspiracy of Spirits: The Love Story of Jacob Marley and Ebenezer Scrooge” in The Solstice Tales by @wolfenm, Jacob T. Marley by R. William Bennet, and Jacob Marley’s Christmas Carol by Tom Mula. All these works belong to their respective owners, not to me.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This installment took most of its inspiration from Jacob Marley's Christmas Carol, especially with the inclusion of the Record Keeper.

A quick shout-out to the new movie Spirited for pushing me into writing this! Funnily enough, I had only seen the first 20 minutes when I wrote this, and was amazed to see how much of it lined up with the film's messages when I finished the movie. It's almost uncanny.

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