#what age appropriate for funeral

[cloakedsparrow]

Alfred is Tim's Biological Grandfather AU

Bruce and Alfred had found it slightly odd that Jack and Janet Drake didn't ask any questions about Tim spending so much time at Wayne Manor. True, the Drakes could have questioned Tim and he simply could have not told them. However, the boy knew better than to keep it to himself if he'd made any excuses Bruce might need to know or if his parents were likely to make any complaints. Neither of the Drakes ever contacted Bruce or the Manor. They never requested to see or speak with any member of the family.

While they were making the arrangements for Janet's funeral (because Jack was in a coma and Tim was just a child), Bruce received a summons from her lawyer, stating that she'd remembered her dear friend in her will. Bruce was immediately suspicious because he and Janet Drake hadn't been friends.

Bruce receives a letter, along with a small, locked box, about the size of a document mailer. The letter apologizes for the deception and requests that Bruce give the box to Alfred Pennyworth, stating that the combination was Tim's birthday. Out of respect for Alfred more than anything, Bruce follows the instructions.

After going through the box privately, Alfred appears more solemn than Bruce has seen him in decades. He tells Bruce that -years before- he'd slept with a upper-class woman when visiting his father, who had already been working for the Waynes. After coming to work for the Wayne's himself, Alfred had learned that the woman had gotten married not long after and had a child. A child that was just the right age to potentially be his. At his request, Thomas and Martha invited the woman and her husband to a party at the Manor. Alfred very professionally informed her that she had an important phone call and to please follow him to an appropriate guest phone. Once they were in a private room, Alfred calmly informed her that he was going to require proof that the child was not his. He would be happy to take a paternity test himself, or she could take one for her husband that proved he was father. Whether she told her husband or did it behind his back, Alfred didn't care. He had no intention of causing a scene but he fully intended to be there for his child if he had one. The woman had agreed and discreetly had a paternity test done that had proven her daughter was her husband's child.

Alfred had thought that was the end of it. However, Janet Drake had left him a letter informing him that she had been that child. More importantly, she had informed him that the paternity test had been forged to keep him out of the picture since her mother had found a better prospect in her husband. After her parents died (she'd been an adult), Janet had found the results and a letter from her deceased maternal grandmother (who helped with the forgery) explaining the matter. She hadn't been sure how to feel or what to do about it. She'd ended up just ignoring it.

She had been concerned when Tim suddenly started spending time at Wayne Manor, but when she asked Tim about it, after talking about how nice Mr Wayne was and how cool Dick was and learning to play tennis and getting help with his gymnastics et all, he'd started talking about Alfred. He kept talking about how amazing he was. How kind he was. How funny he was. How clever he was.

Even though Tim hadn't known about the blood they shared, he'd clearly loved Alfred. Janet couldn't take his grandfather from him. That was why she let him spend so much time at Wayne Manor. That was why she never demanded to speak to Bruce. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't really about him. It was about family.

She also let Alfred know that she'd always been the primary caregiver for Tim. She'd always made the decisions in regards to him. She selected his nannies, babysitters, and boarding school. She saw to his medical appointments and made sure anyone preparing meals for Tim knew about his allergy (I always headcanon hazelnuts for some reason). She signed him up for gymnastics and martial arts. She made sure he got to and from Summer camp.

She knew Jack wouldn't know how to be a parent and requested that Alfred help out as much as he was comfortable with.

She also apologized for not telling Alfred the truth until it was too late for her to get to know him herself. She told him that the more Tim talked about him, the more she considered telling them both the truth. That she'd truly wanted to know him but just kept putting it off. If he was reading the letter, then she’d obviously waited too long.

Bruce and Alfred double check Alfred's blood against Tim's in the Cave before Alfred tells the boy he's his grandson. With Tim's permission, he discreetly has a proper blood test ran and uses the results to quietly assume custody of his grandson while Jack is in a coma.

When Jack wakes up and Alfred learns that he's both made arrangements for Tim to get an early junior's license to drive him around and also to work at Drake Industries for him, he doesn't just complain. He sees Jack privately and informs him that HE has had custody of Tim, not Bruce, as the city has assumed. He informs him of their relation. He informs him that he made a good deal of money both in the service of Her Royal Majesty and the Waynes and he invested that money wisely. In fact, he currently has more money than Jack. He informs Jack that unless he wants them to take it to a judge, Tim will not be acting as a caregiver, chauffeur, or executive assistant to Jack. If the man cannot afford to hire appropriate help, then Alfred will happy to pay for it, discreetly, of course.

Jack takes the latter option. He and Tim still move into the Manor next door, so that Tim can easily & quickly go to Alfred if he needs anything. While he's reluctant to say it aloud and almost petulant about it at times, Jack actually appreciates Alfred's help with Tim. He doesn't pay as much attention to the boy, but Tim ends up better taken care of anyway.

Alfred attends the Young Justice parent-Red Tornado conference alongside Dick (he asked Dick to still come as he’d understand the needs of a group of young heroes better than anyone else present). Unlike the others, he always stays on top of what the kids are getting up to. He refuses to participate in the sixteenth birthday trauma, which Tim figures out quicker since Bruce is working on his own (and he has someone to turn to afterwards -Alfred and Bruce have WORDS). He also holds people who hurt him accountable (it's harder with Bruce, who he sees as a son, but he does not mince words with Jack, Stephanie, or anyone else). He adored Dana and they had tea together once every fortnight just to ensure they were on the same page with Tim. He steps in and treats Tim much more fairly after Damian enters the picture. He goes full John Wick on Ra's after the man goes after his grandson.

He's still a grandfather to the others, but having custody of Tim (and a letter from his daughter asking him to care for the boy) gives him a sense of authority that he lacks with them. With the rest of the Waynes, he tries to stay somewhat professional, despite his feelings for them. He doesn't feel the need to do so with Tim because he's not the valet who also helped raise him. He's his grandfather, first and foremost.

[alltimefail]

Can we take a second to talk about Niko's connection to the Principal?

Because I think we all moved on a little quickly from that!

General disclaimer before we begin: this is just my own theory and my personal interpretations. <3

As a refresher, The Principal is the Night Nurse's "Superior." We see her for the first time at the end of season 1, episode 8. In this theory, I will be analyzing the potential role The Principal plays in DBDA, especially where our beloved Niko Sasaki is concerned.

A connection between The Principal and Niko is undoubtable to me for two reasons: the first reason being that they intentionally focused the camera on The Principal zero-ing in on Niko's case card, and she has a visible emotional reaction to seeing Niko's name.

The second being that, before departing, she quotes what Tragic Mick told Niko before the face-off with Esther which ultimately resulted in her death.

One popular theory I saw floating around in the first few weeks after DBDA released was that The Principal is Niko herself, and while this is a fun concept I can't get behind it because, well, Niko is "alive" at the end of the season. Yuyu has confirmed that she's the one in the igloo with the sprites, and Steve has confirmed that Niko is not dead/off the show as well. While we have no clue where the igloo is for certain, or what state Niko is in, it's safe to say that Niko has not moved on to her afterlife, so she can't be the Night Nurses' superior in the Lost and Found Department.

My theory doesn't reinvent the wheel, but I personally think The Principal could be Niko's mother.

From a non-storyline standpoint, The Principal looks to be a perfectly appropriate age to have a 16 year old daughter. From a casting standpoint, Yuyu and Tamlyn also are a convincing mother/daughter pair. I think their mannerisms (body language and expressions) are even a bit similar:

But most importantly, from a writing and storyline standpoint, Niko's mother is mentioned multiple times throughout the season but we never actually see her or hear from her - not in a phone call, a voicemail, or even in a picture in Niko's meticulously decorated, aesthetic bedroom. This is what leads me to believe that the persistent mention of Niko's mom is an example of Chekhov's gun being fired.

Emphasis here on: "If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there."

From the persistent plotline surrounding...

Niko's grief not just with her father's death but also with her mother who sent her to school across the world literally the day after her father's funeral to "escape the sadness,"

to the pile of letters from her mother that she couldn't bring herself to respond to,

to the response letter she finally writes to her mom but we don't learn the fate of,

to Niko telling Crystal that her mom would always say "A mother's intuition is very strong," (which could be why The Principal reacted to Niko's case card in the way she did...)

to even Jenny mentioning Niko's mom in the finale

... and so on, the writers seem to mention her as often as they can, even up to the very end. This makes Niko's mom a sort of looming figure in the narrative, a thought persistently brought back in a "Hey, remember this?" kind of way to the viewer, and that kind of intentional presence needs to serve a purpose or have some kind of payoff later. After all - if it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there... if we aren't going to get some kind of closure regarding Niko's family, especially her mother who is still alive, it shouldn't be brought to the viewer's attention again and again.

Also, The Principal being Niko's mother would make Niko at least half supernatural being (we don't know much about her father, but considering the fact that he's dead we can assume he was likely fully human). Niko being half supernatural-being would explain a few allusive plotlines such as:

Why Angie the fish does not try to tempt Niko into the water.

Why Crystal tells Niko that she should stay behind and not fight Esther because Niko is "Just a human."

Why we don't see Niko's spirit separate from her body at any point, nor do we get Death's blue light.

How the Principal knows Tragic Mick's last words to Niko and why she quotes them to the boys who were not even present at the moment the sentiment was delivered the first time.

Starting with Angie, it's obvious why the boys are not affected by her call: Charles and Edwin are incorporeal spirits, they have no physical body and Angie's call is sent out with the goal of finding food to eat, plain and simple. Niko not hearing Angie's call, considering the fact that she's flesh and bone just like Crystal, is noteworthy to say the least. After all, we can safely assume Angie's call can beckon more than one person at a time because the group is worried about the populated kite festival becoming an all-you-can-eat buffet, essentially. They need to figure out the case and only have 24 hours to do so before area is filled with bodies for Angie to tempt into the water, that's the whole time-constraint conflict that adds pressure to an already delicate situation. The first time Crystal hears the call she is with Charles at the top of the lighthouse with Niko nowhere near Angie, but the second time Crystal hears Angie she and Niko are standing literally right next to each other. Niko then confirms that there's "No voice" coming from the water after they save Crystal, but considering how Niko's grief surrounding the death of her father is such a huge part of her characterization - in the same way Crystal not remembering her parents is critical to hers - it makes no sense that Angie wouldn't try to lure in Niko as well by using the voice of her deceased father.

But let's consider what we learn from the Night Nurse: trans-dimensional beings don't die when they're swallowed by a giant fish, so they do not satiate Angie's desire for food. This is why everyone assumes Kashi is not human because he, like The Night Nurse, is alive inside the stomach of a fish. So if Niko's mother is like The Night Nurse, a trans-dimensional being, that would explain why Angie's call would not effect Niko, because Angie just wants to eat... and ghosts and immortal beings (even if only semi-immortal) do not count as food.

As for Crystal telling Niko to stay behind because she's human: this line felt so... strange to me the first time I watched the series. After thinking about it though, I couldn't help but compare it to Charles' line in the pilot episode right before they enter Esther's house. He tells Crystal that "She still has a life to lose" and they want to "Protect it while they can," and while the sentiment is the same, the dialogue feels vastly more natural and understandable being delivered from the mouth of a ghost - a dead 16 year old boy - to an alive 16 year old girl. On the contrary, Crystal citing Niko being a human when she is also alive and very much a human just as capable of dying as Niko is, feels out of place. There's simply no need for Crystal to clarify that Niko is a human as the audience has already assumed that and been given no reason to believe otherwise. It's a small detail, but the only way for this line to make any sense is if it serves an ulterior motive - perhaps with the intention of getting the audience's gears turning and/or serving as the framework for a future plotline. Again, if Niko is related to The Principal, this would make her half supernatural at least... so, ironically, less human that Crystal is and less likely to face a typical human death...

which also might explain the "Outlook not so good" on the Magic 8-Ball. It's not the worst response you can get, it's not a critical failure or natural 1 in DnD so to speak... but it's also not great. Niko's not alive, but she's likely not as she once was either (but that's an entirely different can of worms).

As far as explaining how The Principal would know what Tragic Mick told Niko, I feel like an infinite trans-dimensional being who works as a higher up in the afterlife's Lost and Found Department would have no issue accessing their own child's file. We know the Lost and Found Department is nothing if not rigid, specific, and detail-oriented, and the files they have include the details of every child's death - it isn't so far-fetched to believe that Niko's file (and all the files, really) would also include insight on what Niko's last day on Earth (interactions and such) were like. Not to mention the fact that The Principal tells the boys she can pretty much do "Whatever she likes..." so she's powerful, she has resources and abilities that might even surpass those of the Night Nurse (who can literally dig around in people's minds and choke people with a snap of her fingers). If she is Niko's mother and she just lost her child and husband in a short amount of time, it would make sense for her to allow Charles and Edwin to keep doing what they do because they are helping people like her daughter, and maybe they could help her daughter again.

Lastly, I can't help but acknowledge how there is some kind of recognition, spark, or tenderness on The Principal's end when she first appears before the boys. I've seen other people say they feel similarly, almost like she seems disappointed or a bit taken aback when they ask who she is. She especially lingers on Edwin for a beat, and we all know how important Edwin was to Niko! Again, this is all just my own theory, but if The Principal is Niko's mother, her sparing the boys of being taken by the Lost and Found Department with the tenderness she does - by using Tragic Mick's words, the ones offered alongside a good luck charm (the last kind act toward Niko before she died) at the boys who loved her daughter and saved her once and could very well save her again - feels tear-jerkingly poetic to me. The Principal seems choked up before she goes, almost as if she's repaying them a favor they didn't know they were owed - the boys saved Niko once, and now that good fortune is coming back around to them.

So what would that all mean for next season? Where might Niko be? Who knows for sure! Perhaps she is imbued with Dandelion Sprite magic, or is currently an "Undead," a zombie, like the kind mentioned in the Night Nurse's book in Episode 6... but whatever she is, I have a feeling the boys and Crystal will find her again.

But all this to say, whether The Principal is Niko's mother, a reincarnation of Niko's father, an estranged aunt or family member we haven't met yet, a complete rando with invested special interest in Niko's case, or shit - even Niko herself somehow - I can confidently say that episode 8 won't be the last time we see The Principal, and that we're meant to draw a connection between her and Niko.

Now we just need a season 2 so we can get some answers @netflix!!!!!

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Unconventional Flowers Event - May

Mother's Day Lilies ft. Megumi

A/N: May prompt for my Unconventional Flowers Event. Note that Megumi is still a young child here, like maybe 8 years or so. Rating: E, safe, fluffy, cute Word Count: 939

Megumi had technically lost not one, but two mothers. His birth mother, frail in health, passing away shortly after his delivery, and then Tsumiki’s mother, who abandoned them. All in all, not a great experience on the mother front.

It was hardly a surprise that Megumi withdrew from you when you and Gojo started dating. Tsumiki, more in need of a maternal figure, grew attached quickly, but Megumi avoided you altogether. You didn’t blame him. After getting the whole story from Gojo, you felt your heart going out to the little boy but decided to give him more time to approach you.

You started slowly, asking him to watch a movie together, bringing back his favorite snacks whenever you visited Gojo, and helping him with his homework. You never tried to fill that motherly role, and eventually, Megumi started warming up to you, realizing you were not trying to pretend to be anything more than Gojo’s girlfriend. It gave him the emotional reassurance he needed, that you were not trying to fill the shoes of his lost mothers, but that you would be there if he needed you. 

You made sure to show affection to him and Tsumiki though, doing little crafts with them, taking them to the park, and poking fun at Gojo whenever it was appropriate. They grew attached to you, and they weren’t your kids, but they were yours. 

You hadn’t planned on unintentionally becoming a maternal figure to Gojo’s wards, but now you couldn’t imagine a day without them. Your heart almost floated out of your body with joy when Megumi asked you what your favorite flower was. 

“Lillies,” you said with affection in your eyes as you looked at the quiet boy, tall and slim for his age. He nodded solemnly and you couldn’t control your actions and pull him in for a squishy hug.

“You’re so adorable Megs.”

“Stop that! And don’t call me Megs!” Megumi wriggles only half-heartedly, trying to escape, before quieting down and letting himself be hugged. Deep down, he’s glad you’re here.

Megumi hunts down the prettiest lilies he could find in time for Mother’s Day. His eyes are alight with excitement. Gojo said you were around somewhere on the estate, and he's practically running to find you, carefully cradling the bouquet so that it doesn’t get crushed. He passes Tsumiki on the way, who sees the flowers and quickly stops him.

“You’re giving these to Nee-san?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t she’ll like these for Mother’s Day. Lilies are usually given at funerals. Do you want her to get the wrong idea? What if she leaves us?”

Megumi’s face crumples at his sister’s words. “But…they’re her favorites…”

“It’s not too late to get her something else.”

Megumi quickly runs back towards his room. How could he have known? He’s glad Tsumiki stopped him. What if he had found you…and given you the lilies? It was the first time he and Tsumiki had anyone even closely resembling a mother for an extended period. The thought of you being upset because he had been dumb enough to get such sad flowers for Mother’s Day…

“Megs?”

He freezes when he hears your voice and tries to hastily hide the flowers behind his back as you walk up to him. 

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing!”

You see his shifty nature and the heads of the white flowers sticking out from behind his back. 

“Who are the flowers for?”

“No one!” He backs up a few paces, trying to put distance between you two.

“Megumi.” You catch up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you being weird?”

Caught, he looks away, trying not to tear up. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad? About what?”

“I got you flowers.”

You look at him quizzically. “Why would I be mad that you got me flowers?”

“They were for Mother’s Day.”

If your heart wasn’t already full, it certainly was now. You feel warmth expanding in your chest at the admission. 

He was giving you flowers for Mother’s Day?

You try not to tear up and clear your throat. “And why do you think I’d be mad?”

Megumi’s face carries so much guilt that you want to pull him into his arms and reassure him but you give him a minute to find his words.

“I got you lilies. Because you said they were your favorite.”

“They are my favorite! Megs, why do you look so upset?”

“Well…I was told that lilies are given at funerals and that you’d be mad if I gave them to you today. Please don’t be mad.” He looks at you with such sad eyes that you can’t contain yourself any longer.

You pull him into your arms, cradling him protectively. “Oh, my dear little Megs. I’m not mad at all. You got me flowers? On Mother’s Day? Do you have any idea how happy I am?”

Megumi’s eyes widen in realization, comforted by your hug. “Really?”

“Yeah! I’m so happy you like me enough to get me flowers for this holiday.” You can’t find the will to let go of the boy and he doesn’t try to break free.

“You’re not mad?”

“Not the least bit.”

“So you won’t leave us right?”

You nod, feeling like your body is made of air. “You’re stuck with me I’m afraid.”

Comforted, Megumi finally shows you the bouquet which you accept delightedly. “You’re better than Gojo. He didn’t get me anything.”

“He’s a moron.” Megumi shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I know you will.” 

You ruffle Megumi’s hair before the both of you start walking back to the house. 

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[five-rivers]

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to.  He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away.  “I wanted to wait.  I want to wait.  It’s just–”  He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists.  “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done.  Jazz got married, you know?  She’s pregnant.  If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.  

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly.  “I would have liked to see that, too.  And have a career.  Travel.  I know you wanted to do that, too.  But–”  

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud.  Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose.  He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.  

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “This is why I have to go.  I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you.  I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now.  The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.  

The wind kicked up again.  There was ice in it.  

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine.  It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD.  Appropriate.  No one fully living would be here tonight.  Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet.  And it wouldn’t be safe for them.  

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio.  There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind.  The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there.  The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name.  All things needed for a burial.  

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments.  Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire.  Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood.  Plush footstools.  Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.  

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this.  Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling.  Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion.  Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.  

(Danny still had to look up at all of them.  He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.  

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood.  This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.  

But those consequences were bad enough.  He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.  

“Yes,” said Danny.  He looked around the shrine, nervous.  He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next.  Not in any detail.  “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora.  “Not unless you feel the need to.  The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.  

Danny nodded.  

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead.  “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place.  “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.”  She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.  

Then, Clockwork came up.  He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two.  “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk.  Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.  

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars.  There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire.  Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.  

He held the mug out to Danny.  “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug.  He kept his tone light.  Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.  

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite.  “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life.  This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him.  He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were.  Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind.  But those were children.  

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink.  It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary.  There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.  

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted.  He could feel them.  One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body.  But they weren’t there.  Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.  

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact.  He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin.  There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away.  Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time.  He didn’t feel anything yet.  

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question.  He should probably just.  Not talk.  Especially not with drugs in his system.  

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.  

Of course.  Danny nodded.  The mortuary shrine… wobbled.  

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars.  It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another.  He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.  

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly.  But then, his movements seemed to… blur.  His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.  

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt.  By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body.  Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing.  Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar.  Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb.  Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.  

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth.  Some of them were patterned, others plain.  Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin.  Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.  

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet.  It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else.  By someone he knew.  He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse.  He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent.  But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment.  It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough.  When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.  

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted.  They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.  

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles.  Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing.  His movements were slowing, growing smaller.  

He should be panicking.  The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required.  But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions.  His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.  

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.  

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him.  Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.  

