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damn-stark · 1 year

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Chapter 15 What could have been

Chapter 15 of Sandstorm

A/N- A good and sweet chapter!! Some would say it’s the calm before the storm 🤔

Warning- swearing, talks of death, FLUFF, long chapter, and there’s changes that depart from the show!

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*A FEW MONTHS BACK*

The air smells like salt, the grey waters crashing against your feet is cold, and the breeze brushing against your skin is chilly; it’s nothing like the warm blue waters at Sunspear. But if you close your eyes the smell takes you back.

You never thought you’d miss a place so much then now as you stand miles away from it.

“Are you all right?” The voice of Daenerys approaching you at shore cuts you off from your stupor.

You peer back and offer her a smile. “Quite,” you assure her and look back at the roaring waters ahead. You wait until she’s close to you to continue. “I just miss Sunspear. I miss the warmth and the calmer waters.” You laugh softly and turn your body to be able to face her.

Daenerys hums and smiles at the ground. “Yes, I’m afraid the waters here are dull and harsh.”

You pick up your shoes off the sand and pick up your skirt to walk towards her standing where the water won’t hit her. “Do you miss Meereen?”

Daenerys draws in a deep breath and looks at the never ending horizon ahead of her. “No,” she admits with a sigh, and proceeds to clasps her hands together. “I can’t miss a place that was never my home. I don’t miss Pentos either.”

You hum softly and nod. You don’t press further so as to not upset her, you do however begin to follow her as she begins to walk down the shore.

“There is one place albeit,” she adds much to your surprise. “When I was child, I lived in this house that had a grand red door, and underneath my window was a lemon tree…” she pauses and the faintest smile decorates her lips whilst tears well in her eyes. “I don’t remember much anymore but I was happy there. I miss that.”

You watch the dragons ascend to the sky in the distance and can’t help but smile. “Well,” you add. “Once we’ve won this war, we’ll build a vacation home in Sunspear, by the blue sea. One with enough space so when the dragons grow tired of flying over the water they can burrow themselves in the sand,” you beam and hook your arm around hers.

“We’ll plant Lemon trees for shade so we can watch the waters roll in and relax after you’ve had a long week of ruling,” you add on. “We'll use the lemons for refreshments as well to cool ourselves off. And at the entrance we’ll have a grand red door. How does that sound, hm?” You drift your eyes to Daenerys, and she meets your gaze with a smile; a bright smile that makes her eyes squint, that lets you see her shiny white teeth, and makes her smile lines crease deeply on her cheeks.

“I like the sound of that,” she muses.

——

*NOW*

You’ve missed it all, the smell of salt, the sand even if it’s irritating at times, the heat, the castle and vibrant colors, the people. You’ve longed to be home, and now seeing it again brings a small joy to your heart.

Albeit, without Rhaenar by your side now there’s more sorrow than actual happiness as the castle finally comes to view.

“Gods,” Arya murmurs with awe as the gold domed roofs on the castle towers gleam as the sun reflects off them.

You peer back at her with a prideful smirk. “Just wait until you go inside.” You blink and look back at the castle below this last sand hill, and notice castle guards riding towards you already to greet you halfway.

“Welcome back home,” Jon murmurs by you.

You meet his gaze and offer him a kind smile before you keep moving, letting the army trailing behind you to follow as well, whilst Eraxis flies past you and fills the sky with a happy screech as she recognizes the place she was born, her first home.

And unlike at Kings Landing, or at winterfell when you first arrived to those snowy lands, here in Sunspear, once you enter the city below the castle, the people aren’t scared of your white dragon. Sure no one besides your family knew of her before, but now that everyone knows about you, as they’ve heard the stories, the people come to love the white dragon the people call The Silent Death.

“Make way!” The Dornish soldiers bellow at the gathering crowd as they try and make a path for you towards the castle. “Make way!”

“Your Grace,” Ser Brienne mutters to you as loud as she can so she can be heard over the people that begin to clamor as they see you passing by. “You should go to the carriage with the children, there’s too many people, it's not safe.”

You meet her gaze and shake your head. “Don’t worry, Ser Brienne, no one will harm me here. I’m home.” You glance over at the crowd of people that gawk and offer them a kind smile.

“Your Grace!” Someone cries out from the crowd.

“It’s the Queen!”

“Queen Y/N!”

People come out of their markets, others stop what they’re doing, and some walk out of their homes to be part of the crowd, to try and catch a glimpse of you and everyone that came with you. Unlike at Kings Landing, or Winterfell people here cheered, others smiled and filled with excitement. Others tried to touch you as if you were some kind of miracle or a god, but the guards never let them get that close. There were also some people at the front of the crowds that bent the knee at the sight of you.

You tried not to let it affect you, you tried to remain collected but seeing all the people happy to see you filled you with glee and pride.

Nevertheless, it’s because of the crowd that getting to the castle took longer than expected. Albeit that didn’t take away from the greeting within the castle walls.

“Queen Visenya Targaryen, second of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” Ser Brienne exclaims, filling your skin with goosebumps as you’re still not used to such a proper and dramatic announcement. And no matter how many times you’ve seen it already, you can’t wrap your head around people bending the knee for you.

“Your Grace,” the new Prince of Dorne and a distant cousin of yours interjects after a moment of silence. “Welcome back home.” He stands up to his given height and offers you a welcoming grin. “We are honored with your presence.”

You meet his gaze and nod before you get off your horse and respond. “Thank you for having us at such dire times, cousin.”

He scoffs as if you’re being ridiculous. “Please, Sunspear is your home. You may come when you please.”

You hum and without a second more to waste you slowly beam at him before you break away from your spot and rush over to meet him with an embrace. Your cousin returns it and squeezes you tighter.

“You’ve been gone far too long,” he says and pulls back to face you. “And yet you don’t age.”

“And you on the other hand,” you tease him. “Is that a beard I see on your face?” You step back and watch him caress his chin.

“It is, and you thought I could never grow one.” He chuckles, but quickly goes serious. “I want to give you my dearest condolences, cousin. I’m sorry for your loss. Rhaenar was a good boy, he didn’t deserve that fate.”

Your breath falters, but you do the proper thing and thank him. “Thank you.” You avert your gaze and clear your throat, catching Ellaria standing behind him with her yougest daughters by her side. Yet you don’t greet her yet, instead you turn to face Jon, seeing the narrowed glare as he studies your cousin.

Is he jealous?

“Meet my husband, and my Prince Consort, Jon Snow.” You grin at Jon and wave him over so he can get closer. “And Jon, meet my cousin and the Prince of Dorne, Quentyn Martell.”

Jon glances at you before he meets your cousins gaze and offers his hand.

And of course your cousin takes it and offers Jon a grin. “Welcome to Sunspear. My home is yours.”

You smile wider and leave them be to then walk towards Ellaria, noticing Elia with her now embracing her and greeting her with joy and relief to see her return home. Once Ellaria sees you she steps past Elia and her other daughters to curtsy before she speaks. “We all mourn your loss, Your Grace.”

You exhale deeply and nod. “Thank you, Ellaria.”

“I'm happy to see you back home,” she continues. “We’ve missed you.”

You pull your lips to a smile and reply. “And I’ve missed you.”

She gets closer and her smile softens. “Thank you for protecting my daughter and bringing her home.”

You grin. “She’s strong like you and my uncle Oberyn. You should be proud.”

Ellaria looks back at Elia and hums in agreement. “I am.”

“You must be tired after a long journey,” Quentyn cuts in, turning your attention to him. “We’ll have baths prepared in your quarters before dinner.”

You sigh and nod. “Good thank you.” You then turn to the Prince's advisor and speak to him. “Please make sure that the armies are taken care of and properly installed. Have half be underground now that the civilians have returned to their homes, and the others can share the military quarters with the soldiers that live here.”

The advisor nods and attempts to do as you said, but Jon then cuts in. “We don’t want to bother, they can camp outside.”

You quickly meet his gaze and shake your head. “No, it's fine. Winter is here, the desert gets cold at night. It’s better that they have shelter.”

Jon holds your gaze for a second before he nods and doesn’t argue, letting you add one more thing to your cousin. “I’d like to see the maester so he can check on the twins before I go to my quarters. They've been on the road since they were born, I want to make sure they’re okay.”

Quentyn nods. “Of course, again, this place is your home. Do as you please.”

“Thank you,” you say before you look back at the midwives as they approach you to hand over the twins. “Come on my loves, let’s go get you checked on, hm?”

Jon follows by your side, but he gets stopped before you can walk inside the castle.

“Jon, a word?” Ser Davos adds.

Jon hesitates and glances at the twins, wanting nothing more to accompany you since he doesn’t want to be far, but he has duties to fulfill. “I’ll catch up when I can,” he tells you before he presses a kiss on your cheek and follows Ser Davos, letting Ellaria now return to your side.

“Congratulations, last I saw you your belly was small, now I can’t believe they’re here. Your children are beautiful.”

You meet her gaze and smile softly. “Thank you Ellaria. They’ve been through so much already, but I’m glad that they’re safe. I’m glad that they can come here to their home as well.” You look at the sleeping babies and whisper a harmless joke. “And you feel that warmth? That’s the sun,” you giggle. “You’ll love it.”

Nevertheless, when the maester is checking on them, your heart feels as if it’s getting squeezed because of their discomfort. No one was harming them, but you were still filled with worry.

But it seems that your worry doesn’t compare to Jon’s. Ever since you reunited and he held them in his arms for the first time he’s been nothing but overly protective and cautious, he never skips a meal time, he never likes to be far from them, and always, always makes sure that they’re breathing when they’re asleep; the first few nights he probably didn’t even sleep just to watch their little chests move.

Now is one of such examples of protectiveness, after being dragged away he managed to catch up with you in the maesters quarters. “Sorry,” he apologizes to you and finds Rhaenyra crying her little lungs out as the maester feels her heartbeat. “What’s wrong? Is she all right?”

The maester pulls his gadget away and picks up Rhaenyra. “The little princess is fine, Your Grace, she’s healthy, she has a strong heartbeat, and as you can hear a strong pair of lungs.” He chuckles softly and walks to Jon to hand him Rhaenyra. “She’s just upset that we woke her. That’s all, nothing to worry about.”

Jon doesn’t fail to smile at his little girl and begins to sway her gently. “It’s okay, you’re fine, Rhaenyra,” he coos at her, making you watch him with awe as you held Robb in your arms—“I’m here now. You’re okay.”

“The twins are healthy, nothing to worry about. But if you have any concerns you can always come see me.” The maester adds.

You bow your head. “Thank you maester, we appreciate it. Have a good day.” You then walk out and when you’re out in the hall you notice Rhaenyra calm down and watch Jon with her dark eyes.

It’s been a couple weeks since they were born and you’ve seen how good Jon is with the twins, but he never fails to amaze you. His bond with the both of them is very strong.

“Did Robb cry?” Jon asks.

You glance down at him slowly falling back to sleep and shake your head. “No, he was calm. I think I was the one crying instead of him.”

“Are you okay? Did he check on you too?” Jon asks and meets your gaze.

You hum in agreement. “I’m fine. I just need to take care of myself that’s all. But enough about me, you, how are you liking Sunspear?”

Jon glances at the tall white cielings and nods slowly. “It’s beautiful. Bigger than I imagined. And it’s also not as hot as I thought it’d be.”

You giggle, and he meets your gaze. “It’s winter, sure the days aren’t as bitter as in the North, but they are chilly. Just wait until the sun sets, it gets even colder. Unbelievably so.”

The corner of Jon’s lips tug to a smile. “It’s no wonder the cold doesn’t affect you as it should.”

You smirk. “That or maybe I was fated for the cold,” you joke. “Considering you my love were born there.”

Jon snickers and grows flustered. “Sure. But I will say, the warm climate agrees with you. I think all that fur hides too much of you.” He shoots back smugly, and slowly looks you up and down to once again study your light white dress that lets you show off your arms, and more skin than you could show off further north. He watches how the tail, and the thin matching cape hooked on your sleeves so elegantly flows behind you, he admires the way the gold accessories that you wear on your arms, around your neck and on your head glimmer against the sun and light.

“Why thank you.” You beam at him. “You should see what I wear when I swim. Perhaps I’ll show you later, hm?”

Jon smirks at you. “Please do.”

You hold each others gaze for a lingering moment, making your smile turn all timid like.

“You hear that Robb,” you direct at your baby boy. “Perhaps you’ll be getting a brother soon enough.”

Jon scoffs, letting you reach one hand over to him to tuck his hair behind his ear. “What?” You ask.

“I think we just practice for a while, hm?”

You gasp softly in surprise to his comment and grab his arm. “Jon Snow.” You giggle. “You never fail to amaze me.”

Jon shoots you a smirk before his smile then softens. “I'm happy to see you smile.” He caresses your cheek, but soon pulls his hand away out of fear he’ll drop Rhaenyra if he holds her with just one arm.

“I’m content,” you assure him. “I have you, our babies, I’m here at Sunspear. I feel content.”

