#the thoughts are enourmous

[kohreeander]

Haikyuu!! but baseball

i started this on twitter but this needs more words for the full brain rot.

volleyball setters and baseball catchers are both extremely important while often being overlooked by casual spectators cause they aren't very flashy

setting in volleyball is extremely important to the offense. they have to be aware of not only where their hitters are, but also where the other team's players are on their court AND figure out how to best score a point. throw in the strict amount of rules they have and you get extremely disciplined players who are also super perceptive.

catchers, on the other hand, literally hold the defense together for the whole game. they are part of every single play, are very base-conscious, and never get a break so they have insane amounts of stamina. if you ever watch a baseball or softball game, pls pay attention to how much the catcher is doing on every single play, you'll be baffled by how much they do.

that being said i know exactly how every setter would catch

kageyama is the definition of a terrifying catcher. he calls all of the pitches himself and he is an asshole about it. he gets a lot of praise for his framing skills that trick even the best umpires into calling strikes. he is acutely aware of each of his teammate's strengths and will adjust them on the field mid-batter to guarantee an out. his fatal flaw is that he got ejected once for arguing with the umps over a check swing (he was right the umps were just bad that day)

suga, on the other hand, is deceptively laid back for a catcher. he has multiple unique call signs that are for the whole team, and often make it harder for coaches to steal their signs. where kageyama almost expects the other team to steal the signs and not pay attention to the defense's movement, suga gets them to move so obviously that they would never be able to guess what pitch is being thrown. like he has noya (ss) move in on the fourth batter, who in their right mind would then call a meatball down the middle?? suga would and it's fuckng insane

noya is a relief catcher. thats it

OIKAWA MY KING he is the perfect catcher. he knows his players perfectly, reads the other teams like open books, is very vocal in each play, is super athletic, looks hot in uniform he's perfect. he's so cocky about his throwing skills that he does run-downs with the ball still in his glove. it's terrifying and monstrous.

yahaba is the relief catcher. he only really gets put in when kyotani is pitching. i can't think of a reason right now but yeah. if he's not catching, he's in the outfield.

kenma is so fucking calm as a catcher. he's very smart and perceptive, but so is the rest of the team so he doesn't have to be as vocal as other catchers. most of the team knows what the play is by how he sets up in the box, and he's. very quick to adapt to strange pitches or hits. he is also not above calling change-ups over and over again on the same batter if it works. he has made many enemies this way I love him

i'm gonna make a dedicated post for semi and shirabu because their catching styles revolve heavily around ushijima, but the gist of it is that semi refuses to call a curveball for ushi so he gets benched for going against the coach's calls, and shirabu is more than happy to only call curveballs.

akaashi. the prettiest boy yes i love him. he is the most stressed catcher in history. he's very good at reading the field, and he is usually the one to call for a conference, not the coach. sometimes he gets too far into his head and makes some wrong calls, but it's nothing a good scream won't fix. his talent shines when he picks off a runner with a pass-ball. and bokuto throws an unfortunate amount of pass-balls.

atsumu is a fucking asshole behind the plate. he is talkative, loud, unfiltered. it is a miracle he has not been thrown out of a game. he will very often steal plays from the other teams. like every game. there is no escape from him. he shines mostly in his framing skills, but don't let that fool you. he will chase down a runner on the third baseline with no hesitation at full speed. he is a terrifying menace and is only made worse when his brother is pitching. both of them find joy in forcing a batter into striking themselves out. they are my nightmare combo.

there are so many teams i cant think of anything else right now.

[la-di-doodles]

I just want this to be my life is that too much to ask

[wearenotdoinggethelpp]

had a good cry this afternoon lmao. been building up for a while (we love managing our emotions in very healthy ways over here!! /s), but the dam finally broke with the annoyance of the doctor who release times.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

And a huge, enourmous thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ripdragonbeans for being my betas for this! I was so anxious about getting this absolutely right and they were so kind and encouraging. Love yall forever 💜💜💜

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood -  dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

Again.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

 “It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

 “No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. “Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.”

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

[allfryam]

the basement

Austin was your average man in his twenties. He was 6 foot, with short brown hair that sat nicely on his head. His brown eyes and friendly smile made him quite attractive. He had an average build, with a few pounds added to his midsection over the last few years. He wasn’t fat by any means, however. He just looked filled out. He owned a small home in Kentucky and he lived alone. He lived in a small college town with Frankfort university being right next to his house. Austin lived a quiet life. Apart from his secret.

Austin’s house had a basement. The kind you would see in one of those cheesy horror movies with spiderwebs and cement floors. It was cold and dingy, but Austin liked it. He used it for activities different from normal basement activities though. Currently, he had 4 men tied up and blindfolded down there. He would walk over to the college and find a man that had passed out from being too drunk, and he would walk them back to his house. But Austin didn’t just want to kidnap them. He wanted to feed them. He wanted to watch them grow and moan with pleasure as he shoved food down their throats.

each of the four men ranged in different sizes. Man number one was Austin’s most recent captive. He had only been here for about a week. He had a nice body, but you could tell Austin’s feedings were starting to catch up. There was a slight paunch growing on his midsection and his thighs were looking a bit bigger than usual. He complained the most. He often cried and begged to be released. Austin usually shut him up with more food. Austin likes to leave his captives clothes on so he could watch them get tighter. He noticed number one’s belt starting to look tight. man number 2 had been there for a couple months now. He had a proper gut that sat like a ball in his lap. He looked like he had been working on this for at least ten years, but he was quite skinny when he arrived. Austin was worried he wouldn’t gain any weight, but his feedings always worked. Austin made sure that each captive received at least 10,000 calories a day. His shirt no longer covered his belly. It had grown tight enough to rise over his belly button, letting his gut hang loose. His pants button had popped off a few weeks ago and number two was relieved. It felt good to let his belly have room to grow. man number three had been there for almost a year. He was big. His round gut almost covered his enormous thighs, and his moobs sat nicely on top. His fingers even started to get a little chunky. This guy was quite hairy, so Austin called him bear. Bear never complained. He did was he was told and ate every bite that Austin gave him. His pants had ripped and fallen off a while ago. Austin noticed bear would get a boner every time he got fed. Bear’s face would grow red from embarrassment, but Austin liked it. He would never tell any of them, but bear was his favorite. man number four was the biggest. He had been there for almost three years, and you could tell. His enourmous belly hung low and spread across his chubby legs. His fat arms looked like baby hippos and his fingers looked like sausages. His fat face had at least three chins and chubby cheeks. When the room was silent, all you could hear was number four’s shallow breathing. Austin was surprised number four was still alive. Most of his victims had died after a year or two but number four just kept growing. He received the biggest portions of food. He ate over 20,000 calories every single day. Austin didn’t even have to tie him up anymore. He could barely move his arms and legs. Austin left his enormous naked body laid on the ground, belly in the air.