Danny's heart twitched to a stop. 

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities.  He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again.  Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present.  He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could.  He was in danger.  He was dangerous.  He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it.  He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.  

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips.  He drank.  It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness.  With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying.  By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.  

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite.  “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny.  Jazz was an MD.  He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled.  Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.  

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first.  He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted.  It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.  

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward.  The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest.  The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate.  The dead did not move to help.  They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again.  The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling.  Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.  

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace.  They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.  

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar.  It was soft, piled high with cloth.  They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head.  Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth.  Or, no, not quite the top one.  The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.  

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees.  He wondered what they were for.  

He didn’t have to wonder for long.  Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion.  The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery.  He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.  

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.  

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles.  The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect. 

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way.  But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar.  They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them.  Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris.  Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.  

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn.  A drop of blood welled up.  Blood, not ectoplasm.  Danny stared, surprised.  But he didn’t get to stare long.  Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.  

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.  

It all felt very secure.  

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat.  But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him.  He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.  

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could.  The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.  

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face.  It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive.  Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.  

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant.  To say something.  He could do it.  He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences.  He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.  

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head.  She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips.  He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin.  It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them.  If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been.  It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue. 

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed.  There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh.  Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.  

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice.  For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice.  No, kneeling.  No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete.  He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs.  He knew them.)

This was the right decision.  

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation.  The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder.  All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.  

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask.  A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face.  Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.  

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features.  His lips, his nose, his eyebrows.  He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed.  The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.  

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.  

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened.  Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose.  More perfume.  He inhaled.  Exhaled.  Stopped.  

Stopped.  

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place.  The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin.  It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow. 

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons.  Some, he could identify by touch.  The ticklish barbs of a feather.  The cold roundness of another, smaller coin.  The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear.  Others, his powers identified for him.  The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite.  The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice.  The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated.  He hadn’t known they’d kept that.  

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone.  He could make guesses.  Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.  

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like.  His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad.  The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now.  Helpless, but unburdened.  

Clockwork started to speak.  None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer.  This one was old.  Old old.  Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts.  They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights.  Or golden ones.  

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him.  Wound around him.  It was a winding sheet.  Of course.  Of course.  The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet.  Then, the next.  Cerecloth and cerements.  

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added  its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.  

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were.  They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.  

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now.  Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones.  Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.  

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.  

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.  

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar.  Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.  

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of.  He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways.  Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity.  Was he bordered by flowers?  Pillows?  Both?  He couldn’t tell.  

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him.  He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.  

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone.  It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart.  “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously.  It was almost enough.  

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny.  Another.  They were nailing him in.  Another restraint.  Another limitation.  Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual.  Almost.  Almost.  

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.  

(He had been snug before.  Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound.  There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake.  His body was cocooned in every way possible.  There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting.  None of his choices would change what would happen to him next.  Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved.  He knew where he was going.  Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular.  He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.  

They stopped.  He was lowered.  Down.  Down.  Stopped again.  

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm.  Restful.  

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder.  And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered.  These were buried as thoroughly as the others.  

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down.  Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.  

Then there was nothing.  Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept.  Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.  

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over.  No, that wasn’t any good.  He made a face.  There was something on his face.  He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.  

That roused him further.  This… he did not think this was his bed.  It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply.  Dust.  Salt.  Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.  

He breathed, remembering.  His mouth tasted like silver and sugar.  His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.  

This was his grave.  His coffin.  

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow.  The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders.  His mask was a thin shell.  The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes.  The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places.  The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong.  He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.  

He’d made it.  He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death.  He breathed out, breathed in.  His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.  

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin.  It looked strange there.  Disproportionate.  But of course it did.  His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form.  Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different.  Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand.  He was awake.  

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over.  He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil.  Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented.  So were portals.  And most powers, really. 

He’d have to dig his way out.  

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid.  The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was.  Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way.  So.  

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away.  He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body.  He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.  

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward.  Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage.  Still, his hand hit free air.  Grass tickled at his fingers.  He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.  

The dirt did not want to let him go.  It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live.  He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.  

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.  

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position.  “Daniel,” said Clockwork.  A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.  

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.  

A cup was raised to his lips.  He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.  

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.  

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite.  “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely.  He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder.  It took some to get it there.  It was further away than he’d thought.  

He was smaller than he had been.  Not entirely unexpected.  Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go.  But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine.  The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar.  The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.  

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors.  Danny stared.  He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body… 

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt.  It had been wings.  He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better.  They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae.  Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.  

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.  

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.  

“Are you?” 

Clockwork chuckled.  

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork.  “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.  

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror.  He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter.  His antennae matched the color pretty well, too.  Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that…  There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.  

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones…  They looked about the same as they had when he was young.  Except… softer, somehow.  More neutral.  The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form.  But… later.  Later.  

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.  

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny.  “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid.  She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”  

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz?  Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork.  “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed.  The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end.  He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.  

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.  

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.  

“Of course.”

[moniquill]

Watership Down - first the film, then the book, is one of the most formative media influences in my life. I’ve written about it briefly, here https://i-blame.tumblr.com/post/69030937937/moniquill-moniquill-kucala-moniquill

but having watched the above video essay, I want to say more.

The first time I saw a deer up close was in my grandfather’s back yard; I was about four years old. I don’t remember the reason that my mom dropped me off at my grandfather’s house for an afternoon, but I know that it was unplanned - because he was in the middle of processing a deer. It had been field dressed, organs already removed, and was hanging by its ankle tendons from the t-shaped steel pole at one end of the backyard clothesline. I was startled, worried, concerned that the animal was hurt. There was blood! There was flesh!

My grandfather responded by calmly explaining what he was doing, step by step. Explaining why he was skinning the deer, and quartering it, taking it from this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White-tailed_deer to this https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venison

He talked about hunting, and about gratitude, and about humans and our proper place in the world - what meant to live in a good way.

By the time my grandfather was cooking tenderloin medallions and plating them up to me with grape jelly (don’t knock grape jelly on meat until you’ve tried it!) and instant mashed potatoes, I wasn’t startled or concerned anymore. I had a deeper understanding of the way the world worked, of my role as a consumer, a predator. Of the responsibilities that entailed. I couldn’t have explained it then, of course, with my 4-year-old mind and vocabulary - but Philosophy had been set into motion. This is a core memory for me. 

I did not have nightmares about the butchered deer. 

I was six when I first saw Disney’s Bambi. I DID have nightmares about that; between Bambi and The Land Before Time, I was absolutely convinced that my mother was going to die. That I was being presented with these media themes to educate and prepare me for that eventuality. I am the youngest daughter of a youngest daughter, and I have an extended tribal family. My grandfather died when I was six. His was one of many funerals I attended at that age; his generation succumbing to age and illness. I was aware of mortality. 

I wasn’t a ‘normal’ child, by the standard of the community that I went to school in. I was too poor, too indigenous, too very obviously autistic (without being diagnosed). I had very different media influences and interests than the other kids at my public school. No one else was deeply obsessed with David Attenborough’s documentaries (Life on Earth 1979, The Living Planet 1984, Lost Worlds, Vanished Lives 1989). No one else had even heard of Dot and the Whale. No one else in my class had Lifeways Lessons classes, because they didn’t have tribes.  

I wasn’t terribly interested in most media intended for children; it was boring because it was simple. I didn’t feel motivated to watch Disney movies over and over. Don Bleuth films had more staying power in my mind; An American Tale, All Dogs Go To Heaven, The Land Before Time. More complex stories, stories that confront suffering and death. My mom read me CS Lewis and JRR Tolkein, Jack London and EB White - lots of other stories that were not ‘age appropriate’, stories that were written for People, not Children.

I watched Watership Down for the first time when I was about five, and my mom read the book to me when I was about six. I was not disturbed by the violence, being far more interested in the themes explored in the video essay above. I had, by this time, seen a rabbit skinned IRL. I’d eaten rabbit stew. 

I did not have nightmares about Watership Down. 

I failed to make friends with the kids at school, for the most part - I primarily socialized with my cousins. In fourth grade (age 9), my class did a unit on tropical rainforests, and I brought in this video: I did not think that there was anything at all controversial about it, but at about 32 minutes in David Attenborough talks about the Guarani people and their traditional ways of life. There’s footage of an unclothed man climbing a tree. His penis is briefly visible. THE CLASS WENT WILD, and the teacher rushed to turn the video off, and I was sent to the office. It caused a school-wide incident, and bringing in videos was thereafter banned. I was deeply, deeply confused by this series of events. The video had come from the public library - how could it possible be offensive? But the incident became a vector of bullying that followed me until middle school - the adults had confirmed to the kids that I had done something taboo, that I was fundamentally wrong in some way. I quietly came to the conclusion that Most People(™) are very stupid and very reactionary, that one has to carefully coddle and explain things to them. 

It took me many years to only mostly overcome that conclusion.

Later that same year, I had my first real success in making a childhood friend - someone who came to my house after school and had sleepovers and such. She had transferred from another school and didn’t know I was THE WEIRD GIRL the way my other classmates did. I remember trying to introduce my favorite movies to her, as she introduced her favorites to me. She was a Horse Girl(™) and much more interested in Age Appropriate Girl Things than I was, but we shared a love of My Little Pony - I had a bunch of episodes on VHS, recorded off TV. She thought that https://mylittleponyg1.fandom.com/wiki/Rescue_at_Midnight_Castle was ‘too scary’ and preferred https://mylittleponyg1.fandom.com/wiki/My_Little_Pony:_The_Movie. 

I showed her Watership Down. She freaked out about it. It gave her nightmares.

She was, as many people, deeply disturbed by the violence of the film. She had not, at the age of nine, seen animals butchered. She didn’t seem to care about the deeper meanings and philosophical treatises presented; the fact that there was violence and death was too shocking.

I’m not sure how to conclude this essay, except with this: Watership Down is now a litmus test, for me. If a person is aware of it and appreciates it, we’re intellectual compatible. If a person’s whole reaction is shock and disgust and cries of ‘nightmare fuel!’ then we are not.

[pollymorgan]

Teacher Negan - The Football Game - Part 1

Warnings: A very large age difference and of course, smut

Oh, and very important: It's all fiction of course! Please, my dears, use condoms and don't go with old men! :-P

That my mother has to move several hundred miles away with my aunt to open a beauty salon, especially before the last year of my high school, was initially a big shock for me, but now I also see the advantages it brings. First of all, I finally get out of my little town, and there's also the immediate proximity to my cousin. Cassady is 5 years older than me, to be exact 23, but we have always gotten along great. Another advantage is that I no longer have to see my ex-boyfriend every day, since we are no longer in the same class. Plus, I still have almost the entire summer vacation ahead of me to enjoy life to the fullest, like now at this football game. If I were to say I love football, that would be an understatement, because it feels like every American does. For me, it's an absolute dream to live in the city of my favorite team. That's why I'm wearing the appropriate hoodie over my dress and, of course, the matching cap at the game.

The atmosphere in the stadium is absolutely insane and totally captivating. Even if my cousin doesn't really see it that way and only came along because of me.

Now we just have to push through a horde of men to get to our seats. And then hopefully it will start soon. Even though the game will really become secondary. Because the atmosphere alone is reason enough to be here.

Getting to our seats, however, proves to be more difficult than expected. We each have two large beer cups in hand and somehow have to get through this crowd. But the line at the drinks stand was huge, and I didn't want to spend the start of the game waiting in line. So we planned ahead. I almost managed to get to my seat unscathed, when suddenly this guy turns around in a flash. Everything happens so quickly that I can't react anymore, and so I spill half of the beer on him and myself. The tall stranger initially looks at me very angrily and is about to scold me, but then his look suddenly changes as his dark eyes meet mine.

"What the hell.. oh, sorry.. I didn't mean to spill your drink, ...can I offer you a new one? Of course, only if you're already 21.." He starts to grin, and his perfectly white row of teeth shines through his silver-black beard.

I'm still a bit overwhelmed by the whole situation and look bewildered at the large wet spot on his black shirt under his dark jacket. Guys my age are never dressed so well. Only maybe for a funeral or a prom, and I've never been to either.

"I'm already 22.." I say somewhat defiantly, and according to my fake ID, that wouldn't even be a lie.

"Perfect.." he concludes.

He turns around to hand me a full beer from the drinks available behind him. I take it gratefully, and finally my cousin and I can sit down exhausted in our seats.

Immediately she whispers excitedly in my ear, "Did you see how that guy looked at you? He's at least twice as old as you and basically undressed you with his eyes .. pretty cringe..".

I look at her innocently, "Cringe? I actually find him quite cute!"

"Cute?" she asks in surprise, rolling her eyes.

The stranger sits down in the seat right next to me and toasts us.

"Thanks," I say again.

"No problem, pleasure to meet you, i’m Negan!"

"Sam.." I stammer somewhat clumsily.

Then everyone turns back to their groups. After a while, I'm engrossed in conversation with my cousin again, but the guy next to me has put on such an intense cologne that it lingers in my nose the whole time. It smells so ruggedly masculine that it almost drives me crazy. Whenever I have the chance, I shyly glance to the right, but he doesn't look at me anymore. I'm strangely disappointed, so I try to push that thought aside.

The game is running fantastically. My team is winning, which makes me so euphoric that I even infect my cousin with it.

After the game, as we're getting ready to leave, someone roughly grabs my arm. I startle briefly, then look back into the dark eyes that send a pleasant tingling sensation through my entire body.

"Do you and your friend maybe want to come with us to a bar to celebrate the victory a bit?" he asks with a deep tone, and I feel my stomach vibrating at his words.

Suddenly, my cousin's voice snaps me out of my trance. "No, sorry, we have to get up early..".

I look at her puzzled.

"Um, actually... apologize for us for a moment!".

The stranger seems to be thoroughly amused by this situation.

I turn to her and whisper in her ear, "That sounds fun... come on, let's go with them!"

"With these guys?!" she says a bit too loudly.

Startled, I turn around, but he is engrossed in a conversation again and apparently, thankfully, hasn't noticed. After a seemingly endless discussion, we agree that I will go to the bar with them without her. But only with the promise to be reachable on the phone at all times.

Reluctantly, Cassady bids me goodbye with a hug and whispers in my ear, "Take care of yourself... and don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Since my cousin has quite a bit of a checkered past, I don't even feel guilty promising her that.

When I agree to go with them, the stranger firmly takes my hand to guide me through the crowd out of the stadium. I'm initially a bit shocked by this strange situation, but fearing to lose him among the crowd, I interlock my fingers tightly with his and let him lead me out of the stadium.

The three of us, along with another man, take a seat on the backseat of a large black Audi. The men in the car are engaged in lively conversation about the game. Fortunately, I understand quite a bit about football and can engage in some discussion without sounding dumb, even though everyone else present is probably 30 years older than me.

After a short ride, we park in front of a small bar.

As we enter, the smell of smoke and alcohol greets me. The men take a seat at a round table, and I excuse myself for a moment to go to the bathroom.

There, I take off my sweater and am quite glad that I'm wearing a short black dress underneath. I take off my cap and let my hair down, then adjust it and try to fix my makeup a bit. I take a deep breath a few more times, looking at myself in the mirror. Then I go back, determined. But the table is empty. Startled, I look around, a thousand thoughts racing through my head.

But then I hear someone call out, "Here we are!" The voice comes from the billiard table. Relieved, I see Negan sitting on a sofa in front of the others. I walk purposefully towards them.

Two are already playing, and the clattering of the balls drowns out the conversations in the entire bar.

Since the couch is already occupied, I take a seat on the armrest next to Negan. He unabashedly looks me up and down and then offers me a beer.

"You look damn good..." he says directly, making my heart skip a beat and my cheeks blush.

After the men finish their game, I challenge him. He accepts with a smile, probably not expecting that I practically grew up at the billiard table. As he takes his first shots, he realizes it's not as easy as he thought, which pleases me.

Watching him concentrate more on the game makes me proud, and he looks even better doing it. As he leans closer to make his next move, he unexpectedly gives me a rather strong pat on the backside.

"Hey, unfair move!" I protest immediately, which only elicits a tired smile from him, but sends a strong tingle down in my lower abdomen.

But I manage to win against him, albeit very narrowly, which clearly annoys him. Afterwards, he has to endure some teasing from his buddies. Resignedly, he sits back on the sofa, and I proudly perch on the armrest again.

During the next round with his friends, we engage in animated discussions about their gameplay and continue drinking our beer. After a while, Negan starts touching my bare shin. At first, he just places his warm hand there, but then he starts stroking it slowly. The touches of his large rough hands are so gentle that they give me goosebumps. I enjoy this feeling and what it does to me to the fullest. I'm disappointed when he lets go of my leg, but only to offer me a vodka shot that the waitress had placed on a large tray in front of us. The drink is much needed, as my mouth feels incredibly dry.

We clink glasses, and I down the shot in one go. The sharp alcohol burns in my throat and then warms my stomach, shooting straight to my head. I can tell that Negan is watching my every move closely.

As soon as I place the empty glass back on the table, he puts his hand on my thigh.

"You look so damn sexy drinking it all in one go, do you like swallowing other things too?" he whispers unabashedly.

I almost slap him out of reflex, but as I look into his grinning face and his lustful eyes meet mine, my whole lower abdomen tightens, and I can't help but smirk. We gaze at each other for a while, and then I decisively say, "Why don't you find out.."

Without warning, he pulls me onto his lap, and before I know it, I'm straddling him, and he immediately starts kissing me. His lips are incredibly demanding. I place my hands on his cheeks to try to control the situation somewhat, while I completely forget everything around me and simply ignore the stupid comments from others.

His fingers trail down my back purposefully, immediately gripping my buttocks tightly. Then he presses me firmly against his pelvis. Excited, I breathe against his open mouth as I feel his penis getting harder and pressing strongly against me.

Sensing my hesitation, he whispers softly, "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing.. it's just pretty big.." I grin, feeling a bit embarrassed.

He smiles contentedly and presses me against him again, then gently kisses the sensitive skin on my neck and says in my ear, "Oh, don't worry, pretty princess, I'll order a taxi for us now, and then we'll go to my place where I'll pamper you so much that your little pussy will get nice and wet for me, and then my big, hard cock can slide into you slowly and effortlessly. How does that sound?"

His deep voice and direct manner drive me crazy. I nod decisively and kiss him again. I then take his right hand off my butt and guide it under my dress, directly between my legs.

"I'm already so wet for you, feel it!" I reply somewhat shyly.

His fingers deftly shift my panties aside, while his eyes scan my face precisely, enjoying every reaction from me. Slowly, he skillfully glides his middle finger through my cleft, causing me to involuntarily flinch.

"You're such a naughty sweet girl!" he remarks amusedly, as his finger leaves my most intimate place again, moistening my lips with my wetness. He then kisses me again, passionately sucking my taste from my lips. "You taste incredibly good.." he says contentedly.

[lynxgriffin]

Since we've got plenty of time to reflect, who do you the Knight is? (I'm very much hoping it's Papyrus)

Okay! So! 

While I uh, think that Jaru is super wrong on almost all his theories, I've got one major exception where I think he is correct, and that’s the identity of the Knight:

(This is kinda long, so going under the read more)

Namely, that the Knight is Gerson’s soul tied to a particular object and brought to life in the Dark World. Although for me personally, I’m going to tweak that idea quite a bit because I think it can actually tie in really nicely with my current theories on Ralsei’s identity and nature. 

We keep getting little references to Gerson brought up here and there in both chapters: there’s a drawing of a turtle monster in the abandoned classroom, done by Alvin. It’s presumably either Alvin himself or his dad, Gerson, and I’m guessing it’s the latter. We have books written by Gerson in multiple places, a memorial bench for him, and then Alvin’s conversation about him in the graveyard by his headstone. Alvin also mumbles something about “did I do the right thing?” to Gerson’s grave. As long as you initiate a conversation with Alvin, the game makes sure that you don't miss that extra bit, which is a little telling.

We know that Gerson was originally a historian, and then later turned to writing fiction, and wrote a beloved fiction series that fans still send his family letters about after his death. 

What do we know about the nature of the Dark Worlds? They’re basically imagination and fantasy brought to life. While they certainly seem to have a full history outside of what we experience, with characters that remember each other even from other Dark Worlds, they’re only “given form” when a dark fountain is opened. Any Lightner with determination can stab the earth, and a dark, inky substance can spew from it and give a world of fantasy its own form. The Darkners frequently talk about how Lightners give them direction and purpose in their lives.

So…question! How many of you have used a fountain pen?

I have used those before. They’re quite sharp, and using them very often feels like scratching or stabbing the paper. Black ink spews forth, and from this black ink…you can create whole worlds of fiction! Worlds that other people can interact with! 

We know that Gerson wrote beloved fiction well into his old age. What if he knew his time was coming, but still had stories to tell? What if he didn’t want to stop? Alvin says how his dust was sprinkled on a hammer and buried in the earth, and that this is considered the appropriate monster cultural ritual for helping a soul pass to the afterlife. But Alvin also appears to have done something that is still really troubling him. Maybe Alvin, either at his father's request or based on his own wants, didn’t actually follow the appropriate cultural funeral rites, and somehow helped his father’s soul attach to a different beloved object…a fountain pen that he’d use to write down his story ideas. And if that object gets brought to life with a dark fountain, you could get the Knight: the soul of a writer, filtered exclusively through their favorite writing tool, unwilling to stop creating.

