#lms/reply if you can

[weisbrot]

Dear @vivalamusaine thank you endlessly for your patronage and sweet encouraging tags! 🥹💛 please enjoy this enjolras in the musaine ehehe as a token of my love

#les miserables #les mis #enjolras #vivalamusaine #my blergh #lm my blergh #i've been thinking on how to reply to your sweet ask to a point where i overthought it and didnt reply uff #same as for the kofi 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 thank you beloved #everyone else is free to enjoy him aswell ahahahha #kinda starting to draw on the ipad again mostly in ergo therapy rn but hey at leat i am drawing 🥳 #hope i can keep it up 😤😤

[h0]

DUDE YOUR PFP IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE ALBUMS

BANKRUPT! STANS RISE THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!

#tyyyy it's one of mine too!! #as you can already tell haha #lms #replies #vileviale

[portgasdwrld]

📂Op men + them being needy

Featuring: monster trio

Warning: Suggestive, NSFW, fem!reader, established relationship, english isn’t my first language

Important: Pls read my navigation before sending/commenting asks. I would love to do them, but some of y’all don’t spend two seconds trynna make sure ur ask is fine with me first 🫶🏻

Note: Y’all voted for that one and ngl i wanted to write this one, so we all share the same slutty mind. Also thank you for 100 followers 🫶🏻lm super glad that y’all are enjoying my writing💕 This took sm more time than I thought it would. Ima make a separate one for Ace whenever I have time 😭

Luffy

Luffy was laying down on his bed as you were not too far from him trying out some make up in the mirror facing his bed. He had insisted to nap with you next to him, so he had his long arm stretched around your waist lazily as you were dolling yourself up.

You hear him stir awake from his sleep as he groans and yawns loudly.

-What time is it?

He drags in a sleepy tone as he rolls to the side still covered by the sheets.

-Mmm, you only slept for an hour. You can go back to sleep baby.

You answer him as you take a quick look at your watch. You knew how he loves to sleep after he ate and especially if there isn’t much to do.

-It’s hard when you aren’t laying down next to me, I like to hug you close to mee.

He whines a little. You see him rub his eyes and softly sit between his messy sheets through the reflection of your mirror.

-I’m sorry baby, I will come later when I’m done, okay ?

You say softly as you apply a new colour of your eyeshadow palette on your eyelid. He gets closer to you, now sitting not too far behind you. His pretty dark eyes shift between your products and your face.

- What’s this, it shines~

He asks curious while pointing at your highlighter. You chuckle and open it to swipe some on the tip of your finger. You thought it would be a fun time to mess a little with him, so you swap some on top of your boob to show him. You smirk and point at your breast, showing him that it make your skin shine, when applied.

-it’s to make your skin shine, you simplify it to him.

His eyes looks down and stare at your chest. His arms unwrap from your body and with his finger he touches your skin to see if it stains his finger too and it does a little.

-Waaaw, amazing! That’s so cool

You nod with a smile and a comfortable silence falls between you two. He watches you apply your eyeshadow using multiple techniques. He let his chin rest on your shoulder and his expression gets a bit serious. He stares at you through the mirror.

-Y/n ?

-Mmm?

-I’m hard, let’s fuck.

You choke a little at his sudden straightforwardness. You take few seconds to take in what he just said, before throwing a look behind your shoulder to stare at your suddenly needy boyfriend.

-Luffy… just how ?

You ask defeated. He has the habit to get hard so randomly, not that you complained because sex with him was always more than satisfying. Though, It was just somewhat inconvenient when you were already doing something.

-I can just jerk off while you finish off, he propose seeing your unsure expression. The way he said that was so laid back that it made you giggle a little. Doesn’t he know the effect he has on you??You smile fondly at him, but letting him do that would be more torture than anything else.

-Or you can cockwarm me while you finish off like we did last time.

The “last time” he was referring to, ended by you two fucking with your undone hair. You shake your head, you couldn’t say no to him. It was always tempting to have him inside of you.

He kisses the crook of your neck, dragging your name in a groan taunting you to give him an answer.

-I like the last idea more, you finally reply with a shy smile. You gaze at him through the mirror and you see him grin.

-Alright !

You stand up to throw away your panty on his bed as he stroke his dick few times before you sat on it. You both left a moan as the contact was made. You were never used at the deepness he could reach. Your legs weakly fixed your position on his laps.

-Is it okay ?

He asks making sure you were comfortable. You nod as you gaze back at him. He pecks your cheek, his brown hair slightly tickling you, before leaning his body back, now supported by his arms. The view you have is just so delicious, you are about to give up any plans your had on finishing your make up.

-Luffy, you are making this so hard for me I swear.

You let out shakily under your breath, because he clearly couldn’t stay completely still.

He laughs as he approaches his body to yours, his warm breath brushing on your neck, his eyes looks at you with excitement.

-Can I play with your boobs ?

-Luffy…

You whine almost pleading him to be kind to you and let you do your make up without so much distraction. No way you are going to hold back with him touching you like that.

-Pleaseee

-Ugh… fuck it.

I need to write a whole mirror fucking fic with him now🧎🏻‍♀️

Zoro

Zoro is going out of his mind. His usual cool and collected image is crumbling every time he breaths. His eye stare at your figure with a burning gaze. He wants you so badly right now, but it was lowkey hurting his ego to tell you directly how he felt (he’s in fact too shy, but he would never admit that to himself.)

You definitely noticed his behaviour during the day, when he let his hand rest a little too long on your ass when you hugged him or when he kept taking glances at your boobs peeking from the low cut of your shirt.

You didn’t want to give it to him so easily without him openly saying that he wanted you. It was no fun otherwise. So you teased him all day, acting all clueless to his advances. It was until he snapped and pulled you into his room late in the afternoon.

-You have been so fucking annoying all day. You really enjoy acting all dumb when you want to.

-I dont know what you are talking about?

You reply with an innocent stare as you unconsciously bite your lips quickly and look up to him. He groans as he climbs on top of you on the bed, his large and strong body towering you was already enough to make your head dizzy. He leans his face few inches in front of yours. Your nose filled up with the scent of his cologne.

-You want to keep playing this ?

- Admit it.

-Admit what ?

He gulps with furrowed eyebrows. You smirk and wrap your arms around his neck. You pull the green haired man closer teasing the proximity of your lips to his.

-Admit that you want me.

You whisper with the same smile glued to your lips. Zoro eye slightly widen but he presses his lips on yours without adding another word, but you are fast to push him away by pressing upward your hands on his chest.

-Come on, baby~ You can’t even admit something so little ?

You pout as you knew his competitive ass wouldn’t take it and he would eventually get frustrated, and maybe give up.

-I will treat you so well if you do, I just need to hear it~

You continue hoping it would cheer your shy boyfriend to speak the words. You know he’s not the best with expressing his emotions, but god it felt good to see him all tensed because he wanted to fuck you so badly. You travel your fingers up his neck, brushing fading hickeys you left on him few days ago.

You see him sigh as he straightens his upper body. You give him a confused look for a moment, but it disappears when his lips curve into his familiar smirk.

He let his body fall next to you and you feel his strong arm slide under your waist. He pulls you against him and with his other arms, he props your body on top of his. You sit not too far from his hips area. He places his hands on each side of your hips and he gives a light spank on your ass earning a small surprised moan from you.

-What are you doing? I thought I was clear babe.

You say while crossing your arms under your chest. He chuckles and push your hips on top of his bulge. You could feel he was starting to get hard.

-I want you, so be good now and ride me.

You smile happy to hear it finally from him, but he still found a way to make it an order, so it earned a small giggle from you.

-What’s funny?

-Nothing. I said I will treat you right, so let me take care of you.

You said while going down on him. You pulled down his pants to reveal his half hard dick. You took it in your hand and with your thumb you spread the precum all over his tip while giving it few strokes with your other hand. You give few licks to tease him a little, but you shortly after wrap your plump lips around his cock. He hiss as his fingers brush away the hair in front of your eyes that was blocking his view.

-Fuck, just like that

He groans as he places his hand on top of your head trying to make you take more of his length. You let him do as he wishes, as you wanted tonight to be focused on him. He pushes his cock until it was deep enough into your throat that it was painfully hitting the back of it. Tears were starting to form into your eyes as you look up at him. He leaves a low moan and let his head fall behind as he give a lazy thrust into your mouth. He let go of your head not trying to hurt you and you take that chance to remove it from your mouth and breath.

-Shit, you’re so big

You pant with a heavy breath as you stroke his dick up and down using your spit. He smirk at your compliment and you don’t let him reply as you dive his cock into your mouth once again, sucking harshly getting a loud groan out of his mouth.

You torture his dick like this for few minutes as you take him deeply into your throat and suck harshly on his dick by also teasing his slit with your tongue. He was a moaning mess and honestly it’s been a while since you saw him so vocal about the pleasure he was feeling, that it was soaking your panties.

You stroke him with both of your hands as your mouth was sucking his tip and with the help of few thrust, he came into your mouth. You swallowed everything with a funny face and flashed your tongue at him so he could see. You then removed your shorts and panties along with your top, leaving you naked on top of him.

-I should let you suck me off like this more often.

-Yeah, well if I didn’t have to beg all the time to have your cock, I would suck you even upside down.

You retort as you position yourself on top of his dick, ready to slide him in you. Zoro roll his eye at your comment, but he grabs your thighs tightly, anticipating the feeling of your pussy around his cock.

You chuckle seeing him waiting for you to put it inside of you, in silence. You lean and give him a peck on his forehead with a soft smile. Your boyfriends cheeks blushed as he gives you a bit of a “wtf” stare.

-So eager, are we baby?

Sanji

Sanji was smoking outside as his body was leaning against the railing of the ship. His fluffy blond hair brushed by the cold breeze of the early night. His gaze seems lost in a trail of thoughts that only him will know about. You smile to yourself when you finally find your boyfriend.

« It’s a cold night, but lucky me I have someone to cuddle to keep me warm » you say, startling him a little.

He smiles as he recognizes your voice immediately. Sanji doesn’t hide the way his eyes enjoy savouring the view of your body in this little black silk dress. It was his favourite. The dress is so short that he could just bend you over the rail and he would not only have a great view of your pussy, but he could also easily take you there.

Why was it so easy for you to drive him crazy ? Just you being such an effortlessly beautiful women was enough to make his thoughts foggy. It wasn’t too fair for his heart and his dick.

-You are going to catch a cold, my love. Come here.

He finally replies while opening his arms. You rush a little into his embrace, loving the way his body’s warmth and the mix of his cologne and the cigarette’s smog fill your nose and senses. He presses his body against yours and you let the back of your head rest on his chest. He wraps his arms around your shoulders after throwing his cigarette in the ocean.

-How did you find tonight’s dinner, chérie?

-It was delicious as always darling.

You whisper enjoying the tranquility on the boat for once. Sanji hums in response as he let his hairy chin slightly tickle your neck. His lips brush your ear as his warm breath tickles your neck.

-You know you make me a mad man when you wear this.

-Do I?

You answer with a chuckle honestly forgetting how your boyfriend had a particular liking in this night dress. He loves everything you wear anyways so for you it didn’t change much, but as he presses his dick on your lower back, you kinda get what he’s leading to.

You feel his lips move to your neck where he presses them, where he sucks and bites your skin, leaving proof of his love on it.

-I wouldn’t mind dessert at this hour

He mumbles as his arms find a rest now on your breast. He presses his hips closer to your body and you do him the grace of slightly grinding your ass against his bulge.

-What do you mean?

You ask him playing dumb. It was so fun to tease Sanji. He was always so enthusiastic whenever something concerned you.

-I want to fuck you, darling

He continues as his unwrap your body from his arms. His fingers slide down your waist to tease the hem of your short dress. He let them wonder beneath it, feeling the softness of your ass. A gasp left your mouth when his cold fingers press against your clothed core.

-I could just bend you over this rail and fuck you so good, hmm?

He pushes his digits under your panty and let his fingers get coated of your juices before letting them slide upward where he pinches your clit. A moan leaves your throat loudly and you quickly bite your lips to stop any more sounds to come out.

You two could honestly get caught at any moment that someone decides to exit their room, but the thought itself made you even more wet.

-S-sanji, we could get caught..

-I know, but I can’t help myself when you look this good. I want you so badly that I don’t care about the rest.

He retorts with a heavy sigh as he continues to play with clit. He then opt to dive one of his long fingers inside of you, catching you off guard. You try your best to keep any sounds in, but he was making it so hard for you when he was moving so fast.

-Fuck, Sanji. Please fuck me.

You whine as your body naturally leans on the rail. Sanji other hand pushes your lower back to create a curve that earn a groan from his mouth.

Your boyfriend closes the distance pushing now a second finger deeper inside of you. His pace is fast and precise, trying his best to listen to the way your body react to the spot he touches inside of you. Sanji does still keep an eye out in case someone catches you two though..

