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humanpurposes · 2 months

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It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #modern!au #aemond targaryen smut #it will come back #hozier coded #my fics

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boy-in-the-stars · 4 months

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is it I back for more shitty long scollace prompts 😈😈😈 I'm so glad u liked the first ones cause like ik they're cringe 😭😭 anyway sorry again for how fucking long this is:

- I like to imagine they have a lot of movie nights cause scott just orders a ton and still rents movies from that place I forget the name of where Kim works 😭 most nights acott would prolly pick the movie but sometimes wallace gets a chance. idrk what kinda movies he would like but I feel at least once he would waste his turn to purposefully rent a movie he knows scott would hate just to see him suffer <3 true love. in his defense he had to sit through the sonic movie (or if it takes place in 2004 then sonic ova) at least a hundred times.

- I don't think scott would particularly be scared of horror movies but whenever they watch one wallace would definitely tease and try to freak him out. scott would get very annoyed and insist his teasing isn't working and in his defense it isn't!! it's a shitty 80s slasher film or at least he thinks until all the lights are off and there's weird noises outside. suddenly he's tugging on wallace and holding onto him without even realizing.

^^ I j wanna make a point bc I don't want this to come off as like babying or ooc or even fetishizing cause i think scott could definitely handle horror movies. I don't think he's a horror fanatic but he has respect for the classics. it's like wallaces relentless teasing after an especially scary horror movie he hasn't seen, in the middle of the night, with particular weird noises outside. it's like a rly specific situation cause he's usually fine with horror. I j wanted to makebthat clear cause ik there's like a lot of weird fanfics where scotts like an uwu soft boy and. ew. i don't mean it like that. bleh

- after they're official I feel like their dynamic would basically stay the same cause cmon they were pretty much dating before. only difference is now wallace gets to full on make out with him and give him a little more forehead kisses than he did before. at first I feel like scott would act annoyed or maybe not annoyed but dismissive of the little kisses not cause he didn't like them but bc he acted like he didn't like them before they're dating and he feels the need to keep it up. he doesn't wanna give wallace that satisfaction of I told u so u obviously enjoyed them. but either when scotts sick or even tired or whatever wallace gives him a little kiss and Scott pathetically is like another plsss ☹️☹️☹️. Wallace is like oh? now we like my kisses?? with his little smug ass face. when scott fully wakes up he still barely admits to liking them but now doesnt completely ignore them (he loves them). after like a week I think scott would give up the bit and embrace them like kiss it better?? good luck kiss?? goodnight kiss?? morning kiss?? greedy bitch

sorry for how much I write I j wanna like makebmyself clear plus I rlly suck with words so I hope this comes across ok. sorry these are worse but ofc I have more cause of the autism ☹️☹️ hope u enjoyed reading this fucking novel 😭😭

these are all so cute anon!! don’t you even worry, i haven’t been getting many prompts so these mean a lot to me. the first one shot (haircut) should be up as soon as my comic artist finishes the panels!!

shout out to @literallylee btw, they’re drawing some comics for the fics and they’re literally amazing, can’t wait for you guys to see them!!

#fanfiction #scott pilgram takes off #scollace #scott pilgram vs the world #wallace wells #gay #scott pilgrim #fanfic #one shot #one shot book #writing #anon #asks #send asks #send prompts #guys

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levmada · 1 year

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If I may? What's your unpopular aot opinion if you have any?

Perhaps. (just my opinion)

- grey shirt levi is overrated. s3p1 had a big focus on levi bc it was partly about exploring his past and his character, and ofc levi in that outfit is just MUAH but i could think of so many others that are under appreciated (not counting official art). for instance his vest, tie and slacks (with and without the suit jacket) in marley, that casual low-neck(?) t-shirt + black pants combo for a scene ALSO in s3p1 that was cut out, or his little white sweater from the end of s3p1. i’ll find pics

(jeez it was difficult to find those panels)

– ymir and historia’s relationship wasn’t that captivating. i think because since it’s a lesbian relationship, and it’s basically canon, that it’s held to especially high regards and gets a lot of attention

– erwin gets too much hate for only being seen on the surface as ‘ruthless’ and treating the lives of his soldiers flippantly. just like every character, he’s more multi-faceted with guilt, a childish stubbornness to see his missions thru to the end, his suicidality (at the crate when he talked to levi the last time), etc.

– eren wasn't annoying in the first seasons, or at least he wasnt written to be for no reason. he's fifteen and as far as he knows the ONLY person who can transform into the very monsters who killed his mother + save the world (or at least what he knows it as). of course boy has issues and some emotional problems lol

– gabi is EXTREMELY misunderstood and anyone with media literacy could at least draw the parallels b/n her and eren (when he was a kid). she doesn't deserve all the hate she gets at all. she was a victim of immense (like from BIRTH) brainwashing just like the warriors. and if u wanna throw blame... technically eren was the one who killed sasha.

– the ackerbond isn't slavery, but it's also completely up to interpretation whether it exists in any meaningful way at all. like with lots of things pertaining to the aot story, it's up for interpretation.

– the dub is overall better

– the rumbling was not justified?? idk if that’s majority opinion but i’ve seen a lot of ppl who think that

– the jean horse jokes and half marco jokes were never funny </3

– levi’s choice on the roof makes sense (which i go into more detail with in another post)

– mappa is better than wit

minor manga spoilers

– reiner’s mom’s behavior / character is realistic. she isn’t there to serve as a plot device to be the source of all reiner’s insecurities and issues about being an eldian and so on. she’s an abusive person but no one in aot can be whittled down to a monster or an angel. that’s one of the big points of the story. arguably, that can apply to everyone.

– mikasa from the very beginning deserved so much better than eren and especially in the anime her character was reduced to existing for him, unlike levi and erwin, and kenny and uri (say what you want about those ships, but those are the lieges of each ackerman). i dislike eremika. in fact jean and mikasa would be (or are depending on how you interpret the manga) better and healthier together.

– if erwin lived post-RtS, he would NOT have agreed to the rumbling. yes, he sought freedom to explore the world outside the walls more than many of the major characters, and in his eyes the ends justified the means. but erwin was smart enough to know logically that indiscriminate genocide wouldn't have solved anything, or at least knew it wasn't a long-term solution, and besides, he did have a heart. as much heart as levi, hange, mike, and the rest. for what other reason did levi of all people choose to follow erwin than because he saw something Levi didn't in a world this hellish? Levi even says that Erwin's dream (the scouts' dream rly) was too "innocent", but if it wasn't, it wouldn't have been worth fighting for. so!!!

#OPINION #kane has mail #no hate pls

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the-crow-binary · 1 year

Note

The LoI cast for the meme :>

Okay >:D

Leon:

The OG Belmont <3 The one who went through hell, betrayed by his bff, forced to kill his betrothed, and cursed his whole clan to hunt the night for eternity <3 And yet, no matter the pain he felt, no matter how tempting it was to just give up, he never faltered. <3 He betrayed the church to follow his own morals and save his betrothed... well it failed, but still <3 I love him. <3

Sara:

MY HEART ACHES FOR HER. But i also absolutely love the idea that, everytime the Belmont would fight with the VK, everytime they would slay Dracula with it, she was there <3 In the whip <3 It was her power, he sheer will that made all of this possible, and even thought it's tragic how she's forever trapped into a weapon, if it wasn't for that, humanity would've been doomed. <3 The TRAGEDY. I'M WEAK FOR IT.

Ofc, none of that would have happen if it wasn't for MATHIAS:

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH BUT HE DESERVED TO HAVE HIS ASS KICKED FOR ALMOST A THOUSAND YEARS. (i'm very much weak for his porcelain boy design <3) I was tempted to check the "they could've been such a great character" thing because it could have been better, like there was a lack of him throughout the game to make everyone really care and feel the betrayal and everything. But i think he's a great character still <3 (but i might be a little biased lol) And at least, he's not reduced to just a concept, unlike his ded wife >:(

Talking about her:

Yes, she might not have much of a personnality due to how unexistant she's been in the game >:l But at least her design is top tier <3 Lovely, majestic woman <3 (and i will forever HC her to be tall) Anyway, outside of fanon and my own interpretations of her... there's not much to tell. I love her more because of how i imagined her and her relationship with Mathias than because of what canon gave us, for how little it was lmao

And you know who ELSE deserved better from the canon ? Joachim.

Granted, at least, HE had an apparition. But he still deserved better >:l He seems so interesting, we have only hints of his past with Walter and it doesn't tell us much outside of "i hate him and want his throne". And then we have conflicting informations, like the fact his 300 yrs/old, but has been turned by Walter, but also Walter is 42... and yeah i guess you can say he's been turned at 42 but idk. I like the idea that he's younger than Joachim as much as i like the idea that he did turned Joachim and all the things that could've happen to lead to the current situation :( (Also i was VERY close to check "not to be a homosexual, but". Kojima's artworks of him are just so <3 Aaaaa <3)

Now, to talk about the one, the only, redhead bastard of his century: Walter Bernhard.

He has no right being that hot, for a start. There's not enough panels to describe my feelings about him in this bingo. What can I say, i love him. Not as much as Dracula nor Mathias, but i do <3 I think he's a good villain (and a very funny one if we think that he's only 42 and already bored with his eternal life), and I still very much want to know his past with Joachim. >:(

Now there's a character he has a past with that we know enough of. And it's the old-man-but-actually-he's-not-that-old man: Rinaldo.

Not much to say about that man tbh. He sure is there, and I do appreciate him and everything he does. And also the tragedy of him having to kill his own daughter because of Bastard Bernhard :'3

Well, i guess that's all... Or is it ? There's still one character i didn't talk about...

Death. <3

He saw Mathias and was seduced immediately <3 Also he's a little bastard for betraying Walter, but tbf, if Walter was bored, chances are Death was too, and Mathias was bringing him something new and exciting so who can blame him, really <3 (not like Walter deserved him anyway, smh. how much you wanna bet he was seeing Death like a servant or even a mere tool more than anything ? At least Mathias saw him as a person <3 Enough that he'll become his most trusted confidant <3 They're so cute fr)

I think that is all. <3

#castlevania #lament of innocence #mathias cronqvist #leon belmont #sara trantoul #joachim armster #walter bernhard #castlevania death #rinaldo gandolfi #elisabetha cronqvist #local bastard #character bingo #beevean ask

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foundtherightwords · 1 year

Text

Love in a Mist - Chapter 4

Pairing: Hellcheer Regency AU or Regency!Eddie Munson x OFC (for more info, see A/N of Chapter 1)

Summary: Christine Conyngham, a young debutante whose marital prospects are less than ideal, believes her happiness is secure when she falls in love with Joshua Craven, the handsome future Duke of Hauxwell. However, after her lack of a fortune prevents her and Joshua from marrying, Christine impulsively accepts the proposal of Edward Munson, the eccentric Baron Hurstfield, who is in need of a wife to obtain an inheritance. But with her heart still pining after Joshua, can Christine learn to love her husband and build a life with him?

Series Warnings: sloooooow burn (it's a fucking novel, I'm sorry), angst, suicide attempt, mentions of domestic abuse, some smut in later chapters. Also, my deepest apologies to the people of Yorkshire for the accent and any other details I might have butchered.

Chapter Warnings: angst/depression, more awkward attempt at sex (slight dubcon), blood/bleeding, suicide attempt

A/N: I didn't realize so much happens in this chapter, and all within a single night too! Need to work on my pacing...

Chapter word count: 5k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Christine blinked awake in the gray light of dawn. She had some dim memories of a maid helping her out of her traveling clothes and into bed, but she had fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, so she hadn't seen much of the room. After the desolation of the drive and the gloom of the hall, she wasn't expecting much, yet a weight still settled on her heart when she looked around. The room was steeped in murkiness - everything, from the oak half-paneling, darkened with age, to the embossed wallpaper, to the heavy mahogany furniture, to the windows with their thick draperies and deep sills, seemed to swallow up the light.

The prospect outside the windows didn't do much to lift her spirit either. A gray mist covered the entire landscape, with only some blurry dark shapes here and there suggesting trees and bushes, like a great empty sea leading all the way to the distant hills. A maid came in to help Christine dressed, and then she went out into a long corridor that ran the whole length of the house, into which the bedrooms opened, and down the stairs. She looked at the tapestries around the front hall, which showed a unicorn hunt, and paused in front of the last one, hanging by the door leading into the dining room. It showed the unicorn in captivity, looking rather pitiful with a collar around its neck and fences surrounding it. Christine knew how it felt.

"Poor thing," Edward's voice said by her ears, making her jump. "I'd always felt sorry for it when I was a kid. Breakfast?"

He seemed quite cheerful this morning and didn't notice, or pretended not to notice, his bride's dejected air. After breakfast, he took her around the house, pointing out how it had been built with stones from the ruins of a nearby abbey, how the hall dated all the way from the Crusades and the rest was renovated during the reign of Queen Elizabeth, explaining every scene depicted on the stained glass windows and the tapestries, all with the proud air of the king of the castle. Christine tried to listen, but the chill, vault-like atmosphere of the house was like a blanket weighing her down, and she couldn't muster up the enthusiasm.

She didn't see Edward much in the days that followed. The lambing season had begun and he was busy, riding out to all the farms to supervise the work. When he was home, he shut himself off in his study, going over the finances of the estate - though the debts were paid off, the accounts were apparently still in disarray and required a lot of attention. Meanwhile, Christine wandered through the gloomy, lonely, possibly haunted rooms of Hurstfield Hall, trying to find something to do, to occupy herself with, and forget the sense of melancholy that had settled on her after the wedding and worsened during the journey from London.

When she first arrived, she had thought Hurstfield Hall a cursed place, but now she wondered if she was the cursed one. She had no place here. Mrs. Wayne was considerate and always deferred to her in the household affairs, but Christine could see that the old woman had everything running like clockwork and had no need of her input. She tried reading, embroidering, painting, but none of them stuck. Writing in her journal only emphasized how empty her days were. She wrote long, incoherent letters to Joshua that she burned immediately afterward. Her mother wrote occasionally, and in the early days, Christine would scour her letters for any gossip about Joshua, but everything was about his engagement to Miss Jennings, which stabbed at her heart so much she had to beg her mother not to mention him anymore. She would try music, though music had never been her strong suit, but there was no musical instrument to be found in the house, which she found rather strange.

One day, while passing through the drawing room, Christine noticed a door left ajar that Edward hadn't shown her. She went in and discovered a little parlor overlooking the garden, spotless, but with even more of an empty, un-lived air than the rest of the house. An embroidery frame stood by the fireplace, with a half-finished piece of needlepoint still in it. Some sheets of paper, yellowed with age, a dry ink bottle, and some quills lay scattered on the escritoire in the corner of the room, as though the occupant had only gotten up and left. A pianoforte stood by the window, its lid shut. The entire room gave the impression of being frozen in time, waiting for someone who would never return. Christine was overcome by an unbearable sadness.

She opened the pianoforte and tentatively struck a chord. A note sang out, surprisingly sweet and clear in the sepulchral quietness. Seemingly summoned by the sound, Edward appeared in the doorway.

"How did you come to be in here?" he asked. He didn't look displeased with her, but there was a stern note in his voice.

"The door was open," she said. "I didn't mean to pry."