Jon leans over and presses a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m glad,” he whispers.

It’s true, you feel content, the most you’ve felt in months since Rhaenar’s passing. If only this war wasn’t still going on so you could be like this forever…but unfortunately there’s still stuff to be done and…there’s more sorrow you have yet to feel. You don’t know how you know that exactly, perhaps it’s because it is war, or something else, but you feel it coming…

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

He could see it there in the back of his head. No matter how much he wanted to forget the memory, the tremendous amount of power he felt on that battlefield, it all stuck with him like a dirty spot you can never clean.

He doesn’t know, albeit, whether he liked that power he felt when he was on Rhaegal. It was a power unlike any other. Commanding armies, ruling over people and lands never made him feel so…strong. With one word—no, sometimes he didn’t even have to say Dracarys for Rhaegal to blast out fire, he just did it, he listened and knew every ounce of rage Jon felt when he thought he’d never see you again.

When he was flying, when he was in the sky he would’ve laid waste to that haunted castle if it meant getting you back. But now, now that time has passed since the battle, now that he can reflect, he knows that feeling so invincible is wrong. Sure he doesn’t care if he had burnt away all the soldiers, it’s a war, it's just what he felt capable of doing to everything else that was in between him reaching you and the twins.

How is that you did it? Kept your cool while on Eraxis? How did you stop that power from taking control?

If he asked you would you think he’s weak? Would you think he’s incapable of having Rhaegal?

Probably not, but he still worried you would.

It’s why he didn’t want to ask, but he needed to for his own sake.

Albeit you aren’t in your shared quarters, instead the Wetnurse was there taking care of the twins.

“Do you happen to know where the Queen is?” Jon asks the older woman.

The woman lifts her head and nods. “At the pools, Your Grace. She said she’d be back soon.”

Jon turns to go search for you, finding the Water Gardens castle easier to navigate than the actual castle. Albeit he can’t decide which castle is prettier, here pale pink marble paves the gardens and the courtyard, different fruit trees he had never seen in his life shaded the grande pools and beautiful fountains. It was like paradise.

Which is why if you wished to move here then he’d accept. Besides, where else could he watch you be so relaxed?

The moment he found you he saw you in the water floating on your back with your eyes closed. He noticed that you wore a bathing suit, and no burden. He could watch you just take in the sun all day.

Yet he doesn’t know that what you were thinking about wasn’t so relaxing. Your heart is in anguish as you think about Daenerys now more than ever, about that plan you had to build that vacation home here in Sunspear.

You were completely serious about having that dream become a reality. It would have been nice watching your children play in the waters, bask in the sun and play in the sand. It would have been nice seeing them grow up together like family, like the family you never got to be because of war, because of your fathers.

But no, now you’re also at war.

“Y/N?”

Jon.

You smile and turn up right in the water, and see him standing there at the edge of the pool. “My love,” you greet and swim over to the ledge. “Are you here to join me?”

Jon shakes his head. “No. I came to watch you.” He grins smugly.

You swim back and hum. “Ah, well that’s a bummer, the water is pleasant.” You bat your eyelashes before you swim to the ledge again and fold your arms over the marble. “How are they?”

“Sleeping,” Jon says. “That’s all they do.”

You giggle. “When they get older they become restless, it’s best to appreciate that they sleep all day right now.”

Jon hums and crouches down. “You’re right you look breathtaking in your swimming garments.”

You offer him a sweet smile and hold his gaze whilst you discreetly reach for his hand. He parts his lips to say something, but before he can speak you manage to pull him in the water.

Jon quickly swims to the surface, and you can’t help but laugh as he stares at you in disbelief.

“You looked hot standing there,” you feign innocence and wrap your arms around his neck.

Jon albeit then splashes water on your face, causing you to pull away and gasp. “I had to get you back,” he chuckles.

You swipe the water off your face and grumble.

“Can I ask you something?” Jon asks in a serious tone all of a sudden, making your smile fade.

“Of course.” You nod.

Jon sighs and averts his gaze, making you feel a bit of concern.

“Has there been something that’s happened in your life that you can’t forget? No matter what it sticks with you like a dirty spot you can’t clean.”

Without having to take a moment to think, the answer pops up immediately. “Yes,” you let him know. “It was my uncle Oberyn’s death….” You let out a shaky sigh. “The Mountain killed him right in front of me, he squished his head like it was some fruit. Every memory I had of him was haunted by his bloody face, it felt like I was the one that killed him. I knew I didn't, but I couldn't wash the blood off my hands, or think of anything else.” You blink in confusion and slightly tilt your head. “Why? What’s bothering you?”

Jon exhales. “That day I fought Daenerys at Harrenhal, when I was full of rage because you were missing, I felt this immense amount of power while I was on Rhaegal. This invincibility that I fear now. I would have burnt down that castle and everyone in it…” he trails off and shakes his head as his eyebrows furrow deeper. “I don’t want that to take control of me the same way it took control of Daenerys. How do you do it? Stay calm? Keep Eraxis calm?”

So that’s it? That’s what had him brooding all day?

“Well one,” you say softly. “You aren’t like that.”

“What if I am?” He presses.

You shake your head. “But you aren’t,” you argue. “You're a good man Jon. You were just angry, but I know that you would never let that control you. I actually envy you for keeping calm when problems arise.”

Jon sighs deeply and averts his gaze, causing you to grab his chin and tilt his head so you can have him meet your gaze. “Jon you’re smart, tactical, you could have burnt that damn castle down and killed Daenerys at the spot, but you didn’t. You know why? Because that’s not you.” You point at his chest. “No matter how angry you may get, no matter what might happen, that will never be you because you’re simply not that person. As to the dragons?” You exhale deeply.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand our special bond with them. I mean they react to our emotions, Eraxis comes to me when I need her without having me say it, it’s amazing,” you continue. “But like every animal, like every person, they have their emotions too, they react to their own pain. I don’t think we can fully control them, we can guide them, control some aspects but they’re beings too. Do you understand?”

Jon holds your gaze and nods softly, making you offer him a soft smile.

“As to that surge of power,” you add more lightheartedly. “Wouldn't everyone feel it? I mean you’re on a fucking drsgon! Just remember, don't let anger control your judgment.” You lean in and press a gentle kiss on his lips. “Did that help?”

Jon cups your hand and nods. “It did. Thank you.” He then proceeds to press a kiss on your hand, making you grin.

Albeit that grin falters and you begin to frown instead as anguish fills your heart. “Now that we’re on this subject,” you add softer and slide your hands down to his neck. “I need you to promise me something. Can you do that?”

Jon’s expression turns puzzled and he just asks, “what is it?”

You sniffle and fight the tears that threaten to spill. “With the war coming to an end, the worst has yet to come…I need you to promise me that if I…don’t make it—”

“Don’t say that,” Jon cuts you off.

You shake your head and just slightly tighten your grip around him. “Let me finish, please.” You beg in a quivering voice. “If I don’t make it, if I die don’t seek revenge, don’t. Just take the twins and their dragons and get far away from here. Don’t make them seek revenge either, raise them, be their father. Please.”

“Y/N,” Jon whispers.

A tear falls from your eyes and your hold softens. “I,” you swallow thickly. “I grew up without my parents, Jon. The war ripped them away from me. Because of it I had to hide all my life, I had to live in fear. Promise me you’ll take them, go beyond the wall, cross the narrow sea, I don’t care, just don’t seek revenge, they need at least one of us. Please, swear to me.”

Jon swallows thickly and nods stiffly. “I promise,” he whispers.

You sigh with relief and then throw your arms around him for an embrace. “I love you…more than life itself,” you whisper.

Jon hugs you back and caresses your back as he whispers. “I love you too.”

You pull back to face him. Jon offers you a faint smile before he cups your cheek and leans in to give you a gentle kiss on your lips before he kisses your forehead too.

The gesture makes your heart skip a beat and your face burn. The kiss brings back your joy and amusement you had felt moments ago. “Now,” you say softly and slide your arms down his clothes to pull them off and throw them to the side. “Wow,” you muse as you see his toned torso. “I’m lucky aren't I?” You beam at him and let him grab your waste as you once again slither your hands around his neck. “I'm willing to make a third baby here. Now.” You giggle and press your forehead against his.

Jon flashes you a grin and shrugs. “Let’s keep practicing,” he insists. “I want you to myself for a while now.”

You squint your gaze lightheartedly. “I’m afraid we’re too late for that. You have to share me with your children now.”

Jon shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter, we can find moments to ourselves like we do already. And like now. If you’re expecting a child we have someone between us.”

“Ah. Well when you put it that way, fine, we can practice—”

“But, uh, not here,” Jon quickly cuts in.

You laugh and pull back. “I know that. Come on, we can go somewhere else.” You climb out of the pool, and as the servant helps you put on a light gown you add something else to Jon. “Before we go on our rendezvous though, I need to show you something.”

“What is it?” He asks.

You peer over at him over your shoulder and just shoot him a teasing smirk. “You’ll see.”

Jon then huffs as he looks at his wet clothes. “By the way, I didn't bring extra clothes to the pool. You got my clothes wet.”

You snicker. “I like you better that way,” you tease him. “Anyway, we won’t go far, just cover yourself with a towel.”

Jon sighs but has no choice but to do as you advised as he follows you inside the castle.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you interject and turn around to face him as you continue to walk towards the gallery you want to show him. “Considering you were in the Night's Watch, and you weren’t allowed to marry or what not, what would your brothers say if they knew you married a princess?” You ask curiously.

Jon smiles at the ground before meeting your gaze again. “Queen,” he corrects you. “You’re a Queen.”

“Sure,” You brush him off. “Now come on, tell me.”

“Well you met Edd,” he responds softly. “He said I was a lucky bastard. And he called you beautiful.”

You smile softly. “I wish I would have gotten to know him longer. Ask him about you.”

Jon sighs softly and glances ahead. “The others would just tease and ask too many questions.”

You laugh and then clear your throat. “How is it like to lay with a Dornish woman?” You mock a man's voice, causing Jon to chuckle.

“Why do men ask that?” You ask in your normal voice. “I mean sure we are very beautiful,” you giggle. “But we are still women.”

Jon shrugs. “I don’t know. But I know you’re not like every other woman.”

You snicker and grab his hand before you turn around as you approach the gallery. “You flatter me, husband. Anyway come with me.” You push the doors open, and walk into a white room that had no windows on the walls, the floor is decorated with different red carpets, and the cieling, that was the most impressive; it was made of colorful and delicate stained glass. Since the sun is out, the ceiling reflected in bright colors that basked your faces and made the art in the room even more beautiful.

“Its beautiful in here,” Jon muses as he loses himself in all the art hung around the room, all the statues that stand in different spots.

“It was my uncle Doran’s favorite place,” you share softly and stop in front of an art piece of women wearing a veil made of blood, and holding a bouquet of flowers that pricked her fingers. “Since he couldn’t travel the world he found solace here,” you finish.

“Who painted all these?” Jon asks whilst his feet shuffle so he can look at you. “These are impressive.”

The corner of your lips pull to a faint smirk as you turn to face him. You don’t say anything, but Jon quickly understands that it was you. “These,” his breath catches and twists around to admire more art. “These are beautiful y/n.”

You smile softly and walk over to him slowly. “My uncle didn’t have any daughters, so when I came to live here, he liked to spoil me rotten. When I started getting into my art he liked to hang every piece of art I made in here, even if they were terrible. As they became better this place became his pride and joy.”

Jon looks over at you with a smile. “I see why.”

You smile shyly at the ground before you slowly step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He uses one hand to caresses your arm as he walks towards a statue of the head of a stag wrapped around it is a snake; it’s long and very carefully detailed, it’s body wraps around the stags neck and slithers around its antlers penetrating through an ear and coming out of its eye.

“Did you carve this?” Jon asks as he tries to read the meaning.

You nod and hum. “I did.”

It was one of the last pieces your uncle put on display here. Does it have a meaning though?

No.

“What does it mean?” Jon asks what you were just thinking.

You sigh and shake your head. “Nothing. I just saw it in a dream.”

Jon hums and peers back at you with a sweet smile. “Well it’s all very beautiful. You’re an amazing artist. Why don’t you paint more often?”

You shrug. “I haven’t had time,” you answer honestly. “But I have drawn. I drew you sleeping with the twins on your chest. It’s my most prized possession now. I’ll show you when we get to the castle.”

Jon nods softly in agreement before a smirk tugs on his lips and he turns himself around to be able to face you, and then hold your jaw. “Now about that practice.” He teases, making you grin before you take him in for a kiss.

However, the moment is soon cut short as the doors open and a throat clears. “Your Grace,” the voice of your cousins advisor cuts in.

Jon and you break away from each other, and he tugs the towel tighter around his torso.

“Yes?” You probe.

“The Lady Hand has arrived,” he shares, “she says she needs to speak to you urgently.”

Urgently? That’s probably all lies. She’s eager to meet the twins.