Austin enjoyed his little crew. He thought of them as family. And he couldn’t wait for them to keep growing. Especially number one. Austin was excited about him.

There will definitely be a part 2 to this story later this week. thank you guys again for all of the support on the weight gain drive!

[fusionsprunt]

Fusionsprunt isn't just a moving city... it's alive!

There's this interesting and ancient concept about places and buildings being treated like individuals with their own emotions and thoughts (when we are emotionally attached to unconscious things and project our feelings onto them).

Fusionsprunt was built over an abandoned ship, then turned into a enourmous walking furnace supported by gears and machinery. However, if you were to take every citizen out of their homes, left it empty and seemingly devoid of presence, you'd still be accompanied by a dormant giant, waiting to be fed with combustible so it can move around again.

B2 wakes up after her 3-year-long slumber, only to find a desolate and unmoving city, the closest perception of home she ever knew, lying on the scorching red sand of the desert.

A brief sense of hopelessness settles in as she walks through the empty neighborhoods. All windows were closed, but every door was left unlocked. Something must've happened, because her beloved friends are nowhere to be found. Her people either vanished, or abandoned the ship without putting up any resistance.

When sunlight hits the deck, B2 looks down at her feet, reflecting on this familiar and dreadful sense of loneliness and despair... Until a strange and low growl coming from the depths of Fusionsprunt snaps her off her thoughts.

The wooden boards slowly creak and expand in unison, holding in the hot air inside, then exhaling it out, returning to their original shape.

It just breathed.

B2 isn't alone after all.

[...]

In the rich and powerful City of Bortom, Hunter and Guto reluctantly follow the orders of armed officers, following after the entire population of Fusionsprunt and joining them in their imprisonment.

Guto holds his mentor's hand, his eyes displaying fear and uncertainty. This was not what Hunter had in mind when he thought about returning to his hometown.

Both take one last look at Calliux, Olmeda and Deibos setting on the horizon. Both mourn the freedom they once enjoyed before fully embracing the harsh and unfortunate reality. Whatever awaited them could not be good.

Suddenly, an ominous shadow moves after the three descending stars. It grows larger, faster and more defined as it approaches.

It calls. A deep and furious growl resonates through Bortom's shining skyscrapers, making them tremble with the sound wave. Entire crowds shut silent to listen attentively. Bortom becomes so small and insignificant in the face of such magnificence.

With each imposing step, an earthquake. Give me back my children.

Guto's face lights up at the sight. He jumps forward, giggling and waving at their great savior and adored home. Every robot and cyborg joins in, answering back with beeps and bops, whirling their articulations in joy. We are going home!

But instead of celebrating the miraculous return of Fusionsprunt, Hunter's eyes land on a figure standing on the deck. Her arms and clothes were stained in ashes and soot.

B2'a eyes meet his, and she smiles.

[justme315]

New family 1/?

! Warning !

swearing, angst, fear, step-family, g/t family, abuse, mention of abusive giants, gigantophobia, mention of the character being religious, sickness

------------------------------------------

I was fucked.

I'm sorry for using that kinda language but I really was. You see, my whole life has been destroyed by thoese damn giants.

Sorry, I don't think I introduced myself yet, I'm Zack.

Me and my mom were always a team. After my dad has passed away when i was 6 she was the only person important to me. It was basically us two against the whole world.

Something that might also be important for you to understand my story is the fact that we live in a world full of humans (like my and my mom) and giants. Giants are.. humanoid 60-ish feet tall creatures. Easily to say - their dangerous. The government rightfully understood the danger and the fear of us humans and created 'human-only' zones, cities, countries even. There were also a few 'giant-only' zones, but I'm not really sure why. It's not like the giants would fear us. Most of the places thoese enourmous beasts live are simply 'mixed-zones', places where both humans and giants can live. Thank God that me and my mom always lived in a 'human-only' zone. I was always skeptical and yeah, terrified of giants.

My mom was different though. Maybe she was just dumb (sorry for saying that mama) but she just couldn't sense danger. She worked in a company that required her to sometimes travel to 'mixed-zones' or 'mixed-cities'. I was always opposed to that but she.. enjoyed it. She even said that she made some giant "friends". I never believed in their honesty though.

But what changed my life once and for all, had happened when I was just 16. Well, going on 17 already, but yeah, still 16.

I never ever once questioned my mom's romantic life after my dad has passed away. She just.. never acted like she wanted to start a new relationship. And I was very okay with that.

But one unfortunate day, just after she came home from one of her business trips she told me that she has got a boyfriend.

That was weried to know, I mean c'mon, picturing your mom having a crush, dating, falling in love etc. is just.. weried and kinda disgusting if you ask me.

Of course, I questioned her and soon I reaveled her secret.

"Zack, I have been dating him for a little over a year. I was just scared of how you might react. But now, I must tell you since.. he proposed."

That felt like I was stabbed straight into the heart. How could she have kept having a boyfriend a secret from me for so long? Why would she? Being lied to by her felt horrible. I thought we were a team - we always told echother everything. But I guess I was wrong.

Really soon I found out that my mom's boyfriends (and now fiances) name is Andrew, that he was just slightly older than her and had two sons about my age, he was also a widower, and according to my mom, we had much in common.

I really couldn't understand why my mom would keep her boyfriend a secret. Untill she revealed she wanted for us to move in with him and his sons. I mean, she had a lot of planing to do, as she was soon to get married again, so that was kinda understandable. I wasn't opposed to moving into a new home, but changed my mind really quickly when my mom reaveled that our new home would be in a mixed-city. I mean, I was never even in that kind of a city, never even seen a giant in real life and was hella terrified of them! She should've understood me. Before she 'fell in love' she always has.

I asked her a milion times if Andrew and his sons can't just move in with us but she always found some excuse. Once, our house was too small, then his older son didn't want to switch universities, another time Andrew was scared of loosing the job. It was always a stupid excuse. Untill she finally reaveled the truth.

You see, Andrew, my mom's husband-to-be was a giant. And so were his sons.

To say that I was mad and scared was an understatement. I felt lied to. I felt like I was being dragged into something I didn't want to be a part of. I, understandably, questioned the honesty of my moms relationship, which angered her the most. I was angry with my mom for over two weeks after finding out about the size of my soon to be step-family and barely spoke with her. I couldn't be away from her for long though and forgave her, but in my heart I still had plenty of doubts.

My friends didn't help ease my fear. I told my best buddies at school and the stories they have told me only made me more afraid and suspicious of the said Andrew and all giants at that point.

"Don't y'all remember Joseph from middle school? He moved to a mixed-city with his parents. He was stepped on by a giant and died!"