I think it would make sense on a few logical and thematic levels:

It explains how the Knight is able to get around and open the fountains: the same way that Ralsei is able to do the weird things he does. They’re both Darkners carrying Lightner souls, so they can bend the rules.

It explains Queen’s insistence that Lightners are the ones that can create fountains, while King hates Lightners but seems to fully trust the Knight…a Darkner with a Lightner soul can meet both those people's expectations.  

It sets up the Knight as a foil to Ralsei: they’re both the same kind of special Dark World being, both believing that they are fulfilling their roles and serving the Lightners, but coming to vastly different conclusions about how to do that. 

It explains the Knight’s motivations: not that he’s actually trying to destroy the world or anything, but that he’s trying to serve the Lightners. He knows very well how much joy and positivity his fiction has brought to Lightners in the past. How could more of that be anything bad? This is his purpose, what he was made to do. Not doing it is virtually unthinkable.

And I think that in turn keeps him following in the footsteps of how Toby usually writes his villains…rarely if ever fully malicious, but utterly convinced that they’re doing the right thing, or that they have no choice in the matter. 

And of course that ties in with one of Deltarune’s themes: the balance between reality and fantasy. The Knight has no more ties with reality, and therefore is focused exclusively on creating more fantasy and having it supplant reality, upsetting the balance between them. 

And this is extremely speculative, but I've been thinking about how Toby mentioned that chapter three will be a bit of an odd one out, that it's more about trying weird things than advancing a lot of plot. Kind of an interesting thing to note since Kris just made a fountain that should take us into chapter three. If the Dark Worlds are in some way shaped by the will of the Lightner that makes them, then chapter three indicates that Kris's will manifests more as just...trying out stuff rather than something purposeful. Kris makes a fountain because they really want to keep up this special hangout with their friends. But the Knight? He's making narratives.

[popponn]

coincidences and flickers.

ii - blank papers.

notes: fem!burnout artist!reader x pro-player!isagi yoichi ; pro player / post canon au ; self-depreciating thoughts towards one's own work ; fluff, with slight angst (burnout) with a happy ending (a slight hurt/comfort) ; unreliable narrator. a.n. at the end; f!reader but could be read as gn.

summary: you never thought you would find yourself next to isagi yoichi again. yet, like a deja vu, it happened once more.

prev. ; series masterlist. ; next

Going outside, viewing a bright cheerful day filled with fresh air and sounds of laughter around you, several sayings crossed your mind before you finally stopped yourself upon a cafe. Sitting on one of the bar stools and facing yourself towards the people who passed by you from beyond the window, you sat quietly.

The first comment came from yourself, heavily uttered out in your mind, it said, “Ah. Shit. It’s going nowhere.”

Right in front of you, beside a half-empty cup of coffee, was your opened sketchbook filled with unfinished scribbles all over. In some parts, there were hastily drawn squares that illustrated the canvases you would use for your work. Inside those squares were sketches no longer visible, most of their parts were crossed out almost violently under a tangled mess of scratchy lines. Looking at this without your pencil touching the paper, you just wanted to slump down right on top of the table. Thankfully, however, you still remembered what it meant to be appropriate in the middle of a crowded public place.

The second was not quite a comment, actually. It was part of an old professor’s lecture from your student days, a memory that had aged by a few years already. It was said in an empty hall that would soon be used to exhibit students’ works within a few months, right in front of said students. Your professor resembled a smirking, merciless wolf ready to ruin and devour as he stood upright, dressed in black that was more suitable for a funeral than a class.

“The theme is ‘beauty’. Please remember to make it a worthwhile piece. Of course, how you interpret those themes is up in your decisions and angles,” he said. Somehow, those motivating words felt haunting. You remembered how most students paled as the tongue that had ruined so much self-esteem during its career as both a critique and a teacher went on.

“Feel free to show off with size and numbers as much as your space and creativity allow it. I do have high hopes for each of you. After all, ‘beauty’ is one of the most attractive things for an artist, no?”

—sitting at the cafe, years after graduation and even more after that exhibition, you could hardly remember what you drew. Did that professor also leave a scathing so bad your memory repressed it?

Then, the third comment came in the form of your friend, a few glasses behind from being a blackout drunk, but certainly a few glasses too much to still have a filter placed on his mouth. A thick accent laced his slurred voice as he continued his supposed lecture about art and career. “Don’t you get it?! We are artists, but we are human too! Love what you make everyone!!!” he said passionately while standing on top of the restaurant table half naked, his cartoon t-shirt nowhere in sight.

Everyone, just as drunk or a bit less, cheered and agreed with him simultaneously. The stench of fellow art graduates and victims of capitalism’s passions, or perhaps repressed stress, filled the room. From your seat, as the unfortunate yet responsible sober friend of that night’s reunion—chosen via a rigged game of rock paper scissors—could only watch in amusement. Shouting again, your friend stated, “Art is rooted in our emotions as a human! It’s the heart—the heart! Don’t forget that! Express yourself!!!”

Afterward, it spiraled down into even more of a jumbled oration that you couldn’t quite remember. But, certainly, you would wonder if your current self was the one seated there that night. What would this version of you think of those sentences?

Your answer came immediately in the form of a scoff that escaped your mouth bitterly.

“Beautiful things, love, and emotion… huh?” you repeated while staring down at your sketchbook once again. Letting go of your pencil, you buried your face in your palms,“…what am I doing right now then?”

Is there a point for an ‘artist’ who felt nothing when doing something they were supposed to feel so much emotion for?

Is it even okay for someone to make something even when it is not even worthwhile?

“Ugh,” you groaned hoarsely into your hand. Lifting up your face you heaved out one long sigh. As of the moment, you should try again to brainstorm a concept for the needed pieces. Also, you still had illustration work to do. There was no time to whine and feel down. It felt immature, truthfully.

You glared down at the messy, filled-up page of yours. This was the product of your choice, so you had to go on. If the worst comes to worst, you would just consult your client and draw it out as needed. It felt almost like a chokehold that dug itself right inside your trachea, but you reminded yourself once again. “It is work,” you whispered to yourself, “you just have to—”

“Excuse me,” a voice stopped your mutterings right on its track, asking, “is this seat taken?”

You spared a second to berate yourself, once again reminding yourself you were in public that going out was probably the wrong choice for that moment. Then, you faced to your right, answering the voice with a smile, “It is not, please feel free—”

Then, in a manner of a dramatic deja vu, you found the very familiar face of Isagi Yoichi, dressed in casual boyish clothing, right next to you. He paused as he too realized who you were, freezing just as he was about to sit on the stool beside you with a cup of cold drink in his hand.

“Ah.”

“Oh.”

Like a pair of two surprised barely-acquaintances you were, you and Isagi stared at each other in a mix of surprise and recognition. His eyes looked a few shades darker under the shadow of his black cap, however, through tresses that peeked out from under there, you noticed how the bluish tone of his hair got accentuated even further. Dressed in a casual white sweater and grey pants, those hues of his stood out even further.

He looked slightly different compared to the man you met that night, shying away from the party and leaning against the wall. But, even more so, he looked different from the ‘him’ you viewed through the screen three days ago.

A player who truly deserved the titles of ‘Ace’ and ‘Star’ in his name. Someone who without a doubt carried so much passion for what he loves that it couldn’t help but steal your breath away for numerous reasons. It was hilarious in a way, how replaying that one of many matches where Isagi Yoichi played–out of curiosity and a slight remembrance of his name–ended up with your heart thumping almost wildly in your studio.

It was supposed to be a background voice, yet you watched that match with too much enthusiasm, feeling both envious and wishful every time Isagi Yoichi’s face came onto the screen.

Ah–you took in an inconspicuous deep breath–this is no time to think of some soccer match.

Reverting your focus back to the matter at hand, you silently took comfort in the fact that most customers surrounding you either had their ears plugged or were too into their own conversations to care about two people gawking at each other. Forcing your bewilderment within a tidy gulp, you immediately put on your best pleasantry. “What…a surprise to see you here, Isagi. And as I was saying, it is not occupied. Please feel free to have it.”

Quickly enough, the male in front of you followed your cue. Pulling the chair and sitting himself beside you, Isagi offered you a nod that could pass as a half bow as he greeted you by name. “I, uh… didn't expect to see you here too. It’s nice to see you again!”

You nodded back to him, albeit much more slowly, “Indeed, to think I will be able to meet and converse like this with a national soccer superstar, your fans must be seething.”

Isagi chuckled bashfully at your remark, the tense line on his shoulder loosening, “You talk as if you are no one yourself.”

“Having a few websites and prints displaying my name is certainly incomparable to you, please,” you shrugged, turning in your seat slightly to find a more comfortable position to converse with him, “though I am honored to have you know me.”

“Well, I did end up finding out a bit more about you after that party…” Isagi said as put down his iced drink. An iced tea of some kind, if its color was any indication. While your attention shifted slightly towards his drink, Isagi continued a tad bit too miserably, “…but to think you listen to my comments about your painting like that…”

Isagi’s smile crooked ever so slightly, a teasing tone mingled with one that said ‘How could you?’ as light as it should be for a small talk poking. You raised both of your eyebrows as a reply, smiling, “In my defense, you didn’t ask.”

“Hey, I think I did,” Isagi took a sip from his drink. His right cheek twitched. “I definitely did and you just answered vaguely.”

“Then, you probably asked just as vaguely,” you covered your grin with your hand, poorly playing up a faux misery to cover up your growing mirth, “after all, there is no way for a mere painter and illustrator like me to just brag in front of you, Ace Striker.”

“You are…” taking notice of your insistence, Isagi gave up with a sigh. Then, staring at his drink as if he was remembering that party, he continued, “Still that night…”

Hearing him trailing off, you too recalled the condemning comments you spat out that night. “I was… truthfully I just had some shame with that piece of mine. Pardon my manner,” you reasoned, truthfully unsure of how much of it was true.

“Ah, no, I don’t mean it like that, I mean!” Isagi hurriedly added, “I mean, yeah, that happened, but if I know it was your painting…”

Isagi seemed to hesitate to continue his words. You did wonder on what he wanted to say, but letting an awkwardness rise when the both of you still clearly wanted to sit in this spot would be in poor taste. Brushing it off with a wave, you attempted to finish the topic at hand with a good note. “As they say, what happened, happened. So, putting all those aside,” you turned your face fully towards Isagi, starting the conversation from the top once again. “What brings you here?”

If Isagi did notice the shift in conversation, he certainly didn’t bother to mask it. His eyes stayed on you for a moment, but after a brief, nearly unnoticeable moment of silence, Isagi replied to you as he took off his cap, putting it down on the table, “I, well, taking a drink, I guess? I’m supposed to meet up with a friend but…”

As your company furrowed his eyebrows despite holding his smile, you scoffed amiably, leaning your cheek on your palm. “Did they cancel out of the blue?” you asked, out of experience,

“Yeah, his girlfriend and something about an urgent matter,” Isagi said in a way that told you whoever this friend was, it wasn’t exactly a surprising thing for that person to pull. You attempted to cover up your pity at that. Isagi, with hair slightly disheveled by his cap, returned the same question back to you. The forced smile etched on his lips visibly softened as he asked, “How about you, though?”

You took one deep breath as you thought up a response. Answering honestly would just bring the two of you back to the very topic you attempted to run away from–your drawing. But, with a sketchbook being opened in broad daylight like this in front of you, lying would be plain stupid.

You held back a groan. Your headache was probably caused by a rotting mind rather than whatever you thought it was before. This conversation had turned into a devil’s loop.

However, still taking proper manners and such into account, you lightly tapped said sketchbook, “As you can see, work, in a way. I need a change of scenery to try and get new ideas. But, as of now… you could say I’m taking a little break.”

It certainly put so many things mildly, but that answer should do. The last thing you wanted to do would be to express your frustration once again and repeat that night with the same person. Therefore, calling ‘this’ a ‘break’ would suffice.

“Ah, I see,” Isagi’s eyes moved to your sketches. Then, they moved between you and those scribbles a more few times, before with a somewhat timid kind of curiosity, Isagi hummed, “Uh, you don’t have to but… mind if I take a look? At those drawings?”

How you wished you could snap that thing shut and run away.

“Sure,” you pushed it towards him. You hoped your hands didn’t shake. Keeping up your demeanor, you added in a joking manner, “But they are still very messy though–” they are a mess “–I hope you won’t mind.”

“I definitely won’t!” Isagi responded with a grin that carried with it a mysterious confidence. He sounded even more sure than you were. As he flipped the book back to its first page, you immediately bit your tongue. You reminded yourself to appear friendly. “I found some of your work online and I really like them!”

A light flutter touched you upon hearing his praise. It did sound genuine, even if you probably would have thought otherwise. Though, probably, if you looked at your older artworks, you could say that it was made with your whole heart at the very least. Unlike most things you had put out recently.

Idly tracing the pencil you had laid down, you replied, “I’m glad you like them.”

You managed to stop yourself from saying more, somehow, despite the bitter words already hanging at the exit of your mouth. Pushing those words aside, you eventually decided to continue to follow the lines on the pencil’s body once again, feeling the familiar and artificial smoothness on it.

“Woah,” Isagi gaped quietly, turning the pages slowly. You took notice that it was pages of still life studies you did. Just from the number of details on them alone, it was apparent they had been made some long time ago–before the overwhelming weight that made the task of simply opening your sketchbook unpleasant came into your days. There was no way you could muster enough will to put in that much effort.

You stared at those sketches deeply, wondering if you enjoyed making them then. Under your own breath, you murmured, ”Those stuffs, eh…”

“You really are amazing…” Isagi praises easily as he continues to flip through the pages, mouth agape slightly as if your drawings truly were masterpieces. “You are so good.”

Truthfully, the more praise you heard, the more you wondered how you should react. Donning on faux gratitude and humor felt wrong. It truly did lighten your heart to hear it. Hearing that someone spared even a second to appreciate something you make has always been nice. But, even so–

Those drawings were from a time when drawing was easy and filled with love. The you who had walked past that time and looked back at it with nothing but envy had no right to accept those praises. In a way, perhaps you never did deserve those praises.

Many people deserve that title of a ‘pro’ more. They who draw better than you could ever hope to be, they who love drawing much more deeply than you.

You, who dared to say you were in love with your craft once before falling silent this soon–

You have no right to accept those words.

Your fingers drew to a pause, you put a second of consideration before deciding to put that pencil back into your back. “You praise me too much,” you replied, thankful for his kind words nonetheless. However, still unwilling to dwell too much on your drawing, you tried to shift the focus towards Isagi once again, “Also, I’m a bit curious, but do you mind if I ask something?”

“Hm?” Isagi’s head lifted up slightly, removing his attention from your sketchbook for a moment. “Sure, I think. What is it?”

“I thought soccer practice is an everyday thing for pros like you. Are you on break?” you asked casually.

“You could say that,” Isagi said, “two weeks off for a bit before we go back to the usual.”

“I see…” you noted down. Then, the memory of a video you watched a few days ago came to the surface of your mind for the second time. It was a video you played to fill the background silence at your studio, however the cheers of crowds and the close-ups of Isagi Yoichi’s face were played enough times to have an impression of their own. “Still, seeing how hotblooded and passionate you are on the field, I would have thought you would be practicing alone instead of drinking coffee…”

“Wha–” Isagi, unexpectedly, spluttered at your sudden statement.

You blinked. Your hand flew to cover your mouth the moment you realized what you just muttered out loud, “Oh my–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude–”

“No, no! It’s fine!” Isagi shook both of his hands quickly. The two of you truly were lucky that no one paid attention to your interactions or it would be embarrassing–you noted, your face turning as if you just sucked on something sour. “I mean, I usually kind of do? It’s just, a break is necessary sometimes, you know–those stuffs. And really, it just surprised me for you to say that out of the blue so…aha ha ha…”

As the blue-haired male laughed bashfully, you couldn’t help but to follow it with a hesitant guffaw of your own. Letting the sudden jolt between the two of you dissipate, you soon added, “I truly do mean it as praise, though. Even someone who doesn’t know anything about soccer like me couldn’t help but admire you when you play.”

While you were very much aware of how you worded it out like mere flattery, you truly did mean every bit of your word. Even through a screen, watching a play of something that felt worlds away from yours, seeing someone putting on such a wide victorious grin and focused gaze was a ‘something’. Three days ago, seeing that replay in the silence of your own room, sitting right in front of a blank canvas, it truly was a sight.

“Your dedication and such… I will call you a talented genius, but it was definitely more than that…” you vividly remembered how his eyes shone within those footages. Even outside of the field, the glint that stole your breath that day still held itself across his blue eyes that were right in front of you. “...you are a sight to behold, Isagi Yoichi.”

Isagi’s mouth hung open. Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck as it morphed into a bright smile–boyish, bashful, yet full of pride that you had come to associate with him after watching that match. And, you supposed, after watching the proof of his hard work, he truly deserved to feel that pride.

“Thanks,” Isagi said, saying your name quietly in gratitude. His eyes escaped towards your sketchbook for a moment, “I think I could say the same about you too, though, you know.”

You blinked. “...Huh?”

“That painting that night and all these sketches,” Isagi continued to flip through the sketchbook, finally arriving on the messiest page of all, yet still looking at it as if it was worthy of something beyond a series of unfinished scribbles and less, “I’m no expert at paintings and drawings too, but I could feel how much of your heart and seriousness you put in it.”

“... is… that so…?” you did not expect to hear such praise. Was it a praise?

Was trying to put your all enough when it amounted to nothing eventually?

When it turned out to be meaningless and–

“Your drawings–” Isagi faced towards you, leaning forward slightly as his eyes crescented, a genuine and sincere glimmer still carrying itself in them, “–I really like them!”

For once, you stilled as you listened to Isagi Yoichi’s compliment.

It was simple and, undoubtedly, very subjective. There was no praise on how he understood it nor on how he thought everything came together. You wondered if this was because you hadn’t heard or tried to seek any opinion of your drawings for a while. Or perhaps it was because you drowned every single one of them with your own comparison and sentiments. You couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. However, you knew that it stilled you because–

It was simply an ‘I like them’. 

For once, however, you couldn’t feel any disgust towards yourself or your drawings coming up. Your brain couldn’t come up with any reason or anything–it stayed silent, as you could only nod and utter out a quiet acceptance. When push comes to shove, who were you to discredit a feeling of ‘liking’?

“...thank you, Isagi,” you nod, looking away back to the window across you with a smile you knew was too shaky and big, feeling lightheaded and flustered, “I’m glad you like them.”

The cafe was bustling and Isagi had returned to your drawings, smiling even as he replied to you with a relaxed manner, “Same to you!”

Yet again, you found yourself unable to reply to that. Letting the conversation died there somehow felt right, oddly enough. Your shoulder relaxed as you took a deep breath once more. In the back of your mind, the grating weight was still there and you knew it would come back much sooner than you hoped it to be. But, for that moment, it was enough.

Sitting next to Isagi Yoichi–whose fervor had gained your respect–who praised you with such sincerity, it was enough for you to think that at that very moment–

It is okay for you to draw, despite everything.

Isagi turned to the next page as you stayed silent, finding yourself only being able to stare blankly at the air between the two of you. “Ah,” Isagi came to a pair of blank pages, clean and unblemished by anything. 

“It seems you reached the end, Isagi,” you lightly said, offering a hand to take back the book.

“Yeah,” Isagi closed it and took it to your hand with a satisfied look, “thanks! It was great!”

“...you really praise me too much,” you repeated once more, this time acknowledging how it felt lighter to say it. “However, thank you. I’m glad you like those studies and idea roughs.”

“...studies…? …roughs?” a pair of blue eyes looked at you in confusion, the owner clearly blurting those words out of question and unfamiliarity.

You couldn’t help but to laugh at that, “The drawings you have seen. They are studies and roughs. An observation drawn on paper and… a messy note of ideas in drawing form, I suppose.”

“Oh–I see, I think I got it!” Isagi said, brightly in understanding, before then shifting slightly in his seat and taking a sip from his drink. “I never heard of those terms before–or maybe I just forgot it after high school, haha…”

You chuckled in sympathy. “It’s okay. I barely remember any rules of soccer either. I do know you can’t use your hand unless you are a goalkeeper, but other than that, I don’t think I even know what offside is.”

With faces turned towards each other, you could clearly see Isagi’s eye crinkling in humor. It was a good look on him, you noted. The lines of laughter on someone’s face always have their own charm visually, you know after all these years, however, it truly suits his face.

“Then, should I tell you?” Isagi offered, quiet rhetorically as he didn’t miss a bit to continue, “So, basically it’s–”

VRRRRT–

Which he would if it wasn’t for the sudden sound of vibration coming from his pocket. Both you and Isagi glanced down. Isagi made an apologetic face that was jumbled along with a grimace and a subtle irritation, earning a nod and an amused smile from you.