Hitting all the right spots and playing with your clits with his other hand, you feel your climax approaching. With a last thrust of his finger and some dirty word whispered, you cum all over his fingers, staining his black pants a little.

-You’re insane..

You let out as you try to catch your breath. He smirks and give you a back hug, leaving plenty of kisses on your necks and collarbone.

-let’s go back to our room, so you take care of me~

#one piece #one piece zoro #zoro headcanons #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece smut #vinsmoke sanji #sanji smut #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanjionepiece #zoro smut #one piece luffy #luffy one piece #luffy x y/n #luffy x reader #luffy x you #monkey d. luffy

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 6: I Am Missing You To Death]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, a Wolfman update, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), dragons, murder, suicide, say hello to the Crab Fam! 🥰🦀

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 9k (she chonky!).

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

There’s fire on the table, ice in your blood. Alicent and Helaena are prisoners in their rooms, and tomorrow Otto will be beheaded in the Dragonpit, but you are here in the Great Hall surrounded by candles, cider and beer and wine, rare roast boar sweating blood like rubies, raucous celebration.

Your father and Clement are laughing with Medrick Manderly, Lorent Marbrand, Luthor Largent, other men of Rhaenyra’s council; when they toast their wine, it sloshes carelessly out of the glass goblets. Corlys Velaryon—whose navy helped secure the city—is pensive and withdrawn, saying very little. At the center of the high table, the woman who calls herself queen is manic: color in her cheeks, light in her eyes, but not a warm life-giving glow, a hollow glint like the flash of coins or swords or moonlight. She is receiving a litany of congratulations for her victory from the lords of loyal houses: Blackwood, Bar Emmon, Costayne, Tully, Frey, Dustin, Cerwyn, Grimm. Frequently and unmistakably, Rhaenyra glances across the hall to where Daemon is conspiring with her military commanders, his back to the wall and arms crossed and face daunting yet distracted somehow, reminding you very much of Aemond. He does not look at his wife. He looks elsewhere, into the future, into the past, into the northwest where Nettles and Baela are waiting for him to return to the cursed corridors of Harrenhal.

“Please eat something,” Everett says quietly. He is carving off the least-bloody pieces of roast boar and laying them on your plate, where they remain untouched. He doesn’t have much to talk about with the other men as long as the topic of conversation hinges on combat. He knows books, not blades. Everett can walk, though only slowly and with great difficulty; he does not ride horses, he does not fight, he does not have a wife and in all likelihood never will. He reads and he watches, sharp eyes like a hawk’s.

“I’m alright,” you reply with effort that feels like lifting iron, stones, the dead weight of a man.

“You’re not,” Everett says, pained.

“Cregan Stark is a good man!” your father is telling his compatriots. He has grey hair and a crafty grin and speaks with dramatic sweeps of his arms. “When he heard of my daughter’s tribulations, borne with such courage, such resilience, he assured me that his intentions to wed her were unchanged. He pledged to forgive her any transgressions suffered at the hands of the Usurper.”

“A better husband than any of us!” Clement trumpets, toasting his wine glass with anyone who will accommodate him. Clement does have a wife—and two sons so far, the infant heirs of House Celtigar—but he spends far more time writing to Lord Stark than his family back on Claw Isle. “Gallant! Merciful! The most clever and civilized Northerner to ever live!”

“Hear hear!” his audience answers spiritedly, though Everett only frowns.

“And soon Cregan will leave Winterfell,” your father continues. Rhaenyra is now listening attentively. “He will finish rallying and fortifying his men, and then march south to crush the last vestiges of this infernal, traitorous uprising!”

Resounding cheers, fists drummed against the table. Clement picks up where your father left off: “Already Roddy the Ruin and his Winter Wolves slaughtered 2,000 Lannister men at the Fishfeed. Can you imagine the carnage when Cregan arrives with his host of young, fresh, able-bodied warriors?! We will eviscerate the Kingmaker! We will avenge Rhaenys, Lucerys and Jacaerys! And when we find the Usurper, when we drag him out of whatever hovel he’s crawled into on his belly like a snake, we will cut him open to see if his guts are green as well!”

As men roar all around you—men who have killed, men who are starving to do it again—you stare down at the reflection in your wine, a vacant face that barely resembles yours. You cannot write to Aegon. He cannot write to you. Where and how he is will remain a mystery until you meet again…or until the Blacks uncover his fate. In your mind, he is both alive and dead; he is sick, he is well, he is suffering, he is finding solace in another woman’s bed, he is lying broken on the side of the road, he is sailing under the cover of darkness into Dragonstone on a borrowed ship, he is drunk, he is sober, he is burning up with fever, his is reunited with Sunfyre, he is in desperate need of you, he has forgotten you completely.

“I bet he’s at Storm’s End!” Medrick Manderly bellows, motioning with a turkey leg as if it’s a dagger. “We should send assassins to slay him!”

“No, no, the Reach!” Luthor Largent counters. “He’s probably on his way to meet his brother Daeron there!”

Theories are lobbed back and forth like the arrows of archers, none of them right. No one asks you. No one has asked about the abuse you supposedly endured either. It was taken for granted as truth; what else could anyone expect from a captor as notoriously depraved and insatiable as the Usurper? Your melancholic demeanor is proof enough. Inquiry beyond that would be impolite. And then Rhaenyra says, startling you: “Is there any chance he’s gone to Dragonstone?”

“He cannot be there, Your Grace,” your father assures her. “It is impossible to take Dragonstone without there being signs, ships in the sea and smoke from the kitchens and the like. We would have heard from the lords of the Crownlands who reside near the island.”

Unless they have silently abandoned Rhaenyra’s cause. Unless Aegon and Larys have won them over. You have to protect him. You have to distract the side you once called your own. You twist the dragon ring on your left hand, gold wings and jade eyes. No one asks about that either; sometimes you think they don’t really see you at all. You say softly: “He spoke often of Dorne.”

“Dorne?” your father muses, stroking his short beard.

“Of course he did,” Clement says. “Degenerates are quite at home there.”

Medrick Manderly is muttering: “We’ll never find him if he gets past the Marches…”

Rhaenyra gazes at her husband again, a hollow, vulnerable sort of desperation, a plea that echoes against stone walls. He knocks back the last of his wine, turns his back on her, and strides out of the Great Hall. Rhaenyra’s pale eyes—a treacherous, oceanic sort of blue like Aegon’s—are glossy with despair. You’ve crossed paths with her before, of course, usually from a distance; but you are fascinated by how much she has changed. With each person she loses—King Viserys, infant Visenya, Luke, Jace—another piece of her is cut away like a man being flayed. The so-called queen is more erratic, more cold. She has had her remaining children brought to King’s Landing: Joffrey, Aegon the Younger, Viserys who is a sickly and disengaged toddler, his eyes and nose always running. They are tucked safely away in their rooms currently. They are glorified prisoners, just like you; they have no role in shaping the world they will one day inherit.

“My lady?” Autumn says, tapping your shoulder. The Blacks know her only as a handmaiden who assisted you in escaping the clutches of the Usurper when he fled King’s Landing. They have no idea who might have fathered the child in her rounded belly. It would not be safe for them to know. Before her time comes to deliver, Autumn will have to go someplace where the Blacks will be unaware if her son or daughter has the silvery hair of a Targaryen. You promised her a new home, but you cannot give it to her yet; nothing you own is truly yours, and Aegon left too suddenly to gift her property on your behalf. Autumn, curiously, does not seem to be in any hurry to leave you.

“I’m alright,” you say again, another leaden lie. The men are now discussing how the Usurper should be executed once they’ve found him: beheaded, hanged drawn and quartered, fed to a dragon, burned alive, some combination thereof. Medrick Manderly is suggesting that they have him flayed alive. When Cregan Stark arrives at last, surely there will be Boltons in his retinue.

“You are exhausted,” Autumn announces, loudly enough for the others to overhear. “You have been through so much. Please, my lady. Allow me to escort you back to your rooms.”

“Will you, please?” Everett asks Autumn. His eyes flick to hers, his fingers tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll check on her before I retire for the evening.”

Autumn offers you her hand. This is a kindness, an escape. You take it and rise from the table.

“My daughter!” Bartimos Celtigar laments, gesturing to you. His spectators, men rabid with bloodlust, nod and murmur sympathetically, like it is almost something too distasteful to speak of. Murder can be discussed openly, torture, weapons, war; but the violence women collect and carry in their bones? Those are details best left unsaid. Perhaps it strikes too near to their own deeds, if they dared to think hard on them. Your father approaches and kisses you twice, once on each cheek. Rhaenyra drinks her wine and stares blankly at the place where Daemon had stood. “So wronged, so mistreated, and yet she is still with us. She will rise again. She has a glorious future ahead of her. We all do. All of us who serve Rhaenyra, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. To the words of my house: Perpetual Resurrection!”

The men lift their cups and shout, none more deafeningly than Clement: “Perpetual Resurrection!” Everett mouths it quietly to himself. Corlys Velaryon says nothing. Rhaenyra holds her head high, sorrowful but defiant. You retreat from the Great Hall with Autumn, the hem of your gown flowing out behind you, black like the faction the Celtigars have aligned with, black like mourning.

“No,” you tell Autumn as she starts up the stairwell that leads to your bedchamber.

She is puzzled. “Where then?”

“Take me to the dungeons.”

“What? Why?” Then she understands. “Oh. Oh no. You don’t want to go down there. It’s awful, dark and grimy, dried blood on the walls, handprints and fingernails. Spiders and bones. Rats everywhere.”

“So you know the way.”

“Yes,” she admits cagily, tugging at a coiled lock of her coppery hair.

Your eyes narrow. “When were you in the dungeons?” You met Aegon there? He took women there? Before the war, before he was burned, before he met me?

“Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want the answers to,” Autumn says primly. Then she ushers you through doorways and shadowy stairwells that lead down, down, down.

Grand Maester Orwyle is in the black cells. Jasper Wylde has already been executed; Tyland Lannister is being tortured until he reveals the location of the Greens’ stores of treasure. Otto Hightower, condemned to death, is housed on the floor of the dungeons reserved for prisoners of noble birth. There are torches burning in the corridor, rage-orange luminescence like dusk bleeding into the cells through gaps in the iron bars. Autumn does not leave you alone there, but she does wait at the end of the hall to give you—and the man who three times served as the Hand of the King and was twice removed from the same office, first by King Viserys and again by Aegon when Otto proved too cautious for his liking—some semblance of privacy.

Otto peers up at you from where he sits on the floor of his cell, strewn with dirty straw and glowing firelight. He appears old, impossibly old; the flesh has evaporated between his skull and his yellowed skin. He already looks like the skeleton he will be soon. He once counseled Aegon against flying into battle with Sunfyre, and Aegon hated him for it. But Otto was right, wasn’t he? “Did you tire of all the merriment upstairs? Or have they run out of roast boar? I could smell it cooking, you know. All day long as rats chewed at my ankles.”

“I imagine you now regret not running when you had the chance.”

Otto shrugs haggardly. “My odds would have been as good on the road as here. Out there, I might have been descended upon by a bear or a shadowcat or a band of thieves who left me gutted on the roadside. At least my death will be clean and swift.”

“Is there anything I can bring you?” you ask him, gently now. “Anything I can do for you? Before…tomorrow?” Before your life is ended. Before the Greens lose one of their greatest assets.

His gaunt face stretches into a slow, taunting grin. “You have chosen a side, Lady Celtigar.”

That’s true, isn’t it? By not spilling the Greens’ secrets. By falling in love with their king. “If Rhaenyra wins, I have to marry Cregan Stark and Aegon dies.”

“And you want him to live so he can marry you.”

It stuns you so much it takes a moment to find your words again. “Well, that’s not possible.” He already has a wife, no matter how insane she is now.

“I would not assume that any form of depravity is beyond his skill.” Otto sighs deeply. “Before that bitch took the city, I was corresponding with the Dragonseeds called Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. They claim they will switch to our side for titles that Rhaenyra denies them. Ulf wanted Storm’s End—delusional, the drunk could not manage a fishing village, he spells half his words wrong—and Hugh asked the Blacks for Casterly Rock. Apparently Daemon was actually amenable, but Rhaenyra refused the notion entirely. How fortunate for us. If we offer these Dragonseeds the seats of lesser houses—Costayne and Merryweather, I’d suggest, both traitors to Aegon’s cause—I think they’ll declare for us. Alicent must write to them. With Aemond, Criston, and Daeron on the battlefield, and Aegon gods know where, she must be the one to negotiate for our side now. She is capable of it. I know she is.”

“She can’t get to the rookery.”

Otto smiles up at you cunningly. “I suspect her letters will somehow find their way there,” he says. “And you are now more knowledgeable of the would-be betrayers’ whereabouts than I am.”