"That's nothing compered to what happened to Amy. A quick death is better than being tortured. She is my cousin. She moved to a mixed-zone because she wanted to go to a better collage. One of her giant male classmates kidnaped her and done horrifying things to her. Once she was found she had missing limbs, many scars.. She was mentally, physically and sexually abused by him for months, untill they found the giant. And he barely got any jail time for that! She's still in mental health hospital!"

"My dads best friend Thomas was freaking eaten alive!"

Yeah, I think 3 stories is enough to give you the idea of how freaking terrified I was of the said 'step-family'. Some might say I am a specist (a person that discriminates based on the species (giant and human)) but I wouldn't agree. I don't really think that a human can be a specist becouse we are in the more vaunurable position. Also, I don't hate giants becouse of their size. I hate and fear them because of how brutal and cruel they are towards humans. Maybe a giantophobe would be a more appropriate term for me.

That day was the worst day in my entire life. And it's really hard to beat the day my dad had passed away.

We sold the house. We were at the airport. All ready to go to a mixed-city, over the wall that the government made.

Mom was all smiley and happy, her nose never leaving her phone.

"Andrew texted me that he and his boys are at their side of the barrier already, waiting for us. They can't wait to meet you!"

Right, didn't I mention that they all knew echother, but me?

"I just can't wait to show you the city and our new home!"

I was standing there quiet. No matter how many times I told my mom that i don't agree with her choice of dating a giant or for the fact that I didn't want to move away into a mixed-city she would always say that I will change my mind once I overcome my fear. Hell, I would.

I held my bag closely, trying to hold onto whatever I have not to lose my composure. I was terrified and angry, sure, but showing thoese giants from the start that they have some power over me, even though it was obvious, wasn't something I would do. At last, if I could hide my emotions.

Just a few minutes before our flight, a flight in the opposite direction landed. I saw all those humans, coming back from the mixed-city, most of them seem, okay. That made me confused and curious. Would it really be all that bad?

Untill I saw a girl, probably my age, on a wheelchair. I mean, there is nothing wrong with disabled people, don't get me wrong, but she was crying so she easily got everyone's attention. A woman run up to her.

"Mom!" The girl sobbed, opening her arms to hug her mother. The woman tried calming the girl down but she just kept crying and screaming "It was just supposed to be a student exchange program!! This scary giant crushed my legs!"

The girls voice echoed in my head. It was different to hear stories of distant people, but to see someone hurt by thoese monsters in front of my own eyes was completely different.

Even my mom lowered her phone and looked at the girl with pity in her eyes. I prayed to the Lord to open her eyes and return home safely with me.

"Poor girl" she signed "That must have been a.. horrible accident".

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Accident?" I looked at my mom angrily, finally letting my emotions out "A giant crushed her legs".

"Honey, I'm sure they didn't mean to.." she looked at me, somewhat shocked at my defensiveness. I shouldn't have expected her to understand. She just simply couldn't sense danger. And that could get both of us killed.

"Her legs were crushed by a giant, mom!" I raised my voice, even so slightly as I couldn't believe how blinded she was by her feelings.

"Zack, calm yourself down" she looked at me more strictly now, as I was getting other peoples attention. I couldn't bare the thought of how stupid this all was. I just wanted to be home. Or anywhere at that point. Anywhere but in a spece where giants were allowed.

"You-" I began to speak.

"The flight 16-399Bhc** is preparing to take off. We ask all the passengers to board the plane within 5 minutes. Thank you and have a good flight" said a voice from the speaker.

"That's our flight!" My mom cheered up and grabbed my arm, pulling me as she ran to the plane.

She was so excited it made me feel like I was gonna puke.

Don't get me wrong, I always loved planes but this time I felt uneasy. My whole body was shaking ever so slightly, I felt like I was about to puke, I swear I heard my heart pumping blood, my head was spinning..

That can easily be called my worst ever flight.

After we landed I need a good 15 minutes in the bathroom to regain my composure.

"Honey, are you alright?" I heard my mom knocking "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine mama, I'll be okay" I mumbled, though I didn't feel like I was going to be okay for at last next few hours. I was also convinced my life was about to end so why bother worrying my mom. But before I cross the barrier of the airport, I didn't have to see or interact with any giants. Maybe me feeling sick was actually a gift from God to give me more time to get ready for what was about to come? As I was almost ready to go I hear my mom speaking:

"Honey, are you sure? I texted Andrew and he and Ethan are worried sick. They can drive us to a hospital"

And then I got sick again at the mention of the giants.

Oh, you might not know who is who. Andrew is my moms 45 year old husband-to-be, but I'm sure I have spoke about him already. Ethan is his older son, he was 21 back then. His younger son - Ryan - was 17.

After, what appeared to me as a minute and to my mom as an hour I finally could exit the bathroom.

My mom rushed me, saying that the boys have been waiting for us long enough. I was feeling less and less okay. I couldn't keep my emotionless demeanor. My eyes felt heavy, my heartbeat fasten as well as my breathing, my legs were shaky and I was not able to say even one word.

As I saw the enourmous glass wall behind which were a ton of giants, I felt like I was going to faint.

Or simply turn around and run.

My mom stopped in her trucks and looked at her phone. After maybe three seconds of reading what I supposed was a message form Andrew she looked into the direction of 3 giant men waiting and her eyes started to freaking sparkle and her smile grew.

She then looked at me and pointed in the direction of thoese giants, who weren't looking at us, thank God.

"That's Andrew! And Ethan and Ryan!" She said with an excited expression.

Andrew was surprisingly the shortest of the group. He had brown hair that were turning grey, a short beard, thick glasses, a blue sweater and more elegant pants. He was overall a handsome middle-aged dude, if it wasn't for the fact he was freaking enormous.

Ethan was talking with him. He had fluffy brown hair and was slightly taller than his dad. He had a few freckles and dimples on his cheeks, his smile was truthfully welcoming. His white hoodie also looked very comfy.

The tallest one was the youngest - Ryan. He had black, short hair, a pierced ear and stylist clothes. If he would have been a human, he looked like one of the popular kids that you always look up to. I really liked the belt he had, same with the rings on his fingers.

All three giants had the same eye color - hazel.

My mom grabbed me again and pulled me into the direction of the glass wall that was the last thing keeping me outside of the reach of giants. She looked so happy to see them that it was hard to recognize her. She only ever smiled at me like that before.

Soon enough, we were close to the exit of my comfort zone. My fear only grew as we were closer to the giants. It was still probably about 20 feet between us and the door when Andrews eyes rested on us. I felt the enourmous gaze and felt like I was stung. Soon both his sons eyes locked on me and my mom. She realized quickly and slowed down with the running. She then waved at them. Andrew and Ethan waved back. Ryan stood there, looking maybe a little conflicted but surely also kinda annoyed.

At that point I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. My heart ached. As well did my head. My legs were shaky. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath correctly.