“All right,” you respond with a sigh and bow your head. “Thank you. We’ll depart right away.”

The advisor leaves and you turn to meet Jon’s gaze. “Guess it will have to wait.” You snicker and stride ahead of him.

——

Returning to Sunspear seemed to be a small cure, roaming the halls you once did when you were younger brought a soft smile to your face, and showing Jon and your babies where you grew up, where Rhaenar grew up as well, provided you with a joy you lost when Rhaenar died.

“Arya,” you call out as you catch the girl peeking out the window that overlooks the gardens below. “Where’s Sansa? We got word she’s here.”

Arya's eyes slide over to you and she points to the window. “She just arrived and was quickly whisked away by some prince.” She grumbles.

Your eyes widen and you hold the back of Robb’s head before you rush over to the window to also peek out beside Arya.

“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” Jon interjects from where he stands. “We should give her space.”

You squeal and grin brightly. “It’s my cousin, Prince Mors, the man I spoke to her about.”

Prince Mors is Quentyn’s younger brother, he’s taller than his brother, he's also slender than the men in the North, but his muscles are quite toned, you could see them under his robes. He also had the common Dornish features; dark hair, brown eyes and a bright tan skin.

Considering he’s the youngest son he doesn’t inherit Dorne, so he spends his life much like your uncle Oberyn did, traveling the world and sailing across the sea’s. Some say he’s wiser and better at handling politics than his older brother, but he doesn’t wish to start a war and fight for the throne so he doesn’t deal with any of it. You know him as well, or well you knew him; much of the time you spent with him was when you were younger. He was kind, less harsh than some of the other boys, but he is a brilliant fighter.

Sansa deserves a kind man, and he can be that man.

“She’s been smiling like an idiot the entire time,” Arya points out. “Is that normal?”

You hum. “It can have two meanings though, one just fool him into thinking you’re interested when you’re not, or two, she’s actually interested. Your sister isn’t one for games anymore so I suppose it’s the second.”

“You know that by just seeing her face?” Jon queries and takes a few steps towards you.

You peer back at him and nod with a cocky smirk on your face. “Aye.” You return to look at Sansa walking at Prince Mor’s side, and catch them stop by a rose bush filled with the most beautiful white roses. Mors picks one and tucks it behind Sansa’s ear, letting it stand out perfectly against her long red hair.

Sansa’s smile also softens and her eyes fall, whilst her cheeks seem to grow the faintest tint of pink.

“That’s ridiculous, don’t tell me she’ll fall for that,” Arya grumbles.

“I think it’s quite sweet,” Ser Brienne gives her opinion as she sneaks a peek, causing you to grin wider. “Gods know she deserves someone kind.”

“Besides,” you throw out and lift your head higher as they continue to walk. “It’s not like they’re getting married, they’re having a stroll. A kind stroll while Sansa waited for us. Jon,” you call out and look back at him. “Come see.”

“I’d rather not,” Jon scoffs.

You snicker. “Are you feeling a bit protective over there Jon? Don’t worry,” you say and return your gaze to Sansa and prince Mors, noticing they turned the corner and seem to be walking back inside. “Gods, they’re coming inside, quick act normal.” You part away from the window and continue to head towards one of the parlors.

“Wine?” The servant asks as you sit down.

You shake your head. “No, thank you, some water will be fine.”

The servant nods and walks away, letting you pull Robb out of the sling you wear around you and seeing he’s wide awake now. “<You’ll keep my secret about me spying on your auntie right?>” You ask the baby in High Valyrian, making him blink and your smile to soften.

You look over at Jon beside you and see him watching Rhaenyra sleep. You don’t say anything, you don’t want to interrupt the moment, instead you just watch him with awe.

“When do you think—” Jon pauses as he catches you staring when he looks at you. He then mirrors your smile and leans over to press a kiss on your forehead.

“What were you saying?” You press him.

“When do you think they’ll start smiling?” He finishes asking and looks down at Robb in your arms.

You lift your gaze and think back to Rhaenar when he was a baby. “Well,” you muse. “Perhaps at the next moon cycle. So when they’re about 60 days old.”

Jon huffs, making you laugh.

“Don’t worry that time passes quickly, you’ll soon find out.” You let him know.

“Still—”

“Your Grace,” the sound of Sansa’s voice cuts Jon off, pulling the attention of the both of you up to her, and Prince Mors bowing beside her.

You stand up and offer them a soft bow of your head. “Lady Sansa. Prince Mors.”

Sansa straightens up after her curtsy and her eyes immediately fall on Robb in your arms. “Enough of pleasantries right now,” she says and doesn’t hesitate to walk over to you. “Let me meet my niece and nephew.” She puts her arms out, letting you carefully hand her Robb.

“This is Prince Robb,” you tell her. “The youngest twin.”

Sansa fixes him in her arms and her smile softens as her eyes begin to water. “He’s perfect…” she sniffles. “He has your eyes Jon.”

Baby Robb moves his fisted hand, letting her reach over with her finger so he can grab it.

“Careful,” Arya warns her in a teasing tone. “They don’t know you like they know me, they might cry.”

“And this,” Jon brushes Arya to the side as he stands up and approaches his sister. “Is Princess Rhaenyra. The eldest.”

Sansa’s eyes drift to the sleeping baby girl and her eyes fill with even more tears, but her smile never falters.

“They’re wearing what I made them,” Sansa points out.

You nod and watch as she switches Robb to one arm so she can then reach for Rhaenyra as well. “I couldn't wait to put it on them,” you share.

“Careful,” Jon mutters as he lets his hands hover below Rhaenyra's back.

“Yes,” Sansa remarks. “I know how to hold a baby Jon.”

“She also has Jon's eyes,” you share since she’s sleeping. “Albeit it’s the temper I don't know where she gets it from. She’s feisty.”

Sansa laughs. “I’m sure she will be.” She lifts her gaze to meet yours. “I brought the dragon eggs like you requested, they should have been taken to your quarters.”

You smile at her and nod. “Thank you. Hopefully soon enough they’ll hatch so they can bond. I’m excited!”

Sansa’s gaze falls back on the twins and her smile stays on her face the longest you’ve ever seen it stay alive. “I’m proud of you Jon,” she says. “I’m happy for you.”

As they have their moment you walk to your cousin and give him your attention. “It’s nice seeing you again, cousin.”

Prince Mors flashes you a grin. “And you, who would’ve thought the next time I saw you you’d be a bloody Queen. Uncle Oberyn would be proud.”

“I’m sure he would,” you agree softly.

Mors smile fades away and his eyes fill with the same pity you’ve seen many others look at you with. “I just want to say congratulations on your babies, and my condolences on the passing of your son. It’s weird to say those things in the same sentence, I’m sorry.”

You swallow thickly and plaster on a faint and thankful smile. “Thank you, cousin.”

He reaches over and grabs your shoulder. “Blood must have blood,” he says in a more intimidating voice. “I want to join your forces, help with your fleet if it’s okay with you.”

You blink in surprise and nod. “Of course that’s okay. I’m honored in fact, I’ve heard incredible things about your reputation, thank you.”

Mors shakes his head. “No, thank you.” He pulls his hand away and bows his head. “I’m at your will, Your Grace.”

From the corner of your eye you catch Sansa stealing a peek at your conversation, and have to hide your growing mischievous smirk.

“Actually,” you add to your cousin and shift to the side so you can see Sansa better. “The title of Master of ships is open. I’d love for you to join my small council.”

Mors eyes widen whilst his smile softens. “That would be great,” he agrees. “Thank you. Truly, thank you!”

You hum softly and steal a glance at Sansa, making her look away and focus back on the twins.

“Okay,” you change the subject giddily. “Before I get swept away with all the business, I would like to go visit my family’s Master-at-arms, he helped train my uncle Oberyn, my cousin Trystane, some of my sisters, and me.”

Mors snickers knowing how incredibly skilled and intense the now retired master-at-arms is, only making the Stark siblings confused.

“For what?” Jon asks cluelessly.

You smirk. “Show off of course. Ser Meer is truly amazing. He doesn’t train like most other Master-at-arms.”

Jon shakes his head and he’s about to say something, but Arya cuts him off as she jumps off the couch. “Let’s go. I want to see y/n train!”

“Before you go,” Sansa says and hands the babies to Jon. “I need to give you two something.” She looks over at one of your Queensguard to pass a knowing look and share a nod.

You furrow your eyebrows and slowly make your way to Jon to take Rhaenyra from him while he holds Robb. Ser Alys then walks over and unhooks a leather sheath from her belt line.

“Tyrion sent this as a present for the twins,” Sansa shares and grabs the sheathed sword from the Knight. As she turns to face you, you notice that the sword wasn’t just some ordinary sword, the golden pommel carrying a red ruby is one you recognize, it was Ser Jaime’s Valyrian sword. And before that it was the sword of the cruel King Joffrey—you remember clearly when he got it at the breakfast ceremony, it was a distasteful display. He couldn’t even swing the damn thing.

“He said his brother had no use for it buried with him, and he hopes it can be a step towards forgiveness.” Sansa continues and pushes the sword toward you.

You swallow thickly and hold back your tears as you take the sword from her hands. “We’ll have to write him our gratitude,” you say. “Thank you for giving it to us.” You glance over at Jon and see him studying the sword that was once a part of his fathers sword; or so you’ve been told.

“Yes, we’ll write to him,” Jon agrees with a sigh. “Thank you Sansa.”

You then proceed to hand the sword back to Ser Alys so she can take it to your quarters.

“What about the twins?” Sansa then asks as you pick up the sling off the couch to give it to her.

You smile at her. “We’ll take them of course, they’ll be fine,” you assure her.

——

*LATER*

“Queen y/n, my kindest student.” He rises up and meets your gaze. “I heard of your ascension, I’m glad that we get to see a Dornish Queen on the Throne. I’m sure your mother would be proud.”

You sigh softly. “Thank you.”

He flips the sword in his hand as he glances around at your company before shooting you a questioning look. “If I may ask, what brings you here, Your Grace? I’m sure I’m not worth visiting.”

You walk around the training circle to admire all the weapons racked together. “I was hoping to give a small presentation to my family.” You smile. “I’ve told them of your stories and they’re eager to see for themselves.”

The master at arms begins to stroke his chin and looks at your family standing to the side. “Well, in that case then I’m willing to give them a show. Albeit they must know that I don’t hold back, an enemy at battle wouldn’t. Queen or not.”

You pull a spear from the rack and study its gold design on the stick. “I was hoping you wouldn't.” You look back at Jon and shoot him a smirk.

“All right,” the master at arms gives in and sheaths his sword. “Let’s go then. To our training arena. Let’s show the Northerners what we’re made of, little sunspot.”

You grin and flip the spear around in your hand before you skip to catch up to his fast pace.

“Are you sure, Your Grace?” Ser Brienne asks.

You peer back at her and at Jon and the others walking behind you, and nod as you shoot them a wink. “It is. There’s nothing to worry about, right Mors?”

Said man snickers and nods. “Of course, he won’t actually kill her.”

You chuckle and follow the man out, you don’t give Jon and the others a clue as to where you’re going, you just let them see the landscape change from beautiful white and vibrant walls, and then to orange sandy dunes that yanked your foot down. Well for them since they don’t know how to navigate the terrain.

“For the new people joining us,” Ser Meers interjects. “For my older students I like to take them to tougher arenas since in battle there’s no guarantee you’ll fight on flat grounds. It prepares you to use your environment to your advantage.”

“Fighting at shore is the best,” Mors adds to the conversation. “Albeit the salt stings, and Jellyfish are sneaky bastards. You got stung once didn’t you y/n?”

You look back with a grin. “Yes, right on my chest. Obella threw it at me.”

Sansa’s eyebrows furrow in slight disbelief that she doesn’t let show for long.

“It’s okay I got her back by shoving her to a cactus,” you add with a giggle.

“Here,” Ser Meers cuts in, forcing you all to stop in your tracks. “Tell your knights to stand down.”

You look back at your knights and only give them an assuring nod before you join Ser Meers a few feet ahead. And before you knew it without any warning he swings his blade, making you throw your head back to miss being hit.

“Okay,” you mutter and then run at him, but instead go low and manage to kick his leg before you flip around on the ground and kick up at his chin.

Ser Meers groans and you twist around and shove yourself to your feet to then pull out a small blade and swing it across his chest, managing to cut him a little.

“Good,” he compliments. “But a poisoned blade doesn’t affect right away. Remember that?”

You pull out your spear and nod. “Of course.” And luckily for him your blade isn't poisoned right now either.

Regardless, you then swing your blade at his neck, but he throws a dagger at you at the same time, causing you to twist your body to the side. He uses your slight distraction and grabs ahold of your spear before he kicks your chest, managing to catch you off guard just the slightest bit and causing you to tumble down the sand hill.

“Y/N!” You hear Sansa call out as you’re rolling down the sand.

When you hit sort of stable ground you come to a stop and groan out. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a tumble like this, it fucking hurts!