Edward's face softened. "Of course not. I didn't say you were. Nancy must've forgotten to close the door after dusting."

"What is this room?" Christine asked, noticing that he still hadn't stepped inside.

"My mother's parlor," he said. Then, crossing to the pianoforte in one long stride, he shut the lid, gently but firmly, and ushered Christine out. "It's very damp in here, you shouldn't stay," he muttered by way of explaining, as if the whole house wasn't dampness itself.

The one thing she thought she wouldn't miss about her former life was London society, but after a while, she began to long for even the dullest of balls or tea parties. For there was no socializing to be had at Hurstfield Hall. The nearest neighbors were twenty miles away, and even if they lived closer, Christine doubted Edward would want to entertain them and vice versa. Edward was not exactly a recluse, but he associated with such odd characters that Christine could hardly consider them guests - a local farmer with a new innovation to winter his stocks, a midwife on her way to Scotland to open a lying-in house, a traveling writer collecting local folklores, and, strangest of all, an itinerant garden hermit, who had been hired by a lord to live on his property for seven years but was sacked after being discovered at a nearby pub. He was now roaming the countryside, looking for another eccentric nobleman in need of an ornamental hermit. "Alas, my friend, my estate is not big enough for a hermitage," Edward said regretfully, though he seemed to be seriously considering it at one point, much to Christine's horror. If she hadn't been so unhappy, she would've laughed at how her mother, Lady Harrington, and other snobby members of the ton would react if they knew this was the extent of society in Hurstfield.

The vicar was the only socially acceptable guest she'd had, having arrived at the Hall one day to make his acquaintance with to the new Lady Hurstfield. However, he was a rather pompous little man, and Edward had argued with him so vehemently over some theological issue that he never visited again, and afterward would cast angry glances in their direction during every Sunday service.

Edward, to be fair, had tried to spend time with her. He told her about a project he was working on - a school for the village children of Hurst (she remembered his argument with Joshua at Lady Harrington's ball). He was having trouble engaging a schoolmaster, someone who could carry out his vision for a modern school, who could teach the children not just basic skills, but also useful and interesting knowledge to broaden their minds. Christine admired his enthusiasm, but in a rather vague, abstract way, as one would admire a person one read about in the papers. He then tried to teach her to ride, hoping it would give her some exercise and get her out of the house, but Christine, who had grown up in London and never been closer to a horse than in a carriage, had stepped back in terror when the horse reared up in front of her. So mostly she just walked, making long, wandering rambles across the Dales like a madwoman, heedless of the mud and mist. If she caught her death of cold, so be it.

She realized everything her mother taught her was only to catch a husband; she had no interest, no knowledge, no skills to prepare herself for life after marriage. What did women like her do to fill their days? They ran the household and raised their children, she supposed. Well, there was none of that for her.

If Edward had been cruel or cold to her, she might have found a strange comfort in it, in having someone to blame her misery on. But he wasn't. He treated her the same way he did the servants and tenants, kind and friendly, though he was a little shyer with her than with those he'd known from childhood. It seemed he had no idea what to do with her. He didn't love her, that much she knew. And he didn't seem to want her either.

Edward's bedroom was next door to hers, separated by a dressing room. Christine kept the door on her side closed every night, and true to his words, he never tried to open it. As the days went by and her shame at their wedding night had dwindled, however, she began to work up her courage to leave the door ajar, preparing herself mentally and physically to fulfill her wifely duties. A child would surely fix everything. If nothing else, it would at least occupy her time and thoughts. But still he didn't come.

Eventually, one night, Christine decided to take matters into her own hands. She knocked on his door and came in without waiting for an answer. Edward was in bed, reading a book by the candlelight. The sight irritated her. Always with his nose in a book, never looking up, never noticing his own wife. She tried to ignore the feeling. It would not do to feel irritated at him, when she was there to seduce him.

"What is it?" he asked, putting the book down.

She came boldly to the side of the bed and sat down. "You said we won't consummate the marriage until I'm ready," she said. "Well, I am ready now. In fact, I've been ready for a few weeks, but perhaps you've been too tired or too busy to notice." She realized she was sounding too cold, too detached. But there was nothing she could do about it.

Edward sat up and scrutinized her. "Are you really?"

"Yes."

He still looked at her, unblinking, his eyes narrowed slightly. She felt those eyes boring into her very soul, laying bare all her inadequacies, and turned away in discomfort. Fumbling, she undid her dressing gown and let it fall to the bed, revealing her thin chemise underneath. She knew how she looked in it. She only hoped that it would distract him and stop him from examining her with those unrelenting eyes.

"Christine, look..." He held out a hand, but before he could say another word, she took that hand, pressed it to her breast, and kissed him. She told herself that if she took the first step, instead of passively waiting for him, it would be better. And for a moment, it seemed to work. His lips remained stubbornly closed at first, but she kept brushing her tongue against them, and finally, they parted. Emboldened, she pushed her body toward him and reached under the covers, where she could feel his arousal through his nightshirt. So he did want her. As she lifted his shirt up, Edward pulled away a little. She heard him say "Christine, slow down," but refused to listen. She reached for the hem of her chemise, rucking it up, trying to find a position...

"Stop." Edward's grip was like iron on her wrists. He pushed her to the end of the bed, his eyes never leaving her face. "Why are you doing this?"

"Really, Edward, what a question to ask your wife..."

"Don't try to be coquettish, it doesn't become you." He sounded annoyed, and Christine dropped the act.

"We must produce an heir," she said.

"What do you think we are, a breeding pair of horses?" His harsh words shocked her. "Tell me, why do you want this? Tell me the truth."

Anger came over her, swift and sudden. "You want the truth?" she said. "The truth is that I want a child so it would give me some sort of purpose, someone to care for, to love, because God knows I'm not getting any of it from my husband!"

"That won't be fair to the child," Edward said. "It will be its own person. You can't rely on it for your own happiness."

If she had been calmer, Christine would have noticed how strange it was that he chose to focus on the hypothetical child instead of the dig at his own shortcomings as a husband, but in her fury, she only saw it as deflection. "Then who can I rely on?" she asked.

"Yourself." Christine laughed mirthlessly. Edward went on, unfazed, "I've told you before we married, I cannot promise you happiness. You know this. I'm only trying to be honest with you."

He was right, of course. She knew it and chose to marry him anyway. She had no one to blame for her misery but herself. At this, her anger rose up, both at him and at herself. "Yes, keep hiding behind that mask of honesty," she said, biting out every word. "But you must be honest with yourself as well, Edward Munson. What are you? You're not a husband. You're no one. You're not even a man." Gathering up her dressing gown, she stormed out.

***

She slammed the door to her bedroom, tears of anger and humiliation streaming down her face. A small part of her hoped, in spite of herself, that Edward would go after her and show her that he was a man, but her door remained intractably closed, taunting her. She wanted to hit someone, to break something, anything to get rid of this helplessness. She took a cushion from her sofa, buried her face in it, and screamed.

When she had screamed herself hoarse, she lifted her tear-stained face from the cushion. It was then that she noticed something white on the floor. Her mother's letter, just arrived that morning, which she had tossed on her dressing table. She had been in no hurry to open it, knowing it would be more of the same mix of gossip and complaint. It must have fallen to the floor when she grabbed the cushion.

To give herself something to do, Christine picked the letter up. It was heavier than usual, and she could feel an odd shape through the layers of folded paper. She broke the seal and saw at once why the letter was heavy - there was another one inside. Her pulse stopped, then quickened when she recognized Joshua's seal on it. Her mother's letter was only a short enclosed note, saying "Lord Craven asked me to forward this letter to you. He was so desperate to see you but didn't want to compromise you by sending it to you directly. How thoughtful it was of him." Her mother's fawning was practically dripping from it.

Christine tore open the letter. Something gold fell out. Her ring. The ring she had thrown at Joshua the last night they were together. What did this mean? With her heart in her throat, she scanned Joshua's elegant handwriting. "My beloved Christine," it said. "It has been two months since I last saw you, and I think about you every day. I hope you are happy in your marriage and do not think too badly of me. I'm writing this to let you know that I'm to be married soon. My father is very ill and I must settle his debts before I inherit the title. So I'm marrying Miss Amelia Jennings on this Saturday. But oh, darling Christine, know that my heart is with you always, and that my love for you shall last 'til life be past. Please let this ring be a reminder of that. Yours for eternity, Joshua C. P/S: I didn't send this to you directly in case someone saw my name on it and started asking questions."

Of course, she had heard the rumors about Joshua and Miss Jennings, but seeing the truth in black and white, in his own handwriting, was a terrible blow. She could hear his voice in every word, so full of love and regret. And as she read the letter again, a thought occurred to her. His father was dying. Afterward, Joshua would be free to do as he pleased. If she could convince him to postpone the wedding... Yes, there was the matter of the debts, but she was sure they could work something out. She could get her marriage to Edward annulled on grounds of impotence... They hadn't even consummated it... But Joshua was getting married this Saturday! She looked at the date on the letter. Three days from now! It would take her nearly that long to get to London.

In a fog of anger and heartache, Christine didn't stop to think how foolish this was. She didn't think at all. She only knew that she had to stop Joshua from getting married, even if she had to drive to London herself.

She got dressed, put all the money she had into a pouch, and put the chain with the ring back on her neck. Its weight felt safe against her heart. Then she went down the back staircase, past the kitchen, where she could hear Mrs. Wayne reprimanding one of the scullery maids of not putting away the rat poison, and toward the stable.

A light was still on in the stable, but inside, she found only one of the stable boys mucking out the stall. "Where's the driver?" she asked.

"They all went to th' pub in Hurst, mum," the boy said. "'Tis their night off." He looked no older than fifteen, with a mop of brown hair framing his face like the thatched roof of a cottage.

Christine bit her lips. She couldn't afford to wait. "Can you drive?" she asked.

"I'm not allowed to, mum," he said, looking alarmed. "I was only hired last month to clean th' stalls. Mr. Wheeler would 'ave my 'ide if I even touched t'orses..."

"Never mind that," she interrupted. "Can you drive?"

"Yes, mum."

"Hitch up the carriage. I have urgent business in London and cannot delay."

The boy dropped his pitchfork in panic. "But I dunno th' way to London..."

Christine wanted to scream. The ring was burning into her skin like a brand. She took a breath, trying to calm herself. "Then drive me to the pub and find Wheeler. He'll take me."

"But..."

"Now!"

Seeing the set of her jaws, the boy quickly got to work. Despite his protest, he proved to be quite handy with the horses and managed to hitch the pair to the carriage in no time. Christine was afraid that there might be someone at the lodge that would try to stop them, but they passed through the gate unhindered.

When the carriage rolled down the lonely stretch of road between Hurstfield Hall and the village, the pounding of Christine's heart started to slow, and the fog in her head cleared. She was able to think more rationally and realized how senseless her plan was. She couldn't possibly get an annulment on grounds of impotence. The wife had to prove her virginity for that. And Joshua couldn't possibly marry her, even when his father was dead. He needed to pay off the family debts. But at the thought of going back to Hurtsfield, she could almost feel that damp, gloomy air settle on her once more like a heavy blanket, smothering her, and her heart started pounding again. No, she would go back to London. Perhaps she could see Joshua again, just once before he married, to tell him how much she'd missed him, and how much she loved him. Perhaps she could get a separation from Edward...

A strange pounding sound in the distance interrupted her thoughts. She opened the window and called out, "Driver!"

The boy twisted in his seat to answer. "Name's Will, mum."

"All right, Will. Did you hear that?"

They both listened. Now it became clear that the pounding was hoof beats.

"Oughtn't I stop, mum?" the boy asked.

"No." Oh God, she hoped it wasn't someone from Hurstfield Hall, coming to take her back. "Drive on."

The hoof beats came closer, gradually but relentlessly.

"I think... I think they're followin' us, mum," Will said, his voice trembling.

Christine peered into the distance, hoping to see the lights of the village, but the dark remained absolute. "Can you outrun them?" she asked.

"Maybe I ought to turn back..."

"No! Try to outrun them!"

She glanced out the window again, and her body went cold. In the faint light from the carriage lamps, she could see the horse and rider coming toward them from across the dale. They were one black mass, the rider looming tall in the saddle, a wide-brimmed hat on his head. Now she was sure it was not someone from Hurstfield Hall. Just as she was thinking this, the rider raised his arm. She tried to shout a warning, but it was too late. There was a flash, followed by a sharp explosion. The horses screamed and the carriage ground to a halt.

Heedless of the danger, Christine jumped out of the carriage. She saw that young Will was thankfully unhurt, but he looked badly shaken. The highwayman, the lower half of his face covered by a handkerchief as black as his clothes, drew his horse next to them, holding them at gunpoint.

"Well, well, well, what 'ave we 'ere?" he said. His voice was gruff, muffled by the handkerchief. "Where ye goin', a pretty little thin' like ye?"

Christine held out her pouch of money with shaking hands. "Here's everything I have. Take it and leave us alone."

The highwayman snatched the pouch from her. Christine had a feeling that all his talk about her being "a pretty little thing" was just for show; he would not risk the trouble of kidnapping her. The thought calmed her a little. "Not bad, not bad," he said, feeling the weight of the pouch. "What's that ye 'ave there?" he pointed at the ring, which had fallen out of the collar of her cloak.

Christine's hand automatically went to her chest, hiding the ring from view. "You have your money. Please, leave us be."

"I'll 'ave that ring too, if ye don't mind."

She shook her head, clutching the ring more tightly. "No."

"Don't be silly now. Th' ring."

Will stepped up, shielding her. "Th' lady said no."

The gun was pointed straight at them. "Stand 'side, whelp," the highwayman said. At that moment, a shout went up in the distance, from the direction of Hurstfield Hall. As the highwayman turned his head toward the noise, Will leaped up, trying to wrestle the gun from him. Another shot rang out, and the boy collapsed. The shout in the distance got louder. The highwayman cursed under his breath, wheeled his horse around, and disappeared into the night, leaving the boy in a pool of blood at Christine's feet.

***

Edward ordered one of the footmen to fetch the doctor, while he and the others take Will back to Hurstfield Hall in the carriage. Christine stayed with the boy, clutching his hand in hers. There was so much blood. She had taken off her cloak and pressed it to his wound, and the blood had soaked through it.

When they reached the Hall, Will was taken to the kitchen. Edward followed them to make sure Will was taken care of, then he stormed over to the kitchen door, where Christine was hanging back helplessly. Grabbing her arm, he dragged her through to the front hall. He had never been so rough with her.

"You know, 'tis no concern of mine what you do wi' your own life," he snarled, his voice low and shaking with anger, the Yorkshire accent coming through more clearly than ever. "But if you ever endanger 'nother life with your foolishness, I swear to God..."

He didn't finish the sentence. A footman informed him that Dr. Sinclair had arrived. Edward flung her arm away in disgust and went out to meet the doctor.

Christine stood in the Hall with her blood-stained cloak, dazed. Everybody was busy with Will; no one even thought to ask if she was all right. After a while, when it became clear that no one was coming for her, she went back to her room like a child knowing it was being punished.

Upon entering her room, the first thing she saw was Joshua's letter, which she had left on the floor, now smoothed out and placed back on the dressing table. Edward must have found it and realized what she had done. She wanted to be angry with him, to blame him for driving her to this, but she couldn't. This was all her fault.