If you think you're not socially awkward, three giants looking down at you with their enourmous eyes, almost scanning you as if you were an insect would change your mind right away. And if you are socially awkward like me? Well, you would feel as if you were just about to die.

My mom rushed me again, ready to exit the safe space, that only allowed humans. I walked behind her, but I wasn't as excited or as fast. Partly, becouse I wanted to be out of the giants reach for as long as I could and partly becouse I was feeling worse and worse.

To be honest, I don't know what was making me feel bad. Maybe it was all the emotion, fear, anger and all, maybe it was my mental health killing me and shouting at me that danger was close, maybe it was the horrible flight, maybe it was my body being sick. I don't know.

What I do know is, each step I took, the more powerless I felt. My legs felt to weak to hold my bodyweight.

My mom was already by the exit door when she turned around to rush me again. I was maybe 7 feet behind her, still surrounded by the enourmous gazes of those three giants, two of which were smiling. Their smiles made me sick in my stomache, but Ryan who was the only one not smiling made me feel ever worse somehow.

I totally expected my mom to yell at me to hurry up, based on how excited she seem but she just stared at me for a secound with wide worried eyes and then returned to me.

"Are you okay honey? You don't seem too good"

I wanted to answer her but it came out as a soft yelp. I thought I was going to puke again.

Faces of the giants became more serious and worried. I didn't like that expression either, to be honest.

I looked back at mom as she reached out to me and raised her hand to my shoulder for comfort probably.

"Are you scared Zack? Is that it? Because if it is, I assure you, they won't hurt us. Ever." She spoke in a soft, quiet voice. Her expression didn't show anger but she looked more understanding than any other moment of the past few weeks. She spoke with such confidence I could have believed her.

Well, I maybe even would have if I didn't faint.

Because just a moment after she spoke my vision went black and my body felt weak. The last think I remember before fainting were thoese scary gazes and my mom yelling:

"Zack!"

------------------------------

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the 1st part!

[magicamicitia]

WARNING: Mentions of suicidal/intrusive thoughts.

Volume One, Chapter Two

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Click!

Sunset Shimmer once again woke up to the sound of her alarm clock, and carried on with her morning routine as normal. However, the memories of the previous afternoon refused to leave her thoughts.

She was aware of the existence of magic in other worlds, but… This one wasn’t supposed to be one of them. So what’s up with all of this? Magical girls? Witches? A talking cat-with-bunny-ears freak? It was weirder than anything she’d ever seen in any other world. Apparently, humans like her weren’t supposed to be able to see witches like she did. Sunset figured her background as a magic interdimensional traveller could explain that abnormality.

Whatever this all meant, she hoped Twilight knew what she was doing.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” Twilight Sparkle skipped nervously around her room.

“Don’t worry!” the small white creature, who referred to itself as ‘Kyubey’, carefully groomed its fur in a corner. “If you ever need any help, you can always ask me.”

Twilight couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s real reassuring. The last time I asked for your help, You-“

Her train of thought was crudely interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Sweetie?” Her mother’s voice called. “Are you okay in there? You’re gonna be late if you don’t come out soon!”

“Shoot! I’d better get going!”

She left her home in a hurry as to avoid being late, despite her family’s attempts to tell her she still had twenty minutes until her usual time of departure. With a half-eaten sandwich in her hands and a trusty Kyubey over her shoulders, she was surely ready for another day as a high school student AND magical girl!

Huh?

Twilight Sparkle suddenly felt a strange weight on her chest. looking down at the soul gem ring on her finger, she noticed it emitted a strange glow.

“What’s all this now?”

“Your soul gem is reacting to magic,” kyubey answered. “There must be a witch nearby! We have to go after it!”

“NOW?! I can’t go after a witch NOW! I couldn’t even finish off the last one, and if I take too long fighting it… I’ll be…”

She gulped, terrified.

“…TARDY!!!”

“Twilight! You’re a magical girl now, the future of humanity relies on you battling witches!”

“I know, I know… But… Like, can’t you do it or something?”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about witches in their physicial form. But once you defeat the witch, I can collect its grief seed and make sure it never comes back!”

“Ughhhh!!! Fine, I’ll do it, I’ll do it…”

Her soul gem’s magic led her to a beautiful hedge maze just outside an ancient history museum.

“Wow… this place looks so peaceful. Odd spot for a witch to make its lair.”

“You’re right, Twilight. Usually, witches will try to hatch in locations where they can collect the despair of nearby victims. But this maze is a total ghost town…”

“Well, then that must mean this one doesn’t feel like it needs any extra power, huh?”

“Yes. We’d better get ready; we’re about to enter the labyrinth, quite literally.”

As Twilight moved towards the center of the maze, she could feel reality around her become more and more distorted. But she noticed a strange consistency among the chaos.

“These patterns… these creatures… This is the same witch from yesterday!”

Kyubey backed up against Twilight’s legs, looking for refuge. “Looks like we got real lucky then. If we had decided to fight it then, with a human tagging along, things would have gotten real dangerous.”

Twilight spared no time - casting her magical power, she transformed into her magical girl self and barged through the horde of familiars with her shield. The familiars, however, laughed at her futile attempts. Their torn bodies sewed themselves back together to take on another form.

“P…Principal Celestia…?” Twilight felt an enourmous weight fall onto her shoulders.

“Twilight Sparkle,” said the mirage. “What are you doing here, when you should be at school? You used to be such a good student…”

“U-Used to be? No, no, I still am! In fact, I was on my way back-“

“It’s too late for that now. You’ve already been expelled from Crystal Prep, do you want me to expel you from Canterlot High as well? That won’t look good on your records.”

“No! I wasn’t expelled! Candace just thought it would be better for me if…”

Her legs were shaking.

“I… I’m… You’re not supposed to be here!”

Mustering up her strength, Twilight attacked the illusion of Celestia with everything she had. The familiars, however, simply dissolved themselves while laughing, leaving Twilight to fall to the ground, crying and defeated.

“What’s happening… Why am I… So weak…?”

The laughter around her turned to chants.

“End it!”

“What good is a magical girl who can’t fight a witch?”

“End it!”

“Give up your soul gem and feed us!”

“End it!”

“End it!”

“End it!”

Her vision was starting to get blurry. Why did she accept this awful offer in the first place?! She didn’t have what it took to be a magical girl at all!

Oh,

That’s right…

The reason was…

“Hold on tight, sugarcube!”

From the skies, a mysterious sillhouette came down to Twilight’s aid. Once it landed, she was surprised to see another magical girl, just like her!

Well, maybe her clothes were a little different. Very country. And instead of a shield, this girl took out five mint-condition flintlock muskets from her stylish cowboy hat. With the aim and confidence of a professional, she took down the monsters without missing a single shot. Then, she whipped her hair around, adjusted her hat, and turned to a baffled Twilight on the ground.

She smiled and reached out her hand.

“You alright over there?”

