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huramuna · 25 days

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new valyria - one shot.

aemond x shera stark, modern. 18+, minors do not interact or you will be smited. a banshee's lament au.

new valyria, the hottest club in town, is owned by the Targaryen family. it is themed in the style of Valyria of old with towering pillars of ivory and gold. the dress code is strictly red and black and their signature drink, a fruity and spicy blended brandy, is called 'the Balerion'.

i might do more one shots in this au heehee.

word count: 5.5k

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, shera being a mess, aemond = whore?, aegon has rabies, helaena x shera agenda

ain't it fun - paramore • hard times - paramore

warnings: thigh riding, oral (f receiving), shera has a praise kink, aemond targaryen has a tongue piercing, semi public sex (they're in an alley)

“Sher, please don’t be a buzzkill, it's one night— just one!” Cregan exasperated, hands held out in a pleading fashion. He was pacing back and forth in front of his sister, perplexed.

“It’s seriously not my scene, Cregan. I mean… loud music, flashing lights and intoxicated individuals everywhere? You really think that’s a good place for me to be?” Shera retorted, lazed back in her fluffy couch, glancing at her phone every once in a while.

“It’s really classy, trust me. There are tables to the side where you can sit away from the action.”

“Why am I even going if I’m going to be ‘away from the action’?” she punctuated air quotes in his face.

“When was the last time you left the house except to go to the post office? When was the last time you socialized with anyone who wasn’t me, Moongeist or Helaena?”

Shera went silent, brow knitting together. She folded her arms over her chest defensively. “Low blow, make fun of the girl with an anxiety disorder and agoraphobia.”

“I’m… I just want you to experience life! You’re young and spry— you should be out in the world trying everything while you still can! But instead, you insist on staying at home, wearing glasses that make you look like a librarian, and making soap. You already act the part of a grandma.”

“It’s… I just don’t want anyone to see me, I don’t want to be perceived, Cregan. I don’t want people to look at me, to… to,” she gestured fervently to her eye, hands shaking slightly. She had a scar that ran the length of half of her face, bisecting her one eye into a milky-blue blindness. It was from a childhood accident, which was more or less a hazy nightmare to her now. “Y’know.”

“No one will see you, Shera. It’s… dark and low lit, that’s part of the experience.”

“Thirty minutes. I will stay approximately thirty minutes before I call an uber and go home. And… you have to do my laundry for… a month. No, two months!” Shera exclaimed, pointing out two fingers at him. Moongeist whined on the couch, giving a low warbling noise.

–

Two hours later, she was dressed. She opted for a lacy baby-blue lolita style dress at first, but Cregan had protested immediately.

“You look like a scary Victorian doll. Pick something from this era, please. Plus, there is a dress code of black and red.”

Shoving a rude gesture in his face, she begrudgingly changed. She opted for a red satin dress. It had a scoop halter neckline which was certainly not her usual style. Glancing in the mirror, she wholly considered bailing out of the situation entirely. The snug fabric hugged her curves, her thighs rubbing together as she walked. She felt… exposed, all of the little dips and divots of her body on display— she wasn’t sure if it was even flattering.

A small frown tugged at her lips as she fiddled with the plunging front of the dress, trying to get it to stay at a point where her breasts didn’t look like they were about to burst out and start kicking ass and taking names. Isn’t there tape made for this sort of thing? As self conscious as she was about the whole situation, there was something… liberating about getting dressed up with (almost) the sole purpose of being ogled at. While her face was something of a sore point, she would hope that at least one person in the club could find her body desirable. She was a ‘short-stack’ as Helaena called her, who worshiped her curves and soft spots like they were the second coming of a messiah. Shera squeezed her thighs together at the thought– if she didn’t get a hookup tonight, she would need to call Helaena. Some itches could only be scratched on your own for so long.

Pressing double-sided adhesive tape, that she used for her soap orders, to her chest, she somewhat successfully kept the satin in place. Giving another look and not quite on board with what she saw, she hid herself in an oversized puffy faux furred jacket.

Just thirty minutes. It’s just thirty minutes, Shera. You can do this… just… chill out.

Despite her lackluster words of affirmation and the subsequent panic bubbling in her stomach, she grabbed her purse. Her breathing was uneven and she took a hit from her emergency inhaler, hoping to the Gods at play that she wouldn’t have an asthma attack in the middle of the club.

Shera imagined, somehow, dancing with some attractive number and getting hot and heavy (as if!) and then having to pull out her inhaler. Lung health is not cute. Oh, yeah, my airways get blocked sometimes by mucus and I can’t breathe. What do you mean you don’t want to stick your tongue down my throat?

Myriad of issues aside, she pushed out of her room, head held not quite high, but just enough so she could see.

Cregan nodded in approval (as if he was some sort of fashion expert) and they were off. The drive was quiet and Shera realized he never told her the club name. He always referred to it as ‘the club’. She somewhat understood the need for a dress code at an establishment like a lounge, but color coded? How pretentious. Shera and Cregan didn’t even really look good in red— they were more akin to monochromatic and cool toned blues rather than red.

Red and black reminded her of… something. She couldn’t quite place it.

They pulled up to the building, which didn’t have a sign or anything. It was wedged in between two other buildings, but its architecture was vastly different. While the adjoining facilities were modern, the club looked like it was from ancient Greece. It had towering ivory pillars, etched in the simplistic but still somewhat complex design of corinthian filigree, the individual chips of the sculptor’s chisel still apparent— they were handmade, hand carved. The inside of the building emanated a foreboding and very deep red.

Shera suddenly wondered if she was about to enter Mount Olympus— or maybe the underworld, as the sickly maroon color reminded her of the River Styx.

The bouncer, a burly man who could easily bench press Cregan (an impressive feat, considering her brother was a hockey player built like a brick shit house) stood at the door.

“Name.” the makeshift Charon grunted. Shera half expected him to start brandishing a wooden paddle.

“Stark.” Cregan replied, hands in his pockets.

Not-Charon looked at his list, then at the pair of Stark siblings, back and forth for at least thirty seconds.

“S-T-A…” Cregan began to spell out their last name in irritation before the ferryman held up his hand in pause.

“You’re on, go in.”

Entering the club, to which Shera still didn’t know the name of, was certainly like entering the gates of Hell. She felt like Dante, entering the first circle, guided by Virgil. It was dark, the low boom of bass ringing in her ears. They were guided by a path of red floor lights. What is this? An amusement park? It was a weird mix of trepidation of entering the unknown— which to Shera, could either be the actual entrance to Hell, or the entrance to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney world. All she was sure of is that she wanted a turkey leg and to go home.

And yet, some part of her brain, as small and withered as it may be, pressed on for adventure and excitement. They approached the end of the path and it gave way to a large room, still painted in that deep saccharine hue. The roof was high-vaulted and curved inward– it was like stepping into the Pantheon, the coffered, domed ceiling seeming to go on forever. The club was set up in a circular manner, as the room curved around. The bar itself was in the middle, hugging a large stage platform. On the stage was a singular grand piano and a DJ station. All surfaces were decorated in ivory, accented by red velvet.

The music playing was a mix of the piano and the DJ, working together to create a surprisingly exuberant melody that made Shera’s skin rise in goosebumps.

“Let’s get drinks, Sher,” Cregan steered her to the wrapping bar quickly, his sights set on something or someone in particular.

Shera didn’t feel much like drinking– she had no taste for alcohol, only trying it a few times in her life and never enough to even get a buzz. She didn’t find the point in choking down liquid that tasted like poison only to feel like living death the next morning. She slipped into one of the velvet bar stools, her feet dangling under her.

“Just cranberry juice, please,” she murmured to the barkeep, who returned her request with an eyebrow raise.

Cregan began whooping and hollering behind her and she turned to see someone she hadn’t seen in a long time: Jacaerys Velaryon.