She went to the washstand and washed the blood from her hands. Thoughts went round and round in her head. Her mother didn't want her, her lover didn't want her, and her husband didn't want her. She had possibly caused the death of an innocent boy who had tried to protect her, and no one wanted her. She had no life. She had nothing. That bullet was meant for her. If it had hit her, there wouldn't have been any of this trouble.

Suddenly she remembered what she'd overheard Mrs. Wayne say to the maid about the rat poison while she was on her way to the stable. An idea formed. It grew and grew and grew in her mind, until it took over, like the red swirls from her hands staining the water in the basin. She had made two disastrous decisions in a row that night, what was one more? And this, if she succeeded, would be enough to pay for her previous mistakes. But they were all in the kitchen now, taking care of Will. She would have to wait. Slowly, she took off the ring, the ring that had caused so much pain, and put it away with its chain at the bottom of her jewelry box, and waited.

Another hour gone, the commotion downstairs faded, and she slipped into the kitchen. It was dark and deserted. Only the remnants of a fire in the hearth showed her the table where Will was laid, and a drop of blood on the floor that somebody had missed. She found the poison easily enough. It was on a high shelf in the scullery, clearly labeled. She poured a little of the white powder into her palm and swallowed it before she lost her nerves.

The powder tasted of nothing, which surprised her. She had expected it to be bitter or metallic. It seemed impossible that such an innocuous thing could be so deathly. Somehow, the surprise at its tastelessness jolted her out of her stupor, and she realized, with mounting panic, her mistake. Oh God, what have I done?

She ran up the stairs and into Edward's bedroom, without knocking. He was just getting ready for bed. He scowled when she came in, but he didn't seem as angry as before. Only tired.

"What is it?" he said, not looking at her.

"Please... help me." Her trembling voice made him turn around, and his eyes widened in horror when he saw the bottle in her hand. He threw himself to her side, gripping her wrists so hard it hurt. The bottle clattered out of her hand to the ground.

"How much did you take?"

"Not... not a lot." She didn't feel anything yet. How long would it take for the poison to work its way through her body?

Edward rummaged in a cupboard by his bed and ran over to her with a vial, which he unstoppered and pressed to her lips. "It's syrup of ipecac. It'll make you vomit."

Christine obediently swallowed a gulp. The moment the syrup hit her tongue, the taste of bitter mixed with sickly sweet made her gag, and she threw up unceremoniously on the hearth rug, from nerves almost as much as the medicine. She heard Edward calling out for Mrs. Wayne. What followed was a blur. She kept vomiting until there was nothing left. The doctor, who luckily hadn't gone far from Hurstfield, was summoned back. Hands seized her, a cold towel was pressed to her forehead, more liquid was poured down her throat, and she vomited again, but only brought up burning gall. She felt as though her stomach had been stabbed by a thousand needles and turned inside out, and her throat had been scoured with acid. Then the pain became too much and she sank into a dark pit.

Chapter 5

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #regency au #eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson x oc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #grace van dien

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virtue-and-beneviolence · 2 years

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can you please give me a (does not need to be coherent) rundown of what happened in the last Tokyo revengers chapters I fell off reading it for a while and I'm so confused, the last thing I remember is sanzu hit in the balls with a motorcycle by taiju I think

okAY strap in baby birb bc we're about to embark on a JOURNEY spoilers as fuck (extremely coherent)

259- OKAY so taiju shows up and half the fandom fawns over his character arc (but the real ones still out here cringing) so ofc we get the deets on how taiju got there, apparently mitsuya was liek "dont u wanna see the legend (michi), fight the legend (mikey)?!" and then we get a snippet of hanma smiling and nothing else matters from that chapter (outside of taiju having unfounded confidence in takemichi and beating the shit out of half the extras til waka and benkei walk up on him).

260- waka and benkei get a a little gay and plan to do some bullshit ultimate move on taiju that is probably just making out and taiju knocks them both flat. we get an absurd panel where koko have a cat face and inui has a dog face. No shuji sighting -3/10 chapter

261- michi tells mikey about the future and how he had finally asked for help. Taiju gets slice n diced by sanzu who has balls of steel, sanzu, the oracle, sputters some shit about mikey's destiny, we see shuji a BUNCH 15/10 shuji looks fabulous

262- more motivational yelling that unites gen2toman, surprise, taiju isn't dead? two shuji panels!!!! dark impulses! Sanzu cant keep his mouth shut! his king knocks him out! even shuji is like,,, mikey, bro wtf?? and gets knocked flat dramatically lmao,,

263- juicy backstory. we meet mikey's cheating father who instills some jacked up interpretation of "strength" in mikey that he obsesses over and theres a montage of mikey being all "i hate weak bitches" and "i like strong guys" and being a little fruity ngl. oh and his mom is dying. Little mikey goes to her like "hey this boy did nothing to me then i beat him up" and she applauds him (idk 4/10 milf there, at least try to parent him maybe?) mikey doesnt cry in front of anyone when she dies (but he DOES cry) also his last words to her is him yelling lmao oh and boom sanzu face event. also kid sanzu looks cute and enter kid draken. no shuji :(

#tokyo revengers spoilers #the borb called #< you like that tag? lmao #i like summarizing

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otakusparkle · 24 days

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That one shot hentai manga that is wholesome but I fucking forgot the title 💀

So the female MC are a normal business woman who suddenly felt something strange with her client. The client always come to her everyday only to have a talk to her. But that's not the end. She always felt someone was stalking her

But what's more creepy is that the client said to her "I finally found you" everytime he sees her

The MC had enough and drink so many alcohol in her home before she fell unconsciously and out of nowhere, she was in a castle, in the middle of a court to be exact

She was being judged of accusations of trying to killed the king, when suddenly a man appears in front of her only to make her punishment to be exiled for the next 3 days. But, when she sees the man, she felt something familiar

Then, everything went very wrong

When she was in her secluded chamber, she heard scream from the outside. The knights decided to let her go because there's suddenly a fire all around the kingdom, as well as huge massacre

She tried to run away everywhere but there's literally fire everywhere. Until she stuck in middle of the king and his own son. Looking at the devastated expression of the prince, she suddenly moved by herself to protect the prince

And then she's awake and think it was a strange dream, when suddenly there's a man behind her

It was the client!

The client kneel down in front of her as he cried for forgiveness and how he missed her so much. Of course the MC doesn't know anything

Until the man explain to her

She was actually a princess from a very small kingdom and the client is actually a prince. The prince's father doesn't agree if his son married to her. And the son went mad

He's the one who do the massacre and burn his own kingdom. The princess, aka the MC, was protecting him from the king and she died, but before she died, she yelled to him that he's a tyrant and a betrayal

Turns out, after she died, the prince killed the king before he killed himself, only for the deity to make his wish come true by reincarnated both of them to the modern world

The prince was so so so in love with her that he make a promise that he will destroy the world so that he can life happily ever after with the MC. He's very willing to do that because he loves her so much and never want to let her go

And turns out the king was actually the real antagonist because he killed his own queen, doing corruption, and being so much egoist

The MC cried because she was still afraid to be with "The tyrant" only when the man hold her in his gentle embrace

Before they fuck ofc 😂

And the last scene was actually open ending, but it still carved deeply into my head so much 😭

After they fuck (aftercare moment), both of them are laying breathlessly on the bed as he held her in his arm while she's asleep. Quietly, he put a ring on her finger and himself, making both of them a married couple

And the last panel of this one shot manga is the man saying "Even if we go to different time again, I will find you and never let you go again, my wife"

#nekodroid shitpost

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fivekrystalpetals · 2 years

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Some theories I formed after rereading chapters 95/96 and my brain just won’t let me be so here lol:

1. Dazai too wanted to choose the security keycard but couldn’t. So, as a counterattack and having realized that Sigma is Fyodor’s ultimate weakness from their earlier conversation, he chose Sigma for the jailbreak escape item (based purely on this big brain post)

2. Contrary to how Dazai transmits his messages via encoded pulse variations to Ango, Fyodor directly controls the minds of his pawns and makes them do his biddings

3. Gogol (and Fyodor) are lying to Sigma about...almost everything

4. Fyodor will betray Fukuchi when no one expects.

Explanations under cut:

Dazai choosing Sigma:

I know there are many speculations about this sudden surprising choice from Dazai but what struck me as even more surprising is Fyodor’s choice.

Okay, let’s retrace a bit but first keep in mind that Dazai and Fyodor are equally matched in intelligence. Maybe, their strategies and their outlook toward life and existence are different. But they are head-to-head in their IQ department. Which is why got me thinking: what if Dazai too had wanted to choose the security keycard? Since Gogol passed the first chance to his dear friend, Dostoevsky, he couldn’t. Don’t ask me what either of their plans is for reaching the exit idk lol. But I am pretty sure they must have some sorta strategy laid out perfectly in their minds till they get to the final point.

After that? Dazai doesn’t have the final pass to escape and he’d get stuck. That’s where Sigma comes in. Based on the above post, if--if Fyodor does hold the Casino Manager in high regard (he considers Sigma above even himself which is saying a lot), he might hesitate to let him be killed in cold blood? (but then, again, since he had no qualms in getting him shot by Hawthorne so...yeah, doubtful)

Either way, what I know for sure is that Dazai didn’t choose Sigma for his own merits,,, ‘cause 1] If Dazai is planning to get some information from him, he can’t because his ability will be nullified. 2] Sigma isn’t a big fighter or anything. Even his ability is not suitable for stealth mission such as Light Snow. Yeah, Fyodor was going on and on about his being pushed to his limits and beyond since he is an ‘ordinary man’ but what use is there in being all that in a prison break? 3] Sigma is not even a trained assassin (as in he can’t be used to kill off all the guards in one strike or anything that impressive)

So then what remains?

Unless ofc Dazai is gonna throw a bomb like hey, Dos-kun, know what? I too am made from the Book like your friend here. So, you gotta give me the same kind of respect lolol well, that’d be interesting if it happens

Fyodor’s communication with the outside

Um, I don’t have any definite proof for this; I am just basing this off this panel:

Okay I know this is probably symbolism of the hold Dostoevsky has on this guy but what if it is literal? What if he can really control their minds once he reconfigures them? So, while Dazai is communicating outside via encoded pulse variations sent to Ango iirc, Fyodor might be directly mind-controlling all of his pawns.

Pros: he doesn’t suffer from any timelag or miscommunication. As soon as he sends the instructions, his pawns have to do as ordered. Esp., the more I see Hawthorne, the more I am sure this is what’s happening. Fyodor reconfigured his brain somehow so that he has become a mindless assassin purely acting on Fyodor’s orders.

Cons: He and he alone is controlling all the strings, which is...real bad in the long run. I don’t think Dazai has absolute control over the movement of his pieces. They do have room for their own thoughts and improvisations in case necessary. Like, in case of Ranpo, who Dazai lets move about the board in whatever way he thinks right. In the finale, maybe this is what will bite back Fyodor? He might keep his eyes only on Dazai’s movements and Ranpo will launch a surprise attack he didn’t predict at all??

Another thought: ig this is how the two pilots got poisoned as well. It is too much of a stretch to believe that he already knew everything Ranpo was planning and poisoned their drinks beforehand....but what if he mind-controlled them as soon as he knew of the situation and made them poison themselves with some secret “emergency back-up” poison kept in the aircraft glovebox? Well, again, *shrugs in let me ignore the whole radio program setup for communication in cannibalism arc lol*

Gogol lying to Sigma:

This just... is hard to explain. I am going by a gut impression of Sigma being lied to a lot by both Gogol and Fyodor. (regrettably understandable because of his ability. It is not a one-way psychometry but equivalent exchange (lol) based ability where he has to give a piece of information to his subject for something else in return. Both times he used his ability, the Agency got to know very sensitive information from him. For a very very careful guy like Fyodor, pretty sure he’s holding back most of his cards from Sigma.)

See, when Sigma said (and actually believed, oh what a sweet summer child!) that Gogol was really supposed to die during the Wretched Seat Incident according to their plan??? For an escape artist like Gogol with such a powerful ability, I doubt Fyodor won’t have foreseen him escaping... Plus, why do I feel like it was Fyodor who planned for Gogol to be in the exact place where Sigma was falling so he could save him? (And I don’t necessarily mean this in a Fyodor-cares-about-Sigma way but more like Fyodor-must-still-have-some-important-use-out-of-him...That and does he even so many people on his side to waste his resources in simple accidents? idk but again he isn’t showing all his pieces too. Sigma is the rook. Who is his queen??)

Anyway, back to topic; Gogol is definitely lying about his goal of the prison break. I don’t believe one bit of his he-is-my-close-friend-so-I-wanna-kill-him-to-get-liberation story. No, he is hiding his (their) true intentions from Sigma so that nobody could find out.

Or, maybe, so that everyone thinks of Sigma’s version of the story as what really happened? For example, if Fyodor fakes his death and puts on a good act before Sigma so he truly believes he is dead and only then whatever part A/B/C/D of their Plan No. 785362 will be enacted? (Most probably, it is to fool the Agency. Coming from Sigma, they might actually believe he is dead. No, but Dazai is right there; he will know, right? Okay, I give up lol everything in this story is just......for me lol)

Fyodor betraying Fukuchi

This....I just know this will happen at one point or the other. Firstly, Fyodor doesn’t have in his character to have loyalty to any one (probably not even to himself). Secondly, he doesn’t strike me as a man aiming for “World Domination” like Fukuchi. Fyodor strikes me more as a guy who would pull out one card and watch the entire tower topple just because more entertainment. I can’t figure out his real agenda but it’s definitely not something cliché like that. Part of his agenda does involve killing Ability Users and bringing down the Agency (and the Port Mafia) which is why he is allying with the war veteran as far as I understand. But he is the brains behind the whole operation. Kamui/Fukuchi is the leader of the DoA but he is the strategist. That’s why at some really critical point (entertaining point for him), after he’s made full use of Fukuchi’s position of power and everything gone according to his plans (whatever they are), he’s sure to pull the plug. Whether or not he will ally with the Agency is debatable but my advice to the Agency: don’t ever trust him lol. Again, I could be wrong and maybe, he’s just a typical villain aiming for World Domination,,, which’d be boring at its best

To sum up: Dazai will be the one to escape the prison (because the agency is in dire need of him rn and it won’t make sense for him to die yet), Sigma will join the ADA found family, Gogol will again disappear to wherever, Dostoyevsky will fake his death and lie low for a while before resurfacing and turning the game on its head again. Or, at least, this is what I think.

Uh, why does everything I write go for so long ;-;? See, I am pretty sure 99% of this is all wrong bc the author has a habit of flipping the script and bombing us with a plot twist every now and then. Still, this was quite fun to write XD

#bsd #bsd 95 #bsd 96 #bsd 97 #bsd fyodor #bsd sigma #bsd dazai #bsd gogol #doa shenanigans #manga spoilers #my-bsd-posts #some of these points might be obvious to people #but uh i just had to put this down somewhere #this went so long #but i had a lot of fun writing wild theories and burning a few of my braincells #lol #i will come up with more as inspiration strikes me

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princessmisery666 · 2 years

Text

Infatuation & Isolation - Week 2: Cookies

Series Summary: A series of drabbles of Chris meeting his neighbour and the relationship that develops between them.