Before she could even say anything, four other girls made their way to Twilight and the mysterious magical girl.

“AJ, no fair! You said this one was mine!” A feisty girl with rainbow-colored hair rushed in first, clearly very upset.

“Oh, darling, please, that was clearly not the witch. You’re making a scene for no reason.” Added a purple-haired girl dressed in gorgeous modern-victorian couture.

“Wait,” said the multicolor girl. “Who’s that one over there?”

“I-I’m… Twilight… Twilight Sparkle…” She clumsily adjusted her glasses and got up.

“Pleasure to meet ya, Twilight.” The girl with the muskets smiled. “Name’s applejack.”

“I’m Rainbow Dash!” the spunky girl added.

“My name is Rarity, but you may call me Miss Rarity if you’re a fan.”

“Oh, I’ve heard your name before! You’re like, a prodigy star of the design world, right?”

“You’re quite right, darling! And those two over there are Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy.”

“W…Woah… So, you’re all magical girls…?”

“ALMOST all of us. Flutter can’t seem to come up with a wish, so we just drag her along as moral support.” Rainbow Dash cut in with a sarcastic tone.

“Rainbow, don’t say that!” Applejack reprimanded. “Don’t you worry, sugarcube. I know how scary it is to fight them mean witches all by yourself, but you’re not alone in this no more. We got your back!”

[cringelordofchaos]

Ultra Chaos Knuckles

A fan-design for an imaginary form of Knuckles, where he uses the power of the Master Emerald - made by me!

Already posted about him before; here and here , hadn't gotten much better lol

I dont think he would almost ever, in any situation, use the master emerald for himself, or even for others! His sworn duty is protecting it, and not using it. He can't trust others with it, including him, he would probably think no one would even deserve to wield it's powers in the first place, it shall only be guarded from those who may abuse it. He wouldn't think he would have any more privilege or trust with it than others.

...but, in a hypothetical situation where the potential of the master emerald being the only choice, the only chance of salvation for everyone; would he ever consider?

In any case if it ever would come down to it, I have already said this before; but he would probably be extremely, extremely guilty about it, and ask the master emerald itself first. And would swear in everything, that this is the first and last time he or anyone is every going to use it. And that he would accept any form of punishment that would come with using it's powers, or making a mistake.

Nevertheless, for the right purposes, the master emerald would let him wield it's powers, and oh BOY are they powerful.

As you can see he is GIGANTIC. I was gonna make him more gigantic but then you wouldn't even see the sonic he's holding in his hands everso gently.

Holding many celestial powers at once, I swear in a fanfic concept I had at the back of my mind this makes sense.

Many cracks and veins visibly running through his celestial body, alongside the enourmous scars, are supposed to show that in this state, despite how powerful he really is, it is disgustingly painful to bear.

All the colours of the chaos emeralds are also intended to be visible in the ultra Chaos Knuckles design.

(I apologize for the bad name - it was the first thing I came up with on the spot lmao. And now I'm just used to it)

The moon on his chest is based off of the fact that knuckles' canon design thingy on his chest is based off of the moon crest, to parallel sonics Sun belly or whatever.

Also - rings ! Just thought they'd be a nice addition, also in sonic lore you COULD say they symbolize life in some way.

Feel free to ask me anything Abt him !!! Or the AU I'm thinking of !!!

[gold-rhine]

i personally always thought neuvi felt conflicted about wrio's sentence, bc by vishap's customs he wouldn't be sentenced. like what we see of vishaps, they always confront ppl who betrayed them upfront (scylla and remus), they viciously avenge their fallen and go to enourmous lenghts to protect children, fighting and killing those who threaten kids (enka quests\events).

so it makes perfect sense to me that he felt bad for rizzley, whose crime is basically avenging other kids, but felt tied by fontaine's law, this is why he was "silent for a long time" before announcing verdict. he was still operating on premise that humans are not HIS ppl, and he needs to judge them by their own laws.

but he still felt bad enough to ask sigewinne to keep an eye on rizzley, never interferring directly. obv its not grooming bc he never interacted directly, despite having a lot of options for nepotism, and second time they meet, rizzley is like 30, but instead the context of neuvi understanding his actions more than fontaine law, lingers

[silvers-smuttery]

Kinktober - Day 13: Size Difference

"Now then, Young Maiden, are you prepared?" All Might's voice echoed through his appartment like thunder, but Manami, dolled up and devoid of clothing, still couldn't quite catch what he was saying. Her mind was too preoccupied with what was going on right above her head. All Might... naked... All Might's naked dick, bare and standing proud with what looked like more feet and inches than even she had head to feet. Though, maybe that was her imagination. La Brava knew people tended to see her as small, but that hadn't been a conscious fact in her mind for quite a while. Now though, she felt like a mouse staring at an elephant's trunk.

"Uh... uh-huh...", was all the redhead could get out as her mind ran countless calculations at once. Manami simply stood there staring, heart-eyes shrunken to pinpricks while her mouth formed a silent "ohh". Her heart was beating hard enough to shake her body every now and then, before she was forcibly pulled out of her own mind when All Might picked her up by her pigtails, an act Izuku told him she was quite fond of.

"Then let us commence with your community service hours at once", the Top Hero announced proudly, his beefy hands guiding the tiny woman on his dick, so big and hard, her entire body weight didn't manage to bend it downwards, despite her literally sitting on it. Manami felt the heat radiating off it, his pulse as his heart pumped blood into his shaft, the small vibrations on her pussy that made her moan and ignore ghe very fact that this shouldn't be possible. That she should say something. That she should get out of there before All Might could push his enourmous cock head right between her-

"-...ahh-" Manami's cry was silent when that thick tip pushed its way into her pussy, gasping for air while ger lungs were still at full capacity. He was bulging out her stomach with only a fraction of its entire size. All Might was quite literally able to move her up and down on his shaft with just his right hand. The tiny woman was little more than a masturbation aid towards this adonis of a man, and she could do nothing but take it and love it. Gone was the thought of every load she milked from him taking an entire week off her probation. All that was left was the intense, twisted desire to be handled like a tiny fuck puppet, until she was bloated and leaking out of every hole.

[vampiretendencies]

asking jj to read to you! it’s not usually his thing but of course he would oblige bc it’s you. & you’d get all comfy on the couch sitting between his legs, & his voice would be so soothing & you’d almost fall asleep but he’d come across the occasional big word & start to sound it out, but you finish it for him, & it just makes it all that sweeter!! anyways just my thoughts gonna silently cry how :,)

i really love this one wow :,) i decided to use a line from the book daisy jones and the six, as it's the most recent thing i've read that i can think i can think of right now.

maybe he'd be cleaning up after dinner or something, as he made it his mission to do so, because his girl never has to lift a finger, and you'd be unwinding with a book.