However even if it does hurt and you are down, you don’t try and get back up, you lift your head off the ground an inch and peek back, catching Ser Meers running at you down the hill like some scary assassin out for blood, so you stay put. Once you hear him close by you grab a handful of sand and wait for a second. The moment he stops right behind you, you twist your torso around and throw the sand at his eyes with a deep growl.

Ser Meers stumbles back and grabs at his eyes, so you get back up and hit his legs to pretend to slice them, before you spin around to get further back and then hit his throat to pretend to take him out, ending this session.

“Good job!” He exclaims and struggles with the sand in his eyes. “That was good. You haven’t lost your training.” He pulls his water pouch out and rinses his eyes out, making you pat his shoulder. “You okay, Ser?”

He blinks repeatdly and nods. “Always.” He then turns to face the group on top of the sand hill. You follow his line of gaze and see the castle's adviser whispering in Jon’s ear, albeit you don’t pay too much mind to it.

“Who wants to go next?” Ser Meets shouts out. And right away Arya raises her hand.

“I would, against the Queen.” She smirks at you, and you shoot her one back before you run back up the hill.

Albeit just as Arya pulls her thin sword out, Jon faces you with that long uspet look of his that never means anything good.

“That’ll have to wait,” Jon interjects as the advisor hands him a raven scroll. “We have to talk.”

You begin to frown and swallow thickly.

Once you return to the castle, and after you put the babies down in their cradles with their dragon eggs now keeping them company in their cradle, you meet in the parlor and find out what had upset Jon so much that he didn’t speak at all the entire way here.

“Daenerys told everyone the truth about Jon’s real parentage,” you reveal and throw the scroll down on the table.

“I thought it didn’t benefit her,” Arya grumbles.

Jon sighs. “No it doesn’t, but she lost Greyworm its revenge. She doesn’t care about the stakes.”

“Why should it matter if the two of you are married,” Mors interjects. “Your Targaryen ancestors married in the family to keep the line pure.”

You and Jon share a small glance before you look around with no shame, after all Jon and you never let that affect you, you love each other too much, and he doesn’t consider your father his own, so neither of you are ashamed of it.

“We don’t care,” Jon interjects. “My father is Lord Eddard Stark. He always will be, so it’s not that we care what we are to each other, all the people need to know is that me and y/n are man and wife.” He grabs your hand, and you offer him a kind smile before you face your advisors sitting on the couch, and frown.

“It’s the Lords that are allied with us,” you share the truth. “Regardless if Jon doesn’t consider himself a Targaryen, they don’t agree with sister marrying brother, that, and well they can use it to betray us and ally with the Prince Consort Gendry Baratheon. Because after all it’s him they want on the throne now that he married Daenerys”

“Then burn them,” Arya suggests. “They would be traitors and you have dragons. Use them if they want to defect.”

Jon shakes his head. “We can’t just go burning down castles and towns Arya. We do that, we become just like Daenerys.” He argues.

“You won’t burn their towns, just the Lords.” Sansa interjects now, catching you by surprise. “Burn them and have someone else take over. They’ll think twice about betraying you.”

You can’t help but smirk, but don’t show it long, instead you bring up something else. “We’ll send them ravens, explain why that information wasn’t shared and warn them about the traitors' fate. If they turn then we burn them.”

“What of the Citadel?” Ser Davos cuts in, drifting your eyes to the Onion Knight. “I’m sure they’ll have something to say.”

You shake your head. “If they do, they won’t complain until we win the war. We can take care of them if it happens, as of now though, we attack because that’s what she wants to do. No more waiting.” You look at all your advisors and smirk mischievously. “Daenerys is desperate and wounded. Drogon is hurt as well. We have her surrounded. Let’s strike now. Let’s end this war.”

A/N- There’s a fight i'm excited for next chapter!

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo @ashleyforeverareject @dark-night-sky-99 @starwarssluts @stargaryenx @defiantblade12 @cloudroomblog

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unluckybreadling · 9 months

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sorta kissy but not really - Christmas edition

this has been in my drafts since JUNE but I decide to actually buckle down and finish it tonight lol, so if it seems disjointed that's why. Merry (belated) Christmas!

based on a kissing prompt

Gingerbread - holiday kisses: under the mistletoe or in front of a roaring fire, their lips taste of nutmeg and gingerbread and holiday cheer

Nae.giri- semi kink || Ma.koto- 422 Kyo.ko - 370

The holidays were always an odd one for Kyoko. During her childhood, the holidays often were a slow spot for them as detectives being that everyone seemed to be level-headed during that time, Meaning they had nothing new rolling in until after the holidays. During that time, her grandfather was rather irritated by the holiday, often complaining about how everyone was unnecessarily cheery and how bright everything was. Of course, he already crushed any belief that an overweight man in a red suit would come down, eat some cookies and milk, deliver presents, and quickly move on to the next house. He gave her a whole lesson on how that wasn’t possible in any capacity.

But even then he allowed the house to have one small Christmas tree, usually decorated in gray and purple ornaments; no presents would spawn underneath it, however. The two just exchanged their gifts with one another and went about Christmas as if it were another day. No relatives over, no big grand feast, or watching festive shows. Just her, her grandfather, and the snowy ground outside their home.

Present-day Kyoko could not share the same sentiment.

The loud creak from the couch and slight bounce in the cushion woke her out of her daze. Her gut still felt as though it was a boulder that was weighing her down, the poor thing was stuffed entirely to the brim, hell some of the food was probably stuffed in her throat. Even with her greatly increased appetite, she was no match for her in-law’s extended family and their bigger than “normal” proportions. They were spending the holidays at the head matriarch Naegi’s big mansion, that fact aside she had never seen such a huge table be completely covered with so much food, every free bit of space was quickly covered by another basket or plate of something. Almost as though they were in some medieval Renaissance era with the overabundance of food and their ridiculous proportions. From several buckets of the thickest and largest chicken legs she’s ever seen to about 6 trays full of freshly baked salmon lasagna and even dessert made its way to the dinner table early in the form of several classic log cakes. She deduced that this would take a while.

By her 3rd round of food, the table still seemed full somehow as if the family barely made a dent in the food. Well…that's mostly because the servants kept replacing the dishes each time a plate became empty, and with it depending on the family member they either added more to an already still-loaded plate or just refilled their empty plates. Even then nobody seemed to have slowed down, well everyone but her. Mid way through her fourth meal, she had to tap out. After permanently excusing herself from the dinner table, she slunk away into one of the more secluded living spaces to digest both her dinner and that evenings hors d'oeuvres.

Earlier in the evening, they served appetizers before dinner, but not the typical finger food type stuff. An “appetizer” under Grandma and Grandpa’s Naegi’s roof meant the greasiest, stuffed, and obscenely big most American food she’d ever seen. From four-pattied cheesy cheeseburgers to a cookie cake chock full to the brim with warm gooey chocolate in the middle, to a burger pizza pie. When asking her boyfriend about this unusual appetizer arrangement, he only shrugged saying that his grandparents were just enthralled with this type of food since he was young and made it stable for at least each family member to get their fill of it each time they visited.

She couldn’t deny she probably overindulged a bit *too* much, should she have eaten about five pieces of that garlic bread grilled cheese? Nope.

Should she have let her boyfriend practically feed her half of his triple chicken egg bacon burger sandwich? Along with some of his tater tots? God no. But damn was that shit tasty. So tasty she got her own.

Another unfortunate for her waistline was the fact that the Naegi’s had chocolate treats galore! Everything from Brownies to cookies and double-tiered chocolate cakes, the sparkly jewel all this chocolatey goodness being a chocolate fountain. Although he claims that he had no influence over the extensive menu, she had her doubts considering some of her favorite chocolate treats were coincidentally on the chocolate table.

If you hadn’t told her that this was a Naegi feast of some kind, she would have sworn that the person telling her all this was on a speedrunning mission to see how quickly she could be immobile by some deranged billionaries. But that wasn’t the case here, this was an extended Naegi family's 300-course Christmas dinner, and even though having something like this would make the average person quiver in fear due to sheer amount of food and weight they know they would gain from this event. She however was Kyoko Kirigiri, if death's footsteps don’t scare her she knows nothing will.

Suddenly a sharp pang made itself known in her stomach followed by an ominous loud gurgle that caused her to groan in slight pain. Every slight shift to make herself more comfortable tussled with the tight knot

..Ok maybe the thought of her stomach bursting right here and now did scare her.. just a little.

The weight on the couch shifted again followed by another loud creak, and a familiar soft chuckle filled her ears.

“How ya feeling?” Makoto asked, her eyes sweeping over him, seeing how much damage he did to himself since he had access to an unlimited amount of home-cooked food. However, she did spot a rather large bit of gingerbread cookie in his hand, probably from one of the multiple gingerbread mini-cities displays they had set up.

Despite the cuteness of his festive pullover sweater, it had ridden up revealing his slightly dimpled lower belly. While she enjoyed that sight, it also told her that the button-up underneath was probably missing a button or two. She also knows that his pants were absolutely unbuttoned and unzipped, they’ve probably been so after his 3rd plate of food.

Yet surprisingly he was still mobile.

“Full.” She groaned, “Very full. Your grandma and the chefs did good... too good.”

“Yeah.” He sighed happily, “I might go back for more… not sure if I want a plate or just a snack.”

“Being a bit gluttonous now are we?”

“It’s Christmas at grandma’s house! I’m allowed to be a fatass and.. your one to talk.”

His hand made its way to her gut, his hand being gentle as he rubbed in a circular motion, a soft smile spread across his face as the reward he got was a soft sigh of relief from the lavender-haired woman.

“I’m surprised you haven’t unbuttoned your jeans yet?” He inquired, looking near flabbergasted. He could already see that the zipper had slid down revealing a bit of pale skin. From the way the fabric was digging into her, he was sure that a red line had already formed on her skin.

“I-I didn’t want to seem-” She paused momentarily to unexpectedly let out a rather loud belch, coughing awkwardly afterward as she resumed, “Ugh excuse me, sorry I didn’t want to seem rude. I am a guest after all.”

“Nonsense!” He said, his hand working swiftly to set her belly free, it promptly filling up space in her lap. “Your family here Kyoko, they loved you! Heck, they were questioning me on how you even bothered to give me the time of day.”

A huff of a chuckle escaped her lips before she could get a word out to respond, she suddenly felt half of his weight smush itself up against her and the taste of gingerbread from his lips on hers. She reciprocated, deepening the kiss a bit she tasted more than just gingerbread surprisingly, there seemed to be a bit of milk there too? Or maybe eggnog?

Their kiss was sharply broken by the sound of a loudly dramatic gasp in the doorway, both looking up to see one of Naegi’s little cousins, a mischievous grin on his pudgy face as he immediately turned and made a run for it.

Many things didn’t shock Kyoko, after all, she was a homicide detective, you could show her the puddle of flesh and skin that used to be a human person and she wouldn’t even flinch. However, being with Makoto has definitely made her eyebrow raise higher than it should on more than one occasion. Including now, never has she seen him wobble himself up fast enough and make an exit so quickly that she actually felt a breeze go by her.

Looking down she noticed he left his piece of gingerbread on her thigh. Taking it she stared at it for a moment then shrugged as she began to nibble on it, she’s sure he wouldn’t mind her having some of his cookie, they were family after all.

-- Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! Thx for readin :)

#stuffedronpa #stuffed ronpa #ma.koto na.egi #kyoko kirigiri #mine #my writing #jambo writes #nae.giri #sorta kink fic #belly kink #yes the nae.gis are hella rich rich because i say so

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venerablemonk27 · 2 years

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I guess I'm an owl guy now. Just last week I learned about an Eastern Screech-Owl pair that has been nesting in Monona, WI for at least three years, so I had to go take a look over the weekend. The pictures below were all taken on Sunday.

[ID: An Eastern Screech-Owl sleeps in the knotty hole of a tree. The Owl is a red morph, with tawny brown feathers on the head, wings, and breast. Dark brown streaks and white patches make for a scaly camouflage effect on the lower breast and belly. The Owl has tiny brown ear tufts that stick up from the top of her head above feathery white brows. From this angle, the Owl is facing the left side of the frame, with just a little bit of beak and talon visible among the puffed feathers. Her left eye is a black slit, tightly closed against the daylight. End ID]

I visited the nest site a couple times on Saturday between other birding excursions in the area, but had no luck. The tree pretty much hangs over the road in a residential area, so it was super easy to swing by and have a look. It may have been too cold and windy that day for the Owl to want to sleep out in the open.