You nod. This is true, for the Blacks speak openly around you. While Corlys’ alleged bastard Addam Velaryon—who accompanied the navy into King’s Landing—now patrols the skies above the city on Seasmoke, Ulf and Hugh are currently stationed at Maidenpool in a remote corner of the Riverlands and awaiting further instruction. Rhaenyra dislikes them, you can sense this already. She has heard tales of boasting, drinking, whoring, brawling, bottomless greed. She does not trust them. She does not understand how the gods allowed her sons to be killed and those scoundrels to live.

Otto says: “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“What is it that draws you to Aegon?” He speaks with profound, genuine confusion. “What is there to admire? To yearn for?”

You see him, playful crooked smile and dazed eyes, careful hands, tiny silver braid. Unaware that you’re doing it, you twist the dragon ring on your finger. “He’s brave. He’s kind. I don’t understand why none of you can see it.”

“Ah.” And now Otto at last comprehends. “I was in love once,” he says wistfully, very far away, gazing at the stone wall, gazing at nothing. “I don’t remember what it felt like. But I remember that it happened. I suppose I will see Alicent’s mother again tomorrow. I hope she still recognizes me.” His eyes return to you, reflecting torchlight that shifts and distorts. “These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder.”

You can hear Aegon’s voice in the silence of the dungeons: I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you. “I’ll help your side however I can.”

“Do not allow the Blacks to discover your treason. You are far more valuable to us as someone who can drift between worlds than as a professed ally, assuming you cannot turn the Celtigars.”

“I can’t.” You could convince Everett, perhaps. But he isn’t the heir to Claw Isle.

Then Otto smiles, and it is the softest, most tender thing you’ve ever seen him do. “Please tell Alicent that I love her.”

“I will.”

“Now go,” he says. “Before you are witnessed here. Before you endanger what you want most.”

To end the war. To stop this suffering. To be with Aegon again. You hesitate, not knowing how to say goodbye. What is there left to say when the man in front of you is already dead?

“Go,” Otto Hightower orders again; and this time you obey.

He dies at 9:00 the next morning. Sunlight streams fierce and blinding into the Dragonpit. The smallfolk applaud and cheer, though perhaps mostly because Syrax and Caraxes are perched atop the domed roof and waiting, fangs bared, to devour anyone who dissents. In the people’s eyes, you see less savagery than terror. You can read the thoughts that dart between them, infectious like fever: We do not trust Rhaenyra, this ruthless queen, this Maegor with teats. We do not trust her bloodthirsty uncle-husband. We do not want to burn if Aemond and Vhagar return to reclaim the city.

Daemon swings the blade himself. It takes three blows to sever Otto’s head. This must have been intentional; you know what an expert swordsman Daemon is.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit compliantly with your family at meals, dances, executions. You stroll in the gardens. You bring Helaena flowers, lilies, irises, tulips, daisies, roses. You bring Alicent paper and quills and ink. You take the letter she writes to the rookery above the chambers where Grand Maester Orwyle once resided. As the raven departs for Maidenpool, black wings flapping in cerulean summer air, you stare through a window that looks out onto Blackwater Bay towards Essos, Driftmark, Dragonstone.

Is Aegon there now? Is he alive?

You have no way of knowing; while ravens pass between King’s Landing and the Riverlands frequently, you cannot risk someone noticing correspondence with Dragonstone. But you feel that Aegon is safe on that fearsome, windswept island. You feel that he might even be gazing out of his own window, back towards the mainland, back towards you.

When you return to your bedchamber, Everett is there. He is seated at the writing desk and pointing to pages in a book about animals of the Crownlands, bears and dragons and crabs. The book is for children; the words are large and accompanied by colorful illustrations. Autumn is sitting in Everett’s lap, giggling as she repeats the words that he croons through her firelight hair.

You pause in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Learning how to read!” Autumn replies brightly.

“I thought you weren’t interested in that.”

“I’ve been struck by sudden and forceful inspiration to shed my commoner ignorance.”

“Autumn, dear,” Everett prompts. She climbs out of his lap, sweeps him a teasing girlish courtesy, and sails out of the room. Everett looks to you. “Come. Sit.”

“Not in your lap, hopefully.”

He laughs. “Where on earth did you find her?”

You take a seat at the edge of your bed, toying with your ring. Your fingertips glide over the bumps of those gleaming jade eyes. “A brothel here in King’s Landing. I don’t know what sort of family she was born into.”

“Oh,” Everett sighs sympathetically. Your father and Clement would be viciously pejorative, would demand Autumn’s removal from your service immediately. But Everett is a different sort of man. He was even before he was burned, and he’s far more so now. “The poor thing.” Then his eyebrows leap up. “Wait. How did you end up visiting a brothel…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You peer out the window that overlooks the beach. You’re always watching the sea now, as if it can tell you its secrets, as if it can whisper to you in a language made of gull cries, breaking waves, starlight and moonbeams reflected on indigo currents in the dead of night.

“It’s strange,” Everett says. There is a soft, sad smile on his face. “Your body is here with us, but your soul isn’t.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to explain everything that’s happened.

“The Usurper must have harmed you terribly.” Everett is not asking, but he is opening the door; you can tell him anything that is burdening you, and he will keep it to himself. You once sat with him as he lay dying, or at least when everyone believed he was; everyone but you and Maester Arthur back on Claw Isle. You once helped bring him back to life. That is a bond forged with something stronger than iron, something deeper than blood.

Aegon? Harm me? “He would never do that.”

Now Everett’s eyes are fixed intently on you. He is reading you like calculations of taxes, expenses, accounts, gains, losses. He realizes, hushed and alarmed: “You weren’t taken to King’s Landing by force.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

His jaw drops open, his eyes blink incredulously. “Do you…do you think he’s the rightful king?!”

“It’s not about that for me.”

“You are betrothed to another man.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“The Usurper is married.”

“Yes,” you say again. “And yet…”

“Seven hells,” Everett exhales. He shakes his head. “But…the Usurper…Aegon…he…he…he’s a monster, isn’t he? A rapist, a degenerate, a slothful and selfish wastrel?”

“No. He’s not. Just like Rhaenyra isn’t a sweet, serene mother to her kingdom.”

Everett smirks ruefully. He can’t argue with this.

“Aegon will pardon any Celtigar who rebelled against him. All they need to do is swear fealty upon being captured.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I know where he was planning to go. I don’t know if he made it there.”

“And you worry for him,” Everett says softly.

You nod, unable to speak. You can feel the threat of tears scorching in your throat, dark churning clouds that forecast lightning, cyclones, floods.

“His burns have healed?” Everett asks. “Everyone knows he was horribly wounded at Rook’s Rest.”

“They’ve scarred over. But that doesn’t mean he’ll be alright.”

Everett understands this, he remembers the discussions the two of you once had with Maester Arthur. Severe burns weaken the organs, even years after the flesh is no longer raw and weeping. Survivors are prone to failure of their kidneys, liver, heart. They must be careful to avoid further trauma. Aegon does not have that luxury. “I don’t know what remedy to offer you,” Everett says remorsefully. “Rhaenyra met with Alicent, and the dowager queen put forth a generous compromise. Alicent proposed that the realm be divided. Aegon’s seat would be at Oldtown, and his jurisdiction would include the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Stormlands. Rhaenyra would continue to rule from King’s Landing and preside over the Crownlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, and the North. Both branches of the family would survive.”

“Rhaenyra could have ended it.” You marvel at the simplicity, the doomed slighted possibilities. “Here and now. The bloodshed would be over. Aegon could return to me.”

“Rhaenyra rejected the notion of any concessions whatsoever. Our father and Clement encouraged her. I would advocate for a peaceful resolution, I would advance your interests, sister. I would, I swear I would. But it is futile. You know they don’t listen to me.”

No, not in the arena of warfare. Everett is the heir to your father’s skill with trade, but Clement is the future Lord of Claw Isle, and it is he who wields swords and shields and leads men into combat. Everett cannot fight. Other men will never regard him as their full equal. “You have listened to my treason and not condemned me. I cannot ask for more from you than that.”

Everett stands from his chair, a slow, laborious undertaking. He crosses the room gingerly, lifts your chin to break the trance as you stare down at your ring, beams like the sun. “You want him.”

“Yes,” you admit helplessly.

“You’ve never wanted any man.”

“Just him. It can’t be anyone but him.”

Everett nods, thoughtful, amused. “Then I will pray that Lord Cregan Stark takes a wrong turn on the Kingsroad and ends up in the Vale, or the Iron Islands, or Essos, or perhaps even walks right into the sea. He’d sink, I’m sure. All those furs must be heavy when wet.”

“If anyone asks, you believe Aegon to be in Dorne.”

“I certainly do.” Everett smiles, touches his lips to your forehead, shuffles off to find Autumn and tell her that she can come back now.

Some nights, if you can enter without being noticed, you steal into the bedchamber that was once Aegon’s, the place where you brought him back from the dead, the place where he made you crave things that had once only filled you with dread, fear, revulsion. No one else has claimed Aegon’s rooms. No one else wants them. They make jokes about the debaucheries his walls must have seen, the unholy stains that surely riddle his mattress, rugs, curtains. They don’t know him at all, and nothing can make them want to. Tonight, there are quarreling voices coming from outside. You go to the open window, your lungs expanding with cool indigo air, and look out.

“Where are you going? Daemon? Daemon!” Rhaenyra is raging after him, following him onto the wet sand of the beach. “Back to Harrenhal? Back to your whore?!”

He does not answer. He strides arrogantly, he storms away from her, this woman he once loved for her tenacity and pride. He has no appetite for weakness. He has no patience for pruning those creeping, thorny vines of madness that are growing into her mind, her veins. Already Caraxes is landing in the surf to take him back to his foothold in the Riverlands, to Baela, to Nettles.

“Then go!” Rhaenyra screams after Daemon. And if you can hear this, surely others can as well. “Just go! We don’t need you here! I don’t need you here!”

Lies, lies, lies. Desperate and transparent lies.

Daemon and Caraxes take flight and disappear into the nightscape darkness over the ocean. You climb into the bed that was once Aegon’s, curl up in a nest of his blood-flecked sheets, breathe in lingering wisps of rose oil and the echoes of his low, drowsy voice, thick with wine and milk of the poppy and forbidden desire for a woman who sheds and replaces her skin again and again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, you go to the gardens and read under the heart tree about cures and poisons. When you return inside—clutching a glass jar containing sticks, leaves, grass, and a single wriggling caterpillar, a gift for Helaena—the Red Keep is in chaos. Servants and guards are gossiping feverishly. Upstairs, Alicent is howling with grief. You glimpse Autumn racing up a staircase towards the dowager queen’s rooms to comfort her. There are sounds of celebration in the Great Hall, cups being toasted and cheers loosed like dragonfire. You follow them, suffocating terror constricting your throat like a noose. Is it Aemond, Criston, Daeron? Is it Aegon? Have they found him, have they killed him?

At the center of the high table, Rhaenyra is wearing a gown of black and red on her body and a smile of soulless satisfaction on her face. She holds a glass of maroon wine high above her head. “To vengeance!” she calls, and the lords that fill the hall thunder the words back to her. “To victory!”

“Father…?” you say, rushing to Bartimos Celtigar’s side. Clement is shaking hands with Manderlys and Blackwoods and Costaynes, grinning radiantly. Everett and Corlys are peering around grimly, looking uneasy, looking ashamed.

What have they done now? Who have they murdered in cold blood?

“Father, what—?”

“He has no more heirs,” Bartimos Celtigar tell you, as if it is the most joyous of surprises, as if is a gift like a gemstone or a rare book.

“Who?”

“The Usurper. Both of his sons are now dead. Neither of his brothers have children. Aegon has no heirs!”

“Maelor,” you whisper, envisioning that defenseless white-haired child, giggling, affectionate, anxious, sobbing in the arms of Sir Rickard Thorne. The jar tumbles out of your grasp and shatters against the stone floor. “Maelor is…he’s…he’s been killed…?”

“By a mob of Black loyalists at Bitterbridge,” your father says. “The Greens were trying to smuggle the child to Oldtown. Our supporters attempted to seize the boy so he could be brought to us. Alas, they were too boisterous. He did not survive, and neither did his keeper Rickard Thorne.”

They tore Maelor apart? They clawed and yanked at that little boy until there was nothing left but shreds of muscle and moon-white bones? You gape up at your father, unable to recognize him, unable to keep the horror from your face. “You’re celebrating the murder of a child?”

“They did the same when Luke was killed.”

Because Aegon thought they had to. Because he wanted to protect his brother. “It was wrong then and it’s wrong now.”