"baby, is that the new one i got you?" if a book, or anything really, reminds him of you he gets it, aware of all the genres you read; because he quite literally knew you like multiple paragraphs on the pages of a book, and he'd read it inside and out, willing to rediscover with each passing day.

"yeah, think it's one of my favorites now." and you'd peer over at him, with a grin on your face. he'd saunter leaning over the couch to pepper knowing pecks to your temple. "do you think you could read it to me?"

he'd hesitate, not wanting to feel the presence of secret embarrassment at pronouncing a word wrong. but its you, and when it comes to you he loses half his brain; everything is off the table.

"course' pretty girl." he'd read an enourmous sized novel, even if it took days, to spend just an extra moment with you.

with that he's strolling around the couch to you, removing the book gently from your hands. legs leaving enough room for you to nuzzle between them, your head lying on his thigh, fingers grazing through your hair. awaiting his raspy, voice in such solace. analyzing the cover that is daisy jones and the six.

“start where billy speaks.”

" ‘billy: and i just … (pauses) God i was so fr-fray … fr—‘ fuck“

“it’s frayed baby, take your time, you got it.” you assure him, by squeezing the skin of his knee. he grins from behind the book, the toothy kind.

“ ‘i was so frayed at the edges.’ here’s daisy, ‘and i knew he wasn’t mine, he was hers …’ “

though your eyes flutter in a manner of closing from the, soothe of his voice to the repeated motions of his fingers— the instance is ruled all the more sweeter.

send a concept & i’ll elaborate.

[elsaellaelys]

We can beat any shit together

summary: JJ finds scars on Y/N's thight and they don't look like an acidente.

pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!depressed reader

WARNINGS: Depression, anxiety, mensions of SH, kinda angst, but comforting.

800 words

a/n: I had to write about this. If you're going through something like that, look for help, someone you can trust, if you don't anybody call 211 or feel free to send a message. I wish somebody had told me this so I'll tell you. You are not alone.

--★--

JJ knows Y/N for as long as he can remember himself. Sweet John B's neighboor, living just down the road, joing all the times Big John took them to go fishing. He really liked her, the way she never judge him, always so kind and gentle, than he decided to take the self obligation to protect she no matter what - she looked like such a cute china doll and he wouldn't let she break. The pogues made fun of his behavior. Gotta pick her up from work! Gotta drop her at work! Save this for Y/N! No pickles, Y/N doesn't like it. He had to repay all the love she gave him, the love she made he feel. She barely realised it though, walking around with JJ just in front clearing her way, making sure there was no thorns.

That's why the discovery stabbed him right in the chest.

They were all on the beach, had just left the water to lay in the sand. Y/N stretched out, not really caring about putting a towel under, dead tired from the surfing. JJ watched she lay like a star, he couldn't help but stare at her, of course he had seem her in a bikini thousands of times, lately it's being different, hips wider, waist defined, boobs hanging in her top and thights... looking like they're melting?

"What's this?" He lean over, running his finger over the strange blur, skin color staying in his fingertip. She recoiled from his touch trying to hide the marks that appeared, eyes starting to water.

"Y/N?!"

She squirmed, hating to have the attention of the entire group now.

"It's just a little bit of foundation" she replies.

"Why you're putting makeup on your thights?" Kiara asks, face looking scared of the answer. Y/N wiped her leg, deep dark scars full on display.

JJ fliched, they were so deep, almost screaming sadness and pain. A nott formed on his throat just thinking about how much it must have hurt, how grotesque it looked. He looked back to her face, not finding the strength she must have to do something so... I mean she wasn't just cutting, that was mutilating.

"Fuck" She cried, she ruined the moment, it was a nice day, it felt okay, especially after she putted the right green concealer, the scars almost fading under it. The thought of the washing water faded from her mind.

"Tell me it was an acident, please."

"Does it look like one?" Y/N replied.

She wished they had caved the enourmous hole JJ suggest cause now she could bury herself on it. Pope's face looked full of pity like Kiara, John B. was confused - she made it herself? - but JJ, he was hurted, and she lightly pinched her arm for causing it.

"I'm sorry. I wanna go home." the girl said, grabbing her stuff, heading to the Twinkie. JJ followed her, trying to take her bag to care it.

"Wait." he begged, not really reaching her steps.

"No! JJ! Stop! Leave me, I just wanna go home"

"Give me the bag. Let me help you"

"You can't help me!"

It was not about the bag. She stopped, she fell, holding her knees close to her chest, crying the heart out. Lucky no one was around. JJ lowered next, stroking her hair.

"It's okay" he whispered.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" she repeated over and over.

"Hey, no, don't be. I am the one who should be sorry. Look at me." his hands reached her face to pull it up seeing her wet lashes. "Sorry I didn't realized before" he begged again, because the memories just hitted him. The way she was always complainnig about the fights her parents were having, but still refused to leave the house, how she was tired all the time, even though she just woke up. Too many alcohol, to many cigarettes, less hangouts, less calls, less partys, much thoughts, much silence.

He fastly wiped the tears down his face holping she didn't noticed, just hugged she tightly.

The pogues approxed and they were hugging she too, whispering sweet nothings. Sweet everythings.

John B. was the first to get up holding his hand out for her.

"Let's go home." he says. They all know where is home.

In the ride JJ made sure he held she close, hand on her pulse, time in time putting his nose between her hair, just to know she's there, safe, with him.

"Can I ask you..." he carefully began "Where is the thing... you used?"

"In my bag, the little left pocket."

JJ almost cried again, for knowing that she cared it around, like a thing she needed close. He found it, trew it out tge window.

"You're going to be fine." he reasured "I'm right here. We can beat any shit together."

[scaredgirlsilly]

another short story about gay trans people except they are monsters or whagever ::3

Chelsea

You walk down the street, keenly aware of everyone staring at your monstrous features. Too many eyes, too sharp of teeth, ghoulish skin, you just wish you could dissapear. Everyones looking, surely. You can feel their glares as you hobble past, hear the whispers under their breath. You wonder what they are saying about you, wonder what they are thinking about you.

You dont have the heart to look at any of them, you just keep your eyes glued to the sidewalk, only glancing up to see that your path is clear. Just keep walking, just keep walking. You're almost there. It'll be over soon.

As you glance up, something catches your eye, though. Or... more like some*one*.

Through the huddled mass of people that are making sure to keep their distance, you see horns poke out, far above everyones heads. Looking down you see large red triangular ears, red fur across their 3 eyed face, and a long snout. Their arms resting at their side as they walk, you see a third arm poke out to scratch their knotted fur on top of their head as they yawn, revealing several rows of teeth within their enourmous maw.

They're the most beautiful creature you've ever seen.

And they turn to look at you, and they meet your eyes.