Summary: Chris invites Sienna to join him and Dodger in their social bubble.

Warnings: fluff.

W/C: 394

Characters: Chris Evans, Dodger Evans, OFC.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sienna.

Notes: I’m based in the UK, so I have used the rules of our lockdowns or amended them slightly to fit the fic. I don’t specify Chris’ profession so make your own assumptions.

Betas: @firefly-in-darkness // @cockslut-padalecki // @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: pictures found on google/Chris Evans Instagram page. Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Master Lists: Series// Main // AF Fluff Bingo

Chris had just pressed the button on the coffee machine when the knock sounded, and Dodger jumped up from his position on the sofa. Chris wasn’t expecting anyone - lockdown rules meant two households could form a bubble, but he hadn’t formed one. A few friends visited but kept the mandatory distance, stood outside on the lawn; however they always called first. He hadn’t ordered anything either, so no deliveries.

Dodger raced off the sofa toward the backdoor, and Chris followed the guard dog. He spied Sienna standing back at a safe distance through the patio doors. They had followed the rules, even after Chris removed a fence panel so they could actually see one another when they spoke. Dodger thought it was wonderful, and he frequently visited Sienna during the day, sniffing around her yard. She had given Chris a new song to play each day. She lounged on a chair with a glass of wine in her yard while Chris tinkered on the piano.

As soon as Chris opened the door, Dodger ran to greet her with happy yips and a wagging tail. “I was bored, and I baked way too many,” she shrugged and pointed at the plate of cookies she’d placed on the small table by the door. “Thought you might like some.”

“Thank you,” he said, stepping out to pick them up, and he caught a whiff of the freshly baked goods. “They smell amazing.”

“Hopefully, they taste good too,” she smiled, “a little thank you for all the requests you’ve played for me.”

“It was my pleasure, there was really no need for the cookies, but I’m still going to take them,” he laughed. He realized he hadn’t noticed Sienna having any visitors, and as she turned to walk back into her yard, he called out, “Hey Sienna,” he waited until she stopped and turned around to look at him. “You don’t have anyone in your bubble, right?”

She shook her head, averting her gaze momentarily before she explained, “no, all my friends and family live too far away.”

“I don’t have anyone in mine either,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “Would you want to join Dodger and me in our bubble?”

She smiled, wide and bright, “I’d love to.”

“Coffee?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder.

“Got any cookies?” she winked before following him inside.

Week 3: Food Fight

#Cevans #Chris Evans #chris and dodger #dodger evans #chrisevansfic #chrisevansrpf #chris evans #dodgerevans #dodger #chrisevans #fic #fluff #drabble #chrisevansdrabble

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incarnateirony · 2 years

Note

Hi!)

I just recently joined your fandom, and I'm not a native speaker, so I don't always understand how to determine if the information is reliable. but I'm used to drawing conclusions only after listening to the arguments of all sides.

I was just looking for all sorts of nonsense on hashtags and accidentally came across an old article (apparently j2), where it says that before the start of season 9, a survey was conducted whether viewers wanted a big return of Cas, and most responded with ridicule. There was also about the fact that episodes with his participation are less appreciated and viewed (although I am almost 100% sure that I have seen the opposite statistics somewhere), and in general he is absolutely not popular among fans. That his panel doesn't sell tickets and stuff. I wanted to ask you, as a person who knows more about statistics and spn. Is it really so. because I just refuse to love the world that Cas doesn't love.

I will be very grateful if you decide to answer this question.

P.s. I really like your blog.

OK, so like. No?

That's the shortform answer since you struggle with language. Now the longform.

This was a desperate ploy of their already failed Silent Majority. After Gamble tanked out S7, she brought Cas back after swearing not to. Immediately during the S7 finale, they started planning ways to prove what you said, but they ran into issues. Mostly, that they couldn't get any sizeable amount of people to join, because they were full of horse shit, even after they tried to rebrand it on the outside as "preferring" brother content rather than wanting Cas gone. They capped at 240 participants, despite aggravated efforts on their part.

Then, while they swore Cas being back would destroy it, Carver era soared and flew back out of the toilet Gamble almost got it cancelled in. S8 went against all industry trends upward, then S9 hit the highest respective industry value to date. There's a reason Jim Michaels and Beaver called them idiots and blocked them.

Then, around S10, the fandom census was run and, yet again, among 10,000 tested individual IPs, only 240 people said "prefer sam and dean", and of those 240 people, if you break down their voting through the hundreds of questions, just like the failed Silent Majority, a bunch were just people not aware of what that actually *meant* and still at least neutral or vaguely positive to Castiel as a character, just brother-leaning. And, just like the Silent Majority, there were only about 45 dedicated antis total. Which, I'm sure you recognize, is a goddamn sliver in this fandom.

There is no open, widely cast net demographic test or poll that gives them what they want. Sometimes they'd run it on their own niche sites, or twitters, while blocking out anyone they could find they disagreed with--and sometimes they still lost.

Also: Re ratings: The opposite is true. There was an S8-10 episode marketing and character presence test that showed Castiel episodes performed by base 3% better than eps without him, 6% better if it was promoted as such, and up to 9% better if the episode was promoed with "Dean & Cas" content specifically. These numbers also translated to my own study on The Castiel Effect years later, which I pulled episodes from S12-14. This stuff is ALL in my years of the #demographics tag, so feel free to dig. I even did a version of the Cas Effect where I penalized out any "special" episodes that may have given him a boost, and premieres and finales for their boost, and just stuck his averages with generally tepid episodes between and he STILL. CAME. OUT. HIGHER.

They say a lot of things they want really bad to make true, but they just don't get it. The "lower ratings" point came from them not understanding industry Y2Y decline, and when I explained how that worked they spent years crowing something deranged about "baseball stats" because the words "league average" confused them. Then, ofc, when Walker crashed out by 66% in the same year it aired, they screamed "Y2Y decline", because they were still too busy drooling on themselves to recognize it was the same TV year, and thus not Y2Y decline, and they just hoped everyone buried their bad argument. They're literally morons trying to google anything they can look up to use as an argument without even remotely understanding any of the content they're entering into the argument, they're just there to argue and pretend it's valid. They don't even understand/believe a damn point they're using (hence the Y2Y opinion flip of convenience), it's just there to make noise so they can feel better about themselves.

Like. lmao. idk what to say beyond "this point couldn't be more wrong or less corroborated there is no meaningful data point that matches up with this theory"

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Riding On

CH29- Wedlock And Load Part 3- Unchained Melody

Summary: Fliss and Frank head off to their hotel for their own private party…

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: Yeah, sorry not sorry, this is just a smut fest…

Word Count- 3.8k

Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea, to the open arms of the sea. Yes, lonely rivers sigh, "Wait for me, wait for me, I'll be coming home, wait for me"

Riding On Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Ch 29 Part 2

Fliss and Frank arrived at the Sandpearl Resort at Clearwater Beach in just as good spirits as when they’d departed their friends and family some twenty-five minutes or so previously.

The doorman nodded to them as he opened the door into the spacious and modern reception area, the place more or less deserted bar the staff, who all stopped and greeted them with a round of applause. Frank grinned, his arm which was curled round Fliss’ waist pulled her closer and he pressed a kiss to her head as they were greeted by the night manager. After being welcomed and congratulated some more, they headed up to their room where their bags were already waiting. Frank turned, sweeping Fliss into his arms, carrying her through the doorway as she giggled and pressed a kiss to his lips. A bottle of champagne sat on ice on the table in the smaller room of the suite but neither paid it much attention, both heading through to the bedroom, taking in the plus décor of the suite they’d decided to treat themselves to a stay in. The entire place had a direct view of the Gulf of Mexico, thanks to the huge windows and a private balcony. Directly below was the now abandoned tropical, lagoon-style pool and bar area. It was gorgeous.

And now, it was just the two of them for the next few days.

Frank slid his jacket off his thick arms and tossed the garment over the edge of the luxurious looking King size bed, his eyes straying to Fliss as she stood at the sliding door, overlooking the ocean. She sighed contently. With a smile of his own, Frank came from behind, his hands on her hips as he rubbed himself against her backside, his lips pressing against the column of her neck. "I love you, Mrs. Adler." Fliss turned her head, cranking it as far as she could to catch Frank's lips in a soft, slow kiss. He turned her body to face him as Fliss slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. "I love you, too, Mr. Adler," she whispered breaking their kiss. "Have a drink with me. I want to sit outside, enjoy this just for a bit longer." Frank tilted his head to one side. “You wanna sit outside?” Fliss bit her lip and gave him a nod. “I’ve had the most wonderful day, Frankie. I don’t want it to end. Not yet.” "Okay," he softly smirked, "we'll sit outside." “With the champagne.” Fliss instructed and Frank laughed. “Yes, with the champagne.” She grinned and shuffled out to the parlor of their suite. She'd long kicked her shoes off and so her dress dragged across the carpeted floor. She passed the bucket and slipped through the sliding door from the parlor, waiting for Frank to join her. She leaned her forearms against the railing and looked out across the Gulf. The autumn beach breeze fluttered her flyaway strands of hair. Surprisingly, she wasn't cold, nor was there a need for a jacket. Her adrenaline from the day kept her comfortably warm. A large hand slid up her back gently, ghosting along that back panel of sheer fabric on her dress. Frank's lips pressed to her temple and she stood upright to face him. Frank handed her a flute and gave a lazy smile. "Where's yours?" Fliss asked. Frank indicated with a flick of his eyes and twitch of his head that it sat on the little table between the two wicker chairs just behind them. Frank took her free hand, no words between them, and guided her to those very same wicker chairs. He sat and pulled her into his lap. Fliss tucked herself against Frank's chest, her feet swung over his legs, her train covering him like a blanket. He reached for his own flute and looked up at his wife. "Cheers," he said. His voice buzzing against Fliss' side in a low, husky tone. "Cheers," she whispered, clinking her glass with his and bending at the neck for a kiss after taking a sip of the bubbly drink. Her kiss over Frank's lips was soft, but long, sensual and with no deep lashing of tongue. Just a romantically soft, slow kiss. "Did you enjoy it?” Her voice was almost a whisper as she pulled away, her eyes bright as she looked at Frank. "Every second of it," Frank admitted. “Best day of my life, well, one of them anyway.”

“What were the others?”

“There’s been a few, but they all start with the day I met you,” he kissed her again, “Our first date, when you said yes, Alex being born, adopting Mary,” he sighed, “the common factor is you, Lissy, in all of it.” Fliss smiled and then tucked her head back into the crook of his neck as they sat in peaceful silence for a moment. Frank's hand rubbed up and down Fliss back before curling around her side, his fingers sliding up and down the side panel of her gown. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Cowgirl." “Charmer,” she let out a snort, “but for the record, you happen to be the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on, Sailor.” A low chuckle bounced his chest and silence washed over them once more. The Gulf crashed into the shore below, the sounds of the bar quieting as more people left. The sky was clear, the moon bright, glittering the surface of the water. They were only fifteen or so miles from home, but they could have been anywhere in the world. “Where did you find the DJ?” Fliss asked, “he was amazing!” “Online,” Frank took another sip of his champagne, “the reviews were great. Glad the gamble paid off.” “Like my gamble on you, huh?” Fliss quipped and Frank gave a snort. “You saw me as a gamble?” Fliss shrugged, "I did." Frank set his drink down and gently plucked Fliss's from her hand, setting both flutes on the table. Fliss sat up a bit and Frank curled his hand over her the left side of her face, his palm curving over her cheek and jaw, fingers in her hair, his thumb softly against her cheekbone. With a gentle tug, Frank pulled Fliss into a kiss. The action alone made her insides flutter and her throat gasp. A soft squeak escaped Fliss as she placed a hand over his chest, anchoring herself as Frank deepened his kiss, his tongue gliding over her top lip. Fliss opened her mouth and allowed that heavy muscle to invade her. In slow, languid motions, Frank kissed his wife, sucking on that lower lip of her pout. When they separated, both drew in huge breaths of air, their foreheads pressed together as Frank’s palm lay warm against Fliss’ cheek, his thumb softly gliding over her cheekbone. “You ready to go inside yet?” Frank whispered, his eyes remaining closed. "Nope," she replied softly.