[ID: An Eastern Screech-Owl sleeps in the knotty hole of a tree. The Owl is a red morph, with tawny brown feathers on the head, wings, and breast. Dark brown streaks and white patches make for a scaly camouflage effect on the lower breast and belly. The Owl has tiny brown ear tufts that stick up from the top of her head above feathery white brows. From this angle, the Owl is facing the camera directly, with just a little bit of beak and talon visible among the puffed feathers. Her eyes are black slits, tightly closed against the daylight. End ID]

I met several other nice birders that were there for exactly the same reason as me. Some just popping out of their cars for a quick look and others stopping to chat or swap birding stories and intel for a while. A mother and son from Monticello, a retiree from somewhere 90 minutes away (he didn't say) who left to seek out the same Snowy Owl I saw a week prior, folks who live just down the block and see the Screech-Owl at least once a week. We learned from past sighting reports that the red morph of this pair is the female and the grey morph is the male, due to their relative size and courtship behaviors. (With many predatory bird species, the females are generally larger than the males, even when coloration between the sexes is identical.) The owner of the house across the street explained that the female has been back living in the nest hole for a couple weeks, but she hasn't seen the male yet this year.

[ID: An Eastern Screech-Owl sleeps in the knotty hole of a tree. The Owl is a red morph, with tawny brown feathers on the head, wings, and breast. Dark brown streaks and white patches make for a scaly camouflage effect on the lower breast and belly. The Owl has tiny brown ear tufts that stick up from the top of her head above feathery white brows. From this angle, the Owl is facing to the right of the frame, with just a little bit of beak and talon visible among the puffed feathers. Her eyes are black slits, tightly closed against the daylight. End ID]

At the end of the day, I decided to wait with one other birder (who had driven about two hours from Menasha) in the hopes that the Owl would emerge before sunset. We weren't completely without luck, as the Owl decided to sleep in until around 5:30pm, when basically all light had gone from the sky. I only saw her because she immediately flew from the hole and landed on a nearby roof to take a look around. Neither of us got a single usable picture, but I could see her well enough through the binoculars to make a positive ID and log my 190th species. My compatriot had to return home that night, but I decided to keep an eye on eBird and pop back over if someone else happened to see the Owl during the day.

As I'm sure you guessed from the photos in this post, other folks reported the Eastern Screech-Owl sleeping out in the open midmorning on Sunday. So I finished my chores and tossed my gear in the car for yet another short drive to Monona. And much to my delight, she was still there when I arrived, completely asleep and looking quite comfortable! (One of the birders from Saturday had mentioned that she likes to sleep out in the open when it's warmer and not so windy.) I snapped about 700 photos from various angles, then went to meet up with my good friend Rachel.

[ID: An Eastern Screech-Owl sleeps in the knotty hole of a tree. The Owl is a red morph, with tawny brown feathers on the head, wings, and breast. Dark brown streaks and white patches make for a scaly camouflage effect on the lower breast and belly. The Owl has tiny brown ear tufts that stick up from the top of her head above feathery white brows. From this angle, the Owl is facing to the right of the frame, with just a little bit of beak and talon visible among the puffed feathers. Her eyes are black slits, tightly closed against the daylight. End ID]

You see, Rachel got me into birding in the first place, and she and her partner were coming to Madison to visit and go to a hockey game that evening. I made sure to let her know that she better bring her binoculars if she was interested in taking a small detour to pick up a lifer. And being a very well-behaved Owl, the Screecher didn't move an inch from her roost. The light was better this time, so I had to snap another 600 pictures or so. We met a few more birders and checked around the base of the tree for pellets, but didn't find any. We wondered about the species of the tree (I thought ash, she leaned toward box elder), then said goodbye to the Owl. It's certainly fun to pick up a lifer when I'm out by myself, but I find it even more enjoyable to share that moment with someone else.

#bird photography #birding #photography #birds #bird #close encounter #birdblr #birdlife #birdwatching #lifer #owl #original photography on tumblr #original photography #nature #bird of the day #Eastern Screech-Owl #sleepy #sleepy bird

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theteaisaddictive · 9 months

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Holiday baking for Belle and Adam? Your choice for which version!

thanks!! sorry for the wait!

"So talk me through your architectural vision for this house," Belle said.

Her kitchen looked like a small bomb had exploded, leaving icing sugar dusted over almost every surface, clumps of icing already stiffening on the worktop, and a category five hundreds and thousands incident that Adam knew was going to end with them finding pieces in the grout of her tiles for weeks afterwards.

"It's a very traditional structure," he said, looking at the picture on the box again. "I'm thinking, quintessential gingerbread house. Eaves, gables, snowy roof, all the good stuff."

"I like it," Belle said, rolling up her sleeves. "Go ham on the decorations afterwards?"

"It's all about presentation," he agreed. "How's the icing?"

"Sufficiently gloopy!"

"Then let's do this. Who's better with the piping bag, do you think?"

"Whoever's got steadier hands. Learned that the hard way." Belle stuck her hand out, palm facing the floor. "Come on," she said, nudging him with her elbow until he also stuck out his hand.

Adam took the opportunity to covertly stare at her hand. Belle's hands were never still; she was always fiddling with her clothes, tinkering with her electronics, or flicking through a book. She loved to paint her nails, and he had grown used to seeing the flashes of colour as she waved her hands around. This week they were painted a deep wine red, for the season. He remembered, about a month back, when Belle had gotten curious about the size difference between them and pressed their hands together to test it. To his surprise, his hands had dwarfed hers; she was always so animated that she often appeared taller and larger than she actually was.

"Yeah, mine are definitely steadier," Belle said, startling him back to reality. "Alright, that means you're holding up the walls for me."

"I live to serve, milady," he snarked back, half-bowing.

Her cheeks turned pink. Was she blushing? Or was it just because the kitchen was hot? Probably the latter, Adam rationalised. He had long resigned himself to keeping his crush on Belle firmly to himself, no matter how much his friends had tried to encourage him otherwise. He had realised he was in love with her a few months ago, after three years of a friendship which had, admittedly, started on shaky ground. They laughed together about so many things - including each other's dating prospects, when the wine was out and they were both feeling mean. He didn't think he could ever face her laughing at him. Not about this, at least.

Adam picked up two of the walls for the gingerbread house, holding them at careful right angles. With calm precision, Belle piped the icing in the join, cementing the two together; with less precision, the trailing end of the icing caught the cuff of his woollen Christmas jumper, which he had worn 'for the festivities'.

"Oh, shit," Belle said. "Sorry!"

"It's alright," Adam laughed. Once he was sure the walls wouldn't immediately fall down, he lifted his wrist to wipe away the icing with his fingers. He popped them into his mouth, the sweetness pleasantly coating his tongue, and had to restrain himself from laughing again at the look on Belle's face as she stared at his hand. "You don't need to look at me like that, Belle -- I'm not a wild animal, I'm washing my hands before I touch the gingerbread again."

"Hmm?" Belle said. She blinked, coming back to herself with a start. "Oh, I -- I didn't -- obviously I know you'll wash your hands." Her cheeks were still pink. He looked at her, frowning slightly, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Adam washed his hands, rolling up his sleeves as a preventative measure once he was done. Something was up with Belle today, that much was certain. He could see her eyes linger on his forearms when he turned back around to the half-constructed gingerbread house. A half-forgotten tweet came to mind -- hadn't it said something about how women liked it when men rolled up their sleeves?

For the first time, Adam dared to hope that maybe his feelings weren't so unrequited after all.

"Halfway through," he said.

"A third, surely?" Belle said, scrunching up her face as she thought. "We'll need to do the roof as well."

"Good point. Let's do this!"

They succeeded in constructing the rest of the base without further damage to Adam's clothing. The roof was a more difficult matter; after two failed attempts, Adam ended up holding a gable in each hand to keep them over the base as Belle carefully piped up the centre. He should have been watching the gingerbread; instead, his eyes were on her face. The little furrow between her eyebrows that only came out when she was concentrating hard on something, and the dent of her teeth biting her lower lip.

He was so absorbed in her, in fact, that he had no time to react when Belle finished icing the roof and triumphantly flicked the piping bag upwards. For the second time, he was covered in dribbles of icing. He could feel it on his chin, and was thankful that he'd shaved this morning.

"Oh, my god," Belle laughed, "I'm so sorry!"

"Why do you keep coating me in icing today, Belle? Am I not sweet enough --?"

He was cut off mid-sentence by Belle grabbing his jaw and wiping off his chin with her fingers. Her fingers on his cheek were cool, her grip so loose that he could've broken it by turning his head. But Adam was rooted to the spot by the look in her eyes. She slipped her icing-covered finger between her lips, and he felt the breath shudder out of him. He had no idea what his face was doing, but he was so close that he could see her pupils dilate in response, brown drowning in black. Her eyes darted over his face, flicking down to his lips before going back up to his eyes.

"Belle?"

Her hand moved, cradling his jaw instead of gripping it. "Can I . . . ?" Her thumb brushed against the corner of his mouth.

Adam leaned over the countertop, bending his head down to meet her lips in a soft kiss. It was a gentle kiss, almost shy; when Adam dared to open his mouth and press his tongue against her lips, he could taste the lingering sweetness of the icing.

They drew apart carefully. For some reason, he was still holding the roof of the gingerbread house, and he let go carefully, so as not to ruin their hard work. "Well?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Belle said, and for a moment his heart dropped through his stomach and all the way down to the floor. "I could still taste the icing. To properly assess whether or not you're sweet enough, I think I'd need to kiss you again." Oh, she was bright red this time - definitely blushing.

Adam stepped around the worksurface and placed his hands on her waist, unable and unwilling to stop the massive smile on his face. "I think I can accept those terms," he grinned. She wound her free hand into the collar of his jumper, pulling him down into another kiss - this one much more eager than the first.

The best part of an hour passed that way, before they finally remembered the abandoned gingerbread house that still needed decorating.

#asks #cinderellasfella #beauty and the beast #HERE WE GO

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blarrghe · 2 years

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first lines

it's saturday and I'm still drinking my coffee before I work on homework and I am Not Allowed To Do Hobbies until I finish this paper but I am going to microdose on writing by filling out this meme. tagged by @cleverblackcat and @fandomn00blr to post the first line of my ten most recent fics. Picked a line or few depending on *~vibes~*

taggin' friends! @transfenris-truther @melisusthewee @rosella-writes @sulky-valkyrie @n7viper @aymayzing have funn

A Complicated Match: Dorian was a man besieged by emails.

Strange Feelings in the Party Camp He's in her tent again. Zevran, the assassin.

Go, Da'len, Run! He wakes choking on smoke. His eyes don't adjust to the dark, the air is thick and hot. Bleary and tired he rolls from his bed and sucks in a breath, it comes out again as a cough. Others are coughing too. He can hear the miserable sounds coming from the next room, and the taste of ash settles over his tongue.

Can You Really Blame Me? “You could have told me sooner, Varric.” Hawke swings her legs over the edge of the bed, a rich red housecoat falling silky behind her as she rises and swishes it around her body in a quick sashe.

Snowy Satinalia Snow was falling in large, fluffy flakes, adding to the white of Deshanna’s yard that glittered in the glow of dangling white holiday lights across the edge of the old house’s pointed roof. Smoke rose from the chimney, and even from halfway up the long driveway Taren could smell the familiar scent of woodsmoke on the crisp air.

All Hail West Thedas Big. That was the word that kept coming to mind. The only word for things out here.

Matchsies "No," Taren shook his head, resolute. "Oh come on, it's true," Sera whined in protest, her fast fingers continuing to tap away at his phone screen, making no moves to amend any of her latest additions to the profile she'd been embellishing with exaggerated details of his skills and hobbies. "You are not putting 'exceptionally skilled with hands’ under talents."

Prompt Fill - "I Want To Wake Up To You Every Morning" “Well now, what’s this?” Dorian circled the Inquisitor’s chambers with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile. He strode towards the bed which had been recently brought into the centre of the room and took in the pillows, the new and silky sheets draping over the mattress, and the mattress itself, wide and thick and well-risen off the ground by a sturdy, canopied bedframe carved of wood and tipped with pretty filigree of gold. Behind him, the Inquisitor shrugged. “New bed,” he said.

Prompt Fill - "After an Argument" Taren wouldn't be able to sleep now, so he didn't.

Unpublished enemies to lovers thing I'll get to eventually The dawn rose misty. Soft brushes of pale white cloud hung low in the air, painting the forest floor in a glittery dew. Rays of watery yellow echoed through the slats between trees in a faded memory of sunlight. It was quiet.

#tag games #writing things #my fic #my writing

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yeahcurrahhe-e · 1 year

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𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐀

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

〚 𝐂.𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐍 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ attempted suicide, mental illness (PTSD, anxiety, depression), mental breakdown

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇, 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋 metal of the intact golden lock was rattled about as her cramped fingers came about to lock it, a wooden barrier between sanity and the insanity crawling up her back.

The ghostly, sweetly bloody fingers of soldiers that failed to be successes of her miraculous hands traced delves into her shoulder blades. They were ambassadors from a misery far away from the comprehension of the sane, from the company akin to a family beyond the chipped paint of the door.

The copper sourness of blood exuded from the flickers of souls in her peripheral, their wounds not healed in the bittersweet glory of the afterlife, rather stark against the ivory shade of their drained bodies, reminding her of the youth she couldn’t save.

“It’s cold here,” a breathy rasp rang aggressively against the falling silence, “So, so cold.”