Another deja vu. It seemed like that this meeting would end soon too, you thought silently, vacantly looking at the empty pages in your hand. It didn’t feel good. The empty pang where you knew excitement should thrum was still very much there. It still felt like a hole that was simply there to make you suffer.

But, for once, it didn’t feel as terrible as it usually was–you noted. Perhaps, you could fill those pages with something ‘likable’ soon enough.

“Hey, yeah. It’s me. What is it, man?” Isagi picked up the phone with a tone much more casual than the one he used with you. A bit rougher and clearly more impolite too, you realized. “Huh? What–suddenly? Dude. Come on you just dipped out on me–you can’t just–”

You looked away as Isagi seemed to get exasperated not long into the phone call. Remembering your empty cup of coffee, you wondered if you should order another drink or perhaps move on, either back home or somewhere for dinner. You would definitely have to turn back to your work, though, either way. Your teeth felt like biting your tongue ever so slightly at that reminder, though you probably should indeed go home.

However, before that, you did feel like you had to do something beforehand.

Peering over at the phone Isagi’s hand, you wondered how should you go over it.

“Um,” Isagi called out your name, breaking your trance, wearing a description of ‘feeling bad’ on the scrunch of his face, “I’m sorry but that friend of mine…uh, he kinda turns back with his girlfriend and needs me, so…”

“Take it easy, it’s okay,” you hummed in understanding. Isagi wore an obvious guilt on his face still, however, so you added, “Really. While I do pity that I won’t get an explanation from Master Ace Striker himself, I was grateful for our chat. Thank you for humoring me.”

He chuckled at that, “Come on, no need to be that formal. I enjoyed it all too–oh. Wait.”

As Isagi cut himself short, quickly clicking through his phone, you let him be for a moment. You took the chance to put your sketchbook in your bag and scanned over the table for any of your belongings left. From the corner of your eye, you saw a quirk placing itself on Isagi’s lips.

“But, since we already looked each other up,” relaxed and friendly he offered his phone to you, unlocked and displaying the contact screen, Isagi did what you felt like you should do in your stead. “Mind exchanging our number so I can explain about ‘offsides’ and other rules to you through text?”

You were very glad your head had cooled down, or it would be terrible. Is Isagi the friendly oblivious type who doesn’t realize this sort of thing could be translated as flirting? Or it is? Or perhaps, you were simply getting too many things over your head after a few praises.

“Sure, I was about to ask you for the same thing,” you took his offer gladly, admitting your prior intent easily. Accepting his phone, you punched your number in and quickly returned it. “I will look forward to that offside explanation and the other kinds of stuff too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Explain some art stuff to me too later, ‘kay?” 

“Oh. An exchange of information? How transactional.”

“I don’t mean it like that! But… yeah?”

The two of you emitted a simultaneous small laugh, for some reason. Quieting the tickle in your mouth, you shook your head, “I’m joking. I will look forward to another talk with you. It was insightful.”

Isagi’s lips turned into a shape that spelled out amusement in its equal crooked and wry curve. However, just right before he was about to open his mouth, his smile slipped along with the resounding vibration from the device in his hand. Isagi let his mouth hang open for a moment, before finally grimacing, “...well, I should go.”

Never taking your eyes off him as Isagi stepped off his stool, you nodded. “You should. I will be off soon too. Be careful and good evening, Isagi.”

“Then… good evening to you too,” Isagi said as he took backward steps towards the exit, confident and controlled enough as if he could see what was behind him clearly, “I’ll see you around.”

You raised a little wave that was more of a jest than anything, bidding him a farewell, “See you.”

And with that, Isagi turned around swiftly, a slight bounce pushing his first step forward as he went for the door. You were about to take your eyes off him right as he stopped in his rush all of a sudden, turning towards you once again.

“Oh, also–” Isagi said, a bit louder and ignorant to a few glances thrown his way, “–good luck with the idea hunting. Don’t push yourself too hard, ‘kay?”

prev. ; series masterlist. ; next

a.n.: and the second chapter is done!!! it definitely took longer than i thought, haha. maybe i should publish the outtakes for giggles hoho;;; but things are finally moving and looking up. and as a disclaimer, i want to remind you that everyone's burnout is different & this fic will never be the perfect portrayal of those experiences. but, if you are in a slump or a burnout, i wish you a good time soon :3 thank you for @doobea for beta reading this too ;;; this thing wouldn't end up being as coherent as it is without u ily;;;; all in all, i hope you enjoyed this chapter :> please do look forward to the next one, i will look forward to any kinds of feedback & thoughts u may have hehe <3 once again, thank you for reading!

taglist: @doobea @mariyumemi @intheewrld @lazysublimeengineer @coquettemaiden @kreishin @yoisami @takotakigum @themigrainegirll **bolded and italicized means i cannot tag you. please do contact me in case you want to be added or taken out of the taglist :>

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part Eight)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Smut, Age-Gap, Daddy Issues

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Later in the evening, you arrived at Cillian's and Danielle's holiday house in Cork with your parents. You all sat down, grieving, while Danielle opened a bottle of wine, offering it to everyone. You sat down with the group, sipping the smooth, dark red liquid as it slid down your throat. Conversation flowed easily, topics shifting from the funeral earlier that day to lighter subjects like movies and travel. But inevitably and unbeknownst to everyone else, your thoughts kept returning to the intimate moments you shared with Cillian.

Your mother, Sarah, seemed focused on the work messages that popped up on her phone, her attention drawn to the task at hand. Danielle, too, was lost in conversation with your stepfather Frank who appeared to be rather annoyed by his brother's wife's continuous antics. The air between them was dense and yet, the room hummed with conversation while a sense of unease hung in the air, subtle enough to go unnoticed by most, yet ever present to those who cared to notice.

Cillian often smiled at you in a way that was hardly appropriate, giving you a knowing look. It was as if he wanted you to know that you would always belong to him, regardless of whether it was behind closed doors or not. This thought brought a flush of both pride and embarrassment, causing you to look away, pretending to engage in conversation with the others.

Danielle glanced around the room occasionally, her eyes searching for something she couldn't quite grasp. She was oblivious to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, unaware of the bond between Cillian and you. And yet, she knew that something was up. Her husband was cheating again, and she needed to know who with.

There was no doubt about it now, but she didn't have concrete evidence, nor would she have expected you to be the one he was with.

The connection between you and Cillian was so subtle that nobody but you would recognize it and you even went as far as to pick up the phone and text him while he was sitting right across from you.

The rest of the company in the room did not suspect anything amiss; they only observed that you were slightly preoccupied.

"This suit you are wearing looks divine," you wrote to Cillian while looking around nervously, trying to divert any suspicion. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment before taking a sip of his wine.

After a second or two, he typed up a response while ensuring that Danielle did not notice what he was doing.

"So is your dress and the fact that I know that you are not wearing any underwear beneath it now makes it even more appealing," came the reply which ultimately made you blush.

You looked around the room once more, satisfied that nobody noticed your exchange with Cillian before texting him again.

Feeling a bit anxious while texting, you stole another glance at Cillian, observing the play of emotion across his face – desire mixed with calculation. It made you realize just how much power he held over you. He understood exactly what buttons to push to get you where he wanted you.

"Will I get to spend some more time with you after everyone goes to sleep?" you texted back, suppressing a smile as you waited for his answer.

Cillian's thumbs flew over his phone, conveying his agreement in mere seconds.

"Absolutely. I will sneak into your bedroom after my wife has fallen asleep," Cillian wrote back, grinning ferally.

You felt a thrill course through your body at the thought of being alone with him again and of having him inside you while his very own wife was asleep next door.

"And what will you do to me after you sneak into my bedroom?" you flirtatiously teased, letting the excitement show clearly in your eyes.

Cillian grinned broadly when he read your message.

"First, I will lick that cum from earlier out of your pussy," he replied suggestively, running his tongue seductively along his bottom lip and your skin prickled with awareness as the image of him doing that to you.

"And then, I will put my cock back inside you and fuck you till you can't walk straight tomorrow," Cillian continued to text, making your stomach somersault with anticipation.

You gasped enthusiastically, already wet and excited just thinking about his words just as your mother Sarah spoke up, telling you to get of your phone.

You quickly turned off your cellphone and nodded at your mom as she handed you a glass of wine. As soon as you got the chance, you picked up your mobile again, typing another steamy message to Cillian.

"Are you serious?! Are you really going to come into my room tonight??!" You pressed send and immediately looked around the room to make sure none of the adults could see what you were doing. However, there was still a part of you that craved the risky element of potentially getting caught.

Without missing a beat, Cillian answered your question.

"Yes, baby. I will slip into your room, undetected, and ravish you for hours." He let out a low laugh, watching as you squirmed in your seat. His smirk said it all - that he had you hooked, completely under his control. No matter how wrong it might seem, you found yourself desiring him even more than you had before.

"You are on your phone again," your mother suddenly pointed out before apologising to everyone else in the room. "Y/N is seeing someone I think," Sarah then mentioned casually in her drunken kind of state.

You winced slightly, realizing that your cover may be blown and began to blush.

"Mum, please," you pleaded while Cillian put away his phone and smiled.

"Oh yeah?" he asked teasingly, causing you to cringe. "Who is the lucky guy?" he wanted to know while everyone watched intently.

Feeling cornered, you hesitated briefly before deciding to play it cool. "Just someone from school," you stated nonchalantly, trying to maintain your composure despite your racing heart.

"She won't tell us, but that's okay," your mother told the others, laughing lightly.

"Yes, because it is nothing serious," you told your mother while Cillian furrowed his eyebrows. 

"You know what? I should introduce to the son of our new neighbors one day. His name is Max and he is rather good looking. He is 22 and studies law at Trinity," Danielle then suggested, catching everybody's attention including yours. "What do you mean by 'rather good looking', Danielle?" Sarah queried, intrigued.

"Well, he's tall, athletic, with lovely green eyes...the type that would make anybody stop and take a second look," Danielle elaborated further, painting a vivid picture in everyone's minds except yours.

"Maybe we could set something up?" Sarah offered jokingly, showing interest in playing matchmaker for you just as Cillian jumped in.

"I don't think he is that good looking Danielle. Despite, he is a little arrogant, wouldn't you say?" Cillian remarked, raising his brow at Danielle as he took a drink of his wine.

"He seems charming enough, Cillian," Danielle commented casually while Cillian shook his head.

"I am sure Y/N can do better than Max O'Connor," Cillian told his wife, sending a wink your way and you realized that there may have been a hint of jealousy in this voice.

Cillian did not seem to like the idea of you potentially seeing anybody else besides him. Even if that wasn't necessarily true in reality, the situation provided fertile ground for drama and conflict.

Meanwhile, Danielle ignored the comment and carried on changing the topic to discuss various legal matters related to the death of their mutual aunt. All throughout these proceedings, your mind constantly drifted back to Cillian and your impending rendezvous.

As the hours passed, the party finally started breaking up, leaving everyone exhausted. Everyone retired to their respective rooms, signaling the end of social interactions for the night.

Soon after you retreated to your room, the house grew quiet save for occasional creaks coming from the floorboards. Your heart raced with anticipation as you slipped out of your clothes and put on a thin silk nightgown that hugged your curves seductively.

You then settled on the bed with a book and began to read to kill time, knowing full well that you weren't actually interested in reading. Instead, your gaze kept wandering to the clock ticking softly beside your bed. The silence within the room seemed deafening, amplifying every sound. It appeared as though time stood still as you anxiously awaited his arrival.

Finally, the moment arrived. Quiet footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you instinctively recognized those steps as belonging to Cillian. As he approached your room, his breathing quickened, betraying his mounting excitement.

With silent precision, he entered your room, shutting the door behind him without making a single noise. The sight of Cillian standing in the dim moonlight sent shivers down your spine, as he stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Kleins.

His skin glistened lightly with sweat, highlighting his slender but toned physique. Your breath hitched involuntarily, your heartbeat escalating rapidly. This man knew exactly how to ignite fire within you. Inhaling sharply, he moved closer towards your bed, his intent clear.

"Danielle is asleep, but we need to be quiet," he said after he reached the bed and, with a swift motion, Cillian pulled your nightgown over your head, exposing your naked form beneath him.

Desire coursed through your veins as he traced lazy circles along your chest with his fingers, eliciting tiny moans from your lips.

"I will try my best to be quiet for you, Cillian," you whispered, reaching up to run your hands through his hair affectionately. His touch left trails of electric sensations wherever they touched your skin. It was hard to believe this was happening right now, so close to everyone else in the house, yet feeling so incredibly private and forbidden.

"Good girl," Cillian murmured against your neck, giving it a gentle bite. You shivered at his teeth grazing your skin, the eroticism almost too much to bear.

"Now spread your legs wide for me and let me eat you out," Cillian instructed huskily, his mouth dangerously close to your earlobe. His hot breath against your sensitive flesh heightened your desire, urging you to comply instantly. You obeyed, spreading your thighs wide open, presenting yourself vulnerably for him.

The mattress dipped as Cillian lowered himself onto the bed, positioning himself perfectly to taste your sweet nectar as well as his own as, just a few hours earlier, he came inside your pussy. 

"Fuck, you are so wet and full of my cum," he exclaimed, appreciatively taking in the view as his fingers parted your labia. "I can't wait to taste you," he added with a grin, leaning in to press his face against your cleft.

Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly ran his tongue across your folds, savoring the tanginess that mixed with his flavor. Each pass made you feel wanton and depraved, wanting more of his skilled ministrations.

"Oh god, please," you moaned before covering your own mouth with both of your hands, trying to suppress the noises escaping you. The sounds emitting from deep within you confirmed his prowess and skill. But most importantly, the raw passion and lust filling the air intensified the experience, drawing both you and Cillian deeper into this illicit encounter.

"We taste fucking perfect together," Cillian groaned as his tongue entered your wetness once more, driving you wild with pleasure. He then suckled upon your clit, bringing you closer and closer to climax. Your body trembled violently, unable to contain its release any longer. With every thrust of his tongue, another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you utterly powerless against his expertise.

At long last, an earthshattering orgasm ripped through your entire being, nearly knocking you off the bed.

You tried to suppress your screams and moans, knowing that Cillian's wife was asleep next door, but it proved futile. The intensity of your climax coupled with Cillian's masterful manipulation pushed you beyond all reason. Your insatiable hunger for his touch consumed you entirely, transforming your senses and Cillian stopped quickly to cover your mouth with his hand.

"Ssshh, you need to be quiet," he cautioned tenderly, kissing your forehead delicately before pulling away, recomposing himself. However, his gaze remained hungry and predatory, making your heart race even faster.

"I am sorry. I will try harder," you reassured him while Cillian slowly positioned himself between your legs.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly, running his thumb over your smooth skin. Your nipples hardened under his touch, aching for more contact.

"Now spread your legs a bit more for me and let me fuck that sweet little pussy of yours full of cum," Cillian commanded, his tone dark and demanding. Without hesitation, you obeyed his command, opening your legs wider to grant him better access.

"No, wait..." you began to say as Cillian positioned himself and guided his erection toward your entrance, teasing the tip around your wet entrance until you were both desperate for penetration.

"You need to pull out before you cum. I left my pill at home, so I didn't take any tonight. It should be fine, but just in case, you should not cum inside me again tonight," you warned him and Cillian nodded reluctantly before, inch by agonizing inch, he pressed forward, allowing only the smallest portion of his cock to enter you initially. Your muscles squeezed tightly around him, welcoming him inside your warmth.

"I will just have to cum in your mouth then when I am done fucking you," Cillian growled possessively, claiming ownership over your body. He proceeded to start thrusting into you, starting with shallow movements that built into harder ones as he got lost in the rhythm. Your moans and gasps filled the space, creating a symphony of pleasure that reverberated between the two of you.

Each powerful stroke brought him deeper inside you, causing both of you to lose control, surrendering completely to the primal nature of your connection.

"You feel absolutely amazing. So warm and tight. And I love how greedy you are," Cillian praised as he continued thrusting into you with forceful strokes. Your body trembled underneath him, your walls contracting repeatedly around his member.

He held your head firmly, pinning you to the bed as he spoke harshly, "you are mine to fuck, just mine!"

 His words stung like a whip, reminding you both of whose body you belonged to during this tryst.

"I am yours to fuck, Cillian!" you cried out, losing yourself completely in the act. Caught up in the heat of the moment, neither of you could hold back anymore.

"I am close," you told him fiercely, pressing your lips to his neck as your eyes closed, feeling his strength flow through you.

Cillian responded with fervor, speeding up his pace dramatically, rocking your world with each plunge of his length inside you.

"Yes! That's it! Good girl! Take my cock!" Cillian commanded, sealing his lips around yours with a fierce, dominating kiss that left you both craving more. His large hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you in place while he continued thrusting into you with such force that you found yourself unable to speak coherently. All thought processes ceased as the pure physical sensation took complete control over your mind and body. Every movement he made felt electrically charged, sending shock waves throughout your system.

As Cillian pounded into you with increased vigor, the bed shifted beneath your weight, hitting the wall multiple times until, finally, you came, hard and fast.

As the euphoria hit you, time seemed to stand still - and then everything rushed back in one tumultuous torrent of sensation. Forcing your way past your limit, you met Cillian's gaze with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. The look he gave you, however, suggested something different altogether – he wanted to make you cry out for him. With one final forceful push, he claimed victory over your body. You screamed, the sound muffling slightly against his palm.

Still, there was enough noise to alert someone nearby and, as soon as you had peaked, Cillian struggled to contain himself any longer.

Without warning, he pulled out and released his seed all over your belly button, watching intently as the sticky substance dripped downwards on to the sheets.

"Fuck you look so hot, covered in my cum," he growled, tracing his finger along the path it took before collecting some of it and bringing it up to your mouth.  Reluctantly, you opened your lips, allowing him to feed you his essence. As you swallowed, the bitter yet enticing liquid combined with the salty residue of arousal and sweat sent shivers racing through your veins. This marked a turning point between you two, blurring lines and reinforcing the bond of deceit that would consume you.

"That's good, isn't it?" he asked softly, his voice laced with both admiration and tenderness.

"So good, although I wish you could stay and sleep here, with me, tonight," you exclaimed, longing his closeness as, slowly and unbeknownst to him, you were developing feelings for him.

"You know that is not an option," he said dismissively, not looking directly at you as he got up. "I am married, remember? And if this wasn't bad enough already, my wife is asleep right next door," Cillian quipped lightly, avoiding direct eye contact with you, feeling guilty towards you as well as her.

"I know. It still would be nice to share another night like the one in the hotel," you admitted sheepishly, glancing sideways at him with a wry smile with was a suggestion to which Cillian agreed.

"I think that could be arranged when we are back in Dublin after this trip," he replied, smiling slightly. 

Your cheeks flushed red with excitement, hoping that day would come sooner rather than later.

Cillian reached down to the floor, reaching for his briefs and putting them back on. His eyes were lingering fondly on your face for a brief moment before he was walking towards the bed again and kissed you goodnight.

He turned off the lamp near the bedside table and exited the room quietly, shutting the door behind him with deliberate care. Leaving you alone, wrapped in his aftermath, savoring the memories of what just transpired between you two, the thrilling sensual interlude continuously playing on loop in your mind.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, especially Danielle, who slept oblivious in the adjacent room, you allowed these thoughts to become a constant companion, driving you wild in ways you never imagined possible as, slowly, but surely, you were falling in love with a much older married man, and you knew that this was a disaster to happen.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

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[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 7

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 13.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Mentions of a funeral, shitty parents/family, coping with shitty family, SO much fluff and flirting. A slightly sexy moment with someone unexpected. Summary: Javi has a gift for you on the morning of your crowning, and an idea for an even greater gift that night. But of course, an otherwise beautiful day has to be spoiled by your demanding family. Notes: The sisterhood between Daisy, Maisie, and Gabriela is everything to me 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6

"Your majesty." Javi nearly sighs as someone else calls for his attention as he walks to the office. No wonder his father was sometimes abrupt when walking around the palace. He has felt like he was being pulled in several different directions, everyone offering their heartfelt condolences on losing the king. He turns to see one of the staff rushing towards him, an apologetic expression on her face.

"A message, your Majesty." The young palace page has a card on a silver tray that she holds out to the king, trembling nerves written on her face for having to actually speak directly to the new monarch. It is early in the morning and when he was the prince, King Javier did not have a reputation for being a morning person whatsoever. The only solace is that it is your brother's already familiar handwriting on the face of the card.

"Thank you, Constanza." He takes the note and flips it open to read it, smiling slightly at the strong, sharp writing and even more at the meaning of the words. The woman is still waiting, hovering at his elbow and obviously ready to take his answer back to the personal assistant to the Princess. "Sí." He nods. "Tell him yes. I will."

"Yes, your Majesty." She is off again like a shot, ready to convey the simple but seemingly all-important message, and barely manages to not collide with the king's personal assistant as he comes around a corner from the hallway. Julius has spent his morning running back and forth to make sure the king's needs will be taken care of this morning and is finally ready to report that things are on track appropriately. There had been a misunderstanding with the setup for the crowning that simply would not do. "Your Majesty," he manages to get the king's attention easily and moves toward him with purpose. "All is well. Everything will be ready in less than an hour, just as needed."