Again he chuckled. She was killing him, he wanted to desperately peel the lace away from her skin and devour every ounce of his new wife. But he also wanted her to savour every minute she could, commit this day to memory so she could look back on it fondly, not fearfully as with her previous marriage. And if that meant them staying still, wrapped in a little bubble of peace for a while longer, then so be it. He could wait. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Time passed, minutes felt like hours, and at one point Frank assumed Fliss had fallen asleep as her body relaxed against his, but she hadn't, for she'd started running her manicured hand over his chest, curling it upward around his neck, scratching at his longer hairs there. Frank made a noise of contentment, almost a purr as her fingers danced over his skin. Fliss lips turned upward slowly, a soft smile showing her teeth. She bumped her nose with Frank's, rubbing along his own. Then she pressed her forehead against his. "Let's go inside, Sailor." She slid off his lap, and this time Fliss took Frank's hand pulling him up and walking across the balcony to their room slider. She walked in a sideways pattern, her eyes peering over her shoulder, arm extended out pulling Frank with her. Once inside, she didn’t even leave Frank time to slide the door closed. She turned to him, her hands smoothing up his shirt, fingers deftly undoing his already loose tie completely. She gripped the ends of the tie in both hands and pulled Frank's neck down, capturing his lips this time, a growl slipping away from his chest. His hands flew to her waist, thumbs strumming over her ribs. He backed Fliss towards the bed, trying to control their actions, but Fliss weighted herself down and stood firm in place. She broke free, and turned, her back to Frank, her eyes peering over her shoulder. Deep brown pools looked at him from beneath heavy lidded eyes and he felt his cock twitch. "Little help, Sailor," Fliss asked. Frank's chest tightened and he felt it hard to breathe as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. The way she looked at him, her eyes bright in the dark, her hair still done but stray pieces falling free framing her face, he was rock hard already. He reached out with his hands, his eyes running up the line of delicate buttons which trailed from the nape of her neck down to the seat of her stunning dress. With every button he undid, Frank kissed each small bit of now exposed skin. As he made his way down, Frank gently dropped to his knees, popping the last few buttons, leaving him with a glimpse of that dip in her back and the hem line of a pair of skimpy, white lace panties. Another growl rumbled in his chest and as he rose to his feet, he dragged his tongue up her spine, causing her to shudder. A nip at her the base of her neck and hot hands touched her shoulder blades. His fingertips pushed the lace straps over her shoulders and down her arms, his palms rubbing along her skin, never breaking contact. Fliss could feel each exhale from his nose as her body heated up, his lips covering her shoulder in open mouthed kisses. Her own breath was ragged, the erotic and sensual way Frank was being so slow and so handsy was driving her wild. As the straps slipped over her hands, the dress fell away and pooled at her feet, "Look at me, baby." Frank gravely whispered. Fliss turned slowly and caught his eyes eating up her body, from her knees, over the lace panties covering her mound, up her belly and over her breasts until blue met brown. She blushed through and through, and whilst Frank had seen her exposed in this way so many times, she'd never seen the look behind his eyes like tonight. His left hand shot out for her waist, his right immediately cupping her jaw as he attacked her lips with force. Something inside him having snapped and he was tired of slow. Fliss mirrored his eager actions, her own hands flying to the buckle of his belt. A quick movement, and the clanging of metal rang out, mingling with the soft pants and moans which were flowing between the pair of them. Frank backed Fliss to the bed, her knees folding as they hit the side and as she sat down, his hand pressed gently on her sternum, laying her back. Taking a step back, he quickly shed his dress shirt and slacks, her eyes watching his every movement. When he straightened back up from dispensing of his socks, Fliss propped herself up on her elbows and she smirked. “Nice boxers.” Frank grinned and twirled so she could see the ridiculous writing on the back of the underwear she’d given him, and she laughed before he slipped them down, leaving him naked in front of her, his cock springing free. In a blink, his body was caging hers as she bent a knee to scoot herself further up the bed. Frank bent at the neck, kissing Fliss furiously, his tongue driving down her throat as his hands, curled into fists, held his weight above her. Fliss' nails scratched down Frank's hairy chest, along his soft abs until she turned her wrists, palm up and took hold of his hard shaft. At the feel of her warm hand wrapping around him, Frank’s jaw clenched and he let out a half growl, half moan as Fliss gently began to move her wrist. As his tongue moved around her mouth, her hand pumped him up and down at the same pace. Frank tore away from her lips and nipped along her jaw, getting her right in that spot below her ear. Fliss mewled under him, a purr of sorts vibrating her chest and out her mouth. Hot, open mouthed kisses and nips here and there skimmed down the column of her neck to her sternum, and over her right breast. A pert nipple met tongue and teeth and Fliss gasped. A smirk curled over Frank's lips as he gave his attention to her nipple, the sounds escaping his wife causing goose flesh across his skin. He laved and kitten licked at her right side before minding the same attention to her left. Her pelvis tipped up as she arched into him and Frank, ever the opportunist, sat up a little and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Fliss’ panties, gliding them down her smooth legs. He salivated at her neatly managed core. Those curls and wet heat looking beyond inviting. His hands slid up the inside of Fliss’ thighs, blunt nails gently biting at her skin, lips following in their wake. Frank feasted on her like Fliss was his most favorited dessert, controlling his pace as he went. Long and deep licks tasting all of her, short and shallow flicks of his tongue at her opening, thumbed pressure against her already sensitive and swollen clit. Fliss' hands were at his hair, tugging on the longer strands up top, a growth she was rather enjoying as his beard delightfully burned against her soft skin. As she gave a particularly strong pull, Frank’s face buried further into her heat and he let out a growl at the sting in his scalp. Fuck, he loved it when she got demanding like this. Fliss could feel that knot tightening deep in her belly, her muscles already coiling as her first, but surely not her last, orgasm of the night was fastly approaching. “Frankie, shit, I’m gonna…” her soft, panting breath cut off as her body began quaking. First in her toes as they curled against the duvet, then through her calves upward into her thighs, shaking against Frank's ears. Her belly came next as she curled her body upward, tightening those muscles as the wave moved up through her arms, tingling into her chest as a strangled cry of 'oh' escaped her lips. He hadn't even gotten a finger inside her yet and she was already a writhing mess beneath his touch. With soft and gentle kisses against her most outward lips, Frank brought her through it and ever so gently ran a thick finger over her slit. She jolted at his touch and Frank couldn’t help the smug smirk that spread across his face. Seeing her so suppliant, totally undone underneath him like this was a sight he would never tire off. He dipped a finger into her soaked heat, and Frank could still feel her walls spasm deep inside. "Oh, Fliss," he crooned. He gave her another and hooked his fingers, giving that come hither motion, getting her right in that soft cushion spot. She gave a soft sigh of pleasure, her hips rising and falling gently with the movements of his hands, eagerly seeking out his touch. It took mere minutes of strokes and scissoring to bring her in for a second time, breaking open a damn as she flooded his hand, her chest heaving for calming breaths. Bringing her through it again, Frank was amazed at how she looked. Sex blown and flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening over her body, nipples hardened in the cool air of the room, lips still kiss swollen and hair dishevelled. That was his girl. His wife, his Fliss. His Cowgirl. And he loved her until his dying breath. Moving slowly, Frank crawled over her, his lips latching into hers as he kissed her hard, swallowing the gentle sounds she was still making. Her hands slid up round his back, her finger tips feeling like icy fire against his skin. And then he blinked and was on his back, his wife over his hips, his cock laying against her mound. The strength she had as she titled her hips into him, the force she'd shown as she pushed him with her knee and the lustfully blown eyes she possessed blew him away. Frank knew his eyes were wide with surprise as he watched her. That satisfied smirk over her lips as she balanced herself over his hips, her hands now sliding up his chest, one remaining against his solid peck as the other rest against the pillow, palm flat between his head and shoulder. Fliss bent down and kissed him with fervour. “Why does it still surprise you that my legs are so strong?” She grinned as she pulled away slightly, her nipples dragging in the hair on his chest. “I have half tonne animals between them pretty much every day.” "Is that what you want? A ride?" he chuckled. “I wanna fuck my husband.” She replied, her voice low and sultry as her eyes flashed in the dim light of the room. A groan erupted from Frank’s mouth as his hand reached up and cupped the back of her hair, bringing her face back down to his. “He’s not stopping you, baby girl.” Her hips tilted up as she reached between them, her hand giving him a solid pump before she ran his head between her folds, soaking him. Then, Fliss lined him up and slid her hips back down, her core swallowing Frank up. Frank let out a half gasp, half groan as his hands moved to grip at her hips as she sat up, taking him as deep as he could go. "Fuck, Lissy," Frank's head pressed further into the pillow as she started moving, using only her hips and thighs to carousel up and down his cock. She found a steady rhythm, her strong legs giving her the momentum as she gently bounced on top of him, the hand planted on his chest gently contracting with her movements. Every once in a while she stilled, rotating her hips with him seated inside, and fuck, it was the most exquisite thing he had ever felt. His eyes never left hers, it was almost as if she had cast a spell on him, her very soul bewitching him like it had since the first time they’d met. "So close," Fliss breathed, her eyes fluttering shut for a second as her head titled back. "Oh yeah," Frank squeezed at her hips. "Please, Liss, just like that, honey." Frank watched as Fliss’ face screwed up in pleasure again and he bit his lip hard. He was so close, so fucking close, but no way was he finishing before he dragged a third one from her. "Cum, Lissy," he panted, "good girl. Right there, honey. Just let go." Her jaw slackened, mouth opened as she ground down on him, a feeble noise escaping her mouth as Frank felt her walls clamping around him, weakly this time, and she collapsed onto his chest. His lips met the crown of her head as his thick arms wrapped around her, rolling them, Fliss led beneath him on her back, as Frank was still buried inside her. His hands reached for hers, tangling their fingers together as he pressed them into the pillow either side of her head. His ruts were deep, but fast as he chased his own end, desperate now for the bliss that came from being buried inside his girl. Her body bopped beneath him with each thrust, his forehead just a pinch from hers, the tip of his nose gliding over her own. "I love you, Fliss," Frank whispered breathlessly against her cheeks. "Frankie," she purred, tears brimming her eyes. His lips connected with hers as he came, filling her with a release he felt had been backed up for months. The force causing his body to practically stiffen over her, only his hips sloppily finishing him. Frank pitched forward, his face pressing into the crook of Fliss’ neck and shoulder as the world spun around him, blood pounding in his ears. He felt Fliss wiggle her fingers and he released her hands so she could run them through his hair and down the back of his neck, the way she always did. They both lay in silence, the warm breeze from the still open door gently swaying the veil curtains, causing them to billow into the room.

After a little while, Frank felt Fliss kiss his cheek. “You back with me yet, handsome?” "Nope," he mumbled. Fliss chuckled, her hand still carding though his hair. Frank gave a contented sigh as she pressed her lips to his temple. “I love you.” Her mouth brushed his skin and he smiled, pushing his face further into her neck. Feather light kisses littered her neck and with a deep breath and a little fatigued struggle, Frank lifted himself from his bride. “I love it when you look like this.” He smiled, his lips brushing hers. “Freshly fucked out.” "I love it when you freshly fuck me, Sailor." "I got an idea," Frank smirked. He pulled out gently, missing her warmth and propped himself up over her. “What?” “Wait here, get comfy.” He kissed her quickly and backed off the bed. “Where you going?” Fliss asked as he left her there. Bare ass naked, and with an 'I just got laid' smirk, he slipped out on the balcony, completely ignoring her question. Grabbing the ice bucket with the still mostly full bottle of champagne in one hand, he picked up the two empty flutes with the other and padded back into their bedroom. Fliss was propped up against the headboard, the sheets pulled up around her, just covering her breasts as she was busy taking the pins out of her hair. She paused as he sauntered back into the room and smiled as she saw what was in his hands. “You didn’t want the night to end, so it doesn’t have to,” Frank smiled, placing the ice bucket down on the nightstand, “let’s put some music on, drink this in bed, then order another bottle. Twenty four hours service, baby.” "I think that's the perfect plan, Sailor." Fliss’ smile grew even wider as Frank poured them both a glass, handing her one before he slipped in between the sheets. “Maybe if we manage to keep our eyes open, we can watch the sun rise.” Frank lifted his left arm so Fliss could snuggle into him, his hand brushing up and down her arm. The silver metal of his new addition glinted in the soft light of the lamp which Fliss had turned on just as he had left the room a few minutes ago.

“It’s way past midnight,” Fliss took a sip of her champagne, “but it doesn’t count as tomorrow until we’ve been to sleep, right?” “Right.” “In that case,” she sat up and looked at him, her eyes bright with love and leaned down to give him a kiss, “sunrise it is.”

#riding on #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic #frank adler fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans characters

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djarrex · 3 years

Text

Countermeasures || 3

Anomaly

Fives x ofc!reader

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Rating: 18+ only

Word Count: 5.7k

chapter summary: Agreeing to help Fives proves to be both good and bad.

warnings: canon character death, a sprinkle of fluff (Fives can be soft but we all know he’s quite the opposite in the right contexts 😉), a dash of sexual tension, a dollop of groping, tons of inappropriate thoughts - lordy lord get some cold water splashed on them

note: I broke away from including Fives’ POV in this chapter. It may come back in the future, idk yet. This is the first real series I’ve written and I’m extremely grateful for the pals I’ve met on here who reblog and like my work <3 Tbh I’m having a ton of fun writing this because not only does it give me an excuse to watch the conspiracy arc a bunch of times for the details but I also get to write about Renna and Fives and I love them both and I just want them to fuck already.

***

This was crazy. How did you of all people end up in a situation such as this.

By “this”, you were referring to the strong embrace you were trapped in - the ARC trooper you’re shamefully crushing on being the captor.

No, you definitely were not complaining.

After agreeing to help him, Fives you pulled into his body, his strong arms finding their way around your back holding you steady. Large palms nearly covered the expanse of your back, the heat from his skin burning holes right through your outer layers and into your flesh. Your face was practically smushed into his broad chest, your arms dangling awkwardly at your sides. The weight of Fives’ chin was pressing into your scalp. So many thoughts were swimming in your head as Fives held you as tight as he could without hurting you.

He was... hugging you. To be completely honest, you thought the two of you would fuck - or at least do something along those lines - before he hugged you. It was the energy he possessed that led you to that conclusion, but you were proven wrong.

You didn’t fight it - you knew how much it meant to him. These clones - these soldiers - were covered in plastoid from head to toe all day every day throughout their unfortunately short lives, and you figured they must be at least somewhat touch-starved. The way Fives held you was different than you thought he was capable of. You weren’t naïve; you knew the clones took off their armor at certain points, and hey, you knew that they even would have sex in their short spurts of time off. You read reports on clones who had contracted STD’s from their adventurous endeavors and were sent here to be treated. Even though they were created in a lab for the sole purpose of fighting in this ridiculous war, they were still men.

You wanted to keep up some at least some semblance of professionalism - to not touch Fives back, because quite honestly your body wanted more - but your heart started aching, and your body acted against your brain as your arms returned the embrace.

Fives was thick. The clones as a whole aren’t huge men; they aren’t fed nearly enough - that much you knew - and are relatively slim with a very low percentage of body fat compared to all the muscle they were designed to have. They’re not that much taller than you, either. However, you’ve never held a clone before. Fives’ back was like a bag of ropes; hard, thick, and you felt every single muscle so beautifully poking out of his skin even through the tunic. You allowed your hands to splay out over his back - to really feel him. You were completely lost in this moment, but you heard it - barely noticeable, but you heard it - Fives inhaled quietly through his nose, taking in your hair’s scent. You knew deep down that he didn’t mean for you to notice him smelling your hair, so you didn’t mention it. Butterflies flapped around in your stomach - then the butterflies quickly floated away and that feeling was exchanged with pure lust; the fire in your belly burning hot with desire.

You don’t know how long you held each other, but you needed to break away from him and get back to the matters at hand. You agreed to help him, and that’s what you’ll do. Maybe he’ll be so thankful for your help he’ll “hug” you again later.

“You do you have a plan, right, mister ARC trooper?” Breaking away from his embrace, you tried to shake your mind clear of any thoughts that didn’t include Tup.

“Of course I have a plan!” Fives’ tone suggested he was attempting to play off what had just happened, and it was cute. He walked over to the darkened window and kept his back turned to you. Perhaps he was trying to clear his thoughts as well. You wouldn’t know, but Fives was barely breathing in through his nose so that your scent lingered in his nostrils for as long as possible.

“Care to share?” You called to him, and Fives paused for a few moments before responding.

“Are you able to access all the equipment without the supervision of the long-necks?” He finally turned around, his brows raised. You blinked at him, just a little dumbfounded and slightly offended.

“Yes, Fives. Maker, I know how to work the kriffing equipment. I don’t need a babysitter.” You rolled your eyes then squinted them at him, crossing your arms to your chest with a huff.

“That’s not what I meant,” Fives chuckled as he approached you once again and placed a hand on your shoulder. “I meant, are you going to get in trouble if you’re working alone in there?” His gaze bore into you, making you feel slightly uneasy. Yeah, you knew how to work everything, of course. But this was all new territory for you; working - unauthorized – on a patient who wasn’t yours, performing an atomic brain scan unsupervised, breaking protocol…

“I- I’m not actually sure. I’ve never been explicitly told to not touch anything without them being there? I think it will be okay. It’s just that- that Dr. Nala Se said no to the scan. I don’t think she’ll like that I went behind her back and did it anyway. Although… I want to try everything in my power to save your friend.”

“Right. Then let’s get to it.”

“I’m sorry - let’s? You’re coming too? That doesn’t seem like a good-”

“It’ll be fine,” Fives quickly interjected. His confident tone faded with the next part: “Please. I want to be there - be there for Tup.” There they were again, those puppy dog eyes that get you every time. You doubt Fives even knows he’s doing it, but he had to catch on by now because you basically have never said no to him in the few short days you’ve known him. Your attraction to him made you break over and over again; this time was no different.

“Okay, fine. But you need to stay hidden.”