Y/N peered up gradually through the murky dark, and found the moonlighted silhouette of her brother — the missing presence in the Y/L/N twins, an Easy Company bulletproof sergeant, ironically striked down in his golden youth by a German slug in Bastogne. Peter.

She was the responding medic that dove to his crumbled body in the rolling hills of snow, his body akin to a wilted rose as blood trickled in a stark red in the daylight. Her fiancé was a few snowy inches behind her, clamoring for the assistance of the other Easy medics afar in the icy alcove of their foxhole. Watery blood mazed around her brother’s teeth and over dulling lips, chapped from a lack of moisture, his breaths fleeing his chest as if they were aware that they were no longer needed. German bullet to the artery in his thigh. The blood wouldn’t halt at the expense of her anxious sobs. She needed it to stop. She wished it would. The woman had even wrenched off her thin coat and was squeezing it to the wound, atop of the dense clouds of gauze previously pressed, attempting to staunch the wave of blood. Her fingers were clasped in the scarlet hue of the blood that once flowed through his mim nerves, saturated stains on the wrinkles of her uniform that had wicked through the threadbare cotton.

“It’s so cold here, so lonely,” a brush of cold tickled her shoulder as the whisper of a hand clasped it, extending beyond the veil of afterlife, “….and you said you’d save me, Y/N.”

Y/N’s head throbbed now and she tottered back through the puddles congealed on the wood from vacant shards in the roof above, the water slithering alongside the trails of dirt on her shin. It’s not real. This isn’t real. He isn’t here. Her hands smacked against the sides of her head, fingers taut against the other in a barricade to pray away the murmurs.

As she hurriedly staggered away from the door, she struck with something firm and an involuntary yelp fell from her gaping mouth. Y/N whirled around with the fear torturing her insides now and churning her stomach.

“You said you’d save me!” Peter clamored straight onto her crimson beaten face, the moonlight littering the greyish, silver lining of his familiar features, bitterness flipping around in his irises, “I’m fucking dead because of you!”

“You're not real!" is the sole thing she could blurt out through gritted teeth while her exhausted feet obeyed an instinct’s cue to back away, crying now.

“You seem to enjoy throwing that promise around. You told all those other soldiers you’d save them. Let’s dig their corpses out from the snow and ask them how that went,” Peter threw a cynical chuckle between their tension, preying upon the vulnerability churning in her war-exhausted mind, “It should’ve been you that took that bullet. And, funny enough, you seem to think that, too. I know why you locked yourself in here — the least occupied house in the row — with your gun on the desk…. a letter at its side.”

Their identical gazes traced the corners of the room’s furniture until settling on the aforementioned revolver, its metallic sheen basking in the moonlight in a macabre beckoning to death. Y/N’s right jacket pocket fell laden with the rather minimal weight of the cartridge of bullets she had plucked from the company’s inventory that evening. She was so, so exhausted from all the ghosts rattling about in her mind daily, the sense of blood wicked into the crevices of her hands from the wrecked bodies of young men. She wasn’t enough. Not for the men of Easy Company. Not for Carwood Lipton, her fiancé.

A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest almost immediately as the words registered quicker than she would’ve preferred. She’ll see him one day. Take your time, Lip. I’ll see you on the other side, was the farewell penned to Easy’s golden boy in the letter alongside the revolver.

“Go on now. You’re so tired, Y/N/N. The voices you hear, you know, they will go away,” Peter murmured so softly and tenderly in the bitter aura of afterlife — so coaxingly.

“I know,” she exhaled with a deranged simper cutting across the canvas of tears on her crimson cheeks. They’ll be better without her. Perhaps more of them will live in the absence of her incompetence.

Y/N padded numbly over to the oak desk, the eloquent furnishings as war-torn as her ravaged conscious and the ideal keeper of the revolver. Her bloodshot eyes trickled over the defined, silver corners and edges of the gun — her gateway away from this crimson hell.

“Pick it up, Y/N. You’ll be happier soon enough. You’ll be with me, twins together once again,” Peter beckoned in a verbal rush towards the inevitable, the hushed mind of a dead young woman, the puzzle pieces of her abstract mind splattered against dingy wood, “Like it’s always been. Just the two of us.”

“Yeah…just the two of us,” she concurred with a weep, looping her trembling fingers around the arches of the revolver and raising it from its wooden keeper. A fleeting moment gave way to an achy glance to the ring she had laid upon the parchment paper. Take your time, Lip. I’ll see you on the other side. It’s only a matter of time.

Y/N gradually shifted about to the colorless presence of her brother, a fragile, quivering hand leaning the gun’s metal surface to the scrunch of her forehead, “Just the two of us, just the two of us.”

In the peripheral of her throbbing eyes, a flimsy beckon of light shattered the darkness beneath the door and a desperate rattling resounded on the locked knob, “Y/N! Y/N! Open the door!” Lipton.

“Do it before he kicks it down!” Peter clamored in a sharp, hysterical demand, his bloody hand pressing the weapon closer to her temple, “Fucking do it!”

The strident whisper of reality overwhelmed a portion of her conscious, as if some invisible flame was held against her skin, attempting from abysses of desperation to snip away the chains of insanity. Listen to Lip. Open the door, Y/N. Peter isn’t here and you know it.

“Pull the trigger!”

“Y/N! Open the damn door!” Lipton’s hands clanked about the doorknob in one conclusive effort to wrench it open.

There was a deafening scream of the hinges as it tossed open from the sheer might of the man’s yank, the abrupt shock of it coaxing the gun from her trembling hand, layering upon the miserable din in the room. Yet, his gaze had met the tragedy in the shadows before the gun spilled out from her quivering clasp. The very image he was gazing upon may stay forever impressed in his mind.

In an absentminded, frenetic stupor, Y/N plunged to her knees and onto the rickety floorboard, cramped and tremoring hands seeking the weapon — the savior. Lipton was as fluid in his instincts as he plummeted towards her desperate scramble for the two-faced comfort of the weapon. His own frenzied fingers clasped the rear of the revolver before she could retrieve it.

“No! No! Give it back!” Y/N shrieked in a compound of fury and failure, quaking legs straining to anchor onto the ground and concur with gravity, whilst she lunged to retrieve the lethal savior, “I need it! I can’t do this anymore!”

Salty tears merged with grot amidst red blotches on her cheeks, her hands treading through the wispy air as Lipton hurled the weapon into the corridor, streaking past the lantern he had carded along.

“I know, I know,” he settled after scouring the scrambles of his thoughts, deciding that any release of his frustration would inject accelerator into the current pot of tension.

With an anchor of forebode bobbing in his core, he gradually extended a hand towards her. Dubiously, Y/N set her own bloodied, scraped one into the crook of his palm, him plucking her from the crooked wood as if she was nothing. Treads of damage drowned her lungs as dense tears dropped from the rounds of her cheeks the second her hand clasped his, dainty reminders of her intact humanity. He had been fast enough to get to her today.

And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together, “It’s going to get better one day. Just hang on a little longer. For me. For yourself. I know you can.”

And whilst resurfaced mental scars bled through her conscious, she nestled her cheek into the crooked flap of his threadbare, olive jacket. Lipton was aware she was one more blow away from shattering. Caving into a creased shell of herself. His hand curved on the rear of her head as she relented to an internal anchor of grief, burying her face further amidst the lumps of jacket serving as a warm cradle. Her composure further crumbled in her hands and she pressed her forehead to the plateau of his shoulder, the cries cleaving through her muscles now.

“We all have these bad days, y’know — think about those we lost, hear their voices. We’re all tired. It’s only natural to mourn but it’s not your fault they’re dead — you didn’t pull the trigger or ignite the artillery that killed them in the end. You have saved a lot more soldiers since then, a lot of good men are still alive because of what you’ve done,” Lipton assured in a gravity above a whisper, burning away the spirits of failure churning in her head, “That’s how to make this all kind of easier to manage. There’s no cure for these burdens, the voices, but there’s management. This company needs you — we’d be lost without you. I’d be lost without you.” A few fingers slinked through the moon-basked tousle of her hair, her breaths lightening almost instantaneously at the tender pathway of touch.

“There’s just s-so much b-blood on my hands,” Her hand clenched the front of her uniform just as if she was holding what remained of her soul from rotting into the abyss of a lamenting chest, “I-I don’t k-know how to g-get rid of it. If I p-put a b-bullet in my head, it g-goes quiet.”

Abrupt hands clasped down on her sulking cheeks, squishing them gently against the arch of his quivering yet robust palms, “We all do, Y/N. We all have blood on our hands that’ll never disappear,” he traipses his hands down to her wrists with a delicate bolster, “But, they are the same hands who save soldiers day in and day out. They are the hands of a brilliant, shrewd woman whose intelligence outmatches war elites. A woman who is cared for — cherished — by the men of this company for the work she does despite the heartache. The woman I love and will never stop reminding her that she is a good person despite what has happened to her.”

His left hand plucked the vacated ring on a parchment steeped in devastation, her permitting him to replace it on her hand in the somber lantern light as hitched breaths overlapped her supposedly evening inhaled and exhales. His clasp on the blemished sides of her face was settled once again and he fixated their aching glances on an equal level, “Just breathe, breathe with me, okay?”

Gradually, her chest deflated with adrenalized misery and a content flow of breath rose to equal his own, “I don’t deserve you, Car —”

“You do. You always will.”

#hbo war imagine #band of brothers #hbo war #hbowar #band of brothers imagine

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ajgrey9647 · 6 months

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Breaking the Shell

Brilliant beams of sunlight spilled across the wooden planks of the kitchen floor, the excited twittering of birds piercing the morning stillness as the feathery creatures flitted across the panes of glass. Nature was waking from her long, snowy nap; the scent of fresh earth and new plant life wafted through the screen of the deck door. Perhaps it was only fitting that the inevitable occurred on just such a day.

From his place at the butcher block table, Red’s amused eyes tracked his partner as he grumbled and muttered from one side of the room to the other, perusing every cabinet, drawer, and cubby. A string of annoyed curses tumbled from his lips. On the countertop sat a piece of lined paper and pen, the list stretching from front to back in the tyrant’s odd, flowery script.

Huffing, Drakkon closed the door to the refrigerator and tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling in supplication. He was being so dramatic and theatrical that Red struggled not to laugh as he nibbled at his breakfast but his lips twitched slightly at the corners.

Shaking his head in disbelief, long, graying brown hair sweeping one shoulder, Drakkon waved a muscular arm about the room.

“How in the ever loving fuck are we chronically out of every goddamn thing in here?” he hissed. “It’s like some sort of cosmic joke!”

He ran a rough hand over his stubbled-covered face and quickly jotted more items to his list, printing as small as he could manage to make the words fit.

“Almost every fucking drawer, cabinet, and cupboard is mere tumbleweeds! Honesty, darling, it’s utter bullshit that whenever I come in here to make something, the only thing we have in here is cobwebs!” Drakkon continued to bitch.

Red forked the remaining slices of strawberry into his mouth and shrugged gamely. He tried to look sympathetic and find the right words to smooth his partner’s ruffled feathers, but he was completely exhausted.

“Well, we’ve got a couple growing kiddos under our roof. Aren’t they supposed to eat us out of house and home?”

The tyrant rolled his eyes in exasperation, not finding the former pet’s comment to be cute.

“It’s bullshit!” he reiterated for the millionth time.

Hazel eyes swept the kitchen once more, taking silent inventory one last time. They settled on the small bowl of egg shells soaking in water and being prepared to be ground into a fine powder for Red’s compost. Drakkon tapped an agitated finger on the counter.

“Took the last of the eggs again, did we, darling?” he accused tenderly.

Scooping the last few bites from his plate, Red hauled himself to his feet, gathering his dirty dishes and utensils and sliding them into the sink.

“I eat almost the same thing every morning,” he gently pointed out. “And didn’t you make some big omelet-thing the other day?”

Drakkon grinned and pressed a kiss to Red’s full lips, tasting fresh berries and almond butter. His large hands gripped the gray-haired man’s hips and pulled him flush against him. Growling, he rested his forehead against his partner’s, inhaling his calming scent.

“Mmmm…you taste rather delicious yourself, Snoopy. I suppose who used what isn’t important. The White Ranger and I are going to a market that specializes in selling goods in bulk. If that doesn’t fix this fucking issue, nothing will!”

Red grinned, his hands spanning Drakkon’s broad back, his thigh brushing the other man’s groin sensually and eliciting a moan of arousal.

“Ah, ah, ah, love… anticipation always,” he whispered against his ear before flicking his tongue against the sensitive lobe. “You’re supposed to be leaving soon, right?”

Reluctantly, the tyrant released his lover’s body and snatched up his lengthy list, folding the sheet into uneven quarters and tucking it in a denim pocket. Catching sight of the illuminated oven clock over Red’s shoulder, he huffed in frustration. Listening intently, he could hear no movement from the rest of the house.