Javi nods, "We have the film crew discreetly placed?" He had only allowed the royal film crew to be present at the actual crowning in the gardens, his need for tightened security growing after news of the king's murder. The video would be streamed to all the public stations to broadcast to the country and world.

"They have been stationed where they will have three good angles, but not intrude on the ceremony in any way," Julius assures him. It will not be the grand, over-the-top event that some crownings have been, but the morning ceremony followed by an intimate reception in the garden will give the members of court a chance to meet their new Crowned Princess properly. Last night's state funeral was not an appropriate moment for such introductions.

"Good." He sighs softly, the weight of his father's funeral still bearing down on him, although it had been a beautiful state ceremony. Most of the country had turned out to pay their respects.

"For your lapel, sire." In his hand, Julius has a boutonniere just like the ones he had pinned to the previous king's formalwear many dozens of times over. The choice to have the country's national flower feature prominently in the decorations for the event today was a wise one and the small pink and white flowers of the almond tree will look beautiful against the king's black suit jacket. "And try to remember to breathe."

“I can’t make many promises.” Javi admits with a short laugh. “I have never been so worried about things going wrong in my entire life.”

"There is very little that is within your immediate control today, sire." His assistant advises him, fastening the flowers to the lapel of his suit carefully. "The princess has far more to be concerned about in terms of ceremony. As long as you can place the tiara on her head and bow, you will be just fine. The words to be spoken will be said by the archbishop and you will merely repeat them."

He knows that. It’s more that he’s nervous for you. Holding you extra close this morning and kissing you tenderly before having to let you go get ready for the moment you will become the Crowned Princess of Mallorca. “I wish for the Princess to enchant our people the way she has enchanted me.”

"I do not doubt it for a moment." Most of the palace staff is already enamored with the American princess, and those that are not are mostly stubborn about you being American or else they are loyal to the Count of Ibiza. "But for your own sanity, I have moved your meeting with the ministers to tomorrow morning." Taking his job very seriously is part of what Julius does best, and he had noted that the Senator and his wife are amongst the listed guests for the event today so he had sought to provide some small solace for the king. An afternoon with fewer commitments is no small feat.

“You are wonderful.” Javi groans quietly. “I understand our evening meal will include the Senator and his wife as well?” You had pouted slightly about that, but he had told you that if you didn’t wish to have dinner with your father, there were many ways to cancel that.

"They did arrive in time for the ceremony this morning, sí. And will therefore be present for photographs this afternoon and at dinner tonight." With the flowers pinned perfectly in place, Julius fusses momentarily with the placement of the king's pocket square before stepping back in satisfaction. "The Senator is reportedly quite pleased with his accommodation, and in a particularly good mood." This was, of course, according to Sebastian. Who would know his own father's mood better than most.

“Good.” At least the trip is starting off on the right foot. “Please make sure that the Senator is well attended to.”

"Of course, your Majesty." Julius nods, having planned on doing so anyway. "I believe..." he clears his throat quietly. "If one wished to see the princess privately before the ceremony, one might find her in the greenhouse."

“Thank you, Julius.” Javi bites his lip for a mere moment before he is turning and striding towards the doors that would take him to you. Eager to see you and calm any last moment jitters, yours and his own.

******

Pacing the greenhouse was the very best place you could think of to get away. Sebastian and Flores had been an expert team at keeping your father, stepmother, and sister busy all morning after breakfast and you had deflected by closing yourself in your suite with the dressmaker who carefully buttoned and fastened you into your ceremony dress. She assured you the myriad of fastenings would make sure the lines of the cream-colored lace tea dress stayed true in all the photography that would be necessary today, you had simply nodded your consent and stood still until she was finished. Now, as time for the ceremony rapidly approaches, you nervously pace through the fruit trees and beautiful blossoms of the palace greenhouse wishing that Javi was near.

Javi strides towards the little greenhouse, the purpose of the stone cottage changing over the years to where now it was more of a little tea house. His mother had changed it during her time as queen. He sees movement in the glass and wonders if you are pacing nervously. Walking up to the door and knocking since you were not expecting him.

The sound makes you jump, heartbeat pounding in your throat as you wonder if you’ve been caught by some member of the court — or press — or worse, if your father found you. But through the trees you see curly hair and broad shoulders at the greenhouse door and you sigh audibly. “Javi.” It doesn’t matter that no one can hear you, seeing him is a balm over your anxious soul and you move across the open room quickly to unlock the door and let him in.

"Margarita." You are stunning. The tea length dress is formal, but not too formal. The daytime coronation is one that the ladies on your staff and his own advisors thought should be less formal than some of the other monarchies' pomp and circumstance. "You look....stunning."

“Do you like it?” The dress had been agonized over, and though you love it, you are relieved to see that he does too. You are even more relieved to see him, though, and instantly sink into his embrace while being careful not to muss his suit. “You look like a dream, querido.”

"I love it, amor." He assures you with a soft smile when he pulls away. "You look like a princess, my princess."

As jittery with nerves as you are, breathing him in centers you in a way that you can’t describe. “I want to make you proud today,” you murmur, smiling reflexively when his own beaming expression washes over you. “The rest…the cameras, the guests…everyone watching? As long as you’re proud of me I know it will all be fine.”

"I am already proud of you, margarita." He promises, reaching up carefully to caress your cheek without smudging your carefully done makeup. "You were my rock yesterday when we had my father's funeral. You have been my safe harbor in the storm since your arrival."

“Thank you for letting me stand by you.” As deeply as you already feel for each other, he still might have easily decided that he wanted to stand alone at these events or that love did not immediately equate to trust — and you could not have blamed him for thinking either of those things. As it is, you’re grateful that he embraced you as a partner immediately. “And you did wonderfully yesterday.” The funeral was dignified, with a beautiful service and many meaningful tributes. Javi had stood tall for everything, always stalwart despite the crushing sadness of losing his father.

"I want to celebrate with you tonight." He's been spending a lot of time thinking about love and grief and the next steps he wishes to take. He cannot let his entire life be ruled by his job, or the loss of his father. His need to let his desires grow has been something he wants to discuss with you.

“What did you have in mind?” Thinking of something relatively simple like dessert on the balcony or taking a drive to the cliffs, you are ready to agree without hesitation.

"I—" He takes a deep breath, knowing that even if you are not ready, you will not chastise him or think badly. "I want to make love to you tonight." He admits quietly. "Celebrate that we are alive."

“I—” The lump in your throat is not nerves now but the touching sweetness of the man in front of you, and you feel the soft smile on your face blossom easily. “Mi amor, if you are ready, I am ready. I promise you.”

"I'm ready." He squeezes your waist. "If– there's no use in wondering what might have been." He decides after a moment. "We can only focus on what our future will be."

“Our future will be what we make it.” You wish you could kiss him now, but the makeup artist that came in to complete your look this morning was exacting. “Come to my room tonight like you always do, querido. We will let things happen naturally.”

"I love you." He murmurs quietly. "You are the queen I have chosen." It's important for you to know that he chooses you. That he will choose you every day.

“And I love you.” With his forehead pressed to yours, a wave of calm washes over you and allows you to smile widely. “More than I ever thought possible.”

"Then we will make sure that our people know that we share a deep love." He vows softly.

“I think that all they will need is to see how we look at each other,” you observe with quiet amusement. “My brother said that we looked like a fairy tale when he saw us before breakfast yesterday.”

"I think your brother is paid to find the positive in everything." Javi jokes. "Especially from the stories he was telling me about working with your father."

“He is an excellent person to have around when you need cheering up.” You can attest to that completely. “But he also knows me. And he knows how happy I am with you.”

"We had a talk yesterday afternoon." Javi tells you, not sure if Seb had. "It was very good."

“He didn’t mention it.” He must have decided that it was personal, or that you didn’t need your head full of extra things rattling around with the funeral that day. “But I’m glad you’re getting along.”

"It's standard practice for anyone who is coming to work on the staff to have a meeting with the king." He explains.

“I can take some of those meetings on for you after we’re married,” you offer immediately, knowing that he has more than enough to keep him busy. “To lighten your load a little.”

"I appreciate that, but I enjoyed meeting with him." He admits. "Especially since you so obviously adore him."

“He’s the second best guy in the world and whatever girl finally gets him to settle down is going to be the second luckiest woman in the world.” Second, of course, because you count yourself luckiest for having Javi.

Javi smiles, obviously getting the point behind your comment. "I will endeavor to make sure that your feelings about that never change." He promises, taking your hand and kissing the back of it gently.

“I don’t think you’ll have to work very hard.” The warmth in your cheeks that flashes through your whole body is proof enough of that, and you smile again. “How much time do we have?”

"Twenty minutes." Javi glances at the small, elegant clock that is sitting on the table. "Are you ready, my love?"

“As ready as I think I will ever be.” The crowds have been assembling in the rose garden for a half hour already, and you exhale deeply to steady yourself. “But you’ll be there with me, so I will be just fine.”

"Right beside you." He will already be wearing his own crown, but he smiles at the thought of sharing this momentous occasion with you. "I'll never let you do this alone."

“We will be each others’ rocks.” While you know that you came here to be his, it fills you with a sense of warmth and rightness to know that he wants to be yours.

"I have something for you." He gives you a small smile as he pulls a square of fabric from his pocket. "My mother–she adored the idea of you being my queen." That was an understatement, since it was because of her insistence that the contract was struck between her college friend and the crown. "She had these made for you. I–they were in father's things."

“What a—?” Your confusion dies when he presses the soft squares of linen into your hand, and you can not only see but feel what they are. Beautifully stitched with scalloped edging and subtle colors, the pastel handkerchiefs were obviously made by hand and lovingly attended to. The cream colored square has a butterfly stitched into the fabric, the mist blue has the outline of a dove, the dusty pink has the beautiful form of a stitched roses in the corner, and the golden yellow handkerchief has your initials in a monogram that includes the prominent letter ‘G’ for Gutierrez. While you immediately decide to carry the cream handkerchief today, you hold the yellow one up for Javi to inspect. “I’m going to save this one for our wedding,” you tell him with a waiver of awe in your voice. “Your mamá was planning ahead.”

"She was a woman who enjoyed planning." Javi admits with a smile. He's proud that you seem to love the handkerchief, even more so that you would carry one on your wedding day to him. It will be like having a piece of his mother there.

“The more I learn about her, the more I see how remarkable she was. Our mothers were alike in that way.”

"It is too bad that we could not have met them." He murmurs quietly. "I would have loved to see them together."

“If we are lucky maybe we will have two daughters just like them.” The smile you flash at him is broad and genuine, and you cup his cheek with one hand. “Or one little girl with both of their names, even.”

"I think that would be a good tribute to them." Javi hums dreamily, smiling at the thought of such a future. "A continuation of their legacy."

“It will be something to think about in the future.” Your thumb graces his cheek, smoothing over his warm skin. “And I am so glad to be able to plan my future with you.”

"Have they contacted Seb about the investigation?" He doesn't know if your brother would bother you with it today, but he's curious.

“Yes.” It is a lot to handle and to be coordinated, but you don’t want to put it off. It’s far too important. “I’m meeting with the investigators tomorrow after breakfast.”

Nodding seriously, Javi sighs. "I wish I could be there with you, but it would be best if we talk to the investigators separately. So it doesn't seem like we are conspiring."

“We would probably be best not to speak of it at all in private,” you admit, even though you know it will be hard. But being able to honestly say that there has been no discussion whatsoever is essential.

"You are probably right." Javi admits, squeezing your hand and sighing. "We will be cleared quickly and then we can talk."

“We’ll be just fine.” The best either of you has right now is the hope that this will all be over quickly and that the culprit will be caught. And you’re going to hang onto it like a lifeline.

“I know we will.” Of that Javier is certain, it wasn’t him, and he knows it wasn’t you.

“Chin up, mi amor.” It is becoming abundantly obvious that resisting him is not something you are good at, and you nudge your nose against his to keep yourself from kissing him and smudging your makeup. “Today, at least, will be happy.”

“Yes it will.” He hums softly. “You will be wonderful.”

“I hope so.” Glancing past him and out the windows, you can see Sebastian and Julius walking toward the greenhouse together and you sigh. “I think we are about to be summoned, mi amor.”

“The ceremony won’t be long and then the reception will be for you. A social engagement.” He smiles and nudges your nose with his. “Cocktails allowed.”

"And I will nurse those one or two cocktails longer than any other drink in my life." Being very well aware of your own tolerance, and having approved the menu for the day yourself, you know that you're not eating heavily at this event so you shouldn't drink heavily either. But then...as a royal? You'll never be drinking heavily where you can be observed ever again.

“Absolutely.” As a new king, he completely understands why you would have that outlook. “And I will be with you, and after..” he smiles. “We can have another few cocktails while we relax in our private rooms.”

"We've developed quite the routine," you hum, the softness and affection in your eyes completely obvious, thinking of those nights with Javi out on your balcony. "I like it."

“I’ve enjoyed it as well, but I was thinking…” he leans in right as there’s a discreet knock on the door. “We could use that tub tonight.”

Your eyes widen to an almost comical degree at the suggestion, and your mouth is nearly unhinged when Julius and Sebastian step into the greenhouse looking dapper and official. "Forgive the intrusion, your Majesty, but it is almost time to— your Highness, is everything alright?" Julius looks concerned immediately but Sebastian is doing very well to hide a smirk behind the older man.

“Everything is perfect, Julius.” Javi assures his assistant. “The princess was just surprised by a suggestion I had.”

I'll bet she was, Sebastian thinks as loud as humanly possible as he hands you the soft lace gloves that you will wear during the ceremony and reception today. "Flores is already standing by with pins so the tiara can be secured to your hair after the ceremony is over." He promises you.

"Thank you, Seb." Possibly the most difficult part of this whole thing is not the oath you will take or the ceremony itself, but the fact that you will have to balance that priceless tiara on your head for a full twenty minutes without it being secured in any way. Thank goodness your father was one of those people who still insisted on you learning good posture with a book on your head.

Javi smiles at the obvious affection between the two siblings in front of him. He had always wished for a sibling to share secrets and experiences with. It might be one reason why he had tolerated Lucas's presence.

“We should get the two of you into place,” Julius urges, although he has to admit that he is loath to let you at times like this. You had obviously been having an intimate moment.

“Of course.” Javi nods and squeezes your hand encouragingly. “Today we crown a Princess, one that will be beloved by her people and the world.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” You tease, even though your cheeks are warm from affection and bashful from the compliment. Squeezing Javi’s hand one more time, you put your gloves on and nod to the three men around you. “Alright. It’s showtime.”

Javi lets you walk out of the little greenhouse ahead of him, nodding to Sebastian and Julius before he follows you out into the gardens where music will be piped in through hidden speakers.

The staff had outdone themselves. The traditional gardens, with neat manicured bushes and flowering plants, look radiant with the changes they had made for the ceremony. Flowers had been trucked in from local florists. Red, yellow, blue, and white blooms, all the colors of the flag, arrange in pots that mark the path towards the center. A recreation of the flag in flowers is displayed on the raised bed, the perfect backdrop for photos when you are crowned. Even though it is daylight, the lights that are strung in the bushes, providing a festive celebration of the crown. Javi beams in pride as he walks behind you.

The string quartet that has been brought from the Royal College of Fine Arts is set in a portion of the garden and mic'd, their stunning rendition of the national anthem playing through the speakers that have been hidden amongst the bushes and decor. The rose garden looks stunning, and in the center of all are about a hundred and fifty guests surrounding the platform where the Archbishop of Palma stands beside a beautifully ornate antique Savonarola chair that you recognize from the photographs of Javi’s mother’s crowning. The Throne of the Princess of Mallorca may technically be small but its symbolism is enormous.

Javier knows how intimidating this can seem, having undergone his own coronation when he was of age in a traditional ceremony. He had been so scared he almost threw up.

The carefully curated path through the rose garden has been scattered with petals and every step you take brings perfume to the air. With Javi walking at your side – his hand holding yours up in front of the both of you and wearing a splendid suit with you in a white dress – it feels like a very deliberate rehearsal for the wedding that will follow in a few months' time. There is nothing accidental about the choice to put you in white, of course. It is the color of hope for the people of these islands, worn by kings and queens past as beacons of the future. Guides through dark times. Here, it is not brides who wear white to symbolize their purity, but leaders who wear white to symbolize their good intentions. It was why you wore that white day dress for your arrival to the country, if you are completely honest with yourself. And now, it is why you wear white before the eyes of the entire nation. To promise them that you have every intention of giving them hope, and that you have nothing but good intentions for their future.

Javier stands next to the archbishop and turns to face you, his own crown set on his head before he had walked out into the garden. Looking every bit a strong and confident king like his father had hoped for.

The longest part of this ceremony will be the archbishop’s speech. He begins with words of welcome as Javi moves slowly, gracefully, in a circle as you practiced and stops beside your throne to sit you down comfortably. Between guests and staff there are over two hundred people watching your every move in person and hundreds of thousands if not millions more on television — the sensation of needing to be sick is definitely one that Javi has warned you about but it’s stronger now than you ever thought possible.

Javier's heart pounds, both because he is nervous for you and because he's sad that his father didn't get to witness this. He knows the king would have approved of the elegance in your movements, looking like you have settled on this throne a thousand times before. His steps take him to stand beside you and he wishes he could hold your hand right now, but he cannot.

It will not be a full service of any kind, thankfully. Otherwise this ceremony would take place in one of the nation’s many churches. But the archbishop begins speaking immediately in his all-important tone, preaching to the assembled crowd and cameras as well as to you about duty, responsibility, and the importance of hope. Javi reminds himself that he’s not a child, he cannot look around in boredom. Or stare at you as the other two hundred people are doing. You are beautiful, regal. You are the Princess and future queen that his people deserve and today is the beginning of that legacy.

The guests assembled in the garden are inspecting you. You know they are. But that is part of what you are here for — to be seen and judged by the very people that you are wearing to serve. The thought had terrified you right until the second Javi stepped up to the small dais beside you, coming right back to your side. He makes the chaos of the world quiet around you. The strength of his broad frame at your side makes you feel invincible and the fact that he believes you can do this makes all the difference in the world.

The ceremony is beautiful, the words spoken by the archbishop ring out clear and true. Making Javi nod when he speaks of duty to the people. Listening to the words with a clarity and care he had never had before.

When the archbishop steps back from your other side where he had been giving his advice and instruction, he is also making room for Javi to come forward. The king, already wearing his crown, will be the one to take the selected tiara from its cushion and set it on your head. If this ceremony had happened even one week ago it would have been his father to elevate you in this way, but you will not let the moment be melancholy. This is, the way it is happening now, a monumental occasion. Javi is choosing you this morning — for himself and for his country — and you are grateful for it.

Javi lifts the tiara, holding it in his hand for a moment as he looks you in the eye. A small, subtle wink is flashed at you as he lifts the crown up to place on your head with dignity.

It has the perfect effect: making the smile on your face broad and sweet when the heavy bejeweled tiara is set into your carefully styled hair. The first moment of your life as a Crowned Princess is smiling up at the man you love, ready to take your place at his side. The flash of cameras is everywhere but you hardly notice, straightening your back and raising your head up to your full height on the small throne that is now your own. You look almost angelic, making Javier know that this moment will be the one that he wants made for you. Hoping that the sculptor will capture it. He knows it will be a moment he wants to cherish forever.

What is supposed to be a solemn moment of accepting one’s duty changes very quickly, and you swear you hear the applause begin very nearby but it crashes over the assembled guests like a great ocean wave. Instinct should always be trusted though — because when you glance to your left, Maisie is smirking in a very self-satisfied way from her seat in the front row.

"Your Royal Highness." Javier smiles at you, watching as you execute a perfect curtsey to him and he gives you a formal bow in return. Then he can take your hand and press a kiss to the back of it.

“Your Majesty.” It is not customary for you to give a speech, thank goodness, because right now you’re sure you would faint or stumble or forget every word. Instead you accept the larger leatherbound volume that is being offered to you by the Archbishop — a printing of the laws and rules of Balearica that symbolizes your agreement to uphold them with honor — and you begin the long walk back to the greenhouse where Flores is waiting with hair pins and hopefully encouragement. Javi will follow you. The only time in his reign as king that he will ever walk behind another member of the court.

Your dress is beautiful and you walk with such grace that Javier beams with pride. As soon as you are around the topiaries, he is rushing forward to take your hand. “You were perfect, margarita.”

“Really? I swear I was shaking the entire time.” As much as you want to dive forward into his arms, you only reach out to squeeze his hands and stand perfectly still as Flores attacks your hair with the fist full of pins necessary to secure the tiara. You will now wear one to each and every formal occasion thrown by the palace or royal family and it’s going to take some getting used to.

“You were beaming.” He promises. “Glowing with pride for your station.”

“I am proud.” You can promise him that, just like you can promise him that you love him. They are both deeply true, but the mood is light so you can afford to joke. “And I am also proud that I managed to walk back here without the tiara falling out of place.”

“You were as regal as any princess and queen that have come before you.” He assures you, guiding you into the greenhouse. It will be just a moment before you are needed back out in the gardens, but there was time built into the schedule for a moment to breathe.