Once upon a time, Shera and Cregan had been extremely close to the Velaryon and Targaryen kids, growing up in the same social circles, they were all an unstoppable and very tight knit little group of hellions.

But that was years ago– she didn’t talk to any of them anymore, except for Helaena, who she had stayed best friends with throughout the years, and may or may not be in a casual on and off situationship with.

She tried not to remember the fact that, at some point, she had been attached at the hip to Helaena’s brother, Aemond. They were like peanut butter and jelly, like cookies and cream, like macaroni and cheese, and any other iconic food (or maybe not, she was just hungry) related duo. Thick as thieves, they were. Until… the ever creeping monster of puberty and hormones and all the things related to growing up split them apart. Shera developed her terrible anxiety disorder, while Aemond flourished in academics and moved through the social ranks at school. They hadn’t spoken since they were sixteen, when Shera inevitably withdrew from physical school in favor of at-home, online school.

Shera approached him warily, seeing him laughing and joking with his friends that were just… so out of her atmosphere, she couldn’t even imagine having a conversation with.

They hadn’t been close in a few years but… it wouldn’t feel right just up and disappearing from school without telling him, right?

Some stupid, childish part of her thought he might ask her to stay, ask her what’s wrong, ask her anything, really.

But as she got closer, she felt all of their eyes on her, their lips pulled into sneers. It's irrational, it's irrational, it's irrational, she tried to reason with herself and her bubbling anxiety in her stomach. They aren’t laughing at you, they aren’t, they aren’t.

But it… it feels like they were. Aemond’s blue eyes zeroed in on her, one slightly off-color than the other. They had both been involved in a childhood accident, leaving them both blinded. But, looking at the two of them, one would only be able to notice Shera’s glaring scar.

Aemond’s eye and subsequent scar had been mostly covered up with extensive cosmetic surgery and other procedures, at his mother’s behest, and on his father’s dime, which was seemingly an endless well. His eye, which he lost, was replaced by a near perfect replica. No one who didn’t know him closely would ever notice.

At the time of the incident, Shera’s family was going through a transitional period– namely, her and Cregan’s father passing away while they were both underage, the following legal battle over inheritance with their uncle and just things that no kids should go through. It was the catalyst of Shera’s subsequent anxiety and myriad of following issues.

She didn’t even approach him further that day in the hall. She said nothing to him, merely turning on a heel and leaving.

That was eight years ago.

“Jace, my god,” Shera gaped, eyes wide. He certainly wasn’t a kid anymore and had put on some muscle mass– she assumed from playing hockey with Cregan (even if he was still dwarfed by the absolute unit of her brother). He had those unruly chocolate colored curls, oh-so reminiscent of his rumored father, Harwin Strong. But that was a touchy issue within itself and best left unsaid.

“Shera!” Jace went in for the hug right away, squeezing the poor girl tight. “You look fantastic.” It felt like an obligated lie.

“Thank you… um, what are you doing here?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Oh, I’m always around this place most times or another. I DJ on the side when I’m not on the ice. Mom made a spot for me.”

Mom? What did Rhaenyra have to do with this?

She must have looked visibly confused. “You know this… is my family’s place, right? New Valyria?”

It hit her like a train– a freight train that smacked into her and kept on going until there was nothing left of her but Shera-shaped dust. “Oh.”

“Cregan didn’t tell you?”

Her brother scratched a hand behind his head, looking somewhat sheepish. It was a weird look on him. “I… may have not. I wasn’t lying per say–”

Shera opened her mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by a cup being slid her way by the bartender. Without looking, she lifted it to her lips and took a deep gulp. It was, in fact, her cranberry juice– but it had been mixed with vodka. Heavily. She suppressed the urge to spit it out and looked back up. “I asked for just juice.”

“It was sent from the gentleman over there,” the bartender pointed to a small alcove adjacent to them where none other than Aegon fucking Targaryen was sitting, legs splayed out like he owned the place (well, he did in some capacity, she supposed) and a lady on each arm. He had the biggest shit-eating grin she’d ever seen, staring right at her.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she put a hand on her forehead. “I’m leaving, Cregan. I don’t give a shit about the deal anymore.”

“Shera, we’ve been here for five minutes–”

“Five minutes. It took five minutes for someone to somehow recognize me in this stupid red lighting– and not just someone, no, one of my childhood friends who hasn’t spoken to me in eons and is looking at me like I’m his next meal. Not to mention, my shithead brother didn’t mention that the club he is forcing me to go to is owned by said childhood friend’s family. I should’ve fucking guessed it with the red and black dress code, fucking pretentious. No offense, Jace,” she murmured, taking a breath. “I’m done.” she gathered her purse, slipping off of the seat. That vodka must’ve gone straight to her head, as she’d never been so adamant about something. Fuck it. She threw back the remainder of the glass of vodka cranberry (regretting it immediately) and flipped her brother another rude gesture.

She was so blinded by red– not just the color scheme, but the rage she felt bubbling as she rushed to the exit. The rage and anxiety was a more powerful cocktail than anything they served at the bar as she pulled out her phone with trembling hands, trying to call an uber. She didn’t look up the whole time, somehow managing to almost reach the gate to salvation– before she ran head first into a very hard body. A very hard body with a pointy fucking necklace on that stabbed her in the forehead. The force of her stumble was catastrophic, for her, as she fell to the ground on her ass. The hard body stayed upright, only shaken a little.

A heavily tattooed and, ahem, large calloused hand reached in front of her. She took it, half expecting to pull her own weight up, but was easily lifted to her feet. The hand was warm. Unnaturally warm. The smell of cigarette smoke and… sandalwood blew out her senses. She could feel his breath on her face as she swayed slightly into him– he was looking down at her directly, pupils boring holes into her. The heat of the situation rose into a fever pitch as they were practically pressed together, his hand straying to the small of her back so she wouldn’t fall over again. It felt terribly intimate.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry— I… the… I’m sorry,” she stammered, trying to get out some sort of explanation to why she’d accidentally used this person as a springboard, but it just came out in a string of unintelligible ramblings. Her heels clicked on the floor, stumbling back and forth.

“It’s fine,” he replied. The voice sounded familiar, but still somewhat faraway in her mind. “Are you alright? You seem… unsteady.”

She wouldn’t be surprised if she had given herself a concussion from face planting into… she glanced up, eyes trailing the body before her. He was tall with expensive Italian leather shoes and impeccably pressed slacks. His shirt was red and only half buttoned, leaving a small patch of sheer white-blondish chest hair. His hands, which dwarfed hers, were inked in tattoos that seemingly stretched his body, peeking out on his exposed torso.

The offending pointy necklace revealed itself; a golden pendant of a Seven-Pointed star. Her stomach dropped into her feet as she realized exactly who it was.

Fuckfuckfuck. Meeting his gaze, it was none other than Aemond Targaryen. Her former best friend, companion, partner in crime. She expected his face to twist into a sneer like it had before at school and she wanted to vomit. I have to get out of here.

“You’re bleeding,” he pointed to her forehead where she had consecrated herself with his pendant. A bit of blood was trickling from her skin.

That is what he has to say? You’re bleeding? No hello Shera, hi Shera, I recognize you Shera? A frown made home on her face as she realized he might not even remember her.

“Um, it’s… it’s fine,” she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, feeling it being replaced with new droplets. “Sorry for running into you, sir.” Sir? What the fuck is wrong with you, Shera?

“At least let me help you get cleaned up, yeah?” Aemond pressed, tilting up her head to most likely observe her wound– but it also felt like he was sizing her up, checking her out. “Only if you call me sir again.”

She made a garbled noise of surprise at his last comment, her mouth opening to try and spew out some half-assed cheeky reply. “I… I guess,” she murmured. She really just wanted to go home and cry and never leave the house again— but that stupid and childish part of her brain that hadn’t resurfaced itself since leaving school was nagging her. It felt sickly euphoric to her to see him again. She hated to be objectifying, but he had grown up to be, quite frankly, gorgeous. “S-... sir,” she squeaked out lastly, finally thankful for the gaudy lighting– without it, Aemond would’ve seen her face lit up like a tomato.