“I’m ‘Mr. ARC Trooper’, remember? I’ve been trained in the arts of being sneaky.” Wiggling his fingers and brows at you with a cheeky grin, you laughed and punched him in the shoulder. His grin only grew.

“Yeah whatever. Just follow me.”

You were the first to exit Fives’ room, peeking your head just outside the door to get a feel of the surrounding area. No guards in sight at the moment, so now was the perfect time to go.

“Quickly,” you stepped outside the room, motioning with your hand for Fives to follow. It didn’t take long to get next door, of course.

You pressed the controls on the panel and the door whisked opened; you shooed Fives in first. As soon as he entered, two guards came around the corner. You obviously didn’t want to look like you were doing something you weren’t supposed to, so you put on your best smile and nodded to the oncoming troopers. They nodded back and turned at the next corridor that led away from Tup’s room.

You stood there for a moment, just outside the room - thinking. You were obviously crazy, no doubt about that. You were breaking protocol, and basically risking your internship and everything you had worked for up to this point for Fives (and Tup). It was the right thing to do, right? Your insane crush on the ARC trooper aside, you were going through with all of this because it was the right thing to do. It definitely wasn’t right that the Kaminoans wanted to kill Tup off without entertaining more options and trying other procedures. It all seemed very… weird. As doctors, wouldn’t they want to try every possible way to find a solution without skipping over it all and just killing him? Although, why waste more time and resources when the “obvious” solution was to terminate him and find the answers through an autopsy? Maybe you should give it more time – Shaak Ti could be back soon with the Jedi Council’s backing. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out – to turn around and coax Fives back into his room before you were both caught.

The moment was over when Fives’ hand reached out to grab your wrist, unceremoniously pulling you into the room. You nearly tripped as he yanked you inside, a murmured “hey!” subconsciously rolled off your tongue at the rough pull.

“Sorry, Renna.” He shut the door behind you, giving you an apologetic smile. “Did- did I hurt you? Sometimes I forget my own strength... I’m not used to manhandling pretty and delicate things.” Okay, let’s push that comment aside and table it for later on when you’re alone in your quarters.

Fives reached out to examine your wrist but you flapped your hands at him, “Really, I’m okay. Seriously.” You weren’t lying - it didn’t hurt. If you told him the absolute truth, you would tell him how you wished he’d manhandle you in other ways.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Knowing how quickly you had to work for this entire plan to play out smoothly, you immediately made your way over to the controls and started tapping away. You turned your head to check on Fives – to see how he was planning on participating – and he was just frozen in place standing over Tup’s cot. Tup was still unconscious; his chest rising and falling rapidly in his comatose, shut eyelids flickering back and forth.

“Fives, push him over there.” You pointed at the scanner on the other side of the room with your back still turned as you tapped away at the screens, prepping the equipment. With one last tap of the screen, the scanner descended from the ceiling and Fives pushed Tup’s cot into it.

Tup’s chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, compelling you to consider - again - about turning back and aborting this plan altogether.

Fives came around the other side of the scanner where you watched the infrared picture of Tup’s brain from display screen, snapping you out of the thought.

“The scan’s almost complete.”

Fives moved in front of you and leaned closer to the screen, you shuffled to the side to give him to space. Your eyes unglued from the screen for just a moment to watch Fives; he was desperate. The look in his eyes told you that much, and his stance wasn’t as strong and sure as it always seemed to default to.

Your focus made way back to the screen. “Everything… appears to be normal.” Just as you said that the screen starting beeping; a red dot was blinking, pinpointing an anomaly in Tup’s brain.

“W- wait a second.” You softly pushed Fives out of the way and read the results displayed on the screen.

“What? What is it, Ren?” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his little nickname for you, but there were more important things currently at hand. You can freak out about the way he says your name like that later.

“It looks like Tup has developed a tumor.” Your fingers started tapping away yet again. You’ve never seen a tumor in clones before. To be fair, you had never worked with clones like this before, but you’ve seen more than enough of their files to know that a tumor wasn’t exactly something that could just appear in a clone.

“A tumor? Is that even possible?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this in clones. Not in any of the files.” You ceased tapping, turning around to face Fives. His hand raked through his hair, a pure look of confusion and worry on his face.

“Then… what is it?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ll need to do a biopsy to be sure.” With a nod, you offered a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay, Fives. We’ll get this straightened out, and you and Tup will be off this stormy planet and back to your brothers in no time.” You weren’t sure you even believed your words.

“You’re gonna take it out of him?” Before you could answer, Fives whacked the tools all over the ground with one graceless hand movement. Your eyes widened as he bent down to grab at the mess. “Do you, uh, think anyone heard that?”

You raised your brow at him, and with a sarcastic tone, “The probability is high, yes.” You sighed. “You need to hide.”

Smacking his hands away as he continued to pick up the mess, you hissed, “Fives, hide.”

“I think it came from this room.” You both shot up; you ran over and pushed Tup out of the tube and started to power it down at the controls as Fives took cover under Tup’s floating cot. Interesting that an ARC Trooper chose that as a hiding place.

The door whisked opened. Nala Se stood at the entrance, looking around. Her bug-eyes landed right on you, then glanced over to Tup.

“Hello, Doctor.” Your tone was astonishingly calm despite the absolute terror currently running through your system.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She entered through the threshold and made her way over to Tup, assessing his condition with a scowl.

“I was only trying to save the patient,” You informed her, keeping your tone calm and professional. You were ignored, however. Apparently, Fives was not so great at cleaning up his messes, because one leftover syringe sat on the ground right below the Kaminoan’s heels. She reached down to grab it, and your heart started racing. You blurted out, “Doctor, I found something unusual in the scan. It appears to be a tumor… I think you should take a look-”

“You performed a second scan without my authorization?” Nala Se stood upright; the forgotten syringe grasped in her three slender fingers. How did she not see Fives down there? Uh oh… where did he go?

Your heart rate slowed. “Apologies, Doctor. I was only trying to-”

“Perhaps I made the mistake in assuming you’d be ready to work with the clones.” Nala Se turned around to shut off the remaining equipment; machines began powering off as they whirled back in place and Tup’s cot moved back to where it was before you started. One of the larger machines floated away, leaving Fives completely exposed. Ah, so that’s where he went. Your eyes widened as you looked between Fives’ shocked expression and Nala Se, who was still turned around and tapping at the controls. As much as you dreaded pressing further on, you needed to buy Fives enough time to make an escape back to his own room.

“But- but the tumor, Doctor. It seems to be blocking neuro-impulses from communicating with the brain. I think we should scan the rest of the clones to see if this is a problem with their base genetic model or a mutation with the current models.” The machines were all now back in place; you scanned the room with your eyes, hoping to not catch a glimpse of Fives.

“There is no tumor. Your scan is incorrect.” Nala Se departed the control panel, ambling over to the other side of the room. You really hope Fives had fled by now. Might as well keep on pressing, though. It did interest you that the Kaminoan doctor was so avidly trying to disregard what you were saying about a tumor. That was a thread you figured you should follow.

“But-”

“This clone clearly has a virus that remains undetected, but I will find the cause once he’s terminated.” You followed Nala Se until she reached Tup’s cot, her back turned to the exit. “Now leave. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

“Yes, Doctor.” You turned on your heels and walked out the already open door. You turned your head to watch Nala Se; she was still standing over Tup, but you were unsure of what she was doing. Something really didn’t seem right with this. You nearly crashed into Fives in the hall as you departed Tup’s room.

“I can’t believe they’re going to kill Tup!” Fives shouted in disbelief after you both had made your way back into his room and shut the door. Fives shoved the empty cot to the other side of the room, clearly frustrated.

“I know. I’m sorry, Fives.” All you could offer was a sincere apology. It didn’t seem like a great idea at present to bring up how you thought the entire ordeal with Nala Se seemed fishy.

“We were not created to be disposed of this way!” He slammed his fists on the cot, an action that seemed to be fueled by rage, but his eyes told a different story.

“Just- just think of it this way… Tup is sacrificing himself so that other clones like him can survive. Isn’t that something you said he’d want?” You went to reach for him - to offer a gentle reassuring touch - but he backed away.

“There aren’t others like him!” His raised voice prompted you to take a few steps back. You weren’t scared of him, but you understood they he may need some space right now. Maybe it would be best if you retreated to your quarters and called it a day. After all, Nala Se basically sealed your fate by undoubtedly reassigning you to the archives. It probably wasn’t appropriate that you been seen in Fives’ room anymore. Your own selfishness kept you there, though.

“I’m sorry, Ren. I don’t mean to take this out on you, I just-” You allowed yourself to take a few steps towards him. “Tup doesn’t have to die - you found a tumor. I’m sure that’s the cause of all this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“But… how can we proceed? Dr. Nala Se basically reassigned me to the archives. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be here with you anymore. I could get dismissed, sure, but I have no idea what would happen to you.”

“Do the biopsy. I’m sure what you find will prove Tup doesn’t have to die. Your findings would bump you up in the ‘ranks’ I’m sure, and they would have no reason to send you back to filing paperwork.” A beat. “As for me… I’ll be fine.” You both knew that was a lie. You’ve seen what the Kaminoans have done to “defective” clones. It’s all in the files. It’s inhumane. There was no way you’d let that happen to Fives.

“I’m not so sure…. Dr. Nala Se doesn’t believe-”

“We’re not going to Nala Se with whatever you find. We’ll go to General Shaak Ti. She helped me once as a cadet and I know she values the life of a clone.” Now that, that was the truth.

“Fives… I’d be disobeying direct orders.” At this point, you didn’t care what happened to you if you were to go through with this. Fives was who you were concerned with. Not because of a hopeless crush, but because of his status of patient and you sincerely cared about him.

“Yep, and for the second time today,” He jested. Not funny. You scoffed. “Ren…” There they are, yet again - the puppy dog eyes. Those, paired with how he said your name. You’d break for sure. “Will you help me? Please.”

***

“Hurry!” Fives was hunched over the control panel with you, basically micromanaging you even though he had no idea what it was you were doing.

“Fives, you’re going to have to not rush me. I’m not a droid. Give me a kriffing minute.” Your fingers tapped frantically at the screen, hitting button after button until -

“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. All nonessential personnel report to a safe room for lockdown.”

You stood up straight and grinned over at Fives, who looked a little shocked.

“What did you do?” The alert played over again on the intercom.

“I made it so that the security scanners picked up an intruder in section C-6. We need to hurry, though. I doubt it’ll take them long before they realize it’s a false alarm.”

“They taught you how to hack a security mainframe at the fancy medical academy you attended on Coruscant?”

You rolled your eyes at him, hands on your hips. “Is that really important right now?” Fives chuckled and shook his head. Grabbing his wrist, you stretched your head to look outside the door. “They have guards stationed just outside. How are we going to get over there?” You turned towards Fives, who was pulling away from you and looking up at the ceiling. You followed his gaze, and you knew exactly what he was thinking. “The vents?” You sounded a little shocked, but it really was the only safe way out of there. He tilted his head down to look at you, a smile on his face. You snorted.

“Here, I’ll climb up first and then pull you up.” Your looked over at the door again, making sure you weren’t about to get absolutely busted, and grabbed his dangling hands.

You shook your head with a smirk. “You know, I’m starting to wish I had stayed in the archives,” you jested, as Fives hoisted you up and into the vent with him.

You never realized just how creepy it was up in these vents. To be fair, there wasn’t one moment that you would’ve pictured yourself crawling through them, but here you were. It was dark, every movement you made echoed, and it was freezing cold. You – for some reason – were leading the way, crawling through the cold durasteel tunnel. Fives was silent; he wasn’t making any comments, not cracking any jokes, not even expressing his concern for Tup. It dawned on you: he was totally checking out your ass. You had shed your long lab coat before he pulled you up, knowing that it would be harder to crawl with it tugging under your knees. Fives hadn’t yet seen you without it on… and you knew how good your ass looked in the leggings you wore. With a slight chuckle to yourself, you stopped crawling for a moment and looked over your shoulder to glance at him to the best of your ability.

“Fives, are you staring at my ass?” You tried to not let your giddiness get in the way of your accusatory whispering, but you found yourself muffling laughter. He didn’t reply right away – probably trying to think up a comeback or a way to wiggle himself out of the subject.

“Fuck yeah I am,” he murmured back, sounding as cocky as ever. You bit your lip and shook your head, resuming the crawl towards the oncoming exit vent. “I don’t exactly have anything else to look at from back here, you know. I got quite a nice view, so, no complaints.” Your face heated up at his smug comment, resisting the urge to shake your ass for him – to really give him a good view. Now was not the time.

You crawled past the vent so Fives could hop down first; he plopped onto the floor, graceful and stealthy as ever, before standing directly under the vent with his arms held out.

“Common, I’ll catch you.” It really wasn’t a long way down; you’d land just fine, though probably not as gracefully as he did.

“Uh, okay…” You lowered your legs out from the ceiling, keeping your grip on the cool metal for a moment while you steadied yourself. “Fives, I think I got it. I can just hop down like th-” Your grip from the ceiling slipped, sending you down and nearly hitting the floor in the worst way possible, when strong arms found their way under your ass and back.

Fives just saved you from breaking a bone or two, and all you could do was blink up at him as his hand slightly squeezed the plushy part of your ass, the other hand gripped tightly on your waist. Maybe he thought you wouldn’t notice the way he was savoring holding you like that, but you did. And you liked it.

“Nice to look at and feels nice, too.” Fives grinned at you before setting you down on your feet. He definitely shouldn’t be talking about how your ass looks and feels right now with his friend lying nearly dead on the cot barely an arm’s length away - but, is he was open to making comments such as those during these unsure times, you’d reciprocate. A boost of confidence surged through you.

“Glad you like it, trooper. Maybe some time you can see and feel it without these in the way,” you pulled at your leggings, looking him straight in the eyes with a smirk. Seeing Fives’ expression was well worth making the comment.

“Don’t say things you can’t follow up on, Renna.” His shocked expression quickly flipped to dark, catching you completely off guard and making you gulp. Your entire body felt as if it was on fire as tiny fireworks danced in your gut. There was absolutely no way you’d be able to follow up on your innuendo-filled comment unless you found each other in another life under different circumstances. You needed to shake it out of your system.

Firing up the laser drill, you looked over at Fives and studied his worried expression. He looked so soft, so concerned – it tugged at your heart harder than you cared to admit. His focus remained on Tup until the sound of the drill made him look up.

Your hands were slightly shaking. You felt it, but it didn’t appear to be noticeable. You had never performed a biopsy on a real, living, breathing lifeform before. Everything you had done during your schooling was on the deceased or on medical dummies. You were nervous, but this wasn’t about you. You finally had the chance to save a life. You needed to pull it together.

“Renna, are you okay?” Fives’ voice nearly came out as a whisper. You looked up at his eyes; he was studying you, deeply.

You took a deep breath and nodded with a slow exhale. You turned your attention back to the drill, grabbing Tup’s head and positioning it to where you needed.

“You might want to look away at this part.”

***

You did it. A successful biopsy. Feeling a bead of sweat threatening to fall from your hairline, you wiped it away with your arm and looked up at Fives who still had his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is it done?” The absent sound of the drill encouraged him to open his eyes. You held up the tumor, encased in a transparent casing. You handed it to Fives; he studied it closely, bringing it up to his face with a sigh. The moment was over when the door whisked open.