Once inside, pins in place and away from the eyes of the court, you pull Javi to you without hesitation. He is what is grounding you today, nothing else. “Te amo.” Even whispered, the words ring clear and true, and you soften under his proud gaze.

“Te amo, mi amor.” Javi wants to kiss you, but he knows that your lipstick is going to transfer. “My queen.”

“Your Majesty.” The voice behind Javi belongs to Julius, but you can tell even without looking that he is smiling. “Your Royal Highness. Very well done. You will be expected at the reception momentarily.”

“Of course.” Even as he answers Julius, he is staring at you. “We will be right out.” He assures his man. “But for now, I need a moment alone with the Princess.”

“Of course, your Majesty.” It is oddly reassuring to see the young king so enraptured by his princess, and Julius blocks Sebastian from entering the greenhouse with a firm but kind hand on his arm. “Give them a moment,” he advises with a smile.

“I have to admit that I wish that we could skip the reception.” Javi admits, leaning in and kissing your cheek, his lips grazing your ear. “I think you should wear the tiara to bed tonight.”

“Javi!” With breathless disbelief in your voice, the shiver that rolls down your spine is delicious. “I promise to choose something very easy to remove when I change after the reception.” This dress will be moved into a special closet of items worn for ‘historic’ events and probably not be taken out again for quite some time.

For the first time since his father has passed, his gaze is more lecherous than loving and he smirks. “It’s good to be the king.”

“I think it’s probably good that I can’t kiss you right now,” you murmur, surprised but not at all upset to see this side of the man you’ve fallen for. “We might not stop.”

“It is a very good thing, mi corazón.” Javi chuckles, leaning in and kissing your cheek again, letting his lips linger. “Later.”

So this is the playboy prince, you think with a grin, reflecting for just a split second how easily his charm comes when he is not burdened with grief. You saw it the first day you were here and seeing it again now is just a confirmation. And you certainly can't fault any of the women who came before you for their good taste. "I think you might be a tease, mi amor. Let's see how long you keep whispering in my ear at this reception and perhaps you will prove me correct."

“I will whisper in your ear all night.” He promises with a wink as he steps back. He’s aware that he has an obligation, as do you. Indulgences can come later.

Apparently the biggest challenge of the day just became keeping a straight face while your fiancé murmurs – possibly dirty – sweet nothings in your ear, and that sounds like exactly the kind of challenge that you are up for. You let him wrap your hand around his arm to lead you back out to the party and arrange your face into something approaching serene instead of your honest expression of eager anticipation. You are very much looking forward to tonight already.

You are never a step away from him. Javi makes sure of it as you begin to make the rounds. This is your introduction and it is only right that it be by his side. His hand settles on the small of your back as he talks, introducing you to those you have not been acquainted with while constantly looking over at you in both awe and reassurance.

There are as many members of court as there seem to be stars in the night sky, and you really are doing your best. But by the time you are able to take a deep breath and have a sip of the drink that you have been carrying so as to politely avoid any attempts at shaking hands or other embraces, the warm cup of tea has turned cold. Thankfully you could not possibly care less, because Javi is still right by your side and the moment to breathe is well appreciated.

“Do you wish for a flute of champagne? “His question is soft, noticing that your tea has gone cold. You have been wonderfully approachable, holding conversations with everyone who wished to speak with you.

"I suppose it's appropriate." He's being very doting and sweet, and you have to admit that you're basically a puddle on his arm at this point. "Since we're celebrating."

“We will have our own celebration later.” Javi reminds you, leaning in to whisper enticingly. “Perhaps we should have a bottle sent to your room?”

“We could certainly do that.” When he puts the glass in your hands it takes all the strength you have in that moment not to react to the enticing spark of his fingers caressing yours. Even for such a small touch, it takes over your entire body. “Our private little treat?”

“With some strawberries.” He hums. “Strawberries enhance the flavor of champagne.”

You have to smirk to yourself a little, because he seems to be approaching the idea of tonight very romantically, but your filthy mind had already conjured up the image of Javi drinking that champagne off of you, not from a glass. “Whatever you wish, querido.”

He catches the small smirk and the physical portion of his attraction and love for you takes over, making him twitch in his pants. “I believe we should both be satisfied, my love.”

“And I have absolutely no doubt that we both will be.” There is heat in his eyes, and probably in yours too, but this would be a very improper time for that to be shown to anyone but each other. “I have a feeling we might be speeding through dinner tonight,” you hum, amused at the thought of it.

“I’m ravenous.” Javi hums. “But not for food.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Being only the vaguest of chastisement, it’s really more about the fact that Javi had a lot more practice keeping his poker face on at very important events than you do. You have never needed to not look horny in front of a few hundred people before. Looks like you’re going to learn.

He knows that it's not proper to tease you at your first formal function so he decides to dial it back a bit. Knowing that you will be meeting a lot of important people. "Only after a lifetime, my love."

******

There really has been no peace today, and through meetings and everything else the only thing that has kept your mind clear is looking forward to seeing Javi in private again. It’s the only thing keeping you sane while you sit in formation on a set of carefully arranged chairs in the conservatory of the palace with you father, stepmother, brother, and younger sister being photographed for innumerable royal press releases.

“You there.” Your father snaps his fingers at Julius. “Make sure my office gets copies of these.” He commands, eager to have his own press release again, to remind his constituents what he brings to the table during the election cycle coming up.

“Julius doesn’t take orders from anyone besides the king, Dad.” You murmur, keeping your polite smile plastered to your face and managing an apologetic expression in the direction of your fiancé’s assistant. It isn’t strictly true, since Julius frequently takes direction from you, but he certainly does not take it from your father. “I’ll have Seb send them to your office when they’re ready.” Even though your brother is right there a few feet away, you’re not about to turn and give him orders right now.

Frowning, there’s a disapproving sound from your father, but he doesn’t protest further, getting his way is all that matters. Giving a terse nod and then turning back towards the cameras.

"When do I get my tiara, Mommy?" Though she's smiling as she's been taught to do, your younger half-sister's voice is full of a pout.

"Princesses normally receive their first tiara when they are thirteen." Javier explains quietly, looking towards you and tilting his head in question at the girl's question. "That is our custom here."

“So next year!” Michelle bounces in place, her eyes turning to her mother expectantly. She knows she’ll be scolded for moving during photographs but she wants that tiara more than she wants to sit still. “Next year I get to be a princess too?”

Gently clearing his throat, Sebastian steps forward. Figuring that he would be the one to break the news to the half sister you share. "Unfortunately, that's not how princesses happen in this country, honey." He kneels down and pats her knee. "You either have to be born a princess or marry a prince, just like the movies."

Unfortunately for everyone present, the preteen’s reaction is instant. Her chin starts to wobble and water springs to her eyes, and she turns on the pout that makes her mother cave to every single whim. Very few people ever tell her no successfully. “But…” she looks down at Sebastian and back up at her mother. “We’re supposed to share.” It’s infuriating when Michelle plays the ‘little girl’ card because she’s actually quite clever. Being clever and spoiled has made her greedy and manipulative, though, and you can’t believe you didn’t anticipate this. Of course she’s whining about wanting all the attention you’ve gotten today. God forbid the middle child get anything nice. “Sharing is important, Michelle.” You give a subtle signal to the photographer to pause for a moment and turn toward your little sister. “But there’s more to being a princess than wearing a tiara. And I know you wouldn’t want to give up spending time with your friends and riding your horse to move across an ocean and become a princess just for the tiara.”

"But...." Her eyes narrow in calculation as she weighs the need for a pretty tiara against her passions. "I could bring my horse and my friends here and still get a tiara." She decides after a moment, working out the logistics in her mind in a typical, simplistic fastion of a pre-teen.

“That still isn’t quite how it works, Chelle.” You can feel Javi and Julius and everyone else in the room watching this exchange, but the only thing it does is to show how fundamentally ignored your situation was while growing up. Michelle has known for her entire life that one day you would leave the US and marry a prince. But still no one thought to explain it thoroughly. All she’s ever known is that one day everything of yours would be hers — so it makes perfect sense that she assumes that will include your title and new life.

“I hate this!” She literally stomps her foot and crosses her arms. “I want to be a princess!”

“I think that’s enough photographs for now.” Julius murmurs to the press, not wanting notebooks or recorders to come out.

Your father, sensing that this would be a bad look for the American family of the future queen, leans over and whispers in Michelle's ear for a moment. As if by magic, her face clears and she uncrosses her arms.

“Her Royal Highness and her father will be available for more photographs in the library in ten minutes.” Ushering the press from the room, Julius gives you a barely perceptible nod.

"Surely something can be done." Your stepmother offers Javi a politician's smile, just as concerned with optics as her husband, but her own daughter. "There must be some formal title for members of the family."

“That isn’t how it works.” With the press cleared from the room, you watch Julius shut the door behind himself before turning back to your stepmother and half-sister with as much patience as you can muster. “Dad’s title is Senator. Yours is Señora. Michelle is Señorita Michelle. That’s as formal as it gets unless you plan on becoming Balaerican citizens and earning a noble title through good work for the people of this country.” The fact that they barged in and started demanding special treatment like ugly Americans isn’t even what surprises you. What surprises you is that now they’re encouraging Michelle to do it, too.

"I think we are a little bit more than normal family." She tells you, keeping her polite smile as she cuts her eyes to her husband.

"Dear, I don't think that it is what we should be discussing right now." Your father decides that tact would be the better part of valor right now. "She is not married yet, she can only suggest change at this point. Wait until she is the queen. It will be far more useful then."

“Excuse me?” When the only people in the room besides your family are Javi and two footmen, you are much less self-conscious about raising your voice to your father than you might have been otherwise. The idea that you will be useful to them in any way is atrocious and you stand from the sofa immediately. “Please tell me that I misheard you just now.”

Your father frowns at you, surprised that you have any complaint about what he said. "What do you mean?" He demands. "What was there to mishear?"

“I am hoping that I didn’t just hear you say that you intend to abuse my position as queen for personal gain.” You aren’t stupid. There’s no way you think that this arrangement — your betrothal — wasn’t agreed to for the prestige. You aren’t blind enough to think your father hasn’t been drafting press releases and planning to work his way into something diplomatic by riding your coattails. But you honestly hadn’t gone so far as to think that they would expect you to perform political favors. So maybe you’re a little stupid after all. Or at least overly idealistic.

"Has my time in Washington taught you nothing?" He asks, shaking his head in disappointment. "It's about connections and I happen to have a connection to the throne." He scoffs. "I would be a fool to not expect to be able to speak to the movers and shakers here."

“Speak? Sure.” You can feel your eyes roll back so far in your head that they threaten to go a full three hundred and sixty degrees. “But you don’t get to waltz in and give orders to Javi’s staff and presume on noble titles just because we’re related. That isn’t how this works.”

While he senses that you are not going to be open to dialogue right now, your father decides that it is best to pull back on the conversation. "Of course not." He shakes his head. "It was tactless and presumptuous of them." He motions towards your stepmother and half-sister. "Excitement."

“Does that apology go for you, too?” Considering he was the one who started snapping at Julius like a misbehaving dog, your exasperation is very real at this point.

He tilts his head in contemplation as he wonders why you are pushing back against him. He opens his mouth to ask that question but instead offers a 'sincere' smile. "Of course it does, pumpkin." He offers. "I apologize. Thoughtless because of the jetlag."

That smile is practiced. It is perfectly executed and usually reserved for people he considers — privately — deeply beneath him. The fact that he’s using it on you is unsettling to say the least. “We have pictures to take in the library.” Is what you say instead, before turning to Javi and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I know you have a meeting, mi amor. I promise we will all behave ourselves until dinner.”

Javier can see the worry and upset in your eyes and he wishes to pull you away to talk to you. Right now is not the time and he makes a note to tell Julius to have Sebastian to check on you and let him know how you really are. "Of course, mi amor."

“I will see you for dinner.” A quick squeeze of his hand and you are turning back to your family with a serious expression fixed back on your face. “Sebby, I think our stepmother and sister would like to see the palace grounds before dinner, don’t you?”

"Would you like to see the royal stables?" He asks Michelle, knowing that will peak her interests. "I'm sure that we could arrange some riding while you are here."

When your bonafide horse girl little sister shrieks with joy at that suggestion, you know that at least things will be okay on that front. Your brother leads them away to change into riding gear and head down to the stables, and you nod to your father. “The library is this way.”

"It seems that our decision was good for you." He offers as he extends his arm for you to take. "The King seems to be very warm to your presence and you to him."

There is a moment of reluctance, of hesitation before you take your father’s arm, but eventually you decide to have less fuss and accept the gesture to walk along the hall. “It turns out that Javi and I have a lot in common.” Not because of the endless poking and prodding to make sure you watched the movies and read the books that the prince liked. Not because of that. But because of who you are fundamentally as people.

"Then we have done well." He hums, extremely pleased. A happy king is an accommodating one and he can see this as being very lucrative to his career. Perhaps he will become an Ambassador here. It would be fortuitous and sometimes ambassadors have more discretion to make policies than senators at times.

That isn’t necessarily how you would put it, since one of the things you have in common with Javi is demanding fathers who didn’t really take the time to get to know you. So for now you just hum and politely nod to the few people who stop to pay their respects to you in the hallway as you walk. “It could just as easily have gone badly,” you remind him quietly.

"Except that it hasn't." He doesn't like that you are focusing on the what could have beens instead of the what ares. You have a tendency to do that. He does like the measure of respect that you are being shown, and in turn, he is being shown.

“Through no measure of coercion, or play acting, or ulterior motives.” Up ahead, the door to the library is already open and the press are waiting inside. “I love him. It’s as simple as that.”

He's not quite sure how you have come to love a man you have only met a few days before but he pats your hand and gives you a beaming smile that is sure to be captured by the press. "I am glad. It's all I want for you."

It isn’t. You both know it isn’t. But it’s a lie that you are comfortable living with for the time being. Instead of instigating a conversation about anything of the sort, you hold your head high and glide into the library to the best of your ability.

If there is anything paternal about the man who has created you, it’s this moment that it shines. His smile turns almost genuine as he courts the press and makes a show of settling you into the chair Julius has set up for you. Photographs will be taken of you sitting in a lush rose-colored upholstered chair with deep wood tones to offset the damask fabric. Still in your tiara and crowning dress, you sit in front of your standing father with your ankles neatly together and his hand elegantly – so he says – held to his midsection. Perfectly posed, it's obvious that you have both taken countless photographs before. The difference is that this is the first time that your father has ever been the one in the secondary role.

Once the countless photos are taken, the Senator expects a few candid shots from the press and helps you up with the same manners as when you entered the room. Enjoying the way the staff and the journalists bow or curtsey, pretending it’s for him.

“I have a few things to do before dinner.” As soon as you’re out of the room and Julius has reappeared beside you, you carefully extract your hand from your father’s arm and smooth out your dress. “If you’d like to go down to the stables I’m sure Julius can arrange for a car,” you offer. It’s not even that you have things to do — it’s that you need some time to breathe.

“Of course.” He knows when he’s being dismissed and while he doesn’t like it, there’s not a whole lot he can do about it. “Looking forward to a family dinner together.” He promises.

"We'll meet you in the drawing room before dinner for an aperitif," you tell him, trying to sound nonchalant about a thing that you are actually not looking forward to at all. Standing around having a drink with your family sounds agonizing. "Seb knows the way. He'll go down with you."

"Well then...." It's quite a change of pace to be the one dismissed, to be left for others to have more important issues to attend to. Slightly disconcerting for him but your father nods and moves towards the doorway. "Perhaps a footman can show me to the stables?"

“I’m sure Rafael would be able to show you the way.” The nearest footman is one who has been assigned to see to your needs specifically so you don’t feel odd about asking him out of all of the other staff present. Still getting the bearing of things around the palace, you’re at least able to learn your own staff quickly.

“Of course.” Your father doesn’t even think to bow to you, just nods his head and turns to walk towards the footmen as they stand near the door.

The careful, pointed way that Julius clears his throat in your father's direction is about as polite and subtle as he can manage, but the palace staff all know what it means. No one moves, although they should step aside to open the door for your father right away. They would have – if only he had shown you the proper respect. And if only Julius hadn't quietly pointed it out.

Your father stops, realizing what is required of him and turns back around. “It’s hard to remember that my daughter, my little girl, requires a bow.” He jokes, even as he bristles at the faux pas. He offers a stiff, formal bow before he straightens back upright.

"I'll see you at dinner." It shouldn't be as satisfying as it is that he has to be formal with you, but after an entire lifetime of being bossed around it does make your shoulders feel a little more square and your chin tilt a little higher.

"This way, Senator." Rafael opens the door and waves your father through right away.

As soon as your father exits the library, your ladies in waiting file in, ready to accompany you.

“I’d like to change,” you murmur to Maisie and Gabriela as soon as they’re at your side, wanting to be anywhere but under the public eye at the moment. Things with your father feel weird – shaky in a way – and you don’t like that one bit.

“Of course.” Gabriela nods and immediately takes your arm. “Are you excited by having your family here? They all looked so proud during the coronation.”

“My family is complicated, as I’m sure you can understand.” The offer of her arm is a comfort, though, and you take it readily. “I’m glad their visit will only be a few days. It makes it easier to make sure they enjoy it.” And easier to make sure nothing goes wrong…

"Of course." She understands, more than anyone else, what it means to keep the peace. Even if it means sacrificing your own comfort for some time. In her case, it's all the time. Especially in the past year.

“Did you two enjoy the reception?” There was barely time to say hello to them afterward, with the number of acquaintances there were for you to make in your first hours as Crowned Princess, but you had seen them laughing and eating with friends in the garden.

"I—" Gabriela bites her lip. "It was very nice to socialize." She admits. "Thank you for selecting me again to be one of your ladies." Often Lucas would dominate the conversations or steer her away from most people. It was a nice change to be the more important of the two.

“I’m grateful you agreed.” You tell her honestly, before looking over at Maisie. “Both of you.”

"What else do we have to do?" Maisie teases as she leads the pair of you towards the door, nodding as the footman rushes to open it.

“There’s plenty to do these days.” With wedding and the joint coronation — when Javi is formally crowned king and you become queen — is the sole focus of your work these days.

"Only as your ladies-in-waiting." She chirps as the three of you march down the hall towards your suite.

“There should be something in the planning soon for each of you to enjoy.” As much as you know that they are here to help you, you also don’t want them to dread the time you spend together. There should be things to look forward to that aren’t about you at all.

Gabriela hums and leans in. "It will be very busy right up until your tour of the kingdom." She reminds you quietly. "You just need to decide who you would like to have accompany you on the tour, since it is technically your honeymoon." The jealousy that she had been expecting wasn't there, just worry about being left behind.

“Should that not be up to the two of you?” Honestly you’re not sure at all what the protocol is, so you’re really asking.

"As queen, it is your decision who accompanies you on the tour." Maisie reminds you, her eyes on Gabriela. Wondering if the Countess is trying to get out of going or throwing her hat in the ring.

“I have a feeling I’m going to miss the days when I could get out of making decisions,” you murmur good naturedly as the three of you turn into your suite. Privacy is such a luxury today that you sigh. “I would be delighted to have either of you come,” you tell both ladies. “But if one of you would rather not, for any reason, I fully respect that.”

There's a pause before Gabriela speaks again. "I–I understand that my presence might make your trip.....uncomfortable." She admits. It would be awkward to have the woman that Javi once wished to marry on the honeymoon with the new wife. "Perhaps it should be Maisie."

“If it would make you uncomfortable, that is one thing.” Alone with them, you turn and take both of Gabriela’s hands. “As far as I’m concerned, you are a very kind friend who is about to be family. If I had thought this would be uncomfortable for you or Javi, I would never have asked you to be my lady in waiting in the first place.”

It's almost embarrassing how she tears up. Biting her lip and trying to keep her chin from trembling. You have been so kind to her, despite you having every reason to despise her. Closing her eyes, she nods. "I–I would like to go. As your lady."

“Is that alright with you, Maisie?” You have a feeling that she might feel about it like you do — that getting Gabriela away from regular life for a little bit will be a good thing. That giving her something new in life, and showing her actual appreciation? It’s more than just a little necessary.

“I think that it will be perfect.” Maisie agrees quickly. “Gabriela is a much better historian than I.”

"But I want you both to come to Monaco." There will be no ifs, ands, or buts about it. These are the two closest friends you have in the world besides your brother, and Seb will be there right alongside the three of you. "Before the wedding."

"Of course." Maisie agrees, shooting a grin at you before she starts to walk towards your closet. "We wouldn't miss it. What outfit would you like to wear?" She asks as she disappears into the closet.

“It’s a formal dinner, but something…less fussy would be good.” All you can think is that it’s going to be the thing that Javi takes off of you tonight, and you follow Maisie in with a slightly lopsided smile.

"Something.....playful." Maisie decides, looking back at you. "After the extremely formal events, I find it quite refreshing to wear something fun. Perhaps one of your own outfits you brought?"