He nodded with a ‘hm’ noise, leading her down a hallway to the far side of the Pantheon. It was lit up normally with sconces on the wall giving clear white light. It was obviously a staff-only path.

Okay, Shera. Breathe. You can get through this. Let him put a bandaid on your head and hopefully not recognize or remember you and you can be on your way. You always wondered what he grew up to look like and now you know! Here is your little Aemond fix to mend the Aemond sized hole in your heart. Then you can move on and totally not wallow over this for weeks.

The office was nice– it was his, she knew instantly. It had tall bookshelves filled with different philosophers and big named authors, no doubt some of them first or second editions worth thousands. Shera felt like she was intruding, like she didn’t belong. She didn’t, really. Swaying side to side, she awaited further instruction.

“Come,” he said, not so much asking. He seemed to lack some manners these days– Alicent must be aghast.

She shuffled and took a seat in one of the chaise velvet seats in front of the desk. She fluffed into her coat, wanting to just hide, her muddled mind replaying the way he spoke. Come, come, come. Christ, I need to get laid– maybe I should call Helaena. The lights, still a bit low, weren’t a scathing fluorescent color like on the club floor. He could most certainly see the scar running down her face– and the fear she held in her eyes.

Even though it was plain as day, he didn’t say anything. He opened a first aid kit, dabbing her forehead with peroxide soaked gauze, his expression watching her every movement. His gaze was almost snake-like, unblinking as he observed.

She hissed at the sting of it, gritting her teeth slightly. He only gave an answer of a slightly knit brow.

It was silent— save for Shera’s quiet and slightly wheezy, squeaky breathing. Her hands were clenched on her knees, her dress riding up her skin, which she was constantly tugging downward. As he shuffled closer, one knee knocked between her two shaking ones. Was that an accident? The creeping heat only seemed to grow.

The soft beat of the music from the club coupled with the blood rushing in Shera’s ears made her want to scream. Everything seemed in slow motion as Aemond, still apparently a painstakingly asinine perfectionist, took his sweet time to patch her up. This gave her time to watch him in turn, focusing mostly on the way his lips were upturned, cupid’s bow taut. Flicking back up to his eyes, they were looking back and forth from her lips to her own gaze. The air around them seemed to go stagnant. Holy fuck, does he want to kiss me or do I have something on my face?

Her eyes must’ve read confusion, panic, elation and all the things in between that go with wanting to kiss an almost stranger in a club– but he wasn’t exactly a stranger to her. But, she supposed she was to him. His fingers tilted her chin upward and his lips curled into a smug grin, auto completing her thoughts.

He pressed a bandage to her forehead, mouth open to say something, like he was going to do something, but he was caught off guard by the door to his office slamming open. Shera didn’t even look to see who it was— she was more focused on the fact that Aemond goddamn Targaryen had a tongue piercing. She felt like she was going to melt.

“Hey Aem, that fuckin’ slag bit me— do you think I should go get a rabies shot or something?” a slightly slurred voice drawed. “Ohhh, shit.” Aegon stumbled into the room, leaning on the doorframe. He was, in fact, bleeding from his neck, some very prominent bite marks marring his skin, coupled with vicious looking hickies.

“Busy,” Aemond grunted, focusing his gaze back on tending to Shera.

“Like busy or… busy? I don’t see your hand up her skirt or anything, so you can’t be that busy.”

“Fuck off, Aeg,” he continued, gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Seriously.”

“Well, Criston wants to talk to you ‘bout throwing that girl out— since it is your management night, eh?”

The smallest breath of annoyance slipped from the younger brother’s lips. “I’ll be right back.”

Aegon still loomed in the doorway after he left, staring at Shera. “You didn’t like my drink?”

“I don’t really drink.”

“And yet… you’re at a bar where they serve alcohol.”

“I’m trying to leave,” she sniffed.

“Not hard enough apparently,” Aegon flicked open a lighter, taking a drag from a suddenly lit cigarette. “You look like a lost pup, Shera.”

“You remembered me.”

“I may have the IQ of a golden retriever but I’m not that stupid. I couldn’t exactly forget your bird’s nest of red hair or himbo of a brother. Seriously, all those body slams from hockey must’ve damaged his brain.”

Shera snorted a little laugh. “Aemond doesn’t even seem to recognize me— or, he hasn’t said anything.”

“He’s got his head too far up his own ass to recognize anything other than cunt. He’s more of a whore than I am these days,” he took a deep drag, puffing smoke out into the hall. “Don’t be surprised if he fingers you before he even asks for your name.”

An unfamiliar feeling churned in Shera’s stomach. “I… I gotta go.” she huffed, grabbing her purse and walking past Aegon. She was biting down so hard on her lip that it started to bleed, the metallic taste savoring like lead on her tongue.

She makes her way through the throngs of people, everything around her a blur. It seemed that Aemond didn’t remember or recognize her– fine, that was fine. She didn’t expect him to– who would, really? Her eye unwillingly caught a glance of his figure again on the outskirts of the club. He was talking to a woman dressed in a sparkling red dress, looking like Jessica fucking Rabbit. His hands eclipsed the woman’s hips as they were leaned close together, clearly in some sort of heated conversation.

Her throat felt slightly constricted as she pushed out of the exit door into the alley. Has she misread his signals? They were totally about to kiss before Aegon came in, right?

He’s a bigger whore than me these days.

Fat tears rolled down her face unwillingly as she leaned on the brick wall of the alley, fumbling for her phone again. Why did it hurt? It was stupid, she was stupid– they hadn’t seen each other in eight years and he didn’t even recognize her– so why did it sting to see… that?

She texts for an uber rather than calling as her emotions are in no place to talk to someone. She drops her phone on the concrete several times by how much she’s shaking– she doesn’t even hear the door of the club close with a creak behind her.

“You left. I wasn’t done patching you up,” Aemond slunk around into her line of sight, head bowed low to try to look at her face.

She swiveled to the side to hide her expression and distress in her phone. “... had to go, sorry,” she whispers, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t crying.

“I didn’t mean for him to interrupt us– my brother’s an idiot,” he was chasing her face. “Let me see.” he put his hand on her cheek and turned her face to him again. She let him, forever putty in his hands. If only he knew. If only he really cared.

His thumb wiped away some of the tears. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, does it?” he whispered, getting close to her once more like they were in the office. “I can always kiss it better, hm?”

It felt like an invitation, the opening of a letter of acceptance to some grandiose college she could never afford, never fit into– but for one moment, she decided to bask in it. Let the hurt come later; it always comes later. He had been interested in some capacity. Not in her, not really her, but for some anonymous club fling.

Fine.

“Why don’t you, then?” she returned, eyes half lidded under his heavy gaze.

It was all the consent he needed– their lips melded together, all tongues and teeth. It was borderline obscene, like they were attacking each other. His hand threaded through her hair, tongue tracing the outline of her cupid’s bow before tangling into her mouth. She felt the ball of his tongue piercing meld against her. He tasted like coffee and cigarettes– on anyone else, Shera would find it unpleasant, but she was so intoxicated on the idea that Aemond’s tongue was in her mouth, she didn’t care. She even would say she liked it.

Heat kindled between the two of them, coming to a roaring flame as he slotted his leg between her legs again– before must have just been a prelude, as he didn’t give any indication that his knee pressed against her clothed core was an accident. No, it was pure intention. He lofted some of her weight onto his leg, encouraging her to chase her pleasure, hand riding up her dress to grip her bottom firmly.

She gave an experimental roll of her hips, finding her arousal and ever growing wetness to only increase, whimpering a small moan into his mouth. He, apparently liking that, pulled her back from his face by her hair, staring down at her like he wanted to commit her expression to memory.