“You are too compassionate, daughter,” your father says, smiling with a puddle-deep, patronizing fondness. Was he always this way? Has he changed so much, or have you? He touches your cheek, and you want to flinch away from him. “You lose sight of the scale of this war. Each child of the Usurper that dies spares thousands of others. Aegon now has no heirs left, not unless you count that little girl who’s hidden away somewhere, and don’t the Greens reject the right of a daughter to inherit the throne? Isn’t that what all of this havoc has been about, preventing Rhaenyra’s ascension? This is a resounding triumph for our side! This is something to commemorate!”

They tore Maelor apart??

Corlys gets up from the table and leaves the Great Hall. Everett is watching you with wide, fearful eyes. He is pleading silently: Don’t react. Don’t panic. Not where they can see you.

“Are you well?” your father asks you, concerned now.

“I feel ill,” you hear yourself answer. You grip the back of his chair so the floor can’t rip itself out from under you.

“Just a moment,” Everett says, rising in that labored way, the scar tissue straining painfully at his ankles and knees and hips. “I’ll accompany you back to your rooms…”

But you can’t wait for him. The tears are already flame-hot and misty in your eyes. You rip away from the Celtigars, away from all the Blacks, and escape upstairs. Breathless, sobbing, you go first to Helaena’s bedchamber. Aegon’s wife is standing in front of her window that overlooks the sandstone courtyard, cobblestones of muted earthy gold. You can hear courtiers chattering far below. You can hear the carousing reverberating from the Great Hall. Helaena does not turn when you arrive; she does not give any indication that she is aware of you.

“Helaena,” you gasp. “Your Grace, I…I’m so sorry…what has happened…it’s despicable, it’s soulless, I cannot stop Rhaenyra’s men from reveling in it but I would never defend their actions, I would never join them, I am horrified and heartsick and appalled—”

“It’s a travesty,” Autumn says from the doorway, and you glance over at her. When you look back to the queen, she has vanished.

“Helaena?!” you shout. You and Autumn bolt to the window. Down in the courtyard, courtiers are shrieking and fleeing from the mess. On the cobblestones, Helaena lies sprawled; her arms and legs are bent at impossible angles. A pool of blood spreads out from under her like a river swelling in a storm until it spills over. Guards are hurrying to the scene, their armor jangling. “Helaena!”

“She’s gone,” Autumn says, bundling you into her arms before you can make for the hall, the stairwell. Her belly presses unyieldingly into you. “There’s nothing you can do. Don’t go down there. You can’t help her now.”

You cover your face with both hands and scream: for Maelor, for Helaena, for Alicent, for Aegon, for the world full of people who can’t stop paying the debts others incurred.

“Don’t go down there.” Autumn’s voice is warm and hushed, her grasp strong. “You can’t help Helaena now. You can only hurt yourself. You don’t need to see it. You don’t need her blood on your hands.”

Everett appears, looks out the window to investigate the commotion in the courtyard, backs away with a hand covering his gaping mouth. “Oh, gods. All the gods, Old and New. What a goddamn fucking disaster.”

Autumn at last releases you, and you dash into the hallway with Everett following as quickly as he can and Autumn walking with him, one arm looped through his. You find Alicent in her rooms, standing motionless beside her bed in an emerald green gown. She is trembling and speechless, she is in shock. You embrace her. “I’m sorry,” you say, tears falling on the velvet of her dress. “I know that doesn’t make it any better, but I am.”

Everett and Autumn enter the bedchamber and shut the door behind them. “What—?” Everett begins.

“I have to go to him,” you say. You step away from the dowager queen and wipe your eyes with your sleeves, black like onyx, like obsidian, like death.

“Who...?”

“Aegon. The king,” you tell them. “He’s going to hear of this. He’s going to know what happened to Maelor and Helaena. I can’t let him face that alone. I can’t let him fall into despair.”

“But he…I mean…” Everett is trying to choose his words sensitively. The state of the royal marriage was no secret anywhere in the realm. “Was he even…involved with his wife and children? In any meaningful way?”

“It’s not about them, it’s about him thinking that he’s responsible, that he’s a curse to anyone he touches, that he ruins people, I…” You shake your head franticly. “I can’t stay here. I have to go. I have to be with him.”

“Go where?!” Everett exclaims.

“Dragonstone,” Autumn answers for you.

“Dragonstone,” he repeats numbly. “You can’t be serious! How will you get there?!”

“I’ll take a horse to Crackclaw Point and then pay a boat to ferry me across the water.”

“Alone?!” Everett says.

“I’ll have to be. You cannot travel by horse, only carriage. And your absence would be noticed too swiftly. Father would send soldiers after you if he feared you’d been captured.”

“You’ve never gone anywhere alone, now you’re going to travel a hundred miles over earth and ocean to Dragonstone?!”

“She won’t be alone,” Autumn says. You and Everett turn to her. She is grinning. “I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.”

“You can’t ride a horse either,” you object. “You’re with child. It could be dangerous.”

“I’ve done far more vigorous activities while pregnant, believe me.”

“You’re really going?” Everett says, quiet, mournful. It seems that you’ve only just reunited with him.

“I have to. Aegon thought I’d be safe with the Blacks, and I am, I suppose…but I’m not really a Black anymore. And I can’t let him suffer alone. I…I…”

“You love him,” Alicent says. She gazes at you with huge, glassy, void-dark eyes, like those of a doe felled by arrows. She is half-here and half-not, and thank the gods for that. Her loss is too great. She cannot bear it all at once. Part of her knows her only daughter is dead on the cobblestones outside, her last grandson was torn apart by a mob that were more beasts than men. And then part of her is only aware of this room. “Properly. Entirely. In a way he can understand.”

“I do,” you confess. I do, I do.

“I’m glad,” Alicent says dully. “Someone must.”

She staggers to her bed, lies down on it, curls up like a wounded animal, rips away her golden necklace of a seven-pointed star and throws it to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, you and Autumn leave King’s Landing on horses Everett procured. There is only a skeleton crew of guards left in the Red Keep; the rest are partaking in the festivities that pulse in the Great Hall like a heartbeat, candlelight and music and manic glee. Yet among the smallfolk, no one is celebrating. They are in mourning for their misfortunate, benign queen and her toddler son. They are hissing venomously about Rhaenyra, Daemon, Bartimos Celtigar.

The court will not notice Autumn’s absence, not for days at least, perhaps not ever. Everett will upend your bedchamber before he goes to sleep, knocking over chairs and tables, yanking sheets from the bed. In the morning, he will tell your father that he assumes you are still resting from your illness, from the insurmountable stress of the past months. Women are so fragile, after all; their lives are one tragedy after the next. When at last someone checks on you—hopefully not for a few days—it will appear that you have been taken after a struggle. You did not leave. You were kidnapped by fiends using the secret passageways. You are a prisoner of the Greens again, and likely spirited away to the Stormlands or the Reach or perhaps even the remote, golden sands of Dorne.

You and Autumn travel by night and sleep through the day, staying at roadside inns paid for by the heavy sack of coins Everett gifted you. It is not difficult to blend in among countless travelers and refugees displaced in the wake of the war. You have no distinguishing characteristics, no Valyrian-white hair or ragged burns or sapphires in place of eyes. In fact, Autumn attracts more attention than you do. She is beautiful, talkative, effortlessly flirtatious. Men trail after her at every inn. You receive exemplary service, the hottest soup and the cleanest rooms. She complains to you about how difficult it is becoming for her to rest as her belly grows: perhaps five months along, perhaps six, she isn’t certain, her cycle was already irregular from the lemonweed tea brewed at the brothel.

In a small town called Eagle Harbor at the base of Crackclaw Point, you need to hire a sailor to take you across the narrow strait to Dragonstone. You fumble through stilted inquiries at a tavern until Autumn takes charge, half-drags a bald, bearded man back into the pantry, emerges with him five minutes later, and orders a pint of ale that she sips with a lazy, arrogant smirk.

“May the Mother have mercy!” the sailor says unsteadily, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ll go to Dragonstone and back ten times for this red-haired demon!”

You and Autumn board his humble vessel at the end of the town’s lone pier and set off through choppy, night-draped waters towards Dragonstone. On the way, the sailor informs you that he’s made this trip a handful of times in the past two weeks, delivering an assortment of workers to the island: servants, guards, maesters, cooks.

“Rumor has it,” the sailor says with a conspiratorial grin. “There is a very illustrious occupant currently holding Dragonstone. He is scarred, but he is growing stronger. Surely you know of whom I speak. He must have beckoned you to join him. Perhaps you are servants. Perhaps you are whores. He has a famed appetite for them.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” Autumn offers casually.

“Many here in the Crownlands are aware,” the sailor continues. “But you will not catch anyone being too loose with their gossip. The Beggar King is no enemy to us. The Bitch Queen is an enemy. That money-grubbing Bartimos Celtigar is an enemy. But the Greens will end the taxes he put on us. The sooner the Beggar King is well again, the better. He and his dragon too.”

When the sailor docks at Dragonstone, Autumn helps you up onto the pier and then gets back in the boat. “You aren’t staying?” you ask her, baffled, troubled. You have grown terribly attached to her. Cold night rain falls onto the island, growing heavier by the minute. Lightning snaps through the darkness and strikes near the castle.

“No. I want to be with Everett.” Autumn smiles. “And I know the king would not wish for me to impose upon Dragonstone.”

She’s probably right. “Why is he so cold to you? So avoidant?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Autumn says. “He doesn’t want you thinking about him fucking anyone except you.” She grins, winks, gestures for the sailor to unmoor his boat again. “When the Greens come to retake the capital, please ask them not to incinerate me.”

“I’ll pass the message along.”

“Good luck,” she says, waving. “We’ll wait to set sail until you’ve started up the steps.”

Through the darkness, through the driving rain, you trudge up the beach and then ascend the stone steps carved precariously into the cliffside. The grey stone is slippery; for parts of the climb, you walk on your palms as well as your boots. Your ring clinks against rock. When the clouds momentarily blow away from the moon, the gold wings glimmer in the silver light. There are torches burning in the mouths of iron dragons as you near the entranceway of the castle, towering walls that disappear into storm clouds. There is candlelight flickering in the corridors and chambers within. You can see dots of miniature infernos in the windows.

Aegon is in one of those rooms.

Suddenly, a screech startles you so badly you nearly plunge off the steps. Fire blooms in the night air only yards from your face. He’s clutching the cliffside, glaring at you with molten gold eyes set in an angular skull, snarling, smoke drifting skyward from his nostrils. You scream before you can stop yourself.

Sunfyre!!

You crouch down on the steps, squeeze your eyes shut, and wait for him to burn you alive. Seconds pass, ten, twenty, thirty. When you look at Sunfyre again, scales shimmering in the moonlight, he is observing you not with hatred but with curiosity that is clever, almost catlike. You have never been this close to a dragon before. You’ve never wanted to be, and now is no exception. He smells like smoke and sulfur, earth and ash. Sunfyre clambers nearer to you, his muzzle outstretched. You flinch away, whimpering, but he is not deterred. The dragon sniffs and nudges at you, his breath hot, his snout bumping against your arm and shoulder.

“Stop!” you squeak, petrified. “Sunfyre, don’t!”

At last, he seems to realize he’s frightening you. The dragon retreats with a low grumble from deep in his chest. You scramble up the remainder of the steps before he can change his mind.

There is distant shouting, and someone cranks open the castle gate for you. You hurry into the courtyard, running now, as rain pours down on you and thunder booms. There is a figure in a hooded cloak trotting out of the castle entrance. At first you don’t believe he can be Aegon; he is standing too tall, moving too brisky. You have never seen him so well before. But then he calls to you, and there is no doubt.

“Angel?!” Aegon shouts in disbelief over the drumming of raindrops. He is rapidly closing the distance between you. The wind tears off his hood. Beneath it his hair is longer than you remember and wild except for a single small braid down the left side of his face. His cheeks are ruddy. Tears stream from his eyes. He has heard what happened to Maelor and Helaena; he has been weeping for them, for the impending ruin of anyone he’s ever touched. “What the hell are you doing here—?!”

And instead of waiting for an answer he kisses you, or you kiss him, or you both do it at once, an unspoken covenant written not in ink but in the blood that whispers to each other through the veils of vessel walls, muscle, scarred skin. His hands are cradling your jaw, his lips ravenous. He smells like rose oil; he tastes like wine and rain and the clean salt of tears, the ageless mineral blue of the ocean.

“It has to be you,” you tell Aegon, a ghost of a voice in the maelstrom of the storm. Your thumbprint skates across his full bottom lip before you kiss him again, more slowly now, entwining yourself with him, hipbones and ribcages and handprints that will never wash off. Do you see what I’m offering? Do you feel what I want? “You’re not ruining me. You’re saving me. And it can’t be anyone but you.��

Aegon studies your face, stunned eyes murky like the waves, and then hungry as well: depths that swallow ships, watery graveyards that feast on bones. Then he takes your hand and leads you into Dragonstone. Inside, Larys Strong is waiting under a cascade of torchlight. He blinks at you as if you might disappear. When you don’t, he tilts his head to the side, intrigued.