“What have you done?” Dr. Nala Se came into the room; Fives didn’t appear frightened, but you sure as fuck were.

“We saved my friend’s life.” Fives whipped around to face the “long-neck” - as he calls them - holding up the tumor in an accusing manner towards her, “This tumor is the cause of his illness.” She reached out and tried to grab the encased organic matter, but Fives maintained a hard grip as they fought for it.

“Give me that!” Nala Se looked angrier than you had ever seen her. You ran up to them, trying to stop something before it started.

“You can’t be trusted.” Fives reached down to Tup’s cot with his free hand, grabbing a mysterious syringe, and held it up in a threatening manner. You reached your hands up to stop him, but Shaak Ti’s sudden arrival did the job for you.

“Stand down, trooper.” She stood at the doorway with her hand outstretched. Jedi didn’t need to hold a weapon; you knew what they could do with just one outstretched hand in the blink of an eye. You’ve never seen it in action, but you’ve heard stories.

Fives dropped the hand holding the syringe but kept hold of the tumor with his other. “I have evidence. It’s right here!” He sounded desperate. This looked way too bad. You were caught right in the middle of it all, too.

“I’m free…” A weak voice croaked from the cot, making all the heads in the room turn in the same direction. Tup. Fives let go of the tumor and whipped his body around to face his friend, crouching down next to Tup and leaned in close.

“Tup?”

“The mission… free.”

“What is he saying?” Shaak Ti entered through the threshold, a few guards flowing in from behind her with their blasters aimed at Fives.

“Brother, what mission?” It was apparent that Fives was trying to understand what was coming from Tup’s mouth, and could not care less that his own kind were holding weapons to him. It had been the first time anyone had heard Tup speak words that didn’t sound like “kill” and “Jedi” since his arrival.

“You… you know the one. The- the mission, the one in our dreams…” Fives’ wide eyes scanned over his friend, searching for a clue, for anything. “…that never ends.”

You were frozen in your spot, taking in Tup’s bewildering words. You watched Fives’ expression as he frantically tried to decipher what Tup was murmuring. You glanced up from them, seeing the guards' buckets turn to look back and forth at each other. The mission - the one from their dreams?

“Oh, brother…” Tup’s hand lifted to the best of its ability; Fives grabbed it with his own and squeezed. This moment was so raw, so emotional, so real. You never would have thought…

“This is the end. Forget the mission.” Tup was fading away. You could hear it in his voice, and you knew that Fives knew what was coming. It looked as though Fives was holding back tears – trying to keep his composure. “Oh, the nightmare. I’m… free.” With that, Tup was gone.

You scanned the room. Shaak Ti bowed her head, hand over her heart. The other clones lowered their weapons down to their sides, heads bowing. Nala Se, however, remined the same. Her expression never changed. Heartless Kaminoans.

Fives was shaking his friend’s body, begging him to come back. “I thought I saved him…” You didn’t know what to do now. Tup was gone, and it was your fault. He was alive until you removed the tumor. Fives was in pain – mourning for his brother because of you. You took a few steps back, and leaned against the counter, your fingers combing through your scalp. Not only did you disobey direct orders twice today, but you also killed the very first lifeform you did a biopsy on, and to top that off, the patient you killed was important - a brother - to someone you deeply cared about.

***

Fives was placed under arrest just shorty after. Tup’s body wasn’t even cold yet.

You stood there in silence; Fives locked eyes with yours as he was almost forcefully escorted out of the room by the surrounding guards. It was clear that both of you were trying to communicate with the other using only your eyes, but no distinct message was coming across. You wanted to tell him you were so sorry for everything, and that you’d miss him, that you’d never forget him and Tup, and that meeting him changed your view of the clones entirely. But, there were no final goodbyes, no condolences given. Fives would be taken away, and you would be dismissed. You’ll miss Fives with all your heart, but you won’t miss Kamino.

General Shaak Ti followed behind the guards, leaving you in the macabre room with Dr. Nala Se and Tup’s lifeless body. It was silent for a moment before Nala Se looked over to you, shaking her head in disbelief. You were in big trouble.

“Miss Renna,” the long-neck approached slowly, closing the gap between where you were hunched forward over the counter resting on your elbows and where she was covering Tup’s body with a sheet. “I can not condone this type of behavior from an intern. I have no choice but to reassign you to your previous duties in the archives indefinitely.” You were not at all surprised. You nodded slowly, still not looking up at her. You felt numb. Only three days into real field experience, and you fucked up royally. You didn’t need to help Fives, resulting you in ending up in whatever this is. It was interesting that you weren’t dismissed like you’d assume you would be – just reassigned. The thing with Dr. Nala Se acting weird when Tup’s tumor came into play still was on the front of your mind; perhaps you would be able to look into these matters during your long, boring hours in the archives.

Finally looking up at Nala Se, “What… what is going to happen to my patient?” The words nearly came out choked as you tried to hide your worry for Fives. You needed to keep up the front – the professionality of it – so no suspicion would arise. She was scrolling through a datapad, clutching the tumor in her three fingers. The tumor. You tried to study it from afar - what it looked like, the coloring, how the cells neighbored inside it. It looked... dead. Depleted. You snapped your eyes away and over at the dead trooper, whose body was now completely covered by a thin sheet, when Nala Se spoke again.

“Do not worry about ARC-5555. It will be taken care of, so we can put this matter behind us. Just be thankful I didn’t dismiss you, Miss Renna. You are too valuable to replace with some other eager intern.”

Valuable? ‘It’? Taken care of?

“I am thankful, Doctor. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” You were motioned to exit the room; as you walked by Nala Se, you caught one last glance at the tumor, attempting to burn the image of it in your brain and commit it to memory. There was something about the tumor – something that prompted strange behavior from the Kaminoans – and you needed to figure out what that something was.

***

tags: @bvcketfvcker @deewithani @chromia7567 @cyaniderainfall

#djarrex writes #countermeasures series #arc trooper fives x reader #arc trooper fives x oc #arc trooper fives x you #arc trooper fives smut #fives x you #fives x reader #fives x oc #fives smut #the clone wars fic #the clone wars smut #the clone wars #conspiracy arc #the clone wars conspiracy arc

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ranmanjuu · 4 years

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—gen z mc with uesugi-takeda + misc. forces

ahh, i’m so glad people liked my gen z oda hcs! lol it’s usually pretty slow from my writing blog experiences until now, but i’m rlly happy! i was planning to do u-t and the others but then i decided to stop at oda and continue another day. thx for the asks tho! and yeah, i do take requests but it’s more of a pasttime, since this whole blog is just my stupid ideas written out and shared out there.

also someone said that a gen z mc could be old enough to romance the warlords, like, early twenties. and yes, very fair if u wanna romance ur mans with memes and existentialism go for it!! i just think it adds more to the comedy side of this child they have to babysit, while not fearing death or any consequences from their dumb of Ass decisions. someone who fears no death and armed with no braincells is a fool, but a Child who fears no death and armed with no braincells is also a fool, but more bizzare and has That Vibe y’know

@niphredil-14 and @arthotsglasses

tw: s*icidal, violent jokes treated in a light manner

also spoilers to some things of their characters

—kenshin:

who is this,, , sassy lost child??

he first saw you prepared to throw hands with ronins who were being Elite Dickheads. ofc, armed with nothing compared to the sworded-adults, he had to interfere.

no matter how cold he treated you, masking his secret !!!-like concern, you seemed so unfazed through it. you still interacted with him like normal,,,,, why?? do you want a death wish?

and each time he threatened you with,, anything, you responded with, “the only one who gets to hurt & kill me, is ME”

...... what?

he’s convinced you’re the biggest fool of a person. and he’d be right but even so, he has a weirdly strong need to protect you as you two got closer. you’re often with sasuke, so it’s harder to avoid you.

even with all the Horrible jokes you make on a daily basis, if your passionate side with everyone having equal rights of being treated as human, for him it shows a side of you that makes you seem precious and pure and kind hearted.

and the overprotective side increases.

which is, ,, a bit problematic sometimes cause you have the tendency to target and piss off anyone in a 10 meter range by just one (1) sassy comment, along with your lack of impulse control and blurting out everything in your mind. it’s made you a lot of short enemies in the sengoku period, and kenshin would always be ready to slice them down behind you.

sasuke has to tame him down with his Masters degree in kenshin-wrangling.

at banquets, kenshin would often have you beside him. if you’re too young for sake do age for drinking exist in sengoku? probably not. it’s more of sasuke advising for him to not give you alcoholic drinks he’ll have you pouring for him or just munching away at pickled plums or food.

—shingen:

(ngl i kinda had a hard time with this since it’s erasing a big part of his overall character,,, flirting)

once he heard the news that oda had taken in somone as young as you during honno-ji,, ,,,he’s in a very “how dare that demon >>:( taking such a pure soul,....”

and when you’re taken to kasugayama as a captive, you’re,,, surprisingly very calm and whelmed. you don’t have much sign of fear or anxiety in your overall demeanor meanwhile you’re busy dissociating and spacing out to feel those

you actually don’t seem to hate your captor. but shingen isn’t sure if your ‘fingerguns’ is a good thing or not cause it depicts you pointing guns @ him,, (dw is good shingen)

while yes being held hostage—no matter how good you’re being treated—isn’t ideal and kinda not very cash money, you consider shingen v chill. man has a kindheart!! “i diagnose you with good vibes.”

if he ever sees your righteous side, as everyone else, he’ll deeply admire you. he himself is someone who believes in such as well. and hearing the circumstances in the modern world regarding those things (blm, etc.) his heart truly does go out for you. he feels sympathy for such a young person like you having to take action

also your dirty humor around him, echigo’s player, kind of makes him question where and how you learnt it

and,, his illness.

through getting straight to the point and not falling for it each time he changes subject/dodges the question, you managed to get to the bottom of his illness. shingen himself thinks it’s not something you have to burden with knowing—you’re so, so young.

but that doesn’t matter to you. the world’s given you such a shit time, you’re mature enough to understand the situation at least.

and as he finishes his explanation, all there was is silence. it felt wrong to say any of your usual quips,, so all you did was slowly came there and hugged him.

that was more than what he’d ask for.

—sasuke:

oh hell yeah

you are in your element with him. the chillest guy to talk to, and probably the first one you’re the closest to

your phone was dead after like 2 days of use, and you were miserable while hideyoshi, like a typical parent, told you to go outside and into town. sensing your bad mood, sasuke asked what’s up. you deadpanned, “my phone game ended and now i’m ready to commit not breath.” you oslemnly look out in the bustling streets and clutched your fist like an Anime Protagonist, “those boomer memes were right all along... i am absolutely Miserable and Useless(^TM) without it.”

in response, you could’ve sworn he did the Anime Glasses thing as well, “then we at team Moderately Awesome Sengoku Ninja are happy to announce the launch of a DIY phone charger, made with the electricity from a fruit and the main functionality of a solar panel. and has more durability than samsung’s.”

there were Stars in your eyes now. with a big grin, you thank him, “i’d die for you, sasuke.”

“then perish.” he said with a blank look. (yukimura, in the bg: ???!!!??!??!?)

the next day he consentually breaks in through the ceiling and gives you the weird contraption. you’re now saved, soul-wise.

the memes start coming and they don’t stop coming from the two of you. in any situation. whether it’d be at a teahouse, or at a battlefield that can determine your life and death.

and you can have discussions about current world events, or the past ones, with him and he’d understand completely what you’re talking about. it’s those rare nights when you’ve been thinking and have a deep conversation with him in his room, and as an adult, it makes for interesting results as well.

the others are endlessly confused, but you’re both so unapologetically yourselves.

and he’s super protective if the circumstances are tough. he feels bad for dragging another person in the sengoku with him—much less when they’re so young like you.

if you’re enough of a lil shit, once you’re taken into kasugayama, in the nights where you can’t sleep because brain at what would be 3 am, you’d probably trudge over to his room and wake him up to tell him what kind of mind-blowing shit you realized.

—yukimura:

when he saved you from falling to your death, your reaction already set off weird Vibes inside him. what do you mean, “you stopped me from fleeing this fleeting world by the sweet embrace of death” ?!?!?! are you crazy?? yes

he doesn’t waste time getting blunt with you at all either.

once he goes into azuchi as a merchant, he silently observes you talking to sasuke for a bit. what’s with your weird language?? and crude humor???? never in his life has he met someone in your age act like that wtf

even so, he still operates on the basis of ‘‘if sasuke trusts you, i trust you’’, no matter how utterly concerned you make him feel

you have a dirtier mind than him! unsurprisingly. along with everyone else, you often tease the poor soul, a nd you’d gladly tell him what the innuendoes mean ( 69, etc.) and maybe sprinkle in some gay jokes in there

and why do you keep mentioning this “bromance between him and sasuke” ?? what us,,, a bromance????? and why is sasuke in it??

he takes you out to teahouses to eat chestnut dumplings and other desserts with you. you always seem to target the one he doesn’t like the most and have a bit of banter

your relationship is built on banter but what’s different rlly

he treats you much more maturely than other people your age. as in, he doesn’t pull back his punches in words most of the time. you don’t seem to around him also, it looks like.

and, he’s also very protective of you. he regards you as his little sibling, as rat as you may be. and he does care about you—he might just be a bit unwilling to say it

—yoshimoto:

you think he’s very chill, if a bit unique but who were you to judge. and he is, if you ever meet him in echigo or even azuchi

his big liking to art and something of apathy to people is osmething you can respect. there’s something about that kind of Vibe that you find oddly a mood.

and oh boy oh boy you wasted no time pulling up your phone and showing images of what art is in the future. whether it’d be a screenshot of anime, fanart, aesthetic-like ones, palette-themed—the whole shabang.

and, somehow, you were left ranting to him about how some artists in the future get it so shitty for theft, reposting, not crediting, the list goes on (please be a decent human being to artist, sincerely the author) and he can’t help but just listen in silence and kind of thinking about how you’re so passionate about the Struggles of artists. and it isn’t something he sees often in the sengoku era—where war rules most things.

and he does find art from the modern times interesting, how they’re so different and vast in styles. and not only that, it’s not like the future only has one major style like then, each hand can draw such different pictures and still have beauty in each. he appreciates and admires that.

and he does tell you his thoughts ^ while you give your own insight. it’s so fascinating to see someone like you having strong opinions on this.

because, well, rn art is a big thing in our lives as we’re stuck inside. a part of entertainment is looking at any media of art—and he finds his view of art and yours quite the same. you two came from a time of turmoil (one moreso than the other) but still think art isn’t exactly irrelevant just because it isn’t a cure to diseases or the Ultimate Weapon.

you had to Surgically Remove him from your phone so you can use it and to stop him from draining your battery looking at the art

and he often drags you out to town and admire pieces when you’re holing yourself in too much. your comments are always unknown to him, “radical”, “that’s one i can vibe with ngl”, and the list goes on.

and you occasionally call him pretty boy as a compliment rlly

—kennyo:

when you first saw him at honno-ji, and he won’t forget the one (1) line you gave him, all you said to his warning of ooo spooky demons was, “that’s lit fam gtg tho”

and that alone was enough to stun him for a few seconds

honestly you told the others of your meeting with kennyo before they told you it could be kennyo. just a throaway line of “oh yeah there was this dude with a scar across his face.” / “,,, ,....that’s kennyo. he’s really dangerous actually—” / “oh, poggers”

you’re probably kind of half the reason the oda forces found who dun it.

and it was an eye for an eye, kennyo himself found out that you were their child chatelaine, and very close to the others. as per his villain-schedule, he kidnaps you .

he laments about how “such a pure soul such as yours is not to be stained by the demon’s hands”

oh how Wrong he was.

you were the definition of the opposite of pure. and you seemed unfazed, which surprised kennyo but shrugged it off. he was willing to face you screaming and panicking, along with shouldering the sin of doing the deed. but instead, he was met with a raised eyebrow and, “this is unexpected and probably not welcomed but what am i doing here.”

he was stunned for a moment before explaining what he can.