“There is a burgundy dress in here somewhere…” You start looking around, trying to figure out where some of your American dresses were hung. “High collar, sleeveless, and ankle length. But it flows beautifully.” And the neckline is also tied up with a string at the base of your throat, something you feel positively tingly thinking about Javi untying.

"Burgundy is a strong color to wear." She muses, moving over to the section of the closet where your clothes have been neatly arranged as Gabriela comes in to sit down on the small settee. "So have you and Javi....you know, yet?" Maisie asks, her head stuck in the closet, pushing clothes out of the way.

“Maisie!” If she had asked the question five seconds ago instead of right when Gabriela walked up beside you, you would be far less embarrassed. Now you feel like your face is on fire. “No! N-no—I mean—his father just died!”

"You should." The former love interest of the now king smiles. Sitting down beside you and patting your hand. "Javier is physical, he needs touch." She bites her lip, knowing that it was very improper of her to talk about those things, but there is an openness between you. "He is honestly the best lover I've ever had. I know he will please you."

“It’s not—I mean—we’ve slept together,” you clarify, feeling awkward yourself after promising up and down that having Gabriela here isn’t awkward at all. You just don’t want to hurt her with how fucking deeply in love with Javi you’ve fallen so fast. “But actually sleeping.”

"That sounds romantic." It's bittersweet, a pang that she doesn't have that with Javi, would never have it again, but it was a star crossed love. It could never be real. "I hope that it has brought you closer together."

“It has.” It was unexpected, the way things have progressed, but not in any way unwelcome. In fact, you welcome tonight with open arms.

She smiles, truly happy that her former love has found happiness. it was all she had ever wished for him, even if she has not found it herself. "Then you should not waste a moment, an opportunity to make sure that he knows how you feel."

“We…” Looking between both women, you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “We…talked about…tonight…”

"Ohhhhh." Maisie's smirk grows wide and even Gabriela grins. "Now we need to talk lingerie." She decides and the other woman pulls you to your feet to drag you over towards the built- in drawers.

“I—I don’t own any lingerie,” you protest immediately, though they seem to be sure of where to take you. “Just regular things…not showy things.”

Gabriela bites her lip, aware that it would be too improper to offer you some of her own. Especially considering the circumstances. "I have some." Maisie offers with a grin. "And we will have the modesite come to measure you for some custom pieces."

“Is that…a normal thing to do?” Partially you mean to ask if it would be normal for a clothier to make lingerie specifically for a princess, but you’re also asking about relationships in general. You may have had boyfriends before — and done plenty of messing around with them — but the reality of still technically being a virgin is beginning to weigh on you as you think about tonight. The last thing you want to do is disappoint Javi.

If the question catches either woman off guard, they don’t show it. “Sometimes. It’s something fun and sexy. Especially under formal dresses.” Maisie answers with a grin.

“I take it it’s something your husband enjoys?” Since Maisie has only ever spoken well of her husband, you’re willing to bet those small, sexy surprises are a positive thing for them. A happy thing.

“A present he gets to unwrap.” She assures you with a naughty smirk. “I wear something sexy when I want attention, or to surprise him. Or just to feel pretty.”

"I've never..." Wrapping your arms around your waist, you debate telling them. Your whole truth is such an odd one and you don't know at all how they would react to it, so you swallow the thought for now and try again. "I've never been with someone long enough...to, you know...surprise them like that."

“Oh.” Maisie glances over at Gabriela and nods. “Nothing to worry about.” She promises you. “But it means virginal might drive Javi insane.”

"Is it..." They apparently knew exactly what you meant, and you feel yourself getting a little more self-conscious in the moment. "Something that...he likes? I guess I was always under the impression that men...preferred experience? Not that I'm inexperienced of course, it's just...it's that specific..." Nerves make you ramble, but you catch yourself and swallow a groan before dropping your face into your hands. "May I be honest with both of you? Or would you prefer I keep this to myself?"

“Please, share anything you wish.” Gabriela reaches out for your hand to pull it away from your face. “We are here for you and I wish to repay your kindness, your friendship, any way I can.

"The thing is..." With a sigh, you sit back on the pouf set in amongst the shelves and racks in your closet and look up at the two women who have agreed to help you through this transition. To be your friends. Arranged friends just like your arranged marriage. "I've known that I was going to marry Javi since I was young. Practically my entire life. Our mothers...it was all arranged by our parents, and I wasn't really allowed to have serious boyfriends growing up because I knew I was going to marry this faraway prince. So it's not that I'm completely inexperienced, but...this?" You curl your arms around yourself and shrug helplessly. "I have very literally been waiting for him my whole life. And it's just starting to hit me that the waiting is completely over."

“Oh, Daisy,” Gabriela softens even more and reaches for your other hand while Maisie holds the other. “I know you have to be excited, nervous. If Javier knows, he will be very considerate, even more than he always is.” She smiles. “I cannot think of a more perfect man to experience intimacy with for the first time.”

“He knows.” You nod once, squeezing Gabriela’s hand. “But he…he didn’t know about me until just before I arrived. I need you to know that, Gabriela. My parents prepared me for this for my entire life, but Javi had no idea that everything had already been arranged.” It makes it rather sweet, how quickly you have fallen for each other, but it’s important that Gabriela know that Javi had never lied to her. That he hadn’t kept this large secret while he was with her.

“I had been told.” Gabriela reveals quietly. “By King Miguel when he told me that he was rejecting Javier’s request to propose to me.” She squeezes your hand back. “The king ordered me to not tell his son. That it would be told to him at the proper time, but he wanted me to know that he was not denying him because he thought I would not be a good Princess, a good wife, for Javier. He and his wife had just decided on someone else long ago.”

“Please know that I truly do love him.” It is desperately important to you in this moment that you are honest with her, hoping to be able to put some of this awkward worry between you to rest. To be able to move forward as true friends. “I never expected it to happen so quickly, but it has been undeniable.”

“That is all I would hope for.” The former flame of the king assures you quickly. “You do not wish to be in a loveless marriage.”

Unfortunately, the implication is all too clear, and you pull yourself off the pouf to envelope her in a tight hug. “You are a kind soul, Gabriela,” you murmur after a moment. “And I hope you know I am grateful for your friendship.”

"As I am for yours." You have no clue how grateful she is. How indebted she is to you for the kindness and sensitivity you have shown, when she could not have expected it with anyone else. Especially since you seem to not care for her husband. Something else the two of you share.

“And yours, dear Maisie.” She cannot be left out of this for a single moment, especially as she has been your true and constant ally since almost the moment you met.

"We will all be one big, happy sisterhood." Maisie insists. "Now. Do you want to come to my room or should I run to go get those things for you to see and try on?"

“Do you have anything that would match the dress?” Gabriela prompts, finding herself on slightly surer footing now. With you, at least, she feels a bit freer.

"I have some black things that would go nicely, but there is...." She snaps her fingers. "I have a pale pink set that would go beautifully under the maroon dress. It's innocent and sexy all at the same time." She smirks. "Even better? I've never worn it for my husband."

“And you wouldn’t mind?” Sharing lingerie is very much a new experience for you, and you chew your lip with nerves. “I’ll replace it for you, I promise.”

"No, I insist, it's a gift." She winks at you playfully. "My contribution to the happiness of the monarchy." She holds up a finger. "Give me two minutes and I'll be right back with them."

“I’m nervous,” you admit with a sigh as Maisie goes bounding from the room. You only thing you can think to do is focus on dressing and you turn to the wall of shoes in your closet.

"Did–" Gabriela pauses delicately. "Is there anything I can share with you?" She asks softly. "Or questions to be answered?" While she's sure you know the mechanics of sex, it would be hard to be an adult in this age and not, maybe there are some questions that having a woman who is experienced would be able to be answered for you. She can't imagine you are terribly close with your stepmother.

“I’m inclined to ask if there is anything Javi particularly dislikes, but that might be too invasive of a question.” You bury your face in your hands again and sigh. “Please don’t feel the need to answer that. I’m just thinking out loud.”

“I know this is awkward.” Gabriela laughs quietly, embarrassed herself but she’s not going to let it stop her from making sure that you know what you need to. “Javi is a very giving lover, so he neglects things he wants.” She admits. “He loves being kissed and touched. Showing that you want him.”

“That…” A nervous giggle escapes you. “Will not be a problem. I can promise that entirely.”

She bites her lip and decides to be more bold. “There is something you can do, it’s – it is with your tongue.” She huffs, unable to come up with the words and takes your hand. “Let me show you.” She decides and pops your index finger in her mouth.

“Gabri—” Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you feel the swirl of her tongue, a wondrously uninhibited feeling for a person such as yourself who tries to maintain control of herself at all times. “I—” You stammer again, swallowing thickly. “I–I see why that would have been difficult for you to describe…”

"Yes it would have." Gabriela giggles in embarrassment as she pulls your finger out of her mouth and immediately produces a handkerchief to start cleaning your finger off.

“I will…bear that in mind.” It will surely give away that you have talked with Gabriela about him, but you aren’t so sure that that is a bad thing. After all, is she not the one who knows him best?

"You don't have to use it, I am sure that Javier wants you just as you are." She assures you. "Your closeness and your...." she searches for the word. "Groove together will come naturally."

“I don’t think anyone has ever implied I had a groove before.” You can’t help but giggle about it a little, feeling a little more relaxed for it. The wall of shoes in front of you is what should be holding your attention before you run out of time to appear out together, so you loop your arm through Gabriela’s and turn both of you toward the collection. “I’m very glad you’re here, Gabriela.”

"I am glad I am here too." She tells you, meaning every word of it. "What about the silver stilettos?" She asks, tilting her head as she looks at them. "Or, we can wait to see what color pink the lingerie is and see if we can match it. An homage to what is underneath the dress."

“For the first time it seems practical to have multiple pairs of pink shoes,” you joke, lending her a smile. “But if none of them match, the silver will be lovely.”

"I've got them!" Maisie crows as she sails back into the dressing room with a bag. "I thought this would be more discreet." She admits, holding it up for them to see.

“Yes. Much.” The bag is marked with the logo of a posh spa in the city that you had read about before. Anyone curious enough to look would assume that Maisie was bringing you lotion or some equally innocuous bath products.

"Strip down." She orders you with a grin. "We have to get you all sexed up tonight!"

“Absolutely the first time in my life anyone has said that to me.” With a burning face, you nab the bag from Maisie’s hand and duck behind the nearby dressing screen to change.

"Let me know if you need a hand!" She calls out, sitting down behind Gabriela. "How are you, honey?" She asks her quietly, knowing that she might have reservations about everything that she doesn't want to express to you.

“Okay.” She forces herself to smile, folding her hands in her lap as they sit together on the overly large pouf. “Better than you might think. It is…” She sighs softly. “It is a relief to know that he is loved.”

"You are a fantastic woman, Gabriela." She murmured softly, reaching out and covering her hands with her own. "A true lady."

“I hope so,” she whispers back, grateful for the quiet moment. There are so many things which have turned out so differently than she expected. If she has retained even an ounce of her own kindness, she will be relieved.

"I know so." Maisie, squeezes her hands again and then leans in. "If you ever need anything, I hope you know you can trust me." She offers. "I feel as if we will be wonderful friends going forward."

“Thank you,” Gabriel murmurs, breathing out a shaky breath as you step out from behind the dressing screen.

"Ohhhhhh." Maisie turns to you, immediately giggling. "You are going to knock the king on his ass tonight when he gets a load of this outfit on you. You look stunning."

“We seem to be the same size.” The pieces underneath your dress fit perfectly, which you admit is a bit surprising but right now you’re grateful for it. “Do you really—is it—do I look okay? Really?”

"What do you think?" Gabriela stands and guides you over to the mirror to let you look at yourself. "You look gorgeous. Sexy."

“I feel…outside myself,” you admit quietly. The dress is beautiful. It always has been. But knowing what is on underneath it makes you feel like you have the slyest secret of your life. “I just hope he likes it.”

"He will love it." That she can assure you. "Now, we can choose your shoes and change your makeup to something a little less sweet and more sexy."

The makeover is so quick that it feels like a movie montage, and in a mere half hour you’re restyled to be ready for dinner — and for Javi tonight.

******

Javi is nervous. He knows that you don’t have experience and he wants to make this good for you. “Julius, have a bottle of champagne and a platter of strawberries put in the princess’s room tonight after dinner please.”

“Of course, sir.” Julius doesn’t make a habit of asking questions, but it is a romantic gesture and the king seems nervous this evening as they wrap up his work before dinner time. “Is there anything else you will need tonight?”

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “No one is to disturb the Princess and I once dinner is over unless war breaks out or the palace is on fire.” He declares. Everything else could wait for morning.

“Shall I post an extra guard?” Though he isn’t entirely sure what the king has planned, Julius can certainly ensure security if necessary.

“No, no extra guards.” The last thing he wants is for you to be embarrassed if someone hears something. “No guards by the doors. Have them at the end of the hall.”

“As your Majesty wishes.” He does find that to be a bit of a clue and smiles.

He knows the man isn’t stupid, he understands and Javi waves his hand. “Anything I’m missing?” He asks him seriously. “Candles? Flowers?”

“Do you know her favorite flower?” Julius asks, wondering if it is the sort of thing to have come up in conversation yet. If not, Flores will know. “That is always a nice touch.”

“Daisies.” He smiles softly. “She loves daisies.”

“I will have some arrangements sent to her suite while you are at dinner,” he promises. “Perhaps with roses for embellishment?”

“Perfect.” Javier smiles as he imagines your reaction. “And the candles. Just candlelight.”

“Yes. I will see to it now.” Julius slides from the room with a bow, off to collect the first footman he finds to begin preparations for the king’s evening. Paperwork can wait. The palace — even part of it — will have happiness again tonight.

Javier finishes up the last of the signatures needed and stands, sighing slightly. Hoping that your parents will behave better than they had before, hating that you had seemed so upset. He straightens his suit coat before he begins to walk towards the dining room.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

TKQ: @storiesofthefandomlovers @mimimarvelingmarvel @patti7dc

My Masterlist!

[the-awful-dread-that-leaves]

yknow what? get foggyskied. here's a short fic

Inspired by @dcartcorner 's art post (sorry for the link being weird. mobile layout meet me in the pit)

Enjoy Sky Blue

Simon Fairchild pays a visit to an old acquaintance. The reunion is remarkably one-sided.

The skies above Moorland House were grey and foggy.

Of course they were foggy, Simon thought - how terribly thematically appropriate for a plot of land belonging to the Lukas family. A dry chuckle came forth from between his lips.

He wasn't here for the house, though.

After quite a while spent wandering the frankly delightfully expansive territory, Simon finally found the object of his attention - the family burial grounds, and on it, a gravestone with letters engraved on it, reading “Forgotten”.

Well, all of them were like that - but this one was fresh. Not even quite dusty enough to fade the writing yet. Simon figured that this was the one he needed.

It hasn't been very long since it happened. Maybe two or three days - difficult to measure time with a lifespan this prolonged. He wasn't at the funeral, of course - such events were a family affair, and he recognised quite well that he was anything but. Besides, he doubted that the deceased would like him barging into his reprieve of solitude again.

Still, he couldn't help but pay a visit.

“Hello, Peter.” He said with a smile and sat down on the ground next to the lonely grave, leaning his cane on the side of the gravestone. “Long time no see, hm? Admit it, you missed me.” The old man laughed and pulled something out from his pocket. A seashell. A small, grey-and-white spiral seashell that looked so remarkably out of place among the faded flowers lying in the dirt.

“Here's a little souvenir, courtesy of the Falling Titan. Thought you'd like it - I know you had a fondness for the seas.”

He chuckled softly. “I know, I know.. if I gave it to you personally, you'd probably grumble at me like you always do - Simon, you'd say, Simon, get out of my bloody mansion and stop bringing me everything you find lying on the ground - but I know you'd keep it somewhere. Like the painting, and the ship in the bottle.. oh, ‘scuse me! You know how sentimental I tend to get.”

Simon leaned back, propped up against nothing in particular - the man had a truly perplexing habit of treating thin air like furniture. “Still. To the point - what was the point? Oh, of course!” Turning his gaze towards the sky, he continued. “Nice weather we're having. Very quiet. Shame you can't see it - although your quiet’s probably stronger than that. No clue.”

“Don't think I'm gonna mourn you, my good captain. I'm not one for clinging onto memories - besides, I know you'd like to be forgotten. I'm not quite going senile just yet.” Simon let out a quiet cackle, then looked into the pale clouds with a bit of a wistful expression. “Still, I've got to admit that I may miss you for a while. Gets a bit lonely for an old man like me, not having anyone to complain to about Jonah’s endless machinations or Reyner’s latest conquest- ah, wait. Lonely.”

He chuckled again. “Just how you like it.”

Simon was distracted from his reminiscence by an onset of pale mist, pooling around the old stones. He let out a sigh and, with grace uncharacteristic for a man his age, jumped onto his feet.

“Well! Won't bother you any further, my good captain. I know you want to be left alone - besides, it sounds like someone might be coming by.”

He put on his hat with a quick, swooping motion. “Cheers, then! And wherever you are, Peter - I hope there's a blue sky somewhere, and nobody to watch it except you.”

Light on his feet as always, Simon walked off. The graveyard was quiet again, and the skies were grey and foggy.

Nothing beside remains.

[sunfyresrider]

Future King & Queen

Summary: An imagine all about Jacaerys being your loving husband to be.

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader warning: smut and fluff word count: 2031

-Growing up you and Jace were always closer than most children your age. You were both on the same day of the year. It was destined you became close. You bonded over the feeling of not belonging within your own families. The curly brown hair you loved was what caused him to stand out from the rest. You were simply more Hightower than Targaryen in personality. You cheered him up when the whispers of others sought to tear him down. In return he comforted you and swore one day your own egg would hatch. You and him were both Targaryens no matter what anyone said.

-You spent far more time together than appropriate. He showered you in childish affections that you received from no one else. Of course those around you took notice and more whispers began spiraling. They watched you hold hands in the courtyard. They observed you playing in the gardens and giggling amongst yourselves. What they did not see was after a failed attempt to claim a dragon he held you while you cried. In the darkness of the caves you gave him your first kiss. It was childish and rough, the sensation of chapped lips blinded your senses. You feared he would run away but instead he held you closer and placed quick pecks all over your head. 

-The first feeling of jealousy you had was when you heard he might be betrothed to your sister. You distanced yourself from him and sulked in your room. He couldn’t handle the sudden distance and barged in swearing your mother would not allow it. He was right of course but that did not mean he was yours. 

-The day he left for Dragonstone was another sorrowful day. It felt as though your heart had been ripped out of your chest. You cried in his arms once more the night before and he cried for the first time too . He was mourning the loss of his sworn protector. Though you could not say it out loud and you did not care, Harwin was very close to being his father. 

-It was by luck Lady Laena died and everyone was summoned to attend the funeral. You should have been more sad but you did not know the woman. You watched him during the whole ordeal and wished to hold his hand while Vaemond discreetly insulted him. Once it was done you stalked his movement through the crowd and watched him move to comfort Baela. That was the second time in your life you felt jealous. Talks of him being promised to her instead had entered your mind and caused a fury of emotions. 

-You and Jace exchanged sympathetic nods before you were ushered to bed. That same night Aemond lost his…no one cared to come and wake you. You carried yourself down from your chambers once you heard the screaming of adults. The room stilled and turned once you approached, still rubbing sleep from your eyes. It was then your father noticed your approach and decided to announce his last act of goodwill was a betrothal between you and Jacaerys. The room erupted once more but no one could deny the king. You personally still didn’t even get the chance to grasp the situation before it was over.

-It had been ten years since you last saw him. You wrote him when you could and sent gifts on name days as a good future wife should. You had grown into a beautiful young woman but you had no idea what he had grown into. Your mother had contested the proposal many times but to no avail. Your father was old and stuck in his ways. 

-You first saw him in the courtyard when you were the only one there to greet them. The rest of your family held too strong a resentment. You would not deny that they had done some unsavory things in the past but it had nothing to do with you. His jaw had changed from round and plush to sharp and well defined. His big brown orbs matched his now trimmed brown hair that framed his face. He was not as tall as your brothers but in your opinion far more handsome. Jacaerys had been anticipating coming to the keep again and seeing you. His thoughts raced when he imagined how you had grown. He had a thousand and one questions mostly consisting of if you loathed him like the rest of your siblings. When he first saw you again all of his thoughts melted away.

-He was the one to make the first move and embrace you in a hug that would be deemed inappropriate for a man and woman to share. It did not matter to you now just as it did not matter in the past. 

-Jacaerys had become more than willing to court you properly. Since their arrival back to the Keep he had taken to walking around the gardens with you again. You forgot how easy he was to speak to and would go on long tangents about how your life has been thus far. He also had quickly come to realize you still had no dragon. Instead of talking down to you like you had imagined he simply stated the gods blessed you with inner strength instead and you had all the fierceness of the dragon in your heart. Then just as you were about to accept it he promised once you were married he would take you to ride Vermax. 

-Later that day you stumbled upon the tree with the red leaves you spent so much time in as children. He asked if you remembered the promise you made and carved into the trees of godswood. It was embarrassing to admit you had no clue. He pulled you under a specific tree and took your finger to trace the lines carved in. 