“Come on,” he growled, voice husky against the shell of her ear. “Ride my fucking leg.” Aemond’s lips connected with her skin again on her neck.

It felt like a lightning bolt struck her right in her core, making her toes curl and tingle. Her mouth was open as she pleasured herself on him, using him– she was approaching her end almost embarrassingly fast as he angled his leg a bit more upward, pinpointing all the pressure onto her clit, which at this point, was barely even guarded behind her panties. Aemond’s hand on her bottom slinked the elastic of her underwear until he reached the front, two fingers swiping down her soaked folds.

“Soaked for me, are you?” he asked, parting her underwear to the side to rest against her thigh, her bare cunt now in direct contact with his clothed leg. She was surely making a mess on his expensive slacks, she didn’t even have to look. He quirked a brow and laved his tongue over one of the fingers that had just slid through her wetness, testing the taste.

Her brow furrowed and the building heat, the harp’s string right in her core, came undone with that. She wanted to moan his name– she almost said it. “A–,” she cried, burying her face in his shoulder as she rode out her orgasm on his leg.

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond praised, his words of affirmation going straight to her core. She did, unfortunately, have a praise kink. “Can you stand?”

“Mmh– y-... yes,” she replied as he took away his leg– but not before sending her into slight overstimulation with a cheeky bump to her clit.

“Good, stay there, love,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead (which felt strangely familiar out of this supposed random club hookup). “Wanna taste you now. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

Her legs wobbled as he got down on his knees in the back alley on his no doubt designer pants (now painted with a souvenir from her) to eat her out. She could barely speak, just nodding.

“That’s right,” he hummed, squeezing into her thigh as he spread her legs. She was dripping right into his mouth as his warm lips made contact with her– he teased her slightly by blowing on her bare skin, chuckling as she squirmed and whimpered. “You’re too cute.” his tongue flattened and laved over her cunt, not letting a drop of her arousal go to waste as he went to town. He continued his teasing by edging just around her clit, making her chase his mouth slightly as he moved to suckle just outside of that spot.

It was torture. Sweet, sweet torture as he edged her for a good two minutes while she was already on the edge again. The coolness of his tongue piercing sent chills up her spine as he finally, finally began to zero in on her pearl, the ball of the piercing dancing around it, stimulating her to a delicious peak.

“P-Please, please, please,” she whined, fisting his hair.

He had the audacity to look up at her, face first in her thighs, and wink at her. All remnants of teasing were gone as he began to feast, focusing solely on pulling out her second orgasm. It didn’t even register to her, as she was clenching around nothing, tears welling in her eyes from the sheer intensity of her peak, that he hadn’t gotten off yet– she had hardly touched him. He was focusing all on her.

She went boneless for a moment as she came down from her high, almost moaning his name again. He held her until she came back down to earth.

Her hands fiddled to his belt, she desperately wanted to return the favor–

“Your uber’s here, love,” he murmured, helping her out of the alley to the car awaiting. She looked down, realizing her phone had been unlocked on the uber ETA screen.

She was spinning still, reeling from the entire interaction. Next thing she knew, she was sitting in the back of her uber as Aemond stood, door in hand.

“Bye, Shera.” he grinned, closing the door.

He knew the whole time.

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tippenfunkaport · 10 months

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I'll never not be mad at Target and Mattel for how badly they botched the rollout of this toyline, but please look at these adorable pictures of ND Stevenson and the voice actors seeing the dolls for the very first time!

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ccupnoodlee · 6 months

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hii welcome to my journal/blog!!! so I did make a little intro, but I would like to make a more detailed one

(*´∇｀)ﾉｼ

୨୧ 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚: I'm mixed! (Black and white) I speak English, 16!!, libra, enfp, has anxiety, I'm new to jirai kei fashion,I love collecting things like → pins, keychains, k-pop pcs and manga! I also love to bake, and make music 🤍

୨୧ 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨/𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨: fashion (jirai kei + ryousangata + anything tbh) ,music → ( laufey, n25, ado, new jeans, d4vd, tuyu, afterschool tea time (k-on),beabadoobee,cas,tv girl, lamp, the smiths, melanie martinez) games →(omori,pjsekai, splatoon 3, Mario Kart,ddlc,hsr), anime →(horimiya,k-on, sasaki and miyano, shikimori's not just a cutie, love is hard for otaku, dragon maid, maid sama, lucky star, kiss him not me, Kimi ni todoke, kamisama kiss, sanrio boys) cartoons→ (owl house, helluva boss, shera,mlp,mlb) sanrio, cats, anything cute tbh, pink!!!

୨୧ dislikes: hot weather, bugs, slowwalkers, loud noises, jelly like food, the dark

enjoy my cute little journal/blog<3

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columboscreens · 2 years

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I know you're a Columbo blog and I'm not trying to stir shit up or to cancel a guy who's been dead for a decade (or cancel anyone else for liking him -- I like Peter Falk, I love Columbo, best TV detective ever), but anyway what do you think about the age gap between him and Shera, meeting her when he was around 45 and she was around 23?

not suggesting he was abusive or anything, and I'm aware she was awful later in his life. but I'm asking what your thoughts are on the age gap

it's a completely understandable question with what i believe to be a rather understandable answer.

i didn't know the guy personally. i respect him greatly as an actor, as an artist, and as an overall kind, intelligent, talented man. nearly everyone who interacted with him liked him on a personal level. i'm genuinely bummed that i'll never get to meet him.

but as columbo teaches us, there's often more than meets the eye, especially when it comes to celebrities. so, too, is the case with peter falk.

the short answer is this: if you want a red-hot acting career, a nightfly lifestyle where you hit the town with the boys all the time, and any semblance of a normal family life...you kind of have to choose only two of those. peter wanted a woman more in line with the choices he made--which is to say, a hot party girl half his age.

in my eyes, the age and power differences between peter and his second wife, shera danese, are worthy of the eyebrow raise you'd get from most people given those gaps. after all, he was 46 and she was 24. but frankly, at 24 your brain is just about fully grown. and though i can't claim to know, my gut doubts he was out to prey on her or exploit a power dynamic so much as he was trying desperately to reclaim his youth and maintain his carousing lifestyle with--you guessed it--a hot party girl half his age. tale as old as time.

if you want the long answer with more background and history, read on:

if you don't know it by now, by every account you can possibly read, and in a stark contrast to columbo's devotion to his wife, peter falk was an utterly incorrigible philanderer. i'm not here to judge, nor am i here to armchair the psychology of a guy who's been dead for over a decade, but he definitely had an intoxicating, interminable fixation on women that strongly impinged upon his family life. one account that i'd read implied that he'd been that way since high school; being as charming and attractive as he was, he certainly never suffered a shortage of women wanting to sleep with him. he was simply a man with a natural propensity towards that particular deadly sin, especially coupled with the strong, sometimes negative influences of friends john cassavetes and ben gazzara.

there's some hearsay about his behavior and various involvements with other women, but the fact of the matter is, peter met shera danese while filming mikey and nicky in philadelphia and kept her as a mistress--while very much still married to his first wife, alyce mayo.

peter met alyce at syracuse, dabbling in theatre while earning his master's and trying to find something to do with his life. a petite, dark-haired thing, alyce's bailiwicks were fashion, art, and music; she mainly worked behind the scenes costuming and would later go on to design high-end fabric patterns and teach piano. in this instance, she happened to be understudying as one of the sprites in a school performance of shakespeare's the tempest.

he was very attracted to her disposition, artistic skill, and free spirit, though he hadn't yet worked up the nerve to ask her out. but don't let me tell you, let peter:

so he was like "Haha Hell Yeah Up Mine" and in love they fell for nearly three decades.