“......... fuck.”

he cringed ever so slightly at your curse. but your attention seems to stray so quickly off of the fact that you were bounded and helpless, to the fact that you have the man doing unspeakable things to civilians and you absolutely don’t approve.

throwing your common sense to maybe be civilized, you went off on a rant of how human rights and how to not be an ass to him. all he could do was just listened, shocked to even cut you off.

when he did, he gave the whole ‘unsaved demon’ shtick, and you weren’t taking that kinda shit. he believed he was truly unsaved—you knew that. but that doesn’t make it okay.

eventually, he left you with a cold end of the conversation.

he admires your spirit in a way—but with what he’s experienced,,, it’s a bit of unreachable for him.

if at any point you saw the soft side of his with animals, you just gaped at him for a split second and whispered, “the gap moe is strong with this one.”

also old man died inside when you said that you’d fight god, along with many things.

all in all, to him, you’re insufferable. but weirdly,, fascinating.

you’ve totally ok boomer’d him once cause he rlly looks old

—motonari:

,,. if your speech to kennyo was bad, he’s going to rant hell.

motonari already knew you were interesting even when his men just spied on you. your behavior, so brash and impulsive, is going to be so fun to have, he thinks.

through some planning to stir up more chaos, he kidnaps you and brings you unto his ship. same as kennyo, you showed no clear sign of surprise, and that’s when he decided you were either used to this in any way, or a fool. both answers, he liked.

you’re kind of really confused on why he’s doing what he’d doing. “i get it, i like to stir up chaos myself but it’s harmless,, most of it—but not until the people are in danger, bitch.”

and by that line, motonari leans towards you with a deadly smirk, “now, i can bite, ‘kay kid? you don’t wanna be in the receiving end... do you?”

“do it, coward.”

and before he could let out even a wheeze of laughter, you continued on on a lecture of, again, not being a dick and letting people live their life in peace. and much less all of this damage, for what? chaos?? yeah you wanted to see the world burn but it wasn’t literally.

however, his patience was running thin. he shuts you up forcefully, and leaves.

even so, after a cooldown period, he still talks to you (,,,, well, that’s kind of a generous term) because, right he was, you were so fun in his eyes.

an interesting observation he made,,, was that you picked up on his big dislike of physical contact. and he’d think with how annoying you were at times, that you’d weaponize it. but you didn’t—in fact, you kept your space (not that you were planning to get close) and respected his boundaries.

he thinks you a bit of peculiar for that decision, some wary, and perhaps naive.

one of the days—the more dangerous ones—he was planning to take you to the oda as bait or something. and you weren’t taking it like that. two days before arrival, a storm racked up. you stood upon the edge of the ship with the rest of the crew watching you like you were a madman.

“the oda won’t want me if i’m dead, would they now?”

motonari stands in his composure, guffawing, “all i need is to make sure they believe you’re alive, kid.”

a smile that showed absolutely no fear and 1000 percent spite spread in your face, “not unless i decimate my own body until all the trail left is my blood. the only one who gets to do that shit to me, is me.”

finally, a look of wavering shows in his face.

you were saved last minute,, and the rest is history.

#ikemen sengoku #cybird ikemen #ikesen #ikesen kenshin #ikesen shingen #ikesen sasuke #ikesen yukimura #ikesen yoshimoto #ikesen kennyo #ikesen motonari #ikesen uesugi takeda #*writing #gen z mc #god i hope my Lack of Ability isn't shown in how other characters are written longer than others #and how i might've badly Fucked up their characters #i've done like.. 3 routes and that knowledge is all i have #stans pls don't @ me #pretty sure i had more i wanted to add here but #aha brain's memory go brrrrrrrr

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henrycavell · 4 years

Text

homecoming part 3

summary: Syverson has been medically discharged from the army after a suicide attempt. He’d been able to hide his deteriorating mental health for years from the men around him, but now he has to face it head on. Hopefully not alone.

word count: 2.2k

pairing: Syverson x OFC warnings: suicide attempt, please read with discretion. it’s not very detailed, i don’t think, but just keep yourselves safe ok

authors note: sorry this took so long, i was facing a bit of writer’s block! let me know what you think about this chapter c:

taglist; @littlefreya @mary-ann84 @wondersofdreaming @forthebrokenheartedthings @geralt-of-baevia @asylummara @dearlybelovedluke @promptandpros @mansaaay @daddys-littlewhitegirl @vacant-writings @80scavill @kaatelyyynn @iloveyouyen @henrythickcavill @hell1129-blog please let me know if you’d like to be added to my general tag list!

part 1 | part 2 | PART 3 | part 4

Penelope sat rigid in her vehicle, both hands clinging on to the small phone as her eyes read over the text message for what felt like the fifteenth time. Just four words, four short little words and still, Penelope felt her heart hitting her stomach, turning to stone and somehow sinking even lower. An overwhelming sense of nausea crashed over her like a wave and she peeled her eyes away from the lit screen. Why was she feeling so much guilt eating away at her insides over this message? Just hours earlier, she'd felt so terrified, so fearful almost for her life that she never wanted to see that man ever again and yet... Now, here she was, sitting and feeling bad. Like she'd given up on someone who really needed her help, even if he wouldn't admit it.

She felt like there was nothing she could do anymore, at least not now. Well, she could. Penelope could get back out of her car, march back inside the offices, and head back to Syverson's counselor, tell him she'd changed her mind. That she didn't want to drop him, but something stopped her. Reason, logic, any single one of her last brain cells were practically screaming at her that the man was dangerous, or so it seemed. Telling herself she had a day or two to think about it, Penelope just dropped her phone into the passenger seat and turned the key over in the ignition.

That Friday evening seemed rather solemn. The sky was darker earlier than usual, especially for it to be still in the middle of Summer. Deep reds and purples washed across the sky as Penelope stopped her car on the side of the street, just a short walk up to the bar she liked to sit at sometimes. It was a quiet place, not the type of establishment where you had to worry about college students or fuck boys. Stepping out of her car, she felt a gust of cool wind and looked up to the sky, just in time to feel a raindrop smack right into the center of her forehead. Flinching from the sudden chill, Penelope wiped the droplet off of her face and shoved her hands down into the pockets of her jacket. Penelope loved the rain, storms of all kinds, but she didn't want to be caught in one.

Hurrying up the sidewalk, her crystal blue eyes fell on the red door into the bar, the blinking neon sign that read open. It was a little hole in the wall bar, the windows covered in stickers and logos for different beer and liquor brands, and on the inside of the door, a thousand different flyers for different local bands and art exhibits were littered. It was warm inside, comfortable enough that she could shrug her jacket off as she made her way over to the bar. Throwing her light coat over the back of the barstool, Penelope helped herself to sit before looking up at the bartender and raising her finger, trying to get his attention to. "shot of bourbon, Four Roses if you have it."

The bartender nodded in understanding, before turning away from her, tossing the cloth he'd been using to clean over his shoulder. It was mere seconds before she had a double shot in front of her and she looked up at the man with a raised brow. He'd waited on her hand fulls of times, but she'd never learned his name. "Can tell you need it today." Penelope took in a deep, shaky breath before letting it out, allowing her shoulders to droop. Was it so obvious how shaken up she was?

"Thank you," she answered him before picking it up and shooting it back with minimal effort. The liquor burned going down, leaving a sweet, spicy taste in the back of her mouth. One she normally didn't care for, but now it was almost welcomed, a pleasant distraction until her phone was buzzing off in her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Did you get a call from Syverson?" It was his counselor, Kenton, that was his name.

"Uh no, a text message... Why-"

"I think somethings wrong, he ain't the type to go around apologizing... Do you care to go check up on him for me? I know you didn't want anything to do with him anymore, but I have to pick my kid up from soccer practice..."

Her eyes couldn't have rolled back farther in her head. If it wasn't for Penelope feeling a pull, like she needed to speak to Logan anyway, she would've given Kenton a mouthful. The ex-captain had nearly laid his hands on her and he had just so quickly forgotten that?

"Yeah, I guess."

Dropping her phone back into her pocket, she looked back up at the bartender and gave him a small smile, before laying a crisp twenty-dollar bill on the counter. "Thanks, keep the change."

Penelope's cheeks were already tinted red from the bit of alcohol she had, parking her car outside of Logan's house for the second time that day. On the drive over from the bar, she found herself thinking she should've asked more questions on the phone to Kenton. About the call he must've gotten from Syverson, what he said, or what had him worried. It seemed a bit odd to get worked up just from someone sending an apology text, especially after what he'd done... An apology was in order, in her mind. But, Logan must've apologized to Kenton too and that was what she couldn't wrap her mind around.

Taking a few seconds to gather her composure, Penelope found that she was having to curse herself out in her head to force her hand to reach for the door handle. Walking up to Logan's porch was even harder, something just seemed wrong, off. Her footsteps felt heavier and the air around her was so brittle, sending goosebumps down her arms. The front yard looked frozen still as if she was looking at it from a photograph and not actively walking through it. Stepping up onto the porch, Penelope rolled her eyes at herself and grumbled under her breath, "get it together, what are you scared for?"

Tightening her hand into a fist, Penelope knocked on the door a few times before letting her hand drop back to her side. Even taking a step back, a little nervous for Logan to answer the door. She didn't want to be too close to him, but... an answer never came. Looking over her shoulder, she saw his pick up truck in the driveway, so he must be home. Penelope reached out for the door handle to the glass door, tugging it open so she could knock again against the wood. "Hey, you in there? I got your text-" Penelope called, getting up on her tiptoes to try and look through the small glass panels near the top of the door.

Barely able to glance inside, Penelope caught a glimpse of Aika. She was resting at the foot of the stairs, her paws hiding over her face. Even weirder... Knocking again, Penelope lifted up on her tiptoes to get another look at the dog. "Aika, hey girl! Get Sy?" Calling through the door to a dog to go and get her owner made Penelope just feel silly. Aika lifted her head up, barely looked at Penelope through the pane before dropping her head back to the floor and going back to hiding behind her paws.

Penelope's face scrunched up in confusion and without any more hesitation, she reached down to the doorknob and twisted it, relieved to find it unlocked. Pushing the door open, Aika just whimpered but stayed stuck next to the bottom stair of the staircase. That wasn't much like a guard dog, to just lay still when an intruder was right in front of him. Granted, Aika kind of, sort of knew her, but still... Penelope's heart had lurched up into her throat, a whole new sense of dread washing over her as she looked up the staircase to the dimly lit second floor.

"Hey girl, what are you doing down here all alone?" Penelope tried again to get Aika up, her eyes slowly coming back to the dog, but she still just sat perfectly still, like a statue. "What's the matter?" Penelope squatted down at the base of the stairs, reaching out with her left hand to scratch behind Aika's ears. The dog just whimpered, before forcing herself up on all fours and tiredly creeping up the stairs.

"Okay..." Everything about this situation just seemed unsettling. Penelope shifted from one foot to the other, nervously looking around before she took the first step up the stairs. The second floor was even darker than she imagined, every light turned off and every door shut tightly. Aika moved over to one of the doors and let herself fall down on her belly in front of it, whining and whimpering again as she looked up at Penelope with sad eyes. "What, in there?" Penelope asked Aika as if she'd be able to answer her.

Her eyes lifted to the door and Penelope quietly reached forward, holding her breath as she twisted the doorknob and let it pop open. She didn't swing it open, no, instead just stared at the slim crack in the door, still trying to gather her courage. Pushing it open a bit, Penelope stepped up as close to the door as she could, trying to steal a glance inside before just stepping in. Hearing a low, disgruntled moan, as if someone was in agony, Penelope was chilled to the bone, her hands beginning to tremble as she tried to push the door open entirely.

Stepping into the room, it was cliche to think, but nothing could've prepared Penelope for what she was met with. Three or four liquor bottles littered the floor, among the dirty clothes and trash... Three or four that she could make out at least. The curtains over the windows were pulled tightly closed, not allowing in even a sliver of light. Penelope could see Logan's form on the bed, one arm dangling off of the bed. It was too dark to make out any details, but she just knew something was horribly wrong.

"Logan?" She breathed, taking a few steps further into the room, trying to tiptoe around the clutter and mess on the floor. Her eyes were fixed on the ex-captain, how his body seemed so stiff and tense, and yet his breathing was rigid and shallow. Another pathetic grunt came from the man, but no discernible answer. "I got your message... Thought I'd come to check on you..."

The closer Penelope managed to get to the bed, the clearer the picture became. The arm that dangled off of the bed was trembling, blood running down all over his hand, dripping off into the floor. His face was pale, a thin layer of sweat had collected across his skin and his lips looked ghostly white and chapped. Penelope's eyes ran up his arm, her blood running cold as she tried to make out where the source was, but there was just so much red. Penelope had stayed petrified in her spot for long enough, forgetting to breathe until she rocketed forward, collapsing onto her knees next to the bed.

"What... what... are you... oh my god!" Her voice came out in chopped bits and pieces, just a testimony to horror-stricken she was. The girl had been sent into a straight panic, her brain refusing to process thoughts as she reached her hands out, trying to figure out just what to do. Her eyes dragged up to Logan's face once more, his eyes were closed and his lips were parted slightly, quiet breaths leaving him. Looking like he was hanging onto life by a thin, silver thread.

"It's... fine..." His voice came out hoarse and gravely, slow and slurred, too. Penelope's eyes widened at the words that left the man's lips, her hands gently hanging onto his arm now, his blood coating her hands and jacket, a bigger mess being made all over her. "Just... go... let me..." Syverson's words were coming out in just gentle, raspy breaths, barely audible, Penelope had to listen so closely because she couldn't believe what Logan was muttering.

Her hands started to shake even worse, finally flinging herself away from the man, scrambling out into the middle of the floor. "No, no, this isn't fine! I... I'm going to help you...!" No one had warned her about this man having any sort of mental health issues besides general anxiety, a slight case of depression... Kenton told her a slight case of depression!! Nothing to worry about, but now here she was, sitting terrified in the middle of his bedroom floor, watching him bleed out on his bed.

Penelope stared for a few moments more before something forced her to rocket to her feet. He's going to die, she thought, racing out of the room, back into the hallway. She had to get out of that room, had to scrub that image from her eyes, had to just... take a breath. Penelope checked every wrong pocket first before finding her phone in the left side pocket of her jacket, her shaking thumb punching 9-1-1 into the keypad.

#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #syverson x ofc #captain syverson x ofc #homecoming

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