“Well, I thought I would be! It must be nice to be such a slug and lounge about in bed all morning when there’s shit to be done! Yet Thomas is still rotting in his bed like a desiccated corpse! I’m sure he’ll sprout mushrooms one day!” Drakkon complained with a sneer. “Honestly, it would be so much simpler if I could just drive myself!”

Red yawned and stretched his back, reaching far overhead. Though he desired to maintain his soothing routine of morning training from his days in the palace, he begrudgingly admitted he was far too tired to safely work out. So he’d opted for a shower and a nutritious breakfast, donning his customary jeans, black button up and cotton undershirt as he prepared himself for a long day.

“Well, he certainly didn’t overexert himself with me or Jason. The poor thing was up most of the night with his head in the toilet and I tended him until he finally fell asleep.”

Drakkon raised a brow.

“Is the little duckling going to pull through, do you suppose? If so, I’ll be sure to grab chicken soup and ginger ale while we’re out. But the puke thing is all you…yuck!” he hissed with a shiver of revulsion.

Chuckling with dark humor, Red shook his head in mock disbelief.

“You didn’t bat an eye when you punched and kicked me in the stomach so hard, I vomited pure blood. When did you get so prissy?”

“That was strictly business, dear. And I was able to hose all that down the drain without getting up close.”

Red snickered.

“Touche, I guess. I’m sure the Omega will pull through, but I doubt Jason will feel that way. He looked like roadkill wadded up under the blanket when I got out of bed. He’ll probably sleep most of the day. He probably doesn’t even have the strength of a kitten after tossing his cookies all night.”

Crossing to the living room, Drakkon’s heavy shoes thudded on the rug-covered cabin floor.

“Perfect. You’ll be here to play ‘nurse’. Jason becomes rather childish when he’s under the weather. And I’ve got my own pain in the ass to contend with…”

Red followed, leaning in the doorway as the tyrant crossed to Tommy’s closed bedroom door. He knew what was going to happen, the same shit show that always went down on market days, and he rolled his eyes.

“You know by now that just pisses him off, right?”

“I do,” Drakkon laughed evilly before throwing the door open with gusto, snapping on the overhead lights, and bellowing his customary morning greeting.

Tommy startled at the sudden commotion, nearly tumbling from the bed in his tight cocoon of white comforter. He literally hissed when the asshole yanked the curtain open, blasting him full in the face with bright sunshine.

“What the fuck, dude! Goddamn! It’s the weekend!” he snarled, squinting at Drakkon’s toothy grin and mocking eyes.

Flipping the fucker the middle finger, the White Ranger rolled over and burrowed back beneath the blanket, attempting to ignore him in hopes he’d just go away.

“Come along, Thomas! The early bird gets the worm and all that shit!” Drakkon chirped, leaning over to snatch a handful of the material and giving a vicious tug.

Tommy stubbornly clung fast, furiously yanking the comforter back around his balled up form.

“Piss off!” he snarled before giving a hiss of surprise when a heavy weight landed painfully on top of him, the older man issuing his own feline vocalizations of outrage.

Oil and water…

Red watched the scene unfold, entertained by the humorous shit-talking and dumbassery taking place. His eyes sparkled merrily though he hoped they didn’t wake Jason with their loud insults and threats.

“Get out of my bed, dick!”

“You little shit! It’s your fault I lost my balance!”

A sharp whistle pierced the air, cutting off their juvenile exchange of barbs.

“Children, I’m way too tired to scruff you this morning. Don’t tempt me into dragging the hose in here!” the former pet warned, only half joking.

Sitting up, his long strands matted about his head, Tommy glared at Drakkon, who merely flashed his fangs in a very cat-like manner before pointedly reclining back on the White Ranger’s mattress.

“Our little duckling was up blowing chunks, little one, and my darling is a little on the grumpy side from holding his hair all night. I don’t doubt he’d strap us if we don’t get the hell out of here in a timely fashion,” the tyrant advised.

Red’s glower clearly showed he was considering the belt in favor of the garden hose.

“Fine,” Tommy grouched, swinging his legs to the floor and staggering to his dresser.

Like Drakkon, he always slept in the nude and the morning spring air was chilly on his bare cheeks. The younger man hunted through his assortment of t-shirts, brain still fuzzy and distracted, when he felt the sudden sting of a rude smack across his ass as the tyrant darted past him, around Red, and out the door into the living room.

“You piece of shit…” Tommy started to thunder when Red irritably hushed him, jabbing a finger up the stairs towards his shared bedroom with Jason.

“Sorry, sorry…”

After that, it was the usual song and dance of Drakkon riding the White Ranger’s ass, hissing at him to hurry the fuck up, sighing dramatically, and whistling the theme song to ‘Jeopardy’. Tommy snarled back to get off his nuts, eat shit, and shove it up his ass… Most grocery runs started off this way, just like clock-work. Only today, Red was sinking into a grumpy mood, snapping at the pair to keep it down, Jason was sick, Jason needed sleep…

Exchanging confused glances, the odd couple tried to comply, keeping their insults and jabs to hushed whispers, feeling guilty under the former pet’s scolding.

“Just because the store opens at eight, it doesn’t mean you have to get there when they unlock the doors! It's not like they’re going to run out of shit!” Tommy grumbled over his shoulder at Drakkon as he perched on the couch to tie his shoe.

“Well, excuse me, but I prefer to get my shit handled and be done with it. I guess it’s a good thing you never decided to be a warlord. You’d be too busy sleeping to conquer jack-shit!” the other man grouched. “I could never get away with such behavior!”

This caused Tommy to whirl around in stunned outrage.

“What the fuck? ‘Such behavior’? My ass!” he snarked, his voice starting to rise. “Who got their dumbass run out of their palace? Oh yeah, it was YOU!”

Red’s shaggy head poked around from the kitchen where’d been sweeping, deciding to get his own shit done rather than listen to the petty crap taking place in the living room. He lifted the broom handle in warning.

“Keep. It. Down!”

Two sets of hazel eyes widened fearfully despite the man being adorned with a frilly, brightly colored apron.

“Sorry, sorry, we’re going,” Tommy frantically soothed, waving a hand at Drakkon to get the hell out of Dodge.

The duo nearly ran out the front door and across the porch towards the driveway where Tommy’s car was parked.

“I’ve never seen Red getting agitated like that,” he muttered to his older doppelganger. “What’s wrong with him? I get he’s tired, but we’ve had him up all night, fucking in multiple positions and choking him like a chicken and he was never this grouchy the next day.”

Drakkon slid into the passenger seat as he considered Tommy’s question.

“Hmmm… I’m not sure. My darling did look a little flushed himself so it's likely he’s got whatever cooties Jason’s propagating. He’s fit as a fiddle but by no means is he immune to illness.”

Backing out into the road, Tommy gave a last glance at the beloved lake cabin. He knew they desperately needed to go to the store, but it was an hour away; not counting how long it was going to take once they got there, it would be at least a few hours before they returned.

“I don’t know, dude… Maybe we should do this a different day. What if they are both sick? Shouldn’t we be here to take care of them?”

“Thomas,” Drakkon groaned. “What would you propose we do? Sit around and stare at them heaving into the toilet bowl? Granted, Jason’s a complete infant, but Red can handle things in our absence.”

Tommy didn’t like it; however, he was sick of arguing with the asshole.

“Fine. But we get in, we get out! I don’t want to be there all fucking day, dude!”

Though they didn’t know it at the time, deciding to travel to the big box bulk outlet was the best decision they could have made…

#boom! comics power rangers #lord drakkon #power rangers #ao3 author #world of the coinless jason #jason scott #coinless jason #ao3 fanfic #the quad life #polyamory #lord drakkon/world of the coinless jason scott/tommy oliver/jason scott

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obstructed-birdsong · 1 year

Text

Love letter to a season

The spring sun has risen, the warmth has returned.

Birds emerge from the horizon in flocks, budding leaves emerge from their branches, soil and scents and sprouts from beneath the snowbanks.

I have shed my noisy coat, my knit hat, my large boots, my thick gloves. The sun shines upon my face and the wind caresses my feathers. I walk directly upon soft dry ground, rather than traversing the upper ice layer of a thick blanket of snow.

It has returned to the inhabitable temperature range of my habitat.

Birdsong fills the air and every cell in my body is singing with it. It is joy, delight, elation. A breath of fresh air after an eternity underground. A drink of water after a hot summer walk. The arrival of comfort after a long frigid season.

It is once again time to gather plants and sticks. To turn my balcony into a warm safe nest. To sing with the dawn chorus in the mornings. To observe the stars from in evenings. To watch the sky change color as the clouds paint it with traces of everything from red to purple.

I breathe deeply with each spring morning, identifying scents of pavement, mud, decayed plant matter, rain, damp tree bark, hints of wood smoke and smells of laundry from peoples houses.

I stand out in the light rain, listening to it playing music across metal roofs, fuelling new plant growth, settling in puddles and refilling vernal ponds, sheltering young amphibians.

I open my arms to the wind as it tugs on my sleeves, pushes against my wings, encouraging flight.

I watch happily as the suns path changes slightly by the day, warm light slowly moving toward my window, promising a warm place to nap.

I take note of the plants sprouting in sidewalk cracks. Of the growing trees and ever greener grass. The first leaves of dandelions showing up in odd places.

You could almost call it pride, the feeling I experience knowing the cycle has restarted. The seasons continue to change with every passing year since the Earth was formed. In this period of creation, despite everything, new life continues to grow. The northern hemisphere shakes off its snowy coat to display the healthy green plants beneath.

As the ground grows drier, I long to lay in an open field among the grasses and shrubs. Watching the birds, the bugs, the clouds pass overhead. Feeling the seeping chill of the earth and the comforting warmth of the sun at once. Listening to the plants rustle in the wind. Existing in this patch of wilderness rather than passing through it.

At last, the bitter cold has come to an end.

Welcome back old friend.

#tiel talks #spring #birdkin #bird therian #aviankin

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officialrtg · 2 years

Text

The Golden Empire: Part III

Monsters University, Scaring school

"That little bitch," says Meldani, reacting to the news of Henry saying no to their demands.

Getting up from his chair in Class A109, he walked back into A113 with the red chairs set in a half-moon order.

He stomped his way over to the leader's statue as it was collecting dust along with the dusty scream can on the small stand.

Picking up the statue that weighed a ton, he put it over his head and spiked it into the stone floor, it shattered on impact.

Pieces of the marble reached his soldiers as they made their way towards him as he grabbed the scream can and tried to uncork it. He manages to unplug the can, causing it to hit him in the side of the face.

He falls to the floor clutching the left side of his face in pain while the scream can hit the domed roof, changing direction and going through the colour-stained glass window on the upper level, disappearing into the brightening grey sky.

"Mel, those things are like oxygen tanks, you screw around with these, and they are gonna blow your face off," shouts Quter as he observed it had the same characteristics as an oxygen tank.

"Sergeant Connor," says Meldani as he gets up.

He gets his gun from his holster and shoots Quter in the face.

He gasps for air as he falls to the ground, the other personals at the front remain emotionless in the face but in their heads, they're horrified that their leader is now shooting their best because he expressed his concern.

Quter's eyes look towards him with blood flowing into the cracks of the pavement.

"Gentlemen, do you want to be the man that makes this animal look like this," he asks as he pointed at the shattered remains of the statue.

"I'll go, sir," volunteers Kevan.

"Great, you go kill Mr whatever his name is so, when he's dead, we can kill them all."

"Yeah, right," Kevan says with his facial expression being 'WTF'.

Roar Omega Roar Fraternity house

Shirley looked outside at the built-up snow through the window to the right in the massive living room. It had been a day since the people that she learned were called the golden empire had arrived, the heat in the living room had been enough for the ROR members to move around the house in short moments before rushing back to the living room.

She heard the distant conversation between Johnny and his dad on the house phone while the rest of the frat was beside the fire.

"Look, Henry said he is sending people to you. I have an Elite meeting at five and I will relay what you have said,"

"Alright, you do that." Worthington II says.

"Goodbye, son," his father tells him as he hangs up.

After placing the phone down, he thinks back to the last couple of hours, having to risk his life in trying to convince the other frats and sororities that weren't in the courtyard when everything occurred.

HSS and PNK were easy to convince while convincing OH, GRR, EEK and AEA to not to step outside took a few minutes, while JOX had told him to eat a dick and they would be stepping outside regardless, and he could only watch as the six disappeared into the snowy landscape.

He walked into the massive living room space where the fire raged.

"They're going to get themselves killed along with JOX," he says to his group.

Shirley hugs him.

"Don't say that. Everything will be fine. Maybe those things have an enemy, meaning that the enemy of my enemy is my friend." Shirley tells him while he grins at that proverb.

"Do you think that JOX would go into that type of weather?" she asks

"Shirl, they're not very smart,"

"Well you can't say that after almost joining them," she teases him, he rolls his eyes in embarrassment while his frat mates snigger at the comment.

"I hope, they get to us before we all freeze to death," He says as he hugs back.