You immediately turn away, horrified that

you were caught gawking, and start walking in another direction, *any* direction, just to get away from your social fuck up. You know what its like to always have eyes on you, you know how awful it is to always be seen, to always be judged. You should have known better, should have just given them the privacy they deserve. Gods you really hope they don't think you were judging them. They were just so... so... pret-

A hand grabs your arm, scaring you out of your thoughts, before you whip your head around to see none other than the beautiful monster you saw earlier.

"Hey..." they say, trailing off. You just kind of stare at her, waiting for her to continue, for her to chastise you for staring earlier. Gods you're so stupid!! How could you be so-

"What's your name?" And just like that, their voice brings you back down from your spiraling thoughts.

"T- Thalia..." you say, barely able to squeak it out through your nervous, shaky voice.

"That is a really pretty name Thalia," their voice is so kind, that little compliment almost makes you feel like your high. "Mine's Chelsea. Do you live around here?"

"Uhh... Yeah I- I just live around the block that way. I was just walkin to the store for some snacks."

"Oooo!! Oh em gee what snacks?"

"Uhhhh..." They seem so genuinely interested, its almost throwing you off. Why you? "Probably just some chips or cereal or... Somethin'. Nothin' too special..."

"Oooo hell yeah thats awesome. One of my favorite snacks to get is these little like... You know the lil' nerd candies?" You nod. "Yeah its like lil gummies *covered* in those nerds, they are *so fucking good*!! If i see a bag of those I *literally* can't stop myself from eating them"

"Woah hehe," you chuckle. Theyre just talking about snacks but they're just so... Excitable. You almost can't help but smile. "Yeah I'll... I'll have to see if they have some."

"Hell yeah. You won't regret it. Here I work over at the lil coffee shop down there, I'm off work in about an hour cause I'm on break right now, how about you swing by and I can hook you up with a free drink and, you know, if you want to, maybe after we could hang out some more cause you seem cool!!" she says, before leaning closer and adding, "And us monsters gotta stick together, you know?"

You almost can't take it. This is all too much. You just sit there for a moment in stunned silence, blinking at them, before realizing you should probably say fucking *something* so you don't creep them out.

"Oh uhh... Yeah that- that sound amazing! I'd love that."

"Hell yeah awesome!! This is so cool oh em gee I made a new friend!!" They giggle, making your heart jump out of your chest. How the fuck can one person be this cute!! "Ok well you have fun getting your snacks and I will see you in just a little bit!!"

With that, they start walking away, still facing you, and start to wave.

"Bye Thalia!!!!"

"Bye Chelsea," you wave back, probably too quiet for them to hear since you are still recoiling from how bizzare that was. Luckily, all your normal self depricating thoughts are being drowned out by just how infectiously amazing they were.

You finish your walk to the store, head held higher than usual, and a dumb, gay smile plastered all over your face the whole way. You also make sure to pick up those gummy things they were talking about. Maybe you'll be able to share them later. You're sure they'll love that.

[tanith-rhea]

Hey babe!! I fucking love ur writing so much, you have no idea the amount of joy neighbours brought me. Miranda is so fucking underrated.

Speaking of the embodiment of wifey material, I was wondering if I could request a Miranda × fem reader fic? Maybe a past trauma of reader's has resurfaced, which Miranda knows about, and basically just cuddles her, let's her cry on her chest, and keeps her close, saying that she'll protect reader and when reader tells M that she's scared she might possibly be harmed; Miranda just holds her or towers over and says something like "They'll have to get through me first." Just lots of protectiveness from Miranda, I'm sorry if this is roo much

I'll hold you through the night

Alternatively: Knight in Shining Armour #2 - can be read as a stand alone, but I thought it fit well into that universe.

Your ex was getting out of prison. After five years and an enourmous ammount of therapy, you understood what had happended to you and why you were so dependent of him in the past. That didn't keep the illogical, traumatized part of you from feeling like it was all coming back again.

You got the phone call from Robin that morning, telling you your ex was starting on parole early for good behaviour. By the time Miranda came home you were in the bedroom, with no more tears to cry and too exhausted to feel the panic as intensely as the first few hours.

She found you dazed in the bed, with the same clothes you went to sleep in. You hadn't eaten, showered or even gotten out of bed for more than twenty minutes that day. Everything felt like too much.

You lived in another place. After a few months into your relationship, Miranda convinced you it was better to leave your apartment and all the memories it held behind and start new somewhere else. So it was illogical that he would go out of his way to find you for revenge and risk having to serve the rest of his sentence; that didn't change the dread lodged in the pit of your stomach.

"Oh, bird... everything will be fine." She didn't even ask, she knew. Robin probably asked her if she could tell you before calling. Without another word, she slipped under the covers with you; no comment on the smell of sweat or how knotted your hair was. She enveloped you in her arms and buried your face in her neck.

"You know nothing will happen, right?" she whispered and you felt yourself sob. You still couldn't really cry, but you were shaking and failing at breathing in no time, "No no no, love, I'm serious. Nothing will happen. If he gets as close as three hundred meters he'll go back to jail, remember?" that didn't even cross your mind it the last couple of hours.

In your panicked state, you completely forgot the restraining order and spiralled into thinking about the worst possible scenarios. Him armed, coming to kill you; you being kidnapped; Miranda confronting him and getting harmed. It was all too easy to give in to the most horrible of your imaginings.

"That doesn't mean he won't." You tightened your grip around her neck; your shoulders hurt from the tension and your throat felt constricted.

"It does." She said matter-of-factly, stroking your hair and goading you to look into her eyes. "Because even if he tries, he'll have to get through me first."

Her earnest, dead-set gaze never failed to make you believe anything she told you. She was so powerful with her strength and strong will that you couldn't help but feel safer when she was around.

You breathed in slowly, filling your lungs with air without breaking eye contact, and gave her the tiniest nod. She smiled softly and kissed your forehead before holding you close to her again.

"Tell me when you'd like a bath. I can wash your hair the way you like and make you dinner after. Sounds good?"

You could only hum in agreement, but you wanted a few more hours buried in the scent she only got after a long day at work before that.

Hope you liked this one! A hundred times sorry for the delay. I had the idea the moment I read your ask but never got around to writing it, there is no excuse. I hope you can forgive me. Thank you so much for the request, I went all soft while writing it 💛

[coffee-master]

Idea: Lego Monkie kid AU

(Red Son-centric & maybe spicynoodles(?))

'Lost fire'

I would really like to read a fic, where Red Son died as a child, because of the samadhi fire.

Ok, before you go listen-

Red Son died as a child because of the enourmous power of his samadhi fire. Everyone just didn't complete the ritual on time, and during one of his fire outbursts he hurt himself fatally.

The power was just too strong for such a young demon and it finished him.

His parents his parents had to cope up with their child's death and were devastated by it.

Later, they decided they would never have children again to prevent such a situation like Red Son from happening again.

BUT-

We know that Lady Bone Demon is able to revive people and demons to life. For instance Macaque.