the two were uniquely close in that they connected very well as friends aside from being romantically entwined. they traveled together, supported each other's careers, and he valued her judgement; even after their divorce, he continued to go to her for advice. it's probably part of why they stayed together for so long, trying desperately to make everything work, despite the numerous strains put on their marriage.

but even on their wedding day, alyce had doubts. it'd taken peter nine years of dating to propose to her, and that was due in part to pressure from his parents to grow up and settle down. he'd always enjoyed the company of other women and spending nights carousing with his buddies, and he was never quite as keen as she on the idea of raising a family.

they actually, in a rather impressive feat, seemed to make things work for them through the 50s and 60s as peter kickstarted his acting career. when he hopped around on various location shoots, oftentimes she was able to travel with him. he wasn't massively busy like he became in the late 60s-70s for obvious reasons. they didn't have kids. but even then alyce had made concessions and sacrifices--her career in nyc and his all over the place meant they had to work hard to keep things together.

alyce and peter tried for children, but she struggled greatly. by the early 70s, they'd adopted two girls, jackie and catherine. peter had always loved children, and very clearly loved his daughters, but it was equally clear that his family life suffered as a result of his lifestyle.

he continued traveling for work, though by that point alyce was unable to accompany him as easily because of the children, and as she well knew, he often fell prey to the various temptations that surrounded him. she felt trapped, and with the offer of stability that was columbo, the family settled in LA in a final attempt to spread roots.

unfortunately, the only thing that spread was the cracks in their marital foundation. gazzara and cassavetes, legendary as their friendship was, seemed to play a role in enabling peter's hedonistic behavior, bringing out night after night the boy who only longed to party and philander til dawn.

by 1973, while filming mikey and nicky in philadelphia, peter saw shera walking down the street, and that was that. she followed him to LA and remained his mistress until, despite attempts at reconciliation, alyce had finally had enough and kicked peter out of the house in '76. they divorced the same year, and peter and shera were married the very next.

but it wasn't long before peter's second marriage became even more turbulent than his first. as it turns out, it's awfully hard to teach an old dog new tricks. he'd continued his lifelong pattern of unfaithful behavior during his marriage to shera, except this time he wasn't as beholden to his family. he could never really figure out how to keep his hands to himself, by which she, as his long-term mistress, was somehow blindsided.

there was, too, the unforseen limitation of them not only being from two completely different generations, but also not being able to agree on literally anything. everything was a fight with them. most interviews and media you can find of the two of them poke fun at their constant discord, but it's always palpable.

for emphasis, in the columbo episode murder of a rock star, shera and peter got into one of their trademark massive fights and she stormed off the set, refused to finish her scenes, and left to go clothes shopping. when some of the crew went to retrieve her, she refused to return, so they had to rewrite and film the final scene around her. and if you've watched the episode, you can definitely tell.

when asked what the two had in common, they always said "we both like the color blue" as perhaps some sort of inside joke for not actually having much in common, but they were so well-known for their heated blowouts that they came to be known in hollywood as the "fighting falks". they upheld that namesake well: the two separated several times and attempted to divorce twice. they did, at the very least, remain married until his death.

so there you have it. aside from the fact that this relationship was an egregious display of infidelity, do i think the age gap was particularly healthy? were they well suited where it mattered most? did it fix peter falk's midlife crisis? i'm in no position to judge. draw your own conclusions from the information given.

was their relationship wrong simply by virtue of that gap? i don't think so.

#husbands is great but i always get a little bit ill watching it #primary book cited was lertzman's beyond columbo; other texts include various interviews plus falk's autobio and shooting columbo #text #longpost #misc #columbo #peter falk #alyce mayo #shera danese #ask

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wrongcaitlyn · 3 days

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this isn’t tyt related BUT

I am asking the great writer on advice of how to write a paragraph on explaining a characters appearance because i am STRUGGLING. it should be easy but the words are not wording 😭 any tips for this and just writing in general? (you’ve probably said this somewhere else but so sorry i didn’t see it)

ahhsdf first of all i am flattered that you think of me as a great writer 😭 but!! i do have a few tips!!

so first of all, the amount of detail that you put into a character's appearance really depends on perspective!! for example, i've definitely sometimes written entire paragraphs of, like, nico describing will - a subtle nod toward the fact that he's completely and utterly whipped for him. but then for another character, such as, like, reyna, i may do something simple like "a tall girl with her hair in a braid" (i can't remember the actual description i gave reyna lmao)

so, for a short description:

the simpler, the better. i think the most identifiable traits of a person is their hair (if we're talking about a regular human being, not an alien or animal or something, in which it would probably be whatever traits are not human - such as, say, a cat tail would be the most identifiable trait of catra from shera)

i usually just revert to the easiest method, which is just: hair color and style. if it's in a braid, or a ponytail; if it's short, or long; blonde, brown, pink, or anything else - then your reader already has a vague image of this.

also, it depends what kind of story/fic you're writing! if it's a solangelo fic, chances are, writing "blond guy" is literally all you need to write to make sure your audience knows you're talking about will. but if you're writing a fic in which there are several blond guys, then you'll probably want to go into slightly more detail (like, curly blond hair for will, and short blond hair for jason - even though for jason, i would say glasses would be the defining trait)

eyes are also good! or what they're wearing! just make sure that whatever description you're adding is something that either helps identify the character, or identify the character's personality. a baggy hoodie for nico. a flannel jacket for will. leather jackets, plain tee-shirts, ripped jeans, a mini skirt, flowy dresses, are all pieces of clothing that can make a statement about the character, specifically in au's- because we already know this character, but in this universe, what are they like?

adding on to that, a casual way to point out their clothing is to mention it in relation to the weather. i've done this so many times. like, will wearing a plain tee shirt and cargo shorts in freezing weather! or something like that. if it fits into your story

just remember that, most of the time, people's internal monologues aren't going super in depth about a person's appearance - if i meet someone new, i'd probably note smth like "oh, this guy has glasses and short dark hair. he's wearing a blue jacket" in my head, and nothing further than that

HOWEVER. this is where you get to share more about the person whose pov you're writing. say you're describing the love interest - it would be very likely for (and i'm just using nico and will as an example bc i write them the most) nico to go super in depth about will's freckles, and how blue his eyes are, and how there's a strand of blond curly hair caught in his eyelash, and how his jacket is loose over his shoulders but seems to fit just right, and the star wars tee-shirt that he's wearing is so ridiculous and yet he looks just incredible.

allow yourself to fully think in the perspective of the person you're writing. is the person detail-oriented? if so, they'd probably take more notice of people's appearance than someone who doesn't give a shit. is the person interested in fashion in the first place? then they may add notes about how this piece of clothing really brings out their eyes, or comment on how horrible the shoes match with the jacket.

but *most* of the time, it's something simple. i've gone into so much detail and a slight ramble here lmfaoSKDJF BUT- the MAIN thing i wanted to say was, if you're really in doubt, don't waste too much time on a character's appearance! find one/two identifiable traits, work it into their entry (he ran into a blond guy with a green flannel; she narrowed her eyes, trying to recognize the girl with bubblegum pink hair and a leather jacket; he could only see the back of his head, taking note of the shoulder-length dark hair and denim jacket)

in the end, physical appearance is one of the least important parts of a story - specifically in fics, when everyone already has an idea of how characters look and will likely already have hc's as to what kind of clothes they wear/what length their hair is. add what you like, but if you're worried about making it sound good, just remember that even if you don't add a physical description at all, once you say the character's name, probably everyone will already have a semi-accurate picture of the character in their head!

thank you for the ask :)

#wrongcaitlyn #wrongcaitlyn asks

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midnightechoes · 4 months

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A Bridge Chapter 2 of 2

A Bridge is the third part in my post-RWBY volume 5 STR-Crossed Lovers fic series, Kintsugi. It was originally posted on AO3 back in February 2023.

Kintsugi Part 1, A Visit, taking place immediately after v5 and written by me, can be read on AO3 and Tumblr.