“Lord Larys,” Aegon says curtly. “Make yourself invisible for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys purrs with a bow. Then he vanishes into the shadows.

“This way,” Aegon says, and you follow him up a staircase and down a corridor to a bedchamber illuminated only by a few flickering candles and flashes of lightning. In the corner of the room, you glimpse swords and armor; on Aegon’s bedside table, there is a glass bottle of rose oil and the hollowed-out shell of a crab, boiled red like fresh blood. And then you are on the bed and Aegon is beside you and there is not a single thread of you, muscle or marrow or nerve, that is afraid. “Are you sure?” he’s asking between deep, insatiable kisses, his fingers working on the laces of your gown. “We don’t have to. We can stop.”

But does he want that? No, no, he’s starving just like I am. “I’m sure, Aegon.” And you uncover each other with hands that rip away cotton and silk like trees are stripped bare in the winter.

His clothes are gone, cloak and trousers crumpled on the floor, and he pauses with trepidation in his eyes. His scars riddle him with uneven swaths of white, pink, red, a burgundy so dark it’s almost the violet of a bruise. The macabre patchwork stops at the lowest part of his belly, where his skin becomes abruptly pristine, pale, velvet-soft. “I guess…” He swallows noisily. “I guess this isn’t what you imagined the man you’d sleep with would look like, huh?”

“No,” you agree, smiling, pulling him in close again. I never imagined enjoying this at all. “And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Don’t keep me waiting.”

Aegon helps you tug off your gown and loosen your hair; it spills freely over the bedsheets. He’s on top of you, his warm weight perfect and welcome and right. Too swiftly for you to be nervous, his hand has settled between your legs. He strokes you, only on the outside where there is no threat of pain, as his tongue darts into your mouth and wetness soon coats his fingers. Then his fingers venture lower, seeking to enter you, the first time anything ever has. And you feel it, though you wish you didn’t, involuntary and uninvited: your body tensing just as his finger attempts to glide inside, a biting pain that makes you wince.

“No,” you yelp softly, a betrayal of your own flesh.

“Okay,” Aegon murmurs reassuringly. “That’s okay. Not a problem. Here…” He sits upright, draws you to him, bites lightly at your throat as you settle in his lap. “You’re in charge. You decide if and when it happens. And if this time doesn’t work, that’s fine, that’s completely fine, we can try again later, I can wait—”

“Are you alright like this? Am I too heavy?”

He grabs your face with his left hand—fingers hooked around your jaw, his eyes locked with yours—and says roughly: “Don’t ask about me again.”

“Okay,” you moan into him as his right hand skims down to touch you, to coax the fear out of you, to draw powerful circles around the place where your pleasure is greatest.

“This is about you.”

“Okay,” you say again, only a whisper this time, obedient, desperate.

“Please let me have this,” Aegon begs, resting his forehead against yours, his silver hair grazing your cheeks. “Please let me take care of you this time.”

“Yes,” you sigh, breathing him in, roses and heat and wine and sharp, oceanic, mineral lust. You lay your palms against the gnarled scar tissue of his chest and Aegon chuckles bitterly.

“I can’t even feel it. I’m a monster.” Then you press your bare hips to his, gradually finding a rhythm, slipping his cock through slick, warm folds that are aching more ardently than you ever knew was possible. “Oh fuck,” he gasps. “I felt that.”

“I want you,” you plead. “I want you, I want you.”

“Not yet…”

You are aware that your tension unraveling, your muscles opening as Aegon massages you until his hand is soaked, until you’re so wet the friction is almost nonexistent. Outside waves crash and lighting flashes and thunder growls like a dragon. I can’t wait. I need him. You lift up and Aegon holds his cock steady, coating it in your wetness with a quick pump of his hand, so you can lower yourself onto him. Slowly, you can feel his cock sinking into you, an indescribably foreign sensation, fullness and stretching and dull, strange contentment that is more like the potential of pleasure than anything else. There is discomfort as well, yes, a burning and a stinging that swells as he fills you. You try to keep it from your face; still, Aegon can read the pain there like black ink on pages.

He shakes his head and murmurs: “Stop, stop, I’m hurting you.”

“I want it. I can take it.”

He’s kissing your lips, your cheek, the slope of your jaw. “Give yourself time to adjust. There’s no rush, Angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You wait until the pain seems to have vanished, then—carefully, tentatively—you rise up and lower yourself again. Yes, there’s definite pleasure now, less sharp than where he touched you before but deeper, more total. You try this again, again, faster now. Aegon’s breath hitches. He’s trembling; sweat glistens on his forehead and dampens his hair.

“I’m going to show you something,” he pants. “But you have to help me out.”

“Help how…?”

“Tell me what I’m doing right.” His fingers are on you again, pressing, circling. And there’s something about this combination of two very different colors of pleasure—dull fullness inside, intense ecstasy dancing over the skin—that lights a spark in you like striking flint.

You cry out, your pace as you ride him quickening, any last remnants of pain banished to distant memory. You are conscious now that you are working towards a peak of some sort; you can feel it building in you like fire in the mouth of a dragon.

Aegon asks: “Faster? Slower?”

“Faster,” you reply, and his hand obeys. You moan, fingers knotted in his hair and lips against the scar tissue of his throat, grisly webs that you cherish for knitting him back together, for saving his life.

“Harder or softer?”

“Harder,” you beg him in a whisper. And all at once, the pleasure is overwhelming, unstoppable, incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced or ever wanted to, anything you thought was possible, anything you believed you were worthy of. It wrenches everything out of you, desire as well as turmoil, every thought in your skull and fear in your bones. It passes, leaving your heart thumping violently and an involuntary throbbing that squeezes Aegon’s cock, releases it, squeezes it again.

Aegon lays you down on your back and thrusts into you, shallowly at first to make sure you’re alright, then deeper and more powerfully. There’s no pain at all, only a hazy calmness, a need to be near to him, to tangle up closer and closer until you share everything, veins and arteries and the capillary beds of lungs. He’s exhausted already; you notice a few needle-thin split seams in his scar tissue. There are faint stains of crimson blood on your belly, your chest. His fingers link through yours, his moans grow louder and more jagged. He comes so hard tears spring into his eyes, and you feel one more thing you hadn’t expected to: not vulnerability but power, pride, satisfaction.

“It’s like that every time?” you ask, drowsy and amazed as he rolls onto his side and pulls you against him. The rain is still falling outside. Lightning paints the windows; thunder quakes them.

“If it’s done well.” Aegon is pink-faced, breathing heavily, staggeringly beautiful. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

“No wonder you’ve fucked hundreds of women.”

He laughs. “Not that many.” He grins as he kisses you, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’ve rid me of them all. You’ve burned them away.”

“I love you,” you say without planning to.

Aegon replies, but not in words you can understand. He whispers something in High Valyrian, his eyes dip closed, he is asleep before you can ask him what it means.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader

[lesmisletters]

Les Mis Letters 2024 Informational Masterpost

Les Mis Letters is a Dracula-Daily-inspired email subscription that sends you a chapter of Les Misérables once a day for a year.

There are 365 chapters in Les Mis, most of which are short, and 365 days in a year— so this email subscription is a great way to make it through the Brick! We begin on January 1st and end on December 31st.

Subscribe to Les Mis letters at our Substack here.

You can also join the discussion in our “book club” discord server here.

The email schedule for the upcoming year can be found here. Because 2024 is a Leap Year, the dates will be slightly different from 2023.

Finally, we’re very active on Tumblr! Here are some optional Les Mis Letters Tumblr Tips, based on what worked well last year:

Read what you can and post what you can! You don't need to be completely "caught up" to add your thoughts on the current chapters.

Tag your posts with #Les Mis and #Les Mis Letters.

Tag specific chapters with “lm” and then the volume number, book number, and chapter number. For example, Les Mis Volume 1 Book 2 Chapter 1 is “#lm 1.2.1.” Les Mis Volume 5 Book 4 Chapter 1 is "#lm 5.4.1." This makes it easy for people to find your posts about specific chapters!

Feel free to reply to older meta posts with new thoughts.

@ this blog if you see a great post related to the current chapters that we’ve overlooked!

Any other questions? Check out our FAQ or send us an ask here.

Les Mis Letters was created by Rachel but has now been passed on to Mellow. You can talk Mellow on this blog, at @secretmellowblog on Tumblr, or in the Les Mis Letters discord server.

Thank you for following along!

-mod Mellow

#les mis #les mis letters #les mis letters 2024 #les miserables #dracula daily

[syrupsyche]

I have made this post before but to reiterate once again: you can tell how the stress and stakes of the rebellion has put much strain on the already-shaky relationship between Enjolras and Grantaire. Compare the (only!) two times they have shared a proper conversation:

“Grantaire will you do me a service?”

“Anything. I’ll black your boots.”

“Well, don’t meddle with our affairs. Sleep yourself sober from your absinthe.”

“You are an ingrate, Enjolras.”

— LM 4.1.6

“Go and sleep somewhere else,” cried Enjolras.

But Grantaire, still keeping his tender and troubled eyes fixed on him, replied:—

“Let me sleep here,—until I die.”

Enjolras regarded him with disdainful eyes:—

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

Grantaire replied in a grave tone:—

“You will see.”

— LM 4.12.3

Both instances has Enjolras commanding Grantaire to sleep his alcohol off somewhere else, with Grantaire refusing. But the language used is different: the argument is lighter, even teasing in 1.6, while the exchange in 12.3 is harsh, with both sides equally cruel (Grantaire to the women, and Enjolras to Grantaire). A brilliant parallel used by Hugo to show the heightened emotions of the rebellion and, of course, the fated relationship between exR. They are always going to be playing the same game, speaking the same lines— and dying the same death.

#les mis #les mis letters #lm 4.12.3 #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #hm i made myself sad again #syrup ramble #syrup talks about lit

[kylelover]

Thank you so much for the support on LMS pt 1 <3<3

Tw slurs, just skip cartmans first texts on the gc

LITTLE MISS CARTMAN: pt 2 (KYLE X READER)

Stan stared at the message on his screen, there was no way this was real.

Stanㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:16

wait what, CARTMANS SISTER??

is this a joke ?ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✓ ✓ seen

As soon as Stan was writing his next text, he quickly got a reply from his best friend.

Kyleㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:20

Idk.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ✓ ✓ seen

Kyle looked at his phone, he didn't know how to explain his feelings for the girl.

On one part, she was lovely, sweet and funny

On the other, she was his frenemies sister.

But it felt so good when their arms brushed against each other, or when she complimented him, or how his name just sounded so good when she said it...

He felt so confused.

The curly haired boy had a feeling inside his chest, he couldn't guess if it was love or anxiousness.

His thoughts got interrupted when he suddenly heard multiple notification sounds come from his phone.

Stan ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:30

what do you mean you don't know??

cartmans gpnna kill youu

not like he doesn't want to do it already...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ✓ ✓ seen

Kyle grabbed his phone quickly and layed on his bed.

Kyle ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:30

She's just so different from him.

My whole perspective for her changed in such a short period of time.

Didn't you notice how she shut Cartman off the other day?? She was amazing.

She is amazing.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ✓ ✓ seen

Stan ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:34

huhh 🫤 I guess you were serious

i'd say go for it

maybe I can ask wendy if she has her number

or just ask her yourself

also did you like my sparky sticker I made it ywsterday lmao

Juet ask her out?, Kyle wishes it would be that easy.

Maybe he could try. Just maybe things could go right and... they could go out...?

Kyle's head was full of thoughts about her.

Once again, his phone dinged. This time it wasn't from Stan.

Cartman haters

Kenny changed the name of the groupchat to "Cartman haters"

Cartman ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:47

Kenny shut up your poor and a fag

I don know how you even have a phone

Change it

Kenny ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:48

Not until you pass me the answer to question number 3‼️‼️ you know damn well we have to do this work thing together

Cartman ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:49ㅤ

You know that not giving me admin on the group is fatphobec

Your racist kenny

Kenny silenced Cartman

Kennyㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:49

Also cartman, it's "You're"

@KYLE I know you did it, can you give me the answer

Please, or I'll ask Y/N maybe

I'm on my knees not only begging but also

Kyle ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:50

No.

Do it yourself.

Also stop using those dumbass reaction pics for everything...

Kenny ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ12:52

~

Kyle laughed at his friends actions and shut his phone off.

And just as he was dazing and about to fall asleep...

Cartman ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ1:01

Kayle

Why are u partners whith My sister

Dont even try to date her!! she wold never be friends a jew like u

Kyle just stared at Cartman's message.