And she needs samadhi fire to make her great plan come true.

She'd bring Red Son back to life, but unfortunately the power in hands of the little demon is still unstable for his age.

So, Lady Bone Demon would instruct her servant to partially seal the demon powers until he grows up, and his body could handle the power under control.

The demon would be sealed and hidden (somwhere) from the rest of the world to prevent anyone from interfering with her plans.

All of this was supposed to last until he reached the right age, then she planned to use him as a weapon.

But as it is known the child can't rise himself, right?

That's where Macaque comes.

As the LBD revived also Macaque. She decided to use him as some sort of babysitter for the Red Boy, instead of giving the key.

Because who elese she could choose to take care of that little demon? Major??

[Let's be honest we all know that nobody should leave kids with that guy- Just look at this freak-]

Anyway-

After comming back to life Macaque's job is to take care of the little demon child.

He is isolated from the rest of society along with a small demon and under the control of the major.

The monkey doesn't have much of a choice or even any chances of leaving, since major here is strong and both him and LBD are watching over him.

LBD promises to freed him after Macaque will rised the bull demon until he'll be ready to fullfill his 'mission'.

The shadow monkey and demon-child are practycally 'prisioners' and since noone would look for people who are supposed to be death, Macaque looses his hope of escaping.

While every attempt to escape results in a severe punishment.

So the warrior finds himself in his new role, as a guardian.

At first, the demon is not pleased with his situation in any way, and the thought of taking care of the red demon downright annoys him.

But over time, he gets used to it and tolerates the little child until eventually his heart softens and he begins to raise him as his own.

The monkie does the best what he can do.

Beside obvious diuties, like watching over him and using the ice powers (which LBD gave him for such occasions) to extinguish his sudden uncontrollable bursts of samadhi fire..

Macaque also teaches him.. how to speak, read, control and peace, plays with him or organizes a shadow puppet show for him and ect.

He also gets close to the kid and becomes his parent fugire.

The Red Boy grows up. He's energetic full of life and curious kid, who wants to see more of the word. To finally find out who he is. He wants to see people and everything. (No suprise since he was isolated from society)

But the Bull demon it also curious about his past and family. He knows that the monkie isn't his relative and he knows that he used to have parents.

The Red possesses some memories as if through a haze. They are small details that motivate him.

With each passing day Red Son gets more control ower his samadhi fire, which start to worry the black monkie.

Macaque figured LBD's plan long ago and he knows that as soon as Red will finally fully control his powers, it will not only mean death for the demon, but also for the rest of the world.

It worries him.

He doesn't want to loose Red kid.

He doesn't want world to end.

He's devastated.

But then suddenly he finds himself in a situation where the major has to leave (because DBK discovered the box in which LBD was imprisoned, and he has to ensure that she is freed).

(Btw in this universe, DBK was released from above in a different way. MK accidentally freed him by moving the staff of Sun Wukong.)

Macaque immediately takes the opportunity when the major is gone go free Red Son...like..

----

"Hey Red." The black monkey suddenly started, while not taking his eyes form the sea. "Remember when you told me, yo wanted to get off of this island?"

The fire demon immediately looked at the Macaque with excitement, but mostly with confusion.

Since he had know Mr Macaque telling him how his attempts to escape were futile or that he should let it go.

But the demon never truly stopped hopping that they both would someday go and he could finally see more.

"Well, today's the day." The older demon said and the fire demon almost couldn't belive his ears.

Before Red could even ask the monkie rapidly went to him and started using his magic on him and to exact it was glamour.

"Red, you need listen to me carefully, because there's no other chance-" Mr Macaque started, as he concealed the scar on his cheek. "I don't know when the other will come back. But this is really important, so remmber-"

"But you're comming with me-" The younger demon didn't ask, because it was a fact.

Macaque had to go with him. He couldn't stay here, right?

"You can't trust anybody and don't tell them anything." Instead of answering the man continued his speach. "Try to use your fire as little as possible and at all cost do not use samadhi fire. Nobody can put it down and it's very dangerous." The monkie then changed the colour of his hair from red to black. "I'll try to I maintain the camouflage for as long as I can, but if it disappears, you must cover your hair and not let yourself be recognized."

"But, Mr Macaque-"

"Red." The demon interrupted seriously. "It's very imortant."

At his words Red went silent.

"You need to find Sun Wukong, the Monkie King." The black monkie said seriously. "Tell him that Lady Bone Demon is back. That she's after you and the can't get to you and.." The demon paused for a second. "And then surely everything will be alright.." Then the black monkie smiled softly at him.

Red knew that something was wrong and he was trying to cheer him up.

"If you see the Watcher run as fast as possible.." He put a cap on his head." If he catches you, you have to free yourself at all costs, you can even use samadhi fire."

Suddenly a portal opened behind him.

"Remember find Sun Wukong." The the demon pushed Red to the portal despite his protest.

The fire demon was only able to see a light smile of his paret figure face as the portal slowly closed.

----

Basicly Macaque doesn't have much of a choice, but letting Red go. The monkie can't escape the island, because of the deal with the LBD. He's sealed in there.

Macaque also doesn't trust Wukong, but he doesn't see any better option. The shadow demon knows that the monkie king is one of the strongest and could possibly defeat her or just buy some time.

So in that way Red finds himself in complete difftent place.

Dazed, lost, scared, and bewildered in the Megapolis.

He completely doesn't know how behave it that weird place, where he is alone and see things that he hadn't seen before.

He's also scared about Macaque.

So he tries to find This Sun Wukong-

He starts asks random people about him, but ineffectively. People on the street ignore him and consider him a bit of an oddball.

In the meantime he accidentally runs into MK and they end up somehow together.

They talk a little and MK shows him around a little. Red is obviouly fascinated even by the simplest thing, which makes Mk think he's kinda cute.

Then have meal at Pigsy noodles. (There Red Son eat the best meal ever-)

Their talk suddenly goes towards the monkie king and here's the part where everything becomes the mess.

- Major stars chasing after them

- Everyone are looking for Sun Wukong

- Red doesn't know what he can tell and not-

- Wukongs finds out that Macaque is alive-

- Troubles, problems, and action.

- They have a dinner at Demon Bull Family house!!! But neither Red Son knows that that's his parents and They don't know that that's their son becuase of the disguise!!!!

- fighting Macaque! LBD took control over him

- LBD still tries to catch Red.. and she kinda is able to..

- Red is finally reviled to be the 'death' Red Son-

- ...In the end we finally get family reunion..! ;)

[Yes, here I was too lazy to write ⬆️]

OK.

I've written a bit, but hopefully someone will like this idea. I guess..

Honestly I mainly want to see pain of the greaving parents and family reunion, which would be full of love...

I HOPE SOMEONE LIKES THIS!

What do you think? Please tell me.