Kintsugi Part 2, A Dream, part flashback, part sequel to A Visit, was written by my friend @shera-dnd and can be read on AO3 and Tumblr.

A thick layer of clouds almost completely covered the sky, with just a few specs of blue peeking out here and there. There was a coolness to the air, the kind that signaled that hot summer days were beginning to give way to cool autumn evenings.

The dirt road crunched under the wheels of Tai’s moped as he sped down it at a brisk pace. The mostly orange machine vibrated as it carried its owner through an unremarkable forest, trees whipping by on either side of him.

Tai was dressed mostly as he always did, but he was currently wearing a bucket helmet that was strapped tightly around his chin, and an old-fashioned pair of racer goggles fastened over his eyes. The other notable difference in attire was a new bandana that was wrapped tightly around his right bicep. It was red and had a black-and-white patterning that made it look just like the bandana Raven had been wearing in her hair.

It had been almost two hours since he had passed the last semblance of civilization, a quiet little rest stop on the side of the road, which meant that he was getting close to his destination. Sure enough, before long he was upon the clearing he had been looking for. Tai slowed down and turned into the clearing, following the faint trail for a few hundred yards as it led into a thicker part of the forest before giving way to another open area. The moped rumbled to a stop less than a hundred yards from a large wall made out of twenty-foot-high tree trunks whose ends had been cut into spikes. In the center of the wall was a wooden gate, currently closed and being guarded by three people.

One was a man with long, scraggly blonde hair and a long, unkempt face. Another was a woman with a gray, leather eye patch and brown hair that appeared to have been thrown up into a ponytail without consideration. And the third was another man, his curled black hair kept short, allowing the two scars running down from cheek to chin to be his most prominent feature. All three were carrying relatively simple weapons and wearing outfits that looked like they were pieced together over time.

Powering the moped down and popping the kickstand, Tai dismounted, a smile on his face as he pulled the helmet and goggles off. “Hey there,” he cheerily called out to the trio, slowly making his way towards the gate.

Within seconds, a bullet was flying past Tai’s head, not grazing only thanks to his semblance, Juke, which allowed him to slide out of the way in time.

“Not another step,” the scraggly blonde man called out with a grizzled voice, his handgun pointed directly at Tai. “That was a warning. Now I suggest you get back on that tiny bike and turn around while you can.”

“Look, pal,” Tai responded, a look of smug confidence on his face as he set down his helmet on the seat of the moped, then continued taking a few steps towards the trio guarding the gate. “This is a misunderstanding, I don’t think you know who I am,” he said with his hands raised as a show of peace.

“And I don’t much care,” the blonde man barked back. He tried rattling his gun at Tai in an attempt to intimidate him, a move that did not seem to be working. “I’m warning you! Take one more step, and you’ll be sorry,” he yelled.

Tai stopped in his tracks at the threat. His expression had devolved from smug to annoyed, his blue eyes squinting at the man. He thought about the warning for a second, then exhaled a deep breath out through his nose, and took another step forward.

“Get him!” the scraggly blonde man yelled as he tried to steady his aim at Tai. The other two guards sprung into action as well: the woman charged forward with a basic axe, the kind usually used for chopping wood, while the other man took a few steps back and drew up his simple hunting rifle. All three were scowling, and all three were utterly unprepared for what was about to happen.

In the blink of an eye, Tai activated his Juke semblance, allowing him to move laterally at such a speed that he seemed to leave a trail of afterimages of himself. He zig-zagged forward, crossing the distance to the guards in barely a second. When he came to a stop, he was directly in front of the woman, slamming her with a punch to the gut before she even had time to react, sending her stumbling backward. He juked again, crashing his elbow right into the man with the rifle, getting him off-balance enough for Tai to flip him over his shoulder.

Taking out the man with the rifle had put Tai behind the scraggly blonde man, who had been struggling to keep track of the intruder.

It was about this time that a “kraa-kraa” could be heard echoing softly in the clearing as a blackbird passed overhead.

The blonde man was able to get focus on Tai long enough to fire off a shot at him, one that Tai easily juked out of the way of. Suddenly the huntsman was inches in front of the man. A quick strike to the elbow followed by a chop to the wrist sent the blonde man’s gun flying. Tai elbowed him in the chest, creating just enough room to wind up and slug the blonde man so hard in the face that he pirouetted in place before falling to the ground.

“That’s enough, Tai,” a voice called out. Tai looked up to see Raven standing just in front of the gate, her arms folded and an amused grin on her face. She was still wearing the same orange tank top and black pants with gold seams that she had during karaoke, but now she was missing the red bandana she had often worn in her hair.

“Look, he started it,” Tai chuckled before relaxing his posture and taking a step back from the fallen guards.

Raven strolled up to the scraggly blonde man, towering over him as he lay on his back. “That’s not surprising, this one here loves to start problems he doesn’t know how to get out of.” Raven let out a laugh and shook her head at the man on the ground. “Honestly Shay, is it your mission to get your ass kicked by my entire family?”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Shay weakly groaned.

A hand appeared in Shay’s field of vision. He latched onto it, allowing Tai to hoist him to his feet. “Hey, Shay was it? No hard feelings.”

Shay grunted. “You’re just lucky that the boss lady got here when she did.”

The statement made both Tai and Raven burst out laughing. “Sure I am!” Tai chuckled.

“Alright, enough fun,” Raven commanded as she recomposed herself. She turned to the two other guards that had just regrouped from their beating. “If you would open the gates so my ex-husband can wheel his little bicycle inside.”

“Um, it’s a moped, we already went over this!” Tai huffed.

Raven turned to Tai for just a second before walking into the camp. “Yes, because that sounds so much more impressive.”

Tai grumbled under his breath as he collected his helmet and walked back to his moped. As he wheeled the bike forward by hand, pushing it forward by the handlebars, he caught Shay snickering under his breath.

“Got something to say, pal?” Tai flatly asked. Immediately Shay straightened up and went quiet. “Good man,” Tai added as he strode past.

The Branwen Tribe camp was bustling with people going about the business of breaking it down. Most everything was being packed into the back of six beat-up old pickup trucks that had all seen better days and were in desperate need of paint jobs. There were a couple more trucks and vans designated for passenger transport parked off to the side of the camp. Tai quickly wheeled his moped over to them and parked it.

“Starting to wonder how helpful I’m going to be,” Tai mused as he made his way back to Raven, who had been waiting for him in the center of the camp. They continued on slowly through the mostly barren camp towards her tent, one of the few standing structures left.

“You insisted on coming,” Raven chuckled. “Your help is appreciated, Tai. We’re behind schedule, every extra hand will be helpful,” Raven added, her tone becoming more somber.

“Behind schedule?” Tai gasped. “Looks like everyone’s working their hardest, Rae.”

Raven came to a stop and turned to the man next to her. “It’s been a week, we should already be on the road. But, it took a few days to procure all the vehicles we need, plus I haven’t been here the last few, and… we did lose a day mourning our fallen.”

“Right,” Tai nodded. “That girl that Cinder killed… V… Virginia?”

“Vernal,” Raven flatly corrected. “Her name was Vernal,” She added, never breaking stride as they marched towards her tent.

Once they reached their destination, they both stood there for a moment, taking it in. It was the same tent that the Branwen Tribe leader before Raven had used, as well as the leader before them. Like many things in the tribe, Raven’s tent was something that had been used and reused and passed down for generations, and at the moment, the old canvas fabric that draped down to make its walls was the only thing separating Tai from the last part of Raven that she had left to share: her history, and all the messy, ugly parts of it that she had hoped she’d never have to tell Summer and Tai about.

Raven took a deep breath.

“Sure is modest and welcoming,” Tai blurted out, making sure that every letter was dripping with sarcasm. Raven let out a chuckle despite herself. She looked over to the man next to her that was smiling brightly.

“Come on, it’s not going to break itself down,” Raven said, leading Tai through the opening of the tent.