Kyle ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ1:02

We're partners because the teacher assigned us together

She's her own person she can hangout with whoever she wants

Also learn how to type.

Satisfied with his response, the boy shut his phone off and finally went to sleep.

Sorry for it being so short!! I'll write tomorrow the next chapter where things get more interesting... <3<3

#requests are open #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle x reader #south park x reader #sp x reader

[slumber-lexifer]

Delivery

Yandere fast food worker x reader gn

(Warnings slight horny yandere themes)

It was late at night you were just relaxing on couch scrolling on your phone, in your apartment in the dark with TV on,your on your back chilling on the couch,you feel hungry your tummy rumbles in hunger, why not order from the new place,you go on your phone and open the app you order a soft drink and burger and place your order, you wait for its delivery.

Jerry was on brink of passing out he shouldn't take so many shifts but his new hobby he's prepareing for is all worth it, he's on his brake but he takes anyone shifts, and the employees know speaking of taking brakes, here comes a employe "Hay Jerry can you be a pal my brother broken his leg can you be a pal and deliver to this address?" they hand him the bag of food, With a "sigh sure l can do it." He takes the bag and walks out the restaurant he looks at the address to remember,

and he gets in his car he starts it up he drives off he pulls up at the building, he gets out and enters the building he enters and walks around, a bit lost he delivered to people before in here he bumps into the landlady, he's in unerform he's not suspicious he would ask her were the addresse is "Hay um excuse me do you know where this address is?" She replied with a deep sotinhing voice long black hair tall and red eyes"oh well that is where y/n lives there on right there"she points His heart beats he know that name,the credit card he can't get his hopes up and fantasy acting up with all the what ifs, plenty people have that name or not you make that name special it's you, and if you don't like it he cut his tongue out if ever said something to upset you, deep breaths in he needs to focus"thanks!" he leaves with a hop in his step he takes in deep breaths in, it may not even be you he's just working himself with fantasy he knocked on the door tension building as he heard footsteps holding his breath.

The door opens it the most perfect person put on earth he doesn't feel worthy to look at them he looks down avoiding eye contact,eyes darting up to look at you perfectly carved features like a stature carved from angels you are an angel.

Dame what taken so long lm hungry angry waiting impatiently there's knock on the door already standing at the door waiting impatiently for food, you rush to open and the man with your order standing at door entrance he looks stund, he's familiar oh wait the guy there something wrong with his breathing, l hope he doesn't have asthma, he's red in face sweating like he ran a marathon,

Oh my what can l do relax Jerry hand over the food and compliment them, speak confidently please Jerry dont mess up "you absolutely look gorgeous my darling you divine deity of beauty l would worship you...s..so..sorry..um..h..here's..yo..yyour..food" He thinks internally "shit to much there gonna hate me what am l gonna do what's wrong with me they want nothing to do with me they..t.they lm creepy" anxiety building up he cough to distract himself he nervously scratching his forearms he doesn't want to keep you waiting, he hands the food rubbing his neck anxiously to ground himself.

"Um thx" you grab the order bumping hands slightly you place it on you table he's still standing in the door way that accidentally skin touch,broken him he meakly speaks up avoiding eye contact "t..tthis is a lovely place are you alone ordering at night so late are you waiting for a friend?" he says with fake composure you feel a little freakd out he knows were you live now "um no lm alone?"

his posture sticking up his eyes dart up to look you into your eyes, "l can accompany you if want we can watch lord of the rings?" he desperately wants to stay with you as long as possible, he doesn't want to go back to his crappy 24.7 job,he much rather spend it with you make him feel alive not undead, at his job dealing with late night Karen's, please accept his offer you reply "it's a bit late l don't know you is all."

he wants to collapse to his knees please don't make him go back there, he takes it with a smile the hurt in his eyes, he can take a no he respect you just not your privacy,

"Alright lm Jerry not much of name like mine l can leave goodnight sweetheart have sweet Dreams." He close the door holding his heart, his legs feel wobbly around you he smiles fondly and chuckles lowly to himself, he knows were you live now he can protect,oh what you toothbrush colour would look like how it tastes his pants stiffn now he has walk to car funny he's definitely using that hand you brushed earlier for later.

To you oh lovely l got extra sauce it tast off whatever you throw it away l you walk back to the couch you dig in and watch crappy TV your roomate should be back by now.

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere blurb #tw: yandere #yandere imagines #yanderes #yandere headcanons #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #my oc jerry #yandere fast food worker #yandere insert

[thatdeadaquarius]

With your language AU, I remember watching a video about a guy speaking angrily nonesense in an Indian accent and people thinking he was very angry. Imagine this as the Creator speaks angry gibberish to people and they just assume that the Creator is cursing them or something. (Or like when they speak gibberish to babies and everyone's like, "Aw the Creator is teaching that baby their divine language")

*AUDIENCE DRAMATICALLY GASPS.

✨️I look pretty good for a dead bitch✨️

She's alivveee!!!

Whats up i almost passed away from sheer academic workload, but im not in the ground yet 🥰 And with drafts outta my ass! :D

Hope yall ready for ur regularly scheduled Bullshit Genshin Sagau <3

SANDBEES THATS SUCH A GOOD USERNAME & ALSO SORRY I ANSWERED THIS SO FUCKING LATE JESUSSSSS 💀💀💀

SORRY ABT THE POLL I CANT BELIEVE I COULDNT FIGURE OUT HOW TO DELETE IT IM FUCKING CRYING I WOULD DO THIS-

Well at least i can do polls thru this in the future?? Idk tumblr is ass so we'll see how this accidental test works out...

☆

So these were the first thngs i thought of and its not super long bc ASKERS R GENIUSES OKAY

SOMTIMES I JUST WANNA PROFUSELY THANK U GUYS AS A REPLY FOR SHARING WITH THE CLASS THRU MY BLOG 💖💘💫

Saw the gif and couldnt help but think this is how ppl like Alhaitham or Diluc would react to u "speaking ur langauge"

"Our langauage" aka being a SIM 💀

◇

Stop Albedo would ask you to teach him ur lang/grammar rules 😭

What u gonna do when Zhongli asks you to teach him some words-

OH NO

NO DONT PASS ON YOUR BULLSHIT LMAO

U GIVING ZHONGLI SOME STUPID SIM WORD LIKE

Your ass: "GIGGLABAH means beautiful :) "✨️

Zhongli: "Oh thank you, how different from our own version, so excited sounding..."

You walk by him strolling the harbor and he just smiles at you and says

"You look gigglabah today my liege."

HIS REGAL FACE AND FANCY WALK WITH HIS HAND BEHIND HIS BACK AND EVERYTHING

(honestly ppl paint him as oblivious but he kinda seemed like the type of bastard who seems like he's not aware but sometimes he secretly knows the truth, he's just getting too much amusement out of it to stop doing it, LOL he does shit like the above to see YOUR reaction- LMAO)

◇

You're a maniac pls tell me u dont pass on simlish to all the serious characters-

XIAO WOULD SECRETLY THINK IT SOUNDS GOOFY BUT WANT TO BE INVOLVED BC ITS YOU ANYWAY LMAO

SO HE'S JUST SLIGHTLY SQUIRMING AND GETTIN PINK EVERYTIME HE SAYS A STUPID SIM WORD BC HE FEELS LIKE A GOOF HAHA

(& he's not the only one, others too like Kaveh, YELAN, Ningguang, Nahida, DILUC, AYAKA LMAO-)

◇

Some ppl i could see taking ur gibberish bullshittery and whether they believe its real or not is irrelevant bc theyre using it anyway-

And i dont mean in a good way 😭

LIKE IM THINKING OF VENTI.

CRAZY BARD INCLUDING SIMLISH ASS GIBBERISH WORDS IN HIS SONGS BC OF YOU

"Be cheerful like the hugkukie,

and may your cup never leaky!"

And Diluc loves you.

Really he does, deeper than he thinks-

But his eye is twitching LMAOO

◇

(Ok but if you did like multiple of these language shenanigans thruout the asks ive gotten, Kaeya would literally grow so fond of you and associate you with goofy funny shit that makes him laugh so hard that everytime he sees you he automatically is beaming with a smile, or trying to supress a warm grin- this got away from me but its 1:44am for me rn so i would love a smiley Kaeya rn -)

♡

Speaking language bs I have my 2nd oral exam for spanish tomorrow, pls send whatever good vibes u got and i am also really open to prayers from any religion as well. sobs

Hope anyone got any enjoyment out of my response bc tbh the ask is what rlly matters to me atp lmao

Until the next shenanigan-

Safe travels,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds mwah ♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist

#hope u guys like those follower event posts when they here 😖🙏 #so u would think the opposite but no- #those headcanons r gonna be so much more lore than u probably wanted #and the oneshot the opposite 💀 #more absolute baffoonery than u ever wanted from me #genshin impact #genshin sagau #my asks #sagau #genshin imagines #genshin isekai #genshin sagau language barrier au #genshin sagau language au #should i attempt to make these tags #does it even matter or is it a fruitless endeavor #the language brainrot is endless #yall have lost brain cells reading my writing i stg #genshin sagau ideas #gender neutral reader

[pureanonofficial]

LES MIS LETTERS IN ADAPTATION - A Chapter In Which They Adore Each Other , LM 1.3.6 ( I miserabili 1964)

Dahlia, as she ate, said in a low voice to Favourite, amid the uproar:—

“So you really idolize him deeply, that Blachevelle of yours?”

“I? I detest him,” replied Favourite in the same tone, seizing her fork again. “He is avaricious. I love the little fellow opposite me in my house. He is very nice, that young man; do you know him? One can see that he is an actor by profession. I love actors. As soon as he comes in, his mother says to him: ‘Ah! mon Dieu! my peace of mind is gone. There he goes with his shouting. But, my dear, you are splitting my head!’ So he goes up to rat-ridden garrets, to black holes, as high as he can mount, and there he sets to singing, declaiming, how do I know what? so that he can be heard downstairs! He earns twenty sous a day at an attorney’s by penning quibbles. He is the son of a former precentor of Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas. Ah! he is very nice. He idolizes me so, that one day when he saw me making batter for some pancakes, he said to me: ‘Mamselle, make your gloves into fritters, and I will eat them.’ It is only artists who can say such things as that. Ah! he is very nice. I am in a fair way to go out of my head over that little fellow. Never mind; I tell Blachevelle that I adore him—how I lie! Hey! How I do lie!”

#Les Mis #Les Mis Letters #Les Miserables #Les Mis Letters in Adaptation #I Miserabili 1964 #I Mis 1964 #Les Mis 1964 #Les Miserables 1964 #Dahlia #Favourite #Zephine #LM 1.3.6 #lesmisedit #lesmiserablesedit #imiserabiliedit #tvedit #pureanonedits

[pilferingapples]

how was police work seen by the public in 19th century france? i think i read somewhere that no one really liked or respected them but i have no idea if i'm imagining it or not

Well it kinda depends on what part of the century you're looking at!

I'm going to hugely simplify here ( if people with more research on this want to reply and elaborate, please do!) , but in broad terms: police forces in the early 19C were seen in almost the same light as the criminals they interacted with. It was *not* a Glamour Job. They were paid badly, assumed to take bribes (because hey! look how badly they were paid!) tended to be from the lower or "criminal" classes, etc. They were basically brute force enforcement against known criminals or the socially marginalized, rather than detectives in the sense that a modern audience might expect.

But then over the course of the century, the role changed; by the time LM was published, cops were much more like a respectable profession, one a middle-class man might choose on purpose. It was a career that assumed some education and training , and had standards of behavior and everything. Which isn't to say that suddenly everyone liked and respected the police, but it was no longer a job strictly for social pariahs and outcasts.

(and of course in both cases they were upholding the prejudiced order of their society , that very much stays the same over the years) (You can find a much more detailed explanation of these shifting roles here; warning for slurs used in the context of discussing bigotry)

#Javert talk

[lord-of-snack-falcons]

[1967]

Sir Handel stood waiting at the platform. He sighed, wholeheartedly expecting the connecting service from the North Western to be late, as it had been the past two days.

“Just who does that Ryan think they are?” He muttered to himself.

He glanced up at the clock, but right as the minute struck, he heard a big engine approaching. A red tank engine in LMS Crimson strode into the station, gracefully stopping at the platform.

Sir Handel tried to hide how impressed he was.

After his ‘fruitful endeavor’ a few weeks back, the fat controller had reallocated Arthur to passenger trains for a while. While the tank engine appreciated the change, he still felt he’d let everyone down.

“Any passengers disembarking at Crovan’s Gate, this is your stop!” Arthur announced.

“Isn’t that the guard’s job?” Sir Handel cocked an eyebrow.

“It never hurts to be safe.”

“It also helps to arrive on time.” Sir Handel clarified after visible panic began to form on Arthur’s face. “The engine before you would arrive at his own leisurely pace.”