"I'll do anything to make sure that all of you make out, even if it involves me dying in the process,"

"Don't you ever... Say those words to me," Shirley says with anger present in her voice.

"What will I ever do for the rest of my life? Without you?" She questions him.

"Never get to experience the question, get married, have children of our own. Growing old together?"

City #11, The Grounds, 8:23 PM

Getting off the bullet train at the grounds, he saw the line while going down the escalators that he knew were for the ticket booth. He groaned as he got in line and waited to get to the front.

After waiting for five minutes, he is greeted by the middle-western voice of #987,231.

"Hello sir, paying for your entry?" he asks through the hole in the window.

"Yeah. Quick question, is this man on grounds?" asks #1,781,986 while showing a photo of the person. The Ticketmaster blinks rapidly in shock as he sees the image and knows who it is.

"Yes, yes sir," he says as he follows the forwarded order from #1 and types in the number displayed.

"Ok, I am sending the coordinates to your AI right now and... done. He is on the northwest side of the park," he says.

"That way?" asks #1,781,986, pointing northwest. #987,231 nods.

"Thanks, bro," he says as he walks past him and into the carnival.

As he enters the carnival, his AI pulls up the location. He walked through the crowded path to reach the middle part of the park, which was a big stone-carved water fountain. He looked at the map and made a left and continued, the path was a lot less crowded, and he walked on the left-hand side before he made another right.

He then saw the person he was looking for, #321,986.

Leaning against the exposed wooden pole, hoisting a carnival tent up, he was looking away from a memorial of his friends who died. #1,781,986 approached his friend from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned around, his business suit was all black with his overcoat twirling as he looked at the man that tapped him on the shoulder.

#1,781,986 stares at his face, covered by black lenses, a black face mask, with bandages wrapping up his face to cover up the 'injuries'.

He gathers what he is going to say.

"Logan, I ask you to join me,"

#321,986 silently crosses his arms and his mask lights up with the words "Why should I?"

"The remnants have fled to this planet in D 321986," he reports while showing him the hologram of the planet.

"Ok, you chose me because I share the same number," the mask lights up again. #1,781,986 gives him an expression of disappointment.

"Meldani is on that planet," he reveals. The news strikes #321,986 like a train as Meldani is the cause of the state he was in now.

Noting the expression changing through the bandage wraps as a sign of anger.

"Is he now?" says the mask as it lights up the words.

"Do you want to be the guy that buries the knife into Meldani's neck?" says #1,781,986 as his suit tentacles go forward while presenting the knife with its checkered hilt most visible, his friend nods.

Apartment Block 323, Room 2886

#321,986 twists the doorknob of his apartment to the left, it opened the door slightly with the cold air flowing out of his room and into the hallway.

The room was pitch black but clean except for dried-up blood in the porcelain sink in the dark bathroom.

Walking past several newspaper clippings of the war, plastered over achievements of his past.

He goes to the back of his wardrobe, switching on a light as he pulls out a seven-foot-long briefcase that opens to reveal the TTK MK V, placed in cut-out sections.

It was worn with one side burnt red due to being exposed to the vacuum of space and the sun. He dips his hands into the little groves to pull the entire suit out of the briefcase except for the helmet. He grabs it and looks at the helmet with its tiny cracks visible.

He turns the helmet around to the back and moves his fingers through the wire dreadlocks of his helmet to lift a small panel that has the switch to his version of artificial intelligence called John.

He flips the switch, and the voice he last heard two years ago, greets his ears again.

"Mr. 321,986," says the AI.

"It has been one year, ten months and eighteen days since you last used your helmet," says the AI as #321,986 gets into his armoured suit.

"Yeah and?" #321,986 facemask lights up saying as the tentacles sport out of the back of his armour, he turns his head to his tentacles as a hello as they stretch and gently pat him on the head.

"Over those days. I fixed all the software problems that was caused by the explosive decompression," reports the AI as he takes off the black lenses, to slide the helmet over his head.

He looked at the multitude of red eyes staring back at him before he turned it around and slid it over his head, wincing as the bandages fully pressed the burnt parts of his face.

The eyes blink multiple times before walking out of his closet with his armour on, he stops to peek out his apartment window, moving the blind out of the way to see the evening sun disappearing behind the horizon.

He thought about what was ahead of him. He clenched his fists as his mind flashed through the last two years of his life from the beginning of the disaster, the funerals he attended, the golden empire saying that their lives were worthless, having to deal with survivor's guilt for over a year alone and his face returning to his original state.

Word Count: 1,634

#monsters university #monsters inc #monsters at work #stories #fanfic #dean hardscrabble

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vmeemo · 2 years

Text

Squidmas Delivery, Chapter 1

It was a quiet night in Inkopolis. Nearly everyone was tucked asleep in their beds, waiting for the morning rush of Squidmas Day. For now though there was none of that.

Instead we have an inkling and her two lovers cuddling on the couch under a blanket, who are about to experience the most interesting Squidmas of their lives. It all started when a thump was heard on the roof of the inklings home.

"What do you think that was?" Rylee asked.

Hex lets out a sigh, "Probably some snow falling off the roof or something."

Rylee however wasn't too sure about this. "I don’t know... I think one of us should check it out. It didn't sound like just snow to me...”

River lets out a bit of air before lifting the blanket off themself, “I’ll go check it out. If only to make you feel better.” They lean down with a smile before giving the inkling a peck on the cheek and looking to the octoling beside her, “Keep her warm for me will you? I wanna be nice and toasty when I get back inside.”

As the inkling blushes at the sudden peck, the blue increases a little bit more when Hex shuffles even closer to the inkling, wrapping her arms around Rylee, “Will do River. Try and be quick about it.”

Letting out a hum at this, River leaves the two alone in the living room as they head towards the door to reassure their girlfriend that there was nothing outside and that it was just a big clump of snow falling from the roof. Looking out the window they see that it is in fact snowing heavily outside still. Grumbling at this the inkling puts their boots and winter coat on, River opens the door to the dark and snowy outside. Shivering at the sudden cold the inkling steps outside to investigate the possible nonissue happening outside before warming back up with Rylee and Hex.

‘Jeez... What could even be out here in this weather anyway?’ River thinks to themself as the inkling looks around in the dark. When they don't see anything they consider going back inside when River notices a silhouette in the snow. They couldn't tell what going on there so they slowly step closer towards it. As the inkling approaches River notices that it is a person laying in the snow. A rather big one at that. Walking closer to this figure they see that they are wearing a red fuzzy outfit, along with some boots. And topped on this figures head was a Squidmas hat. Narrowing their eyes at this, River kneels down to see what else they can figure out. Upon doing this the inkling hears breathing. Heavy breathing but still. Concerned about this River does their best to lift this person up. However-

"Jeez, what does this guy eat? This ones heavier than Rylee when she's giant!" The struggle of attempting to lift this person is in vain, causing them to settle with dragging them through the snow instead. River was lucky that this wasn't too far from the house but still.

When River makes it to the front door the inkling opens it a crack, "Rylee! I need your help! There's someone here with me and I need them in a stable place asap! And I'm gonna need you bigger as well!"

There was rustling from inside the house before River sees Rylee through the crack approaching towards the door, increasing her size as she does so. Watching her shiver from the brief contact with the cold, Rylee opens the door and sees what River was talking about. Kneeling down and putting her arms underneath the large figure, the inkling sees that whoever this is, it’s giving a sizeshifted Rylee trouble. Even though she does manage to get them inside eventually, it was still noticeable. Following behind her, they watch as the 12 foot tall inkling carefully places the figure on their couch, while Hex looks at the person in thought.

“What is it Hex?” River asks, walking up to the octo, “Think you know what’s going on?”

The octoling doesn’t respond right away, though when she does, it’s not the answer River was expecting.

“Told you they were real.”

“What?”

Hex looks at the inkling with an air of smugness to her, “I told you that manatees exist! But whenever I tried to tell you, you say that ‘they’re not real Hex, just like how mothman isn’t real.’ But see!” The octoling gestures towards the red suited creature, “Told you that they’re real.”

River rolls their eyes at this before looking back at the manatee. “You can tell me that you told me so later. Right now I need to do what I can to help them.”

As the inkling walks up to the person, there was a rumbling from the person, making River step back. Before either the inklings or octoling could say anything, the figure grunts as the red robed figure sits themselves up on the couch. “Oooh... My head...”

The three watch as they rub their head, prompting Rylee to step forward towards them, “Hey, sorry I need you to stay still for a bit. My friend brought you inside our home. What was the last thing you remember?”

They grumble as they rub their face, which they can see long hairs growing on it. “Let’s see... I was riding in my sleigh delivering presents. There was a snow storm as I made way into Inkadia, blocking my vision. My friend was about to switch on the lights but-” That’s when the manatee’s eyes widen, “My friend! I need to know if they’re ok!”

River runs up to the manatee as they see them getting up from the couch, “Hey hey, don’t get up! You took a tumble and you might still be suffering the effects of the fall. I’m sure your friend will be fine, trust me.”

Their words were ignored as the manatee tried moving, despite River’s request. When they hear knocking on the door, River groans at this, “As if we don’t have enough problems right now. Rylee, go answer the door. Hex, help me out here.”

Rylee wastes no time speeding her way to the door on their partners’ order. Once she reaches the door the inkling remembers that she is still 12 feet tall and shrinks herself down before opening the door, “Hello?”

At first she doesn’t see anyone at the door before looking down. There she sees a small person wearing green. Despite the height difference, Rylee can see that this person is a pink candy crab. Rylee was about to greet the crab when suddenly they scurry past Rylee, “Whoa- Hey! Come back!”

Going after them Rylee sees the candy crab enter the living room, baffling River and Hex as the crab pushes them aside, “Boss!”

As River is about to chastise this person for not only entering their home, but also disturbing them when this person is not ready for anyone else, the manatee speaks.

“Ho ho ho, my friend! You are safe!” The manatee said joyfully, “I’m glad for that. Is the sleigh intact?”

“Yes sir, the sleigh is still intact. Lights are on and ready on your word. We have to leave and keep doing our jobs sir.”

Hearing this makes River annoyed, stepping in between the two, “No ones going anywhere. In case you couldn’t tell, your ‘boss’ took a fall and potentially damaged something. They need rest before they can do anything else.”

The candy crab looks up with a frustrated expression at what the inkling said, “The big man can handle it. Our job is vital and if we don’t do it then no ones gonna be happy!”

It devolves into extensive arguing between River and this green wearing candy crab about what this person needs. Eventually Rylee has had enough, stomping her foot as she shots up an extra foot or two in anger, “Enough! You two are acting like children! You-” She points a finger at the crab, “Explain carefully and calmly why you need your boss right away. Then we can decide where to go from there ok?”

The candy crab stutters before taking a few deep breaths, “Right... Sorry. Just whenever something happened to the boss, I get overly concerned to the point of, well you know.” Rylee nods in understanding, gesturing the crab to continue, “How do I put this... This man you’re keeping on your couch-”

The pink and green candy crab walks up to the massive manatee, “Is none other than Father Squidmas himself. And since I know no one will believe me, I can offer proof.”

Rylee holds up a hand to stop the crab, “You don’t need to do that.” This surprises them and is about to say something when River cuts the crab off.

“Wha- Rylee!” River says, “You can’t seriously believe that this is the man himself? We all know that he’s meant for children.” They look over to Hex, “You’re on my side here right?”

The octoling in question hums for a moment. Then once she is done, she looks over at Rylee. “I’m gonna be straight with you, I don’t believe in Squidmas. So I don’t have any real judgement to put in because of that. However.” Hex points over at the manatee, “I do know that there is a cryptid on our couch right now, so I will give these two the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you Hex.” Looking over at the candy crab, Rylee walks over to them, kneeling down. “I know you want to help him out. But the tumble he took was likely bad. So he does need rest.”

The crab frowns at her, crossing their multiple limbs, “I know that. I know that he fell a good ways down, I was there beside him. I just don’t know what to do. Kids are waiting for the guy and he’s stuck in bed because of this storm...”

Rylee doesn’t know what to do to reassure the crab. As she tries to think of something, she hears someone clearing their throat. “Sorry, may I interject for a moment?” Everyone looks at the manatee, the one who is claimed to be Father Squidmas, sit up on the couch. “I know that the storm is rough. But I do wish to propose an idea, one that can make everyone happy.”

River flips their hair to the side as they let out some air, “What, are you going to suggest that we take over your role for the night while you get some bed rest?”

Father Squidmas gives them a great big smile at this, “Why yes River, I was going to suggest that. And I can provide a very good reason why.”

Everyone looks at the manatee with varied ranges of emotion. Rylee with her eyes wide, River and the crab with insinuating looks, and Hex with one of curiosity. The four remain quiet nonetheless, interested to hear the reason why the three of them are capable of handling the role of Father Squidmas himself.

#splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 3 #giant/tiny #g/t #rylee's tag #hex's tag #river's tag #memo writes #writing

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