Tai took a look around once they were inside, and let out a little hum. “I’m glad we didn’t let you furnish our bedroom.”

“Oh please,” Raven scoffed. She walked over to the large chest in the corner and cracked it open. “Summer would have loved this.”

“That she would have,” Tai agreed as he made his way to Raven.

“Here,” Raven began, pulling out a few sheets of heavy cloth and shoving them into Tai’s hands. “See the tea set over by my bed? Wrap it up before we pack it.” Tai nodded at the command. While he was occupied with that, Raven began taking down and rolling up the various maps and notes that had been pinned up to the back of her tent. In the middle of it, she stopped, taking a moment to look at one of the notes. It was a report of the security measures of one of the villages that weren’t too far from the camp. Raven let out a sigh. There was a familiar tug-of-war in her heart. One that she had felt long ago until fear and panic let one side win, leading her to make a choice that she’d done everything in her power to never question.

That was until Yang showed up at her door. It had taken all of Raven’s fortitude to keep up her guard in front of her daughter. Something made harder by the realization that Yang wasn’t even there for her. Raven was nothing more than a means to an end.

It hadn’t actually hit Raven until that moment that her family had completely, and successfully, excised her from their life. She should have been happy about that, after all, it was what she had claimed she had always wanted: no attachments to that world, the side that had lost the tug-of-war. But there was Yang, staring at her like a stranger with nothing but demands on her tongue and contempt in her eyes.

Raven had gotten what she wanted.

And it had been killing her ever since.

Until finally, after defeating Cinder, after confronting Yang, and returning to the tribe to mourn Vernal’s death for a day, her heart led her back to a dusty cabin in the woods of Patch, to the one member of her family that didn’t currently, and rightfully, hate her…

… To the man that apparently just dropped one of her teacups.

A crash rang out in the tent, pulling Raven out of her stupor. Wet eyes sought out the source of the crash, and quickly found Tai kneeling over a small pile of ceramic pieces.

“I’m so sorry, Raven! I was trying to be careful, I swear, I—” Tai was blurting out, trying to collect the pieces up into one of the cloth towels he had been using, until a gentle hand touched down on his shoulder, stopping his sentence.

When Tai looked up, Raven was kneeling just next to him, her hand on his shoulder, a soft, sad smile on her face. “It’s fine, Tai,” she assured him. Her free hand reached down and picked up one of the bigger pieces. She turned it over and over between her fingers, seemingly studying as her attention was drawn to the jagged dark-blue piece of ceramic that had one flower painted on it. After turning it over a few more times, she shifted her attention back to Tai, her smile brightening as she took in his sad puppy dog expression.

“This can be fixed,” Raven murmured to him.

The assurance seemed to ease something in Taiyang, whose expression softened. He took the piece from Raven and put it with the rest on the cloth before returning his focus to her, a warm grin forming on his face. “Yeah, it can.”

From there, it didn’t take long for the duo to finish breaking down Raven’s tent. Within an hour, it was empty, with everything that had been in the tent packed away in a large chest, and after two hours, what had been Raven’s tent was now nothing more than a large, open wooden platform. While Tai was loading the chest onto one of the trucks, Raven remained on the platform, taking in the progress of the camp breakdown.

Besides the built-up walls enclosing the camp, one would hardly know that an entire tribe of people had called this place home for the last few years. In fact, there was only one tent left. The tent was one of the larger ones and sat less than a hundred feet away from Raven’s. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“Hey, everything okay?” Tai’s concerned voice called out from just behind Raven, making the woman jump.

“Gods, Tai! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Raven huffed, twisting around to slap him in the arm.

“Right, because we all know of my exceptional stealth skills,” Tai chortled. “Your head was somewhere else, Rae. What’s up?”

It was almost disconcerting how quickly the two had become able to understand each other again. In many ways, the eighteen-year gap remained this raw, overwhelming presence hovering over them, but in some ways, they had picked up right from where they left off. Raven still wasn’t sure how she felt about letting someone that could so thoroughly read her back into her life, but she had to accept that some part of her had craved this, had always longed to get this back.

Plus, Tai was already there, his dopey, sincere, concerned half-smile on his face as he stood in the middle of her bandit camp. She had passed the last exit to turn back days ago.

Raven turned back to the tent she had been staring at. “I have to break down the last tent,” she muttered, dread dripping from her voice.

“Huh? I thought you said that it was everyone’s responsibility to break down their own…” Tai’s sentence trailed off as the reality of the situation set in. “Oh.”

A heavy arm found itself slung around Raven’s back, pulling her into a side hug. “Hey,” Tai cooed, “you don’t have to do it yourself. I’m right here.”

They gave each other a nod. Then, after Raven took a deep breath, they slowly made their way over to the last tent. Raven stopped briefly at the entrance, taking a second to compose herself.

Even with all the mental preparation, the flaps to the tent felt heavy, as if the fabric was made of steel rather than thick canvas. Once inside, Raven immediately reached for the lamp that was sitting on the crate just a couple of feet inside the door, near the center of the tent, and lit it using her maiden powers.

Tai entered just after and found Raven standing next to the lamp, slowly surveying the space around them, her shoulders slumping more and more as she did. He made his way towards her, clearing his throat loudly this time before speaking. “Rae?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. Instead, Raven simply continued staring down at the items scattered around the room, a sneer growing on her face as she did.

“She should be here. She should be doing this. She…” Raven’s words trailed, leaving them there, standing in silence.

“Vernal was special to you,” Tai whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Raven set her gaze on a neatly stacked pile of clothes that was sitting on the bed. “Vernal trusted me, and she was a fool to do so,” she spat out, her body shaking slightly.

“Rae…”

The soft call of her name made Raven snap her focus to Tai, but there was no anger on her face. Instead, there was a look of anguish, her lips quivering, her eyes half-lidded as tears were forming in the corner of her eyes. “She trusted me, and it got her killed. I was supposed to protect her, but I couldn’t, I let her die because I was a coward. If I… If I was braver she would still be alive. And I… I can’t help thinking that leaving was the best thing that I ever could have done for Yang.”

By the time the first sob escaped Raven, Tai was already pulling her into a hug. He held her tight, his hand gently stroking her back while she broke down in his arms.

It was a few minutes before Raven settled down. Eventually, she got control of herself, and simply leaned into the embrace, resting her entire weight against him.

“I think you’re blaming the wrong person, by the way,” Tai mused. The statement made Raven shift around in his arms so that she could glare up at him with a perplexed look on her face. “You didn’t kill Vernal, Rae, that Cinder chick did. Same person that terrorized our girls when they were at Beacon. She’s the reason Vernal’s dead. And Salem’s the reason Cinder did any of those things, not you. They took Vernal from you, they took our wife from us.” Tai released Raven from the hug and took a step back, his hands still firmly grasping her shoulders so that he could look her dead in the eyes when he said “And someday, they’re going to be the ones who pay for what happened to the people we care about, not you.”

A slight, sly smile came over Raven. “So, focus on revenge instead of guilt.”

“Err,” Tai stammered as one arm fell to his side while the other reached up to scratch the side of his neck. “That’s not exactly the point I was trying to get at.”

“I know,” Raven said, letting out a bellowing laugh before patting Tai on the cheek. “I just love watching you squirm, Xiao Long.” Tai joined in the laughter as it cut through the mood of the tent. After it died down, Raven turned back to the bed where Vernal’s clothes were still laid out. “Come on, we have to get this done… I’m not going to leave her behind.” Tai walked up to her and nodded as the two of them began breaking down Vernal’s tent.

---

At daybreak the following morning, the Branwen tribe’s motor caravan pulled out of the little patch of land, and began their journey south, away from the capital of Mistral, and into the vast wilderness of the continent of Anima. Tai’s moped rumbled along at the front, along with a handful of other motorcycles that were leading away. Raven scouted ahead, her bird form allowing her to get a clear view of potential perils and dangers.