“I can’t speak for them, but I will do the best I can to ensure our passengers arrive safely and on time.”

“As well you should.” The little red engine agreed. “And I see your paintwork is in good condition as well. Can’t let the passengers see a shabby engine pulling their trains. It wouldn’t suit hi-” He stopped abruptly, then coughed. “It- it wouldn’t do.”

“Are you all right?” Arthur asked, hesitantly.

“Of course!” Sir Handel replied, quickly. “I was just saying that our passengers would never approve. Ask Skarloey!”

And before Arthur could get another word in, Sir Handel stormed out of the station. Arthur watched him go, wondering where he’d overstepped.

#ttte #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine and friends #railway series #rws #ttte arthur #ttte sir handel #ttte douglas #ttte gertrude and millicent #tte oc janice #sir handel testing the standard-gauge engines will never not be funny to me

[cerenemuxse]

TGR but There's a Roleswap - Chapter 11

Chapter 11 - Goodbye

The story can be found at @tgr-2x5-roleswap-au for easier access.

~

As James filled up with water, the rest of the North Westerners approached him.

“I’m sorry, James but we couldn’t find him,” said Emily, feeling sorry for her little brother.

“He’s probably already left with the rest of his group,” suggested Henry. “Like some of the others have.”

“He could’ve at least said ‘goodbye,’” remarked Philip, only for Emily to shoot him a look.

"Philip!" hushed Thomas.

"What?"

“He probably had to leave quickly,” prompted Emily. “Who knows what they're having him do.”

“Yeah, I guess,” muttered James. Emily did have a point, for she had a sister who was preserved, the ex-GNR A1 Stirling Single No. 1.

Gordon stopped by with the Fat Controller in his cab, who peaked out from it. "Alright, everybody! Get yourselves refueled before we head home! We've still got a railway to run!"

"Yes, sir!" everyone, but Gordon, replied. Once the temporarily streamlined engine puffed away, Emily moved closer to James.

"We'll be near the entrance waiting for you, Jimmy," mumbled Emily before she puffed away, soon followed by the rest.

Once everyone had left, James was left brooding alone, wishing once again that he could see Edward one more time and say goodbye. But at the same time, he didn't because he knew it would hurt just as much or even more. James could vividly remember saying goodbye for the last time to one of his old LMS friends, shortly followed by his sister a few years later. After that, he was terrified every time he said goodbye to Donald and Douglas when heading over to Barrow-in-Furness. Thank goodness the Fat Controller bought both of them.

He didn't want to say goodbye. Not yet, at least, but he didn't have time.

"We need to get moving!" someone exclaimed. It was loud enough to snap James out of his thoughts. "Come on, Twenty-One!" they called out again.

Twenty-One? he thought as his eyes suddenly widened with hope.

"Aye, Coppernob," replied "Twenty-One." The accent pulled him out of his thoughts as it was swiftly followed by the whistle in that same solemn tone he heard yesterday.

James looked around, searching his surroundings. Just as he expected, his eyes quickly landed on a very small group of engines, far away and chuffing towards the entrance. One was a diesel pulling a flatbed with a small four-driver tender engine. On the track furthest away was a large tender engine. It was Edward with an expression he didn't quite recognize. It looked stiff and forced. Nothing like the looks he became familiar with.

As soon as his crew finished filling his water tank and got into his cab, James let out a shrill whistle. Some engines and people ignored it but others stopped and stared. He didn't care that others did so. He only cared if Edward did.

Edward came to a gentle halt. "James?" he immediately hollered out, getting stares from the other Furness engine.

James' lips curled into a wide grin with hope, just knowing that Edward recognized his whistle so easily. "Edward!" he exclaimed as he rushed forward, calling out for points to be switched.

"James!" Edward exclaimed as he finally caught sight of the engine coming towards him. Quickly, he reversed and started crossing over points, ignoring Coppernob calling out for him, and didn't notice the nasty glare from said engine.

Within a few minutes of maneuvering over points, both engines got onto the same track, facing one another.

"James! I-I'm sae sorry for leavin'!" Edward quickly sputtered out. "I didn't mean to leave! B-But the trust-"

"Don't worry about it!" James hastily interrupted, receiving a surprised look from the other, which shifted to a smile. "I'm just… glad to see you again…" He could feel his tubes tighten. "...and say goodbye."

Edward's smile faltered.

"But-!"

"Go on and say your farewells, Twenty-One!" interrupted Coppernob furiously. "The boat can't wait any longer, and neither can the trust! They didn't spend thousands of pounds on your restoration so you could go off meandering!"

"Give me a minute!" Edward yelled.

Coppernob was ready to retort when his crew and another man whispered something. James noticed Edward eyeing the older engine cautiously.

"Fine, but hurry. We don't have all the time in the world," Coppernob huffed. The diesel engine continued pulling him towards the entrance. The larger tender engines silently watched them move along.

"I'm sorry. Aboot him, thon is," said Edward, breaking the silence as soon as they were out of hearing range, getting James' full attention. "He's like thon."

"Is that normal?"

"Aye."

"But that's not okay."

"It's fine. I-I just ignore him. Most o' the time," said Edward, reassuring James. "Ye were sayin'?"

"Wha- Oh!" James began to panic. "I-I just wanted to say that, well, thank you."

"Thank me?" Edward let out a laugh. "I should be thankin' ye."

"For?"

"For bein' ma friend," replied Edward nervously. "I-I dinnae have any friends back home. And I mean anes thon are engines! It's just… me and the folks at the Furness Railway Trust. Nawthin' but human company, s-sae it's nice tae be able tae jist talk and have company wit' another engine after a while… No' thon human company is bad or anything! It's jist… ye ken?"

"It's nice to be around your kind?"

"Aye. Thon's whit I meant…"

"So… I'm the first engine you've spoken to in decades?"

"T-Thon’s Old Coppernob.Ye're ma first friend. I… I appreciate it. I dae, really."

Having seen the way Edward looked at Coppernob was enough to null James' curiosity. "Of course!" he replied cheerily, getting a smile from the other engine.

Before either one could say anything, they heard a barrage of whistles shrill, the sound getting louder.

"You found him!" exclaimed Emily as the other NWR engines approached the two. "We thought you'd left!"

"T-The trust wantit tae speak wit' me," replied Edward, flustered at the sudden attention. "Ma apologies! It wis'nae ma intention."

"No need! We're just glad we could catch you in time."

Edward chuckled. "I'm afraid I dae need tae go'. It wis nice meetin' ye all! Very nice.”

"The pleasure was ours," hummed Henry.

"Alricht! Well… guid-bye, everyane!" he exclaimed as he backed up and called out for the points to be switched. Once he switched over, he hesitantly said, "Guid-bye, James…"

"Good-bye, Edward," James replied hesitantly as he saw Edward leave and the others exclaimed their farewells, including the Fat Controller. As the goodbyes continued, Emily moved closer to James. "Come on, James. Let's go home," she hummed in a thoughtful tone. "I've got an idea, and I just know you'll like this one!"

That was enough to catch James' interest.

~

#ttte james #ttte emily #ttte henry #ttte philip #ttte thomas #eosr sir bertram topham hatt II #my writing #tgr 2x5 roleswap au #a dozen years #ttte edward x james #ttte edward #eosr old copperknob

[poupeesdecirque]

"Tainted Dolls" - And how I handle them

I have mentioned on IG I want to actually blog more, write down my thoughts and impressions to get things out of my mind and share my expierence. This is a rather personal entry on how I handle dolls that got "tainted" in some way.

With "tainted" I mean difficulties that I came across during ordering, receiving, working with other artists, postal services and maybe my own standards.

The pictures above all feature some different dolls that got tainted for me, I have a lot more some carry heavier weight, some have lost their tainted status/I forgot about it, some are old, some are pretty recent.

If you are interested in those please read ahead.

Let's define what kind of dolls truly fall under the "tainted" term for me with examples and how I handled them ever since. Not doing all that's... too much of negativity to deal with rn. Starting with some ages cases and moving on to more recent dolls to see how things can develop.

Before I start I can tell I always try to give the doll a chance, to win my "love". There was one case I but the doll/head on sale after unboxing because I was so disappointed, let's start with that one.

Elisa - Unoa Lusis FP - Wrong Colors

With Elisa it is... Ara was my main Face up Artist for years but I wanted to expand a bit. After Nathan (Elisa's BF) was painted by Lynsey and it worked greatly I send Elisa's FP off to another local Artist to paint her. The photos looked great and I always wanted a cute Unoa.

But as I unboxed the FP the colors were completely off, nothing matched to the photos, the artist was baffled insisting the photos were correct. I put the FP on sale right away ... she was bought by said face up artist .. well.

I can tell I later on got my Unoa Lusis with the most beautiful Face up I think this was a gap to fill.

Now to the dolls that got a chance with me:

Samuel (LM Little Bear) - Goodbye head?

Samuel's 2nd shell was send to Canada for a Face up by Belladonna. I absolutely adored her style & her circus crew but I wasn't in for what was upon me. She went mia. Alright I knew she did that from time to time - I tried anyways. But she went really mia on doll forums but was super active on Instagram and I actually made my IG account back then to get in touch with there as she didn't reply to mails or PMs. She told me the same over and over again if she didn't ignore me or pretended I never wrote her. It took me months of back & forth to get him home after treatening to open a paypal dispute after the time she told me like 4 or 5 times "he'll be ready by the end of the week" but poured out Cosplay photos and was super active in everything but not this commission. In the end I finally got him back 3 months overdue. After I ordered a replacement head because I was certain to never see this head again.

As I got him back I instantly loved him and all the hassle was almost forgotten. I can tell he is a very tame case of 'tainted'. The replacement head was send to a local artist whom I trust a lot to paint him as casual variant. Ever since Samuel is fine for me.

There are several other cases in which issues with the Face up artist left a bitter taste for me, may it be the Artist being incredibly weird, taking forever or me getting back dolls unfinished, some of the dolls are doing great, some still have a bitter vibe, I won't get into all here. I can tell that the majority of the ones with face up issues are indeed dolls I am not doing much with, I take them out here and there but don't 'feel' it. Why don't I sell those? Well I still like the dolls and it's not like they feel anything, I can put them on display and still think they look nice.

Captain - Dear Mine Gorgi - Wrong delivery

Captain was a curious case, you might wonder what was wrong with the little fella?

Well it was that this was his first unboxing ....

Yep, I got send the wrong doll. I was devastated. But gladly Dearmine helped out, I was allowed to send the doll back, they paid me the shipping and shipped out the correct doll later. This got happily resolved and Captain doesn't feel tainted for me anymore.

Weirdly Tyki arrving broken/bend on arrivel didn't taint him for me, just in case you were wondering.

Artists going MiA - What about my doll?

I'll put these two together as they are similar.

First case here is a "happily resolved" I will start with that one. The doll in question is my ZeligenArt Anglerfish. Marie went mia from time to time, updated here and there. But after a year and her being mia for some time I made a callout post asking if somebody had heard of her as I knew she had some of the dolls in for a while. She got to me within hours, send my doll out the coming week and even gifted me a 3D file of a bjd. Which was the BJD Shark (Hanke), the whole transaction ended well and I like the doll, it's not taken out much but it's a fish anyways, that's okay.

Second case is the infamous Bulbasaur from Into the Deep Dolls. I never have expierenced such a liar of an artists in before. His bad luck was that Ara had an order going on as well and I could call out his lies af of "postal service is not operating in your country" as Ara got the order in a day prior. It was fight as the order date had passed any protection in the end I got the doll tossed some paint onto it, not even posted a boxopening as I hated it so much but felt bad when I would sell it as it's fanart of a series and made me torn from the start. I didn't even look at the doll for over a year.

Until my hobby burnout came and I somewhat decided to try everything to make it better.. Pumpkins helped. I repainted the little thing.

Now it's on a better display and taken out for photos even.

The Storyteller - DC Alva - Perfectionism and the Burnout done

Coming to more recent or interesting cases here. The Storyteller. What is wrong with him? I can tell my own personal standards. I projected a lot into his, I was hyperfixated on this character, everything needed to be perfect. As I failed to paint him myself I send him out to theUgliestWife who did an amazing job painting him. But upon arrival none of his eye made him look like what I wanted him to be, he looked DEAD to me. I have to say he arrived during the time my hobby burnout was happening and every little bit was enough to make me wheep. (I will get to the worst case here after him)

The photoshoot above is the 2nd take of the first try, the first is still so ugly to me that I can't look at the photos. The 2nd photoshoot is okay-ish but still feels icky.

I tried over and over again, had him ob display next to me, every time I changed things and took photos it felt wrong and dead. But I loved the character, I think in 2023, after 2 years of having him, I finally resolved the issue. He is easier for me now, the taint still swings with him a bit. But photos feel more natural. I think the main point was retaking the photoshoot that started it all.