“With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my Lady and wife. I shall be loyal to you always, and hold no secrets from you, now and forever. I share your joy, from this day to my last day. With this flower, I pledge my passion.”

That was by far your most profound moment together yet. He claims to remember it like yesterday but it was lost to time with you.

-A private court dinner was held in your honor. Whilst there you and Jace talked about your hopes, your fears and your plans. It was a night of celebration for the future king and queen. Jace was ever the gentleman and offered you the first dance. It was a dance mixed with many mistakes as neither of you were trained in the art. He was polite and only touched you in places deemed safe by the adults around you. You spent the entire time focusing on each other and ignoring those around you just like when you were children.

-After he had finished courting you it was time for the wedding. The wedding itself was grand and every Lord and Lady in the realm came to witness the marriage of the future heir to the iron throne. It seemed your families were on their best behavior too that day. He had sworn up and down that you would be the greatest king and queen the Targaryen dynasty had ever known. He swore to protect and cherish for all time. He was always the emotional type. That night as promised Jace held the biggest feast he could organize. It was the start of a new family and new life for you both and he wanted to honor you in every way. 

-He refused to have a bedding ceremony be held as he did not wish to make you uncomfortable. Though he desired nothing more than to breed you and see you swell with his children as soon as possible he did not act as such immediately. He had gone out of his way to make the night as romantic as possible for the both of you. His heart filled with joy being able to see you so vulnerable. He was gentle and kind the first night together. He went slow and listened to your every whim. Though his care did not stop the ache between your legs at his size. He was far bigger than you had imagined and stretched you to the fullest. He put your pleasures over his own and took his time learning how to use his mouth and fingers to please you. Jacaerys took the utmost care of you that night and morrow like he promised. What king would he be if he did not do that?

-Jacaerys yearned for you more and more after that night. He treated you like you were the most perfect woman in all of Westeros. Though he was still the gentle and caring husband, sometimes he let his own desires take over. You spent most mornings and nights intertwined with each other. When he was finished he would leave himself inside of you. He basked in imagining filling you with his seed and watching you swell with his children. There was nothing that would make him happier than becoming a father. 

-It took less than a month for you to become pregnant. He was very determined to make his fantasies become a reality. He constantly reminded you of how you would be an amazing mother and he would be the proudest father. After you had fallen pregnant he tended to fuss over you more. He was ever the loyal and doting husband no matter what the circumstance. He took his vows extremely seriously. 

-Your pregnancy did not quell his desire though. He fucked you and filled you until your belly had grown too large and your body too achy for him to worship. He was a lot like his father and wanted to have many children. It was a reality you were trying your best to make happen. He was constantly at your side helping and pampering you to your heart's content. Jace had a lot of his time with you anyway but now he spent almost every second with you. He claimed that you would go through this together and overcome every hurdle together.  

-When the time came to have your children it was no shock that they were twins. He had cum inside you enough times it would be more perplexing if it was just one. He did not leave your bed side that day and whispered encouraging words to you the entire time. He held your hand and blotted the sweat off your face when you needed it. He placed chaste kisses to your forehead and pretended the sight of you pushing out a child did not unease him in the slightest. It was true that he would be the proudest father in the world because when he saw the babes clean for the first time his face lit up in pure enjoyment. You had only seen him this happy on your own wedding night. 

-He prepared yet another grand celebration to honor your labors and the two new children. It was truly a miracle there was a man as kind, generous, and dutiful as he was. Some claimed it was the greatest celebration the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. He invited all of your friends and allies to attend. The realm was in awe of how big the event had been. He got all of the most talented bards to perform their most beautiful songs. He brought in the most talented chefs to create the best meals. He had grand tents set up in the Kingswood, and a grand fire that could be seen for miles. And one of the most prestigious tournaments that the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen. It was also this same day he kept his promise and took you flying on Vermax. It was the most exhilarating experience of your life and it was all thanks to your future king. 

-Bonus Jace really loves to use pet names. He calls you my love, my queen, sweet summer child, my beloved, my dear and my moon and stars.

[thenightfolknetwork]

I’ve been with my fiancé for over 8 years now. We’ve been friends for even longer and just last summer we had been planning our wedding ceremony. Now, his family hadn’t been the best supportively, not when he came out as gay, and especially not when he, a Sapio, started dating me, a giant. They then effectively disowned him after we announced our engagement. I think they might have had some weird hope he’d ’change his mind’ or that it was a ‘phase’. This was about 3 years ago now, and I can’t speak for my partner, but he admitted though it hurt, he was relieved to be away from them after all the abuse.

Anyway, the reason for this letter is about 7 months ago we had gotten word that his family had been in a serious accident and that his parents, sister and her husband had passed away and he was listed as next-of-kin and subsequently guardian for his 4 year old nephew.

Now, we never really talked about kids beyond some vague idea. But my partner wasn’t going to turn away the kid, nor did I expect him to. So, after the funeral service and sorting with social services, we brought his nephew home.

It has been an adjustment for all of us, getting used to having a kid around and him being in a new environment that’s more geared for my size honestly. and we’ve been trying to find a good child psychologist for him. but the main problem is… well, he’s afraid of me.

I can’t really blame him for that, after everything he went through, but it still hurts sometimes when he flinches when I enter a room or speak to him. Or how he looks ready to cry when I open my mouth. Even trying to hide when he sees me just reading a book. I’ve grown up in a mixed community, but the way the kid looks at me, for the first time in a very long time, I feel like a monster.

My partner has told me once when we were in bed that his ‘family’ had been filling the kid’s head with anti-nightfolk ideologies and even some rather… well, blood-libel comments. I think he was trying to comfort me as he noticed the way the kid had been a lot more skittish with me than with him. He has been trying to explain that a lot of the stuff his folks talked about was lies and really bad stuff, but it’s hard unlearning these sort of things. I had suggested we postpone the wedding, at least till things settle.

I have been trying to seem less ‘intimidating’, not smiling with my fangs and trying to look smaller than I really am. But I’m worried he might never not be afraid of me. And I never told my partner, but I’m afraid that he will be forced to pick between me and the kid, and I don’t want him to do that as I know either option will hurt him.

So I’m asking. Is there anything I can do to try and help seem less… monstrous to my nephew?

I'm afraid there are no quick fixes here, reader. Your nephew has been exposed to some seriously toxic ideologies from a very early age. That isn't the sort of thing you can fix over night.

I would caution against trying too hard to diminish yourself or your creaturely traits as part of this process. You want your nephew to be comfortable with you, not with a nervous caricature of yourself.

Instead, I encourage you to behave at home as normally as you can, being as friendly as he'll allow you to be and respecting his boundaries when he expresses them.

If you haven't already, talk to your partner about what your strategies are going to be to improve the situation. This is a long-term project that needs complete buy-in from both of you to succeed.

As much as possible, your partner should be exposing your nephew to the idea of difference, teaching him that it's OK to notice that other people are different than him, but that he still needs to treat them with kindness and respect.

There are so many more resources available today to help children learn about these matters, from books and films to websites dedicated to help you discuss these issues in an age-appropriate way.

Books like Paws, Claws and More, What's for Lunch? and My Daddy's A Mummy are a great way to start these conversations and to help introduce your nephew to these ideas in a way that is accessible for him. Talk to your local librarian for more recommendations.

The best way for him to learn to trust you is through spending time with you, drowning out the hateful ideas he's been taught through real, lived experience of being safe and happy in the company of people in the community. Make sure to set time aside for all three of you to spend time together, doing activities your nephew will enjoy.

Of course, his exposure to the creature community shouldn't start and end with you. If you can, consider getting him involved in mixed genus groups where he can meet liminal children his own age. It might be a bit of an adjustment for him, but it will a huge boon to him in the long run.

Finally, please consider seeking out some additional support for yourself during this process. This is a difficult, highly emotional situation, and you need to find people who you can talk to about it beyond your partner, whether that's to talk through possible solutions or just to vent occasionally.

Fortunately, reader, if there's one thing children are built for, it's learning. It will take time and emotional commitment, but with a little effort, I think you and your partner will be able to teach your nephew a kinder way of looking at the world.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[targayrenss]

A Dance With Dragons (I) -Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon Oc

pairing:Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon Oc

Content: Incest, Age-Gap,Angst

Jocelyn had never met her father's sister, but according to him, they were both very alike.

After her uncomfortable funeral, Jocelyn decided to go to the beach to soak her feet a bit, that was the excuse she gave her mother to get out of that uncomfortable place.

Looking at the sea she thought about how nice it would be to have a funeral like her aunt's, they were born from the sea and in her death they would return to hers, Jocelyn always thought of her as more Velaryon than Targaryen.

She loved her mother's house, she loved her dragon, star, she and her dragon shared a very special bond, Jocelyn loved everything about her dragon, from her star-like white eyes to her sea-blue scales.

She knew that one day it would be the dragon of one of her future children that would burn her body, she would rather become another fish in the sea than be reduced to ashes.

"I see your father didn't lie when he said you're the spitting image of him." Jocelyn tilted her head to see the owner of that voice.

Daemon Targaryen, Jocelyn had never met her uncle nor was she interested in doing so, and apparently her mother had no interest in her meeting him either.

—Uncle, I am very sorry for your loss, I would have loved to meet my aunt, my father always tells me the stories of his childhood shared with his sister

Daemon didn't answer but smiled at her, Jocelyn thought that was it so she turned her gaze back to the sea.

The prince took a seat on the sand next to her—It's beautiful, isn't it? I've never been so interested in the sea but now I can see how beautiful it is.

Jocelyn just nodded.

As she watched the sea, Daemon looked at her.

Jocelyn doubted if what she was going to ask was appropriate, she was comfortable and she was afraid that her question would ruin everything.

—Do you think I'll be a good queen?

-Who are they?

—Everyone! Everyone will hate me, they minimized my reign, the mother says that I will get married soon, the people will see my husband as their king, not as a king consort.

Smart girl, she was right in everything she said but at least she knows the truth, not like her mother who is completely blind to people's opinions.

—Whether they hate you or not, they will have to accept you as their queen, and if they don't, don't hesitate to burn them to ashes.

Jocelyn and Daemon looked at each other, both smiling at each other.

"My prince! Princess! His presence is requested in the throne room." The guard looked quite agitated.

Daemon took Jocelyn's shoulder and led them both into the living room.

The closer they got they could hear the screams coming from inside, Jocelyn hurried on until she flung open the door.

Everyone's attention fell on the young princess and the Daemon prince.

“Luke! Jace! What happened?” Jocelyn knelt down to her smallest brother's level, “Come on, show your sister.

“They attacked me!” Jocelyn looked from her to Aemond, the poor man mutilated.

Jocelyn shared a look with Daemon which did not go unnoticed by Rhaenyra.

She didn't know when or how, but the queen had thrown herself at her mother with a knife in her hand, managing to make a big cut on her arm.

"Enough, we can't go on like this! We're family!" Viserys yelled at everyone, "I'm not going to allow this family to separate anymore."

Jocelyn felt the king's gaze on her.

"My granddaughter, Jocelyn, and my son Aegon will marry, they will both inherit Dragonstone, and when their time comes, they will both reign together."

"Father." Rhaenyra tried to convince her father that this was a bad idea.

—It's an order! My granddaughter has already bled but she will be until she is sixteen days old when they should get married.

Jocelyn couldn't believe that she would have to marry Aegon, it was the compensation prize for a fight neither of them were involved in.

She went to sleep thinking that everything would improve but she did not, when she woke up she went directly to her father's funeral.

When her father's ashes were thrown into the sea, she Jocelyn headed to the beach hoping that if she went into the sea she would feel her father one last time.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the footsteps that followed her.

"Sorry for your loss, niece."

Jocelyn was slow to answer, once again wondering if what was about to come out of her mouth was for the best, but she did.

I need you to do something for me, man.

Jocelyn turned back, seeing her uncle, he had more than thirty days of his name, he was taller than her, Jocelyn thought that even if she wasn't a girl he would still be taller than her, his eyes are the darkest violet she has ever seen.

"Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife."

[brunhielda]

Because this is becoming THAT blog-

The one where I review old movies we all have already seen, but I personally, have not seen for years until recently.

I just watched “An American Tale.”

If you were a child of the 90s, you just thought- “There are No Cats in America 🎶? THAT American Tale?”

Yes.

If you had that thought, you likely already know. If you have not had the absolute joy- buckle up. I am going to rant about a classic.

First of all- This is Don Bluth.

His movies do not get worse with age.

They get BETTER.

And American Tale is example number ONE.

No, it is not fond memories or nostalgia glasses, you can breath, and then go treat yourself to a viewing.

Secondly- the man did not dumb down or sanitize his history.

He said “I’m going to tell the immigrant story” and then opened with a fucking ethnic cleansing.

I said what I said.

The movie is set in the early Russian Empire, a time full of anti-Semitic sentiment and enforced laws, also seen in “Fiddler on the Roof.” Fiddler on the roof might actually be tamer on the subject.

Every other historical note in this movie is on point and easy enough to look up in a history book, if you have the common sense to realize that names have been altered.

The Statue of Liberty was not built by a pigeon, for example. It was built by a Frenchman. (Frederic Auguste Bartholdi).

I don’t know of an “honest John,” but I did guffaw out loud when he started taking names of the dead at funerals to add to his vote count. Ghost votes were very real, one of the reasons people are still so twitchy about voter fraud today.

I do not recall a moment in 1886 when the minorities of New York managed to run off prominate members of authority… but with how on point everything else is? It would not shock me.

Thirdly- Bluth DID NOT FLINCH

I don’t remember who said it first, but both Bluth and Spielberg had a belief that you could put very sad and scary things in children’s films, as long as the ending was happy.

This movie has multiple nightmare moments. Cats, monster waves, more cats, bugs and fish, and of course, the horrifying “Mouse of Minsk” (iykyk).

The thing is, it’s not even how they are drawn. Like, yes, the image is scary, but it’s the storytelling around it. It’s the lighting change. The soundtrack. The horrific sound effects. Seriously- whoever did foley on this film deserves all the awards- you make me scared of the kitty kats, and I LOVE cats. 🐈

Some people will question whether or not it is appropriate for small children. I would say maybe wait until they are six, and watch it with them, but they should watch scary things if they can. Being scared in appropriately safe space teaches you how to react to fear and handle moments when you are scared in real life. It is my major argument for Halloween. But each parent has to do as they think is best for each individual child. In any case, watch this one first before showing it to your kids- definitely more scary than you remember.

Finally- the animation on this film is a national treasure. I honestly hope this film is in the Library of Congress collection.

There are animation techniques here that don’t exist anymore.

Sparks. Sparkles. Glimmers. Stars in the Night Sky. Smoke billows.

Actually, I almost paused the film on a smoke billow. Sony is doing some things in the recent “Spiderverse” trilogy that are insane- and part of it is their mixed animation.

All the smoke billows? Hand drawn.

They look the same as Bluth’s smoke in this film, which is making me wonder if one of their artists studied under him. Maybe not- maybe they just did their homework on good hand drawn cloud formations. Either way, realizing how close they got to the master work in this film made me appreciate them even more.

Speaking of insane animation-

I don’t know WHO Bluth felt he had to show off to, but this man could DRAW WATER and he fucking knew it.

Like water is hard to do, ok? Like hands, Da Vinci had notebooks full of sketches of the substance, proving it to be the bane of the artistic existence.

Most water in hand drawn animation comes in two forms-

Flat water color with pretty things floating in it to distract you-

Or drawn over a live video of water that they spliced into the image.

Even that was hard to do, and they used a technology no longer available to us. It looks pretty cool honestly.

But no, not DON fucking BLUTH.

Not only can this man hand draw water without the underlying video, but he draws it moving in multiple different ways. He shows it from the top, side, and sinking underneath (with moving bubbles and shifting light, no flat blue for him).

He turns it into a NIGHTMARE FUEL WAVE MONSTER.

He ADDS it to SCENES it DIDNT HAVE TO BE IN!

The more I watched this film, the more I realized that if Milt Kahl had the head swaggle, Don Bluth had water, and by God was he going to use it.

He wrote plots AROUND the idea of water, so he could showcase it in every scene. “Rock-a-doodle,” and “Pebble and the Penguin” come to mind. “Anastasia,” “Thumbelina” and “All Dogs Go to Heaven” all feature action scenes in water. Heck- the one in “All Dogs Go To Heaven” came out of no where, and makes so much more sense if it was just Bluth wanting to show off.

“An American Tale” had the travel by boat sequence and our main hero being thrown over board. He could have left it there. NOPE. There were puddles and sewers and fire hoses and action scenes at the docks.

And the few scenes without water? Let’s throw some scary sparks in there. Maybe some smoke billowing. For funzies.

Also- we’re going to have a Love Song with the most incredible Night Sky you have ever seen and a Comedic song featuring fun house mirror distorted reflections because WHY NOT???

I think he was trying to make sure Disney regretted him leaving, the way you dress up when you know your toxic ex will be there, and I love that for him. 🩷

Also- the backgrounds are all beautiful water color. I love a good water color.

Also- yeah, the sound track holds up. The songs are just as catchy as they ever were- if you have ever seen this movie you WILL find yourself singing along.

As previously mentioned, when it comes to the scary parts, the composer UNDERSTOOD THE ASSIGNMENT and the music easily fits into a good horror film.

And finally- the music at the finale when everything is made right, and the happy ending is finally here, is the most heart breaking thing you will ever hear. You will cry. Watch the movie, but bring the tissues. 🤧

This movie is definitely worth a watch.

This movie is more than worth a watch, it should be mandatory for elementary history and college animation classes alike.

But also it’s just fun. 🤩

[greenqueenhightower]

Hi I think criston and Alicent were at it up to when Viserys was alive. When Aemond lost his eye everyone is like where was criston and theres this whole byplay between criston, Viserys and Alicent prior when Viserys calls her aemma and going to bed. Criston is right next to Alicent. Tbh I think they've been together a a long time romantically and it was consummated at some point. It's all hidden and veiled references on season 1 that probably become clear season 2. Alicent had a crush on criston and you see the look on her face when he tells her about Rhaenyra it's like extra betrayal. I think Alicent is living out her romantic fantasies with criston. Through a historical lens Alicent and Viserys marriage was the norm and often these women took comfort elsewhere. We know it's wrong but that's what happened then. Even age appropriate marriages like between Catherine the great and Peter were unsuccessful. She had affairs and illegitimate kids. So Alicent having an affair with criston is no big deal. I'm wondering though if I'm wrong and they finally consummate it when b and c happens and this is what causes Alicent's guilt. It's not sex based but just the fact she and criston were sneaking off. He was supposed to be on duty and he isnt. It just seems there is a history of them sneaking off together already.

On Whether Alicent and Criston Have Started Sleeping Together Before/During Driftmark:

I also read about the theory that Alicent and Criston had started sleeping together as early as Driftmark, which explains their absence during the fight scene between the children. What's worse, the thought had crossed my mind too the second time I rewatched the show. The whole exchange between Viserys, Alicent, Lord Commander Westerling, and Criston as Viserys goes to bed seems too purposeful to be ignored.

HOWEVER, it still seems implausible to me that they chose this night to sleep together in a different place where they were visitors and guests, staying over to provide consolation for Laena's funeral. What I am saying is that even if they might have already started sleeping together by the time Driftmark happens, it is unlikely that they did so on the night of Aemond's maiming. Even Rhaenyra went away, outside of the palace to seek Daemon so that she could evade the eyes and ears of potential onlookers. If Alicent and Criston had been secretive about their relationship which had become sexual by the time they were visiting Driftmark, I very much doubt that they would risk so much to spend one night together in a foreign place. And especially if they had become lovers at that point (which I hope is not true because it would be too early) it's not as if they could not wait any moment longer and they had to sleep together ASAP.

On the contrary, this is the exact tension we see at Driftmark from Rhaenyra who is constantly looking around for Daemon, watching him from afar, trying to get near him. So, yes, there is more sexual tension and yearning in the air between Rhaenyra and Daemon who have not been together in such a long time and can't bear to be apart for a second longer. And this is why they seek each other out at the beach, forgetting all about conventions, being guests of the Velaryons, and honoring Laena's memory. This kind of yearning I can understand, and it is given such build-up and progression in the episode that it makes sense why they would eventually sleep together.

Now, why would Criston and Alicent do so? In a foreign place? Not knowing who might be watching and listening from whichever corner? Endangering their trysts? Unless Alicent and Criston sneaked away to some remote location to just be by themselves it makes no sense why they would sleep together amidst the Velaryon household. And still, it makes no sense why they would sneak out anyway, since the danger of being seen is real. So, I do not think that on the night of Aemond's maiming Alicent and Criston are sleeping together.

Now, I don't know how the writers will approach the topic of their relationship and if they will reveal by what moment it started becoming physical, but again I find it improbable that Alicent and Criston had a sexual relationship while she was married to Viserys because it was just too risky for her and for him. Unlike Rhaenyra, Alicent and Criston would not evade Viserys' wrath and judgment by Westerosi standards if caught or if there was ever a slight suspicion that their relationship was anything more than that of a Queen of the Realm and her sworn protector.