The first two days went smoothly, making good time through the rugged terrain, and avoiding any conflict. The third day presented a bit more of a challenge, being forced to confront an unavoidable pack of Grimm. Raven, Tai, and a handful of the tribe’s strongest fighters were able to deal with them, allowing the caravan to pass through with only a few scratches.

That’s how it was for the rest of the week, a good day here, a challenge to avoid trouble there. Luckily there was only one dust-up with local law enforcement. Tai didn’t feel great about it, but he knew what he had gotten himself into, and agreed to it when he insisted on accompanying Raven on this journey. Even still, he did all he could to get the tribe out of the situation with no one getting hurt. But when push came to shove, Tai stuck with the tribe, something Raven appreciated, even if she hadn’t found a way to voice such sentiment. For her part, Raven made sure that the tribe focused on evasion and avoiding conflict instead of violence.

Overall, they were making good time, all things considered. During that week, Tai managed to bond with the tribe. At first, it was slow, mostly finding common ground in everyone’s mutual love to complain about Qrow, but over the days he worked at forming friendships with his fellow travelers. As he did, he began to gain a new perspective on Raven, because to these people she wasn’t a teammate, or friend, or spouse, she was their rock. A guiding light that they all looked to with reverence and respect. For so long Tai had only known what Raven had run from, and how much it hurt to lose her, but his time with the tribe gave him a chance to get to know what she had run towards, and why. In many ways, they were as much her family as he, or Yang, or Summer had ever been.

Finally, Tai saw Raven for what she really was: a woman torn in two, pulled in opposite directions for most of her life. For so long Tai had barely dared to dream what Raven coming back into his life might look like, but in those times that he did, he had always envisioned pulling her away from her life as a bandit. And truth be told, a part of him still wanted to help her get away from a life of crime, but his time with the tribe made him realize that he’d have to give a little too, that if he really wanted this to work this time, if he wanted them to work this time, it couldn’t be an either-or choice. Accepting Raven Branwen meant accepting everything about her, from being a fiercely loyal teammate to being a bandit leader.

This was the thought that Tai found himself dwelling on as they sat around a campfire in the middle of the woods on the evening of the ninth day. It had been a quiet day, and everyone was finishing up the stew that had been made for the night. Raven had been busy while everyone else ate, securing the perimeter, and making sure that everyone was aware of their guard duty rotations for the night. Finally, after just about everyone was finished and most people were turning in to get some rest, Raven sat to have a bowl of stew just next to Tai.

She got a few spoonfuls in before stopping and turning to face him, a look of mild annoyance on her face.

“Is there something you wanted to say to me, Tai?” she huffed.

For his part, Tai’s expression immediately softened, a warm smile growing on his face. “Um, no, why?”

Raven let out a sigh. “It’s just, you’ve been watching me since you sat down.”

The statement made Tai blush slightly, which, luckily for him, was mostly washed out by the orange glow of the fire. “Have I? Sorry! It wasn’t anything bad! It’s just… I don’t know, I guess I’m a little in awe of how you can command the tribe so effortlessly.”

Now it was Raven’s turn to blush. She quickly looked back down at her stew, the warmth of it seeping into her lap. “Oh.” She had another scoop of stew to buy her a few extra seconds to think of how to follow up on that. By the time she had gulped it down, a warm thought had settled in. Raven let her eyes become lidded as they drifted to the fire, a half-smile forming on her face. “Let’s be honest, everything I know about being a leader Summer taught me.”

Tai scooted closer to her so that he could rest his hand on her knee. “She’d be proud of you,” he murmured. In response, Raven leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Think so?”

“Yeah,” Tai responded. The two of them sat there, wordlessly enjoying their time together until it was time to turn in for the night.

---

The following morning was like every other one since hitting the road, everyone quickly breaking down the makeshift camp, disposing of any evidence that there had been a camp, and lining the convoy up to depart. Tai had done his part just as he had every other day, and was currently buckling his helmet on as he waited for the caravan to rumble to a start. Suddenly, Raven swooped in, standing in front of Tai’s moped, but not looking at him.

“Tribe!” she barked at the top of her lungs. “Get a move on, I’ll catch up!”

With her command, trucks and vans and motorcycles roared to life and began lurching forward in unison. Tai watched in confusion as everyone drove away from the campsite except him, who sat there on his moped, Raven’s hands planted firmly on the handlebars.

“Um, Rae, what’s going on?” he asked, taking his helmet back off.

Raven finally turned to face him, and her face immediately betrayed her, a look of deep sadness painted all over it.

“This is as far as you go, Tai.”

“Hold up!” Tai yelled as he jumped off his moped. “You’re ditching me now?!”

“No, Tai, it’s not like that,” Raven sighed, doing her best to retain her composure.

Tai did his best to let his initial anger pass over him. He took a deep breath before taking a step toward Raven. “Then what is it? I don’t understand, things have been going well.”

“Yeah,” Raven answered. She let go of his moped and closed the distance between them, leaving maybe a foot between them. “Things have been great,” she agreed. “But I can’t let you go any farther with us. We’re going to be hitting the arid lands of Anima soon and it’s going to be extremely dangerous out there.”

“Which makes you leaving behind a huntsman make no sense,” Tai huffed. His arms were crossed as a very annoyed look came over his face.

“Yes Tai, but you’re not just a huntsman.” Raven reached forward and placed her hands on his crossed arms. “You’re also the father of my daughters, and I need you to be safe for them. We’re running from Salem, and if you came with us… if she found out that you know where I am…” Raven gulped down a sob and used all her willpower to keep herself together. “I will not lose any more of my family to that woman.”

There was a beat of silence that felt deafening in the small clearing they were standing in. Finally, Tai let out a quiet hum. “Daughters, huh?”

Raven let out a chuckle, taking comfort in it. That was something she always admired about Tai, his ability to lighten any mood, to be able to focus on the upside of things.

“Well, someone recently pointed out that despite not giving birth to her, Ruby is just as much my daughter as Yang is… Not that either of them would think much of me as their mother.”

Tai unfurled his arms and wrapped them around Raven, pulling her into a tight hug. “They will, you just have to make the effort,” he whispered into her ear.

“I’ll get the tribe to its new home. Then I’ll come back. I’ll put in the effort,” Raven leaned back so that she could stare into Tai’s eyes while cupping one side of his face. “I’m not going to abandon our family this time.”

“Promise?” Tai blurted out almost before he could even think about it. As soon as he did he regretted it, but before he could focus on the regret, he found himself pulled down into a deep, searing kiss. Their arms unconsciously wrapped tight around each other, their bodies craving the warmth and contact of each other, a connection so familiar, yet it had remained dormant for years. Tai found himself lost in that connection just as he always had been, as if every kiss erased another year of separation.

They were both panting when they finally pulled apart, doing so more out of the need for air than want.

“I promise,” Raven replied through red, plump lips. She reluctantly pulled herself from his grasp and took a few steps back. “I promise,” Raven repeated before spinning around and darting off, transforming into her bird form after just a few steps.

Tai stood there, watching as Raven slowly drifted out of view beyond the treeline, all the while with a smile on his face. Raven had made a lot of promises to him over the course of their relationship, and he had to admit that she didn’t have the best track record in keeping them.

But in that clearing, at that moment, watching her soar through the sky, his heart had no room for doubt.

After she was gone, Tai hopped back onto his moped. It rumbled under him as he spun around and began driving back the way they had come. He only got a few yards before he stopped, and took a moment to look back over his shoulders in the direction that caravan had gone.

“I’ll see you soon, Rae.”

#rwby #taiyang xiao long #raven branwen #shay d. mann #vernal #tai x raven #raven x summer #tai x summer #raven x tai x summer #str crossed lovers #str-crossed lovers #sk's writing #rwby fanfiction #sk's 2023 recap

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