So that's how he now feels for me:

At least as doll, the character is still not back to full force with me, OCs are hard to me. But I need the distance I guess. Maybe one day I will get into them again.

The UPS Desaster & Hobby Burn Out Triangle

What finally had led to my hobby burn out might be that photoshooting with the Storyteller as last drop but a big chunk of it was the UPS Desaster.

To make it short: these three dolls were shipped in May and arrived in August. They arrived in Germany in May. I live in Germany. They were scanned each day by UPS over and over and over again, 3 hours from where I live. The dealer (Angelesque) helped from the other side trying to free the parcel. After almost 3 full months in transit I finally got the dolls (I had to treaten them with a lawyer...), pissed off because I wanted to work on them to get them to the sea with me, I was super into merfolk around that time and even ordered one more which got tainted as well, but well they came in too late.

I pulled through customizing all three dolls at insane speed because around that time I kinda had a mental race going on with having them done upon arrival to be one of the first to have that type of doll finished ... I have literally no idea why that was a thing for me but it somehow developed. This was not possible anymore and my little shell got more and more cracks. I completely burned myself out by doing insane mods on them (breast removal by hand, additive mods, bodyblush for 3 dolls, 2 of them 70+), face ups, hair, photos. I was drained for my full summer break and beyond. I tried to get into things again but nope. Then the thing with the Storyteller happened. OCs seemed to be cursed for me, they didn't spark joy anymore. That's when I turned into fandolls again and pumpkins.

Kaneki saved my ass and Pumpkins helped, a few dolls (OCs) arrived around that time I never really got into them. Those are Tamani and Leopold.

They fall into the Triangle, I never was able to develop their characters as they somehow hit a negative nerve for me. I really like them as doll they are pretty to look at. What got me out was my DC Enoch arriving, scrapping making him into a OC (he was planned as Guardian for the Storyteller and uh... nope not happening), turning him into Clown Mana saved my hobby ass and got me back into the hobby along with D.Gray-man. Things got a bit lighter and I even got 1-2 "fresh" dolls after that but not for a "race" like I did in earlier days.

But a doll whom I ordered during the high time of the Burnout was Eeske my DC Beacher

She kinda got the treatment of "okay I will customize you but toss you in a corner afterwards" and I still kind of treat her like that. I will eventually come back to her when more time has passed.

This whole ordeal peaked with ...

Preorders out of Hell

These have different stories and this still hurts as they are super fresh .. but alright. Imagine you just had the whole Bulbasaur fuckup that leant into UPS being the most horrible shipping service and ultimately getting into a hobby burn out here. This all within a span of several months.

Pumpkins and D.Gray-man were my safety zone here. I got several preordered, got some heads, all fun and stuff.

1 - Pumpkins by Mirror. Not Mirror's fault she shipped my order in time but ... the postal service ate it. She replaced the order and 1 year later I had it and she even gifted me the other two heads. I can tell the little pumpkin Patchlings are already 'green lit' for me and have lost their tainted status.

2 - The failed Lavi.

Picture here is Lavi's 2nd shell as I am still super pissed towards the artist of the first shell. To make it short: Preorder happened, Preorder had problems with the Casting. Got promised a solution (that was Other caster with Body), solution was cancelled because "It's impossible to make such a body" (yeah they promised to make it without people needing to pay what was not that smart to begin with but alright, I would have paid for a matching body) ALBEIT happiliy posting that they made up a body in no time on their media. Preorder forth and back, got told "I will write each of you what we will do" - Refund without any further word. While we were mutuals. Artist pretending nothing happened towards me, Refund was less than what I had paid because of the exchange rates, I didn't get any apology, they got protected by the community, I got told to shut up. Ultimately I blocked the artist everywhere for my own sanity. And my mind will hate you if you support such an asshole behavior. End of story.

I got a replacement for Lavi because I want to have him as doll, I want to get over with this but he is still super hard for me. I am not sure if this head will work but I will try.

3 - Vampire Pumpkin not so much fun

Okay you have two lost pumpkin heads in the mail, a preorder failing on you and then a preorder going on for 1 year already with the artist ghosting you for two months.

This was not fun, I got Sokrates after some very questionable mails on my side and then ... UPS. Trying. the. same. shit. as. with. the. mermaids.

But this time with the artist (aka sender) not cooperating with helping me to free the parcel. I played the lawyer card right away as I was still getting flashbacks from the mermaids. As he arrived after 1 1/2 years after I ordered him I pushed him back on my working list for almost a year. I painted him inbetween to "do" something on him but well.

He is now a full doll and working on him yesterday was not a "yay he's here" but more "oh lord he is here finally this shitshow will end, come on I just want you to be done to put you into a dark corner and forget you exist".

The whole thing resulted in me pushing back ordering dolls/bodies for the heads I got as I wasn't able to deal with shit anymore. I turned to making more clothes for the dolls I have, finish my own head, pour more time into the customs overall. And got Cosplay sewing back to my mind. Yes, Cosplay is now my way to cope when the Hobby turns its back on me.

I mean there are things that frustrate me, but if I am the one doing it (aka being stupid while sewing) I am at fault and can try again later, I want to give my dolls a chance too. Ultimately I get up when I fall, I like my dolls.

I think the best way for me is to cool down for a while, set them aside and try again later on. The later could be the next day, month or even years later.

Some never will reach the status others have, some always will have a bitter taste to them. Some turn into fun dolls to have, some into favorites maybe. It's different from doll to doll.

#blog #bjd meta #hobby meta #idk??

[shiocreator]

Hello Inscryption Fandom, I'm back.

My friend was sad they couldn't read my one fic when AO3 went down, so I rewrote it, and am actually putting it up here for mostly archival reasons.

This was the original fic

Anywho have fun and enjoy

...

You were looking at your cards, sitting down on a chair placed for you, making up strategies with the blue hued cards in your hands as you waited for your robotic pal, P-03, to finish what he had been doing.

Having chosen the tech deck it was all carefully planned out with the bots help, admittedly just an excuse to hang out with the guy. You can't help but slightly smile and quietly chuckle thinking about how he masked his genuine excitement with a smug facade when you asked for help.

Unfortunately for you however, before you can turn around…

You feel something hit you in the back of your head, hard. You exclaim out, a gasp only able to come through as you fall forwards, essentially collapsing as you feel a quick yank on your arm, hear the cards scatter from your hands and a worried familar voice echos in your head. Unable to make out the words, you lose consciousness.

----

Waking up slowly, your vision regains the familar form of the blue hued lights again. You look around noticing how the area your in laying on the ground, it looked quickly thrown together, pillows and blankets no matter how dusty lay under you as the bot hovered nearby.

Hearing (or maybe seeing with the cameras?) you awake, you could have sworn you saw the bot's expression flicker to that of releif before hitting the default face. “You okay? You were out for half an hour and fifty-one seconds, starting to get worried.” P-03 asks, the tone in his voice more worried than you think you ever heard it before.

“Ah- y, yeah I'm alive- Hah, wasn't uh, expecting that to happen-" You take notice of the stacked cards nearby on the table as P-03 seems to flatly reply.

“Alright, that's good. By the way, you dropped these. Can't waste good cards.” It's nice to see the bot caring, in his own way. Even if he seems rather indifferent externally, you can tell he was worried when that happened to you. Though it's weird…

“Ah, thanks!” You flash him a grin as he has one of his robotic arms pop from out of the ceiling to return your cards to you, maybe he assumes you're still abit unwell from the potential concussion.

And he'd be right. Your head hurts like shit.

You gratefully take them back and quietly put them back. You finally ask as the bot hovers around, almost like a mother hen. “By the way, what happened? All I remember is.. Looking at my cards before something hit me…"

The bot pauses.

The bot takes awhile to respond, almost as if thinking, his face turning to an elipsis. “…Ceiling panel fell on you. It was a small one though. You'll be fine.”

That's strange, usually the bot prides himself in the security of his factory. With a tilt of your head you slowly nod. “Okay then… You should probably get that fixe-"

“I will.” The bot cuts you off, seemingly annoyed but also… Oddly enough stops facing you. “I have work to do. Stay here. Rest. Don't die, don't want Grimora taking you.” and with that the robot overs off into another room as you lay in the small makeshift hobble in what you now assume to be a storage closet. Why did he put you in a storage closet- bah nevermind that why's he acting so off?

Oh well… Might as well listen, your throbbing headache won't get better by straining yourself anyways.

--

After a little bit you finally felt better enough to walk around, going to head straight back to P-03. Waving farewell to a busy Inspector, you slink around, mostly just cuz man that hurts still to be completely honest.

After noticing P-03 isn't around, you confusedly start going around. Finally, you hear something from the trader's room. It sounds like P-03 and… a feminine voice you haven't heard before. It's certainly not the trader though.

“-lm down.”

“Calm down!? YOU aren't the one that almost KILLED them! I didn't know-"

“Exactly, you didn't know! They seem okay now!”

The sound that is no doubt P-03 grumbling is heard after. “…You show up at the worst times, and then make me argue over and over again repeatedly with you about something at one of the even MORE worst of times…”

….From what you understand, it sounds like P-03 maybe accidentally possibly is why you got knocked out. But he seems to regret it so… Maybe it'd be best you don't question the argument.

Or new voice.

You're abit too out of it to really wanna ask questions right now.

You decide to knock on the wall, making your presense known to the hovering bot who seemed like he was about to start something again. “Hey 03! You doing okay?- where's the trader actually-"

He seems frazzled almost, but tries his best to keep it cool, “Oh- you're up. Hope that means you feel better, uh- Yeah they're on break. Something about me having a foul presense and needing air.”

You don't know if he's lieing or not about that part he DOES normally have a foul presense.

“……..”

Awkward silence.

This is normally where you tell him he doesn't have a foul presense, like a lieing ego booster.

Instead you give him a grin and try to pretend like your head injury was why you're acting off.

In the end it's okay, and he let you stay abit longer than normal immediately getting the Inspector to put you back in the area, as P-03 hovered by still.

----

Congratulations! It was only a MINOR concussion! P-03 helped you medically as a condolence and insurance thing.

You didn't know they had that here or if P-03 specifically just favorited you over his actual underlings.

Oh well! Life goes on for the living. Which is you, you didn’t join Grimora. Yet.

It's been afew weeks since then, and things have been rather normal, recently though,,.

The scene continues… You, attempting one of the puzzles… Failing on figuring it for around an hour...

You feel something bonk the back of your head, gently this time, though it still Kinda hurts. Turning around very confused you see P-03 with his default face, and he simply says. “You're alright.” Before hovering off back to the main room.

You don't even know how to process what just happened, before the thought strikes you and you mumble aloud, “…Did P-03 just headbutt me."

Truly, an enigma and new mystery in this life.

#my writings #inscryption #x reader #P-03 x Reader #Feel free to read it however you wanna but platonic is moreso how i wrote it tbh #I made this at 4 am to 5 am have no hope of it really being okay or better than the other i guess #Inscryption spoilers #Just in case- i dont wanna accidentally spoil someone with. this HJVSJS #Fanfic #fanfiction

[batrachised]

@roisoleil i have no idea why tumblr isn't letting me share your response (apologies if it's a setting you chose) but it isn't, so I thought I'd reply here.

I love these thoughts, especially about older brothers. Rilla is truly the Older Brother book, like between Walter and Jem, but especially Walter, we get all of the older brother goodness. You're so right about seeing the LM Montgomery characters transposed into a war setting; it's jarring, it works, and it's heartbreaking. All of the characters are forcibly changed by the war; we have Rilla maturing, but we also have a more somber Jem and a broken Anne.

And then there's Walter. I love Rilla because it is THE Walter book, we get glimpses of this little boy in Ingleside and Rainbow Valley, but Rilla is when LM Montgomery slams him up against his long foreshadowed destiny. We get mention of the pied piper in earlier books, but Rilla is when the pied piper comes to call. Walter is similar to Emily in that LM Montgomery takes their characters in a slightly (or not so slightly) eerie direction; Emily is a prophetess of sorts, while Walter is more like the sacrificial lamb who can sense what's coming for him. He predicts the war as a child; he understands its horror first; he knows when its his last night on earth. With Emily, it's the gothic tones of the book, but with Walter, it's paired with the reality of the bloodshed of WWI. Emily's eeriness consequently has more dreamy witch vibes, while Walter's has an almost spiritual flavor.

my favorite book in the series is (probably obviously) Rilla, with Anne of the Island as an extremely close second! Rilla is just a punch to the gut in a way unparalleled by almost any other LM Montgomery work. I think the closest her other books come in raw sorrow is Anne's infant loss in AHOD, which is a scene that that is striking in its grief.

#lm montgomery #rilla of ingleside #